Details, details/ (Alternatively, Further Gloating)

So here are the details of my experience at the IBA-AKU fixture.

It started late; we had taken over the gymnasium before any one from AKU deigned to make their presence. However once it started, over an hour and a half late, it really was uphill all the way. The day started with basketball, and this is really an observation by someone who doesn’t know much about the game (indeed I once cheered for the other side by mistake at one of the on court antics thinking we had the upper hand), we started off fairly well and then AKU had the upper hand. It was fun banging the wooden-type floor and shouting “DE-FENSE” now and then.

Meanwhile, due to our incessant whining about lateness and inconvenience, they started off the ladies table tennis rounds. The format followed was XYZ vs. XYZ, (X vs. X, Y vs. Y, Z vs. Z), best of three, twenty one points to each set. Two of our ladies (including yours truly) won, one of theirs did. The mixed doubles we got a 2-0 straight set victory. Further, and these matches happened later, while our throwball match took place, I’m told that our guys had the upper hand at their table tennis matches too. *proud*

Right after the mixed table tennis match, there was a throwball match, IBA vs. AKU ladies. Though our ladies were all playing after quite a while, and we didn’t have enough players, we actually picked them out on the spot out of the roster of female athletes we had at the venue, we won. Very decisively. It would probably be petty to gloat like this over that, but, I lay claim to many human weaknesses, including this one.  

Finally, we had our futsal match, which was little more than a civilized, formalized catfight with a very appreciative crowd. The tentative score was 3-1. Most aspirations to being civilized ladies were cast off once the second half started something that started within a few minutes to the first half. There was screaming, sneering, slightly colorful vocab and an extremely pumped up crowd. A certain short and slightly overbearing IBA player accidently almost injured the keeper, kicking at her when she had the football. Another, who we now term the player of the match, though that accolade has nothing to do with this incident, kicked the ball right into the face of an AKU player. Our three goals were pretty awesome, and so was theirs in all fairness. I had to leave then, I didn’t want to.

Further, the boy’s futsal match resulted in a 4-2 victory for IBA. I couldn't stay back to watch. 

Ps. If anyone has any other anecdotes or observations about that day, please tell me so I can add to this. 

Pps. That includes any input from the AKU side too. 

25 Dec 2010

Happy birthday mom!
Agar aap naa hotin, tou main nahin hoti
Happy birthday Jinnah,
Agar aap nahin hotai, tou boht kuch nahin hota.


*respect*


Further,
Institute of Business Administration CREAMS Agha Khan University


At throwball (girls), table tennis and futsol, we gave em basket ball(boys) though. Amazing day, insane happiness, I LOVE SPORTS, playing, not watching, mind you.
N not because we won, though that does have a lot to do with it on this particular day, but the high the games themselves provide. The display of school spirit seen was unprecedented, at least in my tenure here, corny sounding , but heart warming. Excellent weather, awesome facilities and equipment, our hosts were on the whole very cordial and great positive energy from all the participants, very good crowd and turnout.


Less pretty details include one of the AKU girls getting a football kicked straight on to the side of her face, and here, to be politically correct, I will act appropriately mollified, though honey, you WERE  playing against us. Our basketball team was a bit of a let down, though in fairness, decent effort there too. And the fixture started around 4:30, when it was actually supposed to at 3 pm, which was a slight inconvenience.


On a serious note, and this is a repetition, AKU really knows how to host an event. N no, I dont say this just because you guys graciously lost to us.


More details later. :D


Thank you God, for the Qauid, mom and today.

*Insert Cool Tittle*

So finally, the blog gets a makeover. It may not be the best you’ve seen or the best I can do, but its something.

Also, for the record, no tech geeks were useful / hurt in the exercise.

Need I say more?

Now I can get back to writing. Though the lack of posts really had nothing to do with the ugly template, but rather with my affinity for procrastination and how so many things and peoples lives around me cannot function properly without my attention.

Coming up; a piece of writing where I have actually something to say.

I feel so awesome and important right now.




(I have never watched Kung-fu Panda.) 

The Classifieds Section

Okay, I know this blog needs a makeover, enough of you have been pointing it out, but is there really any cure for the fact that I have the aesthetic sense of a bug ? Probably, a common housefly at that too. Further, my lack of technical prowess is the stuff of urban legends.

