Shree said this, upon hearing I was still sick:

Make sure you dont sneeze into the com screen, cos then it will be reflected back into your face and you will sneeze again and the whole process starts again. Its a cruel, neverending cycle.


hahahah!

:|

I am home, with nothing to do.

There is nothing on television that I am mildly interested in, since I have a grand total of 5 channels on television, out of which 2 are in English. The channel that I have decided to bear with is playing Design for Living with Kimberley Seldon, and I am watching a hot chef make chocolate sushi.

I have surfed every blog, and every link on every blog. And every link on every link of every blog. I think I might have covered 1/5 of all the blogs in the universe.

There is nobody on MSN whom I feel like talking to.
The papers are too far away. I don't feel like getting up and walking all over to the other sofa to get them.

I watch design shows and think chocolate chefs are hot, dammit!
I am prematurely 75.

I started this entry wanting to write something madly romantic and poetic.

But I realised I have nothing to write about.

I wish they would win.

Yesterday, just before going to sleep, I was overwhelmed with a surge of emotion that I needed to release. While thinking of possible methods I could do this, I remembered my diary. I have not touched my diary in months, and i almost forgot where I had hidden it. Not completely, of course. I found it.

While flipping through recent entries, I found out how disturbed i have been for the past few months- it scared me. Right now I am far from disturbed, of course. But I never consciously realised the kind of thoughts I was having. I knew I was having them. What I did not know was the magnitude to which these thoughts stretched. Psychotic, almost.

I don't know how or why or when I pulled myself out of it. I just know I did, and I glad for that.

Anyhow, as I was flipping through the pages of my diary, I found this poem that I wrote a while ago, that I would like to post here.

It has no title. I didn't see the point of titling my poem. So it just commences from this point.

Like knotted steel,
yet like silk.
Soft, Strong, Bold.

Feel it slide across my own.
With the gentleness
that reflects in your eyes.
And your smile.

A manifestation of all your emotions
With every touch- it moves something
within me.
Something turns cold.
Subtle words, your fingers speak.
Coded messages,
sent through blood.
Mine.

You slowly lock your fingers.
Slender vines that creep
through the crevices between mine.
With your arms brushing across
the smallest hairs on my arms,
before taking its place
comfortable above my own.
Like it belongs.
It does.

Your knotted steel, forms a lock.
Around me,
Soft, Strong, Bold.

***

As I read it, it evoked so much more emotion than me, that I ended up writing more than what I had planned to.
Its been so long since I let words flow through a pen. Its an amazing feeling.

Just after i wrote, i went on PostSecrets. i found this post.






I can't say it summed up how i felt at that point in time.
I can't say i empathise with it.

But as i was looking through all the posts, this one struck me. And it meant so much to me. I suppose the most appropriate word I can think of for how i felt was sympathy. But the english language has its faults- there was something more than that.

And after all that, right before going to bed, this song came into my head.
And it made me cry. Because i finally understood what RW meant when he wrote that line.

its saturday, i'll go out and find another you.

today was a fabulous day.

I made new friends.
Whom i am going to miss, very much indeed.

Countdown: 22 days

It bothers me that after so many years, and so many conversations, many of my relationships seem very shallow. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the type who wants to have a deep and meaningful relationship with every person I meet.

What I mean to say is, the people I thought i knew well, or atleast assumed I did, do things that are getting increasingly difficult for me to comprehend.


where were you when we were gettin' high?

Wonderwall

This is a brilliant song.

Wonderwall
Oasis

Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do
About you now.

Backbeat the word was on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels
The way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
I don't know how

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

Today was gonna be the day
But they'll never throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you're not to do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do
About you now

And all the roads that lead to you were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
I don't know how

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after an
You're my wonderwall

Said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me


***

I think maybe you are.

On another note, I think that Indians watch too much television, and far too many movies.

An excerpt from Shantaram

"Gora Kaun hain?" the driver asked, when we climbed aboard the step. "Who's the white guy?"

"Maza mitra ahey" Prabaker answered with contrived nonchalance, trying in vain to disguise his pride. He's my friend.

The exchange was in marathi, the language of Maharashtra State, which has bombay as its capital. I didn't understand much of it then, but the same questions and answers were repeated so often during those village months that I learned most of the phrases, with some variations by heart.

