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.

My Cuppa Chai

Green & Mint tea makes me sleep well. I realized this when I woke up last night because of some inexplicable anxiety and had to brew myself a cup to soothe my jangling nerves down. After that I pretty much slept like a baby and woke up late. Why late? Because the aromatic lopchu tea reached my bedside late. And hence I realized that I am, my dear friends, totally addicted.

I can’t seem to wake up without tea. I get cranky in the evening if I haven’t got my cuppa chai. And I crave for mint tea whenever I feel uneasy – which by the way is fantastic if you make it like this:

One bag of Twinings Mint & Green tea
5-6 twigs of fresh mint leaves
Sugar / sugarfree
One mug of water.

Boil water. Put twigs in the mug. Put the tea bag and sugar. Add hot water. Let it brew for about a minute, stir with the twigs, let them stay there and sip - voila!! – life is good and soooo peaceful for the next few minutes.

That’s why I love Cha Bar – and leave no opportunity to go there on weekends - sit and sip on a cup of fine Darjeeling 2nd flush and then order some strangely concocted margarita tea and then graduate to makaibari and finish with the classic cutting masala chai. No I kid you not, I do this often – I can have innumerable number of tea cups in a day – the more the merrier.

Tea centre at Churchgate is shut for a while. I am one of the many tea-lovers waiting so badly for it to reopen – so badly that I try crossing it every time I go to colaba – even if it’s a detour – just hoping that one day the lovely old warm building with open itself to me again.

Green tea, herbal tea, mint tea, apple tea, peach tea, ice tea, masala tea, Darjeeling and assam, earl gray and Ceylon, Chinese tea, jasmine tea, any tea at all...
Its like if Heath Ledger woke up from the dead and asked me “Coffee, Tea or Me?”, without a wink of doubt it would be "Tea"!

To Phases and Sales and Steam Baths!

A long inexplicable gap has happened in my excursion of nonsensical, inconsequential writing. Meanwhile many things have happened in the life of the not-so-rich and the not-so-ordinary me. I have got engaged. This post announces it formally to my world and the world beyond.

Yes yes the big BIG step has been taken, the promises exchanged and we are halfway there – there where I thought I would never reach – the land of non-singledom and the island of serious commitment. (which by the way does not imply that I will not have my girls nights out and my drinking sessions, so please to be inviting me over as regularly as you always did!). The boy is a family friend’s son and to cut a long story short, it’s been a good journey so far and this has sorted my head the way I never expected it to. (Oh and yes, the mystery behind me staying back in Mumbai and not making that Delhi change is now a mystery no more)…! So with that in order, and the virtual announcement over with, let’s get on to the other exciting things that have happened around me!

Everything went on sale…and I mean everything! Suddenly I transformed from the serious office going woman to a shop hopper getting fantastic deals and burning my bank balance away. With Nike and Reebok also being on sale (apart from that many lovely prêt lines) made me finally join a gym again – and seriously at this time and one that thankfully stays open till late night – its been 15 glorious days and I have gone every single day. But I do think that the steam room is the real motivation behind it all – where I bask in for 15 minutes almost daily and come out feeling like a momo!

It’s a good phase – happy things have been happening around me. Two very dear friends of mine have had some pretty good changes in their lives too. While one has taken a solid friendship of many years and finally turned it into a relationship, another very close friend has found her passion for the subject she will now indulge into with a huge hearty dive! The now-turned-girlfriend is all cheery and happy and I lurve hearing her that way – and her skin is glowing and her voice has that ring to it and I couldn’t be happier or approve more! The other academically inclined one is going to get into heavy time reading and research and interpretations and is actually going to enjoy it and I am already looking forward to hearing all about it and wishing I were there too! My life is all hunky-dory except a little crap and tension at work – but when have I ever taken my work seriously, I ask thee… as long as I get to wear what I like, take my random breaks, listen to music and get paid for some creative input that suddenly struck me one evening, I am fine and dandy!

Monsoon is playing hide and seek with the city these days. One day it decides to drench the suburbs and lets the town go to work only to come back feeling silly about going anyway! Another day it is so hot in the morning that one could die and by afternoon, when the team finally decides to go for the sea-food lunch, its raining so much that the water is upto our knees and we are hoping to wade our way back to office. Also, the wind, the damn wind has done something strange to my retro pink flowery umbrella and now when I try to open it, sometimes it just jumps out of my hand like a ninja with a life of its own and goes and hits the person standing in front! I am fed up… so fed up with this rainy madness that I can’t wait for the non-wintery winter to arrive in this sauna-like-city! Wake me up when September comes?

Now my stomach is growling and I suddenly remember that I have forgotten to have dinner. Woe is me! So I am going to go poke my head in the fridge for some hot milk and you may please continue with the comments.

*Silent prayer sent up so that the phase continues* - To happiness and joy and many more such phases!

Everyday

You know how it is when it rains and you shoot it with macro lenses in high speed – every droplet looks like a shimmery globe that gently crashes onto you and bursts into a million beads. That’s how I see the rain – like bits of diamonds indulgently sprinkling from the skies. My headphones are big and shut out the world – shuts out the noise of the keyboard, shuts out the colleague who munches all day on chips, shuts me out and transports me to a space where nobody can enter. That is why I chose the workstation at the window – I love looking out – when it rains and the whole world is sparkling and the crow is splashing itself, when the sun shines and the warm yellow satin sheet bathes you, when the sky is gray and cold and stunningly menacing.

Today is just another day of the week. Everything will be the same. The way to office. The strangers in the subway. The work routine. The people. The timings. The only thing that changes is the weather. I hardly think we are limited to only the four seasons. I think there are thousands of them. Everyday when I look at the sky, it looks new. Everyday the clouds form new faces. Everyday the sun teases me differently, the rains splash me in a new way, the breeze makes my hair knot itself in assorted ways. Everyday is a new season.

Monsoon Memories and the 2 Ladies

I’ve been accused of not writing of late. It isn’t my fault really – work has been hectic and I have dedicated my free time to the pursuit of film watching. I’ve seen depressing ones, and brainless chick flicks, and nail-biting adventure, and the ones with mind games, and the ones with ‘only’ conversations and the ones you just watch because there is nothing else to watch. I recommend Lemony Snicket's: A Series of Unfortunate Events, that I watched the 2nd time over. The rest of them were crap and mostly not great. Oh and the recent film P.S. I Love You – didn’t impress me expect that one scene where the 2 walk together in Ireland. So yes, that’s why I’ve been busy and also I have got a haircut after weeks of contemplating to get one. Yes I like it, its mad and untidy and I feel a tad younger again. (things people do when they are heading for the big quarter of a century, I say).

