Thirteen books recommended for everyone.

1. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the First - The Bad Beginning
2. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Second - The Wide Window
3. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Third - The Reptile Room
4. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Fourth - The Miserable Mill
5. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Fifth - The Austere Academy
6. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Sixth - The Ersatz Elevator(Something i discovered about characters in this book - Esme Squalor, who later turns out to be Count Olaf's girlfriend, is a reference to J.D Salinger's short story 'For Esme with Love and Squalor'; her husband Jerome Squalor's name is, by my deduction, a reference to the O Henry Award-winning writer Gordon Lish's short story 'For Jerome with Love and Kisses' - a parody on Salinger's short story. And yeah, the two characters are quite the opposite in Snicket's book. He's got plenty more fascinating snippets like these hidden in the rest of the series too.)
7. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Seventh - The Vile Village
8. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Eighth - The Hostile Hospital
9. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Ninth- The Carnivorous Carnival
10. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Tenth - The Slippery Slope
11. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Eleventh - The Grim Grotto
12. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Twelfth- The Penultimate Peril
13. Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Thirteenth - The End

Somebody just walked over my grave...

... and I can do nothing but shiver.

Yesterday, i ate no food and almost all my words.

I chewed my left pinkie right down to the stub last night. It was the DLF IPL Finals between the Rajasthan Royals and Chennai Super Kings that made me. What a match! This one was as nail-biting to the last ball as the semi-finals were completely lukewarm efforts from the two competing teams of the finalists. Although, if you had to ask me, the Rajasthan Royals match with Mumbai Indians was more a BP-shooter than this one.

Ravi Shastri was a drag on the stage prior to the awards ceremony, asking some very silly questions and insisting on answers to them when it was pretty evident that some of the players didn't understand what he was asking ("So, that was some script you wrote out there"; "Nai, main yeh pooch raha tha ki aapne kaafi achchi script likhi field mein" and nonsense). Not to forget the whole thing about Ntini "adding colour to the game". Oh boy, what a goofer that one. Bet we'll be reading the papers pretty soon about Ravi Shastri being sued for racist remarks.

Although i was rooting for the Royals, i preferred to side with the Super kings post the award ceremony. Dhoni was so dignified about it, but what really did it for me was that bit about "we lost as a team today, and that's what i'm happy about". Completely contrary vibes to what i sort of felt from the Royals - they seemed to be so individual-focussed: example, Sohail Tanvir himself saying that he had played very well throughout the match, and that 50% of the effort of winning came from Shane Warne and his captaincy. Come on, you're a team, why would you put yourself before it? Which is why i really liked Dhoni and his team's attitude. Somehow they seemed less money-grubbing and more i-play-for-the-love-of-the-game than the Royals at the award ceremony.

So as we finish the first of DLF IPL season, the next year's T20 is on my mind already and i can't wait for it to happen. It's made me think of cricket like i never did before. And that brings me to the next thing on my mind: Dear god, you really should stop making me eat my own words. I mean, i know i hated cricket and all that but my hatred was doing nobody any harm that you had to take it upon yourself and make me like it so much! I hope you'll only restrict this exercise to the T20 matches!

Got a few stories of my own.

P mailed us all a link yesterday - Cassette from my ex-lover.

I read it this morning - accounts and fairy tale-like stories of women who've been gifted mixed tapes by their boyfriends. I remember those days too. The only difference was, i used to get my own mixed tapes recorded and gift them to myself. Yeah i know, i can see the 'L' blazing on my forehead.

But there was this one guy - incidentally, my first ummm...love - who put together a tape. And included a song in it that he completely detested, only because i liked it so much. I was touched.

They're all right, those women who shared their accounts and playlists with the world on the site/blog: first loves ARE something else. Mine lasted four years, and ended in him getting married to someone else. Sigh. Heartbreak High.

