Rules of the Game.

"Left! Left! Left! Go left!!"

"Aahh!"

"I'm dying..I'm dying!"

"You bloody asshole...! Takes this!" -shoots with a bazooka-

These are just some of the lines you would hear everyday at our house. No, we are not trying to be the Osbournes, we just like gaming.

The two of us and pop are one of the many gaming enthusiasts in the world. Mum just shakes her head and leaves the room. Whenever we find the time, we game. The two of us prefer the PS2, but pop is still old skool, and sticks to the computer.

Our love affair with gaming began with the Nintendo 64 in 1995. The machine caused a lot of disputes --- who'd play first? The console's a rectangular box, and you would fit your game cartidges inside. This is what it would look like:

The only game that we would fight over was Mario Bros. Mario and his brother Luigi captured our very short attention spans and we would spend hours and hours and hours trying to finish the game. Very hard to do, since the game has about one million stages to complete, and if the character dies, you have to start over again. No save point.

But we tried. Fighting those evil mushrooms and turtle doves (literally, "turtle" "doves"), jumping over fiery whips, breaking brick walls, collecting those gold coins, the star of invincibility..time would pass so fast with that game.

Then time passed. 1995 was long gone, and so was Nintendo 64. The era of the computers began. Back then, just even thinking about owning one was a big deal. And we wanted one. Bad. But it was a long time, and we didn't get one. Then one day, pop took a trip abroad and came back with computer games, even though we didn't own one then. That meant we would get one soon. They came in huge boxes..we would open them, read through the booklets, look at the CDs..everything was so exciting! And then the computer came too.

The humble HCL was placed on an oakwood table, adorned with garlands and agarbattis. A hefty dose of vibhuti doused the computer screen, and it was ready to start being used. And how it was used.

When computer gaming began, there was no stopping us. For hours we'd sit, glued to the screen, playing the only game we loved (and still love) the most --- Final Fantasy 7. This RPG (Role Playing Game) completely blew us away. Amazing graphics, and excellent story line and music we still recall. Every character was superbly designed, and being the nerds that we were (and still are), we decided to be those in real life. Sister was Yuffie Kisaragi, the Shuriken weilding Ninja girl. Another Final Fantasy 7 enthusiast, and one of our best friends, was Barret Wallace, the hulk with a gun for his arm.

And me? Don't have any doubt about it. I was Cloud Strife. The main character of the game.

For hours, we would pretend to be those characters, killing of imaginary mutant animals, or trying to fight Sephiroth--the most evil character in gaming history.

Pop, however, was not interested. He still preferred those old shoot-out games. So he aced Virtua Cop, while we cheered him on.

Then again, time passed. We got a PS1, but since there was a lack of games, we didn't enjoy gaming on that console. Ahh, but then the PS2 arrived, and our lives have never been the same since then.

Some PS2 games we are addicted to:

The Sims

Kingdom Hearts 2

Final Fantasy X

Jak 3

The Simpsons Road Rage

And about 40 others.

So the point of this whole post was that we are mega-nerds. But we love it.

The End.

The trouble with hair.

Of all the people with bad hair in this world, I admit, I score in the top 10 list. My hair is wild, frizzy, curly, dry and badly molested by the hair dryer. To top it off, I have been blessed with never ending split ends. But I still love my hair. It's a major chunk of who I am, and a lot of my personality rests solely on my hair (yes, I am -that- pathetic)

But what happens when you have hair that is "different"? When your hair is the "other"? Of course, people try to give you suggestions. Needed, or otherwise.

"Oohh! You must try this oil..your hair will be silky smooth in no time!"
"This serum rules. Try it."
"Tie it up."
"Leave it open."

But there is one suggestion that has been after me from the time it came to India. Straightening.

This term has truly become a bane on my hair. Every salon I've been to, I've been suggested to straighten out my hair.

"Easy maintenance"
"You can style it any way you'd want!"

Sounds great, but then look around you. Every third person has hair that is artificially straight. Why do I have to be part of the crowd? I am my own individual. So, I smile politely, and ask them to simply to give me a hair cut.

And hair cutting is a different experience all together. If you go to the bigger salons, they'll try to shove their various hair products down your throat. There are about 500 hair products that I "must have!" (If I don't, will my hair fall off?)

Another problem with curly hair---you can't pull off bangs. Or so they say.
I got my hair cut today, and I asked for bangs. The hair dresser laughed at me. "You sure? You'll have to blow dry everyday!"
I said I would. And I would like curly bangs..they look good on some people!
He warned me against it, but I went forth anyway.