So, to any tech geek out there with an aesthetic sense and an altruistic streak, help me. I intend to stick to churning out words for you all to read, to our mutual enjoyment, or atleast mine.

Ps. I say “geek” in the most respectable terms, in many aspects; I could be termed as one too. And, bugs are an important part of the ecosystem.

Peace.

PPS. Any suggestions as to the improvement of  this blog so as to make more pleasing to the eye, or marginally “cooler” will be welcome too.


(Image Courtesy: Google)

And the curtain falls...

There are three ladies, and they look like your regular run of the mill auntis, on the heavier side, Guess (or Gucci or Hub Leather) bags, henna stained nails and a slightly comical and forced English dialect peppered into their Urdu. They enter the drawing room, and take their places like they own it. This is not just any coffee date which their demeanor suggests. Bear no notions otherwise, these ladies are taking their job very seriously, nothing will deviate from the purpose they came here for. The small talk and discussion about mutual relatives and acquaintances is not the purpose of this meeting, nor the latest “lawn” prints or the massi (maid) chronicles. Nor is the hostess especially well known for her tea tray, which today mainly encompasses homemade tea and sandwiches and pastries from United King(bakery).

The ladies talk among themselves and then the piece de resistance makes an entrance, with her aunt in tow. Dressed, to the sevens if not to the nines, she walks in with a tray, wearing the high heels recommended to her to make up for her lacking in height. She takes the tray to each one of them and offers its contents with a meek salaam(greeting), ending the round, she finally places it back on to the drawing room coffee table and then settles  next to one of the auntis on the sofa.

All eyes are on her. The auntis assessing every inch of her physical make up, to deem her suitable or otherwise for her laakhon- main-aik( one-in-millions) son, phupi (fathers sister, aunt) checking her outfit for any creases and indicators of bronzing powder on her face, a trick she’s used oft before to ward off similar matrimonially inclined aunties and she herself glances fleetingly at the mirror to see if her hair is behaving today. Phupi is also going to report back to her brother whether the girl was on her best “acceptable” behavior or not. To speak when spoken to, maintain a calm likeable composure and act like the visiting auntis are heaven sent, benevolent angels. The girl is almost a lost cause, she’s over well over sixteen, a full twenty one in fact, and does not fit into the approved and preferred dimensions of lambi-gori-patli (tall-fair-thin). People could start talking soon.

The speaking starts, they ask her about her education like it actually matters to them and her hobbies as if they would actually allow her to pursue them in the future. She takes deep breaths. Aunti asks her how old she is. She answers politely. Then general conversation ensues, they talk among themselves about how that woman said so and so about so and so, who is somehow distantly related to all the people present in that room. Nobody’s eyes are off the girl for more than ten seconds, and she prays for it to be over. Glancing at the plate of bakery goodies in front of her, she hazards estimates about how much more each aunti will eat before they finally decide to leave. All of them seem to be mighty fine eaters, nothing wrong in that, but the girl wishes she could offer to pack everything in lunch boxes for them to take with them so that they’d start moving sooner, it’s been almost an hour already.

Finally phupi gives her a slight nod, a predetermined cue for her to make her gracious exit. The girl gets back on her unsteady, slightly numb feet, says a quiet “Khuda Hafiz”(God be with you) and leaves the drawing room.

She hides right beside the heavy curtain that marks the entrance to the drawing room and listens. Now is when the important talk starts. It’s a question of who she will spend the rest of her life with and the next fifteen minutes are going to tell her if the auntis deign her good enough for their son. They are gratifyingly loud. 

“She seems okay, my son wants an educated one and you know boys once they make up their minds, they don’t listen to sense, and it’s up to me to look for one now. I think she'll do, she’s younger than the other educated girls we've seen, I think she’ll gel well enough with our family. All that university environment doesn’t seem to have gone to her head.”

The girl can imagine her phupi's relieved sigh, she wonders how mom would have reacted.

There’s a shuffling of feet, they’re about to leave finally. The girl is a mass of mixed feelings, contemplating what the future could hold for her.  Then the other aunti starts speaking.

“I think she’s okay, however, I want to see her mother. She’s fine abhi (now) but I want to see how much fatter she will grow with age and babies. Our boy is against fat girls and if she grows fat we will break up the union.”

Even phupi who has thus far always been the girl's champion and adept at handling such matters seems to struggle to find a diplomatic answer.

