I'm Julius Caesar, and my Ides of March lasted all month.

My day started at 5:30 a.m because i was attending a Webinar on Mobile Marketing. Somewhere in the back of my head, i thought that maybe i should work from home today and then discarded the idea faster than rotting food because there were meeting scheduled. So ho hum, i bathe, wear my jeans, crunch down on some junk food and head out.

I get my bike out with ease. Enjoy my ride to work. Stop at a petrol bunk to tank up. Give this git of a 19-year old guy trying to cut across a dirty look and a sarcastically polite "Can i please go ahead of you?". Get on the bike, ride out of the bunk and... BAM!

Next thing i know, i'm on the ground, lying like Madhuri Dixit's tawaif step in the Devdas song Maar daala.

I skidded on sand. Gravelly, beige, dirty, dry, stony sand. I was trying to take a short turn and merge into the ongoing traffic, and in my attempt, i slipped. The bike fell with a bang and so did i. I think we've got a lot in common that way, the bike and I. We are both heavy, we both fall hard when we fall, and we both go flying. I did, so much so that as i slid across the gravel, my shirt flew up and the dirt grazed my stomach. My flat-out left palm got scraped and my knees got badly bruised through my jeans, but i'll only know the full effect of it tomorrow morning. Thank God for the helmet on my head, and the fact that i fell away from the traffic. The bike's suffered the most damage, poor thing. The left headlight's gone and there's a clean cut on the top panel.

I'm pretty shaken up by the incident. After checking for bruises and serious damage, I quietly gave the bike for servicing and came back home.

Don't know what it has been this month, but things have been terrible on the physical health front. First the pain in my left arm, the tummy aches, my allergy, and now this.

I bet Caesar had a less painful death despite his 23 stabs.

*Sigh* I hope there aren't going to be any more of these now.

When it comes to Pasta, simplicity isn't my cup of olive oil.

I've had a serious craving for pasta since yesterday. In general, i've had it for a really long time but last afternoon, i watched Spaghetti Aglio Olio being made on NDTV Good Times and i couldn't get it out of my head.

Last night, after visiting the doctor, A and i went to The Palmyra at Palm Meadows for dinner. Having been switching between crying and moaning and pitying myself all evening, i decided to treat myself to something that would cheer me up instantly: Pasta Aglio Olio! The chef who took our order nodded, A conceded that it was a good decision, and i smiled. Life was beginning to look better already.

When it arrived, my pasta was delicious. Three little disappointments, though: the chef had put bell peppers and zucchinis in it, there wasn't enough salt, and the pasta wasn't spaghetti. Aglio Olio is the simplest of all, with just olive oil, chilli flakes, chopped garlic, a little basil and salt going into making it. (Apart from the pasta, that is.) And i was really, really, really hoping for just that.

Today, the craving for Aglio Olio hit full force again. Since i was working from home and hadn't had lunch, i asked Mom to pick up the necessary ingredients on her way home. Fully anticipating that she would bring back spaghetti, i lost it when she got flat pasta. Argh. Never mind. Craving. Must. Be. Fulfilled. And so i set about making Aglio Olio.

Let it be said that the Aglio Olio was a flop, to say the least. Even Aishwarya Rai's acting in Dhoom 2 had more character than the Aglio Olio did. On second thought no, my pasta wasn't that bad.

Thankfully, i had decided to make a second batch of pasta for Mom and Dad - Pasta Arabiatta - because Aglio Olio would've been too tasteless for them. Smartly, i just transformed the Aglio Olio into Arabiatta, with cream for more flavour. And, surprisingly, finely chopped red and yellow bell peppers.

It's fab, and i'm eating it right now. Even Arshad Warsi's acting in Ishqiya didn't have as much character and flavour as my Pasta Arabiatta does.

It's a major slump in my state of being right now. It's anti-social time again. I don't want calls, i don't want e-mails, i don't want favours and i just don't want any bullshit. I need silence. Outside and within. I need my allergy to go away because if it doesn't, it just might push me to kill myself. I need to provide answers to a lot of questions. I need endings. I need to stop being so bitter, that feeling which seems to have flooded over the boundaries of sanity and taken control of my senses.

I wish for love. I wish for peace. I wish things weren't so complicated, and maybe they aren't.

I wish i didn't feel like bawling my eyes out or wanting to bitchslap most people around me. I wish people would stop pretending. Stop believing that everything's okay. I wish they would shove their attitudes, egos, hangups and deceits up their asses. I wish they could be more decisive. Stop fucking around. Stop screwing everybody up.

Today, i feel miserable. More miserable than i did yesterday. Today, i feel like a piece of shit. A waste of God's efforts, like A Guidebook To What You Shouldn't Be.

Today, i feel vulnerable, in need of some warmth. And maybe somebody to hold me like they'll never let me go, that their world begins and ends with me, that i'm everything to them, as i cry in their embrace.

301st post, and a new blog.

I crossed 300. Wow. Hard to believe i actually had so much to share with the world, considering if i'm left alone with people for two minutes, i don't know what conversation to start with them.

Anyway, i've started a new blog. It's called madaboutflowers and features all the photographs i have taken of (duh) flowers. I'll slip in trees and buds and insects and soil into the portfolio occasionally, but until then it's just nice, happy pictures of nice, happy flowers.

Go see, and tell me how eez.

An awesomeley good Wednesday and Saturday have gone by.

It was an eventful week, to say the least.

