Welcome Welcome boys and girls into a more distracted world

Comprised of all the things you knew but older now (that’s me and you)

The things inside post

‘Don’t you mind’ reflect upon a recent time

Where you and I were both online and part of a collective mind

And still are we online you see but with much more consultancy

In groups we search ironically to find our self identity

Embracing femininity, skeptics of affinity

Maybe neither actually

Deleting all civility

And fearing most proximity

But that has happened ‘obviously’ if you look retrospectively

But that’s my point, that hindsight there

Its captured our collective stare

A constant daze at our bygone days, seduced by programmed time delays

Inside our phones our needs has grown

For inside there, we’re not alone

You see it’s not all doom and gloom

Just sanctify ‘outside your room’

It’s easy when you’re made aware

A more authentic captured stare

And something else to celebrate the fact that we can stay up late

And share and care and make aware some stranger who is over there

And change and mould and right some wrongs

Whilst streaming all our favourite songs

Left and right grow more apart but you can click just



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Here’s an abrupt playlist for ya!

The WiFi is super fast at my library and I don’t want to put that to waste. So here are the ten best songs I listened to this year (does not mean that these songs were released in 2017) along with a pretty, complimentary  photo in the end. I’m immoderately jobless. Deal with it (pls). Let’s go from 10, shall we.

10. Phillips Phillips – Magnetic

9. The Strumbellas – Spirits 

8. Kodaline – Midnight

7. Imagine Dragons – Thunder

6. Vance Joy – Like Gold

5. Sid Sriram – Maruvaarthai

4. Mumford and Sons – Hopeless Wanderer

3. Imagine Dragons – Whatever It Takes

2. Eminem – Arose

1. Imagine Dragons – Believer 

That “pretty, complimentary photo” I told you about:

Eerily pretty.


Paper or Pixel?

When I was a kid, my father would take me to his friend’s book shop at Lakshmi Complex and I would browse through immense titles and run my fingers along the spines of the books just for the thrill of it. The aura of bookshops is the pretentious fact that there are hundred other people inside those books at different places and vibrant state of affairs at different worlds altogether. That distinct fact is truant in the case of online shopping of books. Panoramically, I would say that book shops and libraries are macroscopical engulfment of fabricated lives. There was a time when I would select my books by fervently glancing at the four-lined description given by the publishers and literally sway on my toes while my father too reads it for approval before purchasing it. Later on the way home, there is an irresistible tingle of anticipation to start reading the book. I would take a few hours or a maximum of two days to finish my book that always leaves my mother with a look of stupor that says – “We just bought you that book.”

The flush of exhilaration when I’m at a book shop is unaccountable. There would be infinite books facing me and the sweet pain is that my parents allowed only a couple of books to purchase at a time. Ergo, the selection was arduous. The best part was beholding the vivacious cover pages of each book. They ranged from titles engrossed cover pages, glossy cover pages, minimal themes and so forth. They played a major role in my book selection at the book shop and hitherto they have not let me down.

Through my early teens, I enrolled in a library owing to my rapidly growing need for books. While reading the library’s copy of The Great Gatsby I stumbled upon dried, yellowy tear drops embedded on the page where Gatsby dies. Then I noticed that physical books – unlike virtual books – absorb anthropoid feelings. Similarly, in a copy of a Stephen Kings novel at an electrifying phase, I found the page gently crumbled. Some books are dog-eared, some are not, some books are filled with remarks along the margin and some are highlighted; Books define the reader. Poring over literary collections virtually is something that I have not been able to wrap my head around.

But lately, I have been consecrating my time reading e-books and PDF versions because they are mostly free of cost and easily portable within an app of my phone unlike the considerably dense books. The perusal of virtual editions of books has brought a tardily evolving eye pains and headaches. Hence, I decided to go back to the hardbound copies and paperbacks. It is after sometime that I realized how bereft I have been of the papery texture, the compressed spine, the myriad of curves through each page and the evident fragrance of each word. Books on Kindle, laptops and phones are well movable but the bends and curves of a physical book are pertinacious. I hope this occult war between physical books and e-books come to an end because it is understandable that each variation has its own rewards and limitations. Yet I sense an abstract compulsion to impel my view that a ‘book’ regardless of its definition, is bound by stacks of papers filled with stories to tell and wisdom to impart.