Really Ekta honey?

Not a moment too soon, they leave.

(Conventionally middle aged women, whether related to a person or not, are reffered to as auntis)

For better or for worse...

We are going out. Finally.
Aapi will be late, and shes supposed to pick me up.
Danish bhai will be dropping me back and hes even worse at keeping time.
Dad will probably get really angry because of that.
Saad, Salman haven't yet decided whether they're too cool for this outing or not.
We leave in an hour from now.
Cant wait :D

PS. To both of them, aik massuum bachi per rehmn kar kay, aaj time per aajaana

Mad love :)

Beyond existence...

Theres gotta be more to it then waking up, taking class, socializing, coming back home, eating, drinking and watching TV, going to sleep and then starting all over again. Or more than if one substitutes taking class for a nine to five job. No ones leaving a mark on the world through that, and no altering the economy zero-point a hundred decimal places one doesn't count. Then whats the point of life? Getting married, having babies and then having them do the same ? That doesn't change much either. Its probably our routine and conventionalism thats destroying us. And the little bubble we have around us which limits our priorities to cooking the perfect daal chawal or a certain contract or meeting a deadline. Learn something new, try a musical instrument, a sport, another hobby. Take an interest in the world (gossip does not count). Do something more. And not just to keep up with your neighbor. Make a difference, change something, help someone, it enriches your life more than you think. Go crazy. Live. Don't waste away your life being on auto pilot.

Break out of the routine, it prevents the burnout everyone complains about too.

" Ambition beyond existence is the essential purpose of our being"
(Kahlil Gibran).

Random mindless-ing

Severe writers block. Peruse the forthcoming blabbing at your own risk.

I do NOT have the patience to sit through movies. I cannot sit through a three hour long Hindi flick and at times not even an hour and a half long English one. I realize how much it hampers my cultural education and knowhow but unless I’m made to, it’s very rare I’ll watch a movie. And rarely in one sitting. I watched the Dark Knight a year after it was released and I could have watched it in a cinema in Canada right after it was out. Movies I haven’t watched include;
Inception
The Godfather series
Shaw shank redemption
Anything Star Wars
(I mention the above because people tell me I have to be living under a rock to have not watched them. And retarded to not want to watch them yet. Ask me about others, more likely than not, I haven’t watched them either. Tee-hee)

I did not write anything about Eid. It’s been done to death and there was nothing I could come up with that wasn’t already all over the internet. I have this thing where I can’t copy someone’s idea or if mines too similar to anyone’s, I won’t go through with it. Like girls I know feel about their clothes. It has to be original and I have to be the first. And I read something about Eid a little while ago today too close to what I feel about it.

However, since my views are of course important, at least to someone who’s still reading this thus far; this Eid was dull and lonely because my brothers weren’t here. I looked hideous because I had an eye infection, so dressing up was even more pointless than usual. People please remember the less fortunate, clean up after your Qurbaani and donate the skins to a reputable institution. Also, I've already had more meat than I can take so no more for me, or anyone else at my place.

We went for dinner with a couple of cheenis. They were boring, not like the more interesting cheenis I’ve met over the years. Like Steven uncle, he is an adorable person (Why do we call every man Uncle and every woman Aunty?). However they told us about the one child policy in China. Yes, they’re not allowed two as I believed, 80% of the population is allowed to have only one child, some provinces have the rule relaxed enough to allow two. I will however research this and get back to it. Only one cheeni knew English. The other one just stared into his plate. I can use chopsticks as well as they can *feels awesome*

Then we went to Gelato. And it’s a good place. The daredevil cake is to die for. We went there after quite a while actually, and the place looked slightly bigger. My parents bet over whether it had been extended or not, dad saying it was an extension, mom holding that it was a makeover. They asked the management, who confirmed it was a paint job. Henceforth, mom won and now dad owes her money. Though to his credit, it really did look like a minor extension.

Then I got home. Thinking to myself that I must do something now, too much pent up energy and too much time on my hands.

Now it hits me. I need to play something. Or I will die. Or injure someone. Stupid university admin hides away table tennis table because "kharaab hojayega" (it'll spoil) outdoors. No sense of irony, or realization that it completely negates the purpose of the sports equipment. Or enough initiative to build a room for it if they really are that concerned. There are several tournaments coming up too and no one’s practiced at all. More importantly though I’m sore about it at the moment because there is an absolutely beautiful table at nani’s where I was earlier today and I didn't get to play. Because it was an "Eid get-together". Sigh.