I must admit, though, those were some of the best years of my life. The sort of silly things we did, despite him being six years older. Those secret rendezvouses, the long walks in the nights (uh, no, we were never alone on these), the group outings with me travelling on his Suzuki Samurai, him picking me up sometimes and dropping me off to school (!) and later, college. I remember each moment so clearly after all these years, it seems like only yesterday.

I still have those mixed tapes. Just haven't gone back to listening to them. Perhaps i'm a bit afraid to open up Pandora's Box and let out all those things again.

P.S, here's the link: http://www.cassettefrommyex.com/

Heady, heady weather.

It started out with the sky turning a sullen-yellow that turned into sepia. The wind blew, the young trees bent in submission as it rushed past leaf after leaf. I stood outside, letting it whip my hair into a streaked frenzy. Watched the good-looker from two offices away as he bent over the cemented railing to let the breeze really hit him. Paid attention to the splendid colours of the sky once more, breathed deep the smell of nature and impending rain.

I love this weather. Reminds me that this is all it takes to lift my spirits and sweep them high above the clouds, straight into heaven. My life is full. I need nothing else now.

My bucket list.

This is for you, A. Pretty simple, really. And my bucket list - things to do before i kick the bucket - hasn't changed too much over the last eight years.

• Own a penthouse with a lovely sit-out with a mini-garden, and a glass roof in the bedroom that slants towards the ground. (This one you obviously know.)
• Learn to play the drums, perhaps even the violin if i have the time.
• Visit Egypt and Switzerland.
• Climb the Telephone Tower in R.T.Nagar and watch the world right from the top.
• Float.

Random-oxide.

I drove today. After close to three months. Without incident.

I made up a chorus last night: "I wanna see, wanna hear no more/ come back to me and i'll show you the door". I don't know where the silly thing came from, considering i was in the middle of watching the RC vs DD match.

Reminds me, i love the concept of the DLF IPL. I'm hooked onto it, and how. I can bet my left arm that the TRP ratings must have shot through the roof. Ya, so cricket zealots believe it's a violation of the sacred spirit of the game and blah blah blah but, think about it - globalisation's so effectively demonstrated (!). Sure, the players are auctioned and bought, but isn't that how cricket has been in the past handful of years? Personally, i think the IPL only sort of brings transparency and openness to the money-minting angle.

I was thinking about... it. Realised that after all that has happened, if things should work out between him and me tomorrow, i'm not sure i'd want it anymore. It's the whole once-bitten twice-shy syndrome. Besides, there's way too much bitterness now for the feeling to be dislodged easily. I have become a sad, withdrawn, bitter person.

There was also something else i was thinking about - how people fall in and out of marriages. And i realised, it isn't courage that makes a person take the 'right decision' and opt to stick in the marriage: essentially, we're all cowards and don't have the balls to break away from something that's been a part of our lives for however long, regardless of how traumatic it's been. What does take courage is to opt out of it, because then you're pep-talking yourself out of taking the easy way out. Some would call the latter a selfish act, an act that brutally disregards family (values, name, heritage etc.) and systems. I think it's a matter of perspective, and letting your needs drive your decisions.

I love my mother. I love the fact that she's so young, so caring, so in love with everybody around her that she'd so anything for them. (Which is not something i can say for myself.) I want to understand my father better - he's so quiet about what goes on inside of him that the rare emotional outbursts that happen seem like freak incidents that can only be ignored.

I want to live alone. I do. I want to find myself a comfortable 1 bedroom penthouse, do it up simply - more minimalistic than anything else - and fill it up with warmth and the smell of cooking. I want to listen to good music while i do this, and make weekends last forever and read books and sleep as much as i want and just not worry about where life is taking me.

I don't want to live very long, though. Perhaps 50 is good enough for me. That's 25 years left to do everything else i want to. Hmmmm...

Conversation.

*Tring Tring*

Oh, sorry. Wrong beginning.