Silver Linings Playbook

David O. Russell, good job.

Matthew Quick, you had one job.

I saw the movie version of The Silver Linings Playbook few years ago after its red-letter mentions at the Oscars. I was satisfied with the movie a good deal; Bradley Cooper (YEAH!!), it was good to see Jennifer Lawrence in someone else’s shoes other than Katniss Everdeen and Robert de Niro played his role pertinently. The movie about two emotionally disoriented, screwed up people with a penchant for working out and running for hours together was indeed worth the two hours. I was quenched with the movie as it was; I even lent it to a couple of friends and recommended to the other few. But I chanced upon the book a week ago at a local book fair. Until then, I had no idea that the movie was based on a book. The placid yet matte finished cover page with Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence and a summer yellow back with accurate description caught my eye and then I knew I would buy the book no matter if I had seen it ten times.


It took me four hours straight to read the 289 paged book.

The first hundred pages are heavily filled with Pat Peoples, the protagonist talking about nothing but silver linings in the cloud (plus how much he hates pessimism and at an equal degree his belief in miracles), Nikki (who happens to be his beautiful wife who according to him is away for a reason), his workout: iron bench press, leg lifts, sit ups on the Stomach Masters 6000, bike riding, squash, knuckles push up, curls- the works (phewwwwww) and his NFL home team – the Eagles. The story per se revolves around these four wispy yet significant pointers. He runs into Tiffany, his best friend Ronnie’s sister in law whose husband died a couple of years ago in an accident. Tiffany is evenly lost as Pat is but unlike Pat she’s reached the point of accepting reality as it is where as Pat still believed in happy endings, silver linings and miracles. The author’s work is incredible as the book could easily pass for a disturbed person writing it but it is devoid of a stimulating plot that the movie compensates for.

The movie has more drama, racy ending, Pat and Tiffany actually get together (Pat and Nikki being divorced) and kiss (Pat gets his Happy Ending) where as in the book Quick closes with them deciding to be best friends who look up at the sky with the Cloud Chart besides them. And the author suffocates the readers occasionally with too much American football, Nikki and his obsession over optimism. But I think that is how a confused mind would work: over-thinking and obsessing. The movie spares you the over-thinking and obsession but you also miss out on cute parts where he instead of swallowing his pills he tucks them under his tongue and spits them out in the toilet later which he says is quite an adventure for him and the sweet sensation he describes when his boy Baskett scores a touchdown and little others things along the pages.

Apart from such limited grounds to read the book, the book was a good read indeed but the movie outsmart the book with its cast, slight but noticeable changes in the script and a decent soundtrack.

P.S. David O. Russell is the director of the Silver Linings Playbook movie.

Matthew Quick is the author of the Silver Linings Playbook book.

Visual Effects!

(I advise you against the perusal of this post. But if you must, go on.)

Dear ______ (that’s how you start a letter right?)

Take my advice; don’t ask me for movie suggestions. Yes, I do watch an abnormal number of movies for a normal person. But I ain’t a normal person, right? No, I’m not a girl but storm with skin, nebulae exploding, cancer’s cure and not yours.

See? This is what happens when you watch too many movies. You get maudlin dramatic, inordinate sugar-coated eloquence (written by a pauper), walk swaying your hips unfashionably and carry on with you work like someone is taping a video of you in slow motion. Anyways, back to the point, don’t ask me for a movie suggestion, I’ll ask you to watch 500 days of Summer, Napoleon Dynamite, End of the Tour, Trainspotting, Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, The Martian and more movies (where most of them are figuratively nauseous).

By “nauseous” I don’t mean crude scenes that will mentally disturb the plebian minds but rather those movies which define futility; that have no story, they are pointless, they have a few never-heard-of songs that are majorly of strums of acoustic guitar with profound lyrics that sounds like a sentence being spoken than a lyric being sung, a note of violin and piano here and there, a string of abstruse dialogues and a plot so thick you’ll end up thinking how you started watching this movie in the first place. But maybe because of the bad taste I possess in almost everything, I love these movies. I download the whole soundtrack of the movie, let myself drown in the frail music, cry over the sickest dialogue, and watch the movie over and over till the point where I start speaking dialogues of the movie in daily life.

