The first time I tasted crab, my skin responded in a way that perpetually scared me away from returning to it. I thought it wasn’t worth much because after all the allergy madness, I had forgotten how it tasted. I simply had no memory of the crab.

I have always enjoyed sea food though. It somehow tastes like home to me. Maybe that’s why I still can never tell the difference between prawn and crab. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was gripped by this sudden mad urge to devour a whole crab, with masala and oil and everything. Part of this madness came from this strange desire to feel sea in my mouth. So I went to Mangalore Pearl, ordered rice and crab curry and waited. I was not particularly hungry that evening. I had only just belted a whole plate of Bombay toast and some chicken sandwiches. I’m saying this because I know I can’t really boast of having a kickass appetite but when I could smell the crab curry come to our table, my stomach did a somersault and I forgot all about my stupid appetite and reached out for my first piece of the evening.

When I started work on my first piece, words of wisdom spoken by somebody who wished well came to mind; that eating crab required skill and that I possessed no such skill.  And this was because I use both of my hands, all my fingers and parts of my face to eat crab. I was slightly embarrassed to return to that adventure and  needless to say, I did have to struggle a lot with undressing the crab but when I finally did put that first piece in my mouth, I said fuck you to talent and decided to make use of all body parts if I have to, to eat the damn crab. Because it simply tasted that good and my need to justify why I am doing something was overpowered by my new found respect for crab. It was only 45 minutes later when I finally emerged from my plate and looked up at laughing friends did I realise that my way was the best way.

There is that moment of struggle between wanting to release the spicy sweet meat from its stupid pincers to sucking really hard on the tip of the pincers to make sure you haven’t left out any meat.  After I had attacked the pincers and sucked out all the meat, I turned to look at what is now my favourite part of the crab, its stomach. I feel rich when I see the crab’s stomach. I feel gracious when I comb its meat out and stuff all of it in my mouth. Reasonably this is my favourite part of the crab because I don’t have to wrestle much and it always promises meat bursting about in all directions.

I have never really been much of a spice or a masala person. But I didn’t quite mind it when they accompanied the crab. I think it’s because they didn’t interfere much with the flavour of the crab and flirted with it only a proper amount before dissolving into seafoodness.

It was only after I tasted my second crab in life that I realised that I am capable of enjoying good food and that the affair with taste and remembering taste is an interesting one.  Sometimes I cannot believe that it took me a just one plate of crab yet so late in life to make sense of food and its capabilities to produce happy feelings. I have frequented the crab a little more after Mangalore Pearl.  Not much has improved when it comes to the number of body parts that get involved in this task; it has gotten progressively worse in fact. But my curiosity to look for words to remember taste and to produce it in writing has increased.


I’m in

                                                                                   My 500 Words Widget.

                                                                                                       Let’s see where this takes me.

Evil things and all

Luke: ‘There isn’t anything like family to screw up a marriage’

Lorelai: ‘Well in my case, there isn’t anything like family to screw up a family’

Between running around from film to film, venue to venue and from cheerfully waking up in the morning to grumpily entering the home a half hour before midnight, I stumbled upon the source of all human tragedy in life, family. People are miserable because of family. Either because they can’t stand them or because they love them to bits, so much so that they have to smother you with their love and couldn’t care any lesser for your life and its various demands on you. I had to juggle between 2 sets of worlds and deal with the tragedies in it by creating 2 sets of lies, just to be able to do something that I wanted to do.  I wanted to attend the Film Festival this year, absorb whatever little I was capable of and write about it like a mad woman.

Attend, I did. Write, I tried to but for reasons not entirely because of me, I couldn’t write much. I was tired from all the excuses I had to make, the lies I had to lie to try and manage the 2 different worlds that I live in to keep the people in it from tearing their hair out and mine.  Now that I think about it, I am sure that at one point those 2 worlds merged. And that’s when trouble began.  Maybe my boyfriend and I were able to manage without fights for so long because for 8 years I was able to keep him away from the world that was occupied by Emily and Richard. It was easy because he made no demands. But he is beginning to speak the language of the Gilmores now and that scares me.

