This is a trial post, I will die a very very painful death if this blog post falls into the wrong hands, eyes..or whatever. I think I should’ve ventured out to write this post way back, (am trying to be fancy here, so what. noone reads my blog anyway). I mean, this is my first time away from home, and this is my home away from my home, and so obviously, my room mate deserves a lot of mention on my blog, considering I live under the same fan with her.
I am yet to decide whether I like her or not. It is very hard for my insanely jealous and inferior nature to like someone almost as perfect as my roomie. But she reminds me of my barbie doll back at my home showcase, which was something you gazed at, wondered about, but never actually playing with it, or knowing it any further.
As far as first impressions go, I think her impression of me was far more deep than my impression of hers. Suppose you are a person who is all happy to welcome a new roommate, and also very apprehensive about the fact that you both speak different languages. It might’ve been a really shock when this new girl starts reading off swear words from her mobile in your language, with a straight earnest face. If I were her, I would’ve- meh, well, shrugged it off, laughed and welcomed the roomie with a nice friendly pat on back.
She stared at me. No other reaction was registered.
days went by. Even English, when spoken by people from different states sounds like an entirely new language, and in between us, scissors became seizures, and life sherrikkum became laife.
She seemed to be completely alien to the concept of cleanliness. She seemed perfectly okay living in filth, and everytime I looked at her side of the table, my heart bled, my hands trembled, I was on the verge of begging her to let me tidy up her table, when a miracle called navaratri happened.
I cried, when she dutifully set out to tidy her table, and as I watched the hour-long process, I had this feeling, which can only be explained as ” Eni enikku chathallum vendilla ente bhagwane!!!!!!”.
She sleeps at odd hours, around 2 : 30 or so. in the morning. I pretended it wasn’t a problem at first, but I couldn’t keep up the pretense for long. Only I never had the guts to tell her to actually turn the lights off. One look at her pretty face and I will go all “heck, what’s a bit of a light?”
Her hair is something I will kill for. Long straight her. which she mercilessly cuts and which mercifully grows back in a few days. It has been, it still is a torture for me to live with her, one look at her hair and my heart bleeds. How can people have such perfect hair? I hate people with perfect hair.
Hair.
She got me a cake on my b’day, was the first to wish me on my b’day, and more or less ignores me and leaves me to my work, or in other words, pretends am not here. Extreme reactions. Also, I now think rapid bengali is scary. V ery scary. When pretty girls are talking in rapid bengali, you feel like hiding under the bed covers.
Thats it. what, you wanted some mushy , a “inspite of all this, I love her” sorta ending? What? You watch too many movies. This is all that is there to my room mate. She is a girl with perfect hair, and doesn’t keep her table and bed neat. Thats all.
Sheesh.
Goodness. I swear, I SWEAR. I dunno how I came across this post. It is 1.40 am and I was playing End Credits. Then I was suddenly aware that my blog was open as a new tab. NO idea how that happened
Pinne I saw this post on the blogroll and tadaa 
Not because of the above thing though, I love this post
And damn, I came this close to meeting her, and you shooed me away saying something about pyjamas. #sisters
PS: Line of the day: “When pretty girls are talking in rapid bengali, you feel like hiding under the bed covers”. ROTFL!!
PPS: I am half ashleep.
And oi, bong chick, hiiiiii
i d like to know what the roomie thinks about you. This play of perspective is dizzyingly interesting,you know:D well yeah bengali is a rather ferocious language,it is rumoured that the womenfolk of bengal cut open fishes with their tongue