life and death

Fickle, fickle, fickle. It’s all about the ending. Not a summation of it all or the average, the general taste. Just the ending.


I go for driving class everyday. I’m supposed to get there by 7.30AM but I’m usually there only at eight. I’m a natural at underachievement and showing no enthusiasm at anything whatsoever. I signed up for driving because I thought it would be cool to be able to drive to college (once I am allowed to get my license, that is (November 16th 2010)), but I found the third gear scary and just couldn’t drive in this long stretch without swerving left and right all unneccessarily like a bad game of Juiced (can you see the sparks fly as the car hits the edges of the sidewalk?).

Y feared the world would end and the Chennai population wouldn’t be safe and X was all, “You’re gonna drive? Hahaha.” My hand-eye, leg-eye, leg-hand coordination is just- hahaha. We’ll leave it at that.

Surprisingly, driving classes were okay and the passersby were safe. But I was too scared and wary of the traffic and cars nearby and drove so so slowly.

Today, though, for some reason, I felt this urge to drive. I wasn’t part-dreaming about going home and checking out the first page of the  MetroPlus or whatever I had planned for the afternoon or anything. I was itching to start the engine and hit the accelerator even before the driving instructor got there.

Without the fear and with this strange desire to just drive, and not hoping the next half an hour got over before I knew it, the next half an hour did fly. Bridges, the morning air, the dumpsters, Cute guy in uniform (wasn’t school over? Why did he have school?) running across the road, the gray-blue-ness of the morning sky, the cars honking and autos whistling past the bumpy road… Speed morphed these things into nothing more than flashes which I savoured.

There’s nothing nicer than going for a morning drive.


(No, my summer can’t be summarised by the angst-ridden poem I just posted. It was pretty normal. I’ve had some great times and lots of fun. Today though, I got that phone call, informing me of things a certain person said that I really would’ve been better off not knowing.

I bet she thought it was real satisfying, real clever telling people exactly what she thought of them before driving off to her homecity for college. I hope she’s feeling great. If only she knew what happened and what a freakshow she caused. But she probably knows and is grinning. It’ll probably be one of those stories she tells people in college like the stuff she told us about The Mythical L.

I must’ve known, from the way she talked… right from the beginning. Future rule: I judge you by how you talk about your old friends. If you bitch about them, you’re probably going to bitch about me few years down the line.

Unfortunately, the other person, F, directly opposed to Wannabe Drama Queen, is equally annoying and started everything.

At the end of this hell-ish era(-ish?), I do know who my real friends are. And I’m totally going to stand by them forever. And never ever befriend drama queens ever again.

Oh, on the bright side, I’ve been taking driving lessons and writing a lot and am going to register for French Level II. French classes were so much fun in 10th and I hope they’re fun this time round. I was pretty pissed they cancelled M.O.P Entrance Exams when I actually wanted to write the entrance. I can’t stand the fact that my future is totally dependant on Board results.

It makes no sense basing Viscom and certain other course admissions on board results! Yeah, today was a pretty disappointing and sad day for me. I hope things get better. I hope I get into a good college. I hope I don’t have to witness another unwanted volcano of bullshit.)

here's your epilogue (look at me, i'm the tragic heroine part 2)

a fake letter to a fake friend

i’m sorry i didn’t kick and scream

the tears were real

but the anger contained

two can play a game.

i’m sorry

(i ever got to know you)

maybe we’ll keep in touch

(you’re not the only hypocrite)

can’t return the spite

because honey, it’s just not right


you don’t deserve honesty.

on you, it’s a travesty;

a vulgar excuse for bitchery.

xoxo all the best

though i couldn’t care less.

you know a ‘fuck you‘ would’ve delighted you

but so do i.