In Sickness & in Health

After two & a half years, my slip disc problem recurred. About 2 weeks ago, one morning I could not get up from the bed. Excruciating pain, a feeling of helplessness & a strange anger consumed me as I was raised & made to prop against my pillow like a child who has to be made to sit every time he has to eat, minus the pain of course.

Another stint at the hospital and a reasonably long bed-rest advice later, I thought, it is tragic to have this problem at the age of 26. It is more unpleasant than a facebook friend request from the girl I hated in college. It is more unpleasant than the taste of Safi that I have just begun to have each night. It is more unpleasant than the zit that sits proudly on my left cheek right now. It is almost the most unpleasant thing to have happened to me of late – or so I thought.

Being in bed & confined to home all day makes you depressed, chronically moody & deeply retrospective. In one such day, as I lay in bed, with that contraption of a pulley with 2 kilos attached to my neck, I thought how I seem to have wasted my talents away.

I like to believe I used to have a couple of very-pursue-able skills. I am a good cook & always have been. I wanted to be a chef but was always told that hotel management means being a glorified receptionist. By the time I was old enough to understand, I was too old. I am a good photographer. I take lovely portraits & have had my manual SLR to experiment & discover my interest with but I did not pursue photography professionally. Maybe I never bothered to find out how to. I used to write well & always thought that I would be writing for a magazine some day till I come out with a book of my own. And then when I finally could have had that chance, I completely screwed it up at post graduation by willingly specializing in film making – which by the way, is probably the biggest regret of my life till now – and never did pursue journalism of any kind. So all 3 skills which I had were never pursued & I ended up in a television job that I hated & quit, went onto some semblance of a content writing job which soon turned into me writing pre-sales proposals for clients and after that I started making too much money to go back to a mainstream writing job, knowing that when treated as a fresher, I would probably not even be making one third of it. Was it the money that killed my passion or the lack of time with the house to take care of and another thousand personal commitments? I don't know. Ideally I would like to blame myself on neither and make fate the scapegoat but unfortunately that's not how I perceive my haphazard career graph & seeing my personal participation in my own doom, I get morose & depressed all the same.

So I message Miss P, informing her of my feeling of directionless aimlessness and she tells me things that are, to me, as profound as what any shrink would have said as pearls of wisdom for which I would have paid a thousand bucks an hour.

She told me that I am lucky. And it made sense. And that I am not the only one who didn't get to pursue a career out of something I loved. Many people who are bankers & accountants are actually closet rock stars & artists but they don't make a living out of that. I know my husband, who is a fantastic golf player, would have loved to pursue it professionally but he works 8 to 8 in an FMCG company and tries to put as much passion in that as is humanly possible and that is inspiring. If I set aside my constant complains about my lack of passion in my job, there is actually nothing in my life to complain about (apart from the slip disc surely), but the way I see it today, even that could be a blessing in disguise. For all my cribbing about unhealthy living & weight management issues, my medical prescription after I get better is not a couple of pills a day – its actually this: Compulsory yoga daily & swimming at least 4-5 times a week. How many people get a prescription like that? Its like God's way of telling me to start living more healthy.

So I also have anxiety issues. My doc told me to calm down. My parents told me to get a grip or by 30 I will surely get blood pressure. My best friend told me that I need to soothe my nerves every once in a while & my brother told me to control my spurts of uncontrollable anger. Even M told me to take things easy & stop being so much of a perfectionist because more than anyone, its driving me crazy.

Therapy? I asked.

That would be insanely expensive. Miss P said

Is the work driving me over the edge? I inquired

No, you were worse when you were on a break. M told me gently.

I will control my anger. I reassured my brother.

Hah Di! That cant happen! He assured me in return.

Maybe I am becoming a fanatic for perfection. I discussed with Ma.

Please change yourself before you get old & cranky, she told me frankly.

Why are my reflexes so aggravated? I asked my doctor a week ago after the check up

You need to calm down, stop thinking for the future. Worrying is your bad habit. He said as calmly as a prophet would.

And then the prescription for my slip disc – life long swimming to keep my spine in order and yoga – to improve posture & calm my frazzled nerves. I should really consider myself lucky. Some people get strapped to the bed, some go for surgery, some live with a collar as an extension to themselves forever. None of that scary stuff as happened to me yet & instead of pills, I get Yoga. Really, for once, I should stop complaining and start being positive.

So what if I couldn't become the next big thing in the writing circles, it isn't late yet. And I get to do some really awesome freelance writing once in a while which also gets published & read! So what if I couldn't become the photographer I imagined myself to be, I am soon buying myself a Nikon D90 and getting busy with a serious hobby. And so what if I couldn't be a famous chef and feed the world, I continue to feed my friends and family and make them happy! Not every skill has to turn into a profession and not every profession has to become a passion. Sometimes that's the way things go and as long as I have my bracket of people in my life, to love me and keep me, in sickness and in health, I am incredibly lucky & happier than most people in the world.

(P.S - Mom, Dad, Bro, M, Miss P, Adi, Ips, Amby & the recent addition Yesyen – thanks for being the bracket & thanks for being the joy.)

Not So Subtle

I know the season is changing since it started getting darker than usual when I leave work. Other than that Mumbai doesn't really have a palpable sudden shift of weather – like in Delhi one fine day the night seems chilly & the morning seems refreshing, nothing of the kind happens here. The heat slowly wanes – so slowly I don't notice it. I never notice differences too subtle – like the different shades of greens in microsoft excel, like a haircut on a man, like a new plant potted in my society. I notice however if the angle of my vase is changed, or the face that the lampshade faces has been turned, or the tiny pimple bubbling under my eyebrow & the smell of the over-toasted garam masala. I guess I am selectively observant. As are most of us.

