I am a Ninja, and you are Not.

Allow me to comment on the weather once more. It is in that blessed twilight moment between summer and winter, where summer seems to pause on its way out and look us straight in the eye, and we have caught that moment, captured it indefinitely in our skin and our eyes. Crisp and cold and so strangely clear in the mornings, with that large white winter sun that simply cannot heat, unexpectedly hot afternoons, where you pull off your sweatshirt, cursing (or if you are a Dilli-person, you point and laugh at the 'Saooth-Indian' who, poor her, is feeling cold already and it isn't even winter yet. Are you reading this, you Saddi-Dilli-type person? POO on you. One day you will call for me in a weak, shaky tenor that comes from chest catarrh, and extend a pale shaky arm to me for help and I will coldly watch and even more coldly laugh, and with infinite pleasure swat your pleading arm away. Ahahahahahaha. AHAHAHAHAHAHA.) and chilly nights, where you observe all the work that you have planned for the night, and then you observe all the warm, toasty blankets you have piled up on your bed, and the work does not stand a chance. And you climb into your bed and assume a foetal position and remain in said retarded position until four minutes before class.

I am the first to admit I spent the first winter here freezing my extremities off, drinking much shitty coffee and declaiming loudly to the world in general what a very large craphole University is, and what a much larger unwashed craphole a desert winter is. I never realised what a fan I am of warm, humid, rainy winters (think Madras, think Pondicherry, think Bombay!) until the Jodhpur winter snuck up and stuffed icecubes up all my orifices when I wasn't looking. And left them there for three months.

But, you know, I really like this winter now. I like the cold that brings tears to your eyes (literally), I like the fact that winter clothes beautifully camouflage any and all flab you have gathered eating rasagollas with with every meal. And of course, I like eating rasagollas with every meal.

What I DON'T like is having to hover sneakily in the freezing bathroom to fill my two buckets of hot water every morning before it runs out. HOT SHOWERS, DEAR GOD! By Methuselah, has nobody heard of MODERN PLUMBING?!

But this post has gone in a different direction than intended. No really. Sometimes I do come here with a specific intention in mind; of course, it usually happens that I end up doing happy backflips in an entirely different direction, and remember my original thought only when I am exhausted and flat on my back and dreaming of Honey Nut Crunch ice cream from Baskin Robbins, to satisfy the keening, growling sugar craving I have from doing backflips on the internetz.

Anyhow.

My original intention was to applaud the neat social structure that my University has developed. It appears to follow, unhappily, the standard format of every high-school American show I have ever watched. But it is still a nice, neat social structure. And by neat, I mean dependable also. Like we are a bucket of pondwater where the layers have settled down, and you pick it up and shake it, and when it settles down, the scum is still on top and the gravel is still on the bottom. So this social structure. Nice and exclusive. Each little clique talks to its own little clique and watches the same shows and hugs the same teddybears and dates a generic boyfriend, who wears a generic shirt, and also generic undies, which he will duly display above his generic jeans. Or I may be referring to only the Ballerina-Flats Clique. You know the ones, yes?

"Do you watch Friends? OMFG wasn't Joey so cute, there, where he pulled the same stupid face he's pulled for ten seasons and paused for just the right amount of time and made a deep yet funny comment? OMFGROTFLMAO. LOOOOOOOL. OMG what did you say? You don't watch Friends? Like, how can you not watch Friends, like, where have you been, like, ew."

I am forever put off ballerina flats and white pants, I think.

Look out for them. They have horns and fangs. And straightening irons and hot wax.

I'm the quiet one in the corner, the one in the extra-large hoodie. The one who you know, instantly, is a NINJA.

*Dramatic closing music*