Apart from that, I’m looking for a flat. I’m having space issues. I’m feeling unloved. I’m missing my ma. I’m buying too much red. I'm addicted to mint tea. I’m looking to buy flip-flops. And yes, monsoons have returned with all its flourish and nuisance. Though some days I really love the city – the breeze is cool and the leaves are greener – but on other days, I miss my regular bhelpuri wala who seems to have disappeared thanks to the constant pouring and the occasional flooding.

Yesterday, Mumbai was sinking, official holiday was declared after I already landed up in office (this only happens to me), roads were blocked and the news channels took great pleasure in over-hyping the whole situation. And they do that so much – every time the usual clogging, blocking, splashing, showering happens, the aaj taks of the world exaggerate it to “Floods in Mumbai – Daily Routine Stopped” blah blah – and thanks to that my relatives / friends / everyone who hasn’t ever stayed in Mumbai calls and asks me if I am safe and in my 7th floor home, safe from the torrential downpour and the watery menace! And to think today we are ALL back in office again and the sun was out at 10 am – too much fuss over nothing!

But monsoons always makes me nostalgic – last year I shared the season with Miss P who had to brave the Dadar ka keechad daily and who underwent multiple pedicures with me and Nimpipi with her banana chappals walking tall in the mucky Chruchgate station and hollering at me to stop popping open the damn umbrella at every slight drizzle, and many others who are not as significant enough to make me still smile at a year old memory. Sigh. And this monsoon I feel rather lonely – I crave for company to go to Cha Bar (yes Nimps, I finally found where it is and have been haunting it with its 86 flavours of tea ever since), I miss someone to sit at the special table at Mondys and sharing a beer with, I miss just staying in my room with hot tea and endless things to chat about, I miss taking a walk on Marine Drive talking about everything clean and dirty – so yes, I miss my lady friends and they both had to go away to Delhi. Woe is me!

But it’s Mumbai for another 2 years and we shall be brave and we shall send out weepy-needy holiday invitations to them – come back, come for a while, come for ever, come visit, come stay, come and stuff some memories in my box again, come before the monsoon season is gone!

Rain, Ghettos, Sex and the City

So I don’t care what the critics say and how so many people are “apparently” disappointed by the film. I thought it was pretty darn great and I loved every minute of Sex and the City.

So my lovely Friday went like this – was supposed to go to Filmcity to see a set – that initial plan, getting cancelled, prompted me to hurriedly book the seats online, after which the day dragged ooh, ever so slowly. A courier at office greeted my post mid-day and VOILA, someone had sent me the first very difficulty pirated version of the film itself – the audio of which is not audible at all – but oh the gesture – I was thrilled with the whole “it’s the thought that counts” angle to it! And then the day dragged even slower than before – the hours to the film were killing me – until my friend and I decided to while away time very productively.

And hence we hit Ghettos – and downed whisky and vodka and sort of snacked on half a plate of French fries and then hopped into a taxi to head to the far-far-away land of virtual New York. Reached dot on time – zipped into the hall which obviously had more than enough SATC fans just waiting for the film to begin!

So all the waiting and all the anticipation and all the longing to just watch my favourite 4 women on screen, come to terms with their mid-life crisis and joy, was so totally worth every penny of the 270 bucks I spent on the “Platinum” bloody ticket at Metro Adlabs. Yes, the hall was filled with groups of women and some victimised men who were dragged by their women, but I was pleasantly surprised to see some men flock the cinema hall sans their women - I guess seeing the packed hall on a very rainy Friday night was proof enough of its huge cult status! So yes, I got totally Carrie-d away and joyously so!

No spoilers here – I’m not going to even attempt giving away the story (though yes, its so goddamn predictable) – or start typing a review – I am just going to gloat in the fact that I managed to catch it on the first day and now, I sit in my room, a happy woman who has seen the best chick-flick till date!
And before I sound too fluffy or pink, yes I also watch the Bergmans and the Kurosawas of the world – and Godard being my favourite – Fellini comes a close second – but let me just say – we all have our little indulgences, and sex and the city tops my list! And the shoes, oh the shoes… those heels are droolworthy – I totally had a brainlessly good time there and I could do this again any day of any week!

And did I mention, how my eventful day ended? Reached home – happy and very celluloid stricken – and it started pouring like crazy. The house was empty – and then a call “We are stuck in rain, can you get a taxi and help?” – I panicked and in my typical “I will save the world” syndrome, wore my rain friendly chappals, short skirt and braved with a huge umbrella in one hand and three in the other, to rescue my relatives from the rain. No taxi, no nothing – finally managed to get one to drive me almost till where they were – sent back due to knee deep water level and then the bumblebee taxi gave up on me – “paani ghus gaya madam”, he apologetically said to me…my heart sank – the water was gushing and rushing and the current trying to work totally against me – with my oversized rainbow coloured umbrella, I just about managed to wade my way home and wondered what must happen in the suburbs if Malabar hill is like this! Anyway, the thought didn’t stay in my head for long – much as most thoughts don’t – and then I came home, cleaned up, dried up and now I sit in front of my laptop while the rain lashes angrily at my window – the wind is lovely, the song that is playing is that funny song by Rihanna who keeps repeating the “ella” in the umbrella – yes I find it totally senseless, but its raining and I like to hear about her umbrella or any umbrella for that matter – Travis is next on the playlist with “Why does it always rain on me” followed by CCR “have you ever seen the rain’. Any more rainy song suggestions? Talking of songs, I totally have to download the soundtrack of Sex and the City – I can’t seem to stop talking about it, can I? – well, expect a hangover for a while – till another movie takes my fancy, or I become too lazy to care!

The End. (in pink glittery fonts) :)

Divine Secrets of the Yap-Yap Sisterhood

A friend called me in last evening – she’s been married a few months – and lamented about her already unexciting sex life. And then some details followed, and by the end of it, I was in splits and trying to help her with fundas that I religiously pick from Cosmo. And this morning then another friend called who had had fantastic sex all weekend and but ofcourse, I had to hear all about it – some parts I was indifferent to, some I didn’t need to know, some I couldn’t care more about. But discussed it was and discussed it always is. And much to many boyfriends / husbands / lovers’ disapproval of this exercise, it is the practiced norm and the fact of the matter is that it’s as common as discussing what to eat for dinner.