I am 25 and I work. I am an adult. I don’t have to lie to attend the Film Festival. I shouldn’t have to micromanage my life and the people in it if they cannot deal with what I want to do with my time. I shouldn’t have had to miss a day of the film festival to go and nurse an upset boyfriend’s hurt feelings.  I shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for missing my mother’s birthday cake cutting. For one week, I wanted to watch movies, talk about it and write about it. I wanted to stay back as late as I bloody wanted to on all those nights and not rush home like a mad woman, fearing a teary eyed mother, full of blackmail and menace.

I shouldn’t have to explain this to anybody. I love my life here, I love my job, and I love what I am doing right now. I shouldn’t be made to leave all of what I love and go someplace far away just to be away from these people. Why am I ranting when I can say screw you and continue doing the shit that I am doing anyway?  A 500 word post later too, I still feel screwed. I look at women, my age and younger, living lives their way and I want that.  I don’t know these women all too well but nothing stops me from constantly stalking them on twitter and face book and blogger.

So when I feel insanely jealous about the free lives that they are living, I feel better when I see that most of my friends from school and college are either married or getting married or have kids or are getting pregnant. It is sad and evil, I know. But you have no idea how great it feels to return home at 11:30 in the night after having watched 5 kickass movies one after another, battled a hundred different questions about the movies, asked them out loud, got laughed at, had conversations about the movies with people who know this stuff, made mental notes about how to write only to find out that that guy who sat in the fifth bench and was very rarely nice to you is married. And he is 25. Yes, I am an evil person, making judgments and everything, but what the hell, I am 25 too and not married so I get to gloat. Hee haww!


This and that…

I often dream of returning to an empty home after a day well spent at work and with friends. I yearn to listen to the sound of my own footsteps on stairs that I have not had the time to scrub. As I dig into my bag to look for keys, the fact that nobody is waiting for me inside except the silence of my living room and the slow trickle of a leaky tap at my washbasin, makes me smile. I like not having to share this feeling with anyone. I like knowing that all the stuff I left behind in the hurry burry of the morning are in the exact same places, just as I had left them. I like knowing that I have the whole evening for myself. I like taking long hot showers and trying hard not to think about anything. I like that I can walk around in my home with nothing but a slip and shorts. The tea is a little too hot today so I leave it alone for sometime only to forget about it later. Now I am too busy trying to look for a song on YouTube. The one that an old friend who doesn’t talk to me anymore had made me listen to 100 times. I find it but quickly lose interest so I try to write for some time. It is hard sometimes and harder some other times. I keep looking at the empty page thinking of all the things that I should say, that I remembered I would say but I still cannot write. I am too happy to write. So I stop writing. But I dream of writing every day.

Why can’t I write every day? I mean, is it that difficult? Some days, yes. No matter how much I want to write, eventually the persistence of the stupid blinking cursor overpowers my desire to put words together and I give up and go watch Gilmore Girls or something. And then there is this other problem, a more serious one. Just when I am about to write, my stalker ego comes alive and I start reading other people’s writing like a woman possessed. I am simply obsessed with writers and their blogs and their lives. I have a humongous capacity to stalk writing. And then after I have finished reading their stuff and have nourished my envy enough (which I enjoy) I feel miserable (which I do not enjoy) and then I just stop writing.

I can’t wait anymore to have a specific state of mind to be able to write. I am not saying that I am going to be disciplined and have a time to write and all; god knows the plan will fall flat on its ass even before it takes off. But I think I am getting closer to finding the space between reading and writing.  Something interesting is happening to my reading. I am now reading Tibor Fischer’s ‘Under the Frog’. And I am noticing a pattern in the way in which I am reading these days.

I am paying attention to words. In that, when I was reading ‘Em and the Big Hoom’, I was confused about what I should be paying attention to; the words or the story or the characters and what they say or to just read and get done with the book. Now I am a little more focused on the words. I like watching them grow into a story. I am particularly interested in trying to understand why the writer used a word as opposed to so many others. I am paying attention to adjectives, to details and just the whole idea of writing.

I just stopped to read what I had written so far, which now I am thinking was a mistake because it is crazy how I started to write about some far away home and then skipped to writing and reading. What do I do with myself?

