May be I am medieval. Or at least my thoughts are so. May be I am still stuck in a time warp. May be I can’t paint my nails black and head bang to what people call music and become a rock chick in the process. May be I still romance with Jane Austen and Sarat Rachanabali and a “..Almost Single” seems ordinary and too common place at the end. May be I still find Suchitra Sen much more drool-worthy than a Deepika Padukone and maybe I treasure ma’s old sarees much more tenderly than the costliest dress ever to enter my wardrobe. May be I still love the old world charm. May be by beauty I just don’t mean fair skin and straightened hair….by it I still understand long black wavy tresses and eyes that never seem to end anywhere. I hate the word “kewl”, I hate people who can be easily figured out, and I hate those who in the process of being the former end up fitting into the latter set. Individuality is lost mid way; it is trampled and squashed till it forgets what it actually was and from where it came from. Advancement can accompany originality. The bland relish of tastelessness is what naked legs and bare shoulders mirror, and when the root basis of all this nudity and fake attitude is just to fit “in”, 3 sighs and 4 *beeps* is what I end by saying.