A tourist's guide to Aurangabad.

For the last couple of years, i've been trying to make family vacations a yearly affair. Two years ago, we went for an extremely chilled-out and relaxing holiday to Kodaikanal. Last year, i missed taking my parents anywhere for various reasons. This year, though, i had to take them somewhere to make up for sitting at home last year.

I decided on Goa or Kerala and then told them of my plans. Immediately, both Mom and Dad protested saying that they didn't want to see either. "So what then?", i asked and they both racked their brains and came up with "Let's go to Aurangabad!" It was my turn to protest - Why Aurangabad? What's there to see, i asked. They came up with several places, so i gracefully gave in and started planning the vacation.

But, because i belong to the Wiki generation, i HAD to go and look up Aurangabad. And what i saw fascinated me, getting me really enthusiastic about the holiday. Normally, i hate planning trips but this time, given that there was nobody else to do it, i went ahead and planned the whole thing. (Well, the resort we stayed at planned our itinerary, but still!) So i researched online and found Meadows, Aurangabad. It's a 4-star resort a handful of kilometres out of the city, but very peaceful. The service was superb, the staff was impeccably courteous, helpful and friendly and the place was tranquil. The selling point was that it was situated right next to stretches of agricultural land dotted with fields of colourful pulses, vegetables and spices.

My only dissatisfaction was with the rooms - i thought they could have been much better for the price i was paying for them, but that will apparently be taken care of with the renovation that's due to start next month.

We flew out to Mumbai on Christmas morning, with my Dad glued to the window overlooking plump white clouds cast with the rosy glow of a magnificent sunrise. Our train to Aurangabad was from CST (the erstwhile Victoria Terminal) late in the night, but i was panicking because our tickets weren't confirmed. Since we had the whole day to ourselves, we hired a cab and went around the city. My mother bought half of Linking Road, after which we lunched at The Great Punjab (excellent Bheja Fry!), after which the cabbie showed us the homes of fillum ishtaars - Mannat and Jannat and what-have-you.

Feeling a little silly about it, we then asked him to take us to Juhu beach. The first things that struck me were the ice gola shops with a multitude of flavours, each popping out in bright colours. The place was teeming with people, but rather than seem crowded, it was just full of life. My senses were thoroughly stimulated.

After hanging about for a bit, we went back to collect our luggage from Sister K's place and headed to CST way before time so we could do jugaad for our tickets. We were still RAC.

The sunset as we drove through the sea link was breathtaking. Especially when the ball of fiery orange played hide and seek through the cables holding up the bridge. It was momentary respite from my stressing about the train tickets.

We reached CST at 6:45 p.m. Our train was at 9:00 p.m. It was going to be a long, and very painful, wait for the train. Nevertheless, we hurried in, trying to get a coolie to take our luggage because Mom and Dad couldn't have walked the distance to our platform with extra load, checking to see if the final charts were put up, and catching the eye of TTs to figure out if something could be done.

My parents were absolute rockstars about the whole thing. They came up with hundred and one plans to get berths on the train, all the time trying to calm me down by saying that it was okay, we could adjust and travel. Dad was super-thrilled. Travelling without a confirmed ticket was like an adventure straight out of his younger days!

The final charts got prepared an hour before our train was scheduled to leave. We were still RAC, but we had two RAC berths allotted between us. It was the first time in five hours that i breathed normally. When it was time to board, we got in and Dad occupied one berth while Mom and i shared another.

I was up most of the night, and to entertain myself i took pictures of stations, people, tried bokeh shots, challenged myself to keep my hands still at Shutter speeds of 1.3 seconds, shot my multicoloured socks and finally, like a class contortionist, curled up into a tiny ball of fat (as much as i could) and tried to get some sleep.

At 4 in the morning, you'd expect any place to be cold. But the air in Aurangabad when we landed at half-past was crisp, with the fresh smells of morning wafting around. The resort had sent us a cab, with the sweetest, most easy-going Vishnu as our driver. He was with us for all the time that we were in Aurangabad.

The city itself is dry. And scorching hot. People there do not know what the chill of December means. To them, the heat in December was pleasant as compared to that of the rest of the year. Because the soil of the region is black, ginger, garlic, turmeric, chillies, sweet corn, tomatoes, grapes, musambis, guavas and figs, Toor Dal, wheat, maize, and cotton grow in abundance. Needless to say, i freaked out in every one of the fields growing all of them.

On our first day in Aurangabad, we visited Ellora Caves. It's amazing how over hundreds of thousands of years ago, people were able to carve these caves out of stone with just a hammer and chisel. The detailing in each one of these caves defies words, and makes one wonder about the determination and dedication the artisans must have had to create such masterpieces.

Ellora caves are home to three different religions, with caves built during the reign of different kings. There are Jain, Hindu and Buddhist caves carved against the backdrop of a hillock.

This is a Jain temple; you can see Mahaveer sitting cross-legged in the inner chamber of the temple. His sculpture is flanked by two smaller ones, one on either side. Apparently, these sculptures are of Mahaveer's helpers/servants who were always with him. The doorways are carved with motifs and Yakshas - angels.

The second set of caves were made by Hindus, the most remarkable of which is the Kailash Temple. It's a massive monolith full of intricate carvings detailing various mythological stories of Hindu gods. The walls of the central structure speak of the stories of Ramayana and Mahabharatha.

Apparently, all structures carved out of stone follow a pattern - the sculptor starts from the top of the rock to the bottom, and then moves from the front facet of the structure to the back. That should give you an idea of what a mammoth task the artisans and sculptors undertook with this temple! How did they measure the structure? How are the lines so straight? How are the motifs mirror images of each other? It's just mind-boggling.

If you climb on to the hillock right next to the temple, you get a fabulous view of the entire structure, but i was exhausted with all the walking by the time we reached here, so i skipped climbing up.

After Kailash temple, we moved on to the Buddhist caves of Ellora. I found them to be the best of the lot in terms of craftsmanship. Maybe it has something to do with the style of the carvings - a sense of serenity descends upon you when you walk into the caves.

In this picture, the entranceway is flanked by angels in flight, with window space in the centre for sunlight to come through to the inner chambers of the temple. Motifs range from stupas to elephants, chariots, mandalas and episodes from Buddha's mortal life.

