Jan 26, 2010

I Hate you.
Wont talk to you.
Will kick you if you show up in front of me.
Think you are a big stupid ass.
*Glare* at you.

But God how I miss you.

Jan 16, 2010

Mwah Shilps! :)

No matter what I write about you and the times I spent with you, nothing, NOTHING, will come close to telling you what you mean to me. Im sooooooooooooooo happy that you will be starting a new life in a new city (TRUST ME Hyd is awesome!!! And the sights... ufff kya batao!!! *wink wink*) and at the same times Im million times more sad that you are going to go away from us all...

The time I spent with you... laughing mostly... and some of it crying and some more of it fighting... I will always always remember it. When I sit to think of the three years that I spent with you, there are so many memories that crowd my mind.. All the times that bring a smile to my face instantly, making me thank the big guy up there, for blessing me with a friend like you.

I remember how we all came together, you, moni, pranita, varu and me... strangely beginning in the LR (Ladies Room) of all places!! How many times we have sat there, completing assignments, laughing about teachers, talking about crushes and boyfriends (apne AND doosro ke... hehehehe!)... and omg!! taking those million pics!!!! :) :) :)

I remember how we formulated our "MOM" theory... talking about the eccentricities of our respective mom's.. Hehehe!!! The MOM Theory of our girl gang was that all moms in the world refered some common hidden book in the world. The book had all the same theories that moms uncannily seemed to follow (for example -- "If your friend (who i have seen with my own eyes) is not going for that outing, you are not allowed", "Any guy who calls you after 10.00 PM is a 'bigda' hua ladka!")and they all referred the same dialogues -- ("haaaannn.... yeh toh guesthouse refering to home) hai!!!! mann aata hai tab aati hai... mi tar molkarin aahe na! ('Im just a maid' in marathi)" .... "Once I say NO it means NO!"... "Friends ke liye tere pass time hai... Mere liye nahi hai!!! (tragic voice)" And even if we were not allowed for those outings, or we had to invent some seriously crazy code names for the bigde hue ladke who called after 10.00PM... we found a way to laugh about it all... And my god! Do I miss that wonderful laughter! :)

Shimla-Manali trip was the best time of my life, with the SHOT gang and the crazy antics we did... The people we troubled in the trains, the masti with did our RR Gang... Remember how Karthik sprayed his deo at us when we yelled "shot diya shot diya" complete with mawali steps on the train, and yelled back "baas maara baas maara" :D :D You, Prani, Moni, Sari, Varu had the best time, in the snow, shooting snowballs at the "others" :D having CRAZYYYYY photoshoots where we pretended to be models in demand :P which we actually are anyway :P hehehhee!!! Rem how we were singing songs while we on on those horses with weird haircuts, how we ran around in the Manali hotel pretending to be ghosts (with a seriously BAD sense of humor!!), troubling couples, talking about the future late in the night and then finally saying "Abe yaar yeh sab kya SHOT hai... chalo CID dekhte hai!" ... Life was so wondeful with a friend like you.

Naintal trip was the icing on the cake, with the vodka party and the Danger Duckies... Then the jeep ride in Jim Corbett where all we saw were elephants :P, then coming and playing sakhli on the hotel grounds :D.. I remember getting scared out of my wits when we heard that sudden knock on the door in the dead of the night, with the lights all gone, and weird sounding rasping from the other side... and the GENIUSES that we are.. we carry PILLOWS as shields!!! and go open the door to not a ghost but Gul!!! Ofc no ghost would have hair THAT long! :P the gossip-cum-what happens in the future sessions in the middle of the night where Gul wanted to open the windows because "the insects will be sleeping anyway" :D

Sharing dabba in the canteen, sitting in the quad, hanging out in the LR of all places possible, bunking lects, sitting for lects and throwing paper balls, fighting with mad people in exam dept, going crazy about Salman :P (of Dance India Dance fame), enjoying every fest of college with crazy screaming... You made college a LOT awesomer than before! :) You are one of the few people who make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have friends like you guys! :)

All the best for whatever you do (Im TELLING you .NET is awesome! :P JAVA SUCKS!) And hope you find happiness where you are (If you find extra tall dark handsome from down there, send me ASAP! :P) and Ill misssss youuu!!!!! Now who will tell Pranita with me "Nice try huh, Nice try! " :( and who will tell her "Annie tak pohochne ke liye tujhe mere paise guzarna padega" I'll miss you babe!!!

Love you LOTS!,
Proud SHOT gang member,
Annie. :)

Jan 10, 2010

A Thousand Splendid Suns.

I wrote a review a very long time back for the college magazine about my favorite book - A Thousand Splendid suns. If you haven't yet read the book then go and read it NOW! Now, I'm hardly the expert of reviews, because this happens to be the only one I have ever written :P so I'm not exactly sure how long it is supposed to be. But anyways, hope you guys like it. Here goes :

"Khaled Hosseini's 2003 novel "The Kite Runner" arrived at the perfect post-9/11 moment, bringing into glaring spotlight the suddenly notorious Islamic nation of Afghanistan & then slowly weaved a rich, deeply affecting & painfully heart wrenching story that spoke of friendship, treachery, Taliban cruelty, and redemption. Next, Hosseini presents before us, a heart breaking follow-up “A Thousand Splendid Suns", set once again against the backdrop of recent violence of Afghanistan, which literally reveals the bruises beneath the burqa.

