Its on the house

After months of coercion my mother finally succeeded (for reasons unknown to the world) in converting me to a vegetarian.My f(r)iends often wondered in astonishment the Himalayan effort that must have required in convincing a carnivore such as yours truly into a rabbit. They failed to realise the huge effort on my part that stopped me from screaming out the truth, it was because of their appetites that dinosaurs no longer walked this planet. Probably one of the worst decisions of my life, walked around campus like a bear with a bad bad tooth ache. To heal my wounded appetite, I grabbed my cousin aka deranged roommate and trooped off to Matteo, my fantasy world's central perk, my red and purple couloured, coffee smelling, Shangri-la.

I love a table that has food on every surface, and as always there was the omnipresent (VEG) caesar's salad. We ate, we drank, we made ourselves look like stuffed turkeys. As we were finishing our caesar's salad, I, Chief-hawkeye, spotted a tiny, miniscule piece of chicken, it should have sent me into a "great white" like frenzy, but I very calmly pointed out this anomaly to the waiter, he blinked, twice, stared at the plate for several seconds and on my behest took it away. I was "scandalised". After a million apologies from the management, I said no to the waiter who wanted to know if I'd want anything else with a very pained expression. The fact was that I was stuffed beyond belief.

We continued to sit there for another hour oblivious to all that's happening around us. At long last we decided to leave the place and head home and called for the bill, the manager came over and in a grave I'm-about-to-deliver-a-eulogy tone declared that the entire meal was on the house! We exchanged incredulous looks, and in a very orderly manner made a quick exit. We marched out, and kept walking until we were well away from the place before bursting into shrieks of laughter. Obnoxious though we were at the restaurant, we really didn't have a problem with the ridiculously small piece of meat. Extremely glad that the restaurant authorities failed to grasp it though. And to think that I'd convinced myself that karma would bite me in the ass for all the uneaten pieces of meat.

Shall we dance?

If anyone tells you that doing the Naagin dance in language class is a good idea, then don't believe them. Its a lie concocted to get you into trouble. I'm telling you, nuns - not "people". Highly temperamental women cramped up in a tiny campus can have disastrous effects. Language class is where it all happens. I've been in college two years and my Sanskrit teacher never addresses me by my name. Even if I make any noise, its the person sitting next to me who gets yelled at (smirks). It was one of those days, when the sun is hotter, the nuns crazier and watchmen shrewder. I'm sitting in class waiting for the teacher to come, in walks KJ ( my mentally unstable friend) going "oooo wooow oo". Statutory warning: Too much of KJ is highly injurious to mental health. Enter the "warrior". We settle down in the back row. Class begins, as usual- dull, drab and deathly. KJ leans towards me "Lets do the Naagin dance, Nins." I was never much of a dancer. Apparently according to a faithful birdie -carefully re-phrasing- "You dance like a monkey with emotional problems" (you here refers to yours truly). Nonetheless, never the person to lose heart, I join in. "Go cheetah have a banana, hey monkey, get funky"! I totally nailed it. We could soon hear (as did people within 10mile radius) the "warrior" screech "What on earth is going on in the back row?". Thats enough to set her off with her mind numbingly boring rants on girls behaving like guys, lack of discipline among the youth, her going to America to do her Ph.D (I don't know how thats relevant, the show off) and the effect of "too much" freedom on girls. Sigh. The old bat never stops. I stare at her as if in a drunken stupor. The ever optimistic KJ reverts back to her nutty self. She crouches low and continues with her dance and we happily take videos of her without her knowledge. It was all over facebook by night.

I finally read the Hobbit. Its a wonderful book, but not in the same league as Lord of the Rings (the daddy of all fantasy novels). It amazes me, the amount of trash people read. The craze for the Twilight series is simply beyond my comprehension. But I refuse to over analyse the already cliched topic.

Cul-Ah came (theme being Jungle Fever), fun and fun is all I can say. The fashion show left me feeling like an overweight and hideously sun burnt heifer. Who cares about internals? No one. So lets not talk about it. Plod on further my brave friends. I may write something interesting yet.

The days went by in a blaze with me alternating between great excitement and confusion (psychology students, does it ring a bell?). I realise to my utter dismay that I've lost my phone. My mum shrieks something about terrorists, stalker, identity thefts, and you know something is really going wrong when your mum starts making sense. I ran helter-skelter, called a million people and is currently headed off to the Police station to file an FIR. For all I know sometime in the near future, the authorities might issue an arrest warrant to dock me in for kidnapping three fat Palestinian men in Gaza. Pray for me people. Jihadists and non- jihadists alike.

Jingle all the way

Christmas this year came early for me. Two weeks before Christmas I was moping around the house acting like a regular Scrooge. Even when my Christmas loving and very well meaning cousin swore to breaks my legs, if I uttered one more word against Christmas, so I continued to put my life on the line by griping about Christmas.I would have made Scrooge seem like a loving joyful Grandpa had he been for real. Everything was going Topsy-turvy, I discovered that I didn't have half the notes for my pre Christmas exams, I didn't get tickets to go home for holidays, teachers mistook my wide eyed innocence for phased out staring, Autowallas drove me up the wall rather than driving me to the right destination, in short, life made hell look lucrative.

Angels come in many forms ( pretty, mild or downright scary looking) mine came in the form of, my bro who got me a brand new camera for Christmas (never mind the fact that I'm a techno retard) Anil who pulled strings to get me a ticket back home, Shruti my ever optimistic little elf, Nima my tweety bird and a whole lot of other people who saved me from jumping over a cliff.

Christmas Eve was better than Christmas itself. My cousins and friends came together to light up my Christmas with a Christmas tree and fine food. We made merry, we made the house a huge mess, and I wowed everyone with my hitherto unsuspected culinary skills. Christmas morning dawned late and groggy. I smiled, I sang off key Christmas carols at the top of my voice, ate cake and packed my belongings to head home. A Christmas eve well spent is a Christmas day well celebrated (and a lot less grouchier Nina).