Embracing Klutzdom

Hear ye, hear ye! Everyone make way! Make way for me, the Self-Proclaimed Queen of Klutzdom! Honestly, do. I just might end up missing my own shoelaces and trip over yours. Worse, I may just drag you along. I won’t get hurt much; my skull just might be made of adamantium, the number of times it’s been struck. I’d be more worried for you.

‘Self-proclaimed’ may not be the best word to use in the case. I’ve been a klutz for as long as I can remember and have been called so, though in various different forms of the word. If I was ever graceful, I’m sorry I missed it. Once upon a time, it used to bother me, with the number of times I had my head in the clouds and walked into walls or somehow managed to stumble over nothing on a flat floor and skid on my heel down a hallway. True story, I do not lie. But nowadays, I’ve given up on ever trying to be a swan and have embraced klutzdom in all of its klutzy glory.

Looney Tunes taught me something: ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’ In this case, I might as well live with it and have fun while it’s around. Sometimes, when I’m in a good mood, I sing Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra and dance in the hallways. That way, if I stumble, I can cover it up.

To anyone who is reading this, don’t tell me that you don’t have similar moments. You’d be lying through your teeth. Or rather, through your brain. That saying never really made sense to me. Every person wants to look as cool as ice at all times and a lot of people manage to, at least to the public eye. But somehow, just when you need that grace the most, it seemingly fails you, like that awkward moment when you’re trying to talk to the guy you’ve been crushing on for ages or when you’re trying to give a big presentation that’ll cover half your semester scores. Note to readers: these two were purely hypothetical, not true. Somehow, something happens and even if it doesn’t, you worry to bits that something will and end up sweating through your collar throughout the entire ordeal about it.

But really, in all honesty, what does it mean to be graceful? It’s a many-layered term; Shrek would probably call it an onion. It doesn’t only deal with managing to place both feet firmly on the ground while walking, or managing to cover a certain distance without bumping into anything, or heaven forbid, not tripping over nothing. I still have no idea how that happened. It’s something that means so much more than just being stable on your feet and being a picture of constant elegance.

I read this article in a friend’s blog once. Actually, it wasn’t an article, it was a story. A good story. It won a prize. Good stuff, mate.

Anyway, what it says it that grace is so much more than just good footwork and a man being manly or a woman being feminine. It springs from something that rests deeper than the shoes on your feet, something that exists at your very core. People say ‘you are what you eat’, or ‘you are what you wear’, but in reality, a person is not defined by their appearance or their gait. They’re defined by their actions. It’s like how you judge a book not by its cover, but by its contents. And those actions are what defines a person as ‘graceful’ or not.

Sometimes, the simplest words are the most profound, and the word ‘grace’ is one of them. It is defined not by what people see at their first glance, but from what people see when they look past what you show everyone else and stare straight into your soul. Such grace can only be perceived by those who truly try to know the person in question, to know the real person who exists behind the general pretentions made as a natural defense to the world. To those people who know your grace, you are fortunate to know them. To those who can’t see it or choose not to, they probably just don’t deserve to know you so well.

As for being graceful on your feet, there are those who are fortunate to have natural iron grips at their soles and then there are those who somehow manage to muck it up without even trying to. But at the end of it, if it’s an incurable feature, accept it as a part of who you are and embrace the idea of klutzdom, because honestly, what could you do about it anyways?

Getting Ready to Nano!

Today is the 19th of October and there are exactly 12 days left until November 1st!

Yes, I know you can do the math, probably much faster than I can, but the reason why this means that much to me is because *hem hem, cue drumroll* I am joining Nanowrimo for the first time this year.

Hee.

So yes, I'm excited. I've actually wanted to try for Nano for the past two years, but we all know about work schedules and how college submissions can pour cold water on pretty much anything. So now, in the middle of a day job, working with my editor and other miscellaneous duties that keep a person alive, I am finally going to take on the Nano challenge.

Yes, I've been doing prep work, which is why I haven't posted in a while. Besides the short stories that I put up here, I generally write fantasy, but this time, I'm planning to try my hand at sci-fi/supernatural. Yeah, I know, the two genres are practically siblings, but still, I'm actually using technical terms instead of using the word 'magic', so I guess that makes a difference, right?

Imagine Dragons's 'Radioactive' and Cecil Baldwin's voice are currently my two choices of mood music. At least, I get certain scenes in my head when I listen to them. I've got a fairly sound idea down and I'm just waiting for D-Day.

Anyhoo, back to musical inspiration. In the words of Warren Zevon, 'play it all night long'. (And that song is awesome, I don't care what people say.)

Consequence

The dark before the dawn was always the strangest dark of all. The sky was not black, but rather a deep indigo, paling into shades of lighter blues and touched with distant purples with telltale dots of white and yellow that twinkled like foreign lanterns. At least, it may have looked that way if not for the film of dark grey that hung over it like a veil hiding a bride. And from that sky, the snow fell, forming a soft blanket over the bare ground, covering the dead brown and ashen yellows with soft white. The only light that shone in the whole street was the lone streetlamp. It spilled a fount of yellow over the ground, illuminating the fresh frost with gold.

Gold and diamonds. Come morning and come people, it’ll all be a pile of grey mush.

“And a real pity that, ain’t it?”