Lorelai Gilmore

I don’t know if there is any sense to watching same old episodes from Gilmore Girls over and over again, every day in fact. I do it when I have pressing deadlines to meet, when I am sick, when I am low, when I need inspiration, when I feel that I want to leave the planet and interestingly, even when I am really happy. Lorelai Gilmore takes me back to the show again and again. And this has very little to do with the color of her eyes and her cute tops.

I want to be this woman. This incredibly independent, sensitive yet gutsy, committed not to fall back into the comfortable life that her parents promise and striving hard to make the most of wherever it is that life has got her to -kind of woman.

I didn’t like watching her when she was miserable. Like when Luke kept her away from a part of his life and she went nuts. But that’s only because she reminded me that she is human after all. She may have the bluest eyes, a humongous capacity to consume coffee, the ability to come up with a dozen comebacks even when you are trying to figure out the first one, the strength to give her daughter the space and the right to make her own mistakes, the courage to stand up to her parents even when they are at their most vulnerable point. She can be all of these and still be believable to me.

I was 16 when I first watched it. I don’t remember much of what I watched back then but when I finally learned how to download stuff off the internet, which was when I was 20, Gilmore Girls was the first thing I downloaded. Watching Lorelai Gilmore on screen after 4 years brought me a sense of direction. I have always taken dumb things like these seriously; movies, characters, their relationships, their desires and tragedies.

What Gilmore Girls provides me with apart from direction is some kind of choice to be either like Lorelai or Rory (Lorelai’s daughter) or both. Rory’s relationship with academia always appealed to me. Lorelai’s relationship with herself and how she always knows what she wants thrilled me to bits. So there are days when I choose to be Rory and days when I whine about why I am not like Lorelai Gilmore.

It’s the crazy things that the woman does that crack me up and also get me to seriously think. Like when Rory was frantically looking for her bracelet and Lorelai is helping her. She finds her grandmother’s pen under the sofa. But Lorelai insists on letting the pen lie there simply because it ‘makes life interesting’.

Lorelai’s now there- now gone relationship with her mother is also something that I relate to, at a very beautiful level. She tries half heartedly to repair this ugliness but as she puts it, when she talks, all her mother hears is ‘blah blah blah, ginger’.

I have fallen awfully behind sometimes with the show’s pace and have felt miserable when I couldn’t catch the pop culture references that both Lorelai and Rory throw at each other. Much of my watching this show therefore was constantly interrupted by pausing and then googling to find out who some singer is or what the word ‘schnickelfritz’ means and other weird things like that.

Needless to say I did learn a great deal from the show. Things I’ve obviously forgotten now but after a point the whole pausing and googling thing became really interesting and has only made me more curious.

The show also has characters that will become your mortal enemies simply because they are that irritating. Taylor, the town mayor for instance is a conventional man whose interests in developing the town don’t just stop at its infrastructure. He is also bothered by the people and their lifestyles and the kinds of songs that the town troubadour sings and the shapes and sizes of fruits that grow in the town.

Along with him there are other characters who have challenged my abilities as a watcher. There was a time when I had no patience to deal with Taylor and the Town Troubadour’s songs so I would just forward them. It took me 5 years of watching and watching again to appreciate the carnivalesque setting that is ‘Star’s hollow’ (fictional town near Connecticut, U.S where the show is based)

I’m not sure if I like this show a lot because it has helped me discover myself. Not because I discover myself every evening and then forget it in 2 hours. But because everytime something changes in my life and I get all nervous, ‘Gilmore girls’ does not soothe me. It makes me look at the characters differently, which brings me to look at things in a whole new perspective. There was a time when I simply could not understand Rory’s feelings for Jess but now I do.

The only complaint I have about this show is that it makes a very vague attempt at bringing Lorelai’s past to the audience. There has only been one episode and that too in bits of 2 min footage on Lorelai’s life before she got pregnant and right after she does. It left me with more questions than anything else. How did Lorelai finally leave her parents’ for instance?

Maybe it’s good that some part of this woman’s adolescence still remains a mystery. Maybe that’s also why I keep going back to the show. To learn more about Lorelai Gilmore.