“The Kite Runner” got off a gripping start & later stumbled into sentimentality. Like a stark contrast “A Thousand Splendid Suns,” starts off subtly, slowing unfurling, progressively gaining speed & emotional power. Hosseini who was born in Kabul and moved to the United States in 1980,is a gifted storyteller who creates characters deftly, colored with simplicity & rudimentary boldfaced emotions, intertwined expertly with melodramatic plot lines. The story gives an intimate look at a nation that is torn apart by war, in a way that speaks to a vast majority of the world's readers. Because inspite of his writing being vivid & descriptive, it remains balanced & shockingly real, which gives you a distinct feeling that you are right there watching it all happen.

A Thousand Splendid Suns offers a harrowing insight into the lives of Afghan women spanning over the last 3 decades, alternating between the points of view of the two main protagonists of the story – Mariam & Laila, who are women born into very different circumstances. The story set primarily in Kabul starts in 1964 with a five-year-old Mariam, & finally ends in 2003, spanning over the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, the defeat and withdrawal of the Russians that led to the warlords in-fighting, followed by the rise of the Taliban, and ends with the beginning of democratic rule.

Mariam is the abandoned illegitimate daughter, result of a wealthy businessman’s sexual dalliance with a washerwoman. At 15, curious about the outside world, & the remainder of her blood ties, she decides to take her life’s course into her own hands… & it isn’t one she always desired. Her mother commits suicide and she is forced to marry Rasheed, a shoemaker in Kabul, who apart from being 3 times her age, is a coarse, lecherous and violent man who effectively turns Mariam’s already disheveled life into a living hell. Hossieni reveals how Mariam’s destiny is taken from her hands in a casual, almost impassive way, which gives an insight to his natural storytelling talents, pulling the readers heartstrings in just the right way.

The life of the novel’s other heroine, Laila, takes an even sharper trajectory toward ruin. Though she is the cherished daughter of an intellectual, Laila finds her life shattered when first her brothers fall martyr for the country, & then a rocket —a result of the mujahideen running riot in the country— lands on her house and kills her parents. Alone in a war torn country, half deaf by a bomb blast & terrified that she is pregnant by her childhood sweetheart Tariq, who has already left Afghanistan, Laila is forced to take cover with Rasheed and his wife. Soon her life starts to resemble the one that countless Afghan women live each day, & she finds herself, at 14, Rasheed’s new wife.

There is no joy in this grotesque union, only humiliation & servitude, but the slow-growing friendship between the 2 women, against all expectations, sustains and transforms them over the increasingly gruesome years that come. The romantic twists in the story may seem fairytale-like but all in all the story remains a sadly accurate version of what many Afghan women have experienced.

At its best, the novel is a view into all the big events of Afghan history, through a veil: daily mundane household chores, the way the family treats each other, their daily life – we see nothing except through their eyes, & that is what makes the novel a stirring read. The novel never feels like a history lesson or a window on human rights issue, all of the best elements of fiction are present right there: love, betrayal, crisis, scandal, the best and worst of human behavior. What's unmistakable though is how much war -- be in the Soviets, the Americans or the Taliban and various factions -- have gutted the country. This is a story of a country in which there are roughly 2 million war widows & almost as many beggars as there are burqa’s. Nearly every family who stayed had someone who was murdered, raped and tortured and sometimes entire families were massacred.

Someone who keeps track of international news will be well exposed to the atrocities of war & the suffering of women, but as fiction, it devastates in an unflinchingly real way, that will force each reader to imagine the consequence of facing such a grim fate. All in all there are the lessons to be learnt: true love never dies; justice will be done; sisterhood is powerful. It’s a novel that will keep you on the edge till u read the last line, well worth a read, impossible to resist. Speaking of his countrymen in “The Kite Runner” made Khaled Hossieni a well known name among the new genre of writers, but it is the plight of Afghan women in “A thousand splendid suns” that has brought him to realize his full powers as a novelist.

-- Annie.

Jan 3, 2010

Good Girl Gone Bad.

The beep of her phone startled her, abruptly halting the pens advent of the idle doodling on the last page of her notebook. She took the cellphone out of her bag.

'1 new message’
"Free at 8?"

She ran her fingers through her thick black hair, turning slightly to her left. She saw him sitting at the far end of the class, turned towards her, watching her nonchalantly, casually flicking his phone in his hand. She turned back ahead as the professor droned on in his ultra-bored voice about the assignment to be handed in the next day. She slowly stashed her books into her bag, and started to walk out with the rest of the crowd, with the bag riding low on her waist.