Now I want to write about sports but considering their importance in my life, they deserve a post dedicated specially to them. And it’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to a love letter.

Coming soon.

Unless I get distracted.

Or lazy.

That happens often enough.

Short sentences are fun.

Baaaaaaaa

Monkey love

Monkey is a spoilt brat. I adore him. So does everyone else at home. And he knows it.

A brat is as brat does, and this brat is a brat in the most thorough sense of the word. His antics get bolder by the day and his belly gets bigger. Shocking for a ten year old to have a 30 inch waist and this is not an exaggeration. His tum tum, while extremely adorable when he does his shirtless “Gummy bear” rendition, is cause for concern considering that people in my family are prone to obesity and diabetes.

The child is extremely street smart, hates school, acts twice his age and eats enough for three(mA).  The coming of Bakra Eid brings with it a host of activities from which he returns smelling like the creatures he adores and refuses to shower till pestered to the point of having someone shout at him. And that will only occur after he’s chased down and given his beloved baji a tight sweaty hug to her extreme mortification and distress.

Recently at the library, he brings to me two Harry Potter books to issue for him. Extremely impressed and proud I was of him for finally getting literally inclined. For those few moments, until he reveals to me that they are for a school book review and he intends to read the back covers only for that. Of course baji wouldn’t mind helping him out since baji loves those books too. Baji thumped one of the copies on his head, checked out one and vowed to force him to read it. That book is still untouched on her table.

Monkey is clearly not a morning person, though weekends and holidays are exempt from this rule of thumb. Okay, whining before school is normal for any child, I did it back in my day too. Monkey however takes it to a new level. He will lock himself in his room or the bathroom till it’s too late. That admittedly is not crazy enough. He furthers it with getting out of the bathroom right after the clock strikes 8 and it’s too late for school and starts crying. Yes, no provocation, by then my mother and I have both given up and either left or gone back to sleep.  He will step out and start howling at the top of his voice. Reason, we “scared” him when we were shouting at him to get out and dress up for school. Or because he’s so SORRY and he didn’t want to hurt and disappoint our mother. Then he will wink at me.

Of course there are times when he’s flooded the bathroom and told my mom he’s made a “Niagara Falls” because she tried to make him go to school. Or poured my make up down the sink because he was mad at me. Or the times when he locks me out of the room, right before a morning class, so that we can’t take away his beloved computer also residing in said room, which makes sense. Only, I don’t think any of my professors would be very understanding of the excuse, “my brother locked me out of the room and my clothes and bag were inside” for being late.

I blame my parents for spoiling the chit till he became a fat monkey of a child. He gets away with it every time too. At his age I wouldn’t dare do half of what he does, my parents were extremely strict with us.  Now they’re old and lenient and he gets the best of it. I’m almost jealous, but I love the brat. For all his crazy antics he’s a good kid at heart. Or maybe that’s something only a sister would say. Though at times he’s a regular little angel. He'll paint my nails, help me pick out my outfits, fetch things, do just about anything I ask him to (provided he’s in a good mood) and is the reason the house doesn’t feel like a cave after my other two brothers left for Canada.

I love you kid. Lose some weight, pull up them grades, read, SHOWER, stop whining, start hating Miley Cyrus, quit fashion world or whatever girly FaceBook game it is that you’re stuck on, counter strike is acceptable but you hog the PC all the time and try not to annoy me so much. Also it is not okay for you to take longer to do your hair than me. Stop attempting to lift me up too. You’re ten years younger than me, and just because you CAN do it, doesn’t make it right. Baji is the nicest endearment I’ve gotten because of how you say it. We’ve trained you well enough. All of us are proud of you, our little masterpiece.

Now how does one not want to whack
his face?

You’re at a night match with your little friends right now, and I’m upstairs at home, it’s dull without you.



(Note: baji: sister, bakra: goat)

M & M

Muslims...

1.  Are misunderstood and the objects of widespread stereotyping. A bearded man is scrutinized at the airport on the bases of his appearance only. Same for a veiled woman.

2. Do not marry their daughters to outsiders (people from other religions). Islam allows its men to marry women from the “ehl-e-kitaab” (people of the book, e.g. Christians, Jews etc). They also favor early marriages.

