Weapons of Destruction. Episode 1: Restless.

This is going to be the ride where things will change between me and Roy, thought Anjali smugly. Vivacious and overbearing, she thought she had her boyfriend right where she wanted him. Today, she was going to tempt him, tantalise him a little: much like those other women riding with their boyfriends on bikes and strategically placing their hands just above boiling point. Yep, she was going to teach those women a thing or two about how to play these games.

Unfortunately, Fate had other plans for her.

Anjali was travelling with her boyfriend on his bike, long straight hair flying in the wind, arms around his waist - maybe even a little lower - when it came and struck her like a whiplash. "Yow!", screamed Anjali, as her insensitive boyfriend kept riding on, mistaking her howl of dismay and pain as pleasure. (But then, isn't that what men usually think anyway?) Vroom vroom! the bike went, and Anjali flailed her hands to and fro, losing her grip on the nether regions of her boyfriend in an attempt to save herself.

Fuck, muttered Anjali under her breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck. For, had she known that her own long strands of Sunsilked hair were going to turn against her so brutally in the wind, she would have come prepared to battle them. With a scrunchie. As luck would have it, though, there was nothing to curtail their free sway.

Who could blame her hair though? Poor things, when they got out of home, they were calm and cocooned on Anjali's scar-free back. They were alright till her stupid boyfriend started riding into the wind. Gusts started teasing the hair - and really, they're quite peaceful beings, these hair; what can they do though if somebody needles them endlessly? - and so they retaliated by spreading their tentacles and slicing the wind into atoms of non-existence. The more stupid ones flew aimlessly around and just got tangled up with each other. One strand, though, went flying like the bullets in The Matrix, straight at the wispy wind lurking at the corner of Anjali's eye, missed by a hair's breadth and poked her where it hurt most - her retina.

Anjali's eye started watering immediately, and she tried to push back the strand of hair. But oh no, this was no ordinary strand. This one had been awarded 'The Long and Strong' title by the Royal Heirs of the Keratin Kingdom, and was bestowed with exceptional powers of resilience in the face of adversity. So it stood its ground (or rather, flew it) and dealt merciless blows to the wisp of wind that sniggered at it from the other corner of Anjali's eye.

Anjali kept screaming, but she couldn't very well pull her hair out of her scalp - that would hurt even more. Even her attempts to restrain the sliky-smooth buggers were in vain - they were not short enough to scrunch up and hold on to, or long enough to tie into a resplendent bun. So she just kept screaming as her boyfriend just kept zipping, grinning from ear to ear.

Her eye throbbed, but she held on. It turned blood red and teared up while she silently hoped that the idiot at the handles would slow down. This was so not going the way she had intended it to.

Unable to bear the injury any longer - an injury now suffered more by her pride than at having her hair flung at her eyes - Anjali dug her nails so deep into her boyfriend's back that he howled in dismay and braked the bike so hard, that she flew above him and landed at the front wheel. Of course, in the process her heel caught at her boyfriend's eye, and he toppled off the bike as well, yelping in pain. All in all, it wouldn't have been a serious accident if it wasn't for the speed with which this entire sequence took place.

People thronged all around them, a press van materialised out of nowhere, and the accident made it to the 3 o clock (as well as the rest of the day's) Breaking News on TV9. Anjali's parents - avid Jai Karnataka supporters and 24/7 watchers of the TV9 news - found out what she was up to, put her under house arrest and got her married to a strange looking man with lots of money within the next three months. Anjali was not too happy with the outcome, but the money more than made up for everything else. Besides, what was her Gym Instructor for, if not to indulge in extra-curricular activities with?

As for her hair, she shaved it all off out of spite, and wore a bouffant wig thereafter. Her hair were not too sad - they did what they had to, in the line of duty. If it meant that they had wreaked havoc in Anjali's life, so be it. After all, with great victory comes great loss.

Nothing makes you regret being single like the rain does.

It's pouring here in Bangalore. Almost like the clouds have been holding a full bladder for a decade and finally decided to let go.

And i'm single.

I mean, really. This is pure long-drive-out-of-town, get-wet-in-the-rain-with-someone, get-cosy-and-lovey dovey kind of weather. And i'm single. Great.

So i went. And i downed my sorrows. At a place called, get this, Couch.

Nope, this is not a good day for single me. Not at all.

Coming up: A new post series...

... called Weapons of Destruction.

Much as i would have liked to post my first in the series right now, i have way too much work to let this distract me. Will be here in the next couple of days, for sure. Here's something to keep you looking forward to it, though:

Anjali was travelling with her boyfriend on his bike, long straight hair flying in the wind, arms around his waist - maybe even a little lower, when it came and struck her like a whiplash. "Yow!", screamed Anjali, as her insensitive boyfriend kept riding on, mistaking her howl of dismay and pain as pleasure. (But then, isn't that what men usually think anyway?)

To be continued...

Free Radical.

It entered within, i know not how.
It wiggles here and there, then and now.
Bites into my flesh, sets my cells on fire.
Unleashes its dissatisfaction, makes it my need, my desire.
Possessed become I, infested by an unquenchable pain.
Here I am, restless for something rebellious again.

"Kill Me" for the day.

Q:
What do military men grow on their farms?
A:
Grain aids.

UNO? Oh, i didn't know!

Facebook has this new application right. I mean, it might be new to me because i've seen it just like, a week ago. It's online UNO, and it's darn fascinating because the invisible powers that be randomly choose three people from random places on the map who happen to be on FB and put them together to play UNO with you. There's a chat window on the side for the players to communicate with each other if they like. So one minute you're in your chair and the next, you're globetrotting, exchanging hellos with perfect strangers from obscure (and not so obscure) places. I find the whole thing extremely cool.

So the first time i played, i had an Egyptian (a very good looking one at that) as one of the players. I don't know, maybe he thought it was a good forum to get chummy with a stranger and ask them their age as icebreaker. My instinctive response was to chat back saying "Shove it". Then good sense prevailed and i gave him a smart one: "Old enough to play UNO." That got a few laughs from the others.

Then i met another guy from Jordan. And this conversation, i have to, have to paste here. (The names have been changed, just in case. Everything else is just the way it happened.)
Mister Jordan: hi everybody
Miss Vietnam: hey
Lousy Mary, i have no idea from where: hi gl :)
Mister Jordan: nice to meet u both
Mister Jordan: ;)
Me: hello
Mister Jordan: and u too OK
Mister Jordan: where u all live
Miss Vietnam: vietnam. and u?
Me: i'm an indian
Mister Jordan: JORDON
Mister Jordan: nabila so u are hindu
Me: nope
Mister Jordan: muslim
Me: yep
Mister Jordan: i live in jordon but it doesnt matter whetter i am a muslim
Mister Jordan: nabila
Me: yeah, so why the assumption that i was a hindu? just because i'm from india?
Me: :)
Mister Jordan: yes
Mister Jordan: ;)
Me: ah.
Mister Jordan: u live in bombay or in calctta
Me: no
Me: there are other places apart from that
Me: like bangalore
Mister Jordan: nabila
Me: or chennai
Miss Vietnam: or trivandrum
Me: absolutely! thank you!
Me: :)
Mister Jordan: so where do u live
Me: bangalore
Mister Jordan: oh

And that was that, he didn't chat after the "Oh". It was amusing, but irritating at the same time. I mean, what rationale did he use to come up with my religious identity? How does it even matter when you're playing a game of UNO? Dork.