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.

Do you believe in premonitions?

I don't know, i'm not sure. Since Tuesday, though, i have begun to lean towards being a believer. Here's why.

On most nights, i sleep dreamlessly. On the nights that i do dream, the visions are mostly not good. The scariest dream i have had is more than a decade ago, but i still can't seem to get over it; i have dreamed about something happening to my family's belongings, and have woken up next day to find that it has actually happened; and i've had flashes in my dream that almost seem like they are pieces of a puzzle that don't belong to the past or the near future, but sooner or later they do become reality. That's how bad and spooky my dreams can get.

A couple of months ago, though, i had a dream that i just couldn't explain away or get over. It involved my best friend. And a little boy. And a Tsunami.

I didn't wake up feeling terrified, just extremely uncomfortable. I think we managed to escape the destruction by getting to the airport of the place we were at.

Two days post the dream, i forgot about it. Life moved on.

I made travel plans with friends, went to Hyderabad, then to Hampi. Life was normal.

I made plans to go to Goa on the first weekend of March. Then my best friend called and told me that she wanted to go on a trip with me.

Now, the last time we travelled together was in college. After college, she got married, got busy with her husband, blah blah blah. So the fact that she called now and wanted to go somewhere - just her and me - was a big thing, and i didn't want to say no.

So i ditched plans to go to Goa, and started planning for other places. We considered Mangalore and then scrapped the idea because her husband wasn't comfortable with it(!) So we thought about it, and decided that the most feasible option for both was Goa. I agreed heartily - that's where i was planning to go anyway.

I started looking forward to the trip again, but that changed on Tuesday. Because the dream came back to me.

My best friend and I were going to Goa.

In my dream, that's where the Tsunami had happened.

And i've been feeling a little scared and a little uncomfortable ever since.

It may or may not come true. There is, after all, no little boy featuring in our lives. I think, in my dream, that the little boy was my best friend's baby. But she's not a mommy, and not going to be one anytime soon either.

If it has to happen, it will. I'm taking my chances and going anyway. Maybe i'm challenging fate, battling destiny. I don't know! But i'm going. And i'm going to make sure i say a proper goodbye to everybody before i do.

Bloody hell, i should've taken those swimming lessons.

William Blake's speaking my mind...

"...And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree."

There's going to be blood on my hands this year. Or maybe a severe injury. To hope, to pride, to two-facedness, to spinelessness, to false impressions. To acting up, to pretending, to denying happiness.

I keep it all in, and it just grows and grows. Bloody hell.

This time, last weekend...

...I had cleaned my entire room. I mean, entire. I dusted and swept everything in sight (and hidden from it).

...I arranged all my books - only close to 180, i am sorry to say - neatly, along with several other little things like a Santa i got for Christmas, a Happy Meal Pinocchio, candle stands, book marks, matchboxes, a reading light, a puzzle ball, a Happy Meal guitar and a tourist pass to the Rann of Kutch.

...I cleared the top of the shoe rack to make space for a vase, a candle lamp and another vase/holdall.

...I glammed up the dressing table with fairy lights.

...And i made this for the wall space over the shoe rack out of beads, lace, wire and more beads:

So now, during the day, the shoe rack area looks like this:

And in the night, it looks like this:

I'm liking very muchly!

Rudaali?

Growing old can mean getting enemas for some people, for others it can mean indulging in a few extra marital affairs because their spouse isn't making them happy. Then there are those who quit their jobs and decide to pursue their passions, or just pack up their bags and travel. It can mean receding hairlines, growing waistlines, sagging bustlines and shrinking willie-nillies.
As i grow older, though, i notice something totally different: my tear glands are on overdrive.

Now, i'm not an emotional person. But in the recent past, my parents have found me crying through Master Chef USA (when Faruq gets in, or when Adeliz is given that second chance and makes it, or when Sheena's asked to leave), Jhalak Dikhla Ja (when that chick from that stupid serial faints after doing some pathetic Samba and Bellydancing while her new beau - also her co-star from the same serial - gets sick with worry backstage), Die Hard 4 (Bruce Willis saying "I'm coming for you baby" and more such sub-standard stuff)... the list is endless. You name it, i've cried over it. I don't know who's more embarassed about it, them or me.

And all this from a person who had to force herself to cry while watching Titanic due to peer pressure. (Hey, i was in school then!)

