Saturday, April 29, 2006

just for the record

"Once upon a time you loved him. A lot. That's the only reason you hate him now. Otherwise you'd just be indifferent."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"You're beautiful."

"Tell me something I don't know that happens to be true as well."

"You're beautiful."

Thursday, April 27, 2006

First I rant, then I have to recant.
I walked into college today and was informed first by beloved friend *who will soon stop being best friend if she continues to be this nasty* that she thought my post was silly.
Then AG very kindly informed me that I had probably been too clever for my own good.
In short I feel like a misunderstood moron.
In long, therefore, if you've already read the post this is the after-thought. If you haven't read the last post take a second off, read it and then get back.
But read before jumping to conclusions please.

And Gentle Reader, forgive me if I was too subtle in the previous post.
I forgot people still take me seriously.

So, the basic clarification is as follows.
Despite the over abundance of saccharine sweetness in the department at this present moment, despite the fact that the first years have exhibited a disturbing tendancy to pair up faster than you can say, oh ki mishti couple!!, the babelfish would like to announce very clearly and firmly and as loudly as possible that she has no, no and no plans of
a)getting a life
b)getting a man
c)getting a man to address her as sugarplum
d)getting whatever else spring has on offer.

In case this clarification doesn't seem to fit in too well with what I wrote last night let me put it this way; the problem with leaving myself deliberately open to misinterpretation is that I am liable to be misunderstood. Yes well, obvious innit.
So yeah , I know everyone got pretty excited by the "dark alley" bit but umm when I mentioned the "strenuous activities" I meant "heart-stopping" in the sense of permanently heart-stopping.
Yes well. Go figure.

And as for the *requited* passion. The primary difference between this and unrequited passion is that any hindi film second string heroine worth her salt(y tears) will give up her life for any man who doesn't love her back. In real life when two people feel truly requited passion for each other they're ready at any moment to kill each other.

Oh and I assumed everyone had heard of Lucrezia Borgia. If you haven't I can only quote the darling of the department, "you can never trust the Borgias you know". Now you can go google for her name.

And finally, this fish would like to clarify that she might mix politics with pleasure but never prem. Despite my inordinate passion for this man, I don't feel the slightest inclination to spend the rest of my life calling him sugarplum. I only want to kill him.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

The babelfish has a most grievous confession to make. It shames her and mortifies her to say this in a public blog accessible to vast millions who may never even choose to read it but she has wrested with her conscience, she has spent sleepless nights tossing and turning and turning and tossing unable to get these thoughts out of her head and bed and she has finally come to the conclusion that an open confession might be the best way out.

*of course when I say nights I actually mean one night, but let's not get too carried away with details here oggay...and when I say here, this rather hold for the rest of the post too....but, I digress and for once I shall try to cut a long story short and thou dear reader are most welcome to imagine for your gentle self a five page preamble with extra dollops of drama*

In short then, I have committed the unforgivable, the unfathomable, the unforgettable, the unforeseeable.

I have fallen with bone-splintering-rib-cracking-nose-fracturing-jaw-breaking intensity for someone.
And this is where I must clutch my breast and rend my hair and confess most shamefully that when I say someone I don't just mean someone I mean a political rival.
*the italics by the way indicate hushed tones...go back and read it again, this time drop your voice for the last two words...*
And you were wondering what the drama was all about.

*and sigh again*
Will my gentle reader excuse me while I indulge in some heavy-duty furnace style sighing...siiiiiiiigh!!!

I will not bore you with the when and where and whom, I shall only describe the epiphanic moment when I first realized this heart-stopping, horrific happening.

So, there I was, in a room full of very politically motivated gentlemen. There was just one other female in the room, which says a lot about the male female ratio in political outfits and never mind the occasional sonia/maneka/mamata/indira/jayalalitha/uma! *interesting innit how all their names end in a. nevermind.*

On the one side, there were the men from the engineering faculty, across the aisle were the men from the science faculty and bang in between were the arts faculty reps. And this man, this jaw-breaking-rib-crusher was speaking. And when I interrupted his beautifully worded very persuasive monologue in pure undiluted bangla he turned to me and rasped out, "wait, let me finish...".

And I almost swooned as I realized that this was the man I wanted to drag off into a dark alley for some heart-stoppingly strenuous moments. And ever since that moment, to be precise, 8.07 PM Monday, the 24th of April, my heart flutters at the thought of him and beats faster.
And to all the cynics who say this is only because he has threatened to cut me into ickle pieces and feed me to the fish in the ju-jheel I say

This then is the fish's confession. If she is, someday in the not-too-distant future found drownded on dry land it will because of this man for whom she feels such requited passion. Conversely if she is found guilty of indulging in acts reminiscent of Lucrezia heard it here first!

Friday, April 14, 2006

Much has been happening in ze fissbowl. For one thing the mother has discarded home, hearth, husband and the one and only younger daughter in order to re-enact some well chosen scenes from trashy ekta kapoor serials at the no-longer-tranquil home of the newly-wed one and only older daughter.
The father predictably is pining away. Ok, that's an understatement but I have no words to describe how melancholy he is these days. He hangs around the house and mopes. In snatches he remembers that he is supposed to be playing mother hen to b'fissy and comes around clucking with a vengeance.