Pajama nights start the habit I suppose – from flimsy boy talk we graduate to the relationship discussions and then we move up to the gender talk plane – where everything becomes generic and suddenly all men seem alike, much as all problems.

But more than boy talk and all that insignificant crap, there is a lot of sharing and support there – and a need to have those pillars… I hardly know of any woman who doesn’t have her thick group of lady-bugs to buggy them through the bad times and the good. And no wonder that Sex and the City does so well – its like dejavu – with the moments of “oh my god, we have had this exact conversation somewhere”!

I guess the slumber parties I’ve had and the girls nite outs I insist on has incited much curiosity amongst my male friends – some have said they’d give anything to become invisible and sit through the conversations, some have tried to bribe me into keeping the phone on to let the secrets out (fat chance!!) while some have just shrugged their shoulders and said “god only knows what you girls do in there”. Its probably equivalent to the male-locker-room talk – except that, I am told, men never get as close and as detailed with their friends as women do. Yes? No? Any comments there?

Men have close friends – but mostly it’s an unspeakable bond (or so I have been told) – but I don’t see how watching cricket together or downing litres of beers make you any closer to the other. How much of talk is really there I wonder. The man-to-man talk somehow has never impressed me. It seems….well… not as strong as female bonding.

But then again, I can’t comment coz I probably can’t understand how they bond as much as they can’t understand how we share such intimate details. To each his own and to each her own I suppose. I am terribly grateful to have the ‘ladies incorporated’ in my life and must I say, life would have been very unpleasantly different without them.

And like Carrie says “Life doesn’t always turn out to be your fantasy – that’s why you need friendships that are real to get you through it all”
So here’s to my fabulous women folk and my lady bugs – Cheers to our divine sisterhood and love to you all!

The Alcoholic Smoker

Weekend was just about okay. Some issues bogged me down. The tearjerker me resurfaced. Then I slept over my problems all Sunday. And woke up at 6pm ready to get drunk.
So the plan happened – P, the old friend has returned from London – had a short stint and Mumbai and relocated in Delhi – so he was in town and we went to Hard Rock Café.

Black tunic with red tube, black capris and blood red heels – I felt very Carrie – walked into a surprisingly empty Hard Rock and started the good ol’ catching up over LITs and Mojitos – was initially very disappointed with the strange Arabic music they were playing and then Teenage Wasteland changed the mood and the usual charm to the place was back. Jackie Shroff walked in looking very stoned – he has no neck anymore, really he doesn’t – his head ends and his shoulders start – it’s hilarious – he looks like one of those Russian dolls that have a round head attached to a round body! Being amply amused by him and getting reprimanded by my friend for being “oh-ever-so-mean”, I went back to my paneer shashlik and some strange crispy chicken things. The main highlight of the evening however was the fire-extinguisher shaped lighter that a friend has gifted me and that attracted all the waiters to my table – they swooned and they held it while I fashionably lit up a cigarette and smiled politely at them. P called me an “alcoholic smoker” – yes so I am the type that smokes ONLY when I drink and I follow it as a rule – and no, I don’t drink daily – its more of a once in 15 days phenomenon – so technically I maintain the fact that I don’t smoke. I am a non-smoker, I am I am! *stands at her balcony and shouts out loud*

I think along with Mondy’s, this will be another place I’ll miss when I am back in Delhi. But Café Morrison mostly makes up for the latter – nothing can replace Mondy’s though – and good ol’ Huxley throwing out the letchy man who winked at my friend! Mostly I will miss the jukebox – and my favourite song when I am down many beers – High by Lighthouse Family! I shall miss! I shall miss so much!!

But enough about getting nostalgic already – here I am not even close to getting a job in Delhi and I am talking about missing Mumbai. Shee. Must not and shall not count the chickens before they hatch… for now, the summer of this city and the monsoon that shall soon follow is enough for me to light up another cigarette in grief! Oh but no, an alcoholic smoker I am and an alcoholic smoker I shall always be. STRICTLY and ABSOLUTELY. So here’s to the next trip to Hard Rock or the next weekend in Mondys!
Cheers! *Puff Puff*

Chewing Gum and no work

No, I haven’t been lazy. Just been extremely busy in domestic issues and other such happenings. Haven’t got the time to breathe / talk / write (hence, sorry to all my mitr, dosts for not being in touch - I shall call you soon)!

Firstly, I have been busy deciding where to spend some part of the huge incentive I have got (for god knows what reason – I hardly think I work that much) – anyway, with that mostly in order and the noble noble intention of setting the rest aside for the down payment of a car I plan to buy, I am back on track – and back to the blog shog that I love so much.

Oh also, the net at home isn’t working and blogger was blocked in office until now when I realized that its been miraculously unblocked and joy had returned to the world again. Work is less, office is where I while away time, home is hectic, that’s when I seem to have no time to myself – so in that scenario, this is good news – blogger shall badhao the shobha of my to-do-lists at work and finally I shall be able to comment on my fellow bloggers posts! (And that is such a relief – coz I would read something and the spontaneity of my reaction would be lost when I would go back to commenting on it at night at my pc) – but now no tenshun venshun – all is good – peace has been restored in the world and these corporate hoo-haas about blocking everything seems to be dying out.

Oh, and now I REALLY need to find a job in delhi – come December and I’m moving there – so help help already peeeeepal !!!

Lunch time. Let me munch and return to writing.

..............................................


Little bit of Bhindi, 2 tiny chapattis, salad and dahi! Where did my mirchi ka achaar go? Where did the daal disappear! Sigh! I’m still hungry. So I have stuffed my mouth with some 6 pieces of Happy Dents one after the other and now my jaw hurts.

Work is a bitch. For one, there isn’t much to do. But I have to sit around and pretend to work while I blog. Its god sent I tell you- this blogger unblocking thing – or I would have died of boredom! Not like I have much to write right now anyway. There is much happening in life right now. But non-discussable at this point. So shall update you when I can.

I’m suddenly feeling super lazy. Yawn. I think I will meet a friend at the Cha Bar in the evening. Or just go home and sleep. Maybe even watch Sweeny Todd that I still haven’t gotten around to watching. I don’t know. Yes yes, I am lazy. I think I will just go be lazy again.

