Smile, Even When Your Cheeks Hurt, And Your Hand Is Burnt.

I'm doing my Bachelors in Hospitality and Tourism Management. A slightly glorified version, of the Hotel Management program.
Also, for now, I'm a glorified, and classier कामवाली बाई.
A major part of our course requirements, for graduation says, that in the First Year we need to complete 20 waitings. Waiter-giri basically.
My most striking waiting, out of 5 waitings, was the one at the Intercontinental-The Lalit. It was a Punjabi wedding reception. I had to do a mocktail service, and then the starter service.
I learnt a lot of things. One, Punjabis love food. Two, Punjabis love paneer. And three, Punjabis are loud.
The women looked down their noses at me. They would ignore my very presence if they didn't want what I was serving. Some women however, are highly amusing. There was this one, lady?, who I was serving soft drinks to. She's the size of a heavy-duty bulldozer, and has a face that looks like it got run over by aforementioned bulldozer. She has it in her, to ask me for a Diet Coke. Yes lady, that'll help you get skinny. Definitely.
Another, similarly sized lady?, with enough make-up to last Dolly Bindra, a year, picked up FIVE pieces of Paneer Tikka, and then says, in a terrible Punjabi affected American accent, "Eh my God, so much oil." And then winks at me like a fellow conspirator, saying, "Can you imagine the calories?" No, I can't. I'm not the size of a baby elephant. I don't count calories. Just money.
Oh, and the men. The dirty, sleazy bastards. I wear, man-pants, a shirt twice my size, and a waistcoat and bow. They still give me the eyeball, brush up all over me, and into me. I wanted to die of embarrassment. However, being a good student, I settled for smiling sweetly, and giving them every माँ  की, बहन की gali, I knew, in the safety of my head. They smoke like chimneys, and drink like fish!! And get a little drunker each time I pass them. And louder. Till I couldn't wait to serve them, just so they'd shut up as they ate.
A colleague mentioned, some old lady, with barely any teeth, kept pestering her for Fresh Lime Soda. We have reason to believe, the old crone, was not all there.
They complained that they weren't being served the starters. So they'd grab, and shove, and throw used cocktail sticks at me, give me dirty looks, if I eyed the way they ate etc.
The salver was heavy. I can safely say it weighed as much as a girl's over-night bag.. I burnt myself on the starter ka chotu plate and burner. Some kid, put ketchup on me. A man threw his half chewed Baby Corn Fritters at me, coz it wasn't hot enough. I was embarrassed, insulted, over-worked and sick.
All in all, one of my funnest nights ever! I felt like I was playing a part in a movie, or a stage show. It was amazing. And yes, I am a little weird, I'm ill, and on antibiotics. Cut me some slack.
But mostly, I'm just worried, a teacher will find this page, and I'll be kicked out of college.

Cheers!
The Cynical and Harassed, Romantic.
(:

Dear Best Friend, It's Your Birthday in 8hours.

Isha Maniar,
It's your birthday in 7 and 1/2 hours. You're turning 18.
Now you can buy us cigarettes legally.
And drive, when you finally learn. Even though I won't let you. Women drivers, you know how I feel.
Now you can tease me, about still being 17.
You can have sex, legally.
You're all grown-up, and pretty. I feel like your Mommy. Coz just today, we went through our old photus, and trust me when I say, we were ugly back then. Now you're pretty, and smart, and all set to be a hot lawyer. But you're still my best friend. I've changed too. We've changed, but the friendship hasn't. Won't.
I don't laugh so hard with anyone.
I wouldn't sing songs from Kaante about cigarettes with anyone else. No one else I know, makes evenings so peaceful, with just the smoke around us. Silence is comfortable with you, not awkward.
If it wasn't for you , smart conversations wouldn't happen, and I'd lose out on intelligence. Not to mention, an extra family would be lost.
Every year, something messes up your birthday.
This year, I'm trying extra hard to make it perfect.
Coz the trash is out of your life. And you're with someone who deserves you. And I rarely think anyone deserves you.
This year, and for the years to come, we'll make our birthdays perfect.
And we'll honor our pact. We'll be there with each other for every birthday.
I promise to fly to whatever part of the world you're in, to see you on the 26th of November, every year.
And if someday, some husband kicks up a fuss, I'll dump him for you.
But you must give me cake.
Every year. And if I get fat, don't tell me, tell me I could stand to gain some, and make me eat cake.
And I'll make you feel special, and prized every year.
Coz though I don't say it much, I'm lucky to have you.
And since I'm not good with I love yous, I'm trying today.
I love you. Very much.

Neha.
:*

Thunderstorm

" And we'll run together , with the grass under our feet and the stars above, forever" 

I thought I'd write about that dream. My dream.
He walked into the room. So cocky, so self-assured, with the kinda confidence I always wanted, but never could manage. He knew they'd stare. And they did. I did too. I couldn't help myself. Mr. Perfect, had walked into the room, giving me the, 'You'll never get me' look. I was bowled over right then.
Who knew, in a year, he'd be the guy I'd have the most fun talking to? That I'd be someone, he could share it all with? That I'd love him, despite of, or because of, how difficult he was. I hadn't thought it possible.
Yet, one night, he's on the phone, and he's telling me he likes me, and he wants me to date him, and I'm sure I'm dreaming, and its like I'm living another's life.
But it never works. Coz fate's against us. Everything's against us. He tries. When I'm not feeling too generous, I say he didn't try hard enough. But most days, I say he tried. He did all he could. I did too.
But how do two people, with everything going wrong for them, fight the odds?
It ended. Fading away. With no confrontations. Coz there wasn't time for them, either.
And yet, he won't go away. He's always right there, somewhere in the corners of my mind. I'm not lost, without him, yet he's still a major part of who I am.
He's the oli person, who I genuinely have fun talking to. He hasn't changed in almost 4 years. I know him, even things he's never said. I just get him. Like I've known him all my life.
He's the oli one who says the right things when I'm upset. He doesn't say things, to make me feel better, but they're the right stuff.
He's like a thunderstorm. He comes by, once in a while, but each time, he awes me, stuns me, and captures my heart again. He takes my breath away. And then he's gone again.
He's enough. For now. And yet, I dream of a future, where he's there for me, in every way there is, and then some. A forever, with him. I'm settling, but he's my dream. My thunderstorm. That flash of intense light, the roar of emotions, he wakes in me.
I've stopped trying to fight it. He's nothing I can explain, and everything that I understand. I have no words, to explain the man he is, and yet every word I've known and comprehended, has a bit of him in it.
He's part of my every moment.
He's a part of me.
My dream. My nightmare.
My thunderstorm.