It's a mystery to me. I cannot understand it. I cannot wrap my head around it. More importantly, i don't like it. Ironic, when it's real life that should prove more moving than TV. I mean, i've cried less over my last breakup than i have over the sorry dialogues and drama of My Sister's Keeper. What's the deal with that, i'd like to know.

Maybe i should just have my tear glands surgically removed or something. Then i can peacefully sit through things like the rerun of the three-fingered man being eliminated from the Master Chef kitchen...

Wait, is that a tear i can feel on my cheek? *blink blink*

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Theories i learned from the Big Bang.

They were good people, they respected me, loved me in their own weird ways. They were wired differently and, like my soulmate keeps telling me occasionally, it was just bad timing that didn't keep us together.

So today, this post is dedicated to all the loves of my life. The times i spent with all of you were fulfilling, enriching, frustrating, bittersweet. I got out lighter because i gave a piece of my heart to each one of you, but also wiser because i took a bit of sensibility in return.

There are things i have internalised from you guys; things that will stay with me till the day i leave this world and pass on to the next. In order of oldest to freshest exes:
1. Always brush your teeth before going to sleep.
2. Love can come in any size, Zero or 16, because it's the chemistry that matters.
3. If your life together is at the expense of extensive collateral damage, consider the worth of your decision very carefully.
4. Think, "what's the worse that will happen?" and you'll be able to deal with any situation.

There you go. I'm misty-eyed, walking down the roads of Past and listening to Guzaarish songs. I feel nice in a bittersweet way, not very unlike how they all made me feel.

We were good together, guys. And now, it's all good.

A year on many counts.

Like i haven't harped enough on it already, i'm saying it again: last year was awesome for me. And this year's been even better so far, although there are still a lot of things to fix.

My Nikon D3000 is a year old. In the photography calendar, it's roughly 6000 pictures old.

My job is a year old.

Red is almost four years old, and i have driven him for all of 360 hours. Chee thoo.

I'm really, really looking forward to the rest of the year because there are lots of good things to come. I can feel it in my bones.

Pick me up, darlin!

Stone.

It’s true that as my age has increased, so has my desire and ability to travel. More recently, I seem to have developed a veneer of (unnecessary) extreme unfriendliness and what I believe to be a cold attitude towards most people I come across in life. And this I see especially when I travel.

And this is what I feel most shitty about too, when I think of the two chutku boys in Hampi.

I was in the temple town mid-last month over a long weekend. Having visited the place five years earlier, I was shocked at how crowded it had become, and how many more foreigners were on the loose there. (Only later did I figure out that it was because of Sankranti and the Hampi Festival.) And of course, with foreigners comes more commercialisation and absolute fascination for the fair-skinned ones. So most locals assume that anybody with the colouring or an unfamiliar (read untypically Indian) nature is categorised as ‘foreigner’. So it was that the four of us who reached on Friday afternoon ended up being mistaken for foreigners. That my camera appeared to be big-ass, and I appeared to be a big-ass photographer didn’t help any.

And that’s why, when we climbed the hillock next to Virupaksha Temple, people walked up to us and asked us take pictures of them with my camera, or just stared into the picture viewer from behind me as I kept clicking. Most of them were shady, so my hackles went up immediately and my armour of prickles fell into place. I gave everybody cold looks, turned around and questioned a few Peeping-over-shoulder Toms with “Is there a problem?” or “Excuse me?” in a venom-drenched voice. In the middle of all this, two little boys, egged on by a bunch of teenage hooligans, approached me and asked me to take a picture. I made disgusted faces and followed it up with an unfriendly, I-don’t-have-time-for-this “Okay, stand.” I figured they were going to be cocky young gits.

And that’s when things changed. Because this is how those two boys stood for the picture.

I haven’t seen anybody pose like this in years. The last time was decades ago, when I saw a picture of myself as a chubby, innocent 1st standard student standing at the gate of my grandparents’ place with arms falling on either side of my hip as if punished. When I saw that innocence repeated in the two little boys, I just melted.

After posing for the picture, they came up to see it. And they smiled big smiles that penetrated my armour, tore through my ribs and squeezed my heart to create pain-pleasure. And then they just walked away. Maybe I would have done something more than just let them go, maybe I would have smiled back at them, maybe I would’ve taken a better picture – I’ll never know. Because by then, the scoundrel teenagers who had egged them on came along for a peep at the picture over my shoulder, and my armour quickly fell back in place to defend me.