In this picture, you'll see the seven avatars of Buddha (i think they're called Satvas, if i'm not mistaken), his transformation from mortal to monk and the future avatars he will don when he returns. This was the only temple in which i found the transformation to be so clearly carved and portrayed.

There was more fabulosity in the Buddhist caves, each with a dominating sculpture of Buddha in the inner-most sanctum. All of them depict him either teaching, preaching or meditating.

Out next stop was Daulatabad Fort. But before we went there, we made a little stopover at Aurangzeb's tomb. On one hand is the cruelty of Aurangzeb in mistreating his ageing father Shah Jahan; on the other, we hear the story of a man who didn't use a cent from the city's treasury but rather, sold prayer caps which he stitched himself and asked that only his earnings from the caps be used for his burial. He also asked that he be buried next to his mentor - a saint of sorts and also a very clever man (he was the mastermind behind Panchakki - a hydraulic system that helped pump water from 6 kilometres away by employing the kinetic energy of water). The facade is pure marble that has withstood the test of time.

Over Aurangzeb's mentor's grave, there are strings of threads and metal plates that hold a series of oval, stone-like objects. Apparently, those are ostrich eggs that Aurangzeb got all the way from Africa to hang here. The eggs have been emptied out, of course, but the shells have been retained and are matted with the patina of passing years. I still cannot figure out what the significance of the Ostrich eggs is.

A murshad of some sort stood outside the mentor's grave, delivering blessings in the form of gentle knocks on people's heads with a bunch of peacock feathers. Once i had mine (i wore Skinny jeans and glasses above my head, with my camera slung around my neck and spoke Urdu. No surprise that they were stupefied), it was time to head to Daulatabad Fort.

The name Daulatabad was given by Tughlaq (popularly known as The Mad King) because he found Aurangabad to be full of innumerable riches. That fact holds true even today - there are over 220 Mercedes owners in the city and more than half the population is very well-to-do.

Daulatabad Fort was built on a mountain. While the fort is essentially at the base and winds up to about halfway up the mountain, the rest of it is a series of passages leading to a hall on its pinnacle.

The picture on the left shows the Chand Minar, the second highest structure after Qutb Minar. The fort is worthy of every praise it can get because it has been designed to throw off the invading armies of enemies at every step. There's a deep moat surrounding the fort, with only a narrow passageway leading to it. Window-like openings in the walls of the fort housed the King's army who shot down the enemy with arrows, sending them to their death in the moat full of crocodiles and snakes. Now, only green algae and plastic garbage thrive in the water.

Upon entering the fort, there are two pathways ahead of you to the left and the right. In fact, the paths always divide at every juncture inside the fort. The only way of knowing which way you should go is to look on the wall of the fort to find elephants pointing in certain directions. The way they face is the way to go. For instance, at the entrance of the fort, there were three elephants facing three different directions, showing that one had to walk straight first, take a right and then a left.

But that's not the most brilliant part of the fort. I have total respect for the genius behind the creator of the Dark Passage: Once the enemy enters the fort, they must pass through more than a kilometre-long, pitch dark passage. There's no wind, no light, and absolutely no idea of where one is headed. You may think you're walking straight, but actually, you're going around in a semi-circle. At some places, you'll find a duct wide enough to let you pass through. Stay away from it. It will lead you straight into the hungry mouths of waiting crocodiles.

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If you think the Ellora Caves are beautiful, then you're in for a surprise. Ajanta Caves, a two-hour drive from Aurangabad, are the most stunning examples of Buddhist art i have seen.

The story goes that John Smith, a British gentleman from the days of the Raj, was out in the mountains hunting for tigers. He didn't find any striped cats, but his eye did catch something white glinting in the distance. Curious about what it could be, he walked over (it's a good five kilometre walk at least, by the way; you have to do a LOT of walking to see Ajanta caves) and noticed that it was a door of some kind. And so started the excavation work of the caves that were hidden for more than 800 years. The place has been declared a World Heritage Site, and when one sees the beauty that's been preserved inside each of these caves, one can understand why.

The walls and ceilings are full of paintings - elaborate, colourful, impressive and massive. Each painting depicts a story from Buddha's life and the people associated with him. In this cave, the painting on the walls is the story of a poor boy and a rich girl. The father of the girl is the best chess player in the world, and when he hears of the poor boy wanting to marry his daughter, he challenges the boy to a game of chess. Distraught because he knows he won't win, the boy seeks the help of divine powers. Meanwhile, the mother of the girl talks to her husband and says that if he doesn't lose the game, his daughter will never marry. And so the father loses the game, and the couple get married.

No sculpture in the Ajanta caves is less than six feet tall. Add to it the sculpting itself, and you're bound to be left feeling small and insignificant. Even your most remarkable achievement will fade into nothing when you behold the marvels hidden within the caves.

Like Mahaveer, Buddha's sculpture also is flanked by two smaller sculptures on either side - his helper and wife who were with him throughout his life.

Some of the caves are lit because Ajanta was created in the shape of a horse shoe facing West. So sunlight only comes in fully when the sun's setting. The cave in which this picture was taken was not a finished one. The creation of caves depended solely on the stone, and so, if the stone was not good, then the sculptors and artisans abandoned their efforts and moved on further. Opposite the sculpture pictured here was an unfinished sculpture missing its lower body. I obviously haven't shared the picture because it has more people than the sculpture.

Be warned, when you go to Ajanta or Ellora - and this is regardless of the time of year you go in - there will always be hordes of people. Some foreigners, but mostly locals and Indians from other cities. In Aurangabad, it is compulsory for schools to take kids on a historical trip once a year. So you'll find lots of school kids too.

Also, flash photography isn't allowed in most caves. I never use Flash, but for those of you who do, make sure you enquire - if you're not with a tourist guide.

This is a picture of Cave No.26, the most beautiful cave at Ajanta. Every aspect of this temple is detailed and finished to perfection. Unlike all other Buddhist caves, this one has a special something to offer its visitors:

A 7-feet long sculpture of a Reclining Buddha. All other caves show him sitting in one of his three Aasans - teacher, protector or meditator. This is the only one that shows him resting. (Don't miss the tassled bolster under his head.) Just below his sculpture, you'll find carvings of people. They're all crying or weeping or in misery because they think that Buddha is not looking over them any more.

