Writing on the bench...

You know how you used to doodle stuff on your bench during those soporific lectures, where you would try to stab yourself in the eye with a pen just to make things more interesting?...Yeah, those. The scribbles ranged from the initials of your crush to the lyrics of some random emo song which you thought described your love life the best then. A couple of days back I stumbled upon the bench which I had sat on last year and found my doodles along with hundreds of other people's. There was my name (obviously) amongst a million of others, a line from open your eyes, which somebody had cut and written "jagya rulessss" on (....eeeyeah..), then there was a head, which looked like cross between the hulk and C3PO, but I guess that was the beauty of that head, it's non resemblance to any sort of living being, which gave people the license (creative of course) to label it as whichever professor/ girl/boy/backstreet boy they disliked the most. Then there were those doodles which were a constant fixture at every table, like the summer of 69' lyrics (always, always that one), a lot of ansty f***k yous and f***k off (for no apparent reason), a group of names with 'we rule/ rock' written all around them, a something which at a certain angle looks like a hand giving the finger, the sprinking of 'Zzzzzzzzzs' all over the bench, and names and more names, squeezed in everywhere.

It made me realize those scribbles on the benches are probably the best documentation of our growing up memories. Not the pretty pictures or grainy videos, not the drawing books filled with crayon scribbles, not the dusty Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews lying forgotten among the crisp Asimovs and Sheldons...It's those absent minded doodles...

Of zig zags and spirals,

and little stars and birds.

Of tiny hearts and sad songs,

and disconnected words...

I love rock n' roll...And also, chick songs.

                                   

A couple of days ago while browsing through my music, I stumbled upon my long forgotten Chick Songs folder wedged in between Nirvana and Creed. Joan Jett, Britney spears, Avril Lavigne, Rihanna, Kelly Clarkson, Shakira, the works. So my week was spent on Piece of me, Complicated, underneath your clothes et all and I have to say...I was pretty psyched. It reminded of the days when I wanted get that trippy tattoo Joan has (still do), or write clinically depressed songs like Avril and thought I was at the height of cooldom cause I could sing I love rock and roll word to word. Albeit off key, yes, but the point is I grew up on them (along with the boy band association of course) and they've all influenced me in some twisted way or other. Musical finesse was never an issue back then, the trashier the better.

Anyway, I played them all back to back, over and over again and now I can't stand them anymore. It's like you sit next to a cute guy and you're happy and shit, but then you fall asleep and drool all over him. Yeah I know, it's quite a bad simile, but hell it sure is true. They're fun for sometime, you bop around, be happy, but then after a while you feel like throwing babies and kittens off cliffs and watching the Saw series. But I am pretty fond of them. I also have no idea as to why I call them Chick songs, considering I too am, well...a chick. However, you can never really say that you're over chick songs. They're always with you. One moment you're worshiping them, and then suddenly they became lame you're dissing them and then after a time comes a point when you're bored with good music and you put them on and dance along like a crazy octopus.