For starters, how many of you have shared space with a Lord, knighted by the Queen of England herself? How many of you have even breathed the same air as they?

Well, i did. On Wednesday. That's when i met Jeffrey Archer.

Yes, THE Jeffrey Archer.

I assume that many of you will just 'Pshaw!' the whole thing, but i kid you not when i tell you that he is probably one of the greatest story tellers of all times. Forget that his British uppityness and superiority get in the way, forget that he comes across as slightly arrogant and rude and curt, forget all of that and think about the books he has given us. I only recently read Kane and Abel, and i can tell you that that book is going to stay with me a long, long time. (By the way, the 30th Anniversary edition has a different ending - Mister Archer rewrote it.)

And he's not just a storyteller in his writing. You have to hear him speak. It was quite fascinating to be able to meet him, hear him, laugh at his anecdotes, hear his stories. It was, like the Brits say, Mahv-lus.

The rest of the week went by fairly Blah-ly. Then came Saturday. I got a call from K asking if i wanted to do brunch at Windsor Pub, and i did. It had been a long time since my last brunch; besides, Saturday just seemed like a Brunch Day. So we went to Windsor, ate and drank and made merry. And then decided to continue doing just that.

Our route map was something like this:

Windsor ---->Hard Rock Cafe ---->Plan B ---->Tavern ---->Home ---->Bed

Only one word can describe Saturday post-3 p.m: Woohoo!

I love. Like, really, really, really, really love.

So, Goa.

I'm back. In one piece, physically and mentally.

And it was fun!

I stayed at Golden Eye (Hello, James darling) on the other side of Calangute - a side that i had possibly never seen before. It was cozy, comfortable and private.

I ate a lot of everything, and drank a lot of everything else. So much so that i have now developed a severe allergy to something - i cannot figure out what - and have to keep popping Avil till i can get to the doctor.

I got a temporary tattoo done above my ankle. A butterfly. It will go away in a week's time, but at least i know now that a tattoo looks good on me.

I was part of the crowd lining the streets of Panjim for the Goa Carnival. Desi Mardi Gras at its best, i should say. It was fabulous fun, and i took loads of pictures in my excitement.

I explored new eating places. Must gos include Molly Malone's near Calangute Market (on a Friday night, please. That's when Polly plays and his live music must not be missed), Mum's Kitchen at Panjim (Interesting Calamari Rawa Fry and a yummy Chicken in red masala and coconut milk with Sanas) and Sea Shell Inn at Candolim (beautiful ambience, lovely food, lovely music). Oh, and i also had Chocolate Chip Mousse Ice cream from Baskin Robins.

I jet ski-d. For 15 minutes. It was amazing going over the waves and landing with a thump on the water, wrestling our way through the constant ripples.

I hated leaving.

Two hours to go...

...before i get onto the bus to Goa.

Yes, i'm journeying to the beach side alone for the first time.

Yes, i'm a little freaked out.

No, i'm not freaked out about what may or may not happen after i get there.

Whatever has to happen, will happen.

Either ways, you'll know by Monday.

So have a great weekend, world.

Bye bye, Perfume Sprays. Hello, Ittar.

I did two things after a very long time today.

First, i took parents out for dinner to the Russell Market Taj Hotel. It's the kind of place where you can expect to find the shadiest, most murderous of local - but well-known and very sought-after - thugs doing serious damage to gastronomes in their fight for Bangalore-style Biryani. Served piping hot (not during dinner though; if you're nimble enough, you could try your luck between 12:00 p.m and 1:30 p.m every afternoon or during Ramadan), it's coveted by discerning taste buds with a favouritism for Biryani.

Second, i bought Ittar from a store on the way back from dinner. If my mother's eyes were a SUV, they would be a Rover. They find the quaintest of shops and sift through the clutter to spot stores that are inconspicuous treasure troves of useless indulgences. This wasn't entirely useless, though. She ended up picking some really strong fragrance while i looked on, completely fascinated (thanks, Vir Sanghvi, for bringing back the romance of the Ittar) and stoic about not buying any because i needed to save up on every penny i possibly could this month.

When the shopkeeper finished selling his wares (bottled in cut crystal vials, no less) to my succumbing mom, he turned to me. Oh no, i thought.

"And what fragrances can i show you Madam?"

Knowing fully well that it would be of no use, i nodded my head from side to side to indicate nothing, thank you. My mouth had other ideas.

"Uh...something light...", i said; then, thinking that words like 'summery', 'fruity with a bit of zest' and 'fresh' might be totally lost because they are complicated definitions, i settled for the one word that would sum it all up:"...something citrusy, please."

Gah! Well, at least that would distract him from the memory of my flying kurta that revealed my stomach in all its bulging glory as i passed by his shop earlier. (Stupid summer wind.)

Thirty seconds later, surprise, surprise. He showed me exactly what i was looking for. How could i not give in? How?

So i picked up the 212 essence of the 212 Sexy etc. fame. And one more named Wish. (So does that make anybody who praises my Wish fragrance a Well Wisher?)

Then, as if to compensate for the display of my navel, he gave me a trial vial of Dunhill Blue that i liked. "Use it Madam, and if you like it, you can come back next time and buy it."

Yes of course, and i'll be sure to wear the longest trenchcoat i can find, buttoned up all the way to my neck.

Good thing, anyway. My Davidoff Cool Water's slowly evaporating out of disuse. And i do want to try getting back to wearing Ittar every day.

Yeah, i'm traditional like that.