*Vibraaaate vibrate!*

"Hello?"
"Kya hai bey kuttey?"
"Bhak saaley"
"Bhak madar****"
"Bhak t*** m** k*"
"Bhak cho**"
"Chup bey madar****"
"Chup bey l****"
"G*** mara bey b***** ke"
"Tu mara bey b***** pappu"
"Achcha waisey phone kyun kiya?"
"Aisey hi, gaaliyan dene ke liye."
"Oh achcha, theek hai. Ho gaya na? Chal abhi rakh."
"Rakh l****, rakh."
"Tu rakh bhen****"
"Haan theek hai. Kutta saala."
"Chup bey madar****."
"Haan theek hai, chal bye."
"Haan bye."

By far, one of the most fun and dirty conversations i have had in a really long time.

Oh, which reminds me (actually, 'dirty' reminds me), my friend G called this morning. Like his calling itself wasn't an event, he called at 3:40 a.m. Trying to go all husky and sexy on me saying, "I just felt like waking you up from your sleep." And then he offered to hang up - an offer that wasn't genuine, of course, but i took it up anyway because i was dying to curl up and go back to bed. And he went all abusive and tried dirty talking, which of course didn't work either because all the dirty talk we have is because of the lack of better things to talk about. Besides, he thinks he's this complete stud, so there's not much one can do except ask him to go get his job done somewhere else. All said and done, though, he's the one i talk to when i need serious advise - and one that makes sense.

So anyway, after i went to sleep, i had two very bizarre dreams - one of which i screamed my lungs out in, in absolute mental distress because a bunch of security guards were giving me a lot of unnecessary grief about a parcel. And the other one in which it seemed like all the world's zoos were let loose and animals were as free to move around as people. So there were snakes hanging down from trees like branches, sharp-eyes crocs doing the rounds in drains and sewers while ocassionally putting their heads out on to the roads to survey their chances of food, monkeys (like we don't have enough of the two-legged kind already) and God-knows-what-else.

Between yesterday and today, these are the interesting things that have happened to me so far. The fact that i'm sitting with my nose covered because S at work is giving out acidic fumes of body odour, is not something we need to get into details about. Sometimes i think he wears that smell with pride - some mad scientist (remember Roald Dahl's Bitch?) must have told him that the scent will unknowingly creep up into women's nostrils and attract them to him like moths to a lamp. Tch tch. What these young boys won't do for Lays these days. (Oh my go, it rhymes. It rhymes!)

Oh, Horror!

My phone rang at 8:30 last night, and i wondered why R was calling me. Putting it down to confirming my ticket at K's dance performance, i answered with a sing-song "Hello!"

"Quick, tell me a funny story. Now. Or i'm going to lose it." Stumbling, fumbling in the crevices and folds of my brain for something that would make her laugh, i said the first thing that came to my mind: "Once upon a time, there was a rat who used to roam around here and there. One day, a thorn pierced his bum..." and stopped because it sounded so lame to my own ears.

It hit home then. I don't know a funny story. Any funny story. And to think i'm supposed to be a funny person. I'm terrible at funny stories when people are down, but great at drawing them out and gettting them to talk about it. (Which is why, primarily i tell everybody in shit to "talk it out" with the concerned parties.) But now, i've decided to go about memorising funny stories with a vengeance. One never knows when they might come in handy.

Oh, i just remembered one that has never falied to make me laugh till date - A was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and i was sitting in the hall watching TV and talking to her. A2 was as usual messing around with A, then suddenly he left the hall and walked into his bedroom rapidly like his ass was on fire. Seconds later, i hear a "Prrrrrrrr!" and A2 emerges, looking like nothing's happened, like walking into the bedroom was the most natural thing in the world to do. Only, he didn't count upon the farting noise being so loud that i could hear it out in the hall. He looked at me rolling on the diwan and laughing my guts out at his crackpot behaviour and i still can't get over his expression - somewhat like a startled rabbit caught making out in the forest or something in the dead of night! Hyuck hyuck! The moron!

Thrilled to bits about my weekend.

My reports came on Friday, and got me feeling extremely low. I've got severe Hypothyroidism and a bunch of other equally bad diseases.