Someone: Hey, that boy over there, he’s from your class right? Is he okay? I kinda have a crush on him.

Me: Plutonium-dense, satirical quiz-kid opus, colossally disruptive and spectacularly good.

Next, I’d like to introduce you to the newly found (but has been subsisting since the production of the first movie ever) evil, malign phenomenon that goes by the apt term “movie effect”. The victims (including me) of the “movie effect” are hapless people whose life ambitions are trifled with. Our aspirations drift rapidly from being a troglodyte existentialist to an over-the-night-billionaire. Disappointments suck and the more movies you watch you realize how awfully disappointing your life is that even being cancer stricken sounds passable. And the process of invariably trying to restore dopamine levels becomes an act that will eventually cause damage. Ergo, you just lay on your unwashed bed, propped up against the bed post, watch otiose movies, cry over fictional deaths, and ponder over why adventures such as well, all those that happen in movies don’t actually happen in real life.

As I type this I make a mental note to bring songs of The Beatles, Nirvana, The Smiths, Sex Pistols and all the other non-popular awesome-sauce bands next time from home to listen to while ranting about movies, inutility and the existentialist philosophy. Some movies wreck you; they will leave you weeping, lost and bleak. They will bury you in the intricate scaffolds of sensitive, hopelessly quixotic lines. They will break you but because of the realists that we are, such trifle matters won’t disappoint us, except maybe a little, but enough to conk us out of our senses? Alright. By now you’ll be wondering about how I started writing such out of the blue, depressing stuff that arrives at merely watching movies, even I’m wondering about the same thing. Shit that time does. Shakespeare rightly said such a slut time is. This post is supposed to be epistolary so whoever reading this – you can write back about any random thing, I don’t mind reading and replying you back. Uh, that’s how a letter ends right?

Love (customary/default settings enabled signature),


2015 Wrapped.

Due to my laziness or better put – selective participation, I am going to wrap my 2015 with a set of gifs and also because polls show that they’re waaaay better than my writing.

I’ll start with January.

Board exams preparation (or that’s what I said though it looked nothing like it)



Parents: study study study study study.

Me: I want but I just … can’t.

giphy (2)



giphy (1)

PhEw. exams over. ha ha. thank god. finally done with it. so overflown with relief that i cant punctuate my lines.

April (lalalalalalalalalalala :D) Because I’m happy happy happy happy

giphy (3)

May = [ Rafagurrl turns 18 and makes the first adult decision : to  watch 4 movies per day through out the vacation (and Rafagurrl considers that to be the best decision of her life till now)]

giphy (4)

um wait.


12th results announced.

Parents : good girl. well, after all she’s ours. *lol im not at all blushing*

them be like

giphy (7)

Me on the inside :

giphy (6)

celebration ’cause bitch, 95% ain’t no nothing.


Parents : prepare for your entrance exam, half of them are already over. *rolls eyes* enough of eating cakes also.

Me: yeah yeah. Just one more day, I’ll start with the preparation.

giphy (5)

[flunks them all]

July : first stop : getting ready/ packing for college giphy (10)

then comes leaving home : stop 2.

giphy (11)

then on the way Rafagurrl gets homesick

giphy (12)

August : but hey, college is fun.

first, every-single-person asks this.

giphy (14)

why, kid, why? um, because I found economics interesting.

On the way to class, the someone asks you the Golden Questions.

[look, college is full of questions ok?]

giphy (16)

but somehow you manage to reach the class then;

giphy (17)

September, October and November: chilling with the roomie.

giphy (15)

December : rain, semester exams and home (heart symbols strewn all over).

rain – giphy (21)

exams – giphy (18)

later – giphy (22)

home. sweet. home.

