Enter like a Tornado, leave like a Tsunami.

That's what I used to say about my Econ teacher; enters like a tornado, and leaves like a tsunami. The econ teacher who pretty much picked on me every time anything in the world went wrong (or she just realized what a waste of space she was) So now I'd like to go shove up my much prided 96 on her face.
(*Does the IGot96InEconomicsBitchDance.)
#DrumRolls
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The CBSE Board results be out, and good ole Nil's managed a 94%  HELLS YES.

So although I'm still considering if the marks on the mark sheet are mine or not, I'm pretty crazy happy and yeah well. Just pretty muchings crazy happy, is what I am!
Though the happiness was a littttul choked when the newspapers said the cut-offs were to rise this year
 (a-gain.), nevertheless, all that is for later. The point is, I'm slightly "Freddie Mercury Posed" yet again ...and I'm officially, offficially OUT of school. That's a stupid thing to say after the farewell happened in January and everything, yah. I know. But fact be fact, it never hit me. Nor has it now, actually. But somewhat of a closure came with the mark sheet.

And now, comes college. (*crazy lady scream in ze background.)
Running around for forms, getting twenty passport size photographs, filling forms with black gel pen, running back to submit them applications before the last date, entrance exams, last year cut offs (peeing in my pants), current year cut offs (peeing in my pants Part II), long lines before the admission counters (pretend to faint, works all the time), and yada yada bada bleh! ----> The little rat race has begun, folks! Carry some Gatorade in your bags dear applicants, cause June and long college admission lines don't go together. At all.

So obviously having said that, you must also know that the process has merely begun and I'm already tired of the...well, hard work. (HONESTLY NOW, Education wasn't supposed to be sucha pricey luxury okay. KIDS ARE SUPPOSED TO GET INTO COLLEGE. COLLEGES ARE SUPPOSED TO TAKE KIDS. SIMPLE.)
Yes, ignoring my sudden moment of absolute hyperventilation, the point is that I'm going to be running around like a roadrunner with a purple face all around the place just so as to ensure myself a little more education, which is obviously not the priorities of most colleges anymore because all they do is cut kids for not getting a .25 or .09% more. (REALLY PEOPLE, HEAR YOUR SELVES WILL YAH?) :O

So yes, I'm utterly jobless (well, I should be preparing for an entrance but oh well, pointless shenanigans are just so much better. You feel me brodah/sistah?) and in this enlightening process of being jobless I'm going to try and figure out a college which might be having a good day and decides to take good kids from the general quota.

And now, I shall go watch a movie as it's 3:15am and that's just what normal people do at this hour. MIB III in 3D tomorrow. YAYAYAAYAYAYAYAY.
OkBye.

-Nil. :D


P.s- A big THANK YOU to Anjali for the Versatile Blog Award! So much niceness you are! =)

Mind bereft.

You know how people talk about how the soul leaves the body after death... Yeah, what happens when the mind leaves the body while alive and breathing? When motor skills resign to an abominable lull of procrastination. When the fingers mull over the same object not realizing it's sharp cuts, it's bald surface, it's porous texture, its purpose. When your dry lips don't remember the tongue, when the throb in your head isn't pain, anymore. When there's a miasma of  botheration and a nagging solution in the back of your mind, but alas the mind has left with the aircraft in your subconscious sense and the solution is tightly pressed with harsh hands around its mouth.

You understand it's an ephemeral feeling, but the arrogant speed of time makes you jittery and insecure. You've stopped acting, and every sense of reason is mating with every slightest hint of emotion. While your vision was capable of registering every color in erstwhile times, what you see now is a filter of sepia.
There aren't watches around you, and yet you hear a rather loud ticking. Rude and loud noise of aircrafts taking off somewhere very much around your being scream within your hearing range.
A decision of sort is awaited, and it humors you that you don't know what the question is; that is to be decided upon and yet, you know the answer.

Yeah, what does indeed happen when the mind leaves the body while alive and breathing? 
When you know your mind is in that aircraft in front of you, but your heart wouldn't let you take a step towards it ; When your mind takes off with that aircraft and you've finally, finally lost your mind.

(Don't ask why, just don't. Certain pictures don't leave you with an option but to write. And circumstances help, if not anything. )
-Nil.