So i needed something to feel better about over the weekend. And that something came in the form of movies. Two movies back-to-back at Inox on Saturday, and one on Sunday. Family time too.

Watched Speed Racer with my cousins and mom; and loved, completely loved the movie. Getting out of the theatre, we decided to go in for another one - The Water Horse. After Speed Racer, it sort of faded in comparison. The colours, treatment, everything was so completely different. Yesterday i watched Bhootnath - the first half is pretty enjoyable and then they go right ahead and screw up the second half badly. Maybe the guys were at a loss on how to end the movie, so did what they did.

Then we headed to the Food Court, where i stuffed my face with lots of food (duh!). Chocolate Mousse, Chocolate Gateaux, Chicken Kabab, Caramel & Nuts ice cream... basically, all things sweet because from today, i go off them.

It was a super duper weekend. And i spent a lot of time with family. So i like it. I'm beginning to feel like the old days again. Yay.

Now let me tell you about my visit to the 'Hostile Hospital'.

Not really a hostile hospital, but it just sounded nice because it's Snickety. After days and months of near-panic that i was suffering from multiple illnesses - thanks to the regularity with which i have been falling ill - i decided to take the plunge. So i went to Elbit.

The family wanted to come along. And i told them there were some facts of life they were better left in the dark about - like perhaps my liver being damaged because of excessive alcoholism, or my uterus doubling as a breeding ground for cysts and fibroids and stuff. Actually, i didn't really say all that. I couldn't. So i quietly let my mother accompany me.

At the reception, i asked for the Healthy Woman Exam. The first thing she asked me, of course, was if i was married. And i told her i was single. "Then you can't take the test ma'am. It has a Paps Smear test." Thinking i had heard wrong, i asked her again. And she answered in almost the exact same words: I wasn't married, so i couldn't take the Paps Smear test, therefore the Healthy Woman exam. Obviously, i had to let the matter rest because mom was around, otherwise i'd have asked her if her recruitment had virginity as one of the qualifications for employment, or by some chance, her name was Mary with a 'Saint' thrown in somewhere for good measure. Bloody hell. My single status isn't necessarily proof of anything innocent. Or deprived. What if it turns out later that i've actually been suffering from AIDS and could have been cured if i could have had it diagnosed today? What if i have some other horrific disease of the sort? What if? Huh?

Benignly smiling at her, i opted for the Executive Health Check-up. Mom and i stepped into the lift - more like a cage of flimsy metal dangling in mid-air because we could see a gaping hole in the earth under the lift. Needless to say, the urine sample was not a tough job at all considering i was all set to pee in my pants all the way to the second floor, praying to God to spare me the irony of plunging me to my death in a hospital.

The blood samples were a little more painful though. I was completely fascinated by the colour of my own blood - a deep, dark red. I was even more fascinated by what seemed like bubbles spurting forth into the container. "You think those are bubbles? How will bubbles get into the blood?", asked the guy who was drawing it from me. "That is fat."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't know who was more disgusted - him or me. I realised i couldn't get away with pinning it all down to voluptousness. It was sick, greasy fat. Ugh. I really, really have to work it all off.

I also know now why the canteen food is so average too. If people get such bad news all the time, they'll be more than happy to eat the bland food thinking its healthy.

Let me tell you about the creepy crawly night i had.

I slept like a baby last night after a really long time, at peace with the world. At least, i did till 3:30 a.m this morning. Which is when i felt a touch as light as feather on my right toe. Now this unbelievable phenomenon woke me up for two reasons: a) i sleep alone on a really tiny bed, so there's no chance that some man was feeling amorous at a godforsaken hour in the morning; and b) this fleeting touch was soon followed by a vigorous flapping of Geranium petal-sized wings.

I didn't feel scared, just irritated that my long-awaited peaceful sleep (those medicines the doc gave me must have really worked) should be disturbed by some stupid insect - which by the time i woke up fully, realised was a flying cockroach - that was fluttering around in my room. So i reached overhead for the K750i (no, it's not an insect repellant or a little gun designed to shoot at unsuspecting insects) and switched it to torch mode, to figure out where the cockroach had landed. There it was, crawling over the posters from college kept on top of the Godrej cupboard.

I did have the option of throwing the duvet over my head to stay cocooned and protected from the cockroach's prying antennae and hairy feet, but it was hot as Dante's Inferno. Reluctantly enough, i got out of bed to play the part of Death. And what an unglamorous role it was - with my phone in one hand throwing light on the spot where the cockroach was and a hawaii chappal in the other, i reached out slowly, carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike it.

Now... now... now... WHAM! I switched on the light in my room, took the limp little blackish-brown body, wrapped it in layers and layers of plastic bags and threw it in the kitchen dustbin so the sounds of its struggle to free itself wouldn't disturb my sleep. I even went so far as to go to the loo so i wouldn't have to get out of bed again.

Sighing, half-smiling in anticipation of some more hours of blissful sleep, i headed back to bed. Just to play it safe though, i left the light still switched on so i could check for other creatures hiding in the dents and crevices of my pillow and duvet before i settled in. And voila! I see Miss Charlotte dangling comfortably from her web halfway to my bed.

Now, i hate spiders more than anything else in the world. So even if it meant i would lose a few more minutes of sleep in trying to get rid of it, i would do it. And i did. Finally, throwing my duvet to the side, i melted into the groove of the mattress that was still warm from my hours in it, and hafl-closed my eyes. I could see flashes of lightning through the window in my parents' room across mine. I could hear the wind whooshing through the champak trees on the street outside. I could hear a dog yelping softly, a car zipping on the main road, the vigorous flapping of Geranium petal-sized wings in my room...

Bloody hell. There was no chance that stupid cockroach could've escaped my little trapping device so easily so fast, and this flapping was stronger. Which meant that another cockroach had adroitly found its way into my room. On came the torchlight again, up came the hawaii chappal in my hand. I searched for a minute, couldn't find the pest, admitted defeat and pulled my duvet up to my head. The cockroach could go soak its head somewhere.

I settled down immediately of course, but my brain didn't. So like a typical junkie suffering from hypochondriasis, i imagined tiny little creepy crawlies running marathons and relay races all over me. And i was left tossing restlessly in bed till 6:00 a.m. Like people count sheep to fall asleep, i tried hard to count the seconds that lapsed between each lightning strike showing in my parents' room. Nothing. I was as wide awake as an owl on caffeine. Then i tried scaring myself to sleep, imagining ghosts moving in the dark; instead ending up imagining ghosts of all the cockroaches and spiders and rats and what-nots taking their revenge by crawling all over me. Basically, i was back to being sleepless.

Approximately 30 minutes after i managed to fall asleep, i was woken up again by the sound of my alarm going off. Every nine minutes, at that. Just about enough time to let me fall asleep and jar me awake immediately.

Boy, what a bad night. I was left wondering this morning, as i got ready for work, if it wasn't a sign from God about my past life, or worse still, my future reincarnation. I'm not even considering it to be symbolic of the present, because i'm a bitch in my present life, not a pest that wakes people up from deep sleep and makes life miserable. (No, we're not going to go into the calls i make to people i know at bizarre hours after i'm fully high and happy.)

Enteric-coated Pantoprazole Sodium And Domperidone SR Capsules...

... whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I got the meds on Saturday after innumerable stomach aches and a much-needed visit to the doc. He prodded my belly like some newfoundland, asked me a few questions and then prescribed these with some other tablets.

And i'm supposed to be on a strict diet of home food - fat chance that's going to happen with my social life keeping me as busy as it is right now. Which is a good thing, it keeps my mind off other shit (except when i read Jodi Picoult and then, in a fit of overwhelming emotions i do stupid, self-destrucive things).

Life has been pretty helterskelter, pellmell, hooha, shoosha for the last...umm, four days. I enrolled myself into the Center for Film and Drama - sounds more intellectual than it actually is - where i get to watch international movies from across the world every weekend; played Baddy (Badminton) for an hour on a lovely Friday evening, post which N and I sprawled on the terrace, letting the wind sweep away the heat and sweat from our bodies. We spotted human satellites in the sky, watched the thunder roll in, and i wished upon a shooting star. Saturday night, caught up with H, her fiance and a couple of other people who don't deserve any mention here, over God knows how many shots and BMs and what-nots. Didn't eat a bite of food and still managed to wake up without any hangover from the previous evening. Yesterday, went for a book reading by the author of V.S. Naipaul's biography, Patrick French. Plus, i got an autographed copy of the book!

And in the middle of all this, i found time to groan and moan about my poor stomach. Despite the medicines - which i haven't been taking regularly - my tummy feels like it's made out of lead. Or perhaps it's a machine that makes weird gurgling noises and spews acids all day. I'm wishing i could stand with my hands spread wide, waiting for all these evil things i feel happening inside me to leave like the charm from Fiona's body (damn, i even look like her now - an ogress!). Only, it will be the spirits of junk food making a quick exit after having created a mini-zoo of a variety of bacteria and other micro-organisms.

Yappaaaa. I so badly need a pick-me-up right now. And not in the form of lines.

Once in a while, an imp takes hold of you and...

... makes you buy things you wouldn't dream of buying in a thousand lives. Like this pair of blingy slip-ons i picked up on a sudden whim from a shop in the lane adjacent to Anand Sweets in Commercial Street. If there's anything i hate more than the colour white, it's shiny white. And to think i saw these and flipped for them.

Oh well. Just another lesson to keep an open mind about everything. The more you dislike something, the more likely you are to end up with it, and worse, end up liking it. Buuuut, the brighter (pun unintended) side of this buy is:

- If not my teeth, at least my chappals are sparkling white.

- I didn't spend a fortune on them. Or a mini fortune. Or a micro-mini fortune. (No, i didn't get them for free either.)

- I'll never get lost on the dance floor because people can spot me through the white glow of my slip-ons. Unless, of course, the slip-ons have slipped off my feet in the process of doing some hunk on the pool table in the corner.

- If this pair follows the same principle as all other painted-on glitter footwear, then the reflective silver surface will rub off with wear and leave behind plain white - which is a great deal more tolerable than shiny white.

God damn it.

I can't believe i still care enough to listen to you and not put up that post full of bitter thoughts. Asshole.

Just a little story.

The city of peaceful people saw the most terrible day in their lives when the Fire Monster came ploughing through the magnificent forest that formed the boundary of the city. Fireballs splattered across tiled roofs and paved roads, scarring people for life. But the worst hit were the trees in the city park - their green, leafy shade had provided shelter for generations of children, lovers, families and frail old people. Where there was the pleasant scent of nature and vitality, there was now the smell of burning wood and charring leaves. The fireball had hit the middle of the canopy and slowly licked its way through the entire length of the trees. Spots of bright red and yellow dotted the branches where the leaves were, while the barks stubbornly resisited the onslaught of fire.

The Fire Monster had nothing against the city. It just loved destroying things because it was a wicked, violent being. Its mother had promised that for every city it destroyed, it would grow stronger and more handsome. Only, every city that fell prey to its evil ways left a deep groove on the Fire Monster's body, making it uglier and more unapproachable with every passing day.

The Fire Monster let out a loud belch and followed it up with a booming evil cackle on seeing his latest handiwork of destruction. His joy was shortlived though, because all the peaceful people got together and prayed with all their faith for some means of rescue from the Fire Monster. The smog-filled sky broke clear in one place and the Rain Man came riding on his Numbus. Raising his hand, he sprayed jets of freezing cold water on the city, dousing every baby flame in the vicinity. The Fire Monster bellowed with rage and let loose a canon of fireballs at the Rain Man. A battle ensued, with the Rain Man fighting the Fire Monster valiantly with icy sprays of water.