Now, every time I see this picture, I want to cry because I was so unfriendly to the two chutkus for no fault of theirs, or for that matter, for no reason. I feel like my heart’s being injected with a more-than-healthy dose of pain because I didn’t give the Maybes that ran through my mind any closure.

More than anything, every time I see this picture, I hate myself for turning into this cold person.

Okay, so i'm on the other side of the 20s...

Now what?

The weather today: warm, fuzzy and happy.

Kadmon ko sambhalein,
Nazron ka kya karein?
Nazron ko sambhalein,
To dil ka kya karein?

Dil ko sambhaley zubaan
Ishq hua hi hua...

Yes, i'm in a happy, sunshiny mood today.

Burday Shurday.

The realisation that i'm going to be 28 (!!!!!!) soon, is hitting me big time. And i want to do something different, something that will give me the sort of peace i have been seeking for years now.

So i want to spend the day along. Maybe ride somewhere quiet with a book and good food for company. Or spend a day watching random movies at Fun Cinemas. Or perhaps that day i have planned for Hard Rock Cafe. Hmm.

I also want to gift myself something. Three choices:
- A Nikon lens
- An external hard drive: my pictures will eventually have to get off my laptop!
- An HP Mini

I have no idea what i'll indulge in, what i'll buy, what i'll do. No harm delaying the decision by another week, i guess.

New Year Realisations.

I don't believe in resolutions, they never work for me. I do think that every year brings new realisations with it, though. So, these are the things i have realised so far:

1. I'm a home bird. No matter where i go, i'll want to come back and sleep on my bed and pee in my loo and ride on my bike without a pillion and meet my friends and have time to myself.

2. I do not understand the idea of open relationships, or for that matter, 'open endings' being the new closure for relationships.

3. I can deal with heartbreaks. Hell, yeah!

4. 27 was the best age of my life. I loved that year. If i could re-live it, i would. Over and over.

5. I'm good enough at photography to want to hold an exhibition. Please, the pictures in the previous post are nothing to judge me by. I chose the worst ones on purpose.

6. I get claustrophobic when people start getting (metaphorically) too close to me.

7. I have to change people's impression of me as a scary person.

8. My friend says she has 'this feeling' that i'm going to get married this year. I know that that window of opportunity for marriage is closing again for me, and i'm the one pulling the shutters down.

9. I love my life. Pain, flirtations, uncertainties, responsibilities, fog in my head, restlessness, boyfriend-lessness, the sentimental-mad-irritable part of me - everything included. Would i trade any of it? Umm... Yes, waiter, bring me one Boyfriend; medium spicy please.

10. I can't watch my parents growing old. I hate the feeling of helplessness that accompanies it.

11. I'm going to try and finish a book of short stories this year.

12. I have to get my passport done. Because i want to go to Australia this year. I even checked fares. 40K round-trip, travel only. Not bad no?

13. Screw the world, i'll do what i like and what i believe is right!

14. I'm starting to look old.

15. Weight-loss, not priority. Staying fit, top priority.

Any of you got realisations you might want to share?

And a happy new yaar to you too.

Kem cho kem cho bhai ben! Maja ma? I'm back from Gujarat after a two-week long holiday. Not the first choice of vacationing for normal people, but you'd be surprised at how much the state has to offer to tourists: we barely managed to cover half the places.

The itinerary: Gir, Somnath, Bhuj, Dhordo, Ahmedabad, Diu, Baroda.

We stayed at Gir Birding Lodge, separated by a cement wall from the forest. (No, no chance of the lions jumping over to feast on humans.) It's the perfect place to forget that civilisation exists outside of the property. A safari one day, and a day trip to Somnath the other, followed by a bus ride - the most uncomfortable one for me, ever - the next day to Ahmedabad more or less summarises this leg of the trip. We didn't spot lions on the safari, but were fascinated enough by the Neelgai and green pigeons.

On the day trip to Somnath we shopped (!) outside the temple for beady stuff and pit-stopped at Veravel to watch boats being constructed. I think we entertained the cab driver immensely because he went all proactive and took us to a dam in the vicinity (no, it wasn't the Narmada). Got some good shots there and then headed back to the lodge.

Next stop, Kutch. After a long bus journey to Bhuj, we were transported to Dhordo where we were staying. The terrain was dry, flat and dotted with shrubs and babool trees. Fortunately, it was migration time so we spotted tons and tons of beautiful, fascinating birds. The first day of our stay, we were taken to Ludiya village where the locals were selling their crafts for huge sums of money - blankets, bedsheets, pillow covers and clothes embellished with mirrors and detailed, multicoloured embroidery. In the evening, we went to White Rann.