This was the last of the Ajanta caves we saw. I was tempted to go to the lookout point from where John Smith had discovered the caves, but after all the walking around, i just didn't have the energy.

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The part of the holiday i was looking forward to the most was the trip to Lonar Lake.

Over 50,000 years ago, a meteor hit Earth, forming a crater and displacing the land mass around it. As the years passed, fresh water sources from around it started trickling in, and soon a lake was formed. The water is rich in minerals - some that aren't even discovered yet - but with a pH level of 10.5 which makes the water unfit to drink, bathe in or use for any purpose. The rim of the crater is almost two kilometres in diameter, and the base of the crater has rich biodiversity, with migratory birds (none of which we saw, except for ducks) often flocking to it.

The climb down is 170-odd metres, with no defined path to take one down to the base. It is said that the meteor is still buried 50-60 metres under the lake. But whether this is true or not, it is true that the magnetic fields at the base are pretty active.

This is a picture of the Raam temple that people built a little after the 10th century. When the tourist guide and i entered and sat down, the guide took out his compass and asked me to observe the four directions carefully. South was to my left, North to my right and so on. He then moved the compass four inches away, and the directions immediately changed to East to my left and West to my right. I was awestruck. As if to make sure that i didn't think it was a trick of sorts, he moved the magnet around a few more inches every 30 seconds, and the direction of the poles changed immediately! It was absolutely fascinating.

There are at least 20 more temple ruins at the base, of which i saw three that seemed eerie and straight out of horror movies. The lake water itself is ripple-free and green because of all the algae living in it. It's a very quiet place to be in and i loved every minute there.

We spent an entire day at Lonar, leaving the Bibi ka Maqbara, Panchakki and Aurangabad Caves for the last day of our holiday.

This here is the Taj Mahal. Not. Hehe. This is Bibi ka Maqbara, nicknamed the Mini Taj Mahal. It looks exactly like the Taj, except that the Taj is bigger, the smaller domes adjacent to the central dome are absent in it, and the entire structure is made of marble. In this rendition of the Taj, the base and up to two feet above the base is made of marble; everything else is limestone.

Aurangabad Caves are a stone's throw away from Bibi ka Maqbara. These are Buddhist caves as well, with one cave holding carvings of Buddha and Ganesha side by side, implying that sculpting could have happened at two different points in time by two different religions. Had the caves been completed, they would've been almost as remarkable as Ajanta-Ellora, but the work was abandoned because the stone wasn't good. There are plenty of unfinished stone carvings that are testimony to this.

Collectively, all the caves have inspired textile arts that go by the name of Himroo and Paithani. Himroo mostly uses motif patterns from cave paintings, typically the swirls and curls and mandalas. Paithani is inspired by the Buddhist painting style and is full of animals, lotus flowers and birds. The colours are vibrant, and gold threads are sometimes used. These days, though, weavers use silver thread plated with gold because of gold rates. Himroo can mostly be found in shawls and stoles, while i've seen Paithani designs only in sarees. The former is possibly more affordable, while the latter is bound to leave a gaping hole in your pocket, with Paithani sarees starting at 6,000 rupees and going all the way up to 5,00,000.

So yes, i've pretty much covered everything. I'm done with my monologue, i've lived my adventure. It's your turn now, so go and experience Aurangabad as soon as you can. I assure you, you won't regret it.

Woo me, man.

Found: 'Date a girl who reads' by Rosemarie Urquico.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Thoughts at ________.

I think. A lot. I think of this, that and the other. I think of what if, why, but, so what, why isn't and what for. I think of actions, consequences, results, behaviours, assumptions, patterns, comebacks and responses. So yes, i think a lot. Sometimes, all this thinking leaves me with a conclusion of sorts on people and life. And for almost a year now, i've been saving these personal gems of wisdom on my phone as and when they occur, complete with the time at which they come into my head.

Many, many times i have been tempted to post those thoughts here. But every time, this urge is followed by a stronger urge - the one that does not want me to reveal so much about myself, because those thoughts are sure giveaways of who and what i am. You read them, and you pretty much don't need anything else on this blog to tell you about the person behind it.

But today, i feel the urge to post those thoughts again. And today, i'm putting it up for vote.

So, should i do it? Should i post those thoughts here?

Yellolo!

I'm back in town after a week of travelling, and can i say that i'm physically and emotionally exhausted? Physically tired in a good way - although i DO desperately need three days of uninterrupted sleep.

Aurangabad was full of sleeplessness from the word Go, with early morning flights and early morning trips to places one MUST visit in and around the city. I'm also as browned as a turkey just out of the oven. You'd think that there would be no hot places in India in December, but my God are you wrong! The heat in Aurangabad was sweltering and sharp and designed to char people. There was a lot of walking and trekking in the heat. More on that in a different post, with plenty of pictures.

Add to that a spur-of-the-moment decision (not my style when it comes to travelling, trust me) to fly out to Hyderabad for New Year's Eve, bringing with it two nights of near-sleeplessness because of sitting around talking till 5 in the morning and catching a 7:30 a.m flight from an airport that's halfway to Mars, and we have the poifect recipe for a sick puppy. I think i'm done with my quota of bloody early morning flights for the year.

The emotional strain is also fodder for another post in the future. Maybe.

But altogether, not a bad start to the year at all. The Aurangabad frenzy was followed by a very quiet New Year's Eve with a couple of close friends - no shoo-sha, shor sharaba or crowds. Just the way i wanted it to be.

No resolutions have come of it, but i have grand plans to kick the shite out of the dozen months ahead of me. I'm going to try and squeeze the most out of every day.

Wish me luck.

I know my bridal nerves (if i ever become a bride) will be nothing compared to my pre-travel jitters.

The emotions always follow a pattern. A week before i'm set to travel, i feel a sense of doom and gloom and a strong reluctance to go where i'm supposed to. Two days before i travel, my mood switches to anticipation with a sprinkling of optimism - that everything its going to go smoothly - thrown in. A day before/the day i'm travelling, i'm in a mad rush to pack, finish last minute stuff (read shopping and parlour visits, mostly) and getting so anxious that i'm unable to sleep/calm myself down. (This is the critical moment when i really, really feel the need for a boyfriend in my life; so he can shush me and take me to task and hug me and make the jitters go away!) Once i'm at the airport, i'm calm. My equilibrium is restored.