The Game of Tagging

Last movie seen in a theatre?
Juno.

What book are you reading?
Madam Bovarys Ovaries. Its brilliant. And I take my time with each chapter.
Also Atwoods Blurbeard’s Eggs – I am getting increasingly fond of short stories.

Favourite board game?
Scrabble. Addicted to ps2 lately so havent seen the face of boardgames in the looongest time.
also used to enjoy Chess.

Favorite Magazine:
Cosmo. RD.

Favorite Smells:
First rain of the season. Turpentine. Petrol. Heh.
Also, Hugo red and Davidoff coolwater.
Johnson baby lotion.
And the typical smell of my house in Simla.

Favorite Sound:
The sea. My brothers voice. My grandma’s knitting – kat tik kat tik!

Worst Feeling In The World:
Failure.

What Is The First Thing You Think Of When You Wake?
I’m late!

Favorite Fast Food Place:
Kailash Colony market

Future Child’s Name:
I refuse to think about such a question.

Finish This Statement. “If I Had A Lot Of Money I’d…”
Do my MA, start my café, buy a lot of perfumes, save the rest in my kid brother’s account.

Do You Drive Fast?
No. I feel scared. I also tend to hit the sides of people walking on the road and the abusive drivers who zip past me.

Do You Sleep With A Stuffed Animal?
err. Does an extra pillow qualify?

Storms-Cool Or Scary?
Cool. I feel like a heroine out of a gothic novel. Catherine Earnshaw maybe.

Do You Eat The Stems On Broccoli?
yea. Also the tails of prawns and everything crunchy and fun. I hate wastage.

If You Could Dye Your Hair Any Color, What Would Be Your Choice?
I can dye it any colour. I don’t want to.

Name All The Different Cities/Towns You Have Lived In.
Kinnaur, Nahan, Rampur, Nalagarh – these are the obscure little places in Himachal.
As a kid, with minimal memories of it – Dhanbad.
Out of the known cities - Shimla, Delhi, Pune, Currently Mumbai.

Favorite Sports To Watch:No time. No inclination. Used to watch the football league matches once upon a time. Not anymore.

One Nice Thing About The Person Who Sent This To You:
Two people sent this to me – fellow blog sisters, friends, writers, talkers, thinkers! – I cant restrict myself to one nice thing.

What’s Under Your Bed?
Bed box – journals, old cards, letters, other tit-bits.
Monsters too?

Would You Like To Be Born As Yourself Again?
Yes. Thinner though – and less self obsessed.

Morning Person Or Night Owl?
Night Owl. Hate early mornings.

Over Easy Or Sunny Side Up?
Sunny side up – and the yolk needs to be liquidy! Yumm!

Favorite Place To Relax
Mondys. With friends, music, beer.

Favorite Pie:
Apple Pie. I bake!
And shepherds pie that my aunt makes.

Favorite Ice Cream Flavor:
Strictly chocolate. The darker the better. And of late, I’m getting used to the sugar-free, fat-free gelato – that I know isn’t all that it promises to be – but it takes off the guilt pretty well.

You pass this tag to –
Is there anyone left? I think I am one of last ones to even understand this tag business!
Well...whoever is reading this.

Of All The People You Tagged This To, Who’s Most Likely To Respond First?
Uh. G'bye.

So when are we doing Shaadi?

I am in simla – basking in the glory of utter laziness and getting pampered like a spoilt little princess – but I do deserve all of that and more after surviving Mumbai for so long. Surviving Mumbai is a task, yes it is. Not for people who come to visit and fall in love with the sea, or who come for a few months and start liking the space the city gives a person to just be. But for people like me, who are at the verge of completing a year in the city, it is nothing less than surviving. And no, I wouldn’t be stationed at Crib Central right now, if I hadn’t spent a glorious week at Delhi and then made my way to the hills, the homefood, the electric blanket I sleep in, the colourful socks I wear and the absolutely-no-care-in-the-world-sleeps I get. Well, yes parents always bring with them, a dose of nagging, bugging, poking – but that is permissible and ignorable for all the luxuries I get to dip myself into.

Delhi was expectedly a lot and a LOT of fun. Pix took 4 days off – we slept, talked, smoked, shopped, drove, sang, ate and did all things fine and dandy. Janpath and Le Café, hilarious drive to JNU, more Le café with Bangers and Mash, Café Turtle, face packs and exchanging the latest books and films, sleeping at 4 after sooo many games on PS2, meeting my kid brother, and my adopted brother and Ktik and the Petite one, surprise morning visit from Pinks, having isabgol to clear the confused tummy, meeting Adi, Deb and You-de, making ever failing plans with the infamous painter, soaking in every bit of Delhi that I love and crave for when I’m away! Ah, it was all glorious, so glorious!

Nimpipi came to meet – warm hug, my attempts to give warmer, tighter hugs and then the laughing fit in her car that went Ghhhhhhhooooooeeeeee at every red light. But the noise and all was totally worth it for the drive with her on that sparkly highway and the kaddu ka bharta at her house (no, I am not being sarcastic – I am a veggie lover – so much so that the thought of bhindi, karela, kaddu, baingan, lettuce and all those greens excite me more than any chicken, crabs, prawns or muttons of the world) – so yes, back to the delicious bharta that bahadur served us with garma-garam phulke and the last bits of which I happily wiped clean from that white china plate that I always have nightmares of dropping and crashing one day – and there was daal too, and 2 more subzis and the dahi she assumed that I would take without being told – it was a yummy meal. Aunty talked in the background – I didn’t get much of the context in which it was being said but I caught on some words enough to know that she had had an eventful day. Nimpipi’s room is lovely – the DLF bitch as I fondly call her – has a spectacular view from her 15th floor apartment – and then she gave me a pair of very sexy beige boots – and my day was almost made perfect. *blows kisses to Nimpipi*

Oh and one pattern that I noticed in all my visits to all my friends homes – the moms always asked me “so when are you doing shaadi”, “beta, koi ladka mila?”, “tumhare parents dhoond rahe hai? Iske liye bhi koi suggest karo”!
Oh my godly god goddd – same story everywhere – just because I hit 24 doesn’t mean that I have to keep telling people that “shaadi toh ho jaayegi aunty!” – How come noone asks about my job, my prospects, what music I listen to, what cuisine I enjoy? Isn’t that more important? And wouldn’t that make me less queasy? But I think I have quite perfected the art of evading the topic, or laughing it off. It’s just amazing how everything suddenly revolves around shaadi-marriage-vivah-mangni-wedding-byah – and all other names they give this relationship!
Maybe my problem is also that for everyone else it seems like such a BIG deal but I view marriage very lightly– it’s not a fairy tale romance or a movie with the sunset ending that signifies a happily ever after– its life – mundane-get-to-know-each-other-learn-to-love-each-other kinda life. Prove me wrong if you must. I will only be too happy.