And for you –

giphy (23)

A VERY HAPPY 2016! 😀






Memories Not So Memorable

I am unemployed now. By ‘unemployed’ I mean that I have a tremendous load of work to do yet I just sit awkwardly in front of the TV with one leg hanging from the arm rest of the seat and another leg pulled up to my chest and with a bowl of collation (chocolates and crisps) next to me. I’m getting endomorphic rather very comfortably. So today my mom asked me to dust all the dusty photo albums from ages back. Some albums feature very appreciable memories while some albums are totally forgettable but they keep stalking me.

Like the one photo where, I’m around 12 years old and I’m propped in the gap between two diverging branches of a gigantic tree and I’m picking my nose!  At the root of the tree everyone – mom, brother, cousins, grandparents – are sitting looking at me above them. And dad took the photo. Most of the photos of mine are gawky and very inconvenient. I was just very natural and the naturalism was inept.

I am not photogenic. As in, when someone says “let me take a photo of you. Now, smile.” I just cannot smile by order. My forced smile hangs somewhere in between a dead serious face and a mourning face. I could scan and post a photo from the past for accuracy but I’d be embarrassing myself. You should take the photo without any “1, 2, 3” or “say cheese” and then maybe I’ll look pleasing in the photo.

But arbitrary shots of mine are equally uncanny as the forced-smiles ones. There is this photo that my mom took a couple of years ago at Taj, Mumbai. I’m eating a cookie. Well, I’m about to. My mouth is open, eyes wide looking ravenously at the cooking on-the-way-to-my-mouth and around 20 teeth are visible. I resemble a savage beast. I get paranoid when I see a camera around me.

Even in the family photo on the top of our refrigerator I look like an army officer with a lemon stuffed in the mouth and others are cute as Barbie. In an other one, during dinner at home, everyone are having two-three dosas on their plate with chutney but I have many dosas stacked with red chutney, sauce, jam, podi and sambhar and all are looking at the camera but I’m tearing the dosa whilst looking at my grandpa’s plate next to me. *cringes*

I’ve categorized my photo album into two different sorts : People like Me and the People on Tumblr (everyone other then me in my family). People like Me – we tend to blend in to the scene but we do the absolute opposite. “The weirdo”. But my Facebook/Twitter/Instgram photos are okay, I guess because they are posted after taking around 200 selfies and torturing siblings to take some more using primary camera as it is better than the front one. Then, filtering 50 good selfies out of 200 and then editing – adding frames, bubbles, light drops and so on. After this tiringly expansive process comes posting of the photo which I don’t post. Lately, I’ve become exclusive! Ha ha.

The next type – Tumblr type – they look so Photoshoped. Clear skin. Black clothes, matte finished nail paints, Cadillacs and Porsches, long legs, designer brands, Starbucks and USA. So fake. (The different ways to solace oneself.) Comparing to my family – gold, unfazed makeup, sweet smile and very Indian.

I haven’t yet completed cleaning all the albums because I was just wondering how my brother got all his 2-year old photos perfect. My 2-year old photos are clumsily gauche. I have something or the other spilled all over me or I’m frantically dancing or singing. And you’ll see the mere four teeth (2 up 2 down) wide in a smile in all the photos. Happy child. Awkward or not, at least, I was not-self – conscious and narcissistic when I was a small kid. Children nowadays. DID I JUST TALK LIKE MY GRANDMA? no way. Anyway I have a lot of albums to take in and dust them and stash them in the bag. Since, I stopped midway to type out a blog post, my mom is going to be furious.


Present Tense and it’s Side Effects

Watching time pass by is poignantly fun. It’s like watching your weight gain yet you just keep eating that cake because it’s luscious (it’s an issue of self-control too but let’s put that one aside). I feel like Kristen Stewart from New Moon movie. I’m always propped on the couch next to my bedroom window listening to Kodaline and Snow Patrol and 21 Pilots. The seasons change, the suns goes and comes, the moon crumbles like a biscuit but owing to it’s to definite mortality it regains, sometimes it rains like the skies have missed their weeping and sometimes the sunshine is blinding, the trees stay where they are through the storm and through the drought and I am as always snuggled away in the couch next to my bedroom window watching the world go by.

“The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.”