'What's he doing here?'
'He's visiting my family.'
'Where's he from?'
'New Zealand,' Prabaker replied.
'New Zealand?'
'Yes. New Zealand. In Europe.'
'Plenty of money in New Zealand?'
'Yes, yes. Plenty. They're all rich, white people there.'
'Does he speak Marathi?'
'No.'
'Hindi?'
'No. Only English.'
'Only English?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'They don't speak Hindi in his country.'
'They don't speak Hindi there?'
'No.'
'No marathi? No Hindi?'
'No. Only English.'
'Holy Father! the poor fool.'
'Yes.'
'How old is he?'
'Thirty.'
'He looks older.'
'They all do. All the Europeans look older and angrier than they really are. It's a white thing.'
'Is he married?'
'No.'
'Not married? Thirty and not married? What's wrong with him?'
'He's European. A lot of them only get married when they're old.'
That's crazy.'
'Yes.'
'What job does he do?'
'He's a teacher.'
'A teacher is good.'
'Yes.'
'Does he have a mother and father?'
'Yes.'
'Where are they?'
'In his native place. New Zealand.'
'Why isn't he living with them?'
'He's travelling. He's looking at the whole world.'
'Why?'
'Europeans do that. THey work for a while, and then they travel around, lonely, for a while, with no family, until they get old, and then they get married, and become very serious.'
'That's crazy.'
'Yes.'
'He must be lonely, without his mummy and his daddy, with no wife and children.
'Yes. But the Europeans don't mind. They get a lot of practice being lonely.'
'He has a big strong body.'
'Yes.'
'A very strong body.'
'Yes.'
'Make sure you feed him properly, and give him plenty of milk.'
'Yes.'
'Buffalo milk.'
'Yes, yes.'
'And make sure he doesn't learn any bad words. Don't teach hi any swearing. There are plenty of arseholes and bastards around who will teach him the wrong bloody words. Keep him away from idiots like that.'
'I will.'
'And don't let anyone take advantage of him. He doesn't look too bright. Keep an eye on him.'
'He's brighter than he looks, but yes, I will look after him.'

My brother tried to convinced me that he was going out with someone called amy who's a flight attendant,and works on the cross-country shift on southwest.

naturally, i called his bluff.

After a while, i got suspicious. So i decided to confirm that he was lying.
This sudden shift of power seemed to, well, empower him.
Thus, he decided to go on an Orweillian spree.

Oh, the things I put up with.

On another note, Rosa Parks died.

Bummer.

Boon had such nice hair!

If i had hair as nice as Boon's, I would be contented.

(And if you hear me, i'd also like a 3.8 GPA, a new wardrobe, a holiday to the Galapagos Islands, and the humanities scholarship. You get me this, and we'll see what I can do for you in return. Advertise heaven, maybe. People don't seem too thrilled about going there anymore.)

Aside from the fact that

1.Options assessments are sucking the soul of out me

2.My Math grades are consistently low (and in this case consistency loses the tiny bit of positivity that it sometimes heralds)

3.The Mother seems to take it upon her blessed soul to fix this situation, by sending me for tuition to revise the entire secondary school math syllabus.

4.My happiness (or temporary joy, at the very least) seems to center on little more than paper and numbers. Very Important paper and numbers. But when you simplify things so much, it makes me want to ignore everything I put so much importance to, wear bright orange clothes and go dancing in the rain. Preferable under the influence of alcohol, so i can return to my normal life with more justification to my actions than would i would otherwise have.

5.$7000 needs to be raised in less than a month, and i need to put in a lot more effort into this than i currently am.

6.I want to go to sleep (although this list is in no order or priority, I had to put this at the end. Because it sounds so nice and conclusive.)

I seem to have forgotten where I began.
Oh yes, aside from all this, Life Good Baby.

Good luck to Sam and Karthik (who don't know each other, but hopefully will soon enough.)in Dubai. Sam, to spam credentials you need to have credentials first. So you'll be great. Try to tell a delegate to go back and sit because of improper attire- its always funny when that happens.
No, I paid more attention at RMUN than that. Really. Its just funny. Especially when the delegate looks like that.

And Karthik- i don't know if you even read this, but you'll be in Dubai by now anyway. Good luck with Sec-conning. You're brilliant anyway, you don't need my luck.

Today, I found another instance to say this- Its a small world, and Singapore's even smaller. Hello Karan Malik- person I suddenly know again after not having heard of or from in nearly 4 years, through ways i would not have expected to.

Queer, really.

deadlier than ever, and cheesier than ever.

and in detail,




we did it. we won it. we worked hard for it, and we got what we deserved. every single person put their heart and soul, and i have never seen the entire 408 work this hard for anything before. The entire experience was so moving, and what came out of it made it all worthwhile.

