Saroja Saman Nikalo

The Boy refused to meet me today. And yesterday. And the day before. Apparently he HAS to watch those idiotic cricket matches between teams that were named by someone who had very poor imagination. It is annoying. At times like this, I am very happy that, as a country we suck at most sports and don’t waste time playing them. We make decent sports movies though, we should stick to that. Also, movie halls are conducive to making out. Watching a cricket match that will get over in twenty overs, is not.

Supersonic Combustion

Helloji!

How INSANELY lame can one get?

IIT students have three genders: male, effeminate male, and masculine female.

Lookie, I am so witty. I even evoke the oldest stereotype.

I find this a little upsetting. Women do study sciences, they do get into engineering colleges and I daresay some make it into IIT too.

And they DO wax their arms, thread their eye-brows and are pretty even. Sigh.

I was telling The Boy – he is effeminate male and I masculine female, and how we truly complete each other to arrive at the much needed Yin and Yang balance.

He snorted derisively. How insufferable, I say.

Older and no wiser

I met up The Boy and some of his friends this weekend. They were all rather nice. Though I wish they didn’t make such a big deal about my age-their age. I mean, I am 23, not five. And they are 26, not 145. I dislike people who make a big deal about their age. Being an ageist (no matter which end one is partial to) is as bad as most other negative isms. In spite of their alleged maturity, I felt like their grandmother for the most part.

The good thing in all of this was that The Boy told me that he thought of me as the fumiest and funnest person ever. He was just a little tipsy when he said that, but I am basking and positively glowing because of that.

 It annoys me when I feel happy. It is boring and I know that it will be short-lived.

Break-Up

You know that it is time to break-up when The Boy blogs more frequently, than he replies to your text messages.

Time to write a Dear John letter?

Never try to trick me with a kiss

I have been re-reading - The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. Need to get some new books to read. The Boy tells me that I need some happy literature in my life.

I find that annoying. 

I am not an intellectual sort. I like books for the flimsiest of reasons. So flimsy that, by the time I am done reading with it, I forget why I like it. As a reader, I am what I have never been in real life: decidedly non-flamboyant. I am a grounded, straight laced reader. I disagree with the Boy’s assertion that I am an unhappy reader. 

Why must one always be overwhelmed and swept away? It is insulting. 

The Boy has this game that he plays with me routinely. It goes as follows:

Step 1: Insult me

Step 2: Profusely apologize

Step 3: Pull my ears, rub my temple, play with my fingers, find some excuse to pet and neck et al 

Where did he learn that? Do the men I meet go to some place called – Special School for Morons?