The outcome of the pater familias doing mother hen imitations has been rather mixed. For example, having lovingly watched me set off for college one morning and in the process of standing at the door and waving a forlorn metaphorical hankey in farewell he noticed that my shoes were pretty shabby. And then he forced me to go shopping with him and bought me two pairs of shoes. That was the good bit.
The bad bit was the time the father in a fit of excessive love and misplaced zealous tenderness decided to put a bottle of water into my college bag. In the process discovering a match-box in said bag. Father questoned daughter and daughter gave an answer which was a hazelnut surprise and two layers of truffles short of an entire chocolate box of honesty and then father and daughter went on with make-believe world where suspension of disbelief rules bigtime.

We get along my father and I. More than happily. When we're utterly bored with everything around us we start some bizarre conversation which keeps us high on aantlami *pretentious intellectualism* for prolonged periods of time. And occasionally we do father-daughter talks where he asks me interesting questions like who's the flavour of this season and *you don't even want to know the context of that one*! But through it all I know he's too busy missing Ma. Me, I'm the half-hard-hearted one of the family, so I don't miss her at all *and if you heard me howling I want my mommy in college the other day you were obviously hallucinating*. But he sits by the phone all the time he's at home. And gives it little looks and occasioanlly picks it up to check if it's working. And sometimes he prods it a bit with his little finger like he's gently trying to nudge some divinity in charge of communications to get her to call.
But while I'm not as mushily mopey as he is, home isn't home unless Ma's there to yell at me. And Baba can't even yell properly if Ma's not there. Sigh.
Change topic. I can feel myself getting morose and sentimental over this, gah! Instead I shall write about the other major event in fishy's life. Which is a continuation of all my electoral woes of last month and the surprisingly not-quite-woeful results
To cut a very very long story short. There was an election today. Students from all three faculties of the university voted for six students members of the court council which is supposedly a hi-falutin inexplicably powerful administrative body *basically blah*. And out of the six very elite court members not one has any affinity for shades of red. But one of the six is a fish. This fish to be precise. In other words, this is a happy fishy right now.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Various people at various points of time have asked members, honorary and otherwise, of JUDE what it is that they do all day in college. The answers, roughly summed up, are as follows :
  • *half-concerned shrug* "nothing"
  • *look of philosophical acceptance* "nothing"
  • *look of mortified realization* "nothing"
  • *vaguely embarrassed look* "nothing"
  • *blank look* "nothing" (this last one I find rather unnerving because it leads me to suspect that JUDE is slowly filling up with dull half-wits of all shapes and sizes)

Of course "nothing" often includes prem kora and panu kora or wait....the two are the same right? Ahem. Never mind.

And of course, there's sitting at Monida and doing "nothing". Monida, for those glorious millions fortunate enough to be ignorant of the existence of such a glorified place, is a canteen. In the glorious (not that I know what's so glorious about it anyway) tradition of canteens on campuses across calcutta it is named after the supposed glo-nevermind proprietor.
When I say supposed of course I may be erring on the side of caution but one does so like to get these little details right and anyone sitting at Monida's for long enough will get the distinct feeling that the place is actually owned by half a dozen dead flies, a few thousand dozen live fleas and a random assortment of dogs, male and female, perpetually horny and occasionally gay. Oh and by The Smell. And the crows. By Blind Io and the crows who ate his eyeballs, how could I have forgetten to mention the crows.
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles...and well, substitute babies with innocent college-students and you've got the general idea.

This then is Monida's. A place we are all inordinately fond of. Why is not a question which should drift into the reader's mind at ths moment. The reader had best assume that the average JUDEan's love for Monida is all part of the Ineffable Plan. And in case you were wondering what the Ineffable Plan is, well, it's a bit like this you see, thereasonIcan'ttellyouwhattheIneffablePlanisisalsopartoftheIneffablePlan. Can I get on with the story now?
Oh. Except there is no story. Well, not as such. Just another random snippet from another random conversation on a random day at a random table at monida's :

babelfish (half mooney voice) : sigh. you know what, I just realized the other day he looks like a greek god.
cass (in her did-you-loan-your-brains-to-the-crows voice) : no. he doesn't.
bably (jolted out of her monida-ydreams) : b-b-bbutbut he does!
diva (in her why-did-I-ever-join-this-madhouse-I-wannawannawanna-go-back-to-delhi voice) : No!
babe(l) pouts
cass (trying to be sensible and turning out to be most condescending) : look. he's adorable but he looks like a teddy bear not an imitation apollo!
bably (small voice) : umm...what about one of the smallish greek gods, like herme-
diva : NO!
bably (barely audible voice) : but the whole look that he has...umm maybe a bit like zeu-
cass : NO!!!
babel : I shall sulk.

I'm still sulking by the way. Because whatever those disbelieving gits might say, he does look like a greek god. Does too.

And in case you're wondering who he is. Stop right there. I'm not about to tell you. So teehee to you too.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

To my best-best-best-best-est friend.....
I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Really really really sorry. I didn't forget, I swear I didn't. I am just a complete, utter, inexcusable ass. I shall grovel and plead for all eternity. Pleeeeeeeeease forgive me.
I have a seminar in another two hours and a paper to present which I still haven't written and am about to write now. Stayed up all night and all of last night tao lekha hoye ni kintu mane that does not mean that I've stopped grovelling sincerely and seriously.
And you have every right to be mad at me and hate me for all eternity but please don't, mane I'll be even more heart-broken tokhon.
Will leave now to write paper but will also keep apologizing indefinitely.
**pleading pleading puppy dog eyes**

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