Keeping Up with the Cojones-es.

They say when your life is in imminent danger, it flashes before your eyes. I only swallowed much muddy Sutlej and energetically kicked a rock. I have the beautifully purpling bruises to show for it. My life did not flash before my eyes, unfortunately. If I had only remembered at the time that this was supposed to happen, I would have concentrated more on it. The idea is definitely interesting... I would finally find out if that boy I lusted after in class eight was indeed more important to me than my winning the math proficiency prize that term.

I have sometimes been called a nerd. I don't mind... always been attracted to nerds anyway.

What is almost as interesting as the rafting itself is to watch the other Gujarati family in the raft fiercely compete with your own in rafting prowess. Who gets to sit up in front, right in the Mouth of Danger? Jethalal or dad? Who can make more ineffectual-splashes-per-minute with an oar? Savitaben or mom? Family-group expeditions are always such wholesome, family-friendly episodes of do you have the Cojones, losers? So very Yum, no? :)

If you're Gujarati, these are all pseudonyms. What? What was that? Yes, I rather do enjoy regionalist-stereotyping actually. 

Now that I have river-rafted, I only have paragliding, bungee jumping, rock climbing and doing several, mostly illegal things to Gael Garcia Bernaz, left on my bucket list. To all of you sceptics: I am perfectly aware of the possibility that some of these ambitions may not reach fruition. I have doubts about my capabilities as a rock climber. See? I am firmly in touch with reality.

I watched craploads of television on that darling big tv in that lovely big chain-hotel in Shimla. It has been five months since I last watched TV. Why, you idiots, did none of you tell me about Coupling? What a very excellent show... in my more spazzed out moments, I simply watch it to hear them say 'bottoms' in that BBC accent.  Is it only me, or does the word 'bottoms' immediately bring to mind my (or generic, really) great-aunt's admittedly respectable but sadly unexciting posterior? It just cannot describe a young and pretty bum, can it.

The multiplex strike confused me. Then I read Filmfare on the Kalka-Shimla narrow gauge, and everything was immediately Light. Now I am only annoyed at the multiplex strike. I am growing very suspicious at the Tamil film industry. The same songs that were playing on the radio when I left for college two years ago, are still being played. Everyone I confront regarding this abomination gets all shifty eyed and mumbles something about a multiplex strike. I have decided to frequent that antiquity, the single-screen theatre, to check whether tamil films are still being made. I very much Doubt It. I am a Doubting Divya. I am a Deadly Dastardly Doubting Divya. 

I bought four very decent and very large gravy-stuffed bun thingies and one disgusting but large chocolate pastry for sixty rupees from a posh baker on Shimla's Mall Road. If that's what posh costs in Shimla, I will grow two more chins and grey stubbly chin-hair and live like an Angrezi Mem in one of those delicious cake-like cottages. I would also wear brown tweeds, but they are remarkably unsexy. I am not talking about the New Styles in tweeds. An Angrezi Mem would not wear pink silk bustiers with tweed miniskirts. That's Just Not Cricket, luv.

One more year of law school down; I am no closer to knowing what I want to do at the end of it. Sometimes I shrug and think I may as well become a lawyer. That would be such an anticlimax though, no?

Ah well.

PS: I now have six followers. Such cheap thrills I am having I tell you.