[If you want hot water to bathe with, start here]
#1 Turn on the geyser/ water heater and leave it on till the water gets hot enough for a headbath (about 15 minutes should do the trick. Note: This is on an average, you might want to go with 5 minutes in the summer and 25 minutes in the winter)
#2 Turn on the shower, turn on the hot water switch/whatever proves to be the outlet for the hot-water pipe.
[If you want to have a shower with just cold water, begin here]
#3 (or #1 - for those using cold water*) Turn on the cold water switch/whatever proves to be the outlet for the cold water pipe. (Note: Hot water users - adjust the temperature between hot and cold water nozzles to suit your needs. Cold water users - You're not getting hot water since you haven't switched on the geyser beforehand anyway, so turn on anything you want in there!)
#4 (or #2 *)
I cannot believe you're still reading this. You don't know how to wash your hair?!? (Eww!)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
After a haircut
"Hey! Did you cut your hair?!"
"No you dufus, I'm wearin' a wig!"
"Whoa! You're wearin' a wig?!?!"
"No you dumbass, I cut my hair"
"Ah, you cut your hair did ya?"
"No you freakin' idiot, I'm wearin' a wig!"
"You're wearin' a wig?"
"No you moron, I got a haircut!!"
"Oh you got a haircut."
"Yes I did."
"And you're not wearin' a wig."
"No, I'm not."
"Oh ok."
"Bloody fool!"
"No you dufus, I'm wearin' a wig!"
"Whoa! You're wearin' a wig?!?!"
"No you dumbass, I cut my hair"
"Ah, you cut your hair did ya?"
"No you freakin' idiot, I'm wearin' a wig!"
"You're wearin' a wig?"
"No you moron, I got a haircut!!"
"Oh you got a haircut."
"Yes I did."
"And you're not wearin' a wig."
"No, I'm not."
"Oh ok."
"Bloody fool!"
They made so much sense!
He said: People come and people go. Deal with it.
She said: You are never completely emotionally honest with anyone but yourself.
He said: If you knew someone was going to die, what would you do?
I said: I'd either distance myself from them so I wouldn't know them in death, or I'd get closer to them to make the most of the time that was left.
He said: Which one will you do?
I said: The latter, I guess.
He said: Everyone's going to die.
She said: I read somewhere; the opposite of love is not hate. Its indifference.
He said: Chai? :)
She said: Festivals means family time. I'm going to celebrate all the festivals with full josh! :)
He said: We're not 17 anymore, we all have a past. But it's just that - the PAST.
She said: You are never completely emotionally honest with anyone but yourself.
He said: If you knew someone was going to die, what would you do?
I said: I'd either distance myself from them so I wouldn't know them in death, or I'd get closer to them to make the most of the time that was left.
He said: Which one will you do?
I said: The latter, I guess.
He said: Everyone's going to die.
She said: I read somewhere; the opposite of love is not hate. Its indifference.
He said: Chai? :)
She said: Festivals means family time. I'm going to celebrate all the festivals with full josh! :)
He said: We're not 17 anymore, we all have a past. But it's just that - the PAST.
Lying Awake
Lying awake, I stare straight into the ceiling. Through the darkness. The darkness, between the ceiling and me. I think. I think thoughts that are not forming in my head, thoughts that are beyond my reach. I think... slowly and then fast. But the speed of my mind is too great, the thoughts I cannot grasp.
I think of all of those who I've inadvertently written off, and those I've kept close. I think, how some people seem to appreciate my presence, and some seem to brush me off. How some seem to care, and how some really do. I think how I've come to know people, and how right or wrong I have been.