So anyway, no blogging has happened because I think my blog has died. Every attempt to resurrect it has been dismal & only triggered by a single post with no following ones. Perhaps because nothing of significant importance has happened that can be written about. I have started work & am in the process of starting my own home-made chocolate business from home. So training, research & plans have taken up weekends, new chilled our work where I churn out content for a start-up company has taken up weekdays, family visits have taken up festival holidays & its been a normal yet joyous phase. Is this what they call settling down? Is this the definition of stability? I don't know. Yet I like whatever this is called.

One post that I make each year on the blog as tradition has been for Diwali – my cathartic festival with significant change of circumstance or heart. Every year since the past few has brought with it a new chapter and closed an old one. Some have memories of quiet, solemn, peaceful diya-filled nights, some are insanely bursting at its seam with energy, dancing through the night & sparkly skies. But all have memories of my entire family together and that has been consistent. This time the family had a brand new member – M, who has magically hypnotized my folks into loving him like a son & struck a camaraderie with my brother into sharing all beer & sutta secrets with him. So the relatively larger family was together for my first diwali at my own house. Diyas, rangolis, kebabs, mirchi lights, laxmi pooja, phuljhadi amongst other things made this diwali quite regular yet not. It was somehow a very special Diwali – maybe one of the most special festivals ever & one of the more memorable nights in this house.

Did I mention we shifted in a spanking new house in a lovely locality where everything is a phone call & a 5 minute drive away and where I actually have 4 big balconies – to sit & have tea, to learn yoga, to lounge with friends and to string with lights & lamps! Did I also mention that we will be leaving Mumbai for newer lands soon? I don't know where though but as my stay in Mumbai is coming to an end, I am falling more & more in love with the city. Do I even want to go to another? I don't know – but change is refreshing, change is what keeps one occupied. Plus lots of my friends seem to be leaving Mumbai together. One left for the US, another sets sail for the UK. These were dear friends – my chick friend cum shopping partner decided to make more money and ran away, my favourite guy friend & easily the longest conversation holder needs to go set up some office in firang lands. Its a sad brain-draining world if you ask me.

I admit today that I would prefer to maybe stay in Mumbai over any other place – stay though, not settle mind you – I'm still very north indian at heart, still very much in love with my mughlai cuisine with non-sweet green chutney & a forever-hater of vada pavs! But for now, Mumbai seems to appeal to me. And then again its the comfort level that I get into I guess. I am used to my house,my househelp, my facilities, my supermarket, the disciplined lane driving, the warm people & the gorgeous monsoons and I have always been resistant to change so I can't say, maybe shifting to another place will be a better experience.

I would like Delhi very much. But I will not pin my hopes on any city this time, especially that one. I seem to invariably jinx it like I have three times in the past – I wanted to intern there & it didn't happen, I took my first job there and within a month I had to move, I was almost going to go there after marriage and M got a stint a Mumbai. So this time I will be open in my head to any city & let fate take its course. Delhi would be nice though – the comfort of familiarity, of localities & friends, of home being 9 hours away, of Miss P's house being a drive away instead of a flight. But anything can happen & I will not hope this time.

Though I will look forward to the not-so-subtle change of weather in Delhi and the lovely transition from autumn to winter that is as obvious as the kitchen that my mother just rearranged!

Here’s to Monsoon. Here’s to Mumbai.

Mumbai is parched again. Dry days and quiet nights. No noise of the rain lashing against my window, no hearing the neighbour abuse because she got splashed by some lunatic auto driver. It’s all quiet again. I should be happy really – it’s a respite from the pot holes in front of my house that get concealed by the water, leaving no scope for escape, it’s a relief from the damp, musty smell of the semi-dry clothes, it’s a definite escape from the super slow traffic on the road and the almost-paralysed days of heavy downpours. But I miss the rain. I miss standing at my balcony and watching gorgeous polka dots form in the puddle below, I miss having my hair made frizzy by the light spray of the drizzle, I miss the giant globular water bodies crash against my arm when I stretch them out of the window, I miss the feel of the steaming cutting chai in the mud kulhads I have bought, I miss getting a call from my paranoid mom telling me to stay at home because the news channels tell her that Mumbai is drowning yet again! This monsoon season is growing on me – and it is, but dangerous.

I mean I hated the rains. I hated Mumbai primarily because of the rains. The dirt and the slush and the muck and the transition from sophisticated footwear to clumsy flip-flops made me want to run away from the damn city. There was a time I would dread this season – pray to the gods of weather to make monsoon pass soon but now, I actually miss it if it doesn’t rain for a few days in this season. I don’t know what it is really – I can’t seem to put my finger to it. Maybe it’s the fact that I have, with rains, some of the most memorable moments in Mumbai with some of my closest people. Or maybe it’s because for me, the rain is like this cathartic force that comes every year and washes away all the crap that has happened since the last monsoon. Or maybe it has become my muse, my inspiration to write. It seems to be the only weather which makes me really calm and makes me want to dig out an old book and re-read it. It seems to be the only time of the year when everything looks beautiful to me. It’s the only time of the year when I get to use my retro style flowery umbrella and roll up my jeans without the fear of looking silly.

I guess it was only a matter of time that monsoon grew on me. It was only a matter of time that Mumbai grew on me. It’s all happening. The unthinkable and the unimaginable. Mumbai taught me to be resilient and be good to strangers. It forced me to be patient and more tolerant. It made me see the whole world’s joy come together on the faces of people who spend their Saturday nights on Chaupati. The city is becoming me and I am becoming the city and though I am sure I won’t stay here forever, I am surer of the fact that I will miss it very very much once I leave. So here’s to Mumbai – the land of ‘anyone who really cares to come here’, the city that will make you fall in love with it no matter how much you resist and the place where dreams are weaved on local trains.

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.

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.