Ahaa..internship-cum-job offer-type- thing. Interesting feeling. Not as elated as I'd thought I'd be. Maybe it's just not hit me.
I've almost got a job. Why, then?

'Adulthood'

I have been inspired (finally!) to blog. Guess it’s long overdue, but well, better late, eh? A lot of things have happened, as is bound to happen in over two months. But since I draw my inspiration from a blog post of someone, I shall blog on the same subject.

I gave my first job interview recently. On the 2nd of September, 2008. I can’t really say how it went, because I can’t judge from the questions that I was asked what they were looking for. I rambled, they listened. I think I was overly informal, cracked shady jokes (apparently Jimmy Choo is the reason I am interested in a major corporate deal..uggh, let me rephrase, I cracked shady non-jokes), and skipped over a lot of important things I think they ought to have been judging me on. But whatever, all of that is hardly the point. I accept that whatever has to happen will happen, and there’s not really much point worrying about it now. Well, okay, that’s a huge lie, but you get the point.

What was an emotion worth capturing was the feeling of having your first job interview. And believe me when I say this, it IS a very big deal. The nervousness and stuff is standard, and in any case, I am nervous about most things. But the gigantic-ness of the moment is what really hits you. The very first time you will talk to recruiters who will be assessing whether or not they wish to employ you. It’s a big step into career-dom. It’s an off feeling really, to give a job-interview at 20. Till the morning of the interview, I kept thinking it was rather surreal, that I was still too young to give a real job interview. And that something would come along and save me from this experience which would taint my, err, ‘not-yet-ready-for-job-ness’. Though I have been feeling this a lot lately, I suppose this was one the major occurrences in life which truly marks an end to one’s childhood. While the thought still fills me with a great deal of paranoia and unease, truth of the matter is, in a small way, it also gives me a kick. It’s a very grown-up feeling. And while I think of my childhood with more than teary-eyed nostalgia, I suppose this new thing will also be interesting.

So here’s to stepping into adulthood, and a step closer, to all that we spend our childhoods dreaming about, in actuality..

Fairytales and so on

Fairytales are a funny thing. We can probably hold them responsible for most the hare-brained notions of Prince Charming in whites which haunt young ladies world over. But, even so, I cannot help but believe that we live in the hope of that fairytale we’ve held on to for a long time turning into reality. If it doesn’t happen, well, we quickly dismiss it as being something we never really (in actuality) ever hoped for. But that isn’t true. And such cynical points of view are adopted in the eventuality that it doesn’t happen. What I am looking at today is, what when it does? Despite it being something we look for all our lives, do we recognize and give it its due?

It is ever so rarely that you stumble upon something so precious and cherished that it makes everything worth its while. Life presents the most beautiful gifts it has on offer in the funniest packages. You find them when you least expect them, and you probably even start with ignoring or avoiding them.

She met someone. The meeting didn’t register as anything particularly important for either of them. Eventually, they discovered a distant familial tie, but that wasn’t what gave rise to the spark. Speaking of which, for over a year she did not even agree they had a spark. When they met for the first time, they were both very different people (from each other and from what they’ve become today). Quite story-book like in that she was enthusiastic and showering her affections everywhere, basking in the attention paid from several other quarters, while he was quite, intriguing, cynical and had his own following of charmed or interested people. They rarely spoke in the first few months of their acquaintance, and whatever little they did was due to his initiative. For her, it was like the half-serious, light-hearted friendships she had with almost everyone else. For him, well, it was soon discovered that it was love. Hot and cold followed. When they spoke, they spoke for hours, about everything under the sun, about things which were ever-so mundane, yet could be discussed at great length. And when they did not speak, the gap could last months. But he did not give up on the feeling, and she, well, she wasn’t even really thinking about it. A phase of turbulence in her life made her jolt out of her merry little teenage soap. Relationships became serious, some died. He started assuming more and more importance, little by little. Before she even knew it, she was more dependent on him than on anyone else around. And vice versa, I think. A fortunate or unfortunate distancing made her sit up and take notice of how much he had started to mean to her. Steps were taken to remedy the distance. Maybe unfairly so, but it seemed important then. And it worked out well. Another messy affair followed. He survived, and so did she. And then love grew. Not from his end (that was already ‘there’, so to speak), but hers. Although it would be much prettier if I described it to simply have ‘happened’ one fine day, with her waking up in the morning and feeling in love. It wasn’t quite that simple. It developed in stages, grew over the tribulations they wrestled with, found life in the many tears shed by both of them over various things, strengthened when they faced negativity together, blossomed over beautiful conversations and summer-evening walks. She did not feel love overnight. It was a feeling which was moulded by several factors. It was an attraction developed not in a hurry, but through a series of irresistible meetings. The chemistry was not in a spark but in a slow fire that they both had to feed richly, for a long time, with expensive items like their own emotions. A lot of things followed from that point on- significant events, which for some reason seem insignificant in the context of this initial progressive realization of their own individual dreams.