She felt another beep as her cell vibrated in her back pocket. She turned back to him and gave a curt nod. She turned back ahead, but not before she saw her twine her fingers through his. Her lips curled into something between a sneer and a crooked smile and she walked out of the class with her heels tapping loudly, sure that he was watching her.


He sat impatiently in his car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, checking the rear view mirror every other second. She finally appeared, at the back end of the road, walking in a slow rhythmic grace towards him. Her worn out, faded jeans clung to those long shapely legs, almost making him sigh. Her eyes, outlined with black kohl, flashed with the dangerous light like always, guarded and cautious, like a feline just about to attack.

“Waiting for me honey?” she drawled in that deep husky voice, as she slid easily into the seat beside him. He gave her two seconds to close the door behind her, before he was claiming her lips with the urgency that was threatening to dangerously spin out of control.

He felt her hands pushing him back, softly but with an undeniable strength beneath them. He leaned back, took a deep breath and cleared his mind of his thoughts, and took off with squealing tires that left a cloud of dust in its wake.


The night had turned colder, and they lay on the back seat of the car, sharing a sheet between the two of them. She shifted slightly snuggling deeper under the sheet, pulling the strap of her bra back over her shoulder. He sat leaned against the window, frosted with the vapor, running his fingers through his hair now damp with the sweat. Suddenly striking like a naughty kitten, she nudged him on the chest with her foot under the blanket. He looked up at her, smiling the crooked smile, watching as she gave him the almost drowsy half-smile, mysterious stare, that he could never decipher, but which never failed to arouse him. He made to move towards her, his hands sliding up her thighs, and she moved to take him over her, reaching for his shoulder when the shrill sound of his cell phone broke loudly into the nights silence.

She sat up abruptly, her eyes turning back to chips of black hard stone, the smile gone from her face. He rolled his eyes and he didn’t need to check his phone before he said in clipping tones, “It’s her.”

It was the signal for her to remain quiet. In the silence of the night, she heard every word from the phone like she was right there on the back seat of the car.

“Sweetheart, where are you? I have been waiting for your call for the entire evening!”

He said in a bored sounding flat monotone, “I was busy baby, remember we have that networks assignment to hand in tomorrow?”

He pulled her in his arms, balancing the phone between his shoulder and right ear, his fingers idly playing with her hair, damp too, slipping lower to the tattoo on her left hip. He tuned her out, as she went on about how many dresses she got from the million stores she went to that afternoon. And then he gasped as she suddenly got on top of him.

“What’s wrong honey? What happened?” came the voice from the phone, barely missing anything. But he hardly heard anything, because she was so close to him, cupping his face with both hands, he could almost hear her heartbeat, her hair tumbling all over her shoulder onto his chest.

“I’ll call you back later. I broke my toenail.” He flicked his cell closed and threw it somewhere in the front. She laughed then, a rich sound, throwing her hair over her shoulder and looking down at him grinning, “Broke your toenail? Seriously? ” He grabbed the hair at the back of her head and pulled her back closer, eliminating the last of the distance between them.

They didn’t complete the networks assignment after all.


“Happy anniversary baby” she crooned, planting a big smack on his lips, right in front of the whole class. The girl’s aww-ed and the guys wolf-whistled. A cake had been called for to celebrate their 3 years of togetherness. He didn’t like the way it all was projected as some grand affair, he hated the crowds. He looked over the faces around him to the far end of class, watched her as she stood leaning back against the wall, the same old mysterious stare directed towards him.

He didn’t realize that someone else was watching her too.

“The punk chic’s got the hots for your guy. Look how she stares.” Her best friend whispered into her ears, she turned to look and it was true. There was pure animal hunger on that girls face. A possessive flash of jealousy made her walk purposefully towards him and turn him to face her. She kissed him lightly on the lips and pulling away to smile back at him. Slipping her hands down his arm, she nodded towards the cake, pulling him softly along with her.

She saw everything from across the class, her eyes an unfathomable black and her face an impassive mask. She turned and slowly walked away, certain that he was not watching her anymore.


“You don’t deserve to live bitch.”

She was hunched over the sink in the washroom, and she straightened up with a flash, meeting crazed furious eyes in the mirror. She turned around, pure, bone-chilling fear gripping every fiber of her being. It was strange because she had never felt fear ever in her entire life, till this moment as she stared at the girl shaking with anger, her eyes saying that she was beyond any reason. She opened her mouth to scream but it was too late.

The terror was the last thing she ever felt, before the hammer came crashing into her face.


“Did they find out who it was?”

“It was late. She was about to go out. No one saw who it was.”

“Could it be one of us?”

He heard nothing of it all, numb with the sight of closed coffin. They said her face was smashed so bad that they couldn’t even fix it up for her funeral. He still felt like it was all just a bad dream.

He felt a beep from his cell phone. He slowly took it out and flicked it open. He looked up across the cemetery and saw her standing below the willow at the end of the grounds. Even from that far he could see that half-smile and that mysterious stare.

‘1 new message’
“Free at 8?”


P.S: *grin*