I sound so pessimistic. This post is depressing me. And I am on vacation. I should have written about something happier – like green-grass-blue-sky kinda happy or the kick I got out of finishing the entire pack of Sour Punk yesterday or the fact that I took a friend out for driving today and she almost died of a heart attack! Heh! The day was good! It's all good. Or we will make it good – wont we friends? Prove me right. I will be most happy.

Later then. I must snuggle back into my toasty electric blanket. Mmm.


P.S.- Looking for a job in writing in Delhi. Comments, suggestions and contacts are needed and most welcome.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

I realized how much I love a mirror when I climbed 3 floors to take the lift with the mirror as opposed to the one at the ground floor without the mirror the other day. And I realized that I have been doing that often – only now I have graduated from the first to the third floor. I like the lift with the mirror – sometimes I let the one without the mirror come and go – and wait for the other one.

When I moved into a flat, the first thing I looked for was not the western loo, or the big windows, or the yellow lights – but the mirror – was it full length? Was it true? Did it make me look slimmer? Oh then it would have to change – I would rather the mirror would make me put on a kilo or two so I keep myself on a healthy lifestyle!

I don’t like mirrors that are just next to the window – the natural light shows too much – all the pores, all the flaws – and I don’t want to get depressed first thing in the morning.

I also like to sit facing the mirror when I am in a restaurant – so I can glance once in a while to check my hair or any speck of food stuck between my teeth. I like mirrors in stores – and malls – where one can just walk across and slimily look at oneself.

I like clean steel plates and computer screens that are off. I like spoons and the magic mirror room in a fair. I like phone cameras. I like clear water bodies. I like it when I can see myself in the sparkle of my date’s eyes. I like photographs. I like photoshop. I like to talk with someone else while looking in the mirror. I like to talk to myself while looking in the mirror. I like the mirror in the car. I like to carry a small mirror to check my kajal. I like the little mirrors in my Rajasthani dupattas. I like them on sheer curtains. I enjoyed studying how mirrors are made. I like Saint Gobain.

I also like those magical mirrors in fairy tales where one could enter a mirror and go to a different world. I like Through the Looking Glass. And how everything gets reversed in a mirror. I like the fact that a flat mirror won’t lie. I like Snow White. I like the tale of Narcissus and the lake. I like Sylvia Plath’s Poem The Mirror which goes like this-
“I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions….Whatever I see I swallow immediately….Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike…..I am not cruel, only truthful…”

So does that make me vain? All this preening and staring?
Does that make me loony? My liking for distorted images in a spoon?
Does that make me reflective? All these ideas of the mirror showing the truth and yet reversing everything?
Does it make me bookish? These references to Plath and Greek myth?


I don’t know. I like mirrors. For what they are. For their warped identities – to have the painful job of reflecting what’s true and yet inverting everything. To serve a purpose of utter shallowness and yet such immeasurable depth. I like the fact that a mirror has so many meanings. I like it that it’s installed everywhere- in lifts and corridors and bikes and bathrooms. But I like it best that a mirror reminds me of who I am every morning. I really like a mirror. It lets me be me and it makes me like me.

Holiday. Home. Happiness.

Ohkay I am thrilled – I have watched it 6 times back to back and I cannot wait for May 30th – Sex and the City, the movie’s official trailer is finally out and I am so excited! The Body Shop near my house has a 40% off and I am finally going to be able to afford something there. I am such a chick sometimes!

But! But!! But!!!! - Most importantly, my people and the people of the world – yes yes its official (no, I am not getting married) – I am indeed coming to Delhi for a week long trip. The lord has finally listened to my prayers and I have got a 2 week holiday – where I intend to indulge in utter laziness, eat good food, go shopping, get a haircut, catch up with all my friends, go to Big Chill, and Janpath (oh my lack-of-footwear angst shall finally be over), and then a week in the lap of luxury in Simla – sleep, eat, walk in the woods, watch films, get a pedicure, lounge on the mall, take photos, visit my school – life shall, albeit for 2 weeks, be miraculously turned into my little haven.

So this plan was actually to happen in March but the evil three letters – KRA (Key Result Areas) held me back… and then the tedious dirty process got over and I managed to get a great rating (god only knows how), and now I take off to the better parts of India (yes, I mean North India) while my big fat bonus and the great year end hike gets deposited in my currently sparse bank account. Life is looking up. Now only if my parents weren’t being such a pain in the ear! But I plan to buy ear plugs from Heera Panna tomorrow – I really do!

I had the strangest nightmare the other night – I killed 2 people and then I was petrified that someone may find out so I hid them and then kept feeling guilty and headed to Marks and Spencer to shop (incidentally they were on sale in that sequence and I do think this is a result of ogling at the Body Shop board daily when I return from office!). Anyway, it was creepy and I woke up and messaged Pix who assured me that it was nothing really and that I am Uma Thurman! Uma Thurman it is then – I’d rather that than get Freud to find inklings of a serial killer in me!

Holi was nothing major. Just some dry pink and green gulal. And some red too. How can there not be red! Excellent food but no thandai, no bhaang, no nothing – kaise hai yeh log – see that’s why I miss North India – do you see why now? Do you? Do you?? And do you see why the thought of returning to my familiar pretty Dilli and Simla makes me grin like a fool all day?

Well, suddenly office seems bearable and colleagues seem okay, suddenly I am looking at Mumbai not-so-severely and I am trying to distract myself with the personal complications at hand. I think this is what happens when your office lets you free or atleast temporarily.

Come 11th and I am in apna Dilli for a good gorgeous week – this is a time to celebrate and to take out my little black organiser – so tell me people, for what day should I book you? Dinner? Lunch? A stroll? – tell me peeeeepal…. I am coming home to you!!

To pee or not to pee

I am sitting at my desk at work. Colleague turns around to me.