Sam looked at the skinny boy who stood next to him with an arm slung around his neck. He wore an old Rolling Stones t shirt with a faded varsity jacket over torn jeans. His sneakers crunched in the snow as he swayed lightly to a rhythm in his head. Tipping his head back, he gulped down a few mouthfuls of vodka from the bottle in his other hand.

“But that’s just the whole damn world, ain’t it, Sammy boy?” he drawled. “All pretty and shiny for a itty bitty little while until cold hard reality comes around, kicks you in the arse and turns it all into…what did you call it?” A leer stretched across his face, revealing yellowed teeth. “Grey mush.”

Sam growled low in his throat, pushing the boy’s arm off and pacing away from him, brushing snow out of his hair as it dampened his scalp.

The boy put his hands up in a placatory gesture, taking dawdling steps forward. “Easy there, big boy. What’s the matter, love? I thought you’d be happy.”

Sam barked out a humourless laugh, his eyes rising to the dull, dark sky as if praying for a miracle.

“What’re you looking up there for? You think you’re gonna find something in the sky and the snow before it becomes mush? Don’t think I don’t know what’s running around in that noggin of yours.”

Sam worked his jaw up and down, looking everywhere but at the boy next to him. He stiffened, knotting his hands into fists as the skinny boy sidled up next to him and threw his arm back around his neck.

“You know, you should treat me better,” he said in a serious tone, pouting his lower lip as he ducked his head to look into Sam’s face. “After all, I’m the one who’s always been with you. I stayed with you when everyone left. I’m always here to talk whenever you need to be a giant girl and gush about your feelings. I was true to you, never ever cheated on you.”

He moved closer to Sam and tightened his arm around his neck, ignoring the way Sam’s heart quickened as he moved around to stand behind him and dropped his chin onto his shoulder. He pressed his nose into Sam’s hair, inhaling the scent of him as the other boy shuddered.

“Oh, Sammy. Sammy Sammy Sammy.” He shook his head morosely. “Why won’t you ever see?” He took another swig of his vodka and raised the half-empty bottle up to point at the sky. “You remember mummy? You dear pretty mummy? She always said that she’d watch over you, she and all the angels. She said that every little star in the sky was an angel and one day, she’d become one of them and even from there, she’d protect you.” Sam let out a dry sob. The boy peered around, the corners of his mouth dragging down as he batted his eyes sadly. “She lied, Sammy. She didn’t protect you and neither did her poofy-winged little buddies. She lied, just like everybody else.”

“Shut up, M,” Sam muttered.

M’s eyes widened like green lanterns in his pinched, unshaven face. He dropped his bottle, circled around to stand in front of Sam and gripped him by the shoulders as a wide grin spread across his face.

“Say that again,” he breathed. Sam tightened his jaw, pressing his lips together and looked away as if the very sight of M’s face pained him. It didn’t seem to deter the other boy. “You said my name,” he sighed happily. “You told me to shut up.” He gave a little laugh, shaking Sam playfully. “You actually told me to shut up!”

“Stop it,” Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” M let go of him, picked up his bottle and took two more gulps. He tilted his head pointedly, shaking one finger at him. “That’s not very fair to me. I was the one who was always looking out for you, even when mummy died and daddy left and big brother and big sister tried to put you away.”

“They were trying to help me,” said Sam in a small voice.

M shook his head sympathetically, stepping forward and holding the taller boy by the shoulder. “Is that what you tell yourself?” he asked, raising his brows at the indecision and anguish on Sam’s face. “Oh, Sam. That’s what people say to make themselves feel better. They wanted to lock you away.”

“I could have hurt someone.”

“You?” M laughed aloud. “You couldn’t steal candy from a baby if you tried.”

“I was sick.”

“They wanted to put you down like a dog.”

“They didn’t! They’re my family!”

“If you trusted them so much, then why did you ask for me?”

Hate burned in the dark pits of Sam’s eyes. “I didn’t ask for you,” he growled.

“You prayed and prayed to your mummy and your angels and none of them came. You may not have asked for me, love, but I came. And you took me.” He pointed a finger at him. “You wanted me.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You needed me.”

“Shut up!”

“You loved me.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I stayed with you and took care of you. You did love me, Sammy. I could see it in your baby blues that you did.” Sam made a choked noise of disgust. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re my favorite too. It was always us: you and me against the world.”

“Just leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that, Sammy. You wanted that deal.”

“Then, I want out!”

Sam stood panting in his place. The cold and the wetness was beginning to seep through his canvas shoes and socks, but he could barely feel it. M shook his head pityingly, stepping closer to Sam until they were toe to toe.

“Nobody breaks deals with me, Sammy boy,” he chided. “You knew that when you took it.”

Sam trembled, tears welling in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please…”

“Come on,” he grinned. His yellow teeth were all strangely pointed, stark against the red that smeared around his mouth. “It ain’t all that bad. How does that song go?” He bobbed his head, humming a tune. “Baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, we’ll be able to fly, don’t fear the reaper…baby, I’m your maaaaaaan.” He smirked, the expression twisting across his face. “Blue Oyster Cult. Good stuff, love. Big brother had good taste in tunes for what it was worth.” Sam glanced at the blood on M’s face, biting his lips to stifle his sobs.

