January: Santa comes to town

So after a microwave and a washing machine, now I've been getting clothes and instant foods and trinkets. AND a calendar and a unicorn. I be happiest with unicorn. Here's a pic stolen from Google:


Now, I'm in Pony collection mode. :D

Blogpostcard to Santa

Dear Santa

What I would like for Christmas is some holiday spending money. And a holiday. And some free time. While you're at it, could you also throw in a nice brown-and-white splotchy cow with pretty eyes? Kinda like in the picture below:



Love, Poojo

PS: I have been a good girl all year round. And a troubled one at that. I deserve the gifts.

PSS: Merry Christmas in advance.

***

I miss

I miss Class XI. I miss that year. If there was any year I could go back to and live all over again, it would be the school year 2000-01. If there is any year that I look back on and remember tonnes of fun, and immense peace of mind, lots of little successes and a dozen great friends, its the year I was in Class XI.

Sometimes I wish I could go back there - where the only stress was exams (and hell, in retrospect, I liked giving them). And I wonder if life can ever be like that again. I don't know if it can. But it's nice to imagine.

Neverland, Wonderland - do we ever really grow out of those places? Will fairy tales ever cease to matter? Will Santa Claus ever feel like just another marketing gimmick. I hope not.

Class XI was one of those years when everything turned out just fine in the end. 2009 just doesn't have the same touch to it. Hopefully, 2010 will be a whole new story.

My best story yet

And here's the link: Obama visits Kolkata: The Mamata chapter

This has been a very very good day. I'm almost scared that this will not last. When Shreya had told me this maybe a month earlier, I'd thought to myself: what a pessimist. Now I get what she was saying.

This is a delicate state of affairs. This good luck thing. Santa? This be the gift of peace I asked for?

Aaaargh!

This is proving to be one crazy year man. There's crisis after crisis after crisis after crisis. Fuckity-fuck-fuck totally. Imagine me sitting at my computer with electrocuted hair, pausing between typings to wrench out the burnt out (once-upon-a-time) tresses.

Dear Mr. Santa Claus,

I know I didn't bother with that pre-Christmas I-want-this-and-that letter to you last December. And I don't know if you also deal in luck, but I'd like some please. Some super-duper-trooper good luck and a few 24-hour days of utter peace. Make that a week at least. I've been very good for a long time now. I think I deserve it.

Lotsa lowe and big hug

Poojo