I feel gripped by some sense of responsibility every time I write my blog. This doesn’t happen when I write in my journal. I think I know why this happens. What is annoying is why I’m not able to shake that feeling off. I shouldn’t be feeling responsible. I wish I were a more carefree writer. I wish I wrote here more often. I wish I was a better planner. College reopens in 4 days and I haven’t done anything that I had vowed I would. Planning my writing schedule, my classes, my reading, my money, my budget. Nothing.

This is my 2 complaint here and the millionth, in general.

Anyway, I feel really calm today. Apart from carrying a good trip hangover, I’m mildly excited about completing one year at work. I still have trouble believing I work where I do. I feel recklessly under-confident when I keep telling myself that I bagged my dream job. I don’t think I’ll ever feel super confident. Anyway, I cannot wait to get back to work, even if it means I cannot laze around in bed after waking up, even if it means I cannot drink on weekdays.

I just wish I could make more of all the liberties I have given myself. I want to be more connected to the outer world. I have this pathetic tendency to take my feelings too seriously and keep swirling and melting in them until something new happens. I want to think more, imagine less. I want to write more and plan about writing, less. I want to look around and be better at routes and directions. For that to happen I seriously need to yank my earphones off and look outside while I travel. I need to take the bus more often. I need to look more carefully, listen more carefully and register all these so I can write better.


Days like these

Days like these, I just want to curl up and die. These bouts of curling up and dying are usually preceded by long inspections of blogs and writing which goes on with much gusto. It’s when I begin reading mine that I want to fling myself off the window.

Nothing happened, no one said anything. I just want to hide from my memories. From things I have said so far, from embarrassments, from my judgments of people, from the me from 7 years before and also the me from yesterday. And to pick a Sunday to do all of this is such a shame!

When I turn to writing to get rid of this slimy feeling, I end up reading my old posts and want to throw up all over myself.

It’s sad on so many different levels. Just when I’m about to recover from this depressing blahness, I begin to review my behavior, online and otherwise throughout the week and it kills me to not have found a place already where I can pelt my head.

This is a rant. Now I don’t know what to say so I’m Just going to sleep.

Pah. This sucks.

Why can’t I write?

Never Mind

Cumbersomeness always reminds me of cucumber. You know in the way my sister thinks she looks like Abhishek Bachchan if she screws her face up really hard? Also pretty much the way my cook resembles Lauren Graham. This post is meaningless, more or less as meaningless as my previous ones.

Have you ever wondered why people do that? Criticize themselves before other people do? What is the point? Is it something along the lines of “Ha! I knew that and I said it much before you did so your observation is as pointless as my post?”

Why do we have to be so defensive all the time? Let me rephrase it. Why do I have to be so defensive all the time? I do not know what letting go entails seeing as how I have never once successfully let gone.  Of people and their madness, their criticisms, their accusations, their judgments, their actions, their nuisance, their assumptions.

More than my inability to let go, what’s astounding to me is the way other people do let go; and effortlessly so. Nothing bothers them. For a long time I believed that they pretend to be all unfettered but deep inside they are pulling their hair out. But now I am beginning to think that that may not be true. They don’t have to pretend. They just are unbothered about the list of things that I seem to be married to.

How do they do this? Cheerful, never defensive, always knowing what to say or do when people talk crap about them, to them. How?

Maybe they are not so attached to themselves. Or maybe they are too attached to themselves. Whatever. I forget why I started to write this so never mind.


My earliest memory of sneaking into a girl’s bag dates back to 1995. I lived in Shimoga then. I remember the house very well. I was taken there by my mother in an ambassador car from mangalore. I was disappointed the first time I was introduced to the house because this house wasn’t a Duplex, just like the previous couple of houses. Not Duplex. I had a strange fixation with Duplex houses ever since I had watched it being repeated in many Hindi movies. Mr. India, Hum aapke Hain Kaun? and Hum Hain Rahi Pyaar ke. I wanted a room of my own and I wanted it on the first floor.

This did come true, to which I will get to, not anytime soon.

The house in Shimoga was on the ground floor. It opened to an unusually long Veranda and cut right into an even longer hall. There were three bedrooms. Gran slept with us, in the children’s room, while grandpa occupied the bed in what was supposed to be Dad’s office. Mom and dad were in the room on the farthest corner of the hall.