“I gave you everything, Sammy,” said M seriously, spreading his arms out. “I took care of you and dealt with everyone who wanted to hurt you. It’s just about time you give me something back.” Sam clutched at M’s forearms, bawling. “Don’t you worry, love,” he assured, caressing Sam’s face, running his thumbs over his cheekbones and leaving streaks of red. “It’s a bit hot down there, but you’ll get used to it. We’ll have good fun, you and me, you’ll see. Sam and M, M and Sam, just as it’s always been and should be. After all,” he whispered, pressing a red kiss to the boy’s forehead, “It’s only forever.”

As the sun rose and shadows stretched across the white, the gold of the streetlight faded away and the sunlight refracted through the fragments of ice, casting miniscule rainbows and splashes of blue and lilac. All that remained of Sam and M were a set of footprints that disappeared at the edge of the sidewalk.

My Dog Ate My Tardiness Note

I don't have a dog. Technically, I don't have any pets, unless strays count. In that case, I have had nine generations of pet cats. And one in the present generation is pregnant. So ha.

Anyway, things have been rampant on the editing angle. My editor, Derek Prior, is fantastic, but has as much mercy as an axeman on steroids. Meaning, he's exactly what I needed, though that thought of all the subsequent work that is due on my end once he's finished has my innards a-freaking. Ah well. That's a bridge to cross when we come to it.

Otherwise, I've been working on the maps for the book and have so far, finished a full city plan. To all of you artists who do this professionally, I salute you. Seriously, I have been studying the weirdest things in geography links on Google, just to make sure I get it right. And knowing me, I'll beat myself up a thousand times and keep redoing it until I'm satisfied that it's somewhere in the realm of okay.

I might be a wee bit of a masochist there. Or a perfectionist. I sometimes think I'm too lazy to be a perfectionist.

I digress.

Anyway, I'm giving you all a break from my travelogue, which I have been boring you with and am going to give you one of my short stories, one I've thought about a number of times on whether to show it out or not. I've mostly written light shorts till date, and even with ones on heavier topics, I dealt with them in a more casual manner. This one's a bit different.

And before you read it, just FYI: I'm really not a creepy person. I like peppermint and pinwheels.

Case Study Trip: Day 3

Dec 15, 2012
6.54 PM, Room 2012, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Lazy

What? I'm entitled to be a bit lazy. I take pride in being lazy. Also, the net connection here is so painfully slow, too slow to do any studies. Not to mention, I am completely saturated.

So there.

I want a purple velvet top hat with a green satin ribbon and a 10/6 card.

Wish list.

Moving on...

I went to sleep early last night, or rather, I meant to. Got a surprise call from a friend who didn't know that I was in Kolkata and then cursed me when I said that I was. Ended up yakking for about half and hour, after which my sleepy haze went 'pop' and I was struggling in vain to find the Sandman.

Ah well.

I went back to the Science City today after breakfast. The security guard at the entry gave me a rueful smile and a suffering shake of the head, asking if I was going to freebie-browse for a second day in a row. I managed to get through anyway.

I lingered a bit by the dog show in the small exhibition ground. So many dogs! So many breeds of beautiful dogs! They ranged from squashy pugs to devastatingly adorable beagles (I miss Wishbone, that was a good show), to boarhounds and white labs and pinschers and great danes and pitbulls and a tiny little daschund with a tiny little grandpa! And there was a husky! A white husky!

*dies from internal squee*

*resurrects self*

Jealously protective owners. Bah.

I got into a bit of trouble at the main electrical distribution station for clicking photos. Even the dog inside was giving me the evil eye. And I was arguing and explaining back and forth with a security guard that I wasn't some hooligan: me with my brilliant Hindi and him with his 'Bangla only' policy.

I got the pictures anyway, mate.

I snuck around the basement of the convention center's auditorium, clicking wherever I could and nearly fell into the adjoining dinosaur exhibit. Yes, twinkle-toes me.

It was a bit like playing the Doctor, really. Walk through 'No Entry' doors and rolling shutters that say 'Stay Out' like the whole place is your oyster and if anyone asks or argues, flash a piece of paper that says what you want them to see.

I was missing the pinstripes and the big coat and was having a bad hair day, but I did have the Converse trainers and the brainy specs.

Close enough, I guess.

I wore checks, does that count.

Didn't think so.

Scouting around the auditorium was good fun. I just kind of strolled in past the guard, climbed on stage and belted out the first couple of verses of 'Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien'.

Hee. :D

Somewhere up there, Edith Piaf was giving me the stinkeye.

I went up the stairs to find where the lights were operated from. It was pitch dark up there and the proper concrete stairs only went up for two levels, after which, it was a rickety steel stair. So there I was, notebook and papers tucked under my arm, camera in right hand and phone in left hand for flashlight. Even strolled on the steel catwalk for the front stage lights and crawled around the grid iron behind it.

Fun.

I felt rather dangerous.

Muhahaha.

Rubbish security guard, really. He didn't even notice when I popped him a salute, said thank you and sauntered out.

I finished all my scouting, got a few last bit clarifications from Mr. Chowdhury regarding sewage treatment plants and the like, said thank you and scarpered.

