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Crazy Creative Minion
Joined: 01 July 2010
Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.
Amaira abstained herself from the benediction, it was simply gaunt in her opinion. She did not even want to spend the remaining time of isolation in the vicinity of what Karan had done. He had made her more atrocious than this before but she could absolutely not bear to wince at the righteous basis of his demeanour. The truest crux of the multilayered dilemma was that she knew that no man would consider pecking your head unless he did not mind being corny. Karan had positively done what others might only consider and his warmth had not founded a remorseful and impure morsel in her shameful conscience to reside just yet. She was still warm and was going to be satisfied for a long time. Sinister are the points of origin of a lady's contentment, always.
Kunal was a hypocritical and hypothetical young man with rare or no conduct of emotion. He hardly disciplined his emotion which was fierce and herculean but his exterior was like any touchy subject of a rotten homeboy for an elder brother. Naturally, Amaira had personally witnessed him making out with Rhea. Unnaturally, Amaira had witnessed no other guy feeding two sick teenage girls, one being his younger sister and the other, his partner in situations that movie people in India censor, with the green-clad porridge. Neither the lousy ingredient in the porridge nor the substance her big brother was punched out of was ever understandable a concept to her. Eventually she realized, not Kunal but Karan was her recent point of concern.
'He kissed me, Tart.' She ejaculated.
'I thought he must have before, might as well a lot of times.' Kunal replied, thoroughly disinterested.
'No, he did not.' mumbled Amaira, looking exasperated.
'Personally, I don't care.' Kunal lied and stuck his tongue out before displaying his teeth which were now finally out of the shackles of his braces.
'You don't care? Really, now,' Amaira muttered.
Kunal held out his hand and Amaira examined it compulsively for any spit or dust or any product that humbled her brother and disgusted her. But when she did hold his hand, he fended its top with his free hand and Amaira was out of the expanse of worrying about the chocolate that was sprawled around that very hand, because it was her brother's. He was serious, so she was hopeful he would make sense like all times.
'You guys are a thing''he announced, 'I know you are keen on hating guys and everything, and that I am the one exception of a swine so you love me regardless and everything. Just that, you've got to put yourself together, see what he's got to give you. I could be wrong, hell, you see but he is this ugly haughty brat who does not wish you to see him being softened, almost melted by the pleasure to see you.' Amaira wanted her brother to continue and he seemed to be choosing words to deliver.
'You make the best of friends, think about it ' there is no harm letting him have a go with his sentiment and have you witness it, if he does have any, that is.' Kunal concluded and smiled a joyous and satisfied smile, he had quite done his job; beat the living day lights out of his sister's thick and prejudiced aura. Kunal always did things that made her think and after nearly eighteen years of hostage and brainless thoughts, she liked to believe that she was tired.
If given a chance, Amaira's eyes would have billowed out of their sockets and joined her spectacles which were usually not sighted or slighted; they were simply a luxury Amaira was provided, the very luxury which she refused to carry around on the bridge of her nose. It was particularly hard to determine where they were kept that velvety night, they could be sandwiched between two halves of a one-thousand page novel or could be on top of the television which was never really switched on, but given a chance, Amaira's eyes would have tracked them down and shared the dwelling. Nonetheless, their mistress was in mood to meet her mother.
Amaira entered what looked like the simplified counterpart of her brother's bedroom. The wall in which the door was embedded was cream and the wall that faced it was bit of scarlet. The roof was perfectly white and the wallpaper on either of the other walls was mostly pictures of her and Kunal with their mother at the places they had holidayed. Her mother looked portly in the pictures, considerable amount of flesh was prominent, and her long hair was curvy like her figure at the tips. Her son had her nose, symmetric and long whilst her daughter had inherited her thin lips that changed colour. The children quite looked her and her alone but for their auburn hair, she had shiny black hair in the pictures. However, the lady whose body parts lay almost haphazardly on the round bed of the same wood as the door's and freshly laid covers had severely grey hair. She was thinner but fascinated to see her daughter.
'Amaira,' her mother spoke and was refused getting up by her daughter.
'Yeah, Mum, hello,' Amaira greeted her and offered her the bottle of water she'd got from the fridge.
'Thank you,' Shailja Chopra murmured and smiled a tired smile.
'Long day, uh,' Amaira commented, in the back of her head, she knew what she meant, though.
'Long month, I'd say.' Her mother replied and pulled her covers all the way up to her ears and curled inside.
'Night, Mum.' Amaira frowned.
She did not wait for her mother to reply,
even though she knew her mother barely would have. Amaira and her mother, they
were like the princess and the queen together, the queen being her mother,
insecure of her throne and herself being drifted apart. Twas regular with all
mothers and daughters, Kunal preached and Amaira did not know the devil why.
However, there was subtle love between the two, of a particularly unspoken
sort. Amaira had always grown close to her brother and her brother was open to
both the ladies he lived with. He was closer to Amaira; naturally, given the
time their mother had to spend outside the house.
The momentum of his sentiment was precariously tampered with, the wholesome ideas of warmth always pleased Karan for some reason. He had seen love happening around, intrinsically cheesy love, one you'd puke just imagining but somehow, Amaira and her agile hatred for cheese were scribbled on his very idea of her all the same. Hers was not a life spent under exposure to two people theatrically in love but with a brother and a mother she had never reckoned she loved. Therefore, the demented act of kindness that he did to her hair and dried mouth were beyond his otherwise ideas of vigilance. Not that he ever gave his emotion a considerable teaspoon of thought, he just knew anything done to Amaira was equivalent to gaping at the TV screen in the fashion of hoping, hoping someday it would make sense. He was not particularly certain but he did sense how masochistically rotten it was just to think that he and Amaira had anything chemical. The world knew how she loved Chemistry.