As with all stories protraying the battles of good and evil, this one too celebrates the glory of good over evil. Which means, the Rain Man won the battle by dousing the Fire Monster and reducing it to a puddle of blubbering gases. The peaceful people were very happy with the outcome of the events, but their happiness was subdued because their beautiful city had been razed to the ground by the fire.

Just then, a cherub gah-gahed and pointed its hand at the city park where the tall trees had been burning moments ago. The peaceful people stared in awe at the sight - the icy water from the Rain Man had taken the fire dotting the trees by surprise, freezing it in its place. Now the trees were full of red and yellow dots shaped like flowers with uneven petals! The Wise Old Man of the village whispered, "Gul Mohar". The Golden Blossoms. The sun emerged from the dissipating smog, and the flowers seemed to grow in size, full of vivaciousness and glowing good health.

The peaceful people gathered around the trees, hugging them tenderly. The barks were injured and burnt to their insides, but life was running through them. Slowly, the city of peaceful people was rebuilt, and the Gul Mohar trees were given the place of pride. Relying on faith and plenty of water, the peaceful people cut branches of the tree and planted them all over the city.

Soon, word about the wondrous trees spread from village to town to city to state to country. People from all over the world came to see this wonder, and carried saplings back to plant in their hometowns.

And so the legend of the Gul Mohar spread. During summers, every Gul Mohar tree comes alive with thousands of fiery blossoms glistening in the sunlight. It blooms with the fire of the Fire Monster, and the sparkle from the icy sprays of the Rain Man.

Movie, Masti, Mary!

For two days, i'd been thinking about Byaatch (referred to from now on as N to preserve the goodness of our relationship) and wanting to talk to her because it had been a while. So i was quite taken aback when i heard from her last evening, asking me if i wanted to go for a movie. Sure, i said, let's go! And that's how ended up in the half-empty Fun Cinemas Screen 4 for U, Me Aur Hum.

The great adventure started at the entrance to Fun. Y also joined us, and it was the first time i was actually spending so much time in his company - previously it had always been "Hi, how're you, what're you upto" and many such inanities when i went to meet N at home. We weren't allowed to take food in, so we ended up gulping down spoonfuls of supercold Chocolate Walnut Brownie Gelato / Strawberry Sorbetto and babbling like month-old babies because of frozen tongues.

I thought we'd got the best seats in the theatre, when i realised that half the theatre was empty anyway so we could sit anywhere we wanted. There was a couple next to us, occupying the corner seats and trying very hard to watch the movie in peace. Unfortunately for them, we started squawking the minute the titles rolled in with millions of mushy quotes on love from Pascal (yeah, mathematician Pascal), Thoreau, MK Gandhi and more floating among clouds - "Oh my god, lemme outta here!" and "You gotta be kidding me man, i sprinted up the stairs for this?" followed by loud laughter from yours truly because the clouds looked positively B-grade. Y decided this was a good time to tell us something about the movie: "I heard it's really bad."

We decided to endure it. Not a difficult task, considering Y and I were cracking bad ones throughout the movie while N tried in vain to shut our voices out of her migraine-heavy head. We didn't need too much help on the PJs either, because Mr. Director had put in plenty of them in the movie, along with a dhobi list of the most colourful desi gaalis.

Divya Dutta proved to the world that she could beat Pam Anderson hands-down where bust size was concerned, while that woman from Kisna who did weird things with trees and ropes was the epitome of bimbettishnes in this movie. The chemistry and easy relationship the friends share was commendable, although i had a hard time imagining doctors being that way. The first half was pretty average - it had N crying out "What has he done to my favourite heroine?" in anguish. The second half was much better (and intense), minus freaky low angle shots that try to show viewers peeps of underwear. There were moments of comic relief though - there's this shot where Ajay Devgan goes down on his knees and says to Kajol "I didn't forget anything, you did! How could i do this to you, forgive me blah blah blah" and appropriately, a phone went off in the theatre with the song from Humraaz as ringtone "Bhool na jaana, bhool na jaana...". Then there was this scene when Ajay Devgan (yeah, the movie is about him, and him and him) is sitting with the rest of the gang and philosophising on life - a pretty intense moment when N was ready to cry. And i leaned in towards her and asked, "Are you sleeping?"

I also missed many melodramatic dialogues because i couldn't hear them above my own chewing of the Palak Papri Chaat.

We finished the movie, satisfied that it was worth at least half the money we paid to watch it. Plonked ourselves on the stairs deciding on POA. Headed to Millers 46, where i had a very yummy BM. All through dinner and 'refreshments', we cracked bad ones on dialogues from the movie, freaked Y out by claiming N and I were 'seeing' each other, asked him to get a girlfriend and were up to general tomfoolery of the sort.

It was an evening well spent. I went back home feeling peaceful and nicely sleepy.

Hubba Hubba!

If you escaped a flood on St.Mark's Road the morning of Saturday the 12th, you're lucky. I'd drooled all over the place on Friday night after seeing the H2 zoom by menacingly. Yes. The H2. Hummer for the senile, demented or plain stupid.

After a completely pakau day at work, i had a brilliant spark of spontaneity - let's go for a movie! (So i'm excited about seeing the big screen after months of poverty, so what?) So we went for a 10 'o' clock show of...ummm, Krazzy 4. I'm not going to apologise or get defensive about watching the movie because i laughed a little for the first half. We had plenty of time to kill before the movie, so we ordered in plenty of Breezers from downstairs and glugged away. I had mine like i had Bailey's long ago - in one shot. (It isn't that i'm an unofficial member of Alcoholics Anonymous or something, it's just that the flavour was a horrid Blueberry that seemed like Harpic diluted with sweetener and soda.) After which, i did exceptionally well at the Brain Game on Facebook - i even beat my boss' score!

A got jittery, so we left, reached Inox, stuffed our faces, finished the movie and were on our way back home when i saw it. At first i saw a looming shadow with bright headlights for eyes, and then it emerged in all its splendour - a sleek and shiny H2 purring like a wildcat waiting for its prey. Its road presence is unbelievable - all that horsepower waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting puny Sumo or Scorpio that dares to cross its way. I can't even begin to imagine what it could do to a good old Maruti 800.

The Hummer stayed with us for a while - i got high ogling at it for a whole kilometre. I think by the end of the journey home, A would have been happy to give me to the aliens because of the number of times i'd said "Oh. My. God." in this incredulous voice, squirming in the car seat to get a good look at it from every angle possible.

Obviously, after it passed, neither A nor I could stop talking about it. I remembered a story of some bigshot in Bangalore who got a Hummer to India, but had to pay shitloads on taxes and stuff to let it run on the roads; by the end of which, i think he just about gave up on ever driving it around. So i ventured to ask A, "How much do you think it would cost, inclusive of taxes and all that jazz?"
"2 crores, souped up and taxes paid", he replied calmly, shrugging the amount off like he would a speck of dirt on his tee.

I don't know how i got back home. I'd fainted by the time the inverted commas on his reply were in place.

Oh, and that night Murphy's Nth Law came into place, all tried and tested: The sexier the car, the uglier the driver.

How a part of my life came full circle.

I was in Goa the last few days for the Adfest. I was staying at a gorgeous resort in Colva, every aspect of its pristine white structure setting off some distant longing in me now buried.

On the evening we reached there, we went to the beach. As we walked towards it, i realised that i had been to the place before. Four years ago. In white shorts. Where i'd burnt my leg against the red-hot silencer.

It seemed so long ago. Memories came flooding back. Tears, laughter, moments of tension, wind whistling past, one little slap on my cheek and many consequences. Like that was not enough, the next day i discovered that i was going through the same lanes, the same roads i had travelled once upon a time. I could see it all in my mind's eye, and couldn't help wondering