Evil me, cruel me

For a long time, I've wondered how a lot of people get attention- if you know what I mean.
And for a long time, people I know have also wondered why I even wonder. With a waistline the total of your family's size, it is my stupidity that I should consider myself even- well- considerable. For most things anyway.
Now I know what you're thinking- especially if you're the likes of my close friends.
"It isn't the looks- Radh, it's the person you are! You're beautiful, and charming, and witty." The list goes on. I suppose my eulogy is pretty much in place (courtesy- Maans, Shri, Trupta, Prabhu, Madhu, Kritzel, Radhi, Shitta and co)- all good writers, and the ultimate mood lifters in the darkest of days- but barring a few exceptional occasions of brutality, they've spared me the critic's viewpoint.
Flattered, but not convinced.
I mean, if the world's such a puritan place that goes for the 'person I am', I must have some serious character flaws that either skip the attention of my friends, or they're too kind to admit them to me- that make me such an unlikable, non-fascinating something.
Oh no, this isn't even drunk drivel- this is a conscious question I want to ask you out of very sincere curiosity.
Really, WHAT is it?
Apart from my borderline schizophrenia, my 'temperamental' personality (honestly, Tejashri- I haven't seen a more politically correct term for 'mad as a hatter'! I'm putting it down somewhere) touch-o-phobia (sorry for the black eye, Coll and the scratches, Vinod- but I'm a Ninja in my head) latent OCD, hopeless cynicism splotched with overdoses of haunting optimism, I could say I haven't been made aware of a personality disorder as such.
I know I may be questioning the basic instinct of most of male-kind (and Dad, if you're reading this, ignore most of it) but it surprises me to see that I haven't been exposed to ugly truths yet. I have made awesome friends and a lot of people who feature on that list are honest as that ruddy woodcutter, but I'm up for brutality for the next few days. It isn't even for the hormonal boy-girl thing. I have a feeling I've been missing out on large doses of reality (probably while planning my next Ninja outing) that has been served in moderate amounts to everyone. Without insulting my list of very close male friends- I thought we could talk about anything, ye know? Right from Class 1, I've been told repeatedly about what an exceptional piece of poetry I am. Thank you again, but give me some reviews! Or am I just registered in your head as someone to laugh with and forget? I'm glad to be that shoulder you're always in the need of but PLEASE, I'm sometimes a little more than that. Not to be misinterpreted by the friends, though- try funny stuff and more blackened eyes and scratches will follow. There's an annoying tale of the guy who looks beyond the looks.I believe it to be a myth. This is an oath to take the lard off, but trust me- with it goes my optimism that the male species is actually not interested in skin-deep matter. I wouldn't look at them too, but a large number of my 'interests' have been on the unflattering side of the mirror. About it being a tale- if it isn't, well, show me a person who's ready to give this a chance. And do not expect me to be happy- I'll have my usual set of (cynical) questions- Does he know me? Have you told him what's happening? Is he here to prove a point? So you get me a guy who likes me and what? I'm by default supposed to like him, like it's my only chance?
I do not want to be attention seeking, I am extensively sick of pretenses, and I agree that with the lard on me you hardly wait to see my pretty side (if at all I decide to don one), but somehow EVERYONE around me is convinced that I'll find love and all that drama- my question is, where? When? Am I supposed to go looking for it? What are the chances this unknown faceless personality could be looking out for me? I mean, quite an ego boost I'll get there. 
I did try not making it matter- another side of me is extensively happy with the current version of 'me'. It hardly matters on most days about what someone says or doesn't. I'm not a pro at following advice and definitely not a pro at getting things done, but I never complain. 
Today is my day of complaining though. Too bad. My blog, my version.
I know, I'm getting convinced by the second that these are reason enough. To repulse anyone. I would be. I want to hear it from you.
The sorry part is, if I do turn completely cynical- I'll miss the fairy-tale side of me, my happily-ever-after ideas and the entire point that sometimes makes me the way I am. I have identified myself as a little less normal than you are and quite a bit on the troubled side, but seriously- for heaven's sake- Mulan was a cross-dresser, Ariel swapped a mermaid's tail for a date and Belle was a masochist.
And they say I have problems!
Point being, where's the honesty gone? Or were the fairy-tales just tales?

But tell me. Please.
I need to know the bad things about me. The terrible ones. The annoying ones. The strictly weird ones. The unspeakable ones. INBOX me if you have to- but for a day or two (preferably not more than that, I have esteem issues if you drag it) please, drag me (virtually) on dry ground for who I've turned out to be.
So long as it's on paper. Kindly rip me apart (on paper/webpage, again) because I'm very thoroughly SICK of being told of what a perfect person I am (I believe it very sincerely most of the time) because at the end of the day, I don't get the feedback I want.
I may not know what that is, but I know I'm not getting it. 