I'm so thankful for having spent my last year in secondary school with this class. I will cherish this year, and this victory, for much longer than the taste of it stays on my tongue.

Thanks to Sushma and Wenxin for everything- for all the hard work, for all the encouragement, for all the sweat. and in the case of some, for all the tears.

Thanks to the entire cheer squad for being so peppy about the whole thing, so cheerful, so determined, so hardworking. and those words only sound cliche because this is what every winner says. But its true.

Thanks to the team for playing so hard, for putting in so much effort, during practices and on court, on the day itself. For keeping it real.

Thanks to 408, for making this year the most brilliant year i have had in my life. I don't know what else to say. I doubt many of us will see the importance and significance of what we accomplished, until we think about what we used to be like in sec 3. at the beginning of it. It was so strange and foreign, and look what we have now.

Life is sweet. Maybe its the victory. But right now, even the sweat seems sweet to me.

Thanks you guys. In the words of Huiting, which seem very apt at this point in time:

LoveLove full of love!<333

[i have never in my life typed that before. see how much this meant to me? :)]

love,
sneha

Curry-n-Rice girl

MC Vikram and Ludakrishna are creative geniuses. They can spoof ANYTHING.

and i must say, they dont look so bad for cynical indian mockers.

Something tells me they are software engineers and work in the depths of silicon valley, in small grey cubicles. By day, of course. By night they transform into heavily accented, lungi-wearing, hip-hopping maamas. Very cool ones, at that.

So here's Curry-n-Rice girl, a fantastic parody of Hollaback girl.

Thanks aruna, for the link. you made my morning.
And with ten minutes before my day begins, tension mounts about Matriculation Day and subject combinations. And beyond that, even more pressure about netball carnival. we've been working very hard, i hope it pays off. because nothing gives you satisfaction as much as hard work.

and i hope i don't turn any darker than i have already come to be. I have a feeling 16 years worth of UV ray exposure is going to double- in one day.

I must go. My smelliness reminds me i need to go shower.
Bye.

yellow

Today, after i came back from school, my mother told me about this man she knows who passed away. He has an 18 year old son. He went cycling to east coast park, and had a massive heart attack.

A few days ago, she told me a story about this woman she knows who got hit by a bus, along with her 3 year old son. The boy died on the spot, but the mother survived, although she is in a critical state.

Its not a coincidence. Its some sort of sign. I've been seeing and hearing about death everywhere. I don't know if its just because I am suddenly more aware of it, or if its really happening in greater intensity of late. In the past 2 days, i have seen 2 movies. In both the movies together, 5 people died. This struck me as rather queer.

I have also been having a lot of conversations about death, the end of the world, and other things along those lines. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with a friend about the things i wanted to do before I died.
I've almost grown used to, and accepted the idea, that my life is not going to last beyond the age of 40. Either the world, or I, will end.

Until then, I seek solace in coldplay. Attending a coldplay concert is on the list of the things i want to do before i die. Its is not of top priority, but it is there. That's gotta say something.

I listened to this song this morning, and it made me tear. It does, often, and i have heard it a number of times. No matter how many times i hear it, the feeling that rises up my throat doesn't cease. Or lessen. It's one of the most beautiful songs I have heard, and I want it to play at my funeral.

Yellow,
coldplay.


Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.

I came along,
I wrote a song for you,
And all the things you do,
And it was called yellow.

So then I took my turn,
Oh what a thing to have done,
And it was all yellow.

Your skin
Oh yeah, your skin and bones,
Turn into something beautiful,
You know, you know I love you so,
You know I love you so.

I swam across,
I jumped across for you,
Oh what a thing to do.
Cos you were all yellow,

I drew a line,
I drew a line for you,
Oh what a thing to do,
And it was all yellow.

Your skin,
Oh yeah your skin and bones,
Turn into something beautiful,
And you know for you,
I’d bleed myself dry for you,
I’d bleed myself dry.

It’s true, look how they shine for you,
Look how they shine for you,
Look how they shine for,
Look how they shine for you,
Look how they shine for you,
Look how they shine.
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And all the things that you do.

Is This What You Were Talking About?

Neanderthal Porn.

while (not) doing biology today during lesson, shree and i stumbled upon this poster while searching for pictures of the neanderthal man to display on the ibook screen while we did our reflections, on whether we believed we evolved from the neanderthal man, or if it was a completely separate and distinct branch on the evolutionary tree. it sounds fascinating, but i'd leave it to the scientists. the process of counting yellow strips on a bioserver is too inane, even for me.

anyhow, the poster completely cracked us up. and we'd have loved to show it to someone there and then but we didn't know anyone else in class who'd have appreciated it as much as we did. but this is worth appreciation, so im putting it up here. enjoy.

survey.

