It was bound to happen sooner or later.

Sigh. I’m a grown up now.

When I was a teenager, I felt a lot of things. Mostly, they weren’t very constructive – anger, frustration, confusion, diffidence. But they were there, and they seemed like the most important feelings anyone has ever felt since the invention of feelings.

Now, I just feel, ennui.

Blah.

Boredom.

It’s only been less than a month since I came back from the States, and I’m already stuck in a rut. I expend a daily ration of nearly four hours out of twenty four just getting to my workplace and back, go through the motions at a job that I’ve never really done before and therefore am yet to fully comprehend, come home to a mother who gets on my nerves for absolutely no reason, bless her heart, and a complete and utter lack of intellectual stimulation.

The worst part is, I can do nothing to fix this. I went to the States, and for a year, I took a shovel, and went dig happy. Dig, dig, dig, dig. Did a very good job. Now I find myself at the bottom of a pit so huge, that I will spend the next four years climbing out of it, and then a few trying to plug it and be able to stand on my own two feet. So, no Anuya, to answer your earlier question, you can’t move out of your parent’s house, no, and you can’t travel, no, and you can’t accept a lesser paying but immensely satisfying magazine job, no, and you can’t go back to school anytime soon, no, because simply put, darling, you have no money. But you have a Master’s degree! Yay! Say Hallelujah.

But I have food, some of you may say. I have shelter. I have parents who love me, and friends who stand by me, and a job, and the semblance of a life that’s stuffed to the gills with potential. So I should count my gifts, and be happy, for most people would be lucky to have even one of those.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am super grateful for all those things, but I can’t be happy with what I have just because people are worse off. The logic of that sentiment continues to escape me, as days go by. Surely, I should be MORE depressed that there are people whose lives suck a lot more than mine. There is a word for it, I read it somewhere. It describes a condition that gives you severe depression because you feel like you’re carrying the world’s sorrow on you shoulders. Not that I would ever suffer from something like that; I’m much, much too selfish. What I do suffer from, and I borrow heavily from Tushar when I say this, who borrowed heavily from Fight Club when he said it, is ennui, and I, therefore, am Jack’s Bored Blahness.

*end of self-indulgent, emo rant*

Twilight. I hate it. I love it.

I am finally reading "Twilight". I know, I know, Bad Anuya, reading garbage etc. etc. Really though, it's not as if I care. It makes spending the whole day being a homework zombie a little more bearable. And yes, it inspires you to write blog posts, because it affects you in ways that you hadn't expected.
I heard about "Twilight" last year, when my favourite Filipina, Kris, thrust a copy of "New Moon" under my nose on our way back from New York City last year. This was in August. The sun was shining, the skies were blue and I had never been exposed to a Syracuse winter before. I say this because I am glad I didn't read it then, and I will explain why later.
"What is this?" I asked her. "The new Harry Potter," she said. "NOTHING can come close to Harry Potter," I retorted. "Okay, but this is the new teenage sensation. Everybody is talking about it." Great, I thought. A printed Jonas Brothers. Just what the world needed. I grumbled. She had put me off the minute she compared it to Harry Potter, and I wasn't going to let a book by some fat Mormon housewife who dared to fancy herself as J.K.Rowling's racier sibling spoil a post-NYC trip blissover. My curiosity, however, was piqued. Like every pop-culture whore, I was dying to know what the fuss what all about. But I refused to spend actual money on it... I may read garbage and follow d-listed religiously, but I have my principles.
Then, the movie came along. Robert Pattinson in his smoky eye makeup and tousled hair caught my attention like Daniel Radcliffe never had, even though I had adored Pattinson as Cedric Diggory in HP5 (another connection) and already knew his name. I wasn't head over heels in love, but I was getting more and more intrigued, and as days went by and the Pattinson mania increased exponentially, I knew that "Twilight" was something I had to sink my teeth into (I know, I know, bad pun). So when the Managing Editor of our fake book magazine (Lit - We know books) for Magazine Management class dangled it in front of my face ("Use this to fact-check my Vampire column, Anuya." " Don't do this to me, Nick, I have Facebook quizzes to take so that I can avoid homework." "I don't care. This is work. THIS. IS. SPARTAAA.") I jumped at the opportunity.
I started the night before. Now, I can't stop. It is badly written, no doubt about that, and I could tear into it with ferocity if I wanted to, but there is something about Mary that's got me addicted. Something about it *choke* *gasp* *gack* resonates with me. And though I may know what it is, I will spend the next twenty minutes analyzing it, because blogs don't have a word limit, and that is the whole point.
The first thing I identified with was the desolation of Forks, and its depressing rainy/ snowy weather. "OH EM GEE! This is Syracuse!" I thought. True, it was beautiful and green, but it was also the type of city your car breaks down in, so that you are forced to spend the night in a ramshackle inn with your reckless, will-be-dead-soon friends. It was horror movie town, and having lived here for almost a year now, I could see Forks vividly in my mind's eye. Bella was a child of the sun, and she felt what I felt, and that felt good. She understood my burning need for the sun's cancerous rays on my skin, and I understood why she hated Forks so much. That was our first bond.