And now, I have bangs.
And it feels good.

The End.

Tony

I found out today.
That I love you.
Tony.

The End.

Nights and Days

Nights and Days
And Days and Night
I pine
I pine
I pine
I pine

I smile I cry
I sleep I sigh
I try
I try
I try
I try

That face That face
That smiling face
I pine
I pine
I pine
I pine

The boy

(Based on a true incident)

It was 7:15 in the evening, and the first class ladies compartment was filling up. All seats were occupied, but enough place to stand. The lady closest to the gate on the left was laughing loudly at her cellphone. The girl to her left was munching on a bag of chips. Two women spoke animatedly, sharing recipes. Another yawned loudly every two minutes, another noisily popping gum, another laughing at another's joke, others just standing there.

The train reached Dadar, and it was time for a fresh load of women to enter the compartment. Many got in, some got out. There was still some time for the train to start moving, and everything seemed to be at a standstill, if only for a moment.

Suddenly, somebody different entered the compartment. The lady laughing at her cellphone raised an eyebrow, the girl munching on the bag of chips stopped for a minute, the women sharing the recipies stopped being animated, the yawning one stopped mid way, the chewing gum girl chewed slower, the laughing girls stopped laughing, and others just stood there, staring.

A boy, of about thirteen, slowly entered the compartment. He wore blue pants, and nothing above. Extremely thin, his ribs poked through his dark chocolately skin. His hair was long and unwashed, his fingers long and thin, his nails dirty. A long scar ran from his shoulder all the way to his arm.

But his most interesting features were his eyes.

Half closed and empty..just like the eyes of a stoner. His face had a weird sadness, his lips curving to a frown. He walked very slow and carried a dirty rag with him.

All eyes were on the boy. No one said anything. He walked to the middle of the compartment and squatted, ready to sweep the floor with the dirty rag.

"Ee! Utho! Kahan se aaye?" screamed one of the laughing women.

The boy didn't say a word. He looked at the woman, his arm outstretched, his eyes opening opened up a little.

"Abhi utho! Abhi utho!" she screamed again.

The boy lowered his head a little, but still didn't say a word. His arm was still outstretched.

The laughing woman was very angry. She looked at the women near the gate. "Why didn't you stop him when he was coming in?" she hollered on top of her voice. "Women in the second class would never have allowed him!" she glared at the women near the gate.

"Agle stop pe utarna!" she stared at him angrily, and went back to laughing with the other woman.

Everything went back to the way it was, and the boy looked around him. He stared at the girl with the bag of chips and wet his lips. He stared and stared and stared and stared. But the girl didn't look at him. Or maybe she was pretending. She popped the last chip in her mouth, crumpled the bag and threw it out of the running train. The boy stared at the dissapearing bag of chips.

The boy looked really tired. He rested against a seat, but the laughing woman didn't like him doing that.

"Ee chalo utho! Station aa raha hai! Niklo!" she said, crossing her arms. Her other laughing friend joined her, and then two others too. The boy got up very slowly, and trudged towards the gate. The woman that was laughing at her cell phone looked at him with disgust.

The train slowed a little and the boy stood at the gate. Everyone shuffled a away from him, their faces twisted in disgust. The station was approaching and the boy looked behind. His eyes were blinking slowly. He wiped his face with the dirty rag. The station came, but the train hadn't stopped yet. The boy looked back one last time, and he was gone.

And everything went back to the way it was.

The End.

Book Review: The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

There are only a few books in this world that can stir you, shake you, make you sit up and read at a stretch till the very end. This is the effect that will have upon you when you started reading 'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' by John Boyne.

The title is misleading. Is it a funny book? Is it meant for children? According to the writer John Boyne, he has written this book for children, but what is surprising, is that this is a book for children with a subject of the Holocaust.

SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!
If you do not wish to know what happens in the story, stop right here!Skip to the next red fonts.

Bruno, a nine year old boy, is the protagonist of the novel. His father is the Commander of a Jewish concentration camp in 'Out-With' (Auschwitz). He has to leave his comfortable five-story home in Berlin, his three best friends for life, his cushy life to live in a whole new place, where nothing is like it was back home. Outside the window of his new home, he sees a long fence and men everywhere, all wearing identical striped pyjamas and caps.

He is confused and lonely. His elder sister, Gretel (The Hopeless Case) offers no solace, instead teasing him like she always did. He hates Lieutenant Kotler, who thinks he is in charge, but really isn't.