My first view of the salt desert left me breathless. It was an expanse of white for as far as the eye could see. During the day, the water evaporated, leaving the salt surface hard and easy to walk on. As night approaches and the temperature begins to drop, the surface moistens and little puddles of salt form across the desert. It would've been worth every pain to watch it in the night, but we had no such luck. By 8 p.m, we were taken back to our tents.

The next day, we were piled into mini buses along with thousands of Gujarati families to Kala Dongra - the highest point in Kutch from where you can see the state border and, if you stretch your imagination a little, the India-Pakistan border. We exited the place fast enough to get to the actual Indo Pak border. Unfortunately for us, we made it as far as the bridge that marks the beginning of the BSF because the tour organisers had failed to acquire permission to visit the border. Disappointed, we made our way back to White Rann and visited the salt desert again in the evening as a sort of consolation prize.

Diu was next on the map, and for me this was the high-point of the trip. Because it was an island, you could stop anywhere and just run out onto the beach. And what beaches! Virgin, golden and absolutely picturesque. I think i'm going to visit the place once a year, i'm so in love with it. Diu also happens to be the only place in Gujarat where alcohol is legal (and it's dirt cheap), so it isn't unreal to say that the place is a cleaner, non-commercial Goa. Three days at the place just didn't seem enough.

It was with a heavy heart that we left for Baroda, but once there, we couldn't stop admiring the city. Chiefly historical, the place is a mix of the old world and the new. That was another place where we went mad shopping: heavy, pretty costume jewellery for dirt cheap, beautiful sarees and lovely slippers. Having spent close to two days there roaming the city and indulging our wallets, we left for Ahmedabad.

At Ahmedabad, we visited the night market at Law Garden. Resplendent, colourful and so alive, i wanted to live there. There was everything - pillow covers to blouses, purses to murals and more, all soaked in the style of Gujarati craftsmanship. Even more exciting, we went for a farmhouse party, complete with a dance floor, DJ, booze, food and party clothes, in Ahmedabad. A surprise for a city that's so Gandhi in everything it does, but a really enjoyable experience that saw us there till the end of the party (yeah, staying till the party ends is in our blood).

New Year's Eve was a quiet one, spent at NID. New crowd, new sentiments, new experience. I liked.

I was back in Bangalore on the 1st of January, battling the demons i had left behind. But it felt good coming back. Guess it's true what they say, no matter where you go and what you do, there's no place like home.

Okay bye bye.

Year end's here! Time to travel again!

I'm off tomorrow to Gujarat for the Rann Utsav, and Gir and Diu and Ahmedabad and Baroda and Lothal and Narmada and so, so much fun. But there's also fear, the kind that grips and paralyses me just before i travel to any place for a loooong time. Plus, there are a lot of other things playing in my head, but i'm going to take this as it comes.

So for all of you out there, Merry Christmas and New Year and all that, and i'll catch you guys when i'm back next year!

Adios amigos y amigas!

And it all comes back.

So, the Boy is back. For a month, for his sister's wedding. And for some reason, when he called me totally out of the blue after more than a year of silence, he expected things to be just the way they were. Really, are they all such nincompoops?

I gasped when he said his name over the phone, and i was exceedingly slow in my responses because the call caught me unawares. And then i consciously calmed myself down, waited for the rest of those traitor emotions to take over, but they didn't. Seems like something has changed after all.

G kept advising me to maintain my dignity and not give in and call or message him, and i didn't. Till yesterday. Because all said and done, shared intimacy can never be shrugged away as easily as one thinks - it always takes truckloads of effort, and even then there are leftover feelings.

So i said, to hell with dignity, and messaged him.

And now, i'm done. Now i want my dignity to remain, so that's where i stop.

In other news, I'm off for another long trip in December covering most of Gujarat. And i'm really, really looking forward to it. Gir, Somnath, Rann of Kutch, Diu, Saputara Hills, Mount Abu, Baroda and then back to Bangalore.

I don't eat ice so often any more, so i'm guessing that's a good thing.

Why are hickies and pregnancy viewed in two different lights? I mean, they're both signs of your sexual activity, and pregnancy screams out "i effed around! woo hoo!" louder than blood clots, and still blood clots are a shameful thing and pregnancy is not. Bah, double standards. (This was a 'just by the way' thing.)