My sister and I were always late to school. And this was shocking for most because our school, Educare Academy was on the next street. We were ALWAYS late and owing to that, I hadn’t the faintest clue what our school anthem was, never having had to sing it. I had a depressing time in this school, I didn’t have any friends. And this makes me sad now. I think it had something to do with my tardiness and the fact that I failed. A lot. But dad’s influence made sure that a lot of teachers were my friends (read: they had my best interests at heart).

This girl Rashmi was the class topper. She was fair of skin, rosy lipped bitch, popular and really cute. Her competitor was this boy called Ashish whom I was madly and deeply in love with. Naturally, Rashmi became my nemesis. She was probably the defining moment of all my forthcoming obsessions with women I wanted to become like.I was fascinated with her. To make it worse, rumors had it that she had blood cancer, which of course turned out to be bull shit. Nevertheless, the news of her impending death made her seem all the more desirable to me.

On Children’s day, the boys and girls were supposed to wear color dress and dance with each other. Rashmi and Ashish danced. Burnt my ass. I danced with some loser who made me cry. He broke all the nice beads on my frock.

This one time, during P.T hour we were made to play a match of running race against the boys. What’s up with this school? Why are they doing this to kids? Setting up boys and girls against each other in small budget remakes of Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak scenarios? Anyway, Rashmi and Ashish were captains. They had become good friends after the dance I guess. I remember running for the damn race and falling on my round and heavy face. My head was always too big for my body. I had skinned my knee caps  I stood resolutely in some corner, not crying but hungrily eyeing the puppy friendship those two shared.

That was my first taste of envy. I took excuse from the teacher and walked back to the classroom alone, defeated. I sat in Rashmi’s spot and wondered how life would be if I were her. I saw the board from Rashmi’s eyes, the rest of the class and most importantly I tried to see myself from where she sits. I wondered if she knew I existed. I saw her bag and was immediately aroused by the thought of taking a look at all of its contents. I wanted to see if I can recreate what existed in her life so as to make myself as awesome as her.

I didn’t find anything of interest except the mickey mouse souvenir from Disney land that she would constantly tempt the class with to keep them quiet, Class monitor, as she also was. I considered stealing it. I even took it to my bench but then I chickened out. I was already in a lot of trouble. I returned her mickey mouse and closed my eyes for a bit on her bench.

I remember going to her house once. It was a Duplex house and I fell harder. I saw that she had a room of her own, on the first floor. I remember having cursed her for living my dream. I don’t remember much of what happened later. I moved to a different city and therefore to different girls and their bags and to boys who liked them.

The second time I tried peeking into a girl’s bag was when I was a little older, in 1998. I was in Belgaum, in St. Joseph’s School. It was an all girls’ convent. I had friends here but I was, as usual a second fiddle to a pair of best friends. That, to my annoyance, seemed to follow me even to my college days. Her name was Gaana. I couldn’t really peep into her bag because that freak always carried it with her. But I did fancy her.

Hell, most girls in my class fancied her. One even went to the extent of imitating the way she sits and got told off for doing it by another girl. I felt bad for this mimic. I cursed her stupidity. It was something that I did too, undercover of course and she had to go and do it openly. Because of that stupid wretch I couldn’t imitate Gaana for 2 weeks.

Many girls have come and gone since then. The one in my life right now is super awesome. But it’s funny how my mind brought back those 2 shapes I thought I had forgotten. And now I am wondering where Ashish went. And now I am beginning to think I never was madly and deeply in love with him.


What should I name this?

There’s this college in Bangalore. Let’s just say the name of the college rhymes with insane. There was a group of about six friends. They were all good initially. And then they all got phones. Or their siblings got phones. And it all went downhill from there. The pigeon sisters were always “good friends”. No nothing sexual about it. Just that Simran was somewhat possessive and jealous about Sanjana. Sanjana knew this but out of a kind heart, always overlooked it and was basically good to everybody.

There was also Suresh, Michael, Vicky and Priyanka.Priyanka didn’t have a mind of her own. She wanted to please everybody and for the most part kept falling under Simran’s clutches. Or somebody else’. Priyanka was previously friends with Jhanvi and Urmila. But she sensed some fucked up vibes between the two so she left. She then found the pigeon sisters who, as she came to realize later, were far worse.

