Hypocrite lecteur,— mon semblable, — mon frère!

Ages since I wrote

2009-09-20T21:39:00.001+05:30

Its been ages since I wrote. Wrote on this blog, wrote just for writing, wrote for the relief of it, wrote for the release or even for pleasure. I don’t really remember when last I did the latter. Others write. For all of these reasons. On blogs, on emails, on smses. Pas moi.

I don't know whether to my dismay or to my delight – I have realized, I am capable of doing some harm to myself. When I am in deep sleep. Deep stressed sleep in which I get nightmares. I manifests in scratches around my shoulders & neck. Then of course I spend my waking hours trying to figure out what to put on the wounds. They look positively ugly.

When life tosses lemons

2009-09-08T07:43:00.002+05:30

They say, make lemonade.

I say, toss the damn life away man. And that is what I have been at. Since you ask. Thanks for your concern.

Strangely, everybody around me has been moving. Its like being the Midas touch for movement. So people have been switching jobs, moving continents, cities, houses. Almost like everyone spinning around. Around me. Making me dizzy.

So do I also get sucked into the whirlwind? When will that be? I guess that is exactly what this lemon tossing, idiotic, pointless, nonsensical, uselessgoodfornothing life needs. A good shake.

Black magic

2009-08-26T23:57:00.001+05:30

Drunk. Beyond repair. Intoxicated. No, that's incorrect. Maybe physiologically, but not emotionally. Fuck the physiological and emotional people.
Everybody is an asshole. Funnily, I don't have a choice of wiping them off my life. So they hang in there. Like medals of bravado. Fake bravado. Illusions. Ghosts. Ghosts that haunt.

***

Occult, black magic, fortune telling. Have always caught my interest. It's like from the time I was a small girl. When I imagined I had a magic wand and I could go about flying all over the place, wand in hand, making things just happen – in my life as well as others’. I think that has not worn off yet. Or ever will. It has taken different shapes.

This friend had quit his job. And was unemployed for six months. And was depressed, etc. One day he called me over for coffee. And asked me to accompany him to a tarot card reader. I was surprised that he had reached such state of affairs.

His session lasted for half an hour. Mine for one hour. She said many things. Mostly all sad and depressing (didn’t I tell you that some people are doomed for life – see – now a fortune teller says so too). But if even half of what she says comes true, then I would generally be happier.

***

My family had my horoscope made like when I was 15-16 years old. None of it came true. Atleast I don’t think so.

***

While on occult sciences. Funnily, with my Ps perpetually trying to get me married off to random men, my horoscope seems to match and become a perfect fit with everybody. Not a single case of even the slightest mismatch.
Ha bloody ha.

Beware, I bite

2009-08-17T21:42:00.004+05:30

Ok So.

I am.

A slave driving boss.
An inefficient and kaamchor subordinate.
An egoistical and moody friend.
A responsibility shirking daughter.
A disastrous lover.
What more, I complicate my own life and feel unhappy about it.

So it is official now. Now fuck off.

A poem to mark the day

2009-08-13T14:16:00.002+05:30

the song of mehitabel

this is the song of mehitabel
of mehitabel the alley cat
as i wrote you before boss
mehitabel is a believer
in the pythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
that formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell

do you think that i would change
my present freedom to range
for a castle or moated grange
wotthehell wotthehell
cage me and i d go frantic
my life is so romantic
capricious and corybantic
and i m toujours gai toujours gai

i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

i once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehell
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell

my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

the things that i had not ought to
i do because i ve gotto
wotthehell wotthehell
and i end with my favorite motto
toujours gai toujours gai

boss sometimes i think
that our friend mehitabel
is a trifle too gay

By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

This is the second time Monsieur Marquis makes his appearance to mark my day.

This and that

2009-08-04T03:43:00.002+05:30

After a long time, I went back to a favourite writer.. Ishiguro. This is what I just started reading. The first few pages reminded me of my childhood – grand dreams and plans of 'when I grow up'.

When I was eight years old and the whole world was my oyster. Dictated by my two passion in those times – books and cartoons – I wanted to be a detective (a la Famous Five, Five Find-outers, Nancy Drew) and a 'secret super heroine' (the latter being the kinds you know, that wears swimsuits, knee high boots, zorro-type eye masks and bedsheets tied to their necks).

In practice for being a detective, I would go about finding clues in broad day light (for nothing in particular) and make my friends do the same – soon there would be a bunch of children looking for random clues in the playground, at people's homes, school – wherever possible. Funnily, no one ever knew what these clues were or what they would lead to.

My Zorro type heroine was the princess of the dark nights. Enacted out in daylight and when alone (with all costume details being imaginary), here I was swashbuckling across horizons, galloping away... fighting 'baddies'.

***

[Big G bashing follows]

I handed myself over to your grand plans. And what do I get – after a respite of a couple of months, all those meanie trolls creep back into my life. And more. After continuous sleep, rest, peace, we are back to sleepless nights and restless days. Hell, I am a way better planner/ executer than you man. Atleast I got myself a couple of months' respite. What did you do? And have this imprinted in your memory: some things are just non-negotiable. Period. So what now? Nothing. The damage is done – for the night atleast.

***

[this is not the greatest piece of writing that I am capable of - nothing on this blog is or has been or ever will be. So forgive pathetic grammar - more so in this post - not particularly thrilled at the mo]

2009-08-01T15:18:00.002+05:30

(I don't know what to write)

(Some people are doomed to a lifetime of unhappinesses. I am one of them. there is no point in even blaming Big G. He does not exist. He is not even on my side anyway. Ever. So much that I can do right.)

Genius types

2009-07-13T01:59:00.002+05:30

Ok so (again). I can't sleep. I mentioned this right. Talking of men, extreme intelligence has always been a huge turn on. There is street smartness, which is attractive in its own way, then there is genius type intelligence which is attractive in its own way. I realise the latter for me is the big hook and the former is the reason why any of my relationships would have continued.

So there was professor type gentleman who sat next to me in the waiting lounge yesterday. Genius type intelligence dripping away even when he was just hovering about. SO he found a seat next to me and there was a random guy... ok, so I must describe him too... a person who had just cleared his IAS exams and already thought he was the Prime Minister – so he decided to engage Genius type into conversation.

What was interesting was that, the conversation started out with 'Oh how clever I am to clear the IAS, do you want to be friends with me'. Slowly, Genius type worked his way through and towards the end, made IAS guy feel like the scum of the earth. I felt pleased, my attraction for the Genius type quadrupling over... a) he was super intelligent (a mathematics professor), b) he turned the tables around, c) turning the tables took 25 minutes... he went on at it patiently, not letting go even once, d) he had the most sexy voice.

SO I fantasized about him for a bit. Then the plane took off, and I slept. When the plane landed and we got off, I felt he looked like a psychopath. I pulled my suitcases and walked off.

But then, Professor saab... if you ever come to this blog... one truly appreciates your patience in dealing with nincompoop, idiotic future IAS officer. If I were in your place, I would have slapped him into silence the moment he opened his mouth.

Old guests come visiting

2009-07-12T23:31:00.001+05:30

Ok, so. My new home, where I was able to sleep 8 hours a day for about 40 days has been visited by old demons. So that's it. In the last 4 days, I slept for about 2 nights' worth sleep. One night because I was out of the city, for work. Why did you come? Why can't you leave me alone? Go chase someone else... just leave me alone. I was happy leading my life... And then it all comes back to me. All of it. Every single bit of it. Not a single detail left out. Why? Somebody just get me some sleeping pills, so I just don't wake up. no matter what. No matter how hard the phone rings. No matter what happens.

Spotting a shoe fiend in her early years

2009-07-01T02:16:00.002+05:30

A friend mentioned that her niece was behaving weirdly. All of 2 years old, she refused to remove her new pair of shoes before going to bed. I said, of course. That is probably the first few signs that she is going to be a shoe maniac.

Spot other symptoms in your children (compiled by my own behaviour as a child)..
1. the child refuses to go to sleep - the fear is that she may have to remove her shoes
2. the child, when agreeing to sleep, still refuses to remove her shoes
3. when the child agrees to sleep and remove her shoes before doing so, she insists that the shoes be placed under her pillow - and can be observed clutching them in her sleep

So there. Now you know. Don't ever misunderstand these early symptoms again.

Room with a view

2009-06-27T20:33:00.002+05:30

I wake up first at about 6 in the morning. Stay awake for a bit. Then I slip back into more dreamless, senseless sleep.

This time, I wake up straight at about 10. To sounds of prayers happening somewhere. On Jai Jagadish Hare. This could be anything. I curse. I get up from bed, and open the room door (to the balcony). I see across the road, some people have moved in to the Flats that is still not constructed fully yet. No, the griha pravesh happening, I guess. Kind of Griha pravesh, where there is one woman sitting with her head covered, surrounded by five men. They are sitting facing the purohit who I can't see, but can hear.

There are no other women. Which I find weird. I notice the woman looks away from the puja, outside. Anxiety. She turns her head back. The man in blue looks about. His eyes stop on me. I make my way away from the door. I peep out after a few seconds, he is still staring. I shut the door and head to the kitchen to soak my coffee. As I wait for the water to get boiled, I get that feeling in my head... something to my right. I notice, the man in blue has been staring at me through my kitchen window.

i wonder wander

2009-06-23T21:39:00.001+05:30

through the blog world... a new blog has been set up. Should I link to it from here? Nah... not for now

Enough then.

while i wait patiently (and starvingly)

2009-06-22T02:00:00.000+05:30

for my guests to arrive to my housewarming*, let me take you through a 'book tour' of the house...

When You enter my house, directly facing you is a corner book case. These are books that I have declared boring/ repulsive/ idiotic/ pointless/ faff/ etc. But of course I will not tell you that.

corridor corner book case

Just then (you are still standing about half a metre away from the door - you just entered remember?) you notice on your side another book case. These have some semblances of favourite writers... you notice more than two books by Amitav Ghosh, Salman Rushdie, Kazuo Ishiguro, Pico Iyer, gabriel Garcia.

corridor small book case

You walk along, but are still in the corridor... atop you head you notice an ugly looking projection (came with the house, not my addition). On it are some coffee table magazines, some collectible books, CDs, DVDs. There is one book that faces you. This is 'Mrityunjaya - the death conqueror'. It is in a black box and you will notice a stream of red (blood) on one side. This happens to be a matter of pride of my household (along with my other books of course). Its claim to fame lies in how it was purchased (a rare publishing house that was dug out from small serpentine lanes of Kolkata), how it was carried back (3 last copies purchased off, wrapped in newspaper and thread tied around the pack - the thread damaged the hand) and the fact that I have never read it (out of fear - what if it gets ruined).

Corridor top bookcase

You walk a couple of steps further down, there is a large cane book case. This has the most of my books. This was bought a couple of years ago.

Corridor large book case

You enter the living room and find another book case similar to the one you saw in the corridor. These are books that I have savoured every now and then, again collectibles, etc

Living room book case

You are now done having the chai & bhujiya. And are ready to move on. I do some standard Good Host Behaviour - do stay on, some more tea perhaps, maybe some aam panna or beer? None seem to click, and I graciously make way for you to leave. As you walk out of the living room, you peek inside the bedroom. You notice another book case. This has some books, my speakers, ipod and night routine hand/ feet creams, filers, etc. The books here are the ones I have not read yet and will get down to reading.

* PS: this post was supposed to be published yesterday but guests started arriving soon after I uploaded all the photos. Sorry, it took me long.. the first batch of guests left at about 4.30 in the afternoon, another batch at 6 in the evening, another at 8.30 at night and yet another round, this morning around 11.30 am. What to do - people like getting pampered by me :)

what would you eat..

2009-06-21T00:50:00.000+05:30

Over some bad food served at the office canteen, we discussed what our favourite foods would be..

responses stemmed from chaat, mangoes.. to whatever mother makes, on an empty stomach, all foods become exciting. When my turn came, i was at a loss for words.. not because I don't have a favourite food, but because the moment I thought of 'favourite food', there were atleat a dozen foods that cluttered my mind.

So we decided to narrow it down further... say what would you not be able to resist even after a full meal? Sure, the images in my mind narrowed down... from a dozen to about eight... but not very helpful yeah... some prices you have to pay to become a food lover.

STP

2009-06-11T08:52:00.000+05:30

I do not like feeling Stigmatized, Traumatized and Pressurized.

And that is how I am feeling at this moment.

I had a chocolate mousse, Coffee, chips. And I bought a new book. It did not help.

Hmm

2009-06-01T12:35:00.000+05:30

I can understand where the resentment towards my new home comes from.

Mistake me not – it is a fantastic place – a lot better than what I could have hoped for, very comfortable, the landlord also threw in some durables and basic furniture as a part of the deal, and I have been sleeping like a log for the last two nights (touchwood). When I stepped in for a shower last night, the water hit me hard and massaged my back – and I sighed, I forgive you Big G. The servant came in early in the morning on Sunday and together we sat at the balcony – she had her tea, I had my coffee. It has been all perfect.

But it feels completely out of place. It is almost like growing out of an old skin – I know I worked hard to get this deal, but somewhere, there is a sense of regret. Do I see Life Bohemia slipping away? Do I see myself settling in, in sombre, mundane, ritualistic domicile harmony?

***

I sat on the stairs reading the new Art magazine I bought. It is called 'Art & Deal', written in a stylized way on a solid grey-silver background on top and 'Markers of Indian Art – 25 works that shaped History' at the bottom. A colleague walked past.

She: Hi, what are you reading
Me (most uninterested): Oh, just a magazine

She: Is it about fashion?
Me (I show her the cover): Err.. no art

She: Fashion?
Me: No, its fine arts

She: Oh, you don't know?
Me: Yes, I just about started reading

Frikking philistines.

Catching on to the last of May

2009-06-01T10:18:00.000+05:30

I shifted! New home. Big home. Feels v different. Leaving you with a pic from the kitchen. Currently too mood driven to write anything else. Will be back more in June.

(please enlarge and check out the roots)

Hunger

2009-04-27T01:36:00.000+05:30

Is like that spoilt tantrum throwing child. He refuses to wait for an instant to be satisfied. Now! - he demands. And you know you have to give in. You look around in desparation - something quick, something that will keep him quiet- atleast for sometime while you concentrate on other things.

Then there is hunger.. for belonging, for company, for stability, for money, for peace, happiness and love.

Regretting blues

2009-04-24T01:21:00.000+05:30

I find people rationalizing their moods these days. You know, like, this is a so-and-so occasion, so I need to be happy. This is a so-and-so occasion, so I need to be happier. As a result of which, reasons to be 'not happy' are chopped off – off public view, off even own view for most. As if, forcefully eliminating the very emotion from your life. No blues, stay away. You are not wanted.

When people are upset, the necessity to justify that emotion, I notice becomes a lot greater than the necessity to justify a happy emotion. Almost like, people are sorry that they are unhappy.

I wonder why.

I returned home a couple of days ago to find NFM with red watery eyes, red watery nose, red mouth.

"You have been crying?"
"mmm... yeah"

"Ok... have you eaten?"
"yeah... had Maggi"

"Cool... do you want to watch Devil Wears Prada?"
"No... some other time maybe"

"Ok"

I enter my room, change, wash, then hit the kitchen to get grub. NFM follows.

"Sorry... I think I am PMS-ing"
"Its alright really... even if you are not PMS-ing... cool to let go once in a while"

She is relieved.

Think: do we ask / hound/ badger people when they are super happy?

On humans... generally speaking

2009-04-20T10:58:00.000+05:30

I don't like people who act smart because once I figure out that they are acting smart, then they appear damn stupid. And i don't like stupid people. So there.

Oh!

2009-04-20T10:56:00.000+05:30

I have enough to write about *waves a dismissive hand* ...

I am just getting over that part of writers' block that goes, 'now, where do i start...'

Mingle

2009-04-17T20:59:00.000+05:30

My horoscope for the day tells me to get dressed and go out and mingle.

While, at the moment, the only thing i really really... really really want to do is to retreat into a shell.

And hide until everything is over. Everything has passed. And it is safe to come out.

The Lady and the Hand (tips hat to Uncle Pico)

2009-03-30T00:52:00.000+05:30

We had a visitor in our house this morning... Ms Bird, who we decided to play around with for a bit. Ms Bird was thoroughly confused when she got picked up, so ran around our hand for a bit and then finally found snug shelter in the corner between our thumb and forefinger. I guess we all like our 'comfort corners', no? (Ms Bird's corner shown in the last two photos)

We was also woken up to some good news... the Chili-Hibiscus bonsai has started flowering again! It flowered at the rate of insanity last to last year... almost throughout the year. Last year, it took a break (guess tired after that level of exertion) and decided to just switch off - to the extent that I thought it was going to die (all leaves gone, no flowers - essentially all skin and bones in the flora sense of it).

O, and two more blogs added to designs section. FYR.

Contented prattle

2009-03-16T04:36:00.000+05:30

I realised I got the look that I had been aiming for after a brief afternoon siesta. Joan Baez/ flower child kinds. Maybe tad prettier, only no semblance of even an iota of her talent.

I sat singing along with Shubha Mudgal... cham-ke bijuriaaa… instead of Diamonds and dust.

***

I realised post yesterday's drinking session that unlike earlier, when drinking made me super happy, now drinking makes me super sad. And I returned home in the most horrible shape, got straight to bed and tried to not think at all. Pulled my blanket over my head hoping that that would keep my thoughts way. I fell into a stupor for an hour or so, until the alcohol wore off.

Then, it was like... you know, when you have bad cramps in periods, and then you take a medication. It takes about half an hour for the effect of the medication to show. Then you feel super light, happy and brimming with energy.

So I tidied up my place when I the effect of the alcohol wore off, listened to some music, read and slowly re-coiled back to bed.

Essentially, the trick may be to not drink. Which is tad difficult at the moment. There is a dinner to go to tonight. Which I am not very sure about. The place where we are supposed to go to is where I had once gone to earlier – to puke in their loo.

***

Most of my friends are either the drunk alcoholics anonymous varieties or the extreme right winged literature varieties. I guess I like strong opinions in people.

Maybe because I don't have any of my own?

***

I also realised that maybe blogging is a bit of a reality TV kind of a thing. You know, reality TV for nerds?

***

My place has received the most consistent reviews throughout: Cosy, warm, interesting and pretty. So much that it get tad boring. I have half the minds to re-do it to something more kitsch. Just that that would be so un-me. Yesterday, new flatmate (henceforth referred to as NFM) parked herself on one of the cushions and couldn't stop gushing about everything that she saw. Made me feel like a curator in a museum. And more than anything else, rather embarrassed, and mentally willed her to stop.

***

Incidentally, this NFM has been going through a bad marriage. And of course, we bonded super well as a result. No under statement to say she has been heaven sent literally. We understand exactly the right amount of sympathy to shower on another and when we need time alone.

Only this morning she was laughing about someone who had come to visit her the previous evening carrying a bag of grapes.

"You give fruits to people who are ill... guess that's what people think about me... just ill," she said. And we laughed and returned to our respective tasks – her of having her breakfast, me staring into my coffee.

***

I realised I visit quite a few design & interior decoration blogs. Never a single blog regularly, but atleast one or two everyday. So I shall put some of them up on the neft nav. Just that I remember only a few right now. But will keep adding as I go along.

I guess it is a manifestation of my other, more creative side, when I look to them for some kind of gratification of a life that I could have had at some point in time. And of the elusive home.

***

O, and during a conversation with NFM, she said, do you write by any chance? I said no. She said, not at all? I replied the negative again.

I don't know... does she read this blog?

And right now...

2009-03-09T03:27:00.000+05:30

A group of seven young ladies enter (young girls really). They look about. The waiter comes along. They get broken up into two groups - four on one table, three on the other.

Now they are all talking at the same time.

And now, they all get up and walk out.

And now, they are taking group photos - each time, the seventh taking pictures of the other six.

***

What I am tired of hearing (and henceforth, will not want to hear again... but there is no way of telling them, so I write here)...

Be strong
You are a strong woman
You are smart and intelligent
You can't let this effect you
You can't let this hurt you
I can't let you do that
Look at the positive side
You can't hurt yourself like this
Take care of yourself
I want you to be happy
Don't wait
Get a grip on things
I can't imagine why you are feeling like this
Cheer up
You can do better than this

Like shut the fuck up and leave me alone. I want to feel something and this is what I feel.

And quit calling me strong/ smart/ intelligent/ Joan of Arc/ whatever. I am none of those. I am me.

And right now, very vulnerable. And right now, nothing is right.

And I just finished by third quarter meal in the past two days. And my second pack of cigarettes.

Why so serious?

2009-03-09T02:27:00.000+05:30

SO then, Gloom & Doom (very much like our Rahu & Ketu) have returned to the life. And likely to stay for a while. Why fret... I get asked, when you saw it coming all along?

You see, it is like a report card... you knew you were going to fail in the papers when you sat and stared blankly at the walls at the time of the exam, but it really hits you when the report card actually comes home. Thats when it is stamped, made official: you have failed. Until then, you enjoyed your summer holidays, went on picnics - you did not forget that you were failing at that time.

So it's like, I wake up in the morning and tell myself, it's over. Like really really over. There is no more any running left to do. Just hand myself over to the inevitable. It has been delayed already.

The inevitable tale of the prodigal daughter

2009-03-08T02:45:00.000+05:30

as expected, battered, bruised, disillusioned, the prodigal daughter returned home.

the mother rejoiced.

the father remained silent.

he is the fighter varieties.

she is trying very hard to reconcile realities.

and to not cry.

and to not call people.

wish her luck. she needs loads of it.

[to celebrate falling back into line, she went and got a second tattoo]

Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!

2009-03-07T00:15:00.000+05:30

(and we are back now. And with a message to Big G: Ok, let's do it your way then)

The birth of Lehsuniya

2009-02-03T10:39:00.000+05:30

She was born at midday under the influence of Ketu.

Ketu, one of the Rahu-Ketu twin planets which can only be felt but not seen. Ketu, the more subservient twin to Rahu. Ketu the underdog, the under-confident, the insecure. Ketu the quiet. Ketu the spiritual. Ketu the other worldly. Ketu the darker, quieter shadow to Rahu. Ketu of the Rahu-Ketu twinship that exist and control life without having mass, shape, form or colour of their own.

In the world to which she was born – in the middle of hot sandy winds of July, in the middle of Dumra in Gujarat, deep inside India's belly, surely being 'other wordly' was not a quality that would lower the dowry when she would be given away as a bride. So the village priest, Panditji, the Learned One, who is entitled to see the face of every new born child first, decided - the girl, bad enough that she was a girl, well, she might just bring bad luck to the family. Panditji further validated himself for when the girl first revealed her eyes to the world in her first tearless, soundless cry – for she had yellow, garlic like eyes. The women of the neighbourhood were decidedly shocked. Murmurs reached the men folk who huddled around outside the hut. It was decided that there will probably be droughts this year.

"Get her a Cat's eye pendant - a lehsuniya. Make sure you have it around her neck at all times," remedied Panditji, the Learned One.

And so, within an hour of her birth, her father scurried off to get the prescribed pendant, made a donation of 472 grams of silver and circled the Peepul tree seven times at ten minutes past two in the afternoon as per the guidance of Panditji, the Learned One. Her mother was recuperating from her rather abusive delivery – abusing her father for bringing her to this state – indeed what was the need of choosing her over her sisters, bringing her to this strange village – and then, insisting on lifting the saree on the very first night. The bastard. Why, he didn't even have a fixed income, failing at almost all kinds of business propositions!

And so, when at about four hours after her birth, the neighbourhood ladies and their husbands dispersed, Panditji (and via him, God) had been appeased and sent off, the parents sat together in awkward, shameful silence, both more than necessarily embarrassed by the events of the day.

The child let out another tearless, soundless cry. Her eyes opened and shut. The Cat's eye around her neck changed colours according to the side on which she was being breast fed or lifted, reflecting the Sun light that streamed in through the hole of the black wooden window.

"She needs to be named," said her mother.
"I can't think of anything," murmured her father.

"Lehsuniya," said her mother conclusively.

As a cue, her father started a garlic business the following month. It flourished. Too bad, her mother didn't live to see it thrive – Lehsuniya brought bad luck to the family and took her mother away.

***

Lehsuniya finally comes out of the proverbial shadow. She was first mentioned on this blog here.

Sleeping & dreaming under the clouds

2009-01-31T13:41:00.000+05:30

Last night I dreamt that this friend (who broke invisible barrier of arranged marriage and met a guy) got married. And she was telling me how it was not such a bad idea at all.

Yes, I guess the subconscious mind plays up to reinforce what the conscious fails to do with many attempts. The mind in general (sub or not) keeps at it. And I am happy as a result. Somewhere, I see this as a report card of my own efforts to convince myself to get onto a parents induced date.

And of course, one's own track record in love hasn't been satisfactory in any case (if it were the standard Indian school report card, there would be red lines all over).

And then, this voice comes from the back somewhere, if one does not marry for love, then what does one marry for?

***

I sit in front of this large windows and see the clouds that I will fly over in approximately ten hours from now.

***

Last night, walking down the road, ice cream in hand, I saw a little girl of no more than 4 years of age sleeping in a corner. She was chubby, dark, had short cropped hair. Her eyes were shut tight. Her breathing rhythmic. She was all alone. There was no one else around for two meters in any direction. She was in deep sleep.

***

I guess, you just need to accept what is fated for you. When it has always stood there standing at you in your face. Accept it. Trust it.

Battling with Missing Proper Noun syndrome

2009-01-27T01:02:00.000+05:30

The other day, recounting to someone, "Oh... in this book I was reading... Geography of Bliss... by erm... Weiner... Eric Weiner..." I stopped. I realised that that was truly a memorable moment for Monsieur Weiner. That is, to get imprinted in my memory. For my memory that has no place for proper nouns. So I forget names of places, foods, drinks, people, books, writers... and so on and so forth. In fact, I can remember the most convoluted of acronyms, but never... err... names themselves.

My father realised this very early on since he used to teach me at home (like most over achieving fathers who insist that their children also over achieve and then nurse their broken hearts and shattered dreams for the rest of their lives... anyhoo). The lesson was on the solar system. Each day, he would painstakingly teach me the names of all the planets, and the very next day, they would get wiped off from my head. One day, he finally ran out of patience.

"Bah... never mind!! Just remember this: MVEMJSUNP"

I... well... still remember it. In fact, it is the only way I remember the names of the planets, but also their line of order.

On not being able to sleep

2009-01-19T13:28:00.000+05:30

And now, approaching midnight, I don't feel like sleeping. Though I slept for about 15 minutes in the evening – last night I got very little of it.

After polishing off a quarter bottle of wine, I had tucked myself into bed – feeling happy at a new (and interesting) sleeping medication so to speak. I got woken up precisely an hour later the moment the effect wore off. Then battling with my thoughts. Then some arbit smses sent out, arbit phone calls made, arbit discussions had until about 4 in the morning. And I returned to my duvet feeling more than just irritated.

And now, I don't know – something scares me about going back to sleep.

On hotels (again)

2009-01-18T10:02:00.000+05:30

My travel has reduced over the past few months considerably. From a different city every week, to now spending a couple of days in a month in a different city. Not that I am complaining about it – I have suddenly become fond of GHQ and the snug comfort in laziness. And the fact that first flight out on winter mornings isn't exactly the best form of treat.

So then I was in Le City of Joy last in the past week. The hotel that I usually stay in was not available and I told the office admin I would pull out of the travel if they didn't find a suitable replacement and the project/ client's wrath would be all theirs. It worked. They put me a hotel known for its luxe & grandeur. Aah well :)

But then, the deal is that, one is not really used to such kind of treatment. Every person – the bell boy, the chauffeur, the receptionist, the person 'who calls the lift' (yeah, imagine having that as a job - he just stands out there and keeps calling the lift down to the ground floor) – every person knew my name by memory. Me, being the private person, freaked out. Sure, most guests for such a hotel would appreciate being 'known'. And then again, surely, there are people like me who like being left alone – and value private moments (such as walking down the corridor, without getting called out from all directions by various staff who happen to know my name).

Case in point, the drop to the airport on my way back:

One person holds the hotel door to let me out. Another person puts my luggage into the bonnet of the car, yet another person swings the door of the car open for me (and gives me a wide toothy grin at 4.30 in the morning!!) and just when I get into the car, the driver (I see him for the first time now – and imagine – much like an arranged marriage situation no – where everyone else was dealing with me instead of the main person who would take me to the airport) gets into action. Literally. Below ensued:

Driver (has not yet started the car): Good morning Miss ____. I am your driver. If I have your permission, can we start our drive to the airport?

Me (super sleepy): Yes please.

Driver (still has not started the engine): I just wanted to remind you – I hope you have your ticket and passport?

Me (getting fidgety): Yes, I have all of it. Thank you.

Driver (not yet): Ok, today we will go to the domestic airport. The journey will take approximately 30 minutes.

Me (suppressing fidgetiness): Ok, thank you.

Driver (not yet): I hope you enjoy the ride

Me (boohoo): Yes, you can start please.

Driver (yay! Finally starts!): Ok ma'am.

We move from the porch to the main gate. We stop.

Driver: Also wanted to let you know – please be comfortable. In case you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know.

Me (mommee!!): Ok, I will do that.

We move finally. I drift away in my thoughts. I realise the car has stopped at a traffic light. The driver turns with a box in hand. I jump.

Driver: Madam, I have some refreshments if you want to sample any of these

Me (it is frikking 4.30 in the morning, you moron!!): Err... no, that's fine. I will ask if I need anything.

***

I guess it is all fine for a certain section of the society. Now usually the place where I stay is also a five star and all, but it is tad more nouveau riche. With all the strappings of the same. The staff thinks they have fallen from heaven and are snooty to the core. Even if I go there a dozen times each month, they will still not remember me.

But they are unfailing with their services. Just that it shows that they 'think' they are a posh five star hotel. And that they are doing you a favour by serving you well.

Somewhere, this time, I missed the comfort of their frigidity. Yeah well.

I guess, like them, I too am nouveau riche... rather, nouveau pretend riche, hence the comfort levels.

***

The other place, which I really really like is in another city. It is more of a serviced apartment, but with a difference. This is basically a century old Portuguese cottage that a French couple converted (and expanded, but keeping the essence of the original form) into a guest house of sorts. It actually looks like home – rather my home. Each room has a porch in front of it, complete with wooden benches and tables to while away time sighing at the nicely maintained gardens or watching the antics of one of the many cats that they have there.

This is preferred despite limitations of lack of LCD TV, marbled bathrooms with speakers in them, any service ordered takes about 20 – 30 minutes to get executed, meals have to be ordered a meal in advance, no swanky Toyota Corrolla to drop me off to the airport.

But they remember me and welcome me back like my own family would. Each time, the 'caretaker' asks me when I would return next – or if I return after a long gap, then where I had been all this while. The place is spanking clean – and of course the vintage feel is just so damn romantic no?

***

Aah well, so much for this journey then.

Aaj biraj mein holi re rasiya

2009-01-18T09:10:00.000+05:30

Exhilaration? Spirited? Things working out?

O shit, I forgot – those were bad words

On marriage (and other update)

2009-01-12T10:50:00.000+05:30

On 31st December, amidst drunken revelry I called up Ps to greet them. Ma then said she wanted to talk to friend who I was with and who she had met (female, female) and got along with famously. Friend was five drinks down and when Ma brought up marriage, readily agreed to everything Ma said. I guess Ma must have gone out to celebrate after that.

I did not dare to call Ma up after that and we did not talk until today. She called. Post mandatory discussion on relatives, gossips, state of the world, etc, conversation drifted to marriage.

Ma: Why can't you make up your mind as to whether you want to get married or not?
Me (seizing the opportunity): ok, I made up my mind, I don't want to get married

Ma: It can't be like that... you have to get married
Me: But you just told me I have the option of saying no, so I said no

Ma: I didn't mean it
Me: Ok...

Ma: Just say yes and we will start looking again
Me: you want to look, by all means carry on looking

Ma: So, you said yes?
Me: No, I don't want to look or meet anyone. You go do what you like if it gives you happiness

Ma: Ok, bye
Me: hello? (she hung up)

***

On other update: The Other S finally got his visa sorted and is leaving for UK. He always had a mythical idea of my cooking. And demanded to be fed as a parting gift. Aah well. The man was fed and re-fell in love with me (and has been regularly falling in love with me for the last decade or so each time we meet). And the food. And my house (him: this is so cosy... the lighting is just perfect... ahem... you know what... me: no I don't know what can you finish your food).

Aah well. Another one of my lifeline kind of friends leaving. Sigh. The Other A came down briefly and I couldn't even meet her. More sigh. What am I to do. Bah. I will go post some pictures on Picasa. And generally mop around for a bit.

***

I had this crazy idea in my head. And have had it for some time. A character. A character sketch. Which I meant to write. So her zodiac is in place. Her location is in place. Well kinda like A/S/L all in place. But have not gotten around to giving birth to her. Well. Ok, this does not make sense.

You will see when you see. Which will be. I don't know when. I was hoping I would get it out of the way this weekend. But a) yesterday in freezing cold, I decided it was not cold at all so was out meeting a friend wearing a pair of flip flops, hence borderline fever, b) after all the feeding of today, etc, am tad tired c) saw and rejected two houses for rent, so dejected, d) mopping over The Other A and The Other S

So net net, I have plenty of excuses. Like busy eating oranges.

***

Here is your chance to make acquaintance with The Other S. I am linking him to my blog. Rather, linking his nth blog (the man is known to have a fetish for creating new blogs but never keeping any of them, so linked his very first one, and now, at his insistence, this one – I also like the colour)

On not feeling like me - this is the 300th post

2009-01-06T23:30:00.000+05:30

As a part of the New Year Resolutions (*ahem*), I have decided to be more social, to reach out more and to be less paranoid about most trivial things... such as privacy.

So then, one toyed with the idea of Facebook for a bit (yet another invite from yet another well wisher... *What are you doing woman!! Why aren't you on Facebook* ... to the effect that I pretty much missed the bus... another friend, encouraginly 'lent' me her ID so I could surf around Facebook pretending to be her and well... see how great it was etc). To back that, I thought it will be nice to share photographs from recent and not so recent excursions with general public too...

Bah – the idea lasted for precisely a day. Facebook being too exhibitionist for me to handle, I thunk, if I have to share pics, then why not one of those multitude of photo sharing websites? Thoughts went to Flickr who needed me to have an elusive Yahoo account. My new Year resolution was to be social and not shed my laziness, so I went with Picasa – which is the Google (and much less glamorous) version of the same.

SO then, with a readymade account, all I had to do was to upload photos. Ha. My cursor went to 'download Picasa' link... which somehow held a more mythical promise of automatically uploading all photos without my having to do anything (no, this is not the height of laziness – I am capable of more). It got downloaded, and works a lot like ITunes a k a, complicated. In between my people packed weekend, it got uninstalled.

The Picasa guys are a touchy lot, I felt – they automatically asked me for a feedback and that's what I told them.

Anyhoo... decided manual labour was the way to go. Now I have I think six albums on Picasa. And a friend has religiously commented on a few pics too.

Sigh this is so unlike me. My whole life is out there for everyone to see.

***

I don't usually put nail paint on my finger nails – key reason being two: a) habit from tomboyish years, b) am bad at putting nail paint.

But what the hell... the other night, sitting in my duvet, with the nice heater on, feeling all fuzzy and warm, I actually put some nail paint – and guess what, it came out purr-fect.

I told you, I don't feel like me.

***

I have also decided I am not going to let Certain People phase me out. Har. Lets see how many hours that lasts for.

Feelings...

2009-01-03T10:05:00.000+05:30

Mmm. Sleepy. Fresh. Invigorated. Another year. Bubbles. Shit will it work out. Will power. Good vaastu. Last year it was complete fuck up. Please make it work out. It's a magical world. Good sign. Need to get something new. New hair cut. New make up. New clothes. Nah, I don't think it will work out. Everything is a bastard. Or maybe.

... on the 1st of January 2009

Not dead yet... or disappeared from the face of planet Earth

2008-12-28T01:50:00.000+05:30

Sigh

yes yes, I know

Sowwiee...

rather busy.

Be back with a bang around new year. Don't go away

On mud mud ke

2008-12-08T13:04:00.000+05:30

I have always been a fan of Bollywood. And if there is one medium (atleast to the North of the country) that does not fail to make a social statement, then this has to be it. Don't believe me? Allow me to introduce you to one of my favourite numbers from the 50s:

If I hold one song in a pedestal for its picture perfect choreography, bang on picture composition and absolutely perfect lighting, it has to be this one song. In fact, the entire film has had a spotless record – with none other than Raj Kapoor at the helm.

The 50s for the country was in the truest sense of the word crossroads. At one end, this was the awakening of the new India, with the teething problems of new governance, emergence of the terms 'poverty', 'class' and 'rich' in India, being ascribed to Indians themselves and no one but themselves to blame. So unlike a decade ago, you were not slotted as patriotic or unpatriotic, there were many more shades of grey at this time. And what more, the rosy picture foreseen by idealists turned out to be... well not so rosy. It had a distinctly murky brown to it too. On the other hand, there was a strong sense of nostalgia of what was gone by... one remembered fiefdom of the Zamindars with more than a single long deep sigh. That was wealth and the splurging of the wealth as most people knew it (Persian cats shipped in to be 'grooms' to Indian house cats). Glamour personified.

Bollywood films reflected these two aspects. On one hand were films like Do Bigha Zameen and this one (Shree 420) and on the other hand, there were films like Sahib Biwi Ghulam (another all time favourite) that portrayed the times gone by. Interestingly, both ended with a sense of optimism of the power of the poor man to move the systems (a clear Red influence).

So then, back to the song/ films from this time. Go back and play the song once more. Note the waltz tune/ English settings – used here, as well as in Pyaasa's dream sequence. Waltzing was very British. Men smoked and drank. Their wives/ mistresses accompanied them and encouraged them in such pursuits. Temptresses (and her equally charming sidekicks – for the want of a better word) waltzed into heroes' lives and left them shaken. The real heroine of the film would never been seen in this kind of a setting – as with this song, Nargis shirks away at the start – saree clad, shawl over herself and the bunch of flowers tucked in her hair (despite this being the climax and everyone is hassled at this point).

The temptress in this sequence is a rather interesting persona – Nadira – a Jew from Israel. Which signified another fetish of ours – we liked our temptresses to have atleast an iota of foreign blood (the other being the eternal temptress - Helen). If they didn't, then we would see them reform into heroine material towards the end of the film (take the example of Madhubala in Howrah Bridge). The other trend to note among the dancers was the use of padded bottoms – Nadira clearly wearing one (she was barely 20 in this song) in order to look more rounded and well endowed. The bottom has been shaken amply on screen and has received its ample screen time. We liked our heroines plump (and almost maternal – as if they would switch to a white chiffon saree almost instantly). The other dancers around Nadira are all trim and bear a perfect 10 figure as we know it today. This is in contrast to films from 60s/ 70s (coloured films) where in order to make the heroine/ lead dancer look trimmer, the sidekicks employed were huge and well – flab-ulous. Back then, fat = beautiful. From the 60s/ 70s, things started to change.

Also, note the many shades of lighting used in the song. At the start, the hero is dazed, confused – and his face can barely be seen – the proverbial cloud clearly hanging over his face. Towards fifty percent of the song, the hero has devised a clever ploy to play along with the villains – and there is light again, and all is celebratory around him. The hero's face glows like a hundred watt bulb. At the end, the hero not only joins in the singing and dancing, but encourages others to join him in too – to mislead people/ villains/ rich people into believing that he is on their side.

Truly a most interesting climax song. Truly an interesting movie. Strongly recommended.

Of pink nail paints and other trivia

2008-12-08T10:29:00.000+05:30

There is something nice about freshly cut nails. Even nicer about pink glittering nail paints worn over the aforementioned freshly cut nails. Feels almost teenage school girl-ish.

But then, I am unable to sustain the clean school girl feeling – rice needs to be cooked, the water needs to be drained out and the nail paint gets smudged.

O well.

I am looking forward to this month. Various meetings with various people bound to enrich social life. On the other hand, staying away from certain people too. Bound to get that nagging feeling at the back of my head. Too bad. They have been asking for it for a long time.

I don't like Decembers. Mostly. Second in line is January. I love July – August – September best.

I was a Monsoon baby... guess thats the reason behind the affinity...

I was just thinking back (this is the time of the year to think back at the hits & misses and get royally unhappy as you all know): earlier in the year, V and I had vowed that if we were unable to turn careers around, then we'd give ourselves over to marriage. So then, mustn't one stick to one's promises? One does... just that one fulfills them a little late. So that's decided then.

Man mentioned here, wants to borrow my book (he saw me reading while waiting for someone). Sure sugarpie... over my dead body (which will be donated to the Cause of Marriage)

Delivered

2008-12-07T12:18:00.000+05:30

Date	Time	Location	Event Details
December 6, 2008	12:01:00 PM	NEW DELHI IN	Delivered
December 6, 2008	08:27:00 AM	Delhi (New Delhi) IN	Out for delivery
December 6, 2008	07:28:00 AM	Delhi (New Delhi) IN	Arrival Scan
December 6, 2008	06:41:00 AM	Delhi (New Delhi) IN	Arrival Scan
December 6, 2008	02:43:00 AM	Delhi (New Delhi) IN	Arrival Scan
December 5, 2008	07:47:00 AM	London-Heathrow GB	Arrival Scan
December 4, 2008	02:27:00 AM	Wilmington OH US	Departure Scan
December 3, 2008	03:45:00 PM	Sparks NV US	Arrival Scan
December 3, 2008	03:39:00 PM	Sparks NV US	Departure Scan
December 3, 2008	02:09:00 PM	Sparks NV US	Shipment received by carrier

5 books arrive. Three of which are getting gifted out. Cumulative price of books getting gifted out: approx 69$, keeping for myself: approx: 27$. This country needs access to better books. SO people like myself wouldn't have keep ordering them online and busting a lot of money.

There is something exciting about tracking a shipment... the number of countries and continents it visits before it comes into my hands. So many people across the world hold it, touch it, before it comes into my hands and I tear it open.

I have had this page open for a long time. But feeling way too mood driven to write anything more.

So? Nothing. Lets meet again tomorrow perhaps.

the sound

2008-11-30T13:19:00.000+05:30

I return home. The sound of the auto still echos in my ears, and fills my brain. And just like the ride, fills all my senses. Everything else is numb. I feel all the other vehicles pass me by soundlessly and all that I can hear and all that I can feel is the sound of the engine of the auto. Loud. Garish. Dominating. Uncouth. Rude. Unsophisticated. And loud. Very loud. Taking over all other senses. And wondering what is happening to the other soundless, motionless world that passes me by.

Everything passes by. The whole world passes by. As I stand motionless, engulfed in the moment, wondering whatever happened. Wondering, why everything else seems to whiz past so fast. Wondering what I could have done. Wondering what happened. What could I do. When I feel so powerless. So small. So insignificant.

The law of the candle

2008-11-23T04:51:00.000+05:30

One thinks... the flame burns brightest just before dying out?

Tired, Unhappy (nothing new)

2008-11-16T09:38:00.000+05:30

I am v v v tired. And drained. And body aches and all of that. And there is still tonnes of work that I need to get done. And I don't feel like working anymore.

Ok, enough tantrum throwing.

No, I will throw some more. I am just no good I realised. Just no good. So many cooler, more creative, more intelligent people out there all alive and kicking. Super hard. So what am I doing then? What's my claim to fame? Zilch man. Zilch.

I fink I am falling ill again. Constitution does not support career. I want to be a rich trophy housewife by career. That would be nice.

I read something nice in the latest book I am reading. This is about happiness – an oft punching bag for me and for this blog. Let me get it for you (I am so nice).

Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.

Makes sense. I always feel like I should be somewhere else, doing something else and definitely don't like being me. I would happily trade me for someone else.

Two good newses and one bad one

2008-11-10T12:57:00.000+05:30

good news 1: finally finished D1. Earlier than i did last year. atleast it got finished the same year.

Good news 2: I finished The moon and the bonfire. am now going to start on my first Arthur C Clarke. have kinda stayed away from sci fi out of fear.

Bad news: work to go to tomorrow. sigh

Part 1 to my dissertation on men

2008-11-10T09:40:00.000+05:30

I started writing about life, books, the works. But then, realised that my post was drifting towards... men. And to top it all, just saw a new commercial that I HAVE to talk about. So then, me thunk, why not a post on men. Men make happy, men make grief. So here is to New Man.

Case 1: My friend The Other S is one man who is a typical example. Not necessarily a picture of equal-rights-for-women, but the bestest friend I've got. Having known him for about a decade now (and keeping track of all the ethnicities that he has dated), I have a fair idea of the kind of a lover he is.

A typical conversation with him is almost always in the zone of insanity.

TOS: See the thing is you need to know how to make the best of what you've got
Me: Ok...

TOS: I have given every woman the best of what I have... each time
Me: and how do you know that you did well... um on each date?

TOS: See... your performance report card comes in the next morning when the girl lovingly makes you breakfast
Me: Ha ha... can't believe what I am hearing

TOS: Yeah man... how did you think I got by in the UK with the pittance that I got as my salary?
Me: (by now laughing hysterically) And each time you will eat your fill for the day?

TOS: of course

But in his defence: he is the only man who I will call up at any time of the night and expect to get a good hearing. He has consistently hated any man I have shown any interest in but has given me the sturdiest shoulder to cry on. And best of all: from the day we first met till now, he has always called me gorgeous :)

Case 1.1: This same man and I have not been talking for the last couple of months.

He has been having visa issues because of which he is stuck here, much against his will. Given that I have been through such periods of life – being without employment, with family, with ten thousand people asking me, 'Beta, what are you planning to do with your life?', I knew it was best to let him be and not to pester too much.

A couple of weeks ago when we spoke, he said he finally found some work... and wanted to 'take me out'. And then the realization dawned on me. He wanted to pay at the restaurants that we go to! I mean holy fuck – who would have thought that that was what was bugging him.

I mean – I don't fucking care who pays – but for men, it becomes an issue. Most of the time when out with friends – depending on the number – if small, I pay, if more than 3, we go Dutch.

Case 2: the case of the commercial for the new age man.

Remember 'cold cream' ads: typically come in winters in India. Typical ad: girl sitting. Guy comes and touches cheek. Cheek is parched. Guy withdraws hand. Girl feels miserable. Tadaa: here is blah blah cream. Girl applies cream. Guy comes and touches cheek. Cheek feels soft and girl feels good and smiles.

Now replace the girl with the guy and the guy with the girl... hee hee hee..

I laughed hysterically when I saw the man smiling coyly.

Now more ego for men? Imagine now this conversation ensues between a couple...

Man: I don't want to hear of it woman!
Woman: but this is for your own good!

Man: what do women know anyway about the skin?
Women: but... but...

Man: Silence! Men have better/ smoother/ shinier/ blemish free skin... don't want to hear anymore! This is a man's domain you are trying to encroach!!

Tee hee hee

Case 3: Life does come a full circle I figured a few months ago. And as my mother says – you get your opportunities and pay for your deeds in this one life.

An ex had been the subject of much of my bitching on this blog. Around last year when I sent in a birthday note to him (yeah... even I don't understand myself), we started to talk again. But I was very conscious about things having changed. Even though we still got along like a house on fire, both made conscious efforts to stay out of each others’ paths.

And then The Other A and The Other S all starting out to jibe... you mean you are talking to him again? But I guess there was a purpose to all of this. In one of the many nightly sessions, both under the influence of alcohol, we went back to what happened, and why things disintegrated. And I finally blurted out all that I had always wanted to tell him but wasn't able to out of fear. And above all, that I feared him. My appreciation to him for having heard out everything like a gentleman.

Couple of months ago he said he is getting married. I congratulated him on Gtalk (thank god for online communication where 'real' feelings can be expressed through multiple smileys and exclamation marks). It felt tad weird.

Then I did what was the most inevitable and predictable: I called up The Other S

Hey... how did it feel when your ex-gf got married?
I was relieved.

Umm.. ok... but anything else?
Why? Who is getting married?

I was just talking to … he said he is getting married
Good riddance

I really think you should learn to like people I like more... you never seem to like anyone
Yeah... that's because they are all so exceptionally nice to you.

I don't know... it feels weird... in fact, I don't know what to feel
Yeah... I get the feeling... just chill and pity the girl he is getting married to

Nah... I am sure he is a better person now
Yeah yeah whatever... such people never change

...let's see... how does it feel? I don't know? Borderline scary. But largely indescribable...

But since then, most of my negative emotions towards him have melted away... something about him leading a normal life that does it I guess.

I have stopped talking to him since then. It is only fair to the chick he is getting married to. I wouldn't like it if my spouse was spending hours talking to some chick from his past. So that's that.

Now then, I could go on for hours... and devote an entire blog purely on deciphering men... but sigh...

These days men have become weird... they actually have feelings and emotions and god knows what else... who would have thought men could actually feel??

Overheard at the atm

2008-11-08T06:45:00.000+05:30

While waiting for my turn. Young-ish couple – 27 – 35 years between the two of them. Both dressed as the next gen upwardly mobile crowd is expected to dress in this country, carrying the requisite gadgets.

Woman: I need more money for the preparations. We still haven't figured out the desert. With so many people coming, it will be a little difficult
Man (shrugs): we can do anything

Woman: maybe I will pick up ice cream on the way back
Man: I don't like ice cream... how can you even think of getting ice cream?

Woman: but they may like ice creams...
Man (cuts her short): how can you even think of getting ice cream into the house when I don't like ice cream?

Woman: its not for myself… they are your friends
Man: No.. no ice creams

Woman: ok.. we can think of something else
Man: yeah get something else

(brief pause)

Woman: there is so much to do tomorrow morning... I will get the cutting and the chopping done tonight
Man: what? The food will taste bad

Woman: No, I can cook tomorrow, just do the preparation tonight and keep everything in the refrigerator
Man: But they will not come before 11.30-12... you can do everything tomorrow... even if you start by 7 in the morning, you will be done

Woman: ok. I will do it that way

Stiletto: Fate.
(that's why I don't want to risk it at all)

I point you to Smug housewife (non, ce blog n'est pas écrit par moi)

***

I don't like getting slotted. Just a while ago at my office I decided enough work, I shall play some dhinchak music and played this. Someone turned around and said, cant believe its you playing this – I thought you played classics or soulful music. What rubbish woman – I thrive on Bollywood.

When temperatures soar

2008-11-02T10:45:00.000+05:30

And almost regularly... the reactions from various stakeholders:

Me: bah Fuck it, not again... how will I get the work done now?

Ma: You should quit work and get married... there is a time to do everything in the world, and this is... blah blah blah...

The Other A: this is clearly stress, you should slow down

Office friend 1: This is what happens when you do well at work… they just pile on more work and blah blah blah...

Office friend 2: this is just stress... they increase targets every year how can we manage... never have the time... blah blah blah...

A: What? Ill again? What do you think could be the reason for this? *dumb blond silence*

Boss: How come you get fever every week? This cant just be the work right? You should get a thorough check up done... this could mean many things... many dimensions... blah blah blah

The Other S: awww sweetheart... take some days off... take a break
(me in response: WTF are you talking about??)

FR: I am worried for you

Bottomline (1): the last two are men. Men make better pamperers. I like men better
Bottomline (2): Everybody has their own axe to grind (as if you did not know that already)
Bottomline (3): Most people around me have their own axes to grind
Bottomline (4): Most people around me dont really like me the way I am *sniff*

Rendezvous under the Sun

2008-10-29T02:32:00.000+05:30

Now it has become more convoluted. The blood pressure has gone down, temperature and temperament swing upwards and downwards. The latter swings sideways too.

I sit, in a place that sees 24 degrees Celsius right now, on a cane chair, in the shade, and my feet jutted out getting roasted in the sun. My feet feel cold despite the hot sun almost scorching it. This is the start. This will continue till about third week of February. *I so love winters*

I love routine existence even more. So predictable, fuzzy, warm and nice. Regularity and the mundane are also so exciting.

Ha.

In a very hermit-ish mood. But that goes against the season. And against summons of socializing. With relatives, with friends, with alcohol. Or maybe, the other way to look at it would be to get drunk to the point where I only feel nausea and the only other thing to do is to sigh and sleep.

I will think of something nice. Something that will cheer me up. Is that possible?

***

Geneva
About 2002-3

I had picked up a flower on the way to the office. No, literally, off the road. It was just lying there, half wilted. I just had to pick it up and carry it along with me.

I got into the lift. A man got in to the lift after me.

He said: "Une fleur qui porte une fleur... c'est toujours jolie"

I grinned.

I spoke about European men here.

***

My feet are very cold now.

***

I look at my bonsai. It has stopped flowering. No, completely stopped. Last year, it flowered thrice – in summer, autumn and in winter. It was crazy. But I loved it. Bright red colour chilli hibiscus flower against the dark green leaves. This year it didn't flower at all.

In fact, it was on the verge of death earlier in the year because of my constant travels. Then I devised a way to keep it watered despite travels. I just got a tub, filled it with water and placed the plant pot into it. So it would get its share of water all the time.

But it does not flower anymore.

As with everything else in life, one mistake, one little miss and the situation is unforgivable. The situation is reversed for good and never does one get the opportunity to make amends, to explain.

***

I will not regret.

***

Next month will see an insane and hugely fatiguing amount of travelling.

I love flights though. Some childish excitement and joy that I get out of flying.

The last time I was getting into an aircraft a thought crossed my mind: about a hundred years ago – or even less – say in our grand parents' time, who would have thought that common people like you and I would be able to fill ourselves into something that looks like a capsule with wings and fly all over the place?

***

Age: about 7 years

We are waiting for our boarding call. Flight has been delayed. Restless as ever, I pester Ma to give me 'something to do'.

Ma says, go to the big window there and count till 100.

I walk to the window and stare at the aircraft that face me. I stand there and stared at its enormity, its perfectly smooth edges, the perfectly rounded ‘nose’, the nicely done up windows, the many latches that the wings appear to have. I try to imagine the uses for each of the appendages that I see.

I forget all about the counting. After a point I get yelled at by Ma... time to board the aircraft.

***

My feet are still very cold, and the sun has decided that it has given me enough attention and has decided to move on.

A sense of déjà vu that I feel here.

I will go in now.

Bike racing videos and the Mistress Mood

2008-10-27T09:32:00.000+05:30

The first time I saw this place was through here...

Last time I went there, I requested for an accommodation right there. I wanted to post these pics earlier... but didn't get around to downloading them from phone. So posting now. These are pics of the city I mentioned here.

And this video... (well mostly audio part of the video - I found it cooler to have just the sound part of it)

(Turn up volume and put on head phones - preferably noise cancellation variety - YOU WILL HEAR THE BIKE RACING)

For those curious about the bike racing bit - this was happening around the time when this video was taken - at 3 am. This place has a sense of vibrancy. And life.

***
Being moody/ mood swing-y is difficult and moods are high maintenance I realised.

Fact is I hadn't gone clothes shopping in over two months. Or shoe shopping (vis-à-vis two pairs every fortnight/ three weeks). Whatever grocery I needed were purchased from neighbourhood stores instead of trips to more posh shopping places.

So then, today despite the fact that mood dictated me to go shopping, I got no pleasure out of the expedition. Worried, busted lots of money just to be sure that the general lack of enthusiasm was not because of monetary issues. But then, got no pleasure out of buying two pairs of silver earrings (earrings count now: 37 pairs), a pair of Pepe jeans (my first, despite the fact that I have always like their campaigns), a lovely white shirt/ top with silver buttons, lots of food/ grocery.

O well.

A little bit of... sorting things out

2008-10-22T21:20:00.000+05:30

Facing problems has never been a forte – am rather the non-confrontational variety.

Earlier this year, my landlady, like all propertied gentry of this country, felt that her tenant (me) was the scum of this earth and needs a bit of shaking now and then. So she decided to give grief. I was down with a heavy fever when she decided to 'have a conversation' with me. Twenty minutes of lecturing around and putting down new clauses to my tenancy led to me getting impatient (and not to mention the drowsiness from the fever) and asking, 'woman, if you want me to leave then say so, and in so many words – why are we beating about the bush'.

She was a little taken aback – and we parted thirty seconds later, both wanting to think about things.

I called up various property agents immediately and asked to be shown new accommodations. After a while, I called Ps up to tell them what happened. They were both at home at that time.

Ma and I are very similar as people. Ma's first reaction was, O no, where will you go now... have you started looking for other houses

The Father quietly heard me out and told me to do what I thought was best (the level of faith that this man has in me is creepy).

I got a call from my father the next morning. He was at work. Following conversation ensued.

"So what have you decided?"
"I told you... will have to look for another house"

"But what did she say exactly?"
"We discussed this yesterday no? (and I launch into executive summary mode and give a brief synopsis)"

"Ok... and you think finding another house will work out?"
"Yeah... I don't want to deal with her tantrums again and again"

"I can’t believe I raised you for this"
"(pause... can't believe what I just heard)... what?"

"Anyone scares you and you run away? Is this what I have passed on to you? I can't believe you are my daughter"
"Err... I don't know what to do then..."

"Stay back and fight... you have every right to"
"Err... ok..."

"And don't be scared – she can't do anything to you"

In 48 hours post this conversation I was facing my landlady again. I had done certain things which were bound to displease her. She came to my door to yell at me.

Me, about to shut the door on her: "Maybe we can talk when you are in a better mood?"

She looks quiet for a moment and reaches to hug me... "I am so sorry... Been a little stressed... I am like your mother... blah blah blah"

"Sorry, but my mother does not yell like this. And I definitely don't like getting yelled at"

Thirty seconds later life was sorted out. I still live here. Though I still avoid her at all costs. If I know she is coming down, I walk out from a different direction.

Anyhow. Moral of the story is – it is time to raise some dust again. Not with landlady, but elsewhere. There are problems and I know if I tell Ps, I will only get more mockery from my father. So will have to take this on myself. Wish me luck.

Rounding it up

2008-10-20T12:28:00.000+05:30

I know of another person who goes through this. You know like in the morning you wake up and some time around then, you think of a song... and then there is the super urgent need to hear it. So you hear it once. Then you want to hear it again and again. Until you have heard it like 5-6 times.

Letting Go has always been a problem area. Funny eh? Despite being a TCK

O, and the song that I had been playing in my head was waltzing Matunga from Bombay Boys.

Funnily enough, I have seen this film, but don't recall anything from it, except the song.

***

Anyhow. I have a strategy. Since things don't really work out and things that don't really matter work out like umm... The Alchemist (hush - don't tell anyone I read it)... like that not-that-bad-looking-man at my neighbourhood coffee shop passing up a chit about some blah about some jackshit magical looks and emotions... (bored, very clearly) I have decided. I will not want things to happen. And then maybe they will.

***

I watched an awesome movie. Dog Day Afternoon. Go watch it. Simplicity at its finest, I say.

Excerpt from the movie:

I'm robbing a bank because they got money here. That's why I'm robbing it.

I watched another great movie. The Prestige. The end kinda killed it for me.

And I even read bits of Red earth and pouring rain. So far so good.

***

Something must be done about this man Raja Sen on Rediff.com. A freakin show off. I mean go write a blog if you love movies so much and go ga ga about them... why put on a public show man. These days I avoid reading his film reviews – he starts of reviewing one film, then just absolutely needs to show off, so he tells us about the movie it was ripped from, and then goes off to analyse frame by frame the original movie. For fuck's sake man, take a break.

***

Finally, I have been toying with two ideas: one of having some music on this blog. Like a set of five tracks across five different genres which people can pick and play from. I know, there has been no active need for it... but remember walkman?

The other is this cool widget that I have been noticing around for some time... something to display the books on my bookshelf.

Finally (2): Pliss to note: this is third post today. None of them had anything spectacular to say. Now buzz off.

On Lappies

2008-10-20T00:58:00.000+05:30

So then, Monsieur Jobs announced the new line of MBP 15 inches. Sounds pretty cool, but the inside looks identical to my Toshiba (lovingly, I call it 'Tosh').

Man, I do hate IBM like hate hate hate hate IBM. Why such antipathy – I hear you say? Aah, because I have been bestowed one by my company – with a super slow internet data card so I am connected and available at all times (ha bloody ha – you can try darling, but you can never succeed). Well the hatred comes not just from the fact that it has been forced down my throat, but also the fact that though it is smaller than my Tosh, it weighs like 10 kgs and is user unfriendly to the core. Yes yes, IBMs are rock solid – but for me, they are just that – rocks. No, boulders. I can't walk beyond a couple of steps with mine. The keys – I think they are made of blocks of iron – the fingers begin to hurt after a point of time because of the effort that is required in pushing each key down. And I can't even play around with the contrasts/ hues so even my eyes hurt after a point from staring at the screen.

So the way the whole set up is at home, work happens on IBM (and I continue to hate work more as a result) and fun (internet surfing – got broadband on that, chatting, emailing, reading stuff online, music, movies, etc etc etc) on Tosh.

[My Tosh, even after over four years of constant exploitation is still a lean mean fighting machine – and keys are feather touch and it weighs Nothing compared to the ridiculous, overstated IBM. So in fact, for my next machine – if I never get around to buying a mac, it will probably be another Tosh. I owe my life, my education to it.]

For the cause of The Only Child

2008-10-19T23:28:00.000+05:30

For some wild reason, I am missing my family.

No, I do love my Ps and all of that, but I think the distinct advantage of being an only child is the ability to survive anywhere alone (I can hear The Other A disagreeing with me here – TOA: lets argue over this). But this morning, I woke up feeling distinctly restless.

My ex-boss (ex because I got promoted and not because she left the organization as is usually the case – all my bosses go away) has plans of adopting a child. She already has a child of about three. I was telling her the other day how I noticed that her son was just the perfect specimen of an only child. In any office social dos, I see that he is happy to either have company, failing which, he is also happy to play all by himself.

I think The Only Child is essentially a person who just like s a lot of space for himself/ herself – and this the ex-boss agreed to. Like the case of her child and me – we like a lot of attention, but we like being left alone too. This drives my ex-boss to despair – to either get her son or me to sit still and absorb all the affections and reciprocate.

What typically happens is, like my Ps – both from homes with lots of brothers and sisters can't identify with this dichotomous need of being wanted and loved (after all, we are TOC and have no one else around) and being left alone at the same time. So typically, we get branded as moody.

Sigh.

Am pretty sure my rellies are going to call today. They wanted me to buy some stuff for them, which is available only in this part of the town – or so they tell me. And they wanted it like super urgently. I informed – if you want it that bad, then you might have to drive down and get it yourself you know. So we settled for Sunday. Which is today. And I have not yet purchased it. And have no intentions to do it either.

I mean, if you are Friends, I move a mountain for you. If you are Rellies, I refuse to lift a finger. Sorry, that’s the way it is. Funny, how you are still not used to it.

More sigh.

Which reminds me. My books from here are probably here. As in, Ps had them couriered/ shipped/ cargoed/ boated to my father's colleague's home before they left the land of chill, bad teeth and long overdrawn romances for the land of Raï,. I don't know where I will keep them. I don't know if I even want them – too many memories, too many regrets. Not something I want at this point in time. Still... bah.. I will go get them.

17 for 17th

2008-10-17T17:45:00.000+05:30

feeling nervous, getting the heebeejeebees and all of that

also. a little bored, tired, sleepy. i mean. for how much longer do i need to drag this along. like the last day of exams

also. this is for today. momentary. i dont really need this. i mean, how is this adding value to my life

also. emotional attachment to anything or anyone. no good. gets nowhere.

also. wish luck plz

also. 17 people to come and watch the dance. i dont know what for. dont they have anythign better to do with their lives

Stress calls

2008-10-15T12:09:00.000+05:30

Its funny – what all stress can do to your life. Apart from the hair and the skin which goes for a toss.

A millisecond into his hanging up, I had already played back in my mind exactly what I wanted to tell him. I called him back right then. He answered the call, rather startled (I had not called in ages – I had made a promise to The Other A). And the next second, I said to him, no, just checking, may call up later at night.

Knowing extremely well that I will not.

On another flight

2008-10-05T03:40:00.000+05:30

Another travel over the weekend. This comes from the fact that the company obviously does not know or empathise with lives of the single. For them, the single are people who don't have anyone to go back home to, and therefore, can work more, endlessly. If you ever come this way, let me know, I will tell you never to join my company.

***

The rat in the house has been occupying to much of my mind's space. There are two that run about. Don't get grossed out. This is a ground floor house with lots of garden/ trees all about it and people walking and walking out at will. So I just assumed, there is little I can do about it. What I do take care of is that they don't enter my room. Once they did and I freaked. I kept making noises until they ran away.

For the last few nights, I have been falling asleep at about 9.30-10. And not waking up till about 7 in the morning. Last night I got woken up by the sound of what I thought I heard of a rat. That squeaking sound. This was about 2 am. And since then, I was not able to go to sleep till about 4-4.30. Which proved nightmarish – you know, the thoughts that keep coming in. I think the early to bed had become a kind of defense mechanism for me. Damn the rat. Or rats.

***

I thought that this year I will get D1 out early. But the last three weekends of traveling has ensured that nothing has been done. I don’t know what I will do, how I will do it or if I will get around to doing it. Damn bastards at the management.

Yesterday in the evening I felt damn pissed off about it. Was almost in tears.

When S smsed in: Man, hate Gandhi. Fucking dry day.

And I laughed. We all have our trivial priorities in life. And don’t value others’ I guess.

Who will appreciate the importance of D1 in my life?
Who will appreciate the importance of all those little things in my life that I keep going back to again and again like an obsessive?

***

Am on my plane. I love planes. I will go get some sleep now.

Everything's gonna be alright

2008-10-01T00:07:00.000+05:30

I have said this in the past to friends. I say it now here. I may have said it already, but I feel like saying it again and this is my space, so: the song No woman no cry by Bob Marley... you know the part where he sings 'everything's gonna be alright... everything's gonna be alright'... there is something strangely comforting about it and more so the way he sings it. A lot of the times, I hear the song purely to hear that bit. My only point of optimism I guess. Everyone around me is too negative.

So do me a favour: drop me a line saying, 'Everything's gonna be alright' at stiletto.point at gmail

DO me another favour: send this line out to another five people who you know have been going through stress. Come on, not so difficult to find right?

They will feel good. Even if for maybe thirty seconds. But they will appreciate you for those thirty seconds of comfort.

***

End of the week may see my Macbook Pro coming home. Lets see.

***

I did realize at the start that this was going to be a difficult year. But either that was too gross an understatement or may be I was looking through rose tinted glasses.

***

That city has never been a favourite. I don't know. Never liked it. Even though I have received the best of compliments there. Even though, I feel the men of the city are way more open and frank as human beings (very important factor to my mind).

I don't know why, but this time I really loved it. Even though I was traveling over a weekend (I hate hate hate hate traveling over weekends). Even though there was quite a bit of work to be done. I think it was the vaastu of the place I was staying in. It was a different hotel from the one I usually stay at. Even though it was also bang in front of the sea. Water body facing accommodation in a water body based place is absolutely crucial – I have driven office admin people up the wall looking for such accommodations. Water soothes me down, unruffles my feathers.

So then, this time I really loved it. I don't know why. Strange. Maybe because I was happy to get away from my city of residence – a sense of being far away from madness and maddening thoughts.

Not to mention the craziness of night time that ensued there – drinking, music, walking about, exotic coffees all packing into a span of 11 pm to 4 am.

Thoughts on a cloudy day

2008-09-20T11:57:00.000+05:30

The other day I was out with a colleague-friend post work at the coffee shop near my house.

After chattering it out for a while, she said, "You know – sometimes you start out conversations enthusiastically, but then you seem to drift away in your own thoughts. And then, anything that the other person says at that time seems like an intrusion to your thoughts"

***

Being in a moody mood is difficult. Nothing seems to cheer you up. You think of one thing nice and 10 other not so nice thoughts rush in to drown it

***

I realize no one really seems to want to own me. As if I were a big obligation in everyone's life. A big burden.

***

This time I was the one who smsed in. Not working – so what's the point. I chose the black this time. I said no. Now I cant blame anyone if I feel unhappy. Including Big G. Big G who has made everything – everything everything everything impossible

***

Nothing seems to get sorted out. Atleast if I put a full stop to this one thing maybe that is one thing out of the way. But then, how will I live?

What gets my eye

2008-09-15T10:57:00.000+05:30

That one moment. One fraction of a second. Did I hear it right? Did you say it? I gave you the benefit of doubt and assumed you did. And felt happy – for the next three days. For three days – I played it back in my head again and again. Obsessively so. Like those audio spools whose two ends we stuck together to get the piece to repeat.

And then I shook my head – bah – it was a mistake. I know it has been a mistake. I know despite everything that has happened. Another mistake. When do I learn – perhaps never? Perhaps I revel in not learning and making the same mistakes over and over again? Obsessively so?

***

While fighting the CV writers’ block I did something wild. I actually went on shaadi.com – and figured, about time I got married. And then I checked out profiles. And not to mention, got mighty psyched out.

But in all fairness, there were a few nice people there. Some refreshing honesty 'I really don't plan to fly down to India to date you, so please respond only if you are in...', some vague 'what's the point of writing it all here if we will meet?'.

And in true blue my style of thinking – I decided to check out competition – so which are the chicks I am competing with? Did a few quick searches and I was mighty impressed – women actually took the effort to get photographs taken professionally (some really artistically done) – all airbrushed, some arial shots, different kinds of clothing, different poses – some seductive, some plain Jane, about to enter the kitchen, etc

Then, armed with knowledge of the market (refer – Porter's Five Forces), I went back to writing my CV – and well, hold your breath, actually finished writing it this time.

***

In all honesty, I was planning to apply for a few jobs today. But yes, there is a hitch – yes. Hitch in my eye. Something got into my eye – I kid you not. Something got into my eye early evening today. No amount of splashing water, nothing would make it go. It got to the point where keeping my eye open was becoming painful. I went to the Chemist’s and asked if he knew any eye specialists. No one – not a single eye doctor would see me today. I went online and made a few more phone calls – all with one eye functioning. Again, no luck. I tried sleeping – but it was too painful.

Finally got through to a private hospital and the receptionist allowed me in subject to my willingness to paying emergency rates. I readily agreed. I am paranoid about anything and everything when it comes to eyes – have suffered enough in my lifetime as a result of them.

The doctor was literally sent from heaven. She did multiple rounds of testing – from basic eyesight to what not. She is the variety of doctors who I really like – she gave a running commentary on what she was trying to do and what she was about to do – until after about half an hour of trying to get the damn thing out of my eye, she finally said, 'Aha! I found it' - a Eureka moment for both of us.

She let me off with drops to be used every 10 minutes and oral sedatives to put me to sleep – I have written so much under sedatives – so don't blame if I don't make sense.

Tomorrow another round of check ups – to see if there are any infections – and just to make sure that I do return for the check she did not take money from me and told me to pay after the second round of check ups. I love her.

***

I realised one more thing. I feel awkward to tell you all of this. If you have distanced yourself from me so much (and still expect me to feel), and I feel hesitant about telling you any of this, then surely, this has been a mistake. I agree.

On career gyan

2008-08-31T23:09:00.000+05:30

Its funny how these days on one hand, each time I open my CV, I get a writer's block, on the other hand, I get sent CVs from others saying 'for your perusal', 'contact in case you are interested' or when someone asks for a job, I coolly tell them, 'send your CV along'.

Somewhere, I feel very maternal towards all of these people. I don't know why – feel the need to protect them. Possibly because I have met so many weird and wild people in my life and I have been very clear that when my turn comes, I will not make others go through the same shit that I have gone through.

I know I have gone through (and very possibly, will go through in the future) of phases of generic advise like 'keep trying, I am sure you will make it – you have it in you' or 'at your age and situation – why don't you just chill and party – you can look for work later on'. And this has never been pretty. Because this does not tell you exactly what can be done. This does not give a direction to the line of thought, does not help in ideating further. Blank statements.

It is stupid.

If you don't know what to tell someone, then just own up to it man.

Looking for work or a change of work is a stressful situation. If someone comes for advise the least I can do for that person is to tell them if I can help them or not – and the reasons for the same. 'Actionable insights' is the key word – something that I do for my clients, I also do when someone comes to ask for help – I say to myself what I tell them and evaluate – does it make sense to me?

Bah! I will stop making excuses, giving world changing gyan and go back to CV.

Bah!

2008-08-24T12:50:00.000+05:30

Bah! The same thing all over again. Tired, sick (fever – body & mind) and can’t sleep. (I am now v bored of this routine)

Out of depression, went and purchased four more books: P G Wodehouse omnibus volume 3, Pico Iyer Falling off the map, and Anthony Burgess A Clockwork Orange. I have very little intention of reading any of this.

Also purchased two large sitting cushions for my rug. This, if you have been following this blog for over 2 years, is different from the picture that was posted long long ago.

Here is a latest picture.

And I am feeling too mood driven currently to write anymore. It was nice knowing you bye bye.

When the prodigal daughter returned

2008-08-18T11:52:00.000+05:30

So then, I am at the end of a most restful break – one that was so long overdue that I would have fallen asleep anywhere if I didn't take it. Skin feels good, hair feels good, dark circles mostly not there... but me? I don't know

To take stock, I am at the neighbourhood coffee shop. Cute waiter comes smiling, takes the order and goes away – I realise that's how I would like most men in my life to be.

On a table opposite, there is a man and a woman – presumably at a more advanced level of arranged marriage courtship. They sit straight, all dapper, literally, 'holding' a conversation. They appear a little stiff – but then, maybe I am wrong – maybe they are just perfectly comfy the way they are and I am reading too much into it. I think – now it will be polished conversations – this is the variety that, post marriage, will go silent. Maybe that's how it is with the arranged marriage situation.

So then, I am at the end of the break – and not looking forward to returning to work – I think the only productive thing that I did for 'professional' life was to remodel my CV. The rest of the time, I slept – for eternity – to shut my eyes from the bad dreams of day time. Though, I did get woken up by nightmares – lets not get into that now, shall we... I did not read much of the Lord of the Rings (to be honest, found it tad boring – but I shall of course finish it – I don't believe in running away mid away – once I have decided to embark on something, I go all the way). Of the nine movies I planned on watching, I think I managed only five, ditto for blogposts. When mood takes over, I am rendered helpless, I guess.

Met A who had come down to the city – we raised a toast for being at our age and not feeling a day older than the time we met first a decade ago.

This post does not really seem to be going anywhere, so I shall call it a day now. O, and did I mention about the my new CK sunglasses? I have been pretty loyal to my CK brand – every time I lost a pair of sunglasses, I bought a new one – each more expensive than the one before, but all obsessively Calvin Klein.

The task of finding a poem

2008-08-14T12:28:00.000+05:30

There is something about it raining on this day. Something it indicates. As I lay past 1.30 at night, mustering all abuses possible to hurl out at fate, the Big G, the works, I also try to find a pattern in the times that it has rained on this day in the past. Some weak patterns – data that can be overlooked my researcher's analysis says.

Draining myself out of permutations for patterns, I shout out at the heavy dark night clouds

Cry! So cry out – for my own tears have dried out and I can cry no longer. I think of all the things that I have stood for, all that has been dear to me – all that got taken away – and scream – Cry – let out that thunder of tears – for nothing is same anymore. Nothing can ever be right anymore. Cry – for here I surrender. For here I admit myself to you.

Cry – for I remain only in a shell, and all empty inside

Cry – for I now look upto those who are happy because they went with the tide – for I stand defeated because I chose to not listen

And as I search for a poem to mark the day, I realise how perfunctorily I do the task – what is the point of it all? Does it matter? No it does not.

What I want does_not_matter

The Puppet
-- Charles de Lint
The puppet thinks:
It's not so much
what they make me do
as their hands inside me.

There Was a Man Who Lived a Life of Fire
-- Stephen Crane
There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Where purple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not lived.

So I lay awake and hear myself out – just hand yourself over – what you want does not matter.

Luck Pushing

2008-08-13T11:52:00.000+05:30

So then, I rode back home and as I crossed a symbol of Big G, I did not pray. I did not tip my hat. I did not whisper a silent plea. I just played the regular cynic – does this even work?

So then today was day 4. Towards the end of the day, when I stepped out of home, I did not know whether I’d be allowed to enter the hall or not. The entry was strictly by invitation and in one particular auditorium. I entered through another auditorium – when the guard silently pushed another event’s pass onto my hand and said, hurry up, just walk in. When I got to the auditorium where my movie was getting screened, the manager smiled benignly and said, O, its ok, just get in. And I sat myself down and did not move until the film got over.

So that was lucky.

Also, after much searching, today I also got Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum – this is a book that I had promised to get for a friend about six months ago. After much scourging about, today I finally got it.

If today has been so lucky, then should I just push my luck and ask for it again? Should I just test to see if it just about works out?

Just so we keep count, this is post 4 on day 4

I heart Dark Knight sigh

2008-08-12T12:25:00.000+05:30

Ahem

So one is still reeling under the spell of the Dark Knight.

Mind you, this is the only comic book character on whom I have had a most serious crush.

The love just got deeper.

Sigh.

Will do a longer post/ review if I get around to doing it (I have little patience for writing reviews)

Currently I am thinking of going and watching the movie again.

sigh

When shadows lurk about closely behind

2008-08-11T12:35:00.000+05:30

A little tired, a little dejected and a little let down to write.

Tired: Rellies caused – Ma dragged my along to meet them. I went armed with a full charge Ipod, fully music loaded cell phone, a noise cancellation head phone and my Lord of the Rings. And I slept there. But when I got back, I was tired out...

Then I realised I hadn't had coffee all day... *tirrring* so one went to fetch coffee, and for a while thankful for the moment of solitude and slowly walked back home with my coffee.

Let Down: By this movie called Bong Connection – recommended by quite a few Bong friends and for fuck's sake – is this even a movie??

Dejected: By Big G... since he refuses to answer my one question: How Could You Let Someone Get Away With This? And despite my resolution that I will never ask for anything again, I realise that I inch towards the comfort of begging, pleading for things to work out. And I realise that I have been doing it all day.

When I know extremely well, that it will not.

No reason for it to.

Another day tomorrow. Can I cry a bit now?

On doing a tag

2008-08-10T00:41:00.000+05:30

Got sent this one on email and this actually made me think

And I realised that while reading through their responses, i was actually trying to retrofit it in my life. So why not just do it and post it here.

What i liked about this was the amount of honesty it demanded.

So here goes

Are you blissfully content?
No, I think I never will be

You are happiest when...
I am with friends

The best compliment you have ever received...
"With you gone, there will be no more laughter... the corridor will be so silent"

The one Bollywood film you can relate to?
can't think of any – my life is not half as entertaining

What do you consider your biggest strength?
Perseverance and ability to generate and think through seemingly crazy ideas

The one thing that you fear the most?
Stagnation in life

How do you deal with problems?
Three step process: 1. by thinking of ways to run away from them. 2. talking myself in to facing them. 3. systematically breaking them down to see what really can be dealt with and what can't. 4. moving on in life

Any regrets?
Too many to count: dumping a course in Sorbonne coz then bf was elsewhere, dumping a career at UN to become a road warrior, dumping a film making career out of sheer need to support myself, etc etc etc

Have you ever attempted suicide?
Not attempted yet. Contemplated, yes.

The wildest/wackiest/craziest thing you've ever done?
Again, too many to count... and depends on what you mean by whacky: forged a university I card, mimicked a teacher to the class in front of her, organized a midnight party at hitlerian boarding school, faked a wedding for a friend, ghost wrote love email for friends, getting drunk and climbing a wall, getting drunk and worrying about my hair and make up, the list goes on...

Your deepest, darkest secret?
why on earth would I tell you

Your most embarrassing moment?
ditto

The one person you can’t imagine your life without?
My friends, family

Have you ever really loved a man/woman?
Yes

The last time you cried like a baby?
too many times actually – been in a sensitive mood lately

Have you ever been slapped by a woman? Did you deserve it?
Yes, Ma. Ma says I did.

If you had one ‘Genie wish’ granted to you, what would it be?
Peace

What would you like your epitaph to read?
At last, she reached somewhere. Now, she is happy.

Do you wish to change anything about yourself?
Physically nothing, but perhaps mentally, less fickle-ness, ability to be happy and above all, stay happy

Your biggest achievement to date (personal/professional)
Personal: To be able to support parents when they come over for holidays – and for them to be able to tell that they stay with me and not the other way round
Professional: Keeps changing

The one trait you would specifically look for in your life partner/soul mate?
Honesty, Humour, Intelligence

Do successful career women inspire jealously and insecurity in their spouses/boyfriends?
Yes, and it is very normal. We are all competitive at some level or the other

Chivalry seems to have taken a nosedive. Agree/ Disagree?
Yes it has – Men are difficult to find.

Would you rescue a woman in trouble? Or just turn a blind eye and walk away?
I rescue anyone in any kind of situation if I can.

How comfortable are you mingling with new people in real life?
Completely. In fact, sometimes, I crave for unknown company more than known. and a lot of my friends are people who I have met randomly

Do you judge people by the way they dress or converse?
Yes, always. That's the only thing we can judge them by no?

Should one-night-stands be forgiven?
Yes, if by mutual consent and with complete honesty. But the latter does not exist, so no, should not be forgiven and the person deserves to be thrashed for bringing unhappiness to others.

How do you define success?
Happiness. Peace

How would you introduce yourself to me if we were to meet in person?
Hi, I am so and so (name)

So that is post 1.

A cat has nine lives

2008-08-10T00:27:00.000+05:30

So one is on holiday for 9 days. On leave from work. Else, the boss had been threatened that I would leave work in 9 days.

So then, it is nine.

Nine days will see: nine movies, nine blog posts and completion of Lord of the Rings
Parents will leave on the 5th day. The last 4 days will be nightmare – getting used to empty house again.

Last two weekends saw mindless partying, lots of drinking. This weekend will be quiet. Next weekend, it will be even quieter.

So the time starts now.

Faithless days

2008-07-14T11:21:00.000+05:30

And as he spoke on about the greatness and fantastic-ness of his friends, his ex, I waited on. Nothing came for me. Nothing was meant for me. With that tone of finality.

I finished watching Autobiography of a Princess and looked around. No good. I put on a pair of capris and walk out of the house - towards the new coffee shop they have opened up. Despite its hideously bright colours, it has become a welcome part of my weekends.

I sit and stare at the silent TV - it is silent and yet so dynamic and arresting visually - Britney spears, Oprah, Coldplay all bombard the screen. I sit as mute as the TV and stare at it.

On the table next to mine, two gentlemen sit - one clearly nursing the others' broken heart.

"During the week, there is so much to do at work, so its ok... the problem comes during weekends when during the day atleast I am all alone."

I am hoping to get myself a macbook around next month. I don't really know what or why I hope for - things never really work out. Things have been such that all along if there was one person who I had an unshakable faith in, it was myself. Now that dwindles away. Rapidly. Each morning, I mock that bedside picture of Big G that Ma has faithfully placed.

And at night when I can't sleep.

I feel

2008-07-11T11:42:00.000+05:30

oddly vegetable like

very inanimate, very invisible and very insignificant

Closure to part 1 of Project Doomed

2008-07-09T12:50:00.000+05:30

One part of Project Doomed has ended.

I went out and stood in the rains to celebrate. It is a black.

A black night. A very long, sleepless night.

Yup, I am here. Where else do I have to go?

On being a Netscape user

2008-07-08T11:21:00.000+05:30

Since I have been on a letter writing spree, now I have one for the honchos at AOL. Yes, the very AOL – America Online.

From 1st March, you stopped support for the Netscape browser. I only got to know around the end of March. When I heard it, I was dismayed – O no, no more Netscape? But then the realization dawned on me – its already the end of the month – so that means mere discontinuation of support and not necessarily killing the browser itself. Life was all bright yellow again.

I was a late entrant into the Internet world and since then, there has been no stopping me. That's pretty much the story of my life. But Netscape was the first browser I worked on – though I knew little about Internet so to speak at that time, I found it jazzier than IE.

And then came my designing days. Netscape was the browser for every nose-upturned designer – why would anyone use anything else? More often than not, my web pages looked fine on Netscape, but messed up on IE. Logically, it would have made sense to pretest on IE, esp since 90% of the world accessed their Internet from there – but yours truly stuck on to Netscape, continued dissing IE, and re-working to retro fit pages for IE. It was double the work, but I have been known to walk not a mile, but a hundred miles extra for lurve.

The designer went out the window, the snooty bitch didn't :)

I went on using Netscape, promoting it to all and sundry – those who didn't understand were just losers.

Day before yesterday, amidst fever, delirium, I got up to check mail and read stuff online. I realised there was something wrong. Where normally Netscape opened to a blank page, this was taking me somewhere... aaha... this took me to the AOL/ Netscape site – where they basically tried to explain to me why it was best to discontinue this replationship. Not just that, I realised all my settings had reverted back to default. Brilliant, I thought.

So then, I painstakingly went back to re-set my settings to what I had initially, and have happily ignored all pleas to stop.

So here is my advice to the gentlemen at AOL – a bit of psychographic understanding of the stubborn users would help – I am not a person who would give up too easily – more so if what is at stake is something I have truly loved. Surely there are many more out there like me. So it would take more than forceful wiping away of data and changing of privacy settings to get me to stop :)

dinner conversation with the person who means a lot to me (i couldnt think of a title)

2008-07-02T23:38:00.000+05:30

last night (and this is probably as close as i get to real time - btw, forgive the atrocious punctuation/ grammar - am ill - see prev post)

i call up ma.

I think i am coming down with a fever.
Ok... have you had any dinner?

yeah... had thai prawn curry
Ok... did you make it yourself?

Yes i did
why? didnt you have food delivered at home?

I stopped that 6 months ago
But only last week you told me that you would get food home??

thats because you never remember - i had told you i stopped but you kept asking whether i was still getting the food, so i just kept quiet and agreed to what you said
Why would you do that

Because i was tired of repeating and explaining
brilliant - so when are you agreeing to marriage

Never
but aren't you tired of saying no yet

no, not yet.

2008-07-02T23:27:00.000+05:30

I am ill

*sniff*

hate boss. hate everyone else too.

doctor shakes his head as i own up to never completing the entire dose of medicine.

Hate doctor too.

bye

An option

2008-07-01T21:45:00.000+05:30

At a point when every relationship in my life has reached a stagnation/ a point where nothing nothing nothing is happening, at a point where every other person can't decide whether they want me to stay or they want me to go, I suddenly feel better – for like 30 seconds.

I just realised an opportunity coming my way so to speak. My parents will be here in a couple of weeks. They will be in this country for about a month before they head out again – to the land of Raï, exotic foods and even more exotic cultures. I could just tag along with them when they move – it could give me an opportunity to run – run away from everything, from everyone, to become invisible in everyone's life, to not return, to cease to exist, to suspend all these complications for a while.

Having an alternative feels so different, so new and gives such a lot of hope.

I don't know.

Another one for the Big G

2008-06-28T06:00:00.000+05:30

I don't know what to do. I have avoided coming to this page for so many days. It just seems ridiculous.

When I ask for something, you don't give it to me. You make me wait. You make me despair. You kill my joy, my enthusiasm, my positivity, my esteem, crush any semblance of hope, my life.

Yet, when I asked for a sign from you, the most ridiculous, the most ludicrous one, you gave it – without flinching once.

And then, you sit reclining (I can almost imagine you at it) – with one leg over the other on a foot stool and a comforter over yourself, eating grapes. Basically, you sit back and do nothing. Just raise my hopes again and watch them getting dashed.

Gee, thanks.

Of momentary happinesses

2008-06-13T10:18:00.000+05:30

Aah momentary happiness. Momentary bliss. When everything in the world is just right, just perfect and it couldn't get any better. When I listened to you and you listened to me. When neither spoke yet so much was said. When joys were shared, when sorrows were shared. A time of just perfect-ness.

I have felt extremely happy around you – and you know it. And every time when this moment draws to an end, I am filled with the sorrows of the world – when the Siamese twins of Reality and Unhappiness faithfully return to me.

Even though momentary, this moment of bliss is what I return for each time – to get back my grip on un-reality. So that un-reality comes back to my life and creates that soft, silky, powder pink coloured cocoon and I embrace it completely.

Then, the Siamese twins of Reality and Unhappiness shake me up and for the next two days I will feel lost and upset with everything. Then a weekend of brooding and wanting to kill myself. Come Monday, R & U will shadow me around zealously, standing behind me with impish smiles on their faces as I cover up unhappiness and play the clown for the entertainment benefit of all those around me – all those people who tell me at all waking hours that they 'care', all those who want me to see reality. And I keep turning my back towards R & U, knowing that they are right behind.

***

I need to get back to painting – it has been that one thing that gets my mind off R & U completely. For that moment, I am a painter, I am in the picture – it is me I am painting, my life as I wish it were. I add coats on coats of unreality on the canvas and then it is bright and bears stark colours – a perfectly composed picture.

The last work done on glass showed a girl returning home. How I long to return home. Home as I have always known it. Home is where parents are. Home, where I lie next to Ma and she caresses my forehead. Home, where father returns home each evening, and hands himself completely to me. So I take his work brief case in from the door step, get him a glass of water, then tea, then snacks, one after the other until he is completely fresh and chirpy again.

Home is where I get pampered and in turn, pamper others.

***

I just need to share this with someone. Especially since I have chosen to not speak about this to my friends or colleagues. Why not? – I don't know – my sorrows are my own and I am selfish about them.

My grandfather is probably on his death bed. He has been a trove of diseases for the last twenty five years – diabetes, high blood pressure, cholesterol, spondilitis and so on and so forth. I spoke about it here. And now, at ninety, the latest in his kitty is cancer.

My uncle looks after him – initially he called to say it is the annual falling ill business that he does each year. My father, ever suspicious and not willing to take it at the face value called up the doctor and dug the truth out. Not possible for parents to send money in, so I have been pumping the cash. We all know to what end. I just hope that it is not very uncomfortable for the old man. So in a sense, I am not sending money in to keep him alive, but to give him a comfortable death – like that soft, silky, powder pink coloured cocoon for death.

***

Those who shake their heads and predict doomsday for me will please note: this is my second post in two days on happiness.

A time for happiness

2008-06-12T03:22:00.000+05:30

I finally found out when happiness arrives (and I am so darned pleased with my research skills as a result).

I have been talking to a lot of new grandmothers – those who have had grand children in the last five years.

And what a life they lead.

More so in the Indian context where we still live as a composite unit in the family – the new urban patterns giving rise to a semi-nuclear family – imbibing the best of nuclear and joint family structures. So the grandmother/ grand father 'delegates responsibility' of running the household to the daughter-in-law/ son-in-law and whee! – they are on their way to freedom.

Complete freedom – to do exactly as they please – a life that is for now, for the moment, no holds barred. There is a hair styling class to attend in the morning, cookery in the afternoon, grandchildren want time and attention in the evening.

One woman had not stepped out of home all her life – after getting her son married six years ago, she visited two new countries each year – so twelve new countries in the last six years.

Another person watches a movie every single day. Yet another person 'takes care' of grandchildren with the ayah, and in her ‘spare time’ (of which there is plenty), tries out new cuisines.

It could also be a learning lesson on love – the amount of love that this segment is capable of doling out is much beyond the infinite. Since they live for the moment, they love each person now like there is no tomorrow. This person could be family, friends, or even complete strangers – each person is given the same amount of love and trust.

I think I have a theory on why old people grow senile. I think it is out of the sense of complete freedom – can you imagine yourself – no work to go to, no one to report in to, no one to answer to, yet, enough disposable income to manage to do almost anything and everything you have always wanted to do?

What would you do and what would you feel when faced with something like this?

Rushdie agrees with me

2008-05-30T10:56:00.000+05:30

When you were anaesthetized to the tragedy of your life you were able to survive. When clarity was returned to you, when it was painstakingly restored, it could drive you mad. Your reawakened memory could derange you, the memory of humiliation, of so much handling, of so many intrusions, the memory of men. Not a palace but a brothel of memories, and behind those memories the knowledge that those who you loved were dead, that there was no escape. Such knowledge could make you come to your feet, gather yourself, and run. If you ran fast enough you might be able to escape your past and the memory of everything that had been done to you, and the future as well, the inescapable bleakness ahead. Were there brothers to rescue you? No, your brothers were dead. Perhaps the world itself was dead. Yes, it was. To be a part of the dead world it was necessary that you die as well. It was necessary that you run as fast as possible until you reached the edge between the worlds and then you didn't stop you ran on across that border as if it wasn't there as if glass was air and air was glass, the air shattering around you like glass as you fell. The air slicing you to pieces as if it were a blade. It was good to fall. It was good to fall out of life. It was good.

From Rushdie's latest: Enchantress of Florence

On ignorance

2008-05-25T10:42:00.000+05:30

With my way of convoluted sense of logic, I need to understand this.

If ignorance is bliss then why can I not stay ignorant about the stark realities of life? Why can I not pretend that the world is just perfect and fine and all rosy? Why can't I carry on living in this make believe/ faulty world – only if this gives me happiness?

Is it so crucial for reality to sink in to my life that you will snatch away my happinesses? Is reality more crucial than happiness? Why?

Why can't I just be?

Strange how I have people from practically all quarters of my life are all trying to pitch in and get me to see 'reality' (The Other A about the person named grief, Ma about marriage of course, boss about unpleasant tasks that I choose to ignore, HR about… well more reality).

Why can't I just be?

***

I have the world's worst headache at this very moment in time. I think I am dying. That would be extremely helpful.

And of course, everything sucks. And everything is unfair. Etc etc etc.

***

I think I have fairly androgynous appeal. A few days ago I wore a sari to work. Obviously it had to be stiletto-fied. That being done, I think I attracted stray glances from both sexes. In fact, women being women, knew they could get away with anything, so they passed the raunchiest of comments – all in the name of good humour.

Women have hit on me in the past… only to realise that I was pretty disgusted at the proposition.

I have been told my posts of late have been too gloomy. So this last bit is a response to my detractors. I feel like such a... umm... puppet. Heck, I feel like that all the time.

Storm in my head

2008-05-11T03:20:00.000+05:30

Night gives way to morning and I find myself suddenly awake. Almost a startling revelation at my own wakefulness. I don’t know for how I have been awake or indeed if I slept at all at night.

I fumble for the phone to look at the time, but I realise that I am not really interested in gaining this piece of information. Instead I click to the camera of the phone. And take a picture. Of gloom. To reflect my mood. Of the little light that seeps in through the window shade. Of the dark room. Of gloom. Of loneliness. Of being stuck in the dark room. Of stagnation. Of gloom. Of immobility. Of inability to turn anything my way. Of being a mere puppet in the greater scheme of things. Of gloom. Of my inability to do anything. Of nothing nothing nothing working out. Of stagnation. Of Immobility. Of gloom.

Work was supposed to be done in the day and I did not do it – the result and victim of my own moodiness.

Day slowly gives way to evening. I realise a storm is brewing up even as evening tries to push itself into darkness of my room. This, I think is the mood for reading and listening to music and maybe sipping on juice alongside.

I put on music on my phone and keep it inside, while I sit out. Amidst the winds of the North, the dusts of the West. I sit out and patiently get into reading. Patiently wait for the rains to arrive. I look up at the sky.

(The sound is quite stifled in the recording – put on a head phone and turn the volume up)

Adding new dimensions to true Lurve

2008-05-04T22:30:00.000+05:30

I have a new thrill in my life. Ok, so I have been slow to catch up, but picture this.

Yours truly is at yet another airport in a different city. Early morning return flight to the GHQ. So she gets there by 7-ish. Flight is at 8.30. Just as she checks in an sms rings through: sorry lady, your flight's been delayed by 20 mins... deal with it. Not in so many words, but that is the gist of the message. She thinks... sigh... 20 minutes of sleep... 20 minutes of dreams... 20 minutes of soft cozy bed, pillow... o well...

She heads for the lounge - coffee in this airport is good (she knows all about what is good in which airport... of course). She passes by their good book shop (which according to her, ranks at a no. 3 among the country's other airports) and thinks that she needs to buy a new book.

Two rounds of coffee, multiple rounds of yawning and sighing done, she hears the boarding call. She looks at her phone... it is 8.25. Bah, she says, I will still go to the bookstore. If they leave without me, I will sue them. After all, I am one of their super frequent flying guests. Armed with such foolish confidence, she heads for the bookstore.

8.30. She is found standing face to face with Rushdie's new book: Enchantress of Florence. She picks it up, looks at the cover and the back (she has the habit of judging the book by the cover as well as synopsis at the back). As expected, she can't make up her mind. The last two Rushdies she read – she did not find them that great. The Moor's Last Sigh and Fury. Should she, shouldn't she?

Lightning strikes, cymbals clash. She whips out her phone, goes on the internet, does a quick search – reads two reviews on Amazon, one on Guardian and makes the purchase.

All in 10 minutes flat.

8.40. She heads for the boarding feeling all independent-woman-making-independent-decisions-like.

In a nutshell, I have a new phone in which I had the GPRS enabled. It now takes my love for the Internet to new levels altogether of course. No, it is not fast at all and heavy web sites like blogger don't download onto it. But what the hell, I'm still lovin' it.

To the Double Ts

2008-04-29T11:20:00.000+05:30

Its been more than a month or so that I have been silently grieving away. Amidst all fun and games, all jokes, all thrills, all pranks. It is almost like how one would ideally call God - something that runs parallel at a constant.

On Sunday, I put The Other S' call on hold for half an hour and sorted out the issue on another line. If it could be called that.

So then, why can't I cry?

The tears that have been my constant companions through life's ups and downs - where are they now? Have I dried out my tear glands completely? And what will I do when I want to cry - as I have been wanting for so many days - one long stream of tears. But they just don't come?

Where have my best friends gone?

Grey areas

2008-04-24T11:11:00.000+05:30

I did not want to go to that city. I smoked 4 ciggs out of stress the previous night and did not sleep.

When the plane landed, I willed it to run backwards on the runway so I would not have to get off.

Facing unpleasantness has never been a high point.

Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately, so has it been for others.

So what happens is, when I get on to a flight back home, I don't want to get into it. I want to stay on.

Was it successful – I don't really know. Yes and no in many ways.

The agenda was to push it either towards a black or a white. It remains heavily in the grey.

I returned today and smoked 3 ciggs.

Yes, it has been a taxing month, so less blogging. But as in 1984, I have been watching you – mostly reading blogs.

May I see your ticket, luv?

2008-03-30T10:40:00.000+05:30

I think: what is it about airports, hotels and airplanes that makes them so conducive to writing?

Perhaps being on a no man's land – it is neither yours, nor mine – all is fair, equal and free – free from mortal obligations, prejudices and material concerns. Bounded by time – to do nothing - so think. Think, look around at people, at clouds, at little rooftops, maybe read a little, doze off for a while, wake up to smiling air hostess who brings light food then going back to dozing off, reading and staring into oblivion. That is life.

Back on earth, outside hotel lobbies and airport gates, there are obligations, quibbles with mother, grieving over seemingly uncaring and hostile people, monetary issues and what not.

How can one write.

***

I realised I have been picking up short stories of late. Rather, books of short stories. First it was for the Latino man, then there came the 100th issue of Granta (the mecca for writers – yes, one harbours a secret wish – chances are it will remain secret for all of one’s life), then picked up another - interestingly titled – The Book of Other People.

I don’t really like short stories. I end up craving for more. That way short stories, by their sheer length seem like a let down.

***

I like it when people know what I am looking for without my asking it. Of course, my need for being pampered is institutional. When we were out a-trip-ping – a females club (and I suspect a lonely hearts' one too), S From Work realised that weakness of mine. I realised how we complimented each other. She is the second child of her parents – used to fighting it out, and a strong need to protect – out of habit, the older and maybe more mellow sibling – and I, the only child, need to be protected, always craving for Tender Love and Care, going back again and again to people who have hurt me to shower more love, only in the hope that one day it will be returned.

It does work out at times – and I do appreciate the small gestures.

Often, on my way back from work, I take a detour on my way home. This is to accommodate a coffee shop where I pick up coffee and walk home, slowly sipping away and listening to music.

The people there know exactly how I want my coffee. Once when I told them that I would like it to be less sweet, one of the staff made my coffee and patiently tested various levels of sweetness for me until it was just perfect.

Ditto for this bookshop owner at this airport. The airport is undergoing renovation so the bookshop had been shifted – I had thought it was shut down – it was after all a tiny shop lined with books from floor to ceiling. I found it elsewhere in the airport and when I entered the shop keeper smiled and said, 'Welcome back madam'. I may have bought atleast five to six books from there.

***

In that detour for the coffee shop, I find the walk home always filled with people & little dramas of their lives, little discoveries, often joy of discovering that latent thought.

The other day as I was walking down, I heard a shriek from a vehicle that passed by me. A shriek of a crying women, "Why don't you answer the phone damn it?"

The shriek of frustration of being passed over. Of being used. Of being purposely ignored by someone around whom you had built your entire life. When you know it is all over. Yet, you need to see that person, to talk to that person just once more. Just once more.

And you are not given that chance.

***

What about the title of this post? - The title of this post is of one of the lingering memories of the United Kingdom.

Like every non-British, I harboured the notion that all Brits had a stiff upper lip. So when the ticket checker on my train from Gatwick to my Uni place came to me and said, "May I see your ticket Luv" – I was surprised and to a point scandalised (why the hell is this random guy calling me Luv?)

In other words, a very long post.

On good intentions to write

2008-03-28T10:28:00.000+05:30

I am a fickle minded person (haw haw haw – you did not know already). More often than not, I have all good intentions to get down to writing, just that I don't get around to doing it – sometimes because I have been busy reading about the latest in Ranbir Kapoor and Deepika Padukone's lives (such pretty but arrogant children these days I tell you – no, I mean it, both Deepika and Ranbir are pretty and arrogant no?), sometimes I have been slaving it out with work and yet other times, I have been grieving over something or the other. These days of course, grief has a name and face – but we shall get to that some other time.

And then, when travelling for work, with a little more time in hand, my noble intentions get renewed, but I find that the company has uber considerately checked me into a firangi-style authentic Indian touristy hotel. So they must live up to the rustic/ sensual/ sexual appeal that India holds for them. Therefore, each drawer handle, each painting, each wood carving must depict upwards of threesomes. And god forbid – I laughed out loud when I saw the wood carving – in my mind I automatically calculated proportions if they were life size – the guys' 'p's – would be atleast half a meter long.

Now then, which brings me to – in case you thought I was all prim and propah and would shy away from spelling out 'p's – have already done so to friends – just that I don't want to dilute the kind of traffic this blog attracts. Other than the regular readers, most people come looking for Tennyson, hypocrite lecteur, world shrunk, other poets – and why, someone even came looking for lehsuniya. There are others who have come for pedicurist sex, etc, but they are still a minority. I am very conscious about who I would want my blog to be read by. What a fucking convoluted sentence. And bad grammar.

