10/181

So there’s this insane scene in The Social Network which pretty much characterizes exactly how I’m typing this out. It’s that scene where Mark’s broken up with his girlfriend and he first comes up with the idea to use the ranking algorithm to create facemash. He blogs about her and then begins to post blog updates as and when thoughts pop into his head, as he crashes into drunken excitement. There’s this rush on his face as he types and he takes a sip of beer.

This is exactly what I am right now. Minus the drunken excitement and the break-up. It’s dark, my only source of light is a table lamp. My roommate is asleep. I don’t have WiFi access so I’m using hotspot, and I have an idea that’s mostly going to keep me awake all night. I’m super excited.

Let’s see if I can carry through with it.

I’m also wearing super comfortable clothes so life is pretty swell.

*sips chaas*

Today, when I was at the gym (yes, that’s a thing now), I saw this kid roller-blading for the first time. Her father bought her these extendable skates and brought her to the “rink” (which is basically just newly constructed/clean granite), and slowly helped her fix up the laces, pad up, and held her hand as she “walked” her first steps. And then he left her hand when they came around the second time. She fell. Promptly.

I know I described a beautiful, emotional scene, but the father laughed. And I cracked a smile too.The girl got back up immediately and smiled at her father. She knew this was going to happen – and wanted to make sure he knew she was right all along.He ran to her and picked her hand and they started right where they had left off. Walking across the rink.

In about 30 minutes, that kid was attempting to skate backwards. I loved that scene. It felt like it was straight out of a Bollywood moment, but took me straight back to my childhood.

Here’s the deal. My parents thought I was a multitalented rockstar when I was born. So they kept sending me to classes – in the hope that I would find my one true passion in one of them. I spent days taking vans to different classes, and had the time of my life being pampered by receiving class after class.

The only one I didn’t like was UCMAS. Thankfully there were enough reward certificates to keep me motivated, and the 2007 Cricket World Cup (yes, that one) was ongoing, so it was super fun.

I essentially got a pair of roller-skates when my feet were growing rapidly. So we bought one of those where you could mess around with a slider and they’d fit you for 5 shoe sizes (UK).

What is it about shoe size systems that they’re different? Why on Earth are units of measurement different around the world? We really need one metric.

But I digress.

A couple of people tried teaching me to rollerskate, and I used to dream of being able to skate with the wind in my hair. I even carried my skates to Abu Dhabi in an attempt to have a champion rollerblader in my Jayant Uncle teach me to work the darned things. He spent a week trying to get me to muster the confidence to try alone.

Then I did. After lots of screaming at a high-pitched voice I decided to go alone. And it was super fun. I did feel the wind in my hair.

That lasted a minute.

I then fell.

The same result as every second time I got onto a bicycle (my knees have scars) and when I went ice-skating.

Did I get up? I don’t remember.

My next memory is eating cupcakes at home. There is a clear memory lag, which means I  obviously must’ve slipped unconscious and been carried in Jayant Uncle’s arms to some haven that is cupcake land.

Mmm. I want cupcakes now.

Yet here I am, with an orange.

Curdrice out.

 

 

 

Let me know what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s