In boredom, do what the bored do.

Listening to Black Eyed Peas. Such mood music, aren’t they? Most fun. Jumpy. Silly. Fun fun fun!!!
All alone at home. Not because I don’t have an option of going out but because I don’t feel like. Pmsing, am I? Maybe. I don’t know. Confused. Restless. So writing right now.
So many things to do. Like read this new Atwood book I have bought dirt cheap from a second hand bookstore. How kicked was I when I got it. I should read it, no? I love Atwood. And surprisingly more than anything, I love her short stories. “Rape Fantasy” was one of her finest – so plain, so direct, so simple, yet so beautiful. The last few lines say:
“… Like how could a fellow do that to a person he’s just had a long conversation with, once you let them know you’re human, you have a life too, I don’t see how they could go ahead with it, rite? I mean, I know it happens but I just don’t understand it, that’s the part I really don’t understand”
For reasons inexplicable, it hit me harder than any other literature on rape or child abuse. Harder than Virani’s Bitter Chocolate even. Maybe because of the flat tone – no anger, no menace – just flat and dulled and matter of factly.

---- spoke to Pix. Spoke about what’s to come, life back there. Joy. Smiles. Content. Happy sigh -------

Where was I? Was I anywhere at all? Nowhere I think. Just somewhere randomly rambling on because I have nothing else to do.
And I have been thinking, yet again, about him. He is scum mostly. Not because he has done something. But of the way he is as a person. Double faces. Multiple personality disorder, surely! So different when with me. Such a pretentious creep when with his gang of friends. Trying to do what? Prove a point? Be someone he isn’t? and even if that’s who he is, then why all the pretence when with me. Who is he really? Bah – again – I don’t wish to know.

I cannot stop counting. Parents are going to be disappointed if I am in Delhi with a lower pay pack. But what’s more important again? – money or warm honest people? I prefer the latter thank you very much. I am not him, I will never be.

I can’t decide whether I am a good person or a bad person. I mean ofcourse I know “shades of grey” and all that jazz. But no one can also be perfectly grey I think. You have to have a shade tipping towards some side – white or black…where do I fall? I would like to think it’s the lighter side – but people here definitely seem to think otherwise. And then again – when did these people start to matter? These, who I will not stay in touch voluntarily with. These, who I don’t like and who don’t like me. These, who don’t like me because they don’t know me and that’s supposed to be my problem? I care a hoot. My bracket stays intact and life is good. Entries closed. I think I have enough pillars to fall on albeit in other cities – but 8 weeks is hardly any time compared to what I have been through and how much. Internship taught me a huge lesson – don’t even trust them who claimed once to be your closest friend, for after under-grad, it is all one big façade and I don’t want to be a part of that masquerade anymore.

Definitions of happiness is also so subjective right? To find someone whose definition and ideas match with yours is a blessing. I am still waiting for my boon to hit my head!
Told my childhood friend today “I want to get married” – he reacted by saying “don’t marry someone you don’t love”. I like his optimism, his hopeless belief in the idea of togetherness and unconditional love. He has been blessed – he is the lucky one, I may not be. Who knows? So do we keep waiting? And for how long? Don’t we take the easier way out and marry convenience? Aren’t we all human? And on top of that I am also worried that beauty, the transient companion, shall cheat on me - the hair shall fall and fly into space unknown, the eyes shall be gifted with everlasting bags, the boobs shall not defy gravity anymore, the arms may not be as taut as they were, the voice as youthful, the tummy may turn from plateau to mound – and then marriage shall also be something you waited for all your life. Will I become Miss Havisham? Except that the only thing that would cheat on me would be hope and age? Sigh! I don’t know. Overthinking. Overanalysing. Overtyping maybe? Exceeding the limit? Boring you, is it? Do I care? No, this is my space. Let me scribble. Let me type. Theres nothing else to do right now, except another number from the Black eyed peas.

What a name to have? Bizarre sells, doesn’t it? Black eyes peas. It is almost graphic. So vivid. I can actually imagine peas peeping out of their pods with an eye each. Yuck. Gross. Scary even. Aberration of normality. But what’s normal? – yet another subjective bugger?

I am hungry now. Hungry and angry. They rhyme? No? Sort of?...hungry….hmmm …angry…mmmm? No! They don’t. Bah! Just like everything else – nothing is in a flow anymore, not even words.

I think I am bored now. And arms seems to be getting tired. Non-stop this excursion has been – except one break ofcourse, that I have humbly mentioned. This is bad though, I mean do arms tire so fast or it is just the beginning of this phenomenon I dread called ‘age’? No! No! No more shall I think so much. And as always, go and grab the moment – or atleast some grub.
Tummy growls. Dinner beckons. Song ends.

Nonsensical thoughts of a bored hungry chick

This morning while I went about ransacking the kitchen for some food, a thought simmered and presented itself to me.
What’s the big deal about going out and eating together when you are serenading a creature of the opposite sex? And if you actually sit and think about it deeper still, every meal seems to have a different connotation. But I shall refrain from making generalised statements and my sample study area would be my dating scenario and my friend’s days of wooing wonder (past and present)!

Coffee constitutes the first few dates of “getting to know each other”…the baristas and the coffee days of the world seem to be thriving on this initial phenomenon of gender interaction. The attire will be casual yet sexy. The mood will be light yet some flirting will prevail in the air. So when a guy asks you out for coffee, a thought floats in the air along with that caffeinated aroma – is he interested?

Then comes the crucial dinner date (that is if you like the person enough to graduate onto that level) – dinner speaks for two things –
1. I am seriously interested in you.
Or
2. I am seriously interested in sleeping with you…
Smart women know one from the other while few assume the first and that, for the guy, is the easy licence to step onto the second thing.
For me personally, dinner used to be a marginally big deal until I came to this city where I never got free before 8 so even a casual outing constituted for dinner and hence it lost its novelty and importance. But from the past experience, the prelude to the grand dining included the whole dressing up just right – u know the not-too-flashy yet not-too-casual styles, spritzing the right amount of fragrance, as to not take it over the top and choke the guy, do the whole subtle yet obvious technique and all that jazz. And at dinner – throwing the right lines, not giving away too many details about yourself, never touching the ‘ex’ topic initially and definitely not even thinking remotely about the future! Dinner dates sometimes follow the infamous coffee, sometimes the lingering kiss, sometimes (and mostly in my case), a firm handshake and a wide smile followed by a message maybe. But whatever the case may be, dinner dates are detrimental for further alliance with that person!

However, I think that a breakfast date is more intimate than a dinner date (and I surely don’t mean breakfast in bed) – I think that it takes a certain comfort level to set in to be able to make an effort for an early Sunday breakfast, the whole scrubbed clean fresh morning look when yellow dinner lights are not there to hide your facial flaws, when eggs and milk and juice and pancakes can be gorged upon without any qualms and when a bad hair day doesn’t bother you as much.
Lunch, for me, is the stage when a certain closeness sets in – enough to make time for lunch or rather make an effort to get out of work for an hour (for I am the kind that advocates canteens and deliveries at the place where your daily routine holds itself)

But in all these cases, dates are essentially made of food – dinner, lunch, breakfast or coffee – food builds up relationships – maybe because the tastes may find itself in commonality – or maybe because taking out time apart from the routine things are increasingly not possible – so if a date can merge itself with one of your meals for the day, then why not.
I don’t know why are dates and food so related – convenience or the burgeoning restaurants and diners that create the mood? Common hunger or the fact that full tummies are equivalents of happy moods? – I don’t really know and do I really care – as long as my tummy sings of multi-cuisinal joy and my head has been replenished with some entertainment of sorts, let the mocha flow my dear friend, and bring on the main course!