Vanilla... cut and dried

Sis with her mates on either side


Me



Aaarrggghhhhmmmmm... or something like that, is the sound that emanates from the serous chambers of my throat as I get up from behind the sheets and survey the room. I notice from the noise coming from outside my door, the gushing, the rambling and the "oh my God's" that sis is up already. Such a fool, she sacrifices a good 10 hours sleep just to get up, face wash, moisturise, tweak and mascara, kajal and straighten her already Cosmo designed beauty. Heck , I'm not complaining. What's there for guys like us. Get up, take a leak, brush, comb and pick up random attire from the carpeted floor and done, saving the shades for last, of course, before I ride off to college.

She's got an interview today. No wonder all the extra add-on's. I can only imagine her signing the old anthem of Indian girls worldwide "banoonge mein, Miss India". Kingfisher does have a certain edge compared to other airlines. But I shudder to imagine my sister, a once 100 kilo moti gulab jamun now a svelte long legged lass on her airline with her mates, making announcements, serving guests, flirting with the pilots and charting of to London, Rome, Paris spending lavishly on perfumes and haute couture not to forget the cigarettes she'd be downing to relieve all the stress.I'll miss her though. No one to bug then when I'm back from college.

St. Xavier's, College of Arts. Yes, I know. You'll probably think I'm some loser who wasn't smart enough to make it through the rigorous equations and chemical potions and botanical jargon or zoological dissections but I did. In fact scored 92% percent, thank you very much. But that's not what I was meant to do. While I saw all my friends rushing off to IIT or medical concentration camps, I on the other hand just took my certificates and was immediately offered the desired course of Journalism, the art of writing, speaking and conveying everything publicly and hopefully uniquely.

Ever since my mom died and dad having left us for younger cheesecakes, Grandma has always labored on surreptitiously to make us have the finer things. Not that our Granddad didn't leave behind enough back from his Merchant Navy days. Our house may have been one of the old timers but whatever we did was in style. Why we ate off plates which had the insignia of the ship my Granddad was a chef on. My grandma still makes English breakfasts every Sunday, though not as good as to what Granddad used to since his ingredients were all imported from England each time his ship stopped by at Mangalore.

Even my cousins and uncle and aunties, practically everyone showed up save the neighbors who though we were a snooty lot showing off like proud peacocks but to hell with them anyways. I miss those days. Everything is so fast paced now. Running of to college, classes, assignments, projects, fests and then there's the nerve wrecking job interview tackling to prove that your different from the billion other aspiring Tagore's, Adiga's or Rushdie's. "Bye Dev, I'm of. Wish me luck na stupid. Your sister might just be one of the air goddess' on Kingfisher airlines. I might even introduce you to the girls, if I get in" she winks. "All the best Zizou" I smile and then proceed to freshen up.

Zizou, a nickname which stood ever since she was 10 and had this non stop fact dishing and picture collecting of Zinedine Zidane's glorious football carrier. All that stopped after the head butt though. "He's so mean ya, but the other guy deserved it no??" Somehow aggressiveness always put off Zi. She never used to play with any of the kids who shoved or pushed and even if they did, she'd just run to their parents who would then gloriously shower their children with verbose chiding and bum meets scale techniques. After that she'd just walk away. Smiling away to glory at her accomplishment of saving the world from the bullies.

My sweet, charming, spectacle wearing (replaced with grey contacts now though), plump (now a size 6, after her idol Gisele Bündchen, whom I used to drool over every time Zi got a magazine with her on it), saving the world from bullies Zizou. The sms alert rings. 'My turn is coming up... Pls pray for me :) muah.' How I hate her muahs. Its sounds like these pretentious rich ladies who drool on about how rich they are and then gulp champagne and eat caviar from golden spoons, all the time mocking the poor beggars who cross the street. Anyways, I utter a prayer and then head off to college. Hopefully something exciting happens today...