One day, Bruno decided on doing some exploring, his favourite activity. He walks along the fence, and finds a boy on the other side. He wears striped pyjamas and a cap, like everyone else. The boy is Shmuel and comes from Poland. They also find out that they were born on the same day. Since that day, they form a friendship, and Bruno comes to meet Shmuel everyday.

Slowly, Bruno forgets his old house in Berlin, and his best friends for life, whose names he even forgets. Soon, his mother gets frustrated of living in Out-With and decides it was time that she and the children went back home. Bruno is sad as he wont get to meet Shmuel anymore. He goes to visit him one last time, and Bruno climbs under the fence and goes to Shmuel's side.

SPOILERS END HERE. SPOILERS END HERE. SPOILERS END HERE. SPOILERS END HERE.

The last two chapters are heart wrenching. Even though there is no detailing of the horrors that prevailed during those times, it is understood to the readers. The writing, though it seems simple and straightforward, is filled with chilling subtexts, especially the last three lines of the book:

"And that's the end of the story about Bruno an his family. Of course all this happened a long time ago and nothing like that could ever happen again.

Not in this day and age."

An amazing read, one which you could go back to over and over again.

4.5/5

~Supriya

India, and cricket.

One day, I decided I liked cricket. And I began watching matches involving India.

Then, I noticed that whenever I watched, India lost.

I stopped watching cricket.

I didn't watch for a long time.

Then, I thought maybe the jinx was lifted, and I decided to watch India vs Pak, the final.

The moment I switched on to ESPN, one Indian wicket was taken (I swear I'm not lying). So, I didn't watch the whole match. Then Pakistan began batting. It was the final over and only one wicket remaining and 6 runs to win. I got nervous. It was for the good of the country, so I changed the channel. As soon as I did, whoops and wohoos from the other room. I switch back to ESPN, and India won.

Jinx or co-incidence?
You decide.

The End

~Supriya

P.S. Go India!

A very pathetic story

WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE. NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN BELOW 18 YEARS. OR HATERS.












It was a cold December afternoon, and Lily was walking home from school that day. She liked walking home from school. She hated the bus. She hated it.

"Hey slut! I saved you a seat!" grinned Toby, patting the seat next to him. "My lap is free too if you wanna sit!"

There would be a surge of anger rising from Lily's stomach. Like a ball of fire, aching to find a release. But she wouldn't react. She wouldn't even look at him.

"You can't sit here.." Samantha said, arching her eyebrow. "This seat is not meant for losers..sorry!" As if on cue, there would be a wave of supressed laughter and giggles surrounding Lily. But she would just close her eyes, holding back her tears, clenching her fist.

Today, Lily was walking home. She had missed her bus that day, by accident. She didn't mind. She didn't mind one bit.

The wind was howling particularly hard today. But Lily didn't have any jacket to protect her. She held on to her backpack tight, and slowly walked towards her street. Towards the very end, a house stood. No lawn surrounding it. No dog barking in anticipation of her. No one to open the door. No one waiting for her.

Lily fumbled with the keys, trying to open the door. Her fingers were numb from the cold, and the keys weren't helping either. "Cmon..cmon!" she mumbled, trying to fit the key into the hole. After a lot of struggling, she managed to open the door.

The inside of the house was no relief from the cold outside. Lily threw her bag to the floor, and rubbed her hands together. "Mom.." she called out, closing an open window. "Mom?"

"She's gone..she's gone" came a soft voice from the kitchen. Lily walked into the room. "Dad..?" she said, walking towards him. "She's gone..gone!" he sobbed. That was the first time she had seen her father cry. "What happened?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. "She left us..she left me!" he cried in rage, smashing a vase against the wall.

The vase broke into small pieces, shards were flying everwhere. Lily didn't even bother ducking. Slowly she left the room, her heart fell low, way below the floor. She climbed up the stairs and walked into the room. The ball of anger was rising again, but this time, she had no control. She screamed loudly, falling on her bed, burying her face in the pillow. Tears streamed down her eyes and she punched the pillow repeatedly.

She had wanted to do this for some time. She pressed the steel against her wrist. The anger, hurt, pain rising higher and higher. She closed her eyes tight, and it was done.

A flash of white light.
"Are you here to take me?"
"Yes"
"Will I be happy?"
"Yes"
She smiled.
And she was gone.

The End

Hi Blogger, here we are!

If you would like to know who we are, flip through the archives:

http://supzie.spaces.live.com/

If you're too bored/lazy, then read this.

We are sisters.

And we write random shit.

The end.