–   Sarah Manguso

The fact that while I spend my time exploring into the minute features of beautiful creatures outside my window and profound significance of ballads is that there are a legion of teenagers of my own age accomplishing the unaccomplishable and creating a mark or a proof of their existence on Earth is beyond excrutiation. It is a bitter-sweet torture that evolves from the core of my heart and it tugs the veins so hard. Like ouch. The situation turns into something of self-guilt. I turn on the TV and Matt Bomer is helping the FBI solve a case. The naked truth stands bare – Matt Bomer is earning at my expense. Yet, I cannot tear my eyes off the television set. Matt Bomer is hawt.

Plus, my friends are paving their way towards the future. But in my case it’s different, Time is reluctantly crusading me towards the future. I have no clue about what I will be doing in future. Probably, fate will take care of it, as always. Anyways, my parents like any other parents think of ‘being clueless’ as a crime. Like death sentence crime. When I was 7 years old I had no idea that I’d be typing away random stuff on my laptop now or a couple of months ago I thought I’d be spending my vacation productively like reading Russian literature and Classics but I’m re-reading the Harry Potter series for the thousandth time. Kismet. Fate and Time will tell.

There is this line in “Car Radio” by 21 Pilots that goes like this – I ponder of something great, My lungs will fill and then deflate. Exactly. A sudden surge of possibilities and fame hits me hard out of the blue that makes me think “What have you been doing all these days staring out the window and staring at the Tell~lie~vision?” Get up. Be up and doing something. A big syringe of motivation liquid is thrust upon my lungs. But the effect doesn’t last long. My lungs will fill and then deflate. Poof. Came out of nowhere and returns to the same. The present has me at a disadvantage – I know the past and am uselessly worried about the future. Past is a good place to visit but a bad place to stay, says the Internet. Future is full of surprises, some are rotten eggs and some are gift wrapped presents pinned by a bow along with a bouquet of roses. But at one point, future becomes present and present becomes past and; You will perish. No matter if you stare out of your windows all your life or if you become someone great coated with fame, you will perish. Does that mean living is a side-effect of dying?


Tamil Weddings Be Like

Tamil weddings has it’s own charms and it’s own dulls. Don’t worry I am not going to bore you with even more details. Just enjoy.

         1) Getting ready to the wedding like


2) Reaches the wedding and looks at the other people and you feel like someone in white cloth because others be like

tumblr_nmpnkuNFu41rhwfb2o2_250 and tumblr_nmpnkuNFu41rhwfb2o5_250

3) All the relatives pulling your cheeks and saying “I saw you when you were this small, so big you are now.”


4) The “let’s meet the ponnu-maapillai” on the stage. Then big fight of withdrawals on who will be giving the gift. Everybody shoving the gift into your hands and you’re like :


5) Smile for the cameras!


Ooops. Did I scare the photographers?

6) Then comes food – which is sooooo good – especially gulab jamun!


6) Out of the blue, through the corner of your eyes you see your dad slide a gulab-jamun to sibling’s banana leaf without giving you one. Daddy, noooooooooooo.


7) After stomach full you are forced to meet relatives you don’t want to see but they are always lurking around and they will get you.

at school - maths paper comes like

8) And then it turns to a Family Meeting :


9) Suddenly you see a very good looking boy and excuse yourself for another ice-cream but actually


hey, boy. camon let’s look at each other.

10) Tiptoes back to your parents and try casual talk “Wow. This wedding is so grand. Look at the flower decorations that side – very beautiful. Oh, amma, who are those people sitting there? Namma relatives ah? (points to that boy’s family)! And amma replies, “O avangala. They are our family only. But distant relatives.” Amma does some relation-calculation. “That aunty is your periamma.” That means … that boy is my Anna.


11) Plus, everybody at the Family round table conference are talking about achievements of all your cousins and you’re there like


12) Thank God, dad say’s ‘Let’s go’. And throughout the ride to home you just sit in the car beaten and soul-sapped and full of ice creams.


The time I was on a TV show

I was 14 years old. You could say that I looked a bit more pleasable in the past than of now. Anyway, my mom’s work enables her to be in touch with all sorts of media related things and she happened to hear that some producers were producing children-involved TV Show at Coimbatore. Usually, most of the shows are produced in Chennai. Since, this was an exceptional case, my mom sent in my name with the only pretty photo of mine to the show director. Later, we got a call that I got in.