C: Let’s go
Me: hmm…okay
C: Take your swipe card
Me: Ok let’s go

Or, picture this:

2 ladies at a club
Lady 1: I am going to the loo
L 2: wait, I am coming too
Chorus: excuse us boys

This happened to me once:

Me, sitting for dinner with a “couple” of friends
Friend 1’s hoity-toity girlfriend: I need to go to the restroom
Me – struggling to eat the insides of a crab
Friend 1’s girlfriend: Ahem! (Gives me a dirty look)
Me: (as if almost snapping to realization) Oh…ok, lets go.

I have never really been a fan of going “together together” to the loo – a phenomenon universally prevalent amongst those of my gender and much speculated amongst those not of my gender. “So what’s the big deal about going to the loo in pairs?”, asked a very close ‘not-my-gender’ friend of mine… “What’s the big deal about wanting to know it?” I immediately retorted. It’s not like it’s a whole secret life we live in that tiny close space - but its fun to keep the curiosity alive.

What does one do in pairs in the loo? Surely we don’t discuss the shades of pee. Surely we don’t discuss the do’s and don’ts of a Brazilian wax. But it’s just a thing – to go together to the loo – a funny habit that I find myself mostly falling in. I personally believe that these trips facilitate female camaraderie.

In office I end up smiling at random women who I would never know otherwise. In restaurants, I end up discovering at least one likeable thing about my friend’s hoity-toity girlfriend. In college, I know I can burst into tears and not be stared at funnily. In sex and the city, discussions on size, tampons, orgasms come easy there. Maybe that’s why I had a problem with Ally McBeal – it had a common loo – and somewhere I felt the female bonding went missing there. One also discusses their men, her men, our men, men in general in there. Skin issues, sharing perfume, make up tips, bitching about bosses come next in line. But mostly, it’s a space where one’s guard is down– and every woman loves the other – it’s like a modern day Lesbos.

Cleansed and Buzzed

The day began with a resolution – to clean up my room like never before, to discard all the extra papers hiding in envelopes and folders, to slot out all my important documents in labelled files, and to settle my cupboards.

So the excursion began and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself thoroughly enjoying the deed – I colour coded my clothes (from light shades to dark and keeping them in stacks of their family of colours, my cupboard now looks like a palette for asian paints), and then I settled my shelves (placing the books in order of height and thickness) and proceeded to do the dressing table (that found the products categorised in hand lotions, foot creams, body wash’s, moisturisers, perfumes and lip balms)!

What really made me happy was the way I put the paper work in order – “Medical Bills”, “Medical Reports”, “Payslips”, “Appointment letters”, “Travel details”, “Bank Statements”, “Credit Card Documents”, and then the “Important Bills”, “Semi important bills” and “Photocopies of all documents”. I was so pleased with myself and my rarely surfacing Monica Gellar tendencies that I proceeded to treat myself with an extra long bath and then a trip to Mondys with my friends.

Now Mondys is synonymous to Mumbai for me. There would be no weekends without it! For those who don’t know, Mondys is short for Café Mondegar, perched at the beginning of Colaba Causeway with its white, black and green board calling out to me everytime to go there. And its not just the place but the staff there that makes me go there over and over again. Huxley, the manager, gives us tables really fast (and today we got that special “table with a view”), and he makes us feel super special and super safe (there has been a history of a dirty letchy man getting kicked out by the bouncer and 3 table-ful of big-eyed men getting displaced to 3 corners for us)! The beer is chilled and the pizzas are cheesy! But the true USP of Mondys is the jukebox and its “strictly no-trance, no-hip hop” policy – skim through it and find the Doors knocking at your head, Alanis throwing her lyrics at you and the classic rock numbers making you sway happily!

So Mondys it was – with college friends (who else? I don’t meet office people on weekends as a rule) – and we talked about old times and I laughed until I had tears in my big brown eyes and we ordered one pitcher after another and with a couple of more trips to the loo, we talked and laughed some more. So yes, I’d say this was an ideal Saturday – a cleaning spree, buying 2 dvds, wasting ourselves so wonderfully at Mondys and then lounging around in my lovely spic and span room with my laptop and more music.

And yes, why I still sound so cheerful is because there is tomorrow to sleep and shop and sleep some more. Come Monday and I am going to be depressed until next Saturday and write some cribby, pathetic posts till then. Bear with me friends for the weekend shall return and the joy restated.

The Devil Wears Chappals

I am running dangerously short of footwear. (Dilli dosts help me – send me some love from Janpath and some affection from M block). Mumbai has absolutely no variety – all I see now is kolhapuri chappals of which I have had enough and those silly ballerina shoes that I think are ridiculous! I am so desperate for some variety that I have even considered cleaning the dust off my old red tattered converse shoes – and I would mind you, if it weren’t for the heat and humidity of this damn city.

Well, ok, Mumbai isn’t as bad as I make it out to be. the other day I was waiting to cross this busy road since forever and a huge truck just stopped causing the entire traffic to come to a halt and the driver gestured me to cross the road – it sent warm tingly happy feelings inside me and I thought to myself “This happens only in Mumbai”. Also the cab drivers are very nice and sometimes insist on returning 50 paise also. It again makes me go “aww”! So ya, I guess the city does have its moments. And it has Naturals icecream – with my flavour of the month being Anjeer. And Mondy’s ah Mondys – what would I do without thee?

The other day I was listening to Hemant Kumar… “chup hai dharti chup hai chaand sitaare…” while I was sitting at my window, looking at the opposite building (well, what can one say, that’s the view I have)…so anyway, the salty breeze of the sea was at its best and I was nibbling on aam-papad and I realised that this music taste has been passed on to me by my dad – and that’s when I realised that, try as much as we may, we eventually become what our parents are – and then thinking about it more in detail and to my utter horror, I discovered that many of my mothers traits are now happily perching on my head. And then the lovely song started “waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam…” and my thoughts wandered off to the fact that maybe the Beatles are not it – that maybe I should start getting more into old hindi music in details… the lyrics of this song almost makes me cry each time I listen to it. Sigh.

I got a tiny stuff toy from my cousin today – and I was so delighted – not like I am one of those “ooooh stuff toys are so cute” kind - on the other hand I think that for a gift for an adult, it is the easiest waste of money – but this was indeed special. For one, it was Hobbes from "Calvin and Hobbes" and that was enough to make my cry in joy and secondly, it was something she had won in one of those game parlours where you try fish out a toy from that plastic box – both these facts added to the gift so much that I am, at this moment, sitting right beside it looking at its loving eyes that seem to speak to me!

