Yesterday, my photography teacher [to my utter bafflement] appreciated my project. Once the extremely embarrassing task of the public screening of photographs got over, he asked me, "So how did you manage to get such "lush" colours?!"

So the great great Dreamy, the greatly baffled Dreamy stares back at the teacher, wipes off her perspiration [yes, she has this strange love story with perspiration which involves her trying to wipe it off and perspiration obviously is totally in love with her so...well...err....will continue this subplot later..now back to the main story...] .....


So Its not like as if the great Dreamy is online and can just google for an answer or not reply for quite some time and then say that she got DC. She is in an actual class with actual people all around her and she has just about wasted seven seconds staring at her teacher not knowing what to say..and then she sticks to honesty..

"I don't know"... to which the class laughs, the teacher laughs and the great Dreamy ends up feeling horribly miserable.

Why couldn't I have said something...something intellectual and artsy...like "the lighting was just perfect" or something like " I captured what I thought looked beautiful" etc etc... I think I should just stick to writing. I should stop talking all together.

How wonderful would life be if I answered everybody's questions in writing. I mean its not like as if i don't like talking. But then there are so less people to do the talking to. All my life, I've felt this lack...lack of people to talk to. I guess thats why my online social life was such a hit. WAS. thats the sad part. So I used to talk to myself. From ever since I can remember, I've been talking to myself at night. I swear I created my own characters and would imagine up some setting in which I would be talking to these imaginary people. A setting wherein it would be natural to be talking, unlike talking to oneself at night. The technical term for all this would be script-writing, with myself as the main character, of course.


So before I go ballistic with over-flowing sentiments, I should do that particular thing. Something I HAVE NEVER DONE BEFORE. *cough* I am going to rant on my blog. In fact I am going to write personal letters to not so imaginary people.


Dear real person,

Firstly, you piss me off. You might think being arrogant is extremely attractive ...something like a chick-magnet, but then, I don't think your arrogance serves its purpose. I am not attracted to you. Even if I was, I would be attracted to your extremely worldly and painfully materialistic possessions. So that means either I am not a chick or arrogance is NOT a chick-magnet. [sheesh I have to stop using that word "chick-magnet"..even though I confess I've kinda fallen in love with it...chick-magnet....chick-magnet.....errm ok..I will stop now and get out of these brackets]


Dear Boy [I know. I am horribly uncreative when it comes to addressing people]
You might think that I am falling in love with you because I keep replying to your messages and keep calling you and well sometimes I think I have "DESPERATE" painted boldly across my forehead ....well.. I am not. I call you because I like talking to you, well, that was before I found out that you think I am in love with you because I have called you all the way from Bombay.

I think I DO have DESPERATE painted across my forehead, or else, why...WHY? would somebody think I am in love with him JUST BECAUSE I happened to have called that person on two alternate days?!

Thats it. Thats enough for now, I think. With God's blessings,I might be able to publish my next long post after thirteen thousand years.

So long then dear blog.