college life – The Behenji

Killing mosquitoes gives me the biggest high. I know a lot of you will cringe at that statement, take a look at my room-then you’ll truly be disgusted. It’s like a dead zone with mosquitoes slapped against the walls, smudged on the ground.

And just as I typed that I saw one meander past my screen. Operation Dead Wings now comes into effect. I switch off my fan/air conditioner-anything that can cause movement of air particles, because then the mosquito can just get pushed out of the way just as you try to smack it. The best method is to push the mosquito downwards or against a wall. Then Smack! You may use your slipper, a book you’re reading, or a ruler-like my mom did the other day. Anything with a flat surface.

Some people think this is really cruel. They say things like “But what makes you think you have the power to kill a living being?!” The thing is, that if I don’t make my move first, it will instead- when I’m asleep, that too on my face. And just look at the stats for malaria cases in the city this season. A website said :’ just like every mosquito doesn’t have malaria-every guy’s not a cheater’. Well come to south Delhi, then we’ll talk. Every guy is a bozo and every mosquito is a blood sucking malariaite.

This week has been tough. Mainly because there are so many changes happening. Finishing undergrad (I don’t care if I sound like a broken record) is momentous and the little cricks and turns of relationships only makes it more memorable. Suddenly everyone is their own selves and unanswerable to others. Those days of having a coffee salted with tears over what so-and-so said, sitting in depressive silence due to some universal hormonal wave-and then suddenly bursting out with laughter, has all come to an end. You don’t send text messages asking what your friends are doing more than once a week-that’s ‘old and overbearing’ now. You don’t have to share each and every episode of your life, we’re a little too busy with our own stuff. If you’re feeling low and being poop-faced about it, go do something with yourself. And that’s how one chapter ends and another starts.

Now all that’s left to do to tie up the lose ends, is to study for the finals. To pine over work that simply doesn’t have any intrinsic worth anymore.

I’m going to kill that bloody mosquito

Today was a strange one. A girl I’ve never talked to /knew ever existed was forced to share her grammar exercise book (yes, grammar bo-stop laughing) with me today (is her name Esther-I’m not too sure) even though she made a face at first (she grimaced actually). At the end of it all , I could tell that she was surprised at how great my company was.

Let me tell you what she looks like:
She has bland lemon shaped eyes.
A spotless oval face.
She wears her blue black boring hair in a long plait (or does everyone call it a ‘braid’ now?)
Usually, she wraps herself up in a nylon-synthetic salwar kameez (that has aunty prints, you know, the green leafy stuff).
She loves a plain dupatta (or for non-understanders, a scarf) across her neck…Like a throat band.

Tanisha Sharma — This is what I aim to be

She hated the fact that she was asked by the Prof to remove herself from her row of viking-pixie friends and sit next to the loudest mouth in town (c’est moi).What was worse for her, was that her personal belonging-the grammar book, was going to be ‘touched’ by me and therefore soiled forever, bringing down the standards of every item that it came in contact with. The book was shifted away every time I tried to reach for it. Damn.

She grimaced.

What a ‘cartoon’, as they say in the capital. They also say “thappar maaroongi” out of affection. That sounds like a threat as it translates into something like “Ima slap you!”. Oh and “maar hi daalogey” is another one. It’s a compliment. In english, it means “you’re just going to kill me” (with what? Your good looks? Your amazing cooking? The mind boggles). The capital drips with violent love. If we slap you it means we love you, and to kill you-well you’ll just have to be amazing at something.

Soon after this person (whom I’m secretly jealous of, because she’s 10 times more behenji than I am) sits next to me, with her legs hanging over one side of her chair. In my world, you either sit like that when you’re at the table when the food’s a drag, or you’re ready to leave at any given moment.

Now, within seconds after I had apologized and thanked her a million times (the best way to annoy someone), I then concentrated on getting my hands on her book (that’s all I really want). She miraculously realizes that I’m a wonderful person (heh) that she is now friends with (mmm) and decides to make ‘hanging out plans’ with me ( what’s with my english).

What’s the plan?

To join her and her pals (or pal-only the viking one was interested) for an organized picnic for everyone in Arts. Did you just fall off your chair when you read the word ‘picnic’?
If you didn’t, then you’re a convent educated dearie who has ‘sweet sweet’ memories of school outings, where you’d be allowed to share a field with boys from your ‘brother school’. Well, in this case, it’s actually different, okay. There are no males in the scene at all. “If boys are there, then problems are there.” And it’s a little iffy , because the venue is called ‘Worlds of Wonder’. Hey at least it’s not ‘Wet n Wild resort’ (Gurgaon). That would have been horrible. What a horrible name. Shame on those people.

My new best friend (Esther?…Pallavi?….Jane?) told me that I should go and have fun in life, instead of just sitting around and doing nothing……Holy smokes she knows me too well, and how!

If I don’t go, I’m not a ‘fun’ person and definitely repudiate the title and position I have achieved in my life. That of a ‘Behenji’. If I do go, the people who have been forced to be my friends will have a great excuse to run away. That too, with speed.

Anyway, I caught this music video of some band of boys in Iran. It makes me laugh and lets me jive. Please tell me what you think about it, and which of the 4 is the hottest according to you. My pick is the camel.
Oh but it is funny. Good job. Note how the woman’s hand is covered in a glove…Sigh.