Our second bond was Edward Cullen.

I feel the need to backtrack a little. I have never bought the whole "gothic erotica" BS. I found it ridiculous that people got off to the idea of vampires drinking their blood/ being vampires who drink other people's blood, while having dirty sex. It fueled my initial skepticism of Twilight. Until Edward Cullen, that is.
Of all the fictional men I have nursed burning passions for, Edward Cullen will have to be number one. The more I read about him, the more he sucks me into his vortex of vampire attraction. True, the fact that Stephenie Meyer prattles on and on about how he and Bella sit next to each other and there is electricity in the air and their hearts are racing and their armpits are sweating and whatnot makes you want to take a hammer to her head, but that notwithstanding, Edward Cullen is HOT. I can't explain why, maybe it's his ever-changing eyes, his brooding vampire-ness, his "I-smell-great-AND-I-will-save-you-from-evil-but-I-will-be-mysterious" attitude, that he eats mountain lions for lunch, or maybe you just have to read the book to understand it. But let it be known, that if I were Bella Swan, I'd fuck his brains out by page 12, life and death be damned.
"Twilight", I have decided, is just like any other drug. It it is bad for you, and there is no particular aesthetic pleasure to be received by beholding it, but you can't help but be addicted to the places it sends your consciousness whirling off to. You have to credit fat Meyer, mother of three, for that, because somewhere in Bella's pallid face, clumsy bearing, ordinary looks and unfortunate situation, lies every girl who reads "Twilight", waiting to find a sexy vampire who can protect her from speeding cars, werewolves and the drudgery of real life.
As I end this, I am dead-tired (I have been simultaneously fact-checking a story on sports blogs, you know, my most favourite thing in the world... NOT.) after a typical long day in school, and all I can think about it how much I want to go to bed and get back to the book. I am only 200-odd pages down, still have a long way to go, and I know I will be disappointed with the quality, but I can't help but feel like I had to write this, because I never expected to like it even a teeny, tiny bit. It's funny how life surprises you sometimes.

One more Anolysis.

Ano-Lysis: The second installment  

Personality Number 241: Ano, the undomestic goddess.

Day one of Ano’s life in the States.

Lunch? A slice of pepperoni pizza! YAY!

Dinner? A slice of pepperoni pizza! YAY!

Day two of Ano’s life in the States.

Lunch? A slice of pepperoni pizza. YAY!

Dinner? A slice of pepperoni pizza. YAY.

Week three of Ano’s life in the States.

Lunch? A @#%$ slice of pepperoni @#%$ pizza.

Dinner? That’s it! I am cooking.

And so I go grocery shopping, head held high and shoulders squared. This by the way is also my first tryst with the filled-with-cheap-junkiness of Walmart, which never ends and never sleeps. Seriously – it is a gargantuan 24-hour grocery store that will make you buy enough stuff to feed and clean Ethiopia. And there are three of these around me. Pray for me. Pray, because if a person spends enough time here, chances are that she’ll lose her mind. Urban legend has it that many have ventured into the murky aisles of Walmart, never to return…

Luckily I retained enough sense of direction to totter home with my truck-full of grocery.