Birthday made special

She turned around at people wit me not bcos we share the same name but to support me wenever she saw me alone.. thnk for being der wen i needed u the mosttt...Radhika Mohandas i jus love ur name:* haappyy happy happy wala bday i hope we turn back together all r lives n ask each other "did she call u ??"..
- Radhika Varma

Radhika - very happy wala birthday...thank you for being the person in the pic..for not judging, for not trying to figure me out, for being with the perverted me, for being there with the more perverted me, for being with the most perverted me, for making me look good, for being crazy, for being sentimental, for being a friend. for being YOU! neighbour uncle loves you! :)
- Ankit Pareek

The migrating Man-Boy.

And for the second time in a month, a support system leaves home-soil. 
My mother once boasted to someone about what a strong friends circle I have, and I think she's absolutely right. Each element in that circle was agonisingly helpful, attached and a perfect friend with a role to play. 
So what do you do when you're in a stretch of 4 days when 4 of these friends take off to another country, for a very very long time?
I decided not to sit and cry. But day 1, and I'm already feeling the strain as Karan Dhebar sits at the airport.
My pillar, my subject, the predictor of moods and the controller of emotions has just left tonight for a new life in London. He made me realise that it's okay to wear my heart on my sleeve, that love doesn't ask to happen, and nothing is certain.
He's taught me lessons in how to look beyond appearances into truths about people and how ruthlessness is often a result of ignorance. He's broken my heart when he got his heart shattered and he's made me a stronger person by letting me take care of him when he needed me to. We're not finished yet, but with the distance grown so much I'm more worried about what he'll be like than the 'missing' tirade. 
He's on the airport right now and I'm feeling worse than ever for not being there to say bye. I'm feeling terrible for not clicking pictures of his last few moments in Mumbai for a long time, that might stretch into years. I'm trying to prepare myself for nights that begin with a few minutes of wondering how he is and then hoping that someone there sees the anguished, non-flamboyant side that this man-boy dons. 

So again, unsolicited advice to the bro of all bros (and me, who isn't a bro per se). 
Keep safe.
Remember that we're all back home and we love you.
Keep the phone charged, because when someone hits the panic button and decides to call you, it'll cause less damage when you answer.
We love you a lot, okay? Bas phone kar lena.
Give a lot of yourself to everyone there, that's who you are- selfless, undiscriminating, loving, the emperor of gossip-mongers, the homie- all those senseless words. But we know Karu/KD/Dhebar/Debbie etc- and we know you'll change. Just don't forget us in the bargain.
Don't get your heart broken again. I'll want to come there and you know that could do your cool repo a lot of damage. 
Keep dreaming.
Stay beautiful.
And you're the sweetest guy ever. And I/we/everyone here really loves you. (Special jhappi from Babboo and me, separate and team huddle and everything)

Dear Manchester,
Take care of Karan Dhebar, he's excited and he's got a weird accent, but he's a good boy. Lucky you.

And this, is his birthday poem. Two years back. 

Thirty seconds into anger
And I lose myself again
There starts the need of a leash
And something to kill the strain

On a day when the sun’s too harsh
And tears begin to flow
You’re a friend when I need you most
And this I need you to know- 

You’re my unexpected guardian
And you can make the frowns fly,
And you restore my cool and sense
And I need you to pacify
The passionate outbursts I have
Every second terrible day.
You’ve never let me down
Please don’t ever go away.

There’re times when we both hurt
And no one can even tell
Where the wounds appeared
Or the path where we fell.

But this to you I promise
That even if I don’t see you fall
I’ll be right by your side pronto
Away by just a call.

A beginning we never saw
An end that’ll never come-
I’ll never let go of the ideal friend
You have become.

All your funny antics aside
And behind that wall of cheer-
Just let me know what’s hurting
And I’ll make the pain disappear.

I’m feeling blessed today
That I have you around me
For joy and through pain
Through broken hearts and scraped knee-

We’ll run through like oddments we’ll always be-
KD, not just on your birthday- I hope you’re always happy!

Square root three.

Last night I was watching Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, and Kumar Patel (pronounced Quoo-mawr P'Tayl by Kal Penn, originally Kalpen Mody- or Modi) reads this out to his chikni, at her wedding, originally to Eric Winter (Drwwwwooooool) but not any more. It's the sort of love poem I DREAM of being written for me- plain, simple, stupid, honest but given my...uhmm...affinity/relationship to arithmetic, I'd say THIS would be perfect.
"I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer
We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed"