The Shoe-side Story

So I like shoes. Big deal! I also like clothes. I like brands. I like a nice bag. So what?
So a few days ago I met these 2 friends and one of them ended up discussing something about colours and heels with me and the other one said “Please don’t sound like Barbie dolls. Please be normal”. Err… excuse me but being well dressed is abnormal?

I don’t understand this stereotype associated with women who like to shop. No, all of them are not full of fluff. And most of them are, in fact, people who earn well to shop well. I’ve always had a thing for footwear – when I was a student, it was my collection of Oshos and flip flops of all colours and since I started making money, I started collecting gorgeous heels from Aldo and Nine West and Charles & Keith etcetera etcetera! Does that make me any less smart? I don’t think so! I like to write and I love to read. Haruki Murakami sits on my bedside table as I type. Some Atwood is stacked up on the shelf. I just finished The Colour Purple. And there is the latest issue of Cosmo and Vogue that lives in my bathroom too. So why are people always equating fashion talks with lack of real brain? I don’t know!

The other day, my husband’s friend’s wife, who I am just beginning to hang with, dropped in and M mentioned that I show her my massive heel collection. I refused saying that “She needs to know me better or she will instantly judge me as some blonde who only buys shoes”. Why did I say that? I don’t know. But somehow, somewhere, even I am aiding this stereotype to thrive.

People really need to stop being so quick in judging. All coordinated women are not dumb and all messy ones are not geniuses. Just like people need to abandon the stereotype of all feminists being manly, aggressive and short haired, more people also need to stop associating fashion with stupidity and high heels with blondeness.

Everyone has pretty feet. I think its time every woman starts buying herself some really sexy high heels and adopt my mantra – “Have pedicure. Wear Heels.”

Cross Legged Thoughts

I sit at my desk, bring the lazy white-butt cigarette to my lips, inhale, shut my eyes, exhale, open my eyes and pop in a dark chocolate. Ummmm. But I am not completely comfortable yet. So I cross my legs, struggling to fit into the tricky wheeled chair and start typing and thinking and smoking and typing – all at once.
I like sitting cross-legged I realise. I do it when I type, I prefer the sofa side in a restaurant so I can cross my legs and eat, I like to cross my legs while I pray, I don’t mind being the only person in the house-party who volunteers to sit on the floor in the absence of enough seating space, I also like sitting like that in the car, at my office desk, at casual meetings, at a jenga game and anywhere else that it is possible. Give me my comfort position and I am happy.

Anyhow. So I quit my job – walked away a job that allowed me to slot and choose and watch movies and give promo briefs with a very comfortable routine & with weekends off. For many it was a dream job – ‘Wow, you work at Zee Studio. That must be fun. Blah. Blah’. Yes, so it was initially – and then monotony set in and frustration of not being able to do what I like bugged me enough to just leave. Recession, bad economy, rising prices aside, I still feel that I am meant to work somewhere where it allows me to write. I may be wrong you know – I may be really bad, maybe no one wants to give me a chance or a job, maybe if I attempt to write a book I will get dismally rejected by the publishers, maybe if I try my hand at a magazine I will suffer from a writer’s block on a daily basis. OR maybe I am good, maybe practice will make me better, maybe I do start doing what I actually enjoy and not go to office to just do a damn ‘job’. But we won’t know till we try, right?

Parents threw a fit when I decided – and it wasn't an easy decision, mind you – it gets very comfortable to work in a place which gives you such flexibility and such fun colleagues and you get into a comfort zone after 2 years in an office – where you know everyone and everyone knows you (at least by face if not by virtue). The chai wala knew exactly how I take mine, the canteen people were habituated by my sugarless mosambi juice, the ex-boss knew me inside out and became my agony aunt plus mentor plus super friend, the colleagues knew my quirks, the common enemies were identified, the confidants selected– its not easy to think of starting afresh – new desk, new people, new colleagues, new unknown devils, new café menu, new area, new afternoon lunch places, new roads, new bathrooms, new dress codes and more than all that, a new profile altogether. So I think it was a brave, brave step towards at least attempting to find my calling. If I fail there are always more similar jobs, if I don’t then hurrah for the switch. But then again, what else is life if not a series of heartbreakingly tough risks?

I can take this risk because M is with me – here, there or anywhere. I get encouraged to pursue literature because Miss P is there to yell at me and make me see sense. I feel confidant to take this step because my brother who is 19 acts like he is 39 and says he will stand by me come-what-may. I feel incredibly lucky & blessed. Many people have to do a 9-5 job – some like it, some don’t, some do it by choice, some don’t, some need the position, some need the money and some just need to keep themselves occupied. I need neither and if I don’t make the effort now to do what I like, then I would be a complete idiot.

So here’s a toast - to new ventures, new people, new workstations and many many new words.
It’s a new beginning in my life. All good wishes (and maybe some leads) would be appreciated!

From the Diary of a Newly Wed

I’ve set out with a very hopeful heart to resurrect my blog. It’s been minutes, hours, days & months. Either I am suffering from the longest writer’s block ever or there is nothing exciting enough to write about. I’d imagine it’s the first. Mainly because since I have stopped writing, the following things happened:
1. A 50 days long vacation
2. A bachelorette party
3. A wedding
4. A honeymoon
5. Moving into a new house
6. Starting life over
Whew! And what a journey all of this has been.

First of all, the myth of post-married life has been killed in my head. No, it is not restricting or stifling or a loss of identity or a distancing from friends. In fact it is anything but that. It’s lovely, refreshing, stable and I love coming back home to a friend. I feel like I’m dating the man I married & that makes every day exciting & every dinner, a date.
So in a nutshell, I recommend marriage to anyone.

I am married. But I don’t feel married. I still have my last name. I still wear my jeans, tshirt & coordinated chappals. I still talk to my friends as much. I still party. I party more. I still drink. I drink more. I still go to work, come back, watch tv, chill & laze around with my husband, M.

I used to think love is overrated. Now I think marriage is underrated. For me, marriage has been a surprise – all preconceived notions have fallen flat on my face, all apprehensions disappeared. I think it’s mostly to do with M, who has ensured happiness & madness to continue & multiply in my life. I think I have been incredibly lucky and in the rush to catch up with the new life & the new luck, I have not written a single line in the salad. I have been running around, working like a cow because of the damn recession, partying like a rockstar on weekends to temporarily forget recession, stocking up my beloved kitchen, putting lamps in corners & feeding every single soul who happens to drop in.

Yes, life has been good. The blog has been resurrected. And you are invited to a meal if you happen to come by my new home.

I will keep adding portions of my life to the salad platter. Between love, life, work & marriage, I will write again. :)

Diya Battis & the Sparkling Night

Its past 12 am, Diwali is over but the diyas are still warm and the warmth passes onto my hand as I hold it gently. Patches of colourful wax lumps decorate the ledge of my balcony. The smell of crackers is still in the air. The kaju barfis lie on the table, with the dry fruits and the colourful, bit-too-shiny gift packs. The rangoli I made at the entrance is smudged a bit, but looks pretty – the diya on it has somehow not died yet – it faintly throws light, illuminates it, stays like a faithful caretaker.

We didn’t socialize too much this year. We reached home for Diwali at 7 pm – Simla is cold, I was wearing a cardigan, a thick oversized sweatshirt and shivering to death – I think it was my open feet – mom used to say that if you keep your feet warm, your entire body will be warm – and yet I am a fan of open footwear via which I exhibit my perfectly pedicured feet and hence literally get cold feet.

Utter chaos broke at home henceforth – mom trying to get us to have a bath after the long journey, we cringing at the thought of a bath in this weather, getting the mandir ready for puja, making me look presentable for the colony aunties (ew how much I despise them), rushing to make the alpana and the rangoli, dad and brother taking charge of the diyas and candles and amidst it all, the house-help Minnie being the most in demand from all areas! But all in one hour flat we managed to do it all – and had a decent diwali after all.

Diwali for me has always been a riveting point in my life – something significant has always happened – some realities acknowledged, some realizations dawned, some hearts broken, some resolutions mended, some priorities reordered – Diwali has always managed to make me grow a year wiser if not older, and a tad more worldly yet optimistic. Diwali has always been a festival of joy. Diwali has always lingered in me longer than any other festival – like the colourful lamp that will hang in the balcony and fade slowly until next Diwali arrives.

To Thee I Tag...

The Rules:
People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by them.
People who have been tagged must Tag 6 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Spread the love?

The Tag:

1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?
I will make him fall in love with me all over again, get him to be needy, puppy eyed, weak and then ditch the cheater!
2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?
My brother making it to his dream college, and then getting whatever he wants in life and being the happiest man on earth.
3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
Many butts without taking any if’s and buts. :D
4. What would do with a billion dollars?
Buy my parents a beeeeeg beeeeeg car, get my mom a dishwasher, buy my brother everthing that has the lovely apple marked on it, get myself a wardrobe the size of a room (before buying a big house that is) and then fill the whole damn thing!
5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
That’s a subjective question…what kind of love are we talking about here – yes I love my best friend Miss P, and no, I am not gay.
6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Being loved. Anyday. Anytime. Anyway. Anyhow.
7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
The wait is over folks! But generally, I'm an impatient person.
8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
I don’t think I am qualified for this tag anymore. But hypothetically speaking – I will ignore it and move on.
9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Gender equality, working for the girl child, women development – you get the drift, don’t you?
10. What takes you down the fastest?
Unconditional affection – ask my friends how I turn putty in the hands of a little TLC.
11. Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?
In happy-land
12. What’s your fear?
Supernatural creatures? Eh. And sometimes my own destructive self.
13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Vanilla Sky - Free. Independent. Refreshing.
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Neither. Married and Rich. I’m telling you – one can really have it all! :D
15. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
That’s a stupid, childish, school-crush-type question. No comments.
16. Would you give all in a relationship?
Most but not all.
17. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
No. If the horrible meter reached the line of limit then fuck you and your existence.
18. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
In a relationship. I feel stable and sane.
19. List of 6 people to tag:
Miss P, Nimpipi, YouDay, oh my god I don’t have any more blogger friends. I am officially depressed.

G’Bye.

Wake me up when September ends

It doesn’t rain too much Mumbai anymore. And I slimily miss that about the city. In fact, it hardly did rain at all this season – and now September shall end and monsoon is over. I like the rains – maybe because I stay, nestled safely in South Bombay, where a rainy day only means going out in flip-flops and life goes on as usual – no wading in the knee-deep water logging, no autos chugging and suddenly dying on me, no slish-slosh of the mucky stations – only the turbulent, gorgeous sea, cutting chai at Marine drive, watching the rain drops make a pretty pattern on my office window, and letting the light “barber-shop-like” spray come in my room at night with the thanda-thanda breeze. So yes, I guess monsoon for me has been nice – starting from the first day when the downpour came sans warning and I got drenched and ended up buying an over-priced umbrella on the road which broke in the next 10 days – to last evening, when I actually liked getting a bit wet in the rain and didn’t run indoors.
I usually don’t like getting wet in the rain, mostly because my hair gets frizzy and I can sometimes be quite a vanity case. But last night I let the big droplets just crash onto me indulgently while I continued to walk at my own slow speed. Also, the other day, I loved getting wet in the rain and imagined that it made my skin glow. For some odd reason, the rain has been a very cathartic force in my life of late – I let myself go when the waterdrops start to hit me, raise my chin up and let the water splash on my face, sometimes spread my arms very filmy ishtyle – and feel cleansed and lighter and happier after that.
Its become such a habit to hear the water lashing at my window on some nights, or to wake up to a really fresh day, to be pleasantly surprised and sometimes rudely shocked at its unpredictability, to know that ‘ohhhkay today is my converse chappals day’ and decide not to see the face of my new silver satin buhloody expensive heels till every bit of the water in the sky dries up. I am so used to my rainy season gear- the capris and the non-white tshirts, my retro flowery umbrella which is a permanent resident of my bag, a bright red plastic-ey scrunchie and the rubbery sole chappals, that seeing the season faze away is almost depressing me. What also adds to the misery is the fact that I am going to hit mid-20’s soon. I think I’d rather have slept the month away.
Wake me up when September ends?

Paranoid Android

I left the iron on for 2 hours today and then writhed in guilt. I do such things often and am always paranoid if I have left a tap open and will have to come back to a flooded house. Sometimes when I hear noises, I am almost always sure it is one member of the army of mice under my floor (discounting the fact ofcourse that I live on the 7th floor), and then I switch on the light to see a polythene bag doing rounds of the room aided by the fan overhead. I have a Velcro-detachable net at the window – once upon a time a fat rat had entered the room and I cannot think of a more horrifying thing to have happened to me ever. I also look around the pot a little bit before settling there for a long period of time – once a pigeon had entered the toilet and hid herself cleverly in one corner and had chosen to make her presence felt at a very wrong time. Since then that corner of the loo had been sealed with ply and I am at peace again. My window sills and cupboard tops also have egg shells delicately placed in corners – I am paranoid about lizards too, and for that one can’t blame me or my paranoia against creepy-crawly creatures because in the days of my glorious under-grad, a lizard had dropped on my shoulder when I was rushing through the English corridor for an exam and one superstitious lady told me “its lucky”…lucky my arse…I don’t remember how I fared in the exam but I definitely remember the sick feeling of the cold creature. I think animals make me nervous – sometimes humans do too – but animals win the cup there. Its so difficult to figure out their next move – a bird would charge at anything to get out of the room, a rat would hide anywhere so it doesn’t get killed, a cat would sneak off through any corner of the room – one doesn’t see humans do that very often – like I know my mom wont go and sit on the stove one fine day and that my brother wont crash his way out of our glassroom just because he wanted to fly. In that way though humans are more credible. But the minds of both are as twisted – animals more so coz god only knows what they are thinking.
I especially dislike cats – the look slimey and sneaky to me – one cannot trust a cat. And that why I try staying away from Ms.P’s backyard when I am in her house – she is never short of cats taking refuge in her humble home and I am never short of crinkling my nose in disapproval and part-terror. I don’t mind dogs though – only because they are supposed to be loyal to the limit of stupidity – sometimes I think I am like that with my friends – I’d partner in a murder someday with a select few of my women if I have to – I just pray that day doesn’t arrive.

What else am I paranoid about except leaving gadgets on, blowing up the geyser and subsequently the house, creating flood, having rats and birds and lizards in my vicinity and losing all my hair? Oh I am also paranoid about not having a pair of red chappals and a red bag always and always. I am also scared I will run out of ideas one day. I am also paranoid that what if my marriage doesn’t work. I am also freaked out about gaining a kilo after paying a bomb to the gym. I also get very cranky when I miss the trailers before a film starts and also when the yolk gets even slightly overcooked. I am very paranoid about my brother taking the cycle everyday to his tuition. I am also paranoid about getting pedicures once a month come what-the-fuck may. I think I am generally paranoid. But I also think this keeps me very occupied, sometimes gives me a sense of being, of doing and of getting done to. It makes me feel important and sometimes makes the smallest of events important and the drabbest of evenings exciting. Why would people want to be calm and laid back all the time? I would die of boredom. I like being called ‘the Paranoid Android’ by my best friend. Paranoia is the new entertainment. I think somehow I really like paranoia.