Suresh fell in love with Sanjana and this drove Simran wild because most boys and girls were fond of Sanjana so Simran was always left wondering if she was not as attractive as her bestie. She didn’t have to worry much because Suresh had a very timid and loving girl friend outside of college, whom he was going to break up with, shortly. Moreover, Sanjana was more into Michael and Vicky. Not so much Suresh.

Days went by, Suresh grew restless. He broke up with his girlfriend. He wanted Sanjana desperately. He proposed. She said no. Around this time a boy called Dev had been noticing Simran. He pursued her, she liked him too. Suresh helped them out. They started going out.

Michael was playful, happy and naughty. Priyanka was shy, depressed and quiet. The phones came. They messaged through the night and well into the wee hours of morning. They grew feelings for each other. They fell in love. Suresh helped them accept this and they started going out.

Sanjana felt left out because everybody else in the group had someone. One night she dreamt about Vicky. Vicky was OK with anybody. Suresh helped them. Sanjana and Vicky started going out.Suresh wound up alone and irritated. Michael saw this. Didn’t want to leave Suresh alone. Tailed after him much to everybody else’ chagrin because he left Priyanka alone. Priyanka didn’t mind much because she sympathized with Suresh. Suresh was an older brother sort of figure in her life.

Simran and Dev started to distance themselves from the rest because they started to feel uncomfortable. Suresh was getting a little too aggressive. It became hard for them to cope up with his mood swings. Simran dragged Sanjana and Vicky. This meant that Suresh, Michael and Priyanka wound up with each other. Suresh didn’t want to push his presence midst Michael and Priyanka but kept himself there anyway. It wasn’t jealousy as much as it was an inability to understand why he couldn’t find anybody.

This inability slowly grew into helpless frustration and more often than not, Priyanka was a victim to his sudden outbursts. Priyanka couldn’t understand why he targeted her. She didn’t confide in Michael about this knowing full well that he would simply tell her to forget it. Friendship was too important for Michael than much else. Priyanka knew this. And that’s why no matter how hurt she was she didn’t tell him about this.

She was trying hard to be a “good” girlfriend. All appearances of good come with a heavy price to be paid. And her price was her sanity. She was going crazy. She was confused all the time. Confused between what she wanted and what had to be done. Confused between what she wanted and what others wanted of her. She wanted a normal love life that Michael couldn’t give her. She accepted this and corked up.

Michael noticed this but maintained silence. Jhanvi and Priyanka were drawn close to each other. Jhanvi, above everything else was a wonderful friend. She, like Michael put friendship above everything else. She loved Priyanka and Michael. She confessed to Priyanka about having loved Michael once but denied being in love with him anymore. Priyanka believed her. And didn’t ask more questions.

A little later Dhanush came. Vicky and Suresh saw a lot of their selves in him and welcomed him into the group. Dhanush had contacts. With pimps. Vicky and Suresh decided to do it. They had Dhanush call the pimps. The pimp got two prostitutes. They all went to a place where they could all fuck in peace. Michael went with them.

First Suresh went. Then Vicky went. Then they all forced Michael to fuck. He didn’t because he didn’t want to cheat Priyanka. The others called him names. They called him a no man. They laughed. Then they all forgot about it and went home to sleep.

Sanjana could sense something was up. She confronted Vicky. Vicky got pissed and wound up telling her about the prostitutes. She broke up with him. Next morning the group found out about the break up and tried to patch them up. But they remained broken up. A week went by; Sanjana and Vicky patched up but refrained from announcing it to everybody. They wanted to test Michael. Because somehow the clouds of amnesia and drama rained upon them and they forgot about Vicky’s tryst with the prostitutes and wanted to blame someone for the break up. They saw Michael. Blamed him. Priyanka was as usual, lost.

She couldn’t help herself for nuts, let alone helping anybody else. Dhanush, Suresh and Vicky ganged up against Michael, the sole virgin in the group and blamed him for the break up. Michael was hurt. He distanced himself from them. He got close to Priyanka and Jhanvi.

Rocky liked Jhanvi. Jhanvi liked rocky. He had a girlfriend in another city. Jhanvi went out with him a couple of times, liked him more and they started seeing each other. Sometime after a three weeks, the cloud of realization dawned on Jhanvi. She didn’t want to be the other- woman and called it quits. She didn’t want the added baggage of dating somebody who was already committed. She deemed herself incapable of such monstrosity and looked outside to see if she could blame somebody. She saw Priyanka. Blamed her.