I think of how some people are so complicated... and some right there. I know people, piece by piece. They know me molecule by molecule. Some of them are oh-so-right and some, absolutely wrong. I talk without thinking sometimes. And I think without talking sometimes. And I think. I think too much and I think too little. I think of what I was and I think of how things were and how things are. And how things will be. And I put myself in others' shoes so much, I forget my foot size. I talk a lot. I talk too much. I put my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I am inconsiderate. I hide. So nobody knows. I am a chamaeleon. I am the secret keeper. I don't know for sure if I know who I am. I don't hate myself anymore, but I don't love me either. But I love my family, my friends. Wholly. Like I think they love me back. And I cannot love without being loved. And if I am loved by someone else, I love me. I have so many stories that I myself am complicated. My life revolves around music. Music - each song tells a different story - that's an embedded part of my memory. My never ending, powerful memory.
I think of all of those who I've inadvertently written off, and those I've kept close. I think, how some people seem to appreciate my presence, and some seem to brush me off. How some seem to care, and how some really do. I think how I've come to know people, and how right or wrong I have been.
I think of how some people are so complicated... and some right there. I know people, piece by piece. They know me molecule by molecule. Some of them are oh-so-right and some, absolutely wrong. I talk without thinking sometimes. And I think without talking sometimes. And I think. I think too much and I think too little. I think of what I was and I think of how things were and how things are. And how things will be. And I put myself in others' shoes so much, I forget my foot size. I talk a lot. I talk too much. I put my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I am inconsiderate. I hide. So nobody knows. I am a chamaeleon. I am the secret keeper. I don't know for sure if I know who I am. I don't hate myself anymore, but I don't love me either. But I love my family, my friends. Wholly. Like I think they love me back. And I cannot love without being loved. And if I am loved by someone else, I love me. I have so many stories that I myself am complicated. My life revolves around music. Music - each song tells a different story - that's an embedded part of my memory. My never ending, powerful memory.
Rewind
Ever wanted to go back in time and live as someone else? During those times of war and the time of no email, just post. The time when there were causes for revolution and not just personal wars? When there was such a thing as romance, involving wooing for months on end, and elaborate dresses and even more elaborate hair? When there was time to stitch clothes, to read and write books by hand, to sew, to paint for a hobby, to own fields and plant grains and love cattle?
Somehow, it seems like it was all so long ago and so far away even though it was just one generation ago. Back to a time of discoveries, when mysterious enveloped the world... there was always a peacefulness in the people; a sense of security being among themselves, though in an insecure world. A time when a small special treasure made the best gift to give, and a time when everyone was not complicated, not burdened by competition so much, not striving to survive, even if it involved stepping on someone else. Where people clung strongly to hope, and did not turn cynical. When people used to dip pen nibs in a bottle of ink to write a letter. A time when the littlest of things meant something, because the bigger picture was something almost beyond control. I want to go back to one century ago, when life was not about finding oneself only, but also about finding out who was like you, watching their back loyally, telling them how much they meant, and so on. You know what I'm talking about. An era which is past, a time of dreams coming true and dreams being mixed with reality.
Somehow, it seems like it was all so long ago and so far away even though it was just one generation ago. Back to a time of discoveries, when mysterious enveloped the world... there was always a peacefulness in the people; a sense of security being among themselves, though in an insecure world. A time when a small special treasure made the best gift to give, and a time when everyone was not complicated, not burdened by competition so much, not striving to survive, even if it involved stepping on someone else. Where people clung strongly to hope, and did not turn cynical. When people used to dip pen nibs in a bottle of ink to write a letter. A time when the littlest of things meant something, because the bigger picture was something almost beyond control. I want to go back to one century ago, when life was not about finding oneself only, but also about finding out who was like you, watching their back loyally, telling them how much they meant, and so on. You know what I'm talking about. An era which is past, a time of dreams coming true and dreams being mixed with reality.
Pieces of me
Railway stations. Bustling with people. You can hear the sound if water falling somewhere, and you can hear the traffic just outside. Conversations, all around, in different languages. A plane passing overhead. Beggars, touching, holding out cupped hands and wearing disdainful expressions. Men ogling. An electric train rushing in, only to pause for a few minutes before rushing out again. A television blaring somewhere. Dirt, along the edges of the track. A wrapper at my feet. A bunch of boys selling pakoras, climbing down the platform and crossing over, to reach the opposite side.