Varun Walia was twice Karan's age, give or take a few and positively half his size. Karan had zeroed to his all time observation that somehow Varun's overly exaggerated sense of humour never got the better of his spectators but he had that demeanour of respectable charm, some sort Karan thought to be alien. Karan's impeccable brother was not very good to resist, it would be a waste of time, energy and hormone, women would tell Karan on occasions such as his birthday, his end-of-year party, his after-party for basketball matches won et cetera.
But Karan managed to love Varun, yes he did and with these thoughts of self-righteousness and feeling as though he was almost noble, Karan abstained himself from sneaking in to the bar and grabbing a glass of wine in the name of efforts being put to call sleep. Honestly, puke would have sounded appropriate, what with his father's choice of wine. Karan slept a dreamless, almost demented sleep and it was ironic how he had not reckoned he clearly dreamed of Amaira this particular night, maybe he should babysit her more often, just to avoid dreaming about her. Those dreams got nastier on Karan every time they occurred; the most fearsome was Amaira manoeuvring Karan, the piece of paper into boats and aeroplanes of all shapes and sizes.
Karan's manner of waking was quite like a wrestler putting himself together after a fall, he'd carefully distance his body parts from each other and in the vicinity of the bulk, he would have a hard time analysing which organ to lift first. After he would manage, the first thing his red ears would comprehend mainly swayed from the morning barking of his dog to the filthy ring of the alarm. Unusually, it was today the banging shut of his room's door.
'Hey, I'll just, tie Pasta for ya,' Karan mumbled.
'I'd appreciate that, Karan, really.' Amaira retorted, examining the carpet for any Pasta-residue.
'Morning Pasta,' Karan greeted his pet pug and cuddled its chocolate brown body.
'Really Karan, Pasta?' Amaira never really made peace with her best friend of sort's pet's name.
'Yes, Pasta, and kindly shut up or I'd not tie him. Your call,' he warned her.
'Right,' she muttered and seated herself on the green bean bag.
Karan's room was a simplified and comprehensive game parlour you would find in shopping malls and amusement parks, minus the holy hooting and howling and cries and everything onomatopoeic to a public place. His was a rather quiet version of the very unsightly place, Amaira had observed and every time she visited it, she was likely to spot something that defined Karan's classical dimensions. He was quite like her brother sometimes, some man from the Elizabethan age trapped in the body of a teenager with a pea-sized brain, figuratively of her time.
'Alright, I'll just go, freshen up, then you spit.' He suggested, simultaneously manually visualizing Rhea's new style of air hugging.
'I dun have all day, you know?' Amaira pointed out, reckoning it was too dangerous to let him in the bathroom alone, like without his Pasta. Yes, some people do have more brilliant means of company in the bathroom than normal people dare to imagine.
'Just say it, Pasta scares you.' Karan announced smugly.
'Just say it; you don't remember what you did last night.' She barked.
'I did a number of things last night, most important of which, I kept Varun from a sixth glass of that atrocious wine.' He genuinely said.
Amaira was swathed in humourless comments and baseless ideas; maybe she would punch him for being persevere. She settled for seating herself on his bed without caring that Karan's inedible pasta practically slept there and gulfed in an artificial sigh, one that were real could be quite a task to do in the proximity of the classic novels and music and benefit of having a rich father ' a collection of tuxedos and their owner, Karan who generally made her happy.
'I am not sorry, get that straight.' He announced something awful again.
'Yes, I don't want you to be, kinda.' She whispered.
'Just dun think, right, I won't get touchy again, I promise.' He said.
'Trying to get generous, eh?' she ejaculated.
'Out of words and sort of the mind, are we? Just in case we had one, I mean?' he asked, kneeling next to her, trying to examine her stupid posture sitting in one that was stupider.
'I dunno. I dun like it, you see, all this generosity, who in the hell wants you to kiss their hair when they'd happily disown them quite themselves, Karan?' she barked higher and the energy instantly diminished at the end.
'Subjective, you know? Highly subjective, I did not quite know I had this, seriously. But then, you just ask me out of nowhere to disown my indigenous, or um, hereditary sweet nothings, how'd that be fair?' Karan asked fairly.
'Just dun make me the subject, dun spoil us, we are nearly friends.' She justified.
'I am not on a hunt for subjects, A, you don't make sense, neither do I, of course but well, it is like, you don't want me anywhere around your hair, I'd be obedient and keep away.' He stated.
'Wonderful, that would be it for now, totally.' She concluded and a tear rolled quite drastically down her eye and into the mouth through her lips from the edge, the stern lifeless edge, might we add.
'It'd take time figuring out, honestly. And then maybe, we could just get something chemical done to your hair and well, fix your insufferable cynicism. Until then, we are good.' He smiled the smile of victory, clearing having outdone her wit with his own today.
They side-hugged and Amaira breathed what felt like a real sigh before she closed the door of Karan's room quietly and departed. Matter resolved, yes. Amaira was not fanatic about warmth that Karan provided her with last night, anymore than she would skip a run round the park for accompanying Rhea to a new dermatologist every week. He was right when he said that her cynicism was insufferable. Cynicism without a reason is the dangerous of all, she reminded herself and the entire way back home, she tried to gather reasons behind her scepticism, if there were any reasonable enough.
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Crazy Creative Minion
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