I had called Mr. Lai like he had asked and he told me to be in his office at 1.00 PM. It was 12 flippin' 45 and I kinda had to run, punctuality freak that I am. So I grabbed the first taxi I could find and got myself to Park Street.

Now, I believe that there is a bit of a need for specificity when giving someone directions, right?

Yes, I'm a hypocrite. No, I don't currently care. Deal with it.

So, when you say Park Street, Canac Junction, Mother Theresa statue, Titan shoreroom, building next to it, fourth floor, it's rather specific, right?

Park Street? Check.

Canac Junction? Gotcha.

Mother Theresa? She ain't that tall, but I see her.

Should be fine, eh?

I was wandering around the area back and forth for twenty minutes like a headless chicken, babbling queries about location to anyone who would listen.

Soo the Headless Chicken.

That's a new one.

And then, this really nice and brilliant security guard pointed my sorry bum to a Titan Eye shoreroom across the road, tucked away in a corner and told me to check the building next to it.

Titan Eye.

Not Titan.

Specificity, mate.

You wear one on your wrist, you wear the other on your face.

And when I finally found the place, he wasn't there yet.

And I was hungry.

Bah.

I met him eventually. Spoke English, bless him. He gave me a bit of a talk and some basic advice on how to go about the project and about how I ought to reduce the scale a bit.

Another person who has stated the deep rut I have dug myself into.

Huzzah.

Rah rah sis boom bah.

I got the drawings and photocopied them in a little ship on the ground floor. The guy there asked if I was from Vishakapatnam because of the terrible Hindi accent. Made friends with the elevator guy.

I had a full meal at a place called 'Magnolia'. I suppose I should have known better than to eat in a place on Park Street. Bleeding expensive. I did like the guy who took the order: a wee little half-bent grandpa in a tweed jacket who recommended the mushroom soup, which was lovely when doused in pepper.

By the time I finished, it was three. Too late to go anywhere and hope to get back to the hotel before dark. Like I said before, it gets dark early here and I don't want to be out on my own when I have a very obvious 'lost' face. So I took a ride back, which extended, thanks to Monsieur Cabbie getting lost.

Already did a web check in for tomorrow's flight. I'll sit and consolidate the lot tomorrow and check out at noon.

I might see the rest of the gang at Ahmedabad. Can't wait. :) Traveling alone is plenty fun, a different sort of adventure altogether, but it is occasionally lonely.

That's about it.

I'll write later.

Case Study Trip: Day 2

Dec 14, 2012
8.18 AM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Stuffed and scraggly

Stuffed and Scraggly Soo. My games with alliteration will never cease to amuse me.

I just had a thorough tuck-in at breakfast. I skipped dinner yesterday and lunch will most probably run late. Two full meals a day is quite enough while traveling anyhoo.

I slept off early last night. It gets really drafty after dark. Finished my accounts and washed my icky mop, thus explaining the adjective 'scraggly'. I currently bear an odd resemblance to an oversized wet dog. Sat and sorted through case study reference notes, flipped through whatever I have to ask anyone and everyone there. I'm meeting Mr. Chowdhury at 11.00 and he'll delegate me to someone else to take me around. I just pray to all ye Gods up there that Whatshisname speaks a bit of English. My Hindi is broken and with my fantastic accent, it's only getting worse.

Scraggly Soo out.

***

Dec 14, 2012
8.28 PM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Tired and tingly feet

More alliteration. Hee. :D

Yes, yes, Uncrowned Queen of Cheap Thrills.

Moving on...

The loo is weird. The toilet talks like the one at home. It croak-groans. Croans. It sounds like Lurch on meth.

Weird...

I did a lot of walking today, explaining the feet. Mr. Chowdhury and his seneschal (sub-director to those who aren't fantasy geeks), Mr. Sathyanarayana, signed the copy of the bonafide from college and I got myself a signed letter in Bangla from the security head. I dunno what it said; it could very well have been an ode to the Tooth Fairy for all I knew, but it seemed to work whenever I used it. No guided tour or anything, I just had free reign to go wherever the hell I wanted. As for info, I had to ask around to whoever was there.

Basically, I was playing critique slash Scooby Doo, sometimes sneaking around the service areas and walking right through the 'No Entry' doors like I bloody well owned the place. The expressions of those watching me were amusing.

As for the info, I spent half the day stumbling over my cracked-and-badly-splintered-at-the-seams Hindi with every security guard I could find. Every bloke in blue. Seriously, they were everywhere.

"Nahin, main Bangla nahin jaanthi hoon," became a refrain.

Give a Southern girl a break, mates. She's trying here.

Anyhoo, I couldn't finish everything today. I have to do up the convention center area and the service yard tomorrow, hopefully by 11.00 AM. I have to call Mr. Lai at 11, a person whom Mr. Chowdhury put me in touch with to get me drawings of the whole Science City. Have to see him tomorrow as well. He gave me directions to the office: 'Park Street, fourth floor by Mother Theresa'.

Brill.

I was worn out to hell and back by the time I got back to the hotel. Made some calls, sent a mail, donned the hoodie and went for dinner.

Where?

The same place I had breakfast at.

Looks like Tacky Spangles Bar next door is exactly what it is: a bar. No wonder the blokes there stared when I told them that all I wanted was lunch.

Meh.

God, I'm sleepy.

It's not even 9.00.

