4.30.2009

The GHM

Thanks to ad-libber and Doubletake, Doublethink , I start a post about my GHM.

The Georgette Heyer Man (GHM for short) is a tall, loose-limbed, cynic with unruly hair and quite unremarkable features except for a smile that transforms his face. And yes, the eyes. Usually a queer light grey, very bored, but with a sparkle that comes out with the smile. He is well-travelled and well-read, and about ten years older than the heroine. He is, by turns, a rake, a social outcast, a diffident aristocrat, a jaded Corinthian, a reluctant saviour – it doesn’t matter. The problem with the GHM is that he’s poison for a girl who routinely falls in love with literary characters, and if he enters her life at the right moment he can very easily make sure that the girl’s teenage years are wasted in daydreams about older men with careless demeanours and sardonic voices.

Right then, I'm starting a meme (muahahhaha). Anyone who has ever fallen in love with her version of the GHM, I tag you. Write a post, it doesn't have to be very big, about that person – literary character, comic book hero, some guy in a movie, a random person you'll never meet – we’ll start a list that will probably never end.

My GHM are actually four.

First, he came into my life at the extremely impressionable age of 12 years old and since has been a criteria for how I like my men. Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice fame.
  • He can dance
  • sing,
  • reads an overwhelming amount of books,
  • sneers and is sarcastic,
  • is a proper englishman with good english
  • writes letters to express his love. What more could I want?
Second came Chandler Bing and made my mum sincerely worry about my taste in men. He is the perfect GHM for my innate Monica.
  • He's sarcastic, stupid and needs a Monica
  • A monogamist because of commitment phobia
  • gives really bad advice
  • cute
  • And let's face it. You could spend your life with him.
Thirdly, the typical Irish character created by Eoin Colfer in every one of his books. Especially Artemis Fowl and Stefan. Artemis Fowl inspires me to be intelligent.

Fourth and the last, Dr. Horrible in Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog. He's recent and very easy to adore.
  • Neil Patrick Harris playing the character,
  • an acute sense of humour and sarcasm
  • an evil scientist who sings and videoblogs
  • absolutely in love with one single female
There, I'm done. In all possibilty, I'll never actually find my GHM's but hope abounds.

To whoever reads this post, I urge you to do one about your GHM. For guys, your version of the lady GHM. And no Angelina Jolie allowed.

Signing Out,
In The GHM Zone

4.29.2009

Peace Needed

It has officially been over a year since I ended the twelve most insane, beautiful and paradoxical years of my life. But for the general people, I'd like to call it School. I had been in the same school for about 11 and a half years and this love-hate relationship could have used a few more days. The world could have slowed down just a bit to let me wander those halls again, give a few more grey hairs to my teachers and feel like this was somewhere I belong.

I still havn't made peace with peace with the end of school life. I havn't quite reconciled with college life either. There's a feeling of being stuck in a limbo, where you need to have that security of school and want the freedom of college. I've gone back just once after school finished and in that one month of absence, I felt like school had forgotten me, even if I didn't. Those days of trying to be the ideal student so that the teacher would acknowledge you. The book fairs and cultural days. The sports classes and that one camp that changed so many friendships. The games of Uno and the basketball courts. A whole different time spent in the school buses. Picnics and annual days. Growing up, disappointments, loving and hating, changing and being. Twelve years of becoming somebody with people you choose to live your days with.



I remember how life spent in those corridors and classrooms came to down to one little memory. That one little tear that I shed on the day when all of us had our scribbling day. That tear held every single hope, ambition, love, hate and memories the school had given me. The sense of being me.

Signing Out,
Wanting To Make Peace

4.28.2009

A-B-C

ABC as learnt by this particular purple brain.

A is for Anty and Aaron.
B is for Bro-ing out and Barney Stinson.
C is for Caffeine and Carrots.
D is for my Dog, for you for ever.
E is for Ebony and Ivories, bonding us forever.
F is for F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Artemis Fowl.
G is for Grandparents, loved and dear.
H is for Herriot and the dreams he's written.
I is for Ishita and her idyllic perfection.
J is for the Jackasses I hope I never see again.
K is for Knowing It All and secretly lusting for more.
L is for Love and the Lemon Law. It's gonna be a thing.
M is for Mum. Muah Muah Muah.
N is Nupur and the Neverland we share.
O is for Optimism. Yes, guilty as charged.
P is for Purple Brains and the Pirate in my room.
Q is for the Quiet times that I've grown to love.
R is for the Roads I've walked and look back on
S is for Sarcasm, at its best.
T is for Turning, round and round in circles.
U is for my school Uniform, I miss it much.
V is for Vanity and the Vacuum it should live in.
W is for Womble, I love you much.
X is for Xoxoxoxoxoxo's I want from my friends.
Y is for Yahi toh meri zindagi hai.
Z is for the Zillion things that make me, but I cannot write here.

Signing Out,
Now That I Know My ABC,
Next Time Wont You Sing With Me?

4.16.2009

Guilty

Going to college in the car every once in a while, is one of the privileges I adore having. It's nice going in the comfort instead of battling it out with people for space in the metro. Yesterday, I was on my way to college when at a red light, an old man kept rapping at the windows. Thinking he was a beggar, my driver tried to shoo him off, but he persisted. Finally, we asked what he wanted.

He was a very old man, who couldn't climb into the buses because of his arthritis. He simply wanted a lift to some nearby place, which was probably in our way. But because he would have lost his job, my driver refused. So did I, because I'd been always told to never give a lift to strangers. After we left, I couldn't help but feel really bad about the whole situation. I felt very angry at myself for not showing mercy towards an old man stuck in the terrible heat. But then, my rational side told me that I'd shown common sense and that I really shouldn't give lifts to a stranger. That didn't help coz his face kept coming back to me. It felt so wrong to have the luxury of the car when people were out and struggling. I wondered what threat that old man could possibly have posed. Talking about it with my parents later in the day, they chided me for even thinking about offering him a lift. I should be more concerned about my personal safety after all.

But all of this fails to convince me. I feel it's not wrong to help people when you can. If I don't, I'm simply a hypocrite who judges the world for not helping each other but then do nothing myself.

Signing Out,
Feeling Guilty

4.10.2009

Nightly Musings

The night's always a great time to take photographs, especially when you have to grapple about in near pitch darkness. There are vague subjects to photograph, nothing quite in focus and the moonlight is brilliant as always.

Makes you wonder, what mysteries does the night hold for us?

And if you're in the mood for more of my photography, My Flickr Photostream.







Signing Out,
The Night Owl