It is important for us to keep our eyes and ears open and pay attention to when a dream of ours is taking shape, for it happens ever so quietly, unexpectedly, and noone from heaven sends you a signal that this one is the one. It is important to take note and work on the dream, for dreams are only vague outlines. It’s the reality that you pour into it which makes it the fairytale. If you make a mistake, think that this one is the one, and turn out to be wrong, or even if you’re right, and things simply don’t work; well, then, I suppose you can shrug your shoulders and move on. But at least you’ve tried. Without leaving scope for ‘if only’ type whinings. If you’re really brave, you’ll probably muster up the courage to dream again. Most of us will then be ready to make the compromise and do what we’re told to.


I cannot say for sure when the fairy tale began. To tell you the truth, she realized much, much, much later that this was that dream. It required much more effort than the dream had said it would. The fairytale sort of just happened, this, it needed to be made to happen. But somewhere, the line between fairytale and reality blurs, in that one forgets which picture is more beautiful, more perfect.

And this, for now, is all that is important.

Ta da

Crumbs spilled off the plate.
It marked something- progressive realization of something. And the end. Of I don't know what. Or was it the beginning of that? I don't know.
But something changed. Not in anything perceptible, in anything which can be seen. You wouldn't notice I suppose, if you looked at us. I think something changed within us, without leaving a mark outside of us. A realization of the never-ever-possible. Of a dead end, yet a blissful path to it. Of poetry, of beauty, of conversation and brilliance. But without practicality or compatibility. Of a beautiful picture which lacks in balance within and a frame without. Of perfection and its flaws.

If this doesn't make sense from the first sentence on, don't bother trying. It isn't meant for you then.

Book Blues

There are some points in literature which make me want to strangle the author.
They make me desperately hope and pray that what I read was a mistake, that there is some way to alter that particular episode in a book. I feel like I could do anything in the world to change that bit of the story, beg and plead with the author to change that bit. It hurts me, the way things turn out. Actually makes me clench my teeth, sometimes cry angry tears of disappointment and betrayal, throw the book and wish away the fact that I've read it.

Jo turning down Laurie's proposal is one of them. It made me near suicidal. I felt like the world had come to an end. And then, when he got married to Amy, I realized that the end had actually come now. Poof..I can't describe how I felt. I wanted to murder the Amy in the book and set the world all right by getting Jo and Lauri married. I read till the end of all the sequels, hoping for some miracle, some chance by which they'd get together. Sigh..none came.

Rhett turning down Scarlett in the end is another. Though they get together in the sequel, it isn't the same thing.

Jenny dying. Sigh. Kept praying for a miracle, though the first line of the book extinguishes the chance of any happening.


Though, I do admit, that these books wouldn't have had the impact they did on me had they been any different.

Except the first, maybe.
Jo and Laurie were meant to be!!!! Come on..

Ask him to find me an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Between the salt water and the sea-strand,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.


Ask him to plough it with a lamb's horn,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And sow it all over with one peppercorn,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.


Ask him to reap it with a sickle of leather,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
And gather it up with a rope made of heather,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.


When he has done and finished his work,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Ask him to come for his cambric shirt,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.


If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Oh, Let me know that at least you will try,
Or you'll never be a true love of mine.


Love imposes impossible tasks,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
But none more than any heart would ask,
I must know you're a true love of mine.


If you're listening, please come. I'm tired. Very close to losing heart. Not to mention bored. Please.