Yeesh, it's cold.

But it's not that cold.

...

Another bit of proof that my brain has a mild case of schizophrenia.

Bah humbug.

I'm gonna snooze.

Nighty night.

Case Study Trip: Day 1

Dec 13, 2012
8.32 AM, on board IndiGo (Chennai-Kolkata)
Mood: Quietly floaty

Keeping travel journals is an old habit, but so far, there's not oh so much to say. First time traveling by myself, but I think that the fact will sink in better once I reach.

So yeah...

Barely slept last night. The mosquitoes were having Mardi Gras. Bloody vampire insects...

Left home at 6.30ish AM. For some reason, bro had already gotten ready for school. Jumpy about chem exam, I guess. I don't blame the boy a whit.

Tu whit to whoo...

Bit tired. Slept badly and have a wee headache.

I waltzed through security and check-in. Knowing my talent for dancing, I had a few Matt Smith moments with my twiddle-toes, but I got through decently. If there were scares of looking the idiot, I think I covered it up well enough. Like I said, Matt Smith moments.

The stewardesses are taking the trolley down selling munchies, but I already had breakfast in the airport. Tasted terrible, but coffee is coffee.

Anyhoo, I read a few chapters of Chris Abel. I'm still valiantly trying to discover its relevance. I have to write up a proper checklist and spreadsheet the progress. Gods, I was just too bloody tired yesterday.

Me gonna catch a few snoozes. Maybe with the Smiths. Ta!

***

Dec 13, 2012
5.30 PM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Really tired and really annoyed.

Twice in one day. TWICE IN ONE DAY. Oh wait, it was two plus a bungle. Seriously. This is just bloody insulting.

Bah.

I mean, it happens once and you're like, "Okay, fine, I'll deal, won't happen again", and then, you find out that it happened TWICE.

Karma karma karma!

Yeesh...

Anyway, I'm back in the room. No appetite; I'll probably skip dinner and get some sleep tonight. I'll get a proper tuck in at breakfast tomorrow. Speaking of which, I still have to call up reception and ask if it's a part of the package.

My feet hurt. I've been walking around all day. Chuck Taylors or no, they still hurt.

The case study is sort of taken care of, permission wise. I spoke to Pronob Guha, who connected me to Kallol Dutta who connected me to Arijit Dutte Chowdhury, whom I'm meeting tomorrow at eleven.

The hotel is decent, just in a wee bit seedy locality. After reaching here, freshening up and the whatnot, I had lunch at their adjoining restaurant next door. Restaurant plus bar. The fellows working there were all trussed up fancy in an 'I'm in a cool club'ish manner. White leather seats, white furniture and REALLY tacky purple spangly wallpaper.

Name?

'Cheeni Kum'.

Talk about an anticlimax. It was just so disjointed.

Disjointed and empty. It's rather uncomfortable to eat when you're by yourself in a wee restaurant with tacky purple walls and three males with nothing better to do than watch you eat.

Awkward.

Left as fast as possible.

The whole of today was kind of for my roaming, so I took a cab to Indian Museum. Saw a number of places en route: New Howrah Bridge, Eden Gardens, Victoria Memorial plus its Maidan, Netaji Circle, etc etc etc. The cabbie pointed the places out and I was watching avidly and asking questions.

Arse.

I should have shut up.

I was unsure when he named the charge and found out later just how badly the bum had frisked me. Two flippin' hundred, folks, two flippin' hundred.

Cue applause.

Stupid Soo.

Spent around three hours in Indian Museum. It's the oldest museum in India; the fact was evident. The way they exhibited would have put an insomniac to sleep.

Honestly, you have a gorgeous two-and-a-half foot high fossil of an ammonite on display and all you tack on it is its Latin name, what do you expect?

"Ooh, pretty swirly!"

Yeah.

Their Archeology exhibit was lovely and their Anthropology section wasn't bad either. The Vertebrae/Invertebrae areas were similar to the displays in the Naturalhistorische Museum in Viena, albeit not as nicely lit. This is a really old building. And as much as I know how useful it is to have the actual thing on display to have a better idea, taxidermal models have always freaked me out a bit.

Ick.

When I was at the Vertebrae exhibit looking at a real skeleton of an Irish stag, a fellow (curator or keeper or whatever) came up and started yelling at me in Bangla. When I made some reason out of it, I realized that he was pointing at my bag.

Looks like they weren't allowed.

Well, my bad. What was I gonna do, smash a glass and frisk a fossil of a Silurian mollusc?

Speaking of which, I had an internal laugh at the word 'Silurian'. Moffat took creative liberties with the word. Madame Vastra is a reptile from the dawn of time; the real guys were little squids in cone-y shells and twiggy eyes.

Anyway...

Yeah, I raised an eyebrow at the guy when he told me to "Get". He must have gotten a bit scared when I asked, "Out?" because he started apologizing and told me to deposit it at the counter downstairs.

That's all I needed to know, pal.

...

Someone's been buzzing my doorbell. Get lost, I'm not answering. I even put out a 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

Seriously...

I got followed around three different exhibit sections by a group of boys before I managed to lose them. Buggers....

Oh and interestingly enough, I bumped into two other architecture students who were there for case study: one from NID and another from Trichy. Well, hello hello. I was a walking neon sign with my Measi hoodie. I said hi and good luck to one and I pointed the other in the direction of the Anthropology section.