I got this from Nar.

Yes, I am a closet survey addict. I do them everyday, after which i look around furtively, save it in a top secret password-protected folder, whistle nonchalantly and pretend it never happened.

I have decided to open up. Thats one more thing about Sneha Raghavan you didn't know. and here are a million more:

Seven things that (will) scare me:
1. the dark
2. injections
3. mirrors [especially when combined with point 1]
4. thunderstorms, when i'm alone.
5. losing my family
6. the sky falling down on my head.
7. death.

Seven things I like the most:
1. Chocolate. White chocolate.
2. Writing
3. receiving messages/emails/IMs
4. reading.
5. watching films.
6. watching silly tamil movies, and pointing out the tiniest flaws in them.
7. Men in Jetties [says fifi] [i do not concur. but i cannot think of a last thing to say.]

Seven most important things in my room:
1. my laptop.
2. my bedspread.
3. my violin.
4. my curtains.
5. my wardrobe.
6. the leopard under my bed.
7. me. although i am not a permanent fixture.

Seven random facts about me:
1. I am mortally afraid of cats, especially ones that meow.
2. I once triggered an alarm and ran.
3. my measure 171 cm in my entirety.
4. when i play tennis and pick up the balls, i look like a spider.
5. I used to pinch babies to hear them cry.
6. For many years of my life, I believed that Anna university in Madras, was named after my brother.
7. I used to be the best at doing splits. Now i will split.

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. Write a book.
2. Make a film.
3. Have children.
4. Adopt children.
5. Visit the Galapagos Islands.
6. Get married. [obviously, not in this order.]
7. Go to a nudie beach fully dressed and laugh at people.

Seven things I can do:
1. Play the violin.
2. Annoy fifi, very very well.
3. Lie. well.
4. make people laugh.
5. Watch sound of music. over and over again.
6. Eat. a Lot.
7. a jamaican accent. yah mahn.

Seven things I can't do:
1. Sit-ups, pull ups or much other physical activity.
2. Act.
3. grow fat. so sue me.
4. hold a decent conversation on the phone.
5. Confront people.
6. sit with fifi and not annoy her.
7. Math.

Seven words I say the most:
1. serious?
2. wakao.
3. crap.
4. youre KIDDING.
5. omg.
6. nasty.
7. whoa, man.

Seven celeb crushes:
1. Robbie williams.
2. Madhavan.
3. Chris Martin.
4. JT.
5. Jonathan Rhys Myers.
6. Kamal Haasan.
7. Christopher Plummer, in Sound of Music.

Seven people I'd love to see doing this:
1. dee.
2. chechi.
3. sam.
4. robsiah.
5. crunch.
6. robbie williams.
7. eh. you.

and now, since my diplomacy class starts in 4 minutes, and i have to walk all the way there, i have to end this entry.
add on to this if you wish, id like to see what you think.

"You wait, little girl, on an empty stage for fate to turn the light on. Your life, little girl, is an empty page that men will want to write on. You are sixteen-going-on-seventeen. Baby, it's time to think. Better beware. Be canny and careful. Baby, you're on the brink.

Man, Rolfe was (is?) hot.

I feel like the largest, most elaborate and multi-faceted noob in all of history.

and i realised this when, while multitasking, I took note of the windows i had open on mozilla. One was the UN Millennium Declaration website, and right next to it, like some sort of mockery, was seventeen.com.

how, sneha. how could you let yourself turn into this monstrosity.

in desperate attempts not to make this entry as prolix as they usually are, or as they usually seem, all i will do is post a picture.

or perhaps not even that.

because pictures speak a thousand words.
and a thousand words would, most definitely, qualify as prolix.

this is all youre getting.

-sneha

[sam i did it. i bet i did it right, too. right twice, on top of that. hah. thats 2-1, Sergeant Sneha!]

quickie.

I am rather busy during this period of time, and am not able to update as often as i would like to, save these short updates of a few lines that only serve the existence of letting you know i am alive. so that you will not forget this place exists.

call me a loser. I lose. I don't PWWNNN or ROXORZ or RULEZ BABEH! i just lose. hah.
[dee that honestly wasnt directed towards you. i cross my heart. i just find it hilarious.]

i got this off nar's blog, and i found it absolutely hilarious. absolutely. especially the timeline of a non-muslims life.

and just to let you know, the 3 most significant things that happened today were as follows, in the order that they did occur.