My phone rings.
The train is beautiful. Very clean, and a pleasure to be travelling in. It should never change. It's practically empty. And a wee bit cold.
I'm not sure if I'm supposed to understand something. I'm not sure I can be expected to do something, or to be somebody. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. I wonder if I'm only pretending to embrace life.
I've grown up so much. I miss the good old times. I miss the days of seeing that crazy bunch of girls I loved so much everyday. And all my favourite boys. I miss the days of constant exercise and activity. The noise everywhere. The many cups of tea. The experiments. The running in the rain. The laughter, never dying out, never fading, ringing in my head. Them, who I'd meet at an hour's notice, the house I would go back to, sit at the dinner table and share some of the best moments. That unbelievably good food. Being alone and in pleasant surroundings when I feel like it, talking to my sister beyond the boundaries of earthly hours... watching everything pass me by so quickly...
The train is moving fast. I'll be home soon. Facing the reality I ran away from. Meeting, and finally talking to my dog. Talking to everyone at home, and to my friends. Those who I've distanced myself from.
They wait for me, on the other side of my life. Where things that were let go were resurrected in a different form. Where people were different and I had changed. Where I was living an independent life.
I want to be able to collect myself quicker. Keep the essence while, for everybody to see, I live in reality. Where there are people, where there are the sounds of the city, and lights rushing by loudly. My mind is still stuck in a place where there were woods, and us cousins cycling, me trying my first cigarette, and walking wordlessly in the wind. Just walking.
I relive them. Everyday. Feeling my heart behind my ribcage as I do.
I want to give once again, but I am still collecting myself. It won't take too long. There aren't too many pieces of me left to pick up.
My phone rings.
The train is beautiful. Very clean, and a pleasure to be travelling in. It should never change. It's practically empty. And a wee bit cold.
I'm not sure if I'm supposed to understand something. I'm not sure I can be expected to do something, or to be somebody. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. I wonder if I'm only pretending to embrace life.
I've grown up so much. I miss the good old times. I miss the days of seeing that crazy bunch of girls I loved so much everyday. And all my favourite boys. I miss the days of constant exercise and activity. The noise everywhere. The many cups of tea. The experiments. The running in the rain. The laughter, never dying out, never fading, ringing in my head. Them, who I'd meet at an hour's notice, the house I would go back to, sit at the dinner table and share some of the best moments. That unbelievably good food. Being alone and in pleasant surroundings when I feel like it, talking to my sister beyond the boundaries of earthly hours... watching everything pass me by so quickly...
The train is moving fast. I'll be home soon. Facing the reality I ran away from. Meeting, and finally talking to my dog. Talking to everyone at home, and to my friends. Those who I've distanced myself from.
They wait for me, on the other side of my life. Where things that were let go were resurrected in a different form. Where people were different and I had changed. Where I was living an independent life.
I want to be able to collect myself quicker. Keep the essence while, for everybody to see, I live in reality. Where there are people, where there are the sounds of the city, and lights rushing by loudly. My mind is still stuck in a place where there were woods, and us cousins cycling, me trying my first cigarette, and walking wordlessly in the wind. Just walking.
I relive them. Everyday. Feeling my heart behind my ribcage as I do.
I want to give once again, but I am still collecting myself. It won't take too long. There aren't too many pieces of me left to pick up.
Monday, February 16, 2009
I can't look into your eyes
I can't look into your eyes. I'm afraid you'll see my soul, afraid you'll see my raw emotion. Afraid that I am vulnerable and intense. Afraid that you'll see I'm not so tough after all. Afraid that opening the windows to who I truly am and letting you in will hurt me. Afraid, to be hurt. Even though you said you wouldn't. I hope you don't. I want to try. Holding your gaze might be my biggest challenge.
Look now, into my eyes and you'll see who I am.
Look now, into my eyes and you'll see who I am.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
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