Hmm yes, I have no string of thoughts – no paragraph is connected to the other – this post is leading to nowhere land. I don’t think I have anything so important or major that I can keep writing about anymore. I think life is becoming increasingly unexciting. I was invited (twice!) to this fancy club called Blue Frog that has recently opened and is the “place to be” (apparently!) – But I am put off by the fact that it has entry charge – yes entry not cover! – and then again, I was invited by men in my office who I am not friends with – so lets not even try treading that path of drunkenness with strange men. And hence, my evenings are very limited to sometimes catching up with college/school friends who work/live nearby or going home and listening to music until the late night episodes of Friends begin. Getting old, are we? Or we could just call it maturity? I like the latter – it sounds less boring. And for some reason I keep trying to find reasons to sound less boring – like trying to spice up a history text book with an imaginary character like Jodha (isn’t that was Rushdie says?I am not sure)

Oh I played Tekkan, a tennis game and a road rage game on playstation today and it was kick ass! And may I humbly say that I kicked ass! I had underestimated it – for all my view about it being just a video game for kids – today I have new-found respect for the damn thing! It is brilliant – the only down side of the entire exercise are the boils I got on my thumbs (apparently I have delicate hands, says he) – and now as I type I have two blobs of water bags on my thumbs. It’s so ugly. And I still want to play! How? How must we solve this problem?

Okay enough of rattling senselessly – back to my major problem – I need footwear – and those who are my friends would know the kind I want – flat chappal type sasta-tikau funky stuff – with big wooden beads or anything red? Colourful would do but I am assuming I should grow out of the whole multicolour thing. And some heels I prithee? Lovely ladies going to gk, please to be helping – beige? Black heels? Size 5? Oh I am desperate. Please to be responding to my plea! Pronto?

(“mera joota hai japaani yeh patloon inglistaani” plays in the background. It’s a sign I say!)

Ta dah!

This page is supposed to reflect me. Yes? So I wanted to give it a new look – I loved the earlier photo up there too – it was so serene, so beautiful – and utterly depressing. So in honour of Nimpipi dedicating a post ONLY to me and only me (yes luv, I am still overwhelmed), I decided that it calls for a makeover.
So in the middle of the night I first opened the earlier photo, got the dimensions and got busy photoshopping. I would like to imagine I am a photoshopaholic – I can spend hours, days, nights just editing photos and doing fun stuff with them – you may ask the one who became my mock-client while I tried my best to please her tallness, and we sat making a collage for her through the night.

Anyhow, more on my weekend. Saturday was spent whiling away. I chatted with 2 taxi-wallas, one from UP and the other from Bihar – both abusing the shit out of Thackeray (after discovering that I am a North Indian too) – “madam taxi chalane mein darr lagta hai”, one said while the other one was more aggressive “kisi ko bhi haq hai bharat ke koi bhi pradesh mein naukri karne ka” followed by more ranting. I nodded vehemently and told them to stay put and said “koi aapka baal bhi banka nahin kar sakta”. Politics is going to the dogs, as much is Mumbai with its new-age molesters and jerks who jack off on trains. A friend commented “Mumbai is turning into Delhi” – I said oh no no no, no one beats up cabbies in Delhi just because they can’t say “kute and ikde” (marathi for where and here)! Dilli Dilli Dilli – when shall I return to thee, I count the days!

I also met a school friend today, who is getting married in 4 days – a classic arranged marriage with her to-be-husband being the first guy she met and said yes to. I wasn’t surprised to see her happy and content – I was almost envious though – because this much would never bring me happiness… I expect too much, want to much, need too much out of a man – so seeing people whose lives are so simple and so simply joyous makes me wonder if being a “thinking” woman is actually an advantage or mostly a tool that will ensure constant dissatisfaction with what one gets versus what one actually expects of life. So I called P, and she almost reprimanded me for even questioning it – yes, my friend probably doesn’t even know what she wants and is happy with what she is getting, but if she is happy, it can’t be that bad, right?
I, on the other hand, feel that I will never be happy and totally content – because life isn’t that simple for me and adjustment is a word I really don’t like. So that’s why seeing my small town friends settle down and happily so makes me ask myself – would I be happier if I were a little under-exposed to the goddamn exciting world with all its multiple possibilities? In any case, what can be done now – thinking is a habit that is impossible to discard – so once the process has begun, lets fight the consequences dear friends, lets think some more – lets think about how to put one to sleep at 3 am in the morning – ah yes, shut photoshop, post this entry, stare proudly at the made-over blog, close lid of laptop, switch off lights, get into bed, stop thought.
Goodnight.

Access All Areas

Okay then. We are going public.
No more basking in my anonymity – for that I have created another blog and writing there is far more cathartic. No more saying “this is a secret blog” – with several friends of mine having the link, I realised it’s hardly a secret anymore. No more “oh god it’s so personal” – I have duly deleted all the whiney crying sappy soppy posts that used to periodically trickle in when this blog began and also realised that I don’t mention anything personal on this anymore. So I don’t see a reason why the critics and the regulars of the blogging community shouldn’t get a chance to comment / lash out / appreciate / criticise and love my blog.

Yes I warn you, it will not be funny. I lack that talent and envy Nimpipi for it. It will not be oh so political and ‘latesht’ – I suck at current affairs apart from the ones that are mine. *grin grin*. It shall not be hugely entertaining and mostly have posts about the purple sky and issues of vanity, the station I almost missed a train at and my lazy tendencies, some Sylvia Plath poem I loved or Madam Bovary’s infamous ovaries. It shall also be peppered with some poetry I churn out once in a while and some adventure I have (like almost getting killed in a taxi and ducking the cheap shots of fluffy-headed men hitting on me at the gym). Oh, once in a while I shall also gloat about the huge poster of Beatles that I just got framed – it is so gorgeous, it almost makes me cry each time I look at it for too long! And very rarely I will tell you about what is up at work and how working in the television industry can totally be the most sado-masochistic thing one can do to oneself. But more often than not, it will be random things that just come to my mind.

I am not very regular with this thing, but once in a while you may visit. And prithee, don’t be too harsh because I love the link it was born with and it would break my heart to change it. Actually, like I’ve said before, its my space, I breathe here, so see if I care. Anyhow, if you haven’t been here before, I welcome you to schizophrenic salad’s public journal.