Was there till 3.30 PM and then, walked around New Market. It was a veritable zoo, but after braving Kolaba, this place was tame. I got a couple of colored shoelaces for the Vincent shoes.

Then, I took the Kolkata Metro from Esplanade to Kalighat.

Yeah, this is where my bungle occurred.

See, I should have remembered that I'm supposed to keep the little token with me after passing the gate and use it again after arriving and then, dump it in the wee slot.

What did I do?

Slipped it in the slot at Esplanade.

I thus had no token to get out at Kalighat.

Bah.

I suck.

There was a checker fellow who got me out of paying two fifty bucks as a fine, which would have been disastrous as I was running low on cash and needed money to get back to Kasba. He flashed his card on the sensor, blocked me from the view of three guys attired in uniform and holding rifles and told me to run. He took a hundred bucks as his payment.

Knowing my luck and knowledge and brilliant sense, he probably frisked me too.

Yeesh.

Gods, it's dark. It was dark even at 5 PM here.

Anyhoo...

I asked someone for directions to the Kali Mandir and took a hike there. When I reached there, I found myself  being swept along by the fellow who gave me directions (let's call him Teeth; he smiled too much). Teeth told me where to leave my shoes, thrust a basket of offerings into my hands and pulled me along into the temple. I managed to stop him midway and tell him that I don't have money for whatever program he had in mind. He just smiled again (honestly, people who smile that much are creepy) and took me in a different route and told me some sloka to chant. I was too bewildered too argue. Two fellow pulled me up close to the Kali and asked for five hundred bucks for a special prayer.

I was getting pissed off.

Not only was it insanely crowded, but these guys were ticking me off and I didn't WANT a special prayer; all I wanted to do was see Kali Maiyya, havign come so far.

What did I do?

I pretended to cry.

And yes, it worked.

Muhaha.

At least I got to see Her.

I gave twenty bucks to Kali, forty to Teeth for his troubles and then vamoosed the hell out of there.

Hoo.

I got half a coconut out of it.

I took a cab back to the hotel after a long hike during which I nearly got run over by a pint-sized bus and a tram (yes, they still use the old tram lines around here). Nice cabbie. Fair fellow from Bihar. He broke the news to me of my 'twice-frisked'-hood.

Bah.

Long day.

I'll just check my mails, call reception about breakfast and then relax. Maybe watch some TV. I'll make and finalize my case study checklists tomorrow when I'm functioning on recharged batteries. For now, I'm goo with glasses.

Goo with Glasses signing out...

Updates

Dear all,

Or everyone. Or people. Or humans. Or maybe not humans. I don't quite know who all read this little blog and I'm not entirely certain that the population of the Earth is 100% comprised of humans, so, this is me addressing all biotic and abiotic organisms and lovely creatures, human, non-human and in-between.

I'm sorry.

*ducks for cover to avoid any missiles being chucked at my head*

Yes, I realize that I haven't posted here since what now feels like the dawn of time, but in defense, I have the poor, paltry little excuse of having been otherwise occupied.

Yeah, you're right. That's a pathetic excuse.

But yes, there have been other things going on. I've recently graduated from college.

Yeah. So that's a great big half-a-decade-long chapter of my life closed. And what an adventure it had been. It's been two months since then and most of my friends have either gone for further studies or are traveling or have started working.

While they have been out living their lives, I have been living on word processors. I have been writing and writing like tomorrow may never come and how! Side effects of such practices include me becoming a quasi-hermit. I have been a hobbit in my little hobbit hole, a wee little hermit in my wee little cave.

In other news, I am going to be in conversation with an editor for my larger writing work. I completed my manuscript for the first book in my fantasy series. It's a pretty big manuscript and if all goes well, it'll end up a pretty big book. For all you people who like to read epic fantasy, please do stay tuned because until the book is released, I will occasionally be releasing little updates and concept art.

Right now, I'm working on another little writing project along with the sequel to above mentioned manuscript while getting to work on preliminary edits. Along with that, I'm trying my hand out at cartography to attempt to draw up some maps for said book. And every time I didn't pay attention in geography class or prayed to get lucky on a map marking test is all coming round to bite me in the bum now. *sigh* With that, I'm hunting for a day job.

Oh, and 'The Hatter's Wife' has been taken off because it was entered in a magazine called Helter Skelter where it will be published in the September Issue. I'll put a note out for all you wonderful folks once it's up.

Therefore, in the meantime, since I don't really have any new stories for you, I decided to try a different tack. As I promised, I will give you all some tidbits of news on my upcoming book as progress moves along. Along with that, I'll put up something new.

You see, I've done a lot of globe-trotting and ever since I was a wee lil lass, I've had the habit of writing travel journals. You know, just a recording of things happening  with a touch of my own personal flair. So, I figured, why not share my little experiences? I'll start off with a week long trip I took a few months ago. Technically, it was a work trip for my college thesis and I was traveling for case studies, but this was the first trip I ever took on my own, so it made recording it more interesting. Anyhoo, here it is.

Alrighty then. Back to work it is.