I started experiencing detailed fantasies of how my life would be after the TV Show. I fancied delusions of red-carpets, interviews, makeup rooms with huge bulbs along the frame of the mirror, award ceremonies (especially Oscars!) and how people whom I hate so fervently would beseech and scrounge for an autograph. How rich I would be! I’d have uncountable dresses. Yaaaaaaay! But the TV Channel was Doordarshan and not even my Grandma watches it. And hey, I got paid more than any private channel would offer.

The filming of that show was so long that Bollywood movies seemed short. They arranged all the kids, about 20 of us, according to our names and guess what? J was the last alphabet and I was itching to get beautiful after the magical strokes of the beauticians brushes and sponges. I waited for around half a day (9:00 am to 1:00 pm) sitting in the Waiting Room and drinking water and eating the lunch my mom packed and napping from time to time. One particular boy took about 1 hour get his face acceptable because he kept licking the strawberry flavoured lip gloss and kept rubbing off the foundation. What do boys learn in school?

That boy got on my nerves. Then, finally, they called my name and that make-up lady put some foundation, this and that and some orange lipstick. Orange? She said that since I was wearing blue shirt and orange shorts, orange lipstick would attract the camera. Okay whatever, make-up lady. I looked at myself in the mirror. What? I looked like those people who ride ridiculous cycle with one-wheel at circuses. Make-up lady put blue eye shadows. Is that because I wore blue shorts? I was on the verge of tears and asked my mom, “Ma, what if someone sees the TV?” So my mom replied, “No one will watch Doordarshan. Now go.”

For the first time I felt better after the mirror encounter because the other kids were beyond peculiar. It was hell of a circus. The show was about kids. Well, yeah. You have a sinewy/pokes you for fun/top-notch host and 20 others kids who are obviously dragged out of the Jumbo Circus, VOC Ground, Coimbatore if it weren’t for our parents here. Our ring-master (since the post has gotten circus themed) or the game conductor was a guy from Chennai and his job is to make fun and crack lame jokes at us while we in Level 1 – blow balloons and hold them between our fingers where the person who has blown the highest number of balloons wins and Level 2 – throw the small plastic balls into similarly small paper cups facing us. Mokka.

Facing us was whopping crowd, family members of all the kids. One particular family through out the TV show was shouting comments and orders to their ostentatious girl while she was gusting balloons. The show director had to beg the family for temporary quiescence. They re-did her shot and she blew more balloons than before. Cheating. The guy who held the games (who had to make fun of us) made too much fun of one boy and that boy broke to tears which turned to weeping and eventually he was wailing. Again, everybody went to the camera alphabetically and I was the last. Whatchamacallit.

My turn came at last. The blasphemy. Probably, that guy got well oiled, he was jesting exceptionally well. But why me? There were 19 kids before me and I was the only one who specifically got poked. Therefore, I lost with a naught. After the filming (ahem) they told us the date on which they would telecast it. I knew that I wouldn’t be watching the only time I was ever on TV because 1) I was shy and a bantam embarrassed, 2) there was a stubbornly unyielding gloominess that I didn’t even get one balloon fully blown or a plastic ball inside the cup and 3) I looked preposterously psychedelic.

Alas when the day came, my mom regrettably invited all our laid-off relatives (as they had time for the most unamusing TV show). I just hid in the bathroom throughout the hour. I can say that I never know how I look on the TV. But I am glad as I don’t want myself haunting my own dreams. The next day at school during the lunch interval, a couple of Class 2  students(I think, they were very kutty kutty so) came up to me and said, “Didi, I saw you on TV on Sunday. You looked like a butterfly.” It felt like I was on top of the world because all my family/relatives were just keen on consoling me for not winning or whatever and congratulated for being on TV then. But two Second grade kids made me feel extraordinary. Extraordinary like those feelings when you get goosebumps whilst the violin reaches soprano high and you’re filled with iridescent stars that are about to burst.

It felt beyond excellent.