No Harm Dreaming

"Rough winds do shake, the darling buds of May. And Summer's lease, hath all too short a date.- Shakespeare"

You're my May baby. Strong-willed, creative, troubled, courageous. Lost, I want to save you. Even when I know, that I need saving too. So maybe we'll save each other. Maybe one of us won't die. I'm not mean, I'm not Rose, I'll let you up on the plank with me. And while we're saving each other, maybe we'll learn to fix our problems. instead of finding hiding places, deep within ourselves, away from the world.
Because that's how we are. When things get hard, we make a world within us, where no one else enters. Some days, in your world, I don't find entry either. So maybe, just maybe, we'll learn to deal. And maybe, I'll get wiser. And you, you'll get more optimistic. And we'll get more tolerant of the people around us. It'll make us a lot  more peaceful, if not happier, I'm thinking. Maybe, someday, we'll grow up a little more.
And when we do that, maybe we'll find what makes us, truly happy.
And maybe, hopefully, we'll be together when that day comes.
Just maybe.

Coz really? No harm dreaming.
Much love,
Your Cynical Romantic.
(:


P.S. :- This one's for you. Coz you asked me not to be so bitter. And coz this makes you hopeful. I like when you're hopeful. 

From Flowers, To Schizophrenics

Flowers are pretty.
But they die.
Morbid thought, forgive me.
Why do men give us women flowers? What is it supposed to signify? I want you to have these fresh flowers, which will wilt tomorrow, just like in a few years, you will too?
And chocolates? Why? Are they saying, you're going to get fat anyway, why don't I help speed it up?
Men are funny creatures, aren't they? They want to open doors for you, and want to be the Big Strong Man all the time, and still say things like, I love you for your independence. They hate it, if you're too busy to call, but hate it if you call too often. Want you to look pretty, get annoyed if you get leery looks from other men.
What's a girl to do?
It's a hard world to live in. If you're too pretty, women don't like you. If you're not pretty, men don't like you!
Really, you can't blame me for being neurotic.

Oh well. Must keep on the search, for answers to my random, extremely imperative questions. And obviously, that elusive, true love.
Because God's truth? I'm in love with a schizophrenic. A crazy, not-all-there, amazingly intelligent, lives-in-an-alternate Universe, schizophrenic. And I'm worried that, THAT is true love.

Much love,
Your Cynical Romantic.
(:

Under Done, Sunny-Side Up

They never quite tell us, that when we reach the finish line, it doesn't feel as good as we thought it would.
See, I had an amazing fight. You know how usually, after a fight, people think of all the comebacks they could have used? None of that, this time. I was smart, and cheeky and so tongue-in-cheek rude, and I should have felt awesome at the end of it.
But I felt like crap. Like utter crap. I tried telling myself, its momentary, like postpartum blues or something. But I don't think so. It was supposed to be funny, for me, and he was supposed to say, I'm sorry you're cooler than me, or something along those lines, that isn't as corny.
But he didn't.
And I have too much of an ego, to do anything about it.
I'm stuck, aren't I?
They're never quite honest with us, are they?

Also, who is 'They'?

Much love.
(:

Happily Ever Afters- Disney's lies

"No matter what happens, I'll always be with you. Forever"- Pocahontas

How many times have I heard my best friends say, "You're an extremely complicated girl Neha."
I didn't want to agree. Now I do. Coz they're right. I came to this conclusion myself. Has to be hard, dealing with someone whose thought processes jump a mile a minute. And I don't even know the measure of a mile.
I used to be delusional. I believed the best of everyone I met. Why would they walk away? Surely they'll stay, if I don't do anything wrong. Coz its always my mistake, see?
Do I still think this way? I don't think so. I still believe the best of people. But people leave. Dogs also leave, and they're better than people. You'll also leave, even though you're so good for me, its silly. You're making me laugh, and you're there when I'm cranky and hurt. You put no pressure on me. But you'll leave too.
I won't hold it against you.
I'm not believing in Happily Ever Afters anymore. Much as I want to. They don't exist. Coz there's always more.
In all those fairy-tales, did they ever show us what happens, after the Prince takes his Princess away to that Happily Ever After? Nah. Coz that's where the fights are, the childbirth, the noisy kids with the leaking noses, the housework, the annoying husband, who scratches his belly, and yells for a beer and his dinner.
Life is weird. I guess we're all just living, coz death isn't here yet.
Love isn't on the cards. Not for me. Though I have to admit, love stories make me misty-eyed. And a good love story, makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. But love stories are for other people, yes?
Not for me.


P.S.- About the quote, for those of you'll who haven't watched Pocahontas, the stupid girl, left poor John Smith. So she was lying when she said, forever. Just saying. Even Disney lied.


Much love,
(: