Inebriation.

Friday night was a highly memorable one. There was an unquenchable desire to put. To get pasted and wasted and so sloshed that i reached a point where i cared about nothing and nobody. And that's exactly what happened.

It started with going to Retro with A, where i downed a Long Island, a Tommy Gun and a Mojito while venting with A about men and their stupidities and what jerks they are. Despite being male himself, A still agreed with me. Yes, he's sweet like that. :)

From Retro, we headed to Cirrus at near-closing time to meet the Gujju, where i headed straight for the bar and ordered not one, but two Strawberry Daiquiris. And i glugged them down (strangely reminding me of the Bailey's shots episode all those years back) despite their high OH content. Needless to say, i was a Swinger after that. Uncontrollable giggling, statements to Gujju's team from work that could potentially get her fired, considering her manager was also one of them (to whom i said as they were introducing themselves, taking efforts to repeat their names, "Oh don't bother so much with it, i'm not going to remember your names tomorrow morning anyway"), driving back to her place to spend the night... And in the middle of all this, wanting to orally get rid of the contents in my stomach because they were making me feel queasy.

Once at A's place, i slept almost as soon as i stepped into the house. And then i died. Till 6:30 in the morning, when i was suddenly revived by the knowledge that i hadn't called my parents the night before to tell them that i wasn't going to come home. Fully fearing that i had screwed up and expecting to see hundreds of missed calls on my phone, imagine my surprise when i saw none!

So i checked my calls log, and to my horror, i see that i have made a call to and received a call from my Dad after i had passed out. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! I check my messages, and i see that i sent out a perfectly sane message to my mom when i was beyond the point of sanity. Double Eek. And i also replied to R's 1 o clock in the morning-message with "Sloshed. Staying at A's. G'nite."

The best part about all of this? I don't remember doing any of it. Don't. Remember. It's the only time in my entire life that i don't remember what i did, and i'm so happy that i was able to let go, loosen up that much.

I guess that's what they call a responsible drunk, then. And i'm glad to know i am one, even when i have no memory of it.

Phew. Giant relief. Seriously.

When mothers get inspired by rude boys.

It was a normal day of domesticity yesterday, as my mother sat sprawled on the semi-easy chair in the hall and i was somewhere near her feet like a servile daughter or sprawled on the Diwan like cheese spread - can't remember which. We channel surfed for something interesting, and settled in with our default TLC. Who should be strutting across the screen on a pavement but the hat-wearing, chain-dangling, finger ring-clunking hunk of Oomph named Aaron Craze, host of Rude Boy Food on TLC. He isn't hot by conventional standards - English, maybe - and he's certainly not my type but he does make me want to... do things to him that might be considered rude in public. Jamie Oliver's protege. *Sigh* That about does it for me.

Now, mother and i love watching cookery shows regardless of language barriers and all that, so when i turned to her and told her "Oh Ma! Look! Rude Boy Food!", she replied with a sassy "I know". Well, well, well, what have we here?

Turns out she's caught a few episodes of our man all by herself sometimes. Yesterday, though, she was not only in the mood to catch his oomphy self (on TV) but also cook something he made: chicken burritos.

So, she went to Thom's Bakery today for all the required ingredients and seeing as there was too much effort involved, she ditched the burrito part of the recipe and made only the chicken. May i add that it was amazingly good. Who knew the flavours would come together so well? (Cumin seeds, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, a couple pods garlic, red chilli powder and olive oil ground to a paste and used as chicken marinade; those interested can figure out the quantity by trial and error!)

She sat there, feeling real proud of herself and saying excitedly, "Next time we'll try the other recipe okay?"

And i thought to myself, well, if this is what the rude boy can get her to do, then by all means, unleash him!

Say hello to Swinger the Sea Horse and Trixie the Turtle!

In real life, Trixie's bigger than Swinger. I created both of them using wires and glass beads.

Ghin, adj.: disgust, nauseating, abominable, detestable, hatefulness, loathing...

This is what i've been chanting:

"Don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate, don't hate...

...Alright, fine, then don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much, don't hate so much..."

You know, sometimes, when you need rescuing from strong feelings you must turn towards yourself.

There are 606 pictures on my trusty Sony Ericsson phone camera.

And they're all bits and pieces of my life.

Row 1: Walking a path that felt like it was straight out of Gladiator, and the best part? It's on top of this massive series of caves - Diu, Circa December 2010; Catching the sunrise on a bus to Hyderabad - Somewhere before Kondapur, Circa June 2011; When the girls are BFF, it's only natural for the Nikon D3000 and Nikon D90 to be too - Shack on Cavalossem, Circa March 2011; Loan sharks find innovative new ways of extortion, seen on the way to work - Bangalore, Circa August 2011.

Row 2: Dhaba without name near workplace, where the chairs are dirty but the plates squeaky clean, and my staple is almost always Dal, Jeera Rice and Gobi Manchurian (I have been known to try variations like Dal, Jeera Rice and Paneer Burji or Tawa Vegetables) - July 2011; Piping hot Jalebis near AK's home - July 2011; A freak lunch with freak friends where R signed my name as freaking Hulk Hogan on the merchant copy of the bill, and for no reason that be rationally explained - September 2011; Pretend-heating of Chai at Coffee Day, CMH Road, the same day A and i got wet to our souls and my bike got towed away - July 2011.

Row 3: More than raindrops fall when it rains, and this one was shot just off Ulsoor Lake where a terribly expensive sale of 'Made in China' apparel was on - June 2011; Metro on a trial run - April 2011; a walk in Cubbon Park with A - May 2011; Watching the sunrise after a whole night of swimming in alcohol and flying through clouds of smoke - April 2011.

Just Discovered: the happy side of Love.

Try not watching the video and only listening to the song.

And another one's added to the collection.

After much self-inflicted persuasion, i took out the big bag of beads and its accompanying tools of the trade to make this:

I also made a turtle (WIP, practice will make perfect), but i was too lazy to snap a picture, so i'll put it up with the Sea horse. No, i haven't made the sea horse yet. It's the most complicated of the lot (or it just requires more work) and my fear is that by the time i'm done with it, it will be all sea and no horse.

It should be done sometime this week, hopefully.

There's no stopping the shopping!

It reared its head at the beginning of Ramadan and went on till the wee hours of the first day of September. It ate up a fair amount of my salary - at least 15 grand, i would surmise - and left me feeling part depressed and part delighted.

Damn you, Shopping. It's a good thing your visits to me are pretty rare.

Here's what it made me buy:

I shopped for sarees. This, despite making up my mind that i would wear a salwar kameez this Eid. Stupid Dastakar stalls with stupid tempting sarees on display. Stupid greed which made me grab three sarees. (Can you tell that i'm willing to hold anything but me responsible for my lapse in sensibility?)




The green and floral prints are silk cotton mixes and cost 1,300 each. The Copper sulphate Blue (excuse the creases on it, i wore it for Eid) is pure Kanchipuram silk and cost me 2,900. The Pink saree you see in the picture is six meters of pure White Georgette that i got dyed that particular shade of pink. I feel like an empty space has been filled in my heart (and my wardrobe). The fabric's from Mysore Udyog, and the saree cost me 2500, including the dyeing.


I shopped for pretty stuff for the room. Blame Dastakar again.




There was a stall with tons and tons of kites and i just had to get one. It brings back memories of flying home-made kites with my grandfather on the terrace of their home. Not a bad deal for 75 bucks. The bling string (that's what i'm calling it) is actually a toran, but i liked the idea of hanging it straight. And so it hangs. Gujarat handicrafts, 550 bucks.


I shopped for more stoles and shawls, but will put it up some other time. I'm embarassed to put so many clothes up. Considering i still have to tell you about the blouses.

I shopped for blouses.

Brocade's been my poison for a couple of years now, so i picked up brocade fabrics (and one pure silk) from Mysore Udyog for the Pink and Copper sulphate Blue and got them made into blouses. Two for the blue and two for the pink, priced between 380-900 bucks per metre. I know, i know. Greed. I'm guilty of it.

I shopped for books. I ran out of books to read, so rather than go to a library like any decent reader with half a brain, i ordered for books online. Meet Flipkart, my new vice. Now this is one bunch of things i am neither guilty nor ashamed of! These books i've been eyeing for a loooooong time. Except for the Snicket - i think that's a new one.


Good buy. (If you have kids, or believe that you are one with serious spelling and word deficiencies.)


Come to Mommy. *Siiiigh*


NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA! Nyaaahahahahahahahaahaha! I know, i know. You hate me.

Yeah, that about sums up the reason behind my empty pockets and wideass grin.

Basic Instinct, anyone?

Our lot does not lead deprived lives. Far from it: we have Love on speed dial, men to keep us warm in the night, and a bunch of friends to do gm.com with. But when it comes to lust in movies, everything goes out of the window and we sit up like a bunch of teenagers to watch what's going to happen next - is she going to rip his clothes off or is he going to take her against the door?

One such thing occured last night. While surfing channels, we stumbled upon - ta dah! - Basic Instinct. Of course the baby among us hadn't watched it, so we went ahead and painted such a tempting picture of the entire movie that she refused to let go of the remote and sat down for maximum viewing pleasure. And the movie being the movie, we didn't mind watching it too.

The cameras roll, the murder gets done, Michael Douglas comes on screen, his psychologist girlfriend grills him about his being normal, he meets Sharon Stone...cut to the first "hot" scene of the movie, the prelude of which is Douglas getting into a fight with Nielsen at the pub and his psychologist girlfriend intervening. And then Michael Douglas turns to the chick and they share this moment of pure lust and he asks her, "So, you wanna go?" and she says yes, and they go back and then...

Then the scene just got cut and the movie went on as usual.

WhatinthenameofGodjusthappened?!

The same thing was repeated with Sharon Stone's leg-crossing and all the kissing, making-out, and kinky sex scenes. Every. single. one. of. them.

Our poor baby was in shambles. All those fairy tales she had heard about Basic Instinct were shattered, her eagerness had vapourised into nothingness and her appetite for dirt was left clean as a slate. She was depressed. We were just irritated. What was this, a movie for kids??? Why was it that Hindi movies got away with yucky wet kisses and Basic Instinct's kisses were censored? Mallika Sherawat's body in Hissss (Did i ge the number of S's in the movie title right??) is permissible and Sharon Stone crossing her legs is not? Gaaaah.

The Indian Censorboard needs to have its head screwed on right. No no, not that head. Let them just start with the one above their shoulders; there's plenty of time left to deal with the one below.

It felt good being good.

Ramadan came to an end yesterday and we celebrated Eid. This time, particularly, i revelled in every minute of it. Well, except for the times that i was suffering serious hunger pangs and was all set to bite people's heads off. But overall, i'm extremely happy with the way Ramadan went this time.

I fasted for 24 days, despite the couple of times that i woke up late and just about managed to eat something - the other six days were unavoidable; i prayed a lot, and it didn't just calm me down, but also gave me an outlet for my grief; i avoided putting and sending - and diligently too; i didn't cuss, which is a very, very, very big achievement; and in general, i felt like a much better person.

Last night, i went to The Biere Club because K was in town, and after having decided that i would prolong my "good"ness for just a little bit longer, i gave in to drinking a Chocotini. And it didn't feel all that good. Felt like i was doing something i didn't want to do. And all that smoke, Phew! We were sitting in the smoking section - which is usually the case - but last night was especially painful because people were blowing smoke in my face constantly and i didn't realise it for the longest time. It hit me only after i came home, got a super-painful headache and started coughing like i was going to throw up my lungs. So i really want to avoid that as much as possible, because i'd like to be extra careful about my health now.

I figured out a few things during this month of fasting:
1. I don't need OH in my life, i can do without it. Except for maybe a couple of times when i want to be as light-headed as everybody else and let loose. But otherwise, i don't feel the need for drinking.
2. I want to continue praying. Even if i can't do it with as much diligence as i did this last month, i'd like to do it as often as i can. It was the only source and moment of peace i have had since this whole SM Thing has begun.
3. I want to focus on getting back to the person i was - happy, peaceful, and above all, unaffected by shit around me.
4. There's no point in my stressing - everything will happen as it should happen. It's like Paddy Clarke says: "Sometimes, when nothing happened it was really getting ready to happen."
5. I want to make the most of everything i have - the time, the talent and the life that i possess.

I did have most of these things in place till January. The bloody slip-up is what led to all the heartache again. But i need to get over it. I must.

Here's to wishing me luck.

A course in Speed Eating (aka how to practice for a world record in consuming copious amounts of food in the least amount of time possible).

Step 1: Talk to moron friend till late in the night over the phone, claiming confidently that no matter how late you sleep, you're up on the dot, unfailingly (like any normal man's morning woody) in time to eat food lavishly.

Step 2: Forget that Murphy is a b******, and that he has a law for this sort of overconfidence and cockiness too: "The later and cockier you sleep, the later you'll get up and the more screwed you'll be."

Step 3: Get startled out of deep slumber by a call from Mom, asleep thousands of miles away (as if) in the next room.

Step 4: Look at watch and go *#$%&*#^$%!*

Step 5: Realise that there's hardly any time left to eat, so contemplate only drinking water and fasting. And then listen to Dad, and check the time table of sunrise and sunset. You have 15 minutes to heat and eat food. Hallelujah.

Step 6: You run to the kitchen, pull out plates and spoons, head back to the dining table, pull out stuff from the fridge...

Step 7: ... shovel it onto your plate and start eating furiously.

Step 8: Follow this simple technique to cram as much food as possible in the eight minutes left - lift hand, shove it in mouth, chew twice, swallow, lift hand, shove it in mouth, chew twice, swallow, lift hand... Ignore the temperature of the food. 4:42 a.m is freezingly cold enough, so 12-degree food should be the least of your concerns.

Step 9: Eat till the last note of the last call for prayer reverberates in the early morning air.

Step 10: Somehow manage to drink lots of water in between.

Congratulations, you will not be fasting to death today!

I'll be glad when we break up.

You've been a pain these last eight months. I've fallen horribly sick. Fallen off the bike many, many times. Broken out into horrendous rashes. Been down in the dumps. Anxious. Upset. Irritable. Shed a million tears when i'd rather be shedding kilos. I'm dreading your intentions. Dreading those little tricks you've got planned up your sleeve in the coming months.

Thanks to you, people i'm not particularly fond of, because of the state of affairs, are preening in my face. I've had fights with friends, i've had huge misunderstandings, i've ditched a few. I've cancelled big travel plans because of you. You've been nothing but 240 days of bad news. With maybe a few really, really, really remarkable days in between - and i can count those on the fingers of my right hand.

But, like i said, i can't wait to say goodbye to you. I've hated you. And on the night of New Year's Eve, i'll be only too glad to see your back and welcome 2012 with open arms.

It's that kind of weather.

On my playlist today:

Aadat - Jal

Jalpari - Atif Aslam for Coke Studio

Chal diye - Zeb and Haniya for Coke Studio

Yeh haseen vadiyaan - Roja, on radio

Khaabon ke parindey - Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara

Yep, it's a nice day. A gorgeous day. A day to dream, hope, live, love.

I time-travelled last night.

It rained last night, all the way into the wee hours of the morning. Poured. The water ripped through the barriers that were windows and stormed right in. It was... invigorating.

There wasn't a sound to be heard, except for the steady clashing of sheets of rain. It reminded me of us. Trapped in the rain. With a pack of cards for company. The endless rythm of pelting water drops. Sleeping to its sound. Waking up to its orchestrated light-heavy-light-medium harmony. A wet night. An equally wet morning.

An unforgettable 24 hours.

You know sometimes how you just don't want to...

...get out from under the shower because the water's like a million dollars' worth of therapy because it soothes you and washes away all the pain and envelops you in its warmth and is the only kind of comfort you will find in a long, long while and so you don't want it to stop?

Today was that kind of day.

P.S: This blog is going to be on the darker side of things for a while. If you want to feel cheerful, maybe my other blog will help.

Red's in trouble.

He's completed 41,000 kilometers in the four years of his existence. Time enough to take a break and pay a visit to the garage. What i didn't expect was for him to be in such bad shape.

When the service guy came home to take him and go, i gave Red a once-over after God knows how long. And he was in terrible condition! The a/c vent was missing its slide, the fuel gauge wasn't working, the clutch was sticking, the plate under the battery was coated in acid, springs were popping out of the seats... it broke my heart to see Red like that. Evidently, the driver we had hired was not doing a job that was worthy of even half his salary. In the evening, the service guy called to say that the fuel gauge wasn't working because rats had chewed on the wires connecting the fuel tank to the gauge. Imagine my horror.

I'm hoping that an overnight stay at the garage will do Red a world of good. I also think that it's time for me to harden up and start driving. I don't think i can put Red through any more trauma.

*Sniff*

Today, on Master Chef, there was this wine maker suffering from partial cerebral palsy who was also a contestant, but he had enough skill and enough determination to make it till this current round. He had made it through Adriano Zumbo's pastry challenge, and Matt Moran's basic skills challenges, so he must be, right?

But in today's challenge where they were supposed to make 3 desserts in 2 hours or something, he couldn't do it because he was slow. And he produced average stuff, and when he was asked to walk up to the judge's table to present his dish, he walked up without it. And he said he couldn't do it, he wouldn't serve that dish to his friends and family, so he couldn't serve it to the judges of Masterchef either. And he said that he just couldn't keep up with the time because of his palsy, and he volunteered to go straight into elimination round. I cried.

People like him make me feel so useless and unworthy of things.

The heart is heavy...

...but the guns must be stuck to.

I'm normal about all this. Way too normal. So normal that it's freaking me out. A little. It's like A said to me once back in college when T told me over the phone that i would find someone better: "Nabi, you're sure you're okay? I mean, you're not crying, you're not sad, you're...you're laughing about it! Please don't do something stupid, promise you won't commit suicide!"

So no, suicide is most definitely not on the cards. It's for people who cannot make it through the worst meltdown of their lives. I've had mini-meltdowns in the past, but not enough to warranty doing it. Except maybe once, when i was very, very, very close to it but it didn't...Okay the point is, my normalcy is worrying me a bit. Just a bit.

But on the flipside, worrying about being normal when you really shouldn't have been, knowing that you are who you are, is a good sign. Because it means you're grown up and all Mature and can take things in your stride and all that. Right?

Oh well. This isn't going to be the first time that my resilience will be surprising me.

In which i am woken up with a phone call asking for my photo to show to "potential" people.

Aaah, i'm bugged. "Do you have a photo to give to somebody?" is not what i want to start my day with. It's not what i want to start any day with. And yet, i did. No, i said, i don't have a photo and even if i do, i'm not giving it.

And she said, "Why? What happened now? I thought you wanted to get married?"

I do. I did. I don't know.

I can't remember whom i was discussing this with, but a few weeks ago, somebody asked me if this is how i had seen my life to be.

No. Far from it.

I had imagined that by 29, i would be a lush wife, happily married with a kid (maybe two, i don't know), a husband who would be totally in love with me and with whom i would be in love; i would have an easy job, preferably a freelance one that gave me the freedom to stay at home and do the things i love to do: cook, embroider, have people over, throw an occasional get-together, think of ways to fill my life with lots of interesting things to do and all that.

I still do a lot of things, but i have no idea where or when the plan changed. No idea why it's taken so long. (Actually, i do.) But i think my window of opportunity has closed, and i don't think i want to get married. There's palpable fear at the prospect. And here's why:

My friend's wedding - yep, the same one where the little git of a boy asked me why i wasn't married - had a closed group of people on the guest list. Mostly family, and a few friends. Maybe i was out of touch or maybe i haven't socialized in those circles for a while, but i had a glimpse of what i could be getting into - if i was going to get married - when an old lady commented on the clothes i was wearing, saying that the blouse was "too deep", and i was strutting around shamelessly showing my back. 7 inches is passable, and it wasn't like i was the only one wearing a blouse of the kind; the old lady's grand daughter was too. What made a big difference was that i had short hair and she didn't. So it just seemed like mine was a whole stretch of skin from my neck to my back.

And the short hair, oh my god the looks it elicited. Like i was too "forward", "modern", "loose" and what not.

It's disappointing actually, to think that this is the lot that i will be married into, should it happen. A lot who has double standards on almost everything, a different outlook for their own and a different one for strangers, who believe that no matter who you are or what you do behind closed doors, you need to show yourself as the perfect example of everything to the world.

I don't do two-face. I can't. I am what i am in my room, as i am in a public gathering. And i refuse to get married till i find somebody who's the same way.

Aaaand that's the second trip i've cancelled this year.

Four days in rain-drenched, beach-soaked Goa. Gone, *poof*, just like that.

That's my second most-looked forward to trip this year that has gotten cancelled. The first one was the Manali-Spiti circuit that was planned for July.

Mom's getting her cataract surgery done, and the time that i was supposed to go to Goa is the time she wants it to happen. No other free time.

I guess i'd better start resigning myself to the fact that this is how it's going to be from now on. My travelling life will be almost non-existent, starting today. I guess it was bound to happen, with priorities shifting a little bit.

And it had to happen now. Like i don't have enough to deal with already.

Resurrection of the "Kill Me"s.

(Blockbuster movie trailer-type voice over)
Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that i bring back the once-popular section of this blog; the digestion-aiding, boring conversations-killing, IQ-testing, marvel of all marvels, kings of all bad punnery, the one and only (drum rolls) Kill Me!

After almost two years of hibernation, the 'Kill Me's come out of the cave and embrace the light of their true calling! And they're here with the first series of many, on Hollywood actors!

Ennjooooy!


Which Hollywood actor's father worked in coal mines?
Brad Pit.

Which Hollywood actor's father was into fishing big time?
Jason Baitman.

Which Hollywood actor's father was a Sindhi private investigator?
George Clue ni.

Which Hollywood actor's father was a car mechanic?
Richard Gear.

Which Hollywood actress's father was a dwarf?
Nicole Kid-man.

Which Hollywood actor's father was a truck driver?
Hugh Lorry.

Which Hollywood actor's father believed in corporal punishment?
Michael Cane.

Kids these days...

I've been busy with my friend's wedding these last couple of days. Yesterday was the Nikah (yes, a Muslim wedding after a very, very, very, very long time!), post which the bride and her family sat down to dinner at one table, the groom and the men at another, and i stood (sat, actually) guard over the purses and handbags of the bride's family near the stage.

This git of a boy, all of UKG-years old, first embarasses the hell out of me by screaming "Aunty! Aunty! Aunty!" at me, which i of course take in my stride with a bust-shaking laugh. Then he comes over, sits next to me while i scroll through my messages (no, no, i'm not obsessive like that; it was just because i wanted to re-read a couple of messages that were furiously exchanged between me and the love of my life while my bride friend shot daggers at me) and begins what turned out to be a most amusing conversation:

"Do you have games on your phone?"

"Yes i do."

"Can you put some?"

"Aww. My phone is out of charge, see?" (Showing him the sliver of green in the battery sign) "You can't play a game now."

"Show!" (Reaches for phone, checks, double checks and triple checks to make sure i'm not lying through my toothy grin.)

Momentary pause.

"You have kids?"

"No..."

"Why?"

"Because i'm not married." (Excuse me on this one, but it's just cultural mentality to assume there are no kids because there is no marriage.)

"Why?"

"Because i'm not!"

"Why?"

"Because i don't want to."

"Why?"

"Just."

"Why?"

"Just like that."

"Why? Get married now only, go."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because there is no Dulha."

A moment of silence, and then him pointing towards groom's table where all the men are sitting:

"But there are so many there!"

"No, none of them are nice."

Silence.

Five minutes later:

"Do you have kids?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because i'm not married?"

"Why?"

"Because i'm not finding a Dulha?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Will you be my Dulha?"

"Yes!"

"Come, let's go get married right now."

"Okay!"

Sigh. If only grown men were this eager.

I need...

...interesting people in my life

...to start accepting the worst, so if there's any good that comes out of it, it's a bonus

...to get back to dancing and Spanish and doing more stuff with my time

...to get a grip on myself

...to stop focusing on what might have been and work towards what will be

...to leave it to God

...to travel

...to quit without worrying about where the money's going to come from

...a fitness regime that's going to make me love every moment of exercise

...the rest of this year to fly, really fly

I love you.

I used the gorillapod for the first time today, and the joy. Oh, the joy.

Now that i've inaugurated it, using it from here on should be easy. Hello park visits and brunches and BIAL and sunsets and insects and timepass and what-not!

You're like a weed...

The kind that needs to be ripped out of its roots, pulled apart and thrown far, far away so the plants can have a chance to be nourished and to grow.

You're like a Pomeranian. Constantly going on and on for no reason, whining and pesky and thoroughly irritating and so desperate for attention. Considered therapy much?

You're like a horsefly. Enough said.

You're like a shrink wrap. You cling on to everything just because you can. Ugh.

You're Wiley E. Coyote. No, strike that. You're worse than the most scheming, conniving, sweet-talking, shrewd villain in history, and Wiley is nothing compared to that.

I hate you. Like i haven't hated anybody in years.

*****!

Return of the schoolgirl crush?

I don't know how it happened, but another male from my past has resurfaced.

The story dates was way back to the fourth standard, about the same time that The Boy was crushing on me. G, the resurfaced male, and I were an "item" of sorts. We both knew we liked each other, we both hung out together a lot and were also the best of buddies. His best friend T, and my best friend then, who also happened to be The Boy's older sister, were also an item of sorts. So basically, it was four of us all the time.

Once fourth standard was done, the boys had to leave school. I did see G a couple of times after that, but i guess the bond was never quite the same.

Three days ago, he found me on Facebook and sent a friend request. He hasn't changed much, and i'm really, really happy for him that he got what he wanted out of life. Horse riding was his passion from ever since i can remember, and he is a jockey now. His best friend T, however, is quite a different story.

The last i knew of him, he was a scrawny, fair, rugged boy of 10. When he sent me a friend request a day after G did, my first reaction on seeing his picture was to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh. He had grown muscles and had a superbly toned body, and was doing modelling and was also (drum rolls) an actor in the Kannada film industry.

Of course, when he mailed me saying how awesome it was that i had been found on FB, i told him that i wanted to laugh when i saw his picture! Yeah, i know, i can't hold these kind of things back.

Anyway, let's see where all this goes. It's a nice feeling to reconnect with people from my early developmental years; i'm just hoping it doesn't bode ill for any personal development that's left to do.

So, the photography assignment? I'm ditching it.

Yeah, i'm going to start afresh for the blog. Don't want to carry over stuff from the one that's happening already, partly because i'm lazy and partly because i want to get more experimentative with my shots.

I'm thinking of starting sometime next week, because i have a lot of time on my hands. And that's because i cancelled a big trip: B'lore-Delhi-Manali-Spiti-Delhi-B'lore. Heart is breaking, but it was a choice between need and want, and i chose to go with need.

The Bus Ride - a tragicomedy.

I just got back home from the airport after seeing a couple of friends off. And i want to scream because i'm so frustrated.

I took the BIAL bus. Waited, first of all, for half an hour inside the roomy eight-wheeler for the driver to decide that he had enough passengers. And then, had a cute boy get into the bus. And choose to sit opposite me.

We checked each other out covertly. I bought a ticket up to CBI Road, and i have no idea where he was headed.

Another middle-aged business traveller got into the bus and sat next to me. My mind half-switches off, while the other half of it focused on checking out cute boy in the reflection of the bus window. Yummy hands, nice bone structure and the smile. Oh, the smile.

The bus started, the radio played. Weird songs came on air and i hummed the ones i knew, out of habit. Then some crap play comes on and i'm dying because i didn't know what to do with myself. He was checking me out in the reflection from time to time, trying to catch my eye, and i was doing the same. At one point, our eyes meet momentarily and there was...something. His leg was inches away from mine and i could feel the 'i-think-i'm-interested-in-you' kinda heat between us. I knew he was dying to talk, but he said nothing.

Finally, the business traveller got off the bus. I knew my stop was nearing. I contemplated getting off at Majestic Bus Stand, and then discarded the idea because it was just silly. (I've figured out now that such silliness, if it doesn't harm anybody, must immediately be put into action.) I continued looking out of the window, and he continued keeping quiet.

Then, finally, he opened his mouth:
"Majestic last stop hai kya?", and i say, "Haan, shayad." And then he says, "Krishnagiri ke liye wahan se buses mil jayengi?", and i say, "Pata nahi." In my head, i'm thinking, really, is that the best you can do?

Seconds later, the driver yelled, "CBI Road!"

F*** my life.

I got up. I bumped his leg, and mumbled a sorry. I walked to the front of the bus, asked the conductor if he would stop a little further away, trying to buy time. The conductor replied, "No no, get down here, it's easier for you."

And i got down.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! DammitdammitdammitdammitdammitDAMMIT!

Now, i can't get the incident out of my head. I can't, because this spark was the very rare kind, as rare as a real message about a lottery win. I'm wishing he had opened his mouth earlier, or that i'd stayed for a couple of stops more.

It's true you know, that modern-day saying: Jab naseeb ho gandu, to kya karega pandu?

It's also true, what A says: there's just something about me and this universal phenomenon called "Timing". It's always wrong for me.

The 30-day photography assignment.

So, i found the 30-day photography challenge on Pinterest, and thought it was a great idea. Before i knew it, dear A had repinned it, put a plan together for its execution, gathered a bunch of friends and made it a full-blown fun exercise to follow.


Yesterday was Day 1, and the challenge was to take a self portrait.

Predictably, i didn't remember about it till the stroke of midnight. So, i whipped out my camera and quickly shot a few.


First, i thought i'd post this:





But then, since everybody was going to put up nice pictures, i decided to go mad. So i put up this:

It's a psycho start, but i can't wait to see what comes up over the next month. I'll be posting pictures here parallelly. Things are going to get madder, trust me.

Passing the time with dragonflies and butterflies and fishies.

I made these over the last couple of days. Yeah, i know i know, i got talent. :)

Knowing.

I know how to make anger go away.

How to live with hatred till it vaporises.

I know how to be strong.

I know how to make people happy. How to make them laugh.

I know to deal with pain. Boredom. Uselessness.

I know to be wise and unconditional and righteous and evil.

I know how to drive restlessness away.

I just don't know what to do with Sadness. She gets me every time.

Just when you're done making bucketloads of lemonade, life sends a gift basket full of lemons. And the tag reads "With love".

It's true. Everything seemed to be going just fine (by cosmic standards) when suddenly, like pieces of Dominoes, things started to fall apart.

First, it was the Doomsday Decision followed by lots and lots and lots of tears. I really didn't think i had it in me to cry like i did. And, surprisingly, i don't think i'm done crying. Then it was hours of confoundedness and terrible confusion and heartache (in the middle of which i get a missed call from what seemed to be an Australian number), followed by a brave move.

I have the permission, the blessings of my parents, the freedom to live on my own, play house and go berserk setting the place up. The dream of a lifetime. But at what price? It meant breaking away from the familiar, leaving behind a life i'd known for 28 years and had built with love, pain and numerous indulgences. It meant venturing into the unknown. Well, almost, not entirely. It meant that i would have to be stronger, calmer, more focused, more level-headed, more indifferent, hatred-free and consciously happy. I must be raving mad to contemplate the move.

But then, you have to understand that i'm a sucker for new experiences. I NEED to try everything once. Okay, almost everything. And i've wished to stay on my own for the longest time. So when i think of moving, i'm only full of anticipation and absolute excitement. No dread. No fear. No second thoughts.

Just as i zero in on what it is i want to do, the basket of lemons arrives.

Two nights ago, while i was staying at a friend's place, my mother had an attack of the sweaties. Profuse perspiration, weakness, numb hands and disorientation. Dad, who needs taking care of, was taking care of her instead. 3 in the morning, he was using a hair dryer to warm her hands. Her sugar had dropped rock bottom. And i only got to know this the next evening. Afraid, and as a consequence, angry, i confronted my dad and asked him why he didn't call. How can we call you at 3 in the morning?, he asked. So what? He just shook his head in a "no" and walked away. I was the same city, just 45 minutes away. And they still hadn't called.

It's scary, really. And it's making me think harder about whether i want to go. Whether i HAVE to go. It's not going to be as easy as just packing my bags and heading out. It's not going to be a week-long holiday.

Harakiri, in the name of poetic license.

Beautiful butterfly against blue, blue sky, hums soulfully,
flapping hurriedly, towards the sunflower fields on the... *SPLAT*
* * *

Marginalized, merchandised, innocent no more
Hello, Winnie the Pooh
* * *

Adam and Eve tore off their leaves and started making out a wee
Along came a Snake, and then there was an orgy
* * *

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?"
"NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS! I WANT A DIVORCE!"
* * *

Newton sat under a tree, thinking all about gravity
When an apple fell, blew him a death knell,
And instead of one law, there were three
* * *

Sun Tzu wrote The Art of War,
But in his lifetime its fame didn't reach far
It was only after the poor sod was dead
That the book became big with management schools, instead

* * *

And then some more, courtesy A:

Mary had a little lamb,
Which she had for lunch

* * *

"Baa Baa Black Sheep,
Have you any wool?"
"No!"

* * *

Little Miss Muffet,
Sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider:
"That's my place Bitch! Get up!"

* * *

Well, something good seems to have come of you.

After several years of poetic dormancy, i have been inspired to write an epic. All thanks to you. Ironically, the alternative word for an epic is Lay. Funny funny.

I'm coming to get you, Hope. You'd better run, because when i find you, i'm going to choke your dainty, wide-eyed, innocent, goody-two-shoes throat with my bare, rage-ragged and deeply suffering hands. I'll send you back to your blessed box, where you belong.

Where is Pandora these days, anyway? I can think of specimens of mankind who can do with a little mischief right now, and she'd come in extremely handy.

YOU CAN WIN! (Aka "A quick and handy guide to dealing with the Ex-es in your life.")

#1 RESIST the urge to call them. Or message. No matter how close you were, are, or may be.

#2 STICK to safe topics when you meet. "Do i look fat?" is not one of them. Just keep it light and easy. "Remember the last time we made love and you farted?" does not fall in the category. The keyword here is safe.

#3 AVOID bringing up the past. For example, see example in point #2.

#4 STAY away. No physical proximity. At least not within running-and-jumping-into-arms-or-bed length.

#5 DELETE all trace of his existence from your life, unless you can keep it all locked away in a safe place (NASA's time capsule isn't a bad option) till the day you might want to be friends again. Or in the same room without being uncomfortable or uneasy. Once you are either, follow point #2.

Now dealing with yourself when you have to deal with your ex-es? That calls for a different post altogether.

*Sigh*

NEW AGE.
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.

You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

- Neil Gaiman, Strange Little Girls

And the reports say it's weather worth dying for.

It's been pouring cats and dogs in Bangalore for the last couple of days. The torrents started sometime last week, at a time when we had just gotten out of work and the smokers were happily smoking in the designated smoking area.

The sheets of rain were like a water symphony, with wave after wave rythmically brushing past the high-rises. I did take videos of the whole thing, but due to compatibility issues (stupid Windows), i cannot upload or play them.

So i'll jut have to show you pictures instead.

It just got worse...

...near zero visibility

...the lake opposite the office swelled and heaved, but fortunately didn't claim any lives.

If this is the aftermath of super bright, sweltering days, then i have only one thing to say when i look at the sky: Bring it on!