Fellow Blogger Friends, you may add me to your blogroll,while I shall soon learn to make one too.
New readers?- You may scroll down now.

Beauty is Skin Peep?

I know life is getting better since I have stopped wearing any sort of (subtle or otherwise) make-up to office. There used to be a dependence on touch and glow. And then came a phase when calamine was the layer that would sort of let me get out in the morning. But of late, nothing…yes indeed…nothing and I have been able to get out without thinking that I may have to stand in the daylight and speak to someone long enough for them to analyse all my skin flaws… not like they’d care but anyway.

So much of what we are is derived out of the way we look. If my skin is bad (which has been the case since I landed in Mumbai and its been a long way downhill ever since), then I feel totally under-confident and very depressed. It’s terrible that I have to feel that way just based on the way I look. And it’s not just me, other women have these issues do.
I wonder if men have these problems…do they bother about the marks that zits leave and the tiny bumps they leave behind like a remembrance of sort. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t even care. Or maybe it’s because all the men I know have been bestowed by naturally clear skin.

I was on facebook the other day, whiling away time…what else does one do on facebook anyway? …so I was looking through albums of some friends and I saw some women with terribly bad skin…and I heaved a sigh of relief sending a little thank you to god saying that I am not alone. Well, in retrospect, that was a terrible reaction to have. I should have probably felt bad for them…instead I felt good for myself. Sigh. What tangled webs we weave… of self-obsession and insensitivity, of vanity and such insanity.

Anyway, so my skin has marked considerable amounts of improvement. Yes I may not be glowing and all that but I am hopeful… if I can discard any form of make up then there is hope for me yet. But then again it is that time of the year again – the gorgeous winters - which seems to have passed by in a week – and the heat shall begin and the sweating and the humidity and the skin getting all confused all over again.

I really think my skin has a life of its own. Like it thinks for itself. And it is mostly confused. Because I am from a hill station and because I have always lived in dry places, being in a city where every 5 minutes I feel like my t-zone is feeling oily and moist, I can only assume that my skin gets confused…on how to behave and how to look…so in that confusion it ends up with worry bumps, which we no-so-fondly call pimples. But it’s been quite some time, I am hoping like I am adjusting to this place my skin will too – and one day it will shine with health and joy like it used to… till then I will just go back to my dermatologist on peddar road and give him a thank you message. I can get out sans makeup. Yay…. I can let my real skin peep into the world. It’s a day to celebrate my friends!


“Mary had clear skin
The lambs loved her dimple
Aloe-vera and antibiotics
Pop goes the pimple.”

Snacking on the Salad

I think my multiple personalities are acting as definite roadblocks in my writing excursions. Not that I used to write daily, not that I am a regular blogger, not that I even have a regular lot who reads my somewhat anonymous blog, but I do keep putting in – something or the other – like N mentioned last night, about Lizzy the lizard, the tampon joy and my effort to gym – I know its nothing monumentally or even remotely important…but its my life – and I am assuming (very gladly) that some close ones like reading about it once in a while.

Of late, I feel tired and lazy – more the latter actually – and because I write from 3 sides of me – the socially correct and politically correct me namely this blog, the surreal, streams of consciousness poetic me which would be the one I share with my best friend, and the open, loud, brash, shameless me, which is the third top-secret one – hence even when I sometimes feel a pang of desire to sit and scribble, figuring out which one is the role I want to put on now is such a mental task that the lazy side of me finally triumphs and I end up not writing at all.

However, another argument could be that, I used to write a lot when I was depressed, morose, disillusioned blah blah. I think it was all the extra time I had on my hands – it was like this – no boyfriend, no friends, no life = tons of spare time = lots of scribbling and regularly updating my blog. That’s why the time I was alone and depressed last year was the phase when this salad bowl experienced the maximum seasoning and garnishing. Now, it stands bland and rotten – with no new flavours and no new ingredients. And that, my dear friends, is totally pathetic.

Yes, so I am the tragic queen amongst my friends and I love writing about misery. In fact, I find it terribly difficult and painful to write anything funny. Don’t think though that I haven’t tried, but with repeated attempts that led to disappointing failures, I resigned to writing serious stuff and at times, just frivolous stuff that constitutes for all the light reading on my blog. And because of late there has been nothing serious or even mildly exciting in my life, I haven’t bothered to put it down anywhere.

Let me think about what I could update someone on my life and its many monotonous moments – the job is going on fine, I was supposed to go for a trip to Italy from office which has been cancelled and in effect broken my heart – all because I haven’t finished a year in the damn organisation – hence, my fellow friends and I, who they fondly label as MTs, short for “management trainees”, shall stay and rot in the office while the others gallivant around Italy and ogle at the delicious men there. Though I think that it’s a terrible waste that I am not going – what will the others do – watch some places and “wow” “wow” everything I sight – while I, a lover of classical literature and of art and architecture would have enjoyed the museums, and the colloseum and the gondolas and the Roman history goddammit. Sigh. But what must happen must happen. And so I must sit at office and sulk so those many days (and then maybe in my tragic horrors, end up posting stuff more often). So that was that about the update at work.

I have been negligent on the gym part and I feel that it was of no use. I feel like I wasted money and most weeks, when the score is 2 out of 7, I sit in the pool of guilt and wish I’d bought some clothes and a perfume instead. Or even a teeny-tiny diamond ring. Nahiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnn!!!!!

The slip disc is in control. I haven’t been relegated to bed rest till now. I seem to be doing okay. The boy in question is also fine. We all have our issues. We all sail through them. I suppose it’s not something one would discuss in this blog…apart from the fact that it may turn out to be mind numbingly boring for you, I’d rather leave all the intricate details to the censored blog I maintain and that I am quite in love with.

Mumbai is getting chilly in the evenings. It gives me great pleasure to be able to wear my sweatshirts and sleep under a blanket. But the sleeveless stuff hasn’t gone at the back of my wardrobe so that doesn’t say too much about what a winter we have here. But atleast, something is better than nothing.

Okay I think I have lost my flow again. I have become so floopy and indifferent and lazy. I don’t want to write because I feel it’s too much mental effort to write. But with people poking me and reminding me to keep putting something down time and time again, I am sure the salad bowl won’t die.

So till we meet again (hopefully not in the tragic mode), keep coming back to snack!

xoxo