Popkinz Poptarts.

I work under pressure, I've realized. I have a dance recital in less than a week and I decide to even consider working on it when I get a call from one of the organizers who casually mentioned the dress rehearsal is on 16th. A Hiroshima Nagasaki happened in my brain, considering I didn't even know the name of the second solo I was to work on. So yeah, finally when I figured I was screwed did I manage to finish one part of it, in an hour and a half. Hell yes. And then I turned into an overconfident areshoool, so I left it at that. And well, tomorrow's the dress rehearsal. And. Well, lets just say I don't even know the other song by heart let alone remember and dance to it. So for the next two hours (or more), I plan to work my rear bones off till the choreography stands at a respectable place. And I think I'm going to be a work-o-holic, once I start working. Irrelevant.
Now playing: Forgotten Dreams.

In other news, I won 2nd place in the 27th Blog-a-ton that I participated in! I got a fancy cyber Silver batom and everything =P But thanks you guys, who voted. Awfully kind, I say. I be so thrilled. Free cyber martinis for you guys, as always =)
And to add a tiara, thank you Bumble Bee for the lovely blog award! Much too niceness you are, Bumblezz. =)

My tiny cousins were over last week. Went slightly berserk hitting the TV screen for no apparent reason with the 2 year old while the 8 year old spoke gibberish in the Garfield style into my ear. There was food flying around the house and the voice levels of tiny children were sure underestimated by everybody in general. It was a disturbing surprise. But aah well, cute kids. Slightly apeshit crazy, so I got along just fine.
Ye-p. That be them.

Other than, the weekend was. Well. A mess. Everything sucked monkey balls till yesterday, but Tuesday's been OK so far. Tomorrow's quite a day to reckon with; 16th! (Yess, I know you're reading, saxyface. Haaah, go stuuudy.)
So we'll save the chaos in my head for a rainy day. And for now, I shall take your leave, reader. It's time to give the overconfident douche in me some dance lessons. The next post...might be a photo update. There are a bunch of photographs I've clicked since January. So I was planning on some change from the fiction and my mindless rants.  Anyhoo, that's for later. Later, amigos.

Much amour,
Nil.

Once again.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 27; the 27th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'Once Again'.

Once again.

The garden was a much favored and cherished abode; my favorite wonderland in the world. It was a quiet green glass palace that buzzed of insects and moist warmth of sort; resonating green, growth and life. 

Every month or two, the creepers would look slightly more taller; crawling and entangling more intimately around the blue pipes on the walls, as if playing a careless game of sheer tomfoolery.. The moss draped walls accentuated with white (almost polka dotted) bird droppings; the rather regular little visitors that would exodus and entrada as they please, when they please.

I was a little visitor, myself. I was eight, and after the garden being my favorite place in the world came our Gardener, who was my favorite person in the world; in simple words of a petite heart. 

So every afternoon when Joseph watered the plants, I'd sneak in and stand behind the netted door. 

"Little Missus is here" ; he'd declare in a sing-song way to which I'd stick my tongue out at his hunched back. I'd eventually slip into his lap, while his green thumb would work around the pots. 

So it was just an afternoon such when I sat on Joseph's lap while he recited ridiculous and vivid fictions about the dog flowers growing into real big dogs in a month or two and how the garden would echo of barks and smell of dog litter when suddenly I stopped laughing and sat queer still. 

"What happened, Missus?" 

"Joseph...that butterfly is dead!" ; Joseph followed my big round teary eyes to a yellow butterfly that lay dead on of the pots.

"Did the dogs kill it?" ; my lower lip jutted out.

"Yes, Missus. The dogs..killed it."

"Mad mad mad dogs! But it was so pretty!" ; I whined. 

"It was, innit? But no worries, Little Missus. The dogs left behind the baby! We'll have a pretty little butterfly soon!" ; pointed Joseph at a cocoon. 

"Once again?!" ; my eyes widened. 

Joseph smiled ; "Yes Missus. Once again."

............And now, it feels strange. Standing in front of the coffin of the poor gardener who taught me the motley amphitheater of life and death at eight. 

"Once again, Joseph" , I kept the dog flowers on top of the coffin beneath layers of which, lay his heart. 

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The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

-Much love,
Nil :)