Priyanka was a spineless thing. She accepted the blame, faked the guilt and tried to move on. But one question remained: At what point did she unconsciously hold a gun to Jhanvi’s head and force her to do it with rocky? There was also this other goblin crap that was bothering her. Suresh.

Priyanka was shocked that Suresh fucked. She was even more shocked that he had forced Michael to fuck. She cried and cried and everybody who could pay attention consoled her. Suresh saw this, felt guilty for 2 days then said fuck you and forgot about it.Priyanka cried. People told her to grow up. She said OK and grew up.

The clouds were lifted off Sanjana’s head; she broke up with Vicky. Again. Vicky wound up hurt and alone but within weeks found himself Aanchal. He lied to her about his past. She believed and was glad to have found him. Sanjana and Simran kept themselves away from the rest of the group and the class. Sanjana started going out with somebody else, whose name and face are still a mystery. So this angered Vicky. He wanted to ruin her. He called her cheap names. Spread crazy rumors about her. Priyanka meanwhile had become a feminist, took it upon herself to defend Sanjana and attempted to chastise Vicky.

She spent days, months trying to support Sanjana. Beyond everything what drove her to support Sanjana was the feeling that it could have happened to anyone. Betrayal by a boyfriend, that is. The pigeon sisters later blamed Priyanka for messing things up. They didn’t believe her. Priyanka cried. People told her to grow up. She said OK and grew up.

Meanwhile Vicky wanted to destroy Sanjana. He found some letters that Sanjana had written to him back when they were in love. He wanted to blackmail her. Priyanka made some noise. She told Aanchal. Aanchal told him not to do it. His friends told him not to do it. He budged but made life hell for Sanjana during classes. She complained to the principal. Principal called her parents. They stopped her from coming to college.

Simran wound up alone. She cried in class. Priyanka felt bad. Despite warnings from Michael and Jhanvi, went ahead and consoled her. Simran said thanks but no thanks. Priyanka cried. People told her to grow up. She said OK and grew up.

Things got crazy around graduation.Priyanka called Dhanush a Dog. He heard. Got mad. She apologized. He challenged her, told her to wait and watch which couple in the group would last longest. Suresh watched from a distance. Enjoyed. Michael cried. Suresh felt bad.

Michael and Priyanka decided to distance themselves from the group. Exams neared and as was typical during all exam seasons; Suresh, Vicky and Dhanush called Priyanka for help. But Priyanka had grown up. She said fuck off and put the phone down.

By this time, Suresh had successfully procured himself a serious girlfriend; Two serious girlfriends actually. Kamini and Smita. They both knew about each other. Because Suresh was an honest asshole, he didn’t want to cheat. The girls were waiting for his decision to pick one. He couldn’t make up his mind. Months passed. He decided to pick Smita because they had spent a lot of time together doing it. Moreover, Kamini had a strict father which meant she couldn’t do it with Suresh.

During the exam Dhanush called Priyanka a bitch. Priyanka wept. Went to Michael and complained. Michael was upset.

Priyanka started accommodating fresher problems. She took Jhanvi to Michael’s abode. Jhanvi got over excited and decided to make Priyanka’s personal life her own. Priyanka got pissed. Told Jhanvi to back off. Jhanvi got pissed and didn’t back off.

Meanwhile Sanjana rejoined college because Vicky had graduated. She befriended Priyanka because she wanted question papers and study help and knew that Priyanka would come running to her from all directions to lick her ass no matter what. Michael warned her again, Priyanka said it’s ok.

Vicky came to college, apologized to Sanjana and they became friends again. Soon after this, Sanjana stopped talking to Priyanka. Priyanka wondered why and corked up.

Sanjana started telling everyone that she and Vicky would still be together but Jhanvi broke them up.

Priyanka heard this, said enough is enough fuck you all and decided to get things straight with everybody once for all. So what does she do? She sent Sanjana a fuck all threatening message. They fought like cats for over a month. The clouds came again and rained harder.