3. Are prone to shows of financial affluence and pomp. Arab rulers and Sheikhs are notorious for their spending habits. Also, while they spend a lot, there are numerous social restrictions.

4. Have a mindset about an “acceptable” profession and a not acceptable one. Generally Muslims will run businesses and have jobs in most industries but still view the media as a no go area. There are also different benchmarks of acceptability for men and women

5. Have a generally patriarchal society.

6.  Are educationally less inclined. There are no major (top 100 listed in any field) universities in the Muslim world. Also, the procurement of education is generally limited to a degree to enable the holder to earn a living. Degrees in the arts or other “not earning” fields are rare for the breadwinners. Very little RnD in the Islamic world.

7. Have stakes in major businesses all over the world.

8.  Will view “modern” to be the equivalent of evil. Sticklers for tradition. Muslims to this day carry forward the teachings of a Holy Book that is over 1400 years old (Mash Allah). The view also prevails that each coming generation is more prone to deviance than its predecessor. An elder’s view will have preference over a knowledgeable and capable youth.

9.   Arrogance. We are better because we are Muslim.

10. Prefer to help out only Muslims, except when there is a vested interest. Arab countries rarely contribute to international crisis rehabilitation efforts when it involves non Muslims. The other countries aren’t as financially sound.

11. Large families. Collectivism

Conclusion:

Muslims are the Memons of the world!

(Note: Do NOT take this post seriously. Severe writers block and too lazy to think or research. I’m a Muslim too and proud of it. Also, the reference in this post is to muslims of today, not proper followers of Islam ( courtesy : Blue Stocking))

The condemned/condemning

Today, another bomb blast. And you thought things would be calmer after the entire burying-of-the-MQM-dude hype. They aren't, and pretty much any moment now the blame game is going to start. I never watch the news right after incidents like this, its depressing and the news is either overblown or the casualties understated. In Geos case, details are repeated till the incidents etched in our mind, with the facts unverified and overblown. Yeah, bloody helpful that is. Almost as helpful as everyone "condemning" the blast. Just what exactly does that fix?

Mere talking against something, freaking "condemning" it fixes absolutely NOTHING. Hell we all know if something’s happened its bad or not Mr. Leader, what are you giving us further? According to a friend, there are 15 dead and 45 injured as per the news channels. About thirty minutes from now every politician will be on the television screen, “janaab xyz “iss waaqiyay ki muzzummat kartay hain"”. 

Keep your muzzummat to yourself. It helps no one, not the victims, not the morale of the city and not this country.

You.

I still miss you

You were the closest to an angel I ever knew

I was a child back then

You didn’t have to be this amazing to me

Being half as good would’ve done

You were beautiful in every way

That’s how I remember you

That’s how all of us remember you

So fondly

And we miss you too

I was so angry when you left

Now I know I was blessed to have you

And you really are better off now

Thats taken me so long to accept

Maybe, we all just cried for ourselves when you left

Your sons, where they are today

Would’ve made you proud

And maybe that’s stretching things

But I think you would have liked me too

Sometimes it feels like you never left

That house still echoes so much of you 

We are all doing really well

I know you are too

I wish you were here

I could’ve learnt a lot,

I would have smiled a lot more

I’m sorry I don’t pray for you as much as I should

But you probably were the closest to God out of all of us

Which is why He took you away so soon

Save me a seat in heaven next to you

There’s no one else on the other side I want to see more

Lesson

I just learnt this isn’t a popularity contest but rather an indulgence. I could blame my athletic affiliations and the competitiveness they’ve ingrained into me or the need to be socially adept. Or how average wasn’t acceptable where I come from, you had to be good at everything. Sad really, I grew up being different and now I care about things that everyone else does. Or I just pretend to. Actually I’ve stopped thinking and I go with whatever’s going on. I used to love reading about mythology, history and other wooly subjects. I adored “useless” information (useless=not textbook related). I loved to learn. It didn't need to have a purpose or use; it was the end in itself. I’ve changed.

Social butterfly I never was, and right now I don’t really know what I am. But it’s not something I’m very proud of. I made a better kid than I am an adult. Now I’m merely part of the crowd. The reds faded and has been contaminated. I thought it was a good thing; I certainly have more “friends” now than I did at school. Maybe I blend in better too. You would love having me at your dinner table; I can be charming when I want to be.