But i doubt it's going to happen on this trip of mine, because:
a) I'm travelling with my parents. A family holiday, one that got called off a handful of months ago, but that's happening now. The destination - Aurangabad - is one i'm looking forward to because it's someplace i would never have gone to on my own; the resort looks promising; the experience overall seems like it's going to be awesome, but...
b) My tickets from Mumbai tomorrow night to Aurangabad are not confirmed. IRCTC has had a lapse in Web memory and shows my printed tickets (which i took today) as waitlisted while the Web site shows them as RAC. So...
c) I've spent the better half of this evening panicking like crazy, trying to figure out alternatives, rebooking some of my tickets and still grappling with what i should do if we don't get to board the train tomorrow night. But before that, i have to deal with the fact that...
d) My parents are flying for the first time. Well, Mom's travelling a second time, her first time being when she was too young to understand turbulence and fear being suspended thousands of kilometres above air in a contraption carrying more people in a similar situation. (Can you tell that i'm rambling?) I can see a lot of hand-holding to be done and guidance to be given starting at 3 a.m in the morning. (I booked the first flight out because i wanted them to catch the sunrise from the airplane. Now i'm thinking that maybe it wasn't such a smart idea.)

And that reminds me that i need to get some sleep. I doubt if i will be able to get any, considering that while i'm not stressing about tomorrow night's travel too much, i'm still feeling the butterflies in the eestomach. Breathebreathebreathe...breathe...breathe...

And so my holiday begins.

Have a great Christmas y'all, and if i miss catching you on New Year's Eve, then have a great Last Year on Planet Earth!

(Enhehehe!)

So, i know we never grow up in the eyes of our parents and all that, but...

... this is a bit much, i think.

Apparently, my parents bought it for me. I'm wondering if they're sort of making up for the fact that i never had a Barbie during my childhood (not that i longed to own her or plait her hair or have her getting married to Ken) or just all of two soft toys. But really, my fear is that my Mom and Dad must be thinking that i'm regressing rather than getting older with every passing year.

Parents, i tell you.

Oil + Water = Art

For the last two rainy seasons, i've been attempting to get a good shot of a water droplet. A couple of months back, though, my roving eye caught something even more beautiful happening on the side. So i refocused my camera, changed my position and dove in to capture what was going on. I have no idea where the grease came from, but it formed a stunning marbling pattern on the surface.

The shot couldn't get clearer than this because there were shadows falling on it from all sides. Issopurty!

And then i just stood there and stared at it, going all google-eyed, completely oblivious to the fact that my camera lens was getting wet with all the splashes from the raindrops.

Yes, my camera's just fine.

I is now on Twitteru.

I've never understood the appeal of tweeting, and i don't think i will fully understand it either. I have decided to take the plunge anyway and get on it. Maybe i can learn as i go.

My area of specialty will be punning, of course. I will unleash my punning abilities on the unsuspecting crowds and kill them all with my sad, sad jokes. And then i'll rule the world!

Well, sort of.

I will be selfless here and tell you guys that if you value being normal and sane and all things good and proper, don't try looking for me and following me. It's for your own good. Really. I will, however, promise to post the better puns on this blog from time to time.

Let's just rechristen December 20 as Screw My Happiness Day.

How is it possible that being friends with one person can become such a problem for all other friends? It's amazing how many friends and relationships of mine have been affected because of my being close friends with one particular person. My bestest friend from college days slammed the phone in my face because of it. Another very close friend drifted apart. I didn't get invited for another friend's wedding because of it. I mean, really? Is there something i'm not seeing? It's not like i'm not paying them any attention or ignoring them or not socialising with them or am not even there when they want me to be! I am there! And still there's an issue with my being close to somebody else?

I don't get it. I really don't. It must most definitely be me. There has to be something wrong with me, or something wrong with the things i'm doing.

Damn this cold.

It's been over two years since i've experienced December in Bangalore - i was busy experiencing the chills of Delhi and Gujarat. Now that i'm here this month with no escape out of the city till the 25th, i feel like the city's putting on quite a show for the winter.

The couple of times i've been mad enough to stay out till the wee hours of the morning have been punishing, to say the least. My breath fogs up, my body can't muster enough heat to keep me warm, my teeth are chattering, and my head's a big mass of frozen skull and flesh. Every early morning flight taking off from Bangalore is delayed because of heavy fog. I'll know exactly how bad it is when i leave on Christmas morning to catch my early morning flight.

There isn't a bird chirping or a soul stirring. Sorry, make that a mouse! The temperature's pretty close to single digits, so the only thing missing now is snow. (Did anybody manage to catch the Google easter egg on snow? Turns out i was nine hours too late for it!)

I'm just going to go and focus on keeping myself warm now. My fingers are as good as falling off. I hope your winter's slightly less chillier, for your own sake.

Freaky Friday.

This Friday involved:
1. Taking great pains to button up a pair of jeans that were bought a couple of years ago when i was seeing The Boy and that had never been so tight. Never, ever.
2. Being fashionably late to an office party.
3. Pretending to be overjoyed at seeing a few Ugh people still present at the party.
4. Wearing new clothes to the office party with a jacket i hadn't touched in years.
5. Going for an after-party to A's, where everybody began:
a. Getting shitfaced.
b. Philosophising on life and other such stuff.
c. Climbing walls. Literally.
6. Partying till 5 a.m. Not really dancing, no. But just climbing walls, falling down, bonding and putting.
7. An early breakfast (5:30 a.m, to be precise) of Chicken Tikka on a Bun and Fish and chips at Windsor Manor.
8. Returning home at 6:30 a.m on Saturday morning, as my mother was getting ready to go to her school.

This Saturday involved:
1. Sleeping till 1 p.m and being unceremoniously woken up by Sister K because she:
a. Couldn't sleep any more.
b. Was hungry.
2. Lunch at Windsor. After finishing a plate of Brain and Onion Fry by myself - accompanied by four dosas and chicken curry - i began to understand why my body mass was multiplying at such great speeds.
3. Shopping at Commercial Street. I finally own a pair of skinny jeans and two Corduroy jeggings. Oh, and a couple more tops. I'm done shopping for a while!
4. Tagging along to an HSBC event at Karnataka Golf Association.
5. Kicking myself endlessly for not carrying my camera with me.
6. Going over to G's for dinner and getting back home by 1:30 a.m.
7. Sleeping till 2:00 p.m in the afternoon.

Hellooooo Sunday!

A lovely ride in lovely weather.

Winter decided to poke its head out from under its warm furry blanket and show its face to us Bangaloreans today. And oh my, was i happy. There's just the right amount of nip in the air and the wind is crisp and pleasantly cool, with a marginal amount of warmth filtering through the thick, cotton candy clouds.

I had a lovely, lovely ride. For a moment i was reminded of the quiet, chilly mornings of hill stations where there isn't a peep from the traffic and people are walking along the footpaths or silently going about their tasks.

I feel alive. *Sigh*

Pervasive.

What is it about you and me and the collective 'us'? Where are we now and where are we going to go? What are we going to do, what are we going to do?

Mine's not just a life. It's a book with chapters dated and archived and always readily available to refer from. I've looked at relationships as incidents to learn from, a stepping stone to the next one in my life and always, always as something Fate intended to happen because there was a purpose behind them. There was something i needed to understand about myself or about love from them. It's a formula that's never failed. But you and me, i'm thrown off-track by that.

What am i supposed to learn out of this? Why did it happen? Why is it happening? What is it that i'm missing or not seeing? What is Fate trying to do?

We're just status quo, stuck in no man's land. We don't know what lies ahead. So then what's the purpose behind it? Yes, there's affection - enough of it to call it love. Yes, there's explosive chemistry. But what beyond that?

We went our separate ways, and when we met again, it was as if we were never away at all. So is it a sign that this is meant to be? If that's true, why is it taking so long?

Or am i just supposed to suffer? Wait and wish and dream and hope?

Augh.

I'm not your bitch, boy.

Nor am i your keep, your wife or your trash bag. I am your friend. You don't give me shit. Not when you have a bad day and you need to take it out on somebody and find me available. Not when you're having any kind of day. Of course our battle ground is strewn with verbs and adjectives and smart phrases, but that doesn't mean you can actually be rude and nasty without having a reason to be. And you try to take the sting off the words by inserting a smiley at the end? What are you, somebody made out of the finest clay and mineral water by the hands of God, so you think you're above everybody else? Fuck you, man. Seriously, fuck you.

The day you can respect the fact that i am your friend and not a slave of your moods, that day, we can talk. Till then, feel free to shove it up yours. Or just save your shit for someone else.

Philosophy.

There's a potted Queen of Thorns on our terrace - the sole midget amidst swaying Neem, Coconut and Wildflower trees that surround it. Recently, on one of my trips upstairs to shoot pictures of the wild flowers, i noticed that the Queen of Thorns was also sprouting buds. I eagerly took a couple of shots of them and then came back.

A couple of days ago, i noticed that the plant had been brought downstairs and was resting in my parents' balcony. It was covered in flowers. I wondered why Dad had brought it down (Mom hardly goes up to the terrace). So today, when i noticed the plant again, i asked Dad why he had brought it down - it seemed to be healthy, had enough of sunshine and was even sporting some lovely blooms.

"Yes...well, it was just sitting upstairs with nobody to see it flowering. That's why i brought it downstairs."

Sometimes i just want to hug my dad with all the affection i have in me.

Is it wrong to pray for one's own happiness?

A li'l high, a li'l low.

This weekend, I:

- Was very short tempered. I fought with and beat up people.
- Spent some quiet time with the best person in the world to do it with: me.
- Rode the bike with one hand at no more than 20 kmph, looking around at houses and roads and people and places to calm myself down.
- Went shopping after a really long time.
- Realised why i don't go shopping so often: it's because the factory-line sizes suck and the clothes drive home the point that i'm fat. Half the tops that i fell absolutely in love with didn't fit me. The People store has sizes like Slim Large fit. I mean, really???? The slim large squished my bustline together in a very Victorian corset-like manner, and very unattractively so. Slim and large don't go together Mister Manufacturer!
- Picked up stuff in pretty purples, greens, oranges, and (surprise surprise) white, well within the budget i had allotted for it. I now also own something in checks. Yay! (I'm a sucker for checkered clothes, especially on men.)
- Chilled out at the new Take 5 lounge with A, catching up on life, reliving moments from the past and bringing her up-to-date on the life and times of The Nebulous One.
- Got stopped by the cops and asked "Madam, have you taken any alcohol Madam?"
- Am in possession of two new bags. Double yay!
- Had brat cousins stay over at my place and spend some time together.
- Realised i cannot control the thing that is driving me to be afraid and angry.

Today, you can just call me nasty.

Some people wake up all bubbly and chirpy, some depressed and moody, some wired. Me? I woke up feeling evil (on a Friday, too). I wanted to kick somebody's ass today, make somebody feel the whiplash of my biting words, trip on somebody.

I have had two victims succumb to me since morning. P, whom i spoke to early in the morning. And A, who has himself a scrawny b**** with benefits and on whom i was tripping with jokes like "i bet she clanks when you do her, considering she's all skeleton" and "she's not authentic tangdi kabab dude, she's the diet version of it". Yeah, i'm feeling that kind of nasty today.

And you know the good thing about being that kind of nasty?

I don't give a rat's a** about what people think of it. Today, i am indestructible.

Mumbai meri jaan.

There's never been a year since 2004/5 (i can't remember which) that i haven't visited Mumbai, and it's always been for more than a week. This year, i thought the pattern would break and i wouldn't visit the city because a) i had no leave b) i had too many people to meet, so decided i'd rather not go, and c) i didn't see any sense in going for just the weekend.

Divine intervention had a go and before i knew it, my tickets were booked for a weekend in Mumbai (almost a month in advance, at that). So last Saturday dawned dark and very early and was followed by 25 hours of sleeplessness. Not new, considering the number of days i have worked without sleep in the past, but i'm not used to it anymore because of my cushy job. It took a bit of getting used to - a countless number of Breezers, to be precise!

The two days got better because we had langotiya yaars from Hyderabad attending back-to-back meetings in Mumbai the same weekend, and the Gujju joined us on Sunday after her event. We spoke endlessly, laughed so much and so hard that people wanted to throw us out of every place that we went to because we were behaving like absolute ruffians, partied, consumed copious amounts of alcohol, made Gabs and Paps reschedule their flight for Sunday morning, danced at Sister K's place and then at a cheesy 5-star club, ate good food, chilled and dished out loads of advice.

Phew. Busy weekend, but memorable and hopefully, very productive. Only time will tell about that.

This was shot at 6:27 a.m onboard our flight to Mumbai.

Kill Me's, the Fishermen Special.

Q: What's a really good fisherman who keeps wanking off called?
A: Masterbaiter.

Q: What's a Chinese fisherman in India called?
A: Sur-mai.

Q: What's an inquisitive fisherman called?
A: Ro-who?

What to do when you're locked outside your house on the first floor with a laptop and a phone.

Posting Live.

1. Since the entrance to the house has a gate, and the gate is also locked, precariously plonk your laptop on the inside of the gate, followed by your bag. Which, you have momentarily forgotten, has your precious hard drive with your even more precious 10,000+ pictures.

2. Climb onto the gap on the side of the gate and rip brand new kurta in the process. This, despite being fully aware of stepping on the hem of the kurta and hearing a slow but steady "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrippp", and not caring because the only thing that matters at that moment is that you don't fall off the gap and embarass yourself in front of the real estate/travel agent shops on your street.

3. Whip out your laptop and ping A to talk about your plight.

4. Look around as your laptop starts; notice all the cobwebs; notice the rip in your kurta and think that a good darning should fix it (this, in an attempt to not feel bad about said damage to brand new kurta; sometimes i can be such an idiot).

5. Call friends around home to check if they're home so you can go and crash at their place while you wait for parents to come from wherever they are.

6. Curse your memory for having seen the house keys on the writing table in the morning before leaving for work and not registering that they should be picked up and put into the bag immediately.

7. Blog.

8. Reread your post to check for spellos.

9. Distract yourself with duskdreams of Daniel Craig, George Clooney, Vin Diesel, Curtis Stone, Michael Fox and the likes because you do not, repeat DO NOT, want to focus on the fact that you really, really, really need to pee.

10. Ugh. I need to pee so bad.

I want to smell the coffee and pepper again.

Coorg used to be what Goa was - a place i visited at least once a year. But it's been 24 months, or is it more?, since i last went there. Today, in search of a picture to put on my tumblr blog because i was in a mood to put up a quote and i need a photograph to go with it, i stumbled upon the albums of my previous Coorg trips. Drove down and took different routes every single time.

I miss that place. It had the sort of peace one can only find amidst nature. And now, i'm itching, absolutely itching, to go back. All i need to do is find somebody to go with. Drive down, or even better, bike it. And live at a home stay for a couple of days, take walks around the adjacent plantations, visit Kushalnagar, discover little rivers and other hidden surprises and binge on Coorgi fare.

Yep, i think it's time for another Coorg trip.

Another horrible day in the history of horrible days.

I woke up feeling not-so-great because i had a not-so-great night. Then a dear friend truly and thoroughly pissed me off. I was bloody hungry. I ate food, but the feeling still didn't go away. I lay down, trying to force myself to catch 40 winks, but that didn't help either. Somewhere along the way, i had an extremely scary and claustrophobic vision of what i was going through. A vision of someone ripping through my brain and bashing their way through my skull and flying out. A vague shape, not human, not demon.

The feeling of irritation and restlessness and extreme aggression and disgust persisted through the day. I went out in the evening, had myself a good time. And then i screwed up. Royally.

If there's anybody that must be blamed for the state i am in and bear the burden of what the state of my life is today, it's me. I'm my own demon, my own slayer, my own enemy.

I just want to reach a comatose state and fall asleep. To not be able to hit the pillow and sleep immediately is going to be pure agony today. And i don't want it. Not tonight.

Have you heard of Tomorrowland?

No no, not the Disney one. The three days of madness in Antwerp, Belgium with the best DJs from across the world-one.

No?

Well, you should watch this then. It's a world within a world with an energy that can power a million galaxies and a vibe that can sustain the entire human race on a year's happiness.

I heard of it from a friend at work, and when i watched it, i was carried away. Mannn, that energy, that buzz, that feeling of being alive in masses and masses of people rocking it to the beats...it was like i was there. I could feel the rythm beat in time with my heart, the electronics carrying messages of music to my synapses. I have just one word for that whole range of emotions i felt when i watched it: "Wow". Sunburn is dirt.

I think i should be there. In Belgium. Next year, when it happens. Three days of nothingness. No thinking, no mental masturbation about life and love and work and survival. Just music. Pure music. Pure emotion. Pure feeling. Swedish House Mafia, David Guetta, the works.

*Sigh*. Love.

"...Yahan se bahuth duur,
ghalath aur sahi ke paar,
ek maidan hai.
Main wahan miloonga tujhe."
- Rumi

I watched Rockstar tonight. And, well, although i haven't been able to get a handle on the whole movie, i think it's not a bad watch. There are twists when you don't expect any, the soundtrack is nice, there were so many bits of the movie that i could totally relate to (no thanks to the acting), i like Ranbir Kapoor's styling and his transformation from a chora to a dude, and i especially like the way Imtiaz Ali has concluded the movie. Lots of moments of empathy with Ranbir's character and some with Nargis Fakhri's. I feel sad for Jordan.

Does it leave me with good or bad vibes? Neither, actually. It gets me thinking. And it makes me believe that things like that are very, very plausible. I would like to say here that if the same thing had been made as an English movie, it would've had decent reviews, maybe even a handful of good ones. So we just have to accept that this is Bollywood and that there are bound to be moments when you'll sit up and say WTF! but it's alright. Take it in its stride, and you should be just fine watching it.

Hmm, now that i read everything i've written, maybe i kind of DO like the movie.

Oh, and Kashmir. Must. Visit. Kashmir.

Soon.

A contender.

I first heard this song from Razia Sultan (the same movie that gave us the eternal Ae dil-e-nadan in Lata Mangeshkar's voice) when i was 14 years old, in our one-bedroom house on a transistor radio that we still own but don't use. It was love at first listen and it's stayed with me ever since. A pleasure to hear not just for the voice of Kabban Mirza and the music of Khayyam, but for the absolutely beautiful lyrics of poet Jan Nisar Akhtar whose every word conveys a depth of feeling. I especially love the last verse of the song. The last time i heard lyrics that were woven together with so much love and meaning was in Khoya Khoya Chand.

Aayi zanjeer ki jhankar definitely battles it out as my most favourite song with Tum pukarlo from Khamoshi (the old one).

P.S: The sound quality isn't great, but i have been unable to find the full song with crystal-clear audio.

Dealing with stress.

I've spoken about it before, and i speak about it again. The thing is, everytime i think of everything that's happening, about to happen or may/may not happen, i try and consider my options. What will i do if, what if, why not - they're questions i constantly keep subjecting my brain to. Because i want to be prepared. And i do that because i don't know how well i'll be able to function when those whats and whys get answered. I simply don't know how much i'll be able to take physically, psychologically, emotionally.

It reminds me of a psychology lecture way back in college - that we're all capable of dealing with stress in its many forms. Some of us better at it than most others. But the thing is, stress always extracts its pound of flesh. The first time we're subjected to it, we'll probably deal with it really well. But when it goes away, it takes a part of our ability to deal with it effectively. So that when the next stress comes our way, we'll have to try a little bit harder, put in a little bit more effort than before to deal with it. The cycle gets repeated till you can take the stress no more. And that's your breaking point, that's your nervous breakdown. Trust me, it's a stage nobody should get to.

I keep thinking about this. I'm nowhere near a nervous breakdown - at least i hope i'm not - but i think of how much has happened for me to be where i am emotionally and psychologically, and how much more there is to bear. And i wonder if i'll be able to take it when the events are set in motion and there's no turning back. No turning back or wanting to turn back and letting things be status quo. And i can't predict which way i'll go. I come up with a hundred worst-case scenarios - i'll nod with resignation and walk away; my legs will give way and i'll dissolve into tears as i collapse to the floor; i'll scream and curse and go all psycho; i'll say it's alright and let things continue the way they are because i can't function without this part of my life - and still, i can never tell which one it will be that i do, because i don't know how it's going to turn out. There's only this feeling that whatever it is, it's not going to be good.

I look back on the previous stress points. Each one precious, each more intense than the other, each eternally alive with a space dedicated to it somewhere in my memory. Will this be my penultimate or my last? I already feel a sense of helplessness, because i don't think i'll know how to deal with it. Leave the country, shut out people, run away? And what happens when i need to pick up the pieces of my life back and start over? How will i do it? So much of my energy, who i am, what i am and what i feel has gone into this that i wonder how long it will be before i'm whole again and able to give myself unconditionally. Is there even going to be an 'unconditional' at all? Can i feel so strongly again? Ever? Is it going to be what i want, or what i will have to accept as my lot?

The first time it happened, i was able to shut it out. Shut that part of my life out totally. No looking back. No revisiting that chapter. No keeping in touch with it, no knowledge about it, nothing. I was strong then, so strong. Now, i won't be able to do it. I've tried, and i can't shut it out; i keep looking back, revisiting this chapter. I'm weak. I don't have the energy to fight it, giving in seems so much easier and less painful. I don't want to feel pain. Because i'm weak now. My reserves are depleted and i can't replenish it any more. I guess that makes me a living example of what the stress demon is capable of. It takes a part of your power with it when it leaves.

You may think that you've got the better of it, but you will have never really won.

The good thing about the city i live in.

The Metro. Used for now as a picnic spot for Bangaloreans over the weekend. ("Ooooooh, what's travelling by Metro like? Let's go, let's go! Kids, put on your best clothes! And while we're at it, let's buy a couple of packets of chips, one bottle of water, some biscuits...oh wait, we forgot the ice cream!") I do believe, though, that the day of the Metro realising its true calling draws nearer with each passing day. Nevertheless, it's a very fascinating experience to travel by it (that explains how i know so much about the weekend Metro picnickers) and one reaches Indiranagar from M.G.Road in five minutes flat. No hooting autos, cars, nothing. I can safely say that the shortest distance between two points in Bangalore is the Metro.

The Metallica Concert. Oh the concert, oh the happiness, oh the muck.

Wait a minute, muck? Yeah, it rained cats and dogs last evening. But even the weather knew that it had to behave itself when Metallica came on stage. Despite that, the damage was done - it was like the earth under our feet had turned into a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking up our feet and trying to swallow more than it could hold.

James Hetfield still gets my nerve ends tingling. And that voice. (Cue swooning sounds.) Lars was fabulous as always. I loved the songs they played, their energy was inspiring. My favourites were Sad but true, One and Enter Sandman.

That's it. Two good things. For now. Big enough things, though.

Did i mention the rains already? Oh yes, i did. Okay then.

This is the story of a little bird.

For a couple of days, my room had turned into an entertainment center-cum-sanctuary for birds. I had two sparrows come in and explore my room, randomly pecking at things. Dad noticed them and they scooted, chirping out a conversation to each other as they flew out of the windows. The tree branch outside my window is their home now.

Another little birdie nudged its way quietly onto my window ledge and made its home there for God-knows-how-long before i noticed it. Had i not caught it peeking curiously - and if i am any bit a bird mind-reader, fearfully - at the road one storey below my room, i would never have noticed it even.

The first thing i did was whip out my camera, inch my way slowly to the window right behind the bird's bum feathers, and exercise the utmost stealth in trying to get a nice picture. That's when i saw that this wasn't a normal bird; it was a pigeon, either sick or old, or both. So i ditched my camera and just watched. I tried cooing to it, talking to it - anything that would help make it feel better, but all it did was walk from one corner of the ledge to another, wanting nothing except to be left alone. There was a certain wisdom in the way it studied the things that were happening below - a tailor at his sewing machine, a kirana store owner bellowing at somebody for parking their vehicle in front of his shop, a couple of limp teenagers hanging out at the keymaker's corner... and then, bored, it must have fallen asleep. I took the opportunity to fill a little cup with water and place it out on the ledge - just in case the pigeon got thirsty during the night.

I woke up next morning and headed straight for the window. The pigeon wasn't there. The water was untouched. I went to work, came back, waited to see its silhouette created by the street lamp to line my window ledge.

I never saw the pigeon again.

A day in the life of Bangalore, Circa 2011.

This time, bumming by the beach had different experiences to offer.

The much-promised post on the Goa trip follows. What was different about the four days i spent there: i bummed on the beach in the night, caught the most amazing view of the night sky ever, got insanely angry a number of times, tried out new eating places and totally peaced out. Geek Boy and i got there first, Sister K followed soon enough.

The journey to Goa was the stuff adventures are made of: Geek Boy and i drove down - another first for me. We lost our way and took a state highway - a rubble road that went over and through the Ghats, plonking us bang in the middle of Goa, 25 km away from Calangute. It was one of the most memorable bits of my entire trip. It was also the moment i fell in love with the miracle that is GPS and the gorgeousness that is the iPhone.

The second memorable bit of the trip was our first night on the beach. Geek Boy and i sat under the stars till my legs gave up all sensation, what with being exposed to the chill of the sea in a pair of skimpy shorts, and we had to head back. The sky put up what is undoubtedly one of the most captivating displays of nature's beauty ever: grey clouds like clotted cream crept up to cover a moon that was near-full, as the moon put its spotlight on a patch of waves right in the middle of the sea. It was like the moonlight was creating a stage for the dolphins to perform feats of diving or the mermaids to entice us with their shimmering bodies. I cannot begin to describe how awed i was by the sky that night. It's an image that's going to stay with me for a long, long time.

I went to new places: Bob's Inn for lunch (finger-licking and spicy-as-hell Chicken Vindaloo with Goan Pav, finished off with a luscious, rich, melt-at-a-touch Chocolate Mousse), Curlie's for just-like-that (absolutely yummy Margharita pizzas with a sprinkling of fresh chopped Basil) and Sher-e-Punjab (yeah, i know, but we were driving back to Bangalore and had to stop for a bite at Panjim at 5 p.m to stop Geek Boy from being sick; besides, the food was good).

On our party nights, we saw a fight, a bottle being broken on some big shot's head and his head cracking almost-open; we saw a 'buyer' trying to get some from a bunch of women; we saw the crowds go crazy as some bellydancing chick from some dance show got mauled by men in turbans, uncleji shirts and slipping shorts as their teenage sons, daughters, neices and nephews gawked at her.

Did the trip achieve its purpose? Well, yes and no. My head cleared up a lot, i came back calmer and more normal than i have been these last couple of months. I do wish that i had slept till late in the afternoon every single day that i was there, though. And i wish that i could do something to help Sister K's predicament.

But that's the good thing about Goa, isn't it? There's always a next time.

P.S: Dear Haathi, thanks for suggesting a whole list of places to go to for food and entertainment!

Life's like a page out of a Neil Gaiman book right now.

“He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.”
- Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere

More good news.

1. My travel life is back on track. I got back from Goa this morning, a hard night's drive despite only being the navigator. I got everything i sought: peace, a quiet mind, enough sleep, copious amounts of food, new food places to explore. So much so that i didn't want to come back. My trip warrants a separate post because there were so many teeny weeny adventures of sorts. On the cards is another Goan trip in December and hopefully, a smaller, budget trip to somewhere nearby.

2. I'm a little more settled in my head. Just a little bit, but i have it. I have no idea how long it's going to last for, but i'm not worrying about that too much now.

3. I've started a new blog. It's my arty side, my experimentative, explorative side. A part of me that is otherwise overshadowed by the words i write and the thoughts i speak. I'm loving every minute of posting on it. Catch me in the mirror.

4. I'm swimming. I figure, if one has a Speedo that one spent a bomb on, one might as well milk it for all it's worth. I love swimming. It makes me feel alive and away from everything. I think i'm a natural, although i do have to overcome the discomfort of not feeling ground beneath my feet. V and i hit the pool every evening and spend hours in it. But here's the weird thing: every time i get out of the water, i begin to see huge halos around lights. Anything that shines has a halo around it. Makes me wonder if i've attained enlightenment before my time.

5. I'm getting to do interesting stuff at work. Yay for me!

A lot like me when it comes to you.

I wrote a good omelet…and ate
a hot poem… after loving you

Buttoned my car…and drove my
coat home…in the rain…
after loving you

I goed on red…and stopped on
green…floating somewhere in between…
being here and being there…
after loving you

I rolled my bed…turned down
my hair…slightly
confused but…I don’t care…

Laid out my teeth…and gargled my
gown…then I stood
…and laid me down…

To sleep…
after loving you

- Nikki Giovanni, I wrote a good omelet

Turns out he inspired my friend's art.

The 13-year old in the guise of a 29-year old i mentioned in my post yesterday is apparently capable of inspiring people. Seems that as i told my friend about how he wanted to hang, the nerve ends in her brain started doing cartwheels and resulted in the creation of this. For those of you interested in knowing, 'to hang' is youngster slang for hanging out. (Our 13-year old knows because he has this thing for dating nubile young women.) Why can't they just say hang out?

Makes me feel ancient, that. Pah.

I think it's happening, people.

I'm getting my mojo back. I can feel it. Slowwwly, very very slowly, it's coming back. I'm getting into that state of Nirvana where everything is as significant and worthy of my time and effort as trying to wear White in monsoons.

So since last Friday, i've been out almost everyday. I gave 13-year old in the guise of a 29-year old, whom i have a crush on (had, now), an earful for behaving like a total ass and kicked myself for letting him affect me. So i drank, and i went out, and i stayed out. I'm reaching my threshold level of shite again, and i'm getting to that point where i will moon the world and say "In your face bitches!". Or something like that.

Because i am tired, so very tired, positively exhausted with everything and everybody. And right now, i've had just about enough. The only person losing sleep, bursting blood vessels and splitting hairs about it all is me. Screw it. What's the worst that will happen?

So cross your fingers, cross your legs, cross your heart, cup your palms towards the sky and pray that my mojo lasts. I really need it to.

More good news next week. On that happy note, muchas gracias y buenas noches mi amigos.

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.