Fourfold

2008-03-19T09:58:00.000+05:30

Time to boast: something which I have not done in a long time here. I mentioned about this article.

A few days ago a friend googled me up and informed me and I back checked: the article and I were quoted in a Social science journal :)

***

*Mopping ahead*

I just realized I am tired of fighting. O wait, I have said that already. And I am tired of being called strong by friends. And I am tired of being asked what the matter is. I just don't feel like putting on make up. And I am upset with things. Esp about how they turned out (or did not turn out). And I am still mopping over stuff. Deal with it.

***

It is nice to meet old friends. More so if they are gentlemanly male. And with a degree in English - they just articulate better.

I went to pick up our order. When I got back S said,

"Hey you still have that spring in your walk!"

And of course, one moment he decides I am a female friend, so he must shower praises and attention. The next moment he decides I am just like any other male friend who he could have had beer with, so he must inform me all his *ahem* conquests in graphic details even as I cringe away and beg to not be made privy to such information.

Net net, I may have made mistakes in love (again and again), but with my friends, I have been bang on correct. I lurve them. They lurve me back. Which is nice.

***

I am sad.

Le vérité

2008-03-18T09:40:00.000+05:30

I have been very reclusive lately – a certain resignation to fate after fighting and fighting hard for it.

So I have been living between temperaments – from violent outbursts of tears to silently brooding away to forced energy at work. But then, people who see me can make out the irritation written all over my face and my body and my hair perhaps.

SO I have been flitting between moments of wanting to blog and the next second, not wanting anything to do with blogging.

Came Monday and I knew that the phone would have to be switched back on and that I would have to re-start interacting with the world.

I decided to call The Other S today – if there is one person I have never had a silent moment with, it had to be him- with him around I have always been at my boisterous best. And I realised how forced the conversation was – forced from his end to drag it on till something came out from me.

Truth of the matter is – I am so tired of playing games. Whether at work or in relationships – I would so like my life to be crystal clear in black or in white. Just it should be crystal clear.

Truth of the matter is, I want something in my life to work out.

Truth of the matter is, these days every night I go to sleep praying fervently that by some miracle I should not wake up the next day.

Truth of the matter is, nothing is right.

Truth of the matter is, I don't know if anything will ever be right.

Truth of the matter is, I still have a certain password – which will not let me forget. I use it everywhere.

An open letter

2008-03-10T09:30:00.000+05:30

To Big G

You say I always ask for the impossible. Yes, I always yearn most for the impossible: I concede for a while.

Heck, you have not had a great track record yourself – how many of these impossible things did you grant to me?

Yours truly,
Me

Calculating life on an excel file

2008-03-06T23:30:00.000+05:30

Planning life and move is depressing. Post a drunken, sleepless night, I get up to strong coffee and actually... hold your breath, calculate money – that I have, I don't have, and will have in the next 2-3 months.

And lo and behold, my excel file leaves me with a number that is identical to what I had when I came here.

So one thinks: you go with exactly what you came with. The only gains are of two shelves of books that have to be left behind and a burdened, sun burnt, fatigued, exhausted heart that gets carried forward.

Frequent flying

2008-03-04T21:40:00.000+05:30

It is strange how I find so many known faces across the airports of the country. A lot of these people will look at me, nod briefly and move on. A brief point of understanding - I don't know who you are, but I know your life.

That is it by way of interaction. I think we could form a frequent flyers club.

I am feeling tired. So much more to do.

To The Other A

2008-03-02T04:15:00.000+05:30

The Other A: you will be pleased to know: just like most things in my life, you were right this time too. It just fizzled out. I played the catalyst myself. The hara-kiri. I smsed him: "Don't bother to call back".

And he didn't.

As I always hold: There is a fine line between being careless and not caring. This one crossed over to the other side.

I am... the usual.

Now it is finally out of the way. Having a raging fever and nightmare of a workload helps. I hope this never ends.

On the other hand, it is heartening to see some people still love me and care about me. So in light of recent occurrences, I have been forbidden to pick up my phone and call him – which is what I would do normally.

My policy is that life is too short for such trivial dissonances – earlier they get resolved the better. And of course: show your feelings – life is too short for mind games. But friends believe otherwise.

O well.

I will quit and move out of the country. Bah – if only it were that easy.

Enter Spring

2008-02-25T12:15:00.000+05:30

I went out to buy two pairs of sandals and maybe a book (if I chanced upon anything in particular). I came back with 3 books and the sandal was a part of the last minute shopping.

Apart from that, as I was telling him the other day, I think I have done a lot of growing up – especially over the last 3 years. Laws of co-existing in the same space without any person having to be a replica of the other person has come to me only recently.

I think that (ie., growing up) is also the key to my new interest in poetry – earlier, if I could not relate to something, it was not worth my time. Now I am able to empathise more.

Of course, I realised one is upset more, more touchy at everything, and one's skin is thinning down by the minute – so everything hurts.

***

So ladees and zentlemen... I hereby declare that Spring is here.

This is the lemon tree in my backyard. And these are the flowers on it. I made it a point to take pictures of each and every flower that is there on the tree.

(the formatting has gone hotch potch and I am feeling too lazy to do anything about it at the moment)

***
And leaving you with another proof of spring... this picture was taken in... well, a popular mode of transportation. I shall call it... A Man & His Aspirations.

***

So when does Spring enter my life?

***

Have a killer of a schedule over the next few days.

Sigh.

Tad unhappy, that's all (doesn't matter)

2008-02-19T13:28:00.000+05:30

The usual complaint, so ignore me.

(nothing right, nothing working out, life's shit, etc etc etc)

But one wonders: when does this phase of unhappiness actually end? Like for how much longer do I sit around patiently and get jacked by Big G? And how many more days and nights do I spend wishing I was dead.

Which brings me to But one wonders (2): I just realised something: if I ever do get around to killing myself, how would I let my blog readers know?

Which then brings me to But one wonders (3): As I was telling him yesterday: does anythign really matter in the larger scheme of things... my being unhappy, my unfulfilled wishes, my life... does it all matter? I don't think so.

I wish I could go home. But Ps are also pissed off with me. Dammit, and here I thought I could never even swat a fly: Why the hell am I the recipient to such shit then? As I said, what I did or not did, does not really matter.

One only wishes things were not so unpleasant.

Coming of age

2008-02-17T00:15:00.000+05:30

It is strange how so many of us are in exactly the same mirror situations in life. Yet, all of us feel we are alone in the world in our misery. That may be true in a way. When I return tired and drained from work around mid night, the last thing I want to do is to hear what a bad day V has had.

Its hilarious – I got an employee for my office over the weekend – V had to pay off her mounting credit card bills. Working in the social sector does not pay, but it does give you a lot of time in hand. So I roped her in to do some free lance work for us.

Funny – when I got my first job, I was the envy of all and sundry. Someone at the time asked me how I got my job and of course there were rumours that there was a family backing, etc – I don't think anyone thought I was good enough to make it by myself (which is hilarious too – I wonder why). This person then told me to get her a job in my organization. I was 22 and didn't know what the hell to do (rhymes). So I evaded her completely.

Coming of age, eh?

Which reminds me the actual coming of age for me was at around age 13 (hello, hello, testing 1, 2, 3... readers to note: one keeps one's promises... this was something I had promised to write about here... so what - better late than never na). We had returned to school after three weeks of winter break. So naturally, the first night when we got back, we had lots to talk about. Three of us fitted ourselves into The World's Narrowest Bunk Bed and talked ourselves to sleep at about 3 am. Came morning, and obviously none of us heard the two rounds of alarm that rang twenty minutes form each other.

The warden had a bad case of arthritis and rarely came up to our floor. When she did, she left only after accomplishing something. Usually to do with her cane.

That morning, long past the time to get to school we were found missing and the warden came up to our dormitory to find the three of us squeezed in and still asleep.

What the alarms did not do, one rap of the warden's cane on the bed post did – and the three of us jumped off the bed – thankfully landed on our fours before we scrambled up and ran.

A foul-mouthed woman that she was, she screamed, "You lesbians!"

While my classmates scurried off to the loos, I stopped mid way. Always one with hunger for knowledge, I realised that this was something new.

I turned around, looked straight to her and said, "Miss... what's a lesbian?"

Let the next thirty seconds remain history – I can assure readers that I came unscathed but for the rest of the day I was the heroine of the batch – known to be able to buy time from a lioness. My persistent queries on what a lesbian could possibly be was seen as good humour – something I came to know about only much later.

Deadlines

2008-02-13T09:44:00.000+05:30

So in a discussion with V couple of weeks ago, we decided that if career could not be turned around to satisfactory levels by middle of this year, marriage should be a path to take.

What's the point of living the way we are, she said – I agreed.
Might as well give it all up.

So there you go. You are all invited – keep your social calendars free around August/ September.

When one is back... and one talks about books (and shirks away)

2008-02-11T11:47:00.000+05:30

Yes, yes, I am still around. Though with a high sense of lethargy hard to break away. While listening to Dylan and Belafonte.

I have been losing one pen drive after another. SO much that now I have become used to it.

Yes, one gets used to things no matter how bad the situation is. Hmm... I wonder when The Other S will be in town. I asked him to get me Bailey’s Irish Whiskey – the only Whiskey that I have, or rather, relish (heh).

I finally finished The Last Mughal – it had, I must say, one of the best written last pages. I am now on to another favourite writer – Ishiguro – A Pale View of the Hills.

He is my man of melancholy moments – I love the melancholy of his writing – a tinge of sadness that laces his writing, refusing to go... just that little bit... much like the tip of a needle against the skin that stays there, but does not go in. I bought the book last month when I was going through the unhappy phase of things – while trying to kill time at an airport and not think about how to kill myself, I picked up this book – the back said something about a suicide so it was a winner all the way.

Lets see... next in line in Ken Follett’s Man from St Petersburg – my first Follett – the man was definitely a looker at one point in time. After that, the Latino Man takes over with Innocent Erendira

Was out practically all day yesterday with V and tomorrow two friends are coming over and I will be cooking after a long long time. I like cooking.

What else.

The Sisterhood of Shattered Dreams

2008-01-16T12:08:00.000+05:30

This blog never really followed a timeline or any chronology of sorts. While this post has been on my mind for a few days now, so has so many other things. Its been almost a week that I have been sitting and brooding – and like alchemist fans will vouch – everything seems to just add up to the brooding – the sense of loss as well as defeat.

(I am not an alchemist fan - did not like it)

So usually it takes me about 20 minutes to half an hour to write up a post, I have been sitting with this for more than an hour and have gotten around to writing only so much. [For those with higher attention and curiosity to details: In between writing I have been working, reading Bollywood gossips, checking out random astrology forecasts (I call them horror-scopes) and chatting with people who are also stuck to their computers.]

***

I had earlier mentioned about my Pakistani flatmate on my blog, and well, the bittersweet relationship we shared (for example here and here).

I had been in touch with her on and off and conversations mostly bordered around… well, shattered dreams and aspirations.

We realised that while we had a singular common goal – of being free and independent, our approach to freedom and independence were very very different.

***

We were been born and raised in similar surroundings – outside of our countries of ethnic origin, even if not with the silver spoons constantly in our mouths, we were in relatively comfortable financial circumstances. We both were only children, relatively fine in academics, spoilt by parents and hated by relatives.

Still for S, the flatmate, her upbringing was more religious – so she did the namaz three times in a day, non-ethnic outfits gave her the high, but skin showing was strictly prohibited (so skirts would have to be teamed with knee high boots).

As it happened, I had a slightly more leisurely upbringing – parents just wanted to raise a whiz kid – nothing else really mattered. So as long as I brought the report card home with the right set of numbers, I was free to do whatever else I liked. I negotiated through my freedoms.

When S, the flatmate, and I met, it was a clash of civilizations. My friends dropped in at all odd hours and smoked and drank – which she took great offence to (and for which I refused to apologise). But then, she started wearing sleeveless clothes when she saw me wearing... well, let us not get into that.

At times of affections, she would defrost and cut my pepperoni pizza for me into small bite size pieces while I cribbed about the day, and watch me eat in the most matronly manner, at times even interrupting my flow to get me to eat.

Many nights were spent sitting on the floor of the corridor discussing studies, work, life, parents, marriage (I think both of us knew that we were doomed in some way or the other on that front).

Fears were discussed as well as aspirations – coming from a strict religious background, all she wanted was freedom to pursue a career – so she could show everyone that she was a man enough.

For me it was, and has always been, freedom meant that I was free to pursue anything I liked – career just happened to be incidental.

***

In the last conversation she said she was finally tying the knot.

It was a matter of fact statement, but knowing her as well as I do, I knew that she was shit scared – she values her independence as much as I do, and is perhaps as aggressive about protecting it as I am.

It will be an arranged marriage – as in her country and religion, someone from within the family.

So essentially, she has known the guy all along.

"O god, his sense of humour sucks," she told me, frustrated.

I made a few false noises at sympathy. But both of us knew that the situation is far… far far far from ideal.

Both of us are scared.

***

Incidentally, the Single Independent Career Woman has been on my mind of late.

S, the flatmate, known for her aggressive perusal of career confirms that she is perhaps also sick and tired of it.

She lamented that her to be husband may not be drawing enough (I will admit, it is not enough by any stretch of imagination – even if one were to include the benefits) for her to be able to quit.

"I will be the man of the household – God how I wish there was someone to take care of me instead."

Something I echo – in fact, possibly the only benefit I see of getting married is being able to stop working, to be able to put my feet up and not worry about filing tax returns – or even what I will eat tomorrow night.

***

I wonder: is this a reversal of feminism that we are facing here?

A situation where women who have been brought up relatively comfortably, a generation that has not seen a struggle for independence, women's right, relatively liberal upbringing - are asking for precisely that: just a comfortable life and nothing more than that? So while my mother laments at the loss of independence, I am more than happy to have my father pamper and do everything for me – why bother?

***

So its been almost a week when being alone has frightened me. So much that despite a lot of time in hands, I have not been reading – instead, I have been talking to all random people and at all possible waking hours (or watching sufficiently engrossing films).

Being alone reminds me of failures and defeats. Of dreams that I dreamt once, of all those things that I wanted to do, but have never been able to do.

Like maybe find that one person who will be worth giving everything up for?

***

So I have been warming up to the idea of arranged marriage – atleast I will be able to finish and finally receive my degree in French (Paris may never be within my reach again - maybe it was never meant to be?).

Maybe negotiating my way through life is the only way to get my freedom?

On blog death

2008-01-13T13:05:00.000+05:30

I might delete this blog.

An on screen death of sorts since I have miserably failed to do it in the offline world.

And what more... there is something which is in my control. My control, My click of mouse, at My finger tip.