And again, sorry. *hides under table*

frog's legs,
Lil' Ol' Me

Shared Space

The maple avenue in the northern part of the park had been his personal haunt for years, being the only place in the city where he could get any work done. His dorm room was always haunted by his roommate’s girlfriends. His friend, Rick, was in the Chemistry department; the last time he had tried to work in his room, an accident had resulted in a gaping hole through his copy of Tennyson’s poems. Drake Johnson always managed to hunt him down in the library and the cafeteria was an invitation for disaster. Here, he had always managed to find a measure of peace, enough to sit and concentrate on his literature, until this girl had invaded it a fortnight ago.

Her presence had irritated him at first. Not only did she occupy his spot, she also brought her dalmatian along with her. It always eyed him so thoroughly, growling lowly in its throat, as if sizing him up to see who would win in a fight if he tried to chase it and its owner away. Once, when he had made an aggravated face at it, it had barked loudly at him, making him scramble backwards and grab for his books. The girl had reined it in, apologizing profusely, and had offered to leave if she was bothering him. To his surprise, he had let her stay.

They had settled into a seeming routine for the next week or so. He would be annotating his paper on ‘Tristan and Isolde’ and she would be tapping her feet to whatever song was playing on her iPod. He was always there before her, drinking a cup of the strongest espresso he could get. She would join him a few minutes later, give him a polite smile of acknowledgement and sit on the opposite bench, swaying silently to her music.

He didn’t have the best track record with girls; every crush he had ever had had ended up dating his friends or the bullies who enjoyed beating him up in gym class. On his own part, he would get so shy around a pretty girl and his mouth would run a mile a minute in defense, and he would end up spouting streams of trivia until she made an excuse to leave.

His roommate hadn’t taken long to deduce that there was a girl in his life. How he figured it out, he would never find out. He figured that it was something about serial daters in general: they could always find out when evasive answers translated into a female. 

“Who is she?”

 

“I told you, Dave, there isn’t anyone.”

“I’ve known you for two years and I’ve known nerdkind for longer. You’ve got it bad, man! Is she pretty?”

 

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Aha!” He had pointed a triumphant finger at him. “I knew it! Come on, what’s her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been mooning after the girl for two weeks and you don’t know her name?”

“I haven’t been mooning!”

Dave had caught the book he had thrown at him. “You leave at the same time every day and come back looking like a plastered arse. You’re practically stalking her!”

“I am not stalking!” he had snapped. “And how do you manage to unstick yourself from Lisa long enough to see me leave?”

“Lisa…is that her name? Oi, keep your books to yourself!”

“Moron.”

“You’re worse.” Dave’s face became serious as he grabbed him by the shoulder and fixed him with a stare. “Look here, if you don’t man up and go talk to the girl, someone’s going to take her before you even get the sense to try.”

He knew that he was in a bad state when Dave’s words made sense. He had moved more hesitantly that day when he left his dorm room with his laptop bag and a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets under his arm. He had been so deep in thought that he had tripped and spilled half his usual espresso into a potted plant outside the coffee shop, narrowly missing a woman and her baby. 

I’m a goner, he had thought hopelessly as he sputtered apologies to the outraged woman and fled. He had taken a breath and stopped in front of a shop window. Turning to face his reflection, he had straightened up to his full lanky height, fixed his tan corduroy jacket over his sweater vest and tie. Checking his reflection in a shop window, he had puffed his chest out and smoothed back his wavy hair. Plastering on a confident grin, he had practically strutted all the way to the local park. When he had reached his usual bench, she was already there. She had glanced at him and smiled. 

His own smile faltered as he felt a sensation in his chest like a deflating balloon. She looked even prettier than usual with her brown hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, held off her face with a tartan headband to match her scarf. He threw her a shaky smile in reply and pretty much scurried to his own bench.

I can’t do this, he thought miserably. Her headphones were in her ears again and her fingers swayed like a conductor’s baton on her lap. Her dark Rayban sunglasses prevented him from knowing whether she was watching him or if her eyes were closed. He wondered what kind of song she was listening to. Maybe she was listening to old fashioned Billie Holiday or Gershwin, or perhaps, boy band love ballads from the 90’s. Perhaps, she was one of those quiet girls who loved AC/DC and Metallica or a closet rap or heavy metal maniac. Maybe she was listening to a Mozart harpsichord piece or a Schubert violin composition. He silently hoped that she wasn’t into goth music or Justin Beiber. 

“What are you listening to?” he found himself asking. Immediately, he clapped a hand over his mouth, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip out. 

She raised her brows quizzically and took off her headphones. “Excuse me?” Her voice was pleasantly musical. 

“I was wondering,” he stammered, “what are you listening to?”

“Oh,” she smiled and extended her headphones. “Do you want to hear?”

He blinked. “That’s all right?”

“Sure. Here.” He closed his laptop and moved over to sit next to her, keeping an agreeable space between them. Her dog gave him a suspicious look, but she patted it on the head and it dropped down again, though keeping an eye on him. He took her headphones from her and pulled them over his ears.

He smiled lightly to himself as the gentle, yet powerful strains of a symphony concerto wafted through his ears. As the orchestra played, a piano thrummed strongly in a haunting tune. He took off the headphones and handed them back to her.

“Very nice,” he found himself grinning. “What is it?”

“Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no. 2 in C Minor,” she replied, taking her headphones and placing them in her lap. 