1. philosophy essay planning. (yeah!)

2. me finding about genital mutilation in some african tribes. nasty.

3. i don't want to get into the entire story, but lets just say i found out how much juice one orange can really produce. and when this juice is two days old, it smells suh-weet and gets you a lot of attention on the bus home. because you are in school uniform, and look nothing like a raving alcoholic, yet there is this queer scent from your direction.

more later.
bye.

musings

My parents are having an animated discussion as to whether or not caviar is meant to be cooked. You see, when you come from a traditional tambram family, its quite a surprise that your parents can even say caviar without feeling nausea rising up their throats.

maybe they did.
my parents are very nice people. every night, they sit/lie(mum latter, dad former) in front of the television, and watch a different show each day. My dad massages my mum's legs, and my mum massages my dad's back sometimes. Then they both watch television and engage in what is considered to be a very pleasurable and humorous activity in my house, making fun of people's mispronunciations on tv, and trying to figure out people's nationalities. I have learnt a lot from this. If you have a mole and work in a news agency, for example, it is likely that you are filipino. Pakistanis are, as you would expect, very easy to spot.

But this entire ritual, to me, is splendid. This is the way that life should be lived, once you grow older. When i grow old, I want my husband to massage my legs, and i want to massage his back. I would prefer if we engaged in slightly less ethnocentric activities, but if this is what we had to settle for, its fine with me.

Yesterday, my heart stopped beating twice. I am convinved that i have some sort of a disease, and will not live for much longer than the age of 50. I am also convinved that I am anaemic, zinc deficient, have heart murmur, and osteoporosis. My dad casually shrugged it off as a Common Hypochondria. Perhaps it is. If the symptoms of Hypochondria are weakness in the knees, blackness everyime you get up, backaches, headaches, nausea, and heart stopping.
It is a possibility though, I am not denying it.

It is much more thrilling though, to think that I am sick. I have never ben seriously sick before. I have never had an illness worse than a fever. I have never had jaunice, chicken pox, bee stings. I have never fainted, sprained my ankle, or broken any bones. Although this is the best way to be, a part of me (somewhere in my left knee) longs for some kind of thrill. This explains incidences in my history, such as a curious desire to pretend to faint during the national anthem from p1-p3, a desperate want for spectacles, and more things thati shall not mention for fear of persecution and my marriage application not making it to kalyaanamaalai.

that is a joke, by the way. i do not intend on sending my marriage application to kalyaanamaalai. not within the next twenty years, anyway. and after that, sindhu and i have a pact anyway. so kalyaanamaalai does not seem like a viable option.

damn, i want someone to wash my feet when i bleed. stupid chechi. stupid hot chechi.

its been a queer week.

(i did a 3/5 mr. fuzzy wuzzy in that sentence, fyi.)

been doing a lot of things. reviving old friendships would be the most significant.
feels good, knowing that people don't hate me that much anymore.

you know whats strange?
aruna and me live our lives almost parallel to each other, without even realising it until we talk to each other about it. she lives halfway across the world, at that. its so odd.

i cant think of much else to say.
just felt obliged to blog.

Is everybody in?

Windmill, Windmill for the land.
Turn forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sinking, falling down
Love forever love is free
Let's turn forever you and me
Windmill, windmill for the land
Is everybody in?

- from:
Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz

eh?

crunch, as honoured i may be that you called my blogging style intellectual, i humble myself knowing that it is my blogging style that you critiqued. let people gather what they will about me, from reading this.

***

the hamsters had a fight, and one of them is being given away. ): i loved so much to see the both of them play together in The Tube. i don't know what suddenly angered them.

and sam, i think it was much more a territorial fight over The Tube, than an ideological disagreement. although i must admit the latter is a much more fascinating concept.

saturday was ics closing ceremony. it was so much more emotional than i thought it would be. i'm not going to go into detail about how it was and what happened, i couldn't do justice to it, but i'm just going to thank all the juniors for making it such a fabulous event. i'm going to miss ics more than i ever thought i could.

today i came home from school really early and slept for 2 and a half hours. crunch, i think i caught some sort of bug from you. considering that i also slept during genomic origin. i mean, the class, not the origin of genomic biology. i don't think i was alive then. or maybe i was. maybe i am the manifestation of death- that hot girl in the neil gaiman book whose title i forgot. i read it with aminah on the bus the other day. she almost didn't let me read the awesome story about the cats, because, i quote her "aiya got no naked women no fun one!"

damn, i need money.
and thats a suitable ending to this entry because i say so!