Once home, I decided to make pulao. Why I undertook such a mammoth task with my negligible experience is unknown as yet. And FYI, my intelligence (or lack thereof) is NOT up for discussion here. 

Anyway, pulao. Oil, jeera, rai, hing, haldi, elaichi, long. Check. Veggies. Check. Rice. Check. Beautiful. Now let’s mix it all and leave it to cook while I wash clothes. Such a gharelu aurat I am. So housebroken. *sniff* My mom would be proud. Oh look, this washer opens in the front! Isn’t it strange how all other washers in America have lid-like things that open at the top and the dryers open at the front? Haha, what a weird country. Let me just, chuck some detergent in there. Cool, that’s done. Now I’ll wait for it to wash. What do I do till then? Oh, I know, I’ll read this fantastic book! *half an hour later* What’s that smell? Sheh, my neighbour is burning her hair with her straightening iron again, that silly goat. Haha. Er. Ah. OMG. Could it be? No. NO. NOOOOOOOOOO! My pulao! MTFKER! Sigh, at least my clothes are clean. I’ll just put them in the dryer now. What’s this, they are already dry? How can they be dry, this is a washer! The dryer is over th… OHHHHHHHHH. Um. Yeah. THAT is not the dryer, THIS is. THAT is the washer. Dear God. I think that just maybe, it could be possible, possibly, that I am not very good at this housekeeping stuff. Just maybe. I could be a tad, ah, inexperienced. Possibly.

So, dinner? A slice of Pepperoni Pizza. I give up. *munches on cheese and pig and grows fat*     

Old Anolysises. They need somewhere to float around.

Ano-Lysis: The first installment  

Personality Number 387: Ano, the creep-magnet 

      Do you know what is more fun than living in the States? Getting there. Especially when the nice guy at baggage check-in gives you a free upgrade to business class for the first part of your flight. May his family never get indigestion from plane food *sniff*.

      So, the first part of the journey was pretty uneventful, right? (Except that the fat guy next to me had the breath of a hundred rabid dogs. Every time he snored, a hole opened up in the ozone. I feel lucky that I didn’t die of toxic fume inhalation.) I reached the airport and sat quietly in a corner waiting for another flight. Too engrossed in my book, I didn’t notice creep number one plonking his big backside on the seat next to me. Next to him was his 12-year-old daughter.

      Creep#1: Hi there!

      Ano: Er…

      Creep#1: Are you waiting for Flight ABC?

      Ano: Yeah

      Creep#1: Me too!

      Ano: That’s, um, nice?

      Creep#1: (ignoring the tone) Where are you from?

      Ano: India

      Creep#1: Wow. Are all Indian girls this beautiful?

      Ano: (with as much iciness as she can manage) I dunno, I haven’t met them all.

      Creep#1: Do you have a boyfriend?

      Ano: ER.

      Creep#1: Can I get your number?

Ano: (NO YOU FRICKING PERVERT! YOU HAVE AN ALMOST-TEENAGE DAUGHTER!) Er, no. That would make me very uncomfortable. Oh look, Superman! *runs as fast as forty kilos of luggage can allow* 

Next, I reach the last airport and wait for baggage-claim to regurgitate my luggage. While waiting, I decide to go over to the stall and pick up a newspaper. Guess who I run into there? That’s right! Creep number two!  

      Creep#2: How can I help you?

      Ano: Yes, can I get a copy of the latest New York Times, please?

      Creep#2: Sure. Here. Are you Indian?

      Ano: Yeah

      Creep#1: Me too!

      Ano: I can tell.

      Creep#1: (ignoring the tone – it’s like they are wired that way) Where from?

      Ano: Bombay

      Creep#1: *insert question about boyfriend and number*

      Ano: (For f**k’s sake. NO YOU CAN’T HAVE MY NUMBER YOU FREAK! YOU HAVE AN UGLY BALD PATCH!) NO. Oh look, Madhuri Dixit! *does the disappearing act, once again*