 

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s one of my favorite pieces. You like classical music?”

“I like listening to it, yeah. Do you play anything?”

“Yes, the piano. I’m a music student; my orchestra is working on this piece.”

He raised his brows, impressed. His breath caught lightly in his throat as he recalled the powerful drumming of the piano in that piece. An image floated into his mind: her attired in a long black dress, her fingers moving with unerring skill over the ivory keys of a grand piano while the orchestra behind her struggled to keep up with her pace.

“Wow,” he replied slowly, swallowing audibly. “I was in my school band once,” he quipped.

“Really? What did you play?”

“The triangle,” he said with a sheepish grin. She laughed merrily at his embarrassed tone; he found himself smiling at her chuckling. Oddly, he did not feel mocked as he would probably in any other situation. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” he flustered, offering her a hand. “I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Arthur, Arthur Grayson.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” she replied pleasantly, lifting her own hand to shake. He grabbed it nervously. “I’m Gwen.”

“Gwen,” he tested the name on his tongue. “Is that short for something?”

She raked her fingers through her hair in a sheepish gesture. “Guinevere,” she admitted, “but don’t tell anyone.”

“Why? It’s a pretty name.”

“A mite bit old fashioned,” she shrugged. “I used to get teased for it. My parents are big fans of literature. They get their switching fancies from time to time. If I had been born a few years earlier, I might have been Arwen, from…”

“The Lord of the Rings,” he completed, nodding. “Arwen is a good name. They could have named you Galadriel.”

“Gorgeous name, but imagine going through high school with that.”

Arthur grimaced. “I can imagine. So your mum and dad fancied L’morte d’Arthur. Good taste.”

“You read a lot, I presume?”

“I’m a lit student,” he replied. “Reading is a part of my job description.”

“Really?” Her face seemed to light up as she scooted around to face him more properly. “What are you working on right now?”

“Well,” he said cautiously, “right now, I’m working on a paper describing female archetypes in fifteenth century literature, mostly from the King Arthur legends, old mythology and related texts. I also have another paper regarding my personal interpretation of Goethe’s Faustus regarding the relationship between Faust and Mephistopheles. I’m also working on a little extra credit project about Shakespeare’s sonnets and his fascination with the iambic pentameter.”

He bit his lip slightly after finishing his explanation. Most girls blinked blankly at him, called him a nerd or became obsessively romantic. Instead, Gwen gave an interested nod and a cheeky grin.

“I bet you barely sleep with that kind of workload. It explains your need for strong coffee. The smell of it fills the whole avenue! It’s how I can always tell when you’re coming.”

He blushed and hid a smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said airily. “So what female archetype do I fit into?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. In truth, he did not know if she could be categorized as easily as the women of literature. There was something about her that interested him to no level. 

“Spoilsport,” she teased.

“You might just be an archetype of your own,” he said airily.

“If you say so,” she shrugged, her lips twisting in amusement, “King Arthur.”

“I do say so,” he shot back, startled at his own boldness, “Queen Guinevere.”

Her cheeks colored a faint pink at his retort and he felt like kicking himself. He opened his mouth to stutter an apology, but held himself back and instead, plucked up his courage and asked pointedly, “So, does Queen Guinevere like coffee?”

“No.” His heart sank at her abrupt reply and he shifted a bit away from her, his face coloring in embarrassment. She seemed to notice because she cried, “No, it’s not like that! It’s just….”

“Just what?”

“Arthur,” she said slowly, “you’re nice, really. I’m just not used to this. Sorry.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most boys…don’t really like me.”

 

“I don’t get how. You’re very…interesting,” he said lamely. 

She laughed before sobering. “Did you ever wonder why I wear shades in the autumn?” she asked slowly.

“No,” he replied warily. “I thought you just liked them.”

Gwen reached up and took them off. Her face looked brighter and lovelier without them; he quietly wondered why she kept them on. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. Her irises were a bright summer blue, but the dots that were her pupils were milky white.

“You’re…”

“Blind.” She turned away from him. 

“But how do you play the piano?” he asked in bewilderment. “How do you know about books?”

“I wasn’t born blind,” she replied. Her shoulders seemed to hunch inwards. “I was a bit of a prodigy on the piano and have an eidetic memory; those help. And my parents used to read to me a lot.”

“I see.” She looked so fragile, like a lost child. The world was as unfair as those in books; she was too sweet a person to be so sad. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Well, if Queen Guinevere doesn’t like coffee, then what does she like?”

“I can’t see, Arthur. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“King Arthur can see enough for both of them and can help her where she needs it, as long as the Queen’s dog doesn’t decide to rip his leg off.”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound reverberating in their maple avenue like a lark’s call. He found himself grinning foolishly.

“Queen Guinevere likes macaroons.” she replied, beaming at him. “Chocolate macaroons and black tea, and she knows a wonderful place to get them.”

He stood up and took her arm, looping it gallantly around the crook of his own. “Lead the way then, and don’t put those back on,” he stopped her as she was about to wear her shades. He blushed. “You look nicer without them.” 

“You do know how things ended with Arthur and Guinevere, don’t you?” She beamed teasingly as she stowed her Raybans away.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Then, I’m glad that no person goes and names their kid Lancelot.”