I am of the opinion that half the time, the people we fall in love with are people we made to fall in love with by other people. It's amazing how psychological conditioning works. The rare cases when it happens by our own will power are possibly the ones that last. And on the same lines, there's no such thing as lasting love.

I've started putting on weight again because i stopped exercising. And i hate it absolutely, but i don't want to gym because i find it exceedingly boring now.

Two days ago, i had the first Beef Burger of my life. It was alright, though the meat could've been spicier.

N's getting married, and i'm her Maid of Honour. Another first. Woo hoo!

It's been a great year so far!

A penny for my thought, anyone?

On the way back from Grandma's last evening, my parents were talking about something bad that had happened to somebody: a traumatic experience that has left everybody invovled, rattled. Dad, after a moment of thought, heaved a sigh and wondered aloud about why God puts people through such pain. They're people who've never wished harm on anybody and have lived their lives as good human beings.

Which got me thinking: What if we're all wrong in the way we see this?

What if it's not God who's putting us through the pain? What if it's the work of El Diablo?

Really, if everything said about God is true, then He should stand for all that's good, and only that. I think it's the devil that puts us through the tests to see if we still emerge singing praises of God, or just give up and live a Godless life. So when we say, "Why is he putting us through this?", we should start meaning the fallen angel and not God.

Maybe even God will agree with my perspective.

Of days in Mumbai.

I've spent the last ten days in the star-studded city of Mumbai. It was a most refreshing trip, and i come back a new person.

I blew close to 20 grand on shopping - a stupidity i will pay for dearly over the next few months. I mean, who goes to Mumbai and shops for 20K? I did manage to get a lot of good stuff though (bet you're thinking, "you'd better have!"), and quite a bit of it for the family. But still.

I managed to go to some new eating places, travelled the Sea Link, drove down to Ali Baugh to have a (totally sucky) meal at the Radisson, partied at the most happening place in town, took lots of pictures, recreated the infamous Bailey's night at Hyderabad, learned a few secrets, vegetated, experienced the most amazing Thai foot massage and of course, shopped like the whole concept was going out of fashion. Pictures will follow shortly. Like, the minute i'm over the vacation lag. And the trauma of sporting a round face with plump cheeks thanks to all the eating!

Goaaaaaaaah!

There's one thing i can say for this Goa trip: if all my previous days on the coast are enough to send me to hell - maybe even deeper, if one exists - then this weekend is enough to buy me some redemption.

It was my most sober, tame, un-wild Goa trip ever. And these days, because i'm not so fond of rambling on and using my writing ability as fillers for posts (which i seem to be doing pretty often - my writing skills are gradually getting insufferable), i'm going to do a High points and Low points number.

So, here goes:

High Points:

Bumming on the beach for endless hours under a parasol: the sea breeze ruffling my hair, some nice bods to check out, a foot massage, alternating between a dip in the water and lazing on a sun bed...

Dolphin spotting: For the first time ever, we woke up at an unearthly 8:30 a.m (unearthly for Goa, that is) to look for pink snub noses in the sea. The water was pretty choppy with no guarantee of us spotting dolphins, and the rains were lashing but we still managed to see a trio.

Cape Town Cafe: Good crowd, great music, strong OH mixes. Bye bye 'Oh-i'm-so-cool-look-at-all-the-men-ogling-at-me' firang chicks gyrating obscenely on the pole counter at Mambo's! Adios men with pleading eyes trying to find women to get them in to watch the firangs!

Parasailing: All i'd like to say is, sailing over the sea is the best adrenalin rush ever. (Apart from river rafting.)

Chicken Biryani at Souza Lobo and Prawn Vindaloo at a beach shack: Even Mom's Biryani pales in comparison. And the prawns, oh the prawns. Yummm.

Low points:

- Bickering with the water sports guy over his charges. It sort of just got out of control.

- People stuffing their tongues down other people's throats, age group 18 onwards.

- A brilliant friend hiring a bike and riding a different one all through our stay, only to realise when we returned it a half hour before heading to the bus stand to catch our bus back, that the bike she rode was not the one hired out. Result: a very pissed off K and N, even more irritated because of making it to the bus by the skin of our teeth.

- Love in the air. And us? Single women. Sigh.

Dandiya che!

School girl-ish excitement was the flavour of the night, along with some Pav Bhaji, eggless cake and cuisine. The women were dressed up in mirror-work ghagras complete with tons of Lambada-style bangles, temporary tattoos, face makeup and heavy headgear. The men were mostly in kurta pyjamas, but some wore the traditional Gujrati costumers. The sticks were many-coloured and blingy.

That's how the first Dandiya night of my life began.

We dressed up in our best and went to Palace Grounds last night, reaching at 9:00 p.m-ish. Surprisingly, we were early. Dandiya sticks were on sale - 20 bucks a pair - and since we didn't carry any of our own, we excitedly went and bought us some...bamboo sticks of various colours cut to size and lined with pink colour on the edges???

Dandiya nights are apparently places where the eyes meet and the hearts connect - either in the circle of dance or via heavy saree-clad 'Ben's and 'Bai's. So when we arrived, the Gujju boy of our gang was given a once-over by a Black Saree Ben snickering something into her companion's ear. The Gujju girls - one who hadn't been to a Dandiya night in 10 years and another who felt like it had been that long since she had done it - were also weighted and rated by their dance moves, smiles and... more. Our South Indian friend decided he was better off amidst the stalls packed with Gujrati flavours than wielding sticks to give a friendly smack to his rotating partners.

I was pretty freaked out by the intricacy of the dance movements - the garbha and what-not - till i got the basics, after which i was set for the night. Two rounds of basic, then another three with a bit more flourish, and i was bathed in sweat. The movement might be slow and the beats well-paced but you can bet your a** that it exercises your body like hell. And because the circle is so enormous, we dandiya-d with the same people over and over. I wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the night, we'd started addressing everybody by their family-given nicknames! We wound up at 2:30 in the morning after a last ten minutes of frenzied dancing during which the drummer fancied himself to be a band member of Rammstein.

Exiting the place and fully excited at having inaugurated my Dandiya experiences, i turned to my friends and said, "So, shall we do this on Wednesday too?" to which my friends replied with withering looks. Like me, i guess they'd never dreamed of dancing to Dandiya versions of Beedi Jalai Le (Omkara), Tadap Tadap Ke (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam), Bin Tere Sanam (Umm, don't remember movie), and other very new-age disco numbers - one night of it was as much as they could handle.

Oh well, until next year then.

He said, "Love you" and meant it.

The only man in my life so far who's said those words - almost an embarassed confession (not to anything clandestine, though) just before he hung up.

I was on the phone last evening, talking to him. We hadn't had a decent one-on-one despite my meeting him several times in the past couple of weeks, thanks to some stupid clingy bitch and a big crowd. I really wish i had the time to talk to him some more, but the conversation we had was enough. He couldn't stop thanking me for the gift, cracked a couple of bad-ass 'man' puns (his justification: "You were listening to a whole lot of shit from the other boys and laughing your ass off, i say one thing and you're all chee-chee?"), laughed, said we'd keep in touch. And just as we were hanging up: "I will remember you with fondness, thanks sweetheart, take care" and just before the phone could be disconnected, "Love you".

I knew it, i always knew it. The affection was mutual, from the beginning.

When the words were uttered yesterday, though, i didn't know how to react. I just cut the phone. And i gave a bit of a head jerk - sort of like how one is awakened from a stupor when they're slapped. It's just a comparison, and not how i felt at all.

Ironic, isn't it? That when i hear the words from boyfriends and lovers, i fervently wish they're true. And when it actually comes from a person i feel a great deal of respect, affection, even a healthy amount of attraction for, i'm unable to feel anything much except that this time, the words were genuine.

Yes, i've said yes.

It's been running through my head for a couple of months now. And really, i can't put my finger on what made me change my mind, but change it they did.

I spoke to several people about it, had conversations with those leading happy lives and those leading normal ones, got completely confused and mind effed, dillydallied, freaked out, consulted, did everything i possibly could.

My biggest fear was that once i opened up my mind to it and the words were out of my mouth, there was no going back.

So over dinner on the night of the 25th, as we all watched TV, i told my parents that i had decided.

Decided to get married.

My biggest sadness is that i won't have my love story. The one i wanted to have with every man i dated for however long, of which just two came really close to being told about to my parents. My biggest sadness is that i have to let go of the excitement of walking up to my parents and telling them, "Here's the guy i want to marry."

But i guess that's not how it's supposed to be with me. So i'll live with it.

So yes, that's that. Fingers crossed, waiting to see where this decision will take me.

Struggling to speak Spanish.

In a time far, far away, i used to play Uno on Facebook. With three random people from across the world. One such game happened to have a diverse, interesting set of people, of whom one guy sent me a friend request and i accepted. That's where it ended.

Today, two years later, he pings me. And we talk. In Spanish! How cool is that? I had some difficulty understanding a few things, for which i quickly referred online or my book. It was awesome, and it felt good to be talking in a language not my own. I still have far to go, though.

Anyway, gist of the conversation was that he was impressed i could understand him so perfectly (Hah! If he only knew!), and liked chatting with me and hoped to catch me online again sometime.

And before the wheels begin turning double time in your heads, i'm doing this because i need to better my Spanish. He doesn't know this of course, because i don't know how to say 'I'm only practicing my Spanish with you' in Espanol.

Hmm... 'Yo soy practico en el Espanol contigo'? No se.

Sweeeeet.

An evening well spent. With Marvin Gaye and Nina Simone and Led Zep and Frank Sinatra and Aretha Franklin and CCR and Jefferson Airplane and Michael Buble and Roxy Music and Koop and The Mamas and The Papas and Jose Feliciano and...well, you get the drift.

And then out to Cirrus where i spot a lot of new faces and some old, long-lost ones.

Back home to K's, taking it easy. Monkey print shorts and grey anti-fit shirt. A for company. Interesting conversations. Good food.

This is what life should be all about.

That's not the way we be, Boy.

I couldn't end with a song that was good enough to tell you how i felt about the situation, but now that i've rediscovered it, here it is:

All the time that we spend together
I won't fuss
I won't fight tryin to make you mine
You know i'm not that kind

I said I'll love you 'til the 12th of never
But I won't run far ahead
Leaving you behind
You know I'm not that kind

'Cause I'm not that kind of girl
And it's not my kind of world
No it's not for me
Not where I wanna be

Help me out
Tell me what you're thinkin
If I rush, slow me down
You can take your time
You know I'm not that kind

If you leave, I believe life will go on
The wind will blow, water flow
And the sun will shine, yeah it will
You know I'm not that kind

'Cause I'm not that kind of girl
And it's not my kind of world
No it's not for me
So live and set you free

Now what I say to you
I would say to no other
I've got my friends
I won't look for another in you,
So what you gonna do?

'Cause if you swing with me
Soon you will discover
I'll give you tenderness
Unlike any other can do

And what I say is true

'Cause I'm not that kind of girl
And it's not my kind of world
No it's not for me, not for me
I said not where I wanna be
Said not where I wanna be
It's not my kinda thing
It's not the way, way we wanna swing
It's not for you, it's not for me
I said my baby
I'm not that kind
I'm not that kind
No
Not that kind of girl.

The Room Re-vamp.

When i'm not working, i'm obsessing about what to do with my room. Just after we'd moved into the new house and settled down, my room was the one with the least character. For months now, i've been wondering what to do to make it more me.

Of course, this journey has been embarked upon several times over several weeks. I've managed to collect a few things here and a few things there to use up as and when the time for it comes. On the list are fabric that can be used as a bedspread, cushions in bright colours, fancy shmancy fabric to make cushion covers, chatais and etcetera. But then all that's a waste if there's nowhere to put them, no?

The initial plan was to buy a Futon, not just because the room needed more seating space (imagine four people squeezed in on a rickety old wrought-iron single bed) but also because i loved the idea of owning one. Then when i finally went shopping, i settled for foldable mattresses from Kurlon.

Today, the time finally came for me to pull out all those things i had stashed up and do something with them. So i did.

Clockwise from left: Chatais from Home Stop, Rs.315 and Rs. 350 respectively; Foldable mattresses from Kurlon with a one-year warranty, two 4X6 and one 3X6, Rs. 3600 in all; bedspread fabric from Platform, Chennai for Rs. 250; Jute shatranji from Rajasthan Handicrafts Exhibition, Rs. 1000; Cushions in silk covers from Yercaud and Home Stop, Rs. 1000 for all.

Here's what it finally turned into...

I used the width difference in the mattresses to advantage and created a sort of step. Works fabulously to rest feet. And gives ideas on playing with two different bedspreads to try as a combination. Now, i have to stock up on the bedspreads because i really like what the contrast looks like.

Coming soon: A custom-made bookshelf to mount on my shoe cabinet. And a little spot for all the herbs i'm planning to grow!

'Supdates.

Yes yes, it's been a while. It's the laziness that one feels after a long bout of hard work and non-stop busy-ness. So anyway, here are updates:

1. Salsa Congress was awesome. Got to see some amazing performances, gave an amazing performance that got a standing ovation from not just the crowd but also the international dance instructors at the Congress. Woo hoo!

2. Learnt the basics of Bachata, Colombian Salsa, Reggae and some fancy footwork. Didn't have time for any other workshop. And the after-parties? Oh my God. There's no place i've seen that's so full of life and vigour as the after-parties. People dancing in a ground the size of half a football field!

3. Nivel Uno de Espanol. Complete. I passed. Distinction. Nivel Dos will start in September, but i want to keep the months from here on for travel.

4. On the cards: Mumbai, Pune, Baroda, Goa, Rajasthan.

5. I got back from Hyderabad on Wednesday morning. This was the first time i was visiting the city during Ramadan, and boy does the place know how to celebrate. I pigged out on Haleem and Sheermal Nahari at Charminar, and ate a paan (Kimaon) which i swear never to eat again because it got me high enough to throw up. Twice.

I also partied, chilled, spent time with family, and got myself some soul comfort. Very different, very memorable trip.

6. Work's going good. Pretty busy, actually.

7. I'm considering marriage. Seriously.

8. I spoke to a friend whose husband gifted her the world map and said, "Any place you put your finger on, we'll go for a holiday there." That's going to be one of my qualifying criteria to get hitched: when i meet the guy, i will put a world map in front of him and see what he does.

9. I desperately, desperately want a house of my own. And i'm contemplating telling my parents i want to move out.

10. Weight loss. Yay!

11. Flirtations, here and there.

12. It strikes me in the middle of the day that i will be 28 in another four months. 28!

13. I feel lumps in places they have no business being present. Need to get tested.

14. Sleep is my priority these days.

15. I held a baby in my arms after over three years. It didn't feel strange. Does that mean i'm ready? Gah,whatever.

16. My weekends are free again, and i suddenly find myself with more time on my hands than i know what to do with.

You succumb, and then you fall for it.

Back in college, Life Of Pi had strong psychological associations for me: pretentious, arty farty, intellectualised to the extent of being disgusting, blah blah blah. Don't ask me why, i just did.

Recently, i happened to chance upon it at a friend's place in a moment of boredom. Here, i have to pause to tell you that when i'm in the kind of bored mood that requires reading to make it go away, i will read anything - even The Times of India. So, of course, i decided to quell my boredom, and my faint curiosity on what could possibly be so enthralling about the book.

The first few pages amused me. A few paragraphs fascinated me. And some sentences stirred in me a deep understanding of human behaviour.

I was hooked.

I bought myself a copy, and finished reading it just sometime back. I can't say that i love it, only that there's something it does to you - spiritually, physically, psychologically. And with the last line of the last page of that story coming to an end, i decided that i would begin a new one by researching Pi Patel, carnivorous islands, Oika Shipping Company. What i found left me devastated: every single bit of that book is a fig-ment of Yann Martel's imagination. It didn't. Really. Happen.

Now, i just feel cheated. More cheated and betrayed than any other book has made me feel.

One performance down, the bigger one to go.

The student performance was last night. We grooved to a full house with a mixed crowd. Whistles, ego boosters, loud applause, catcalls - everything happened.

I made a couple of mistakes but then just went with the flow and had a blast. Lots of first times - first time performance in front of 300 people, first time showing my midriff to a whole bunch of strangers and a couple more that i prefer to keep private. It felt awfully awkward and weird - the rare conservative streak in me showed itself - but i like dancing more than that, so i got comfortable soon enough. Besides, it's a once in a lifetime (or twice, if one counts the coming Salsa Congress) thing, so it should be okay.

I had the troupe director's husband walk up to me and say, "My god, you were so good, and you looked so pretty! I couldn't take my eyes off you!" And apparently a lot of people told the director that they enjoyed watching me perform.

Happiness has happened. Two months of strenuous training for three and a half minutes of near-perfect bellydancing. I just have to make sure i'm even better at the Salsa Congress.

What are the chances of...

...spotting lots of good-looking men in Bangalore? At the same time? And the same place????????

...walking up to Random Guy You Think Is Cute and tell him, "I'm sorry about interrupting, but i think you're cute"?

...wearing a really short dress and getting away without anybody recognising who you are?

None, unless you were me and happened to be at UB City tonight, sipping cocktails at City Bar.

By the way, i cannot for the life of me understand what the big hullabaloo about that place is. It sucks. (Cue severe retching and Bulimic noises).