Maybe life got to me, or I just couldn't live up to myself. Enid Blyton taught me right and wrong. She would be disappointed. In some ways I have improved as a person, but I know I can do so much better. I owe that to so many wonderful people around me.

A dull, faded red blends well with other colors. A vibrant one stood on its own.

I learnt something. About me. 

I stare at women (Alternatively; Convenient, self serving denial)

I see them and I want to be like them. Like them, mind you, not in entirety anymore but, though that would be part of my wish list three years ago, just aspects of their life. I now realize that nobody’s life is perfect; well I’m mindful of that most of the time at least. But they’re there, and every moment I see them I feel myself shrinking in comparison. Perfect looks I’m drab by comparison to. Amazing opportunities, those I almost, but not quite have. I tell myself I can’t do much about that, they were born lucky, but maybe, I was just born lazy.

I don’t think about it. 

I see so many women when I drive to and fro from university. Weather beaten and leathery skinned, loads on their heads and children slung around their waist, in and out of my view as I zip ahead to get to class in time or home afterwards. Everything I’ve read about them comes to mind, a reluctant admiration when I see occasional smiles and wonderment when I see their defeated expressions. I see them for a few seconds. Wonder about their stories, feel my troubles to be petty by comparison. That is disturbing; I make excuses for my own ineptitude at life sometimes. But mostly, I try not to think about it, it makes me uncomfortable. 

And there she is her present life in some ways easier and in some ways much harsher than her younger years. She’s lived through physical hardship in her youth, and become bitter for it. Yet her years now, are far from ideal too. Both her sons provide for her adequately well in terms of material wants, but she’s lonely. She pushed away so many near to her and now, after the loss of her spouse she’s got no one but herself. She makes up in attachment to the room he spent the last years of his life in, plugged into various machines progressively drifting into a vegetable state, and the house in which they lived the last of their married years together. What she’s seen in life made her hard and difficult, nobody wants to be with her, she is a rich woman but wouldn’t even spend on herself till so much of what she had either went to dust or got stolen. She’s still stubborn, a trait that decreases with the loss of mental capability that the advancing years bring. 

That could be me given enough time. She’s 76 according to a withered document. I wonder of the merits of a long life over a shorter one. Maybe it’s better to die younger. But then, who am I kidding, death scares the crap out of me. It’s the elements of unknown and pain associated with it. I don’t know how someone can be ready for death, let alone embrace it, but those are probably people better than I. our realities start from when we start life, who’s to tell what’s after that. Yes the answers in religion, but I’m too flinty to concentrate on that too. I’ve read all the books, but that’s about it. 

I’m not a saint, far from it. I wonder what will become of me. People take care of her out of a sense of inbred concern and responsibility. With the decline of collectivism in our society, honestly, I don’t think I'll get the same attention. I don’t even know if I'll do the same for my parents. Sure, right now I’m adamant I will, but I’ve seen the world, albeit very little of it, people change, and knowing me, I’m not above that either. I’m more concerned about my fate here. It’s disturbing. I’d rather concentrate on being young and not think about it. 

And then its her. Face lined but not heavily so, concessions to vanity evident in her dyed hair and stained lips. She’s all over the place, caters to everyone, but she’s so tired. She’s lived out her rebellion and most of her zest, now she’s living out her responsibilities and debts. She’s grateful and content most of the times, but bitterness does creep in. So tired she is. Her body serves her as faithfully as it can but it breaks down once in a while too. Little things make her smile and her laugh is loud but only she knows how true it is. Time has taken its toll on her but she’s still able. There’s life to be squeezed out of those bones yet. Wisdom must be passed down and services rendered. She commands respect but puts herself down. She doesn’t know how amazing she is. I’ll probably never tell her that as much as I should, and she’ll probably brush it off the way she always does. I don’t even try to repay her, I know I never can. But I don’t even try; it’s too much of an inconvenience. I do feel guilty and disturbed but I push it to the back of my mind. 

There is this girl I see. Blessed in so many ways. But she makes mistakes, is ungrateful and petty. Her shortcomings are intense. One of them being her denial of them and the reluctance to pen them down, because that’s a reminder of them, and because the tendency of being publicly acceptable has been ingrained into her. 

That girl is me. 

 

I don’t think about it.

(Image courtesy: Google images)

Whattay match...!!!