Vicky sent threatening messages to Priyanka. Vicky and Priyanka fought like cats. Priyanka told Michael. Michael called Vicky. Vicky ignored him. Priyanka got mad and made noise, people told her to grow up. She said Ok and grew up.

Meanwhile, Jhanvi was making no attempts to fuck herself off from Michael’s home life and this pissed Priyanka. Jhanvi started getting possessive about Michael’s people. Priyanka wondered why and decided to take things in her hands before things got worse.

Somewhere during this madness, Aanchal who had waltzed back to the desert came back because she found out everything about Vicky and how he had been three timing. She called the other creatures. They confronted Vicky. She slapped him. They all slapped him. He cried and went home.

Aanchal contacted Priyanka and told her about this. Priyanka was exhilarated. She told Aanchal about Sanjana. Aanchal spoke to Sanjana. The clouds were finally lifted off. She apologized to Priyanka. Priyanka said Ok. They became friends again.

Michael yelled at Priyanka. Priyanka said OK and avoided Sanjana. At their graduation they all laughed and smiled.

Sometime later in the year, Sanjana got married to someone her parents chose and went off.

Around this time, Jhanvi finally took the hint and fucked off.

Lily and Vincent were lovers. They broke up and got back many times but unlike the other creatures in this story, they had the dignity to not blame 100,000 other people for their break up.

Priyanka liked lily. Michael liked lily. Lily was quite different from anyone else these people had ever met. She challenged their asshole Indian morals. And that’s why Smita and Suresh could not stand lily.

Suresh, Smita, Michael and Priyanka got close once again. By this time, Kamini; as Suresh had had everyone believe was not in his life.

Smita didn’t like Priyanka. Priyanka didn’t like Smita. But they pretended to like each other. Suresh didn’t like Priyanka. Priyanka didn’t like Suresh. And they didn’t pretend to like each other. Michael pretended to like everyone and everyone liked him.

Michael got himself a car. Suresh, Smita and their other cabbage friends thought it was their car and drove Michael, Michael’s family and Priyanka crazy. Suresh taught Michael driving so the car was hijacked off to Suresh’s side for over a week. Suresh, Smita and the other cabbage people weren’t fond of Priyanka and her feminist chants. They wished Michael would find somebody else and ditch her.

Suresh indulged in throwing cruel pot shots at Priyanka whenever they were at Michael’s abode. Priyanka would make noise, go back home and cry. Michael said don’t worry and Priyanka said OK.

On New Year’s Day, something happened; Priyanka couldn’t take it anymore and slapped Suresh. Suresh got angry and left. Priyanka called and apologized. Suresh said fuck off. Priyanka forgot about it.

Suresh, Smita and other cabbage people kept making plans later and tried calling Michael. Michael didn’t go. They assumed that Priyanka wasn’t letting him go. And their assumption was right. Priyanka said fuck off to the good girlfriend ideals and decided to draw boundaries.

Suresh got mad and made an FB status update about this. Priyanka got mad and retaliated even worse. Suresh got mad and called her an ugly bitch. By this time Priyanka had grown up just a little bit so she pretended not to cry. But Michael was mad so he called Suresh. They resolved the issue on phone.

Priyanka and Michael finally broke it off with Suresh and Smita. But not fully. They saw each other here and there. Like for instance, at Michael’s house warming party. And a little later, at the Insane College get together. Priyanka was dying from the inside but she tried to play it cool. Michael’s nonchalance drove her nuts. They argued. They agreed and forgot about it.

Months later, Suresh eloped and got married. To Kamini. Smita didn’t know about it. When they came back, Smita confronted them and slapped him.

After a couple of months, Smita got married to someone her parents found and went abroad.

Vicky got married to someone his parents found and didn’t go abroad.

Months later, Simran and Priyanka became friends on Facebook. They enquired about each other’s lives. Simran told Priyanka that she and Dev may get hitched soon. Priyanka congratulated them and expressed a desire to keep in touch. She hadn’t licked ass in a long time.

Weeks later, Dev married someone his parents found.

Simran told Priyanka that they couldn’t convince their parents so they broke up.

One day later, Simran blocked Priyanka on FB. Two days later, Sanjana blocked Priyanka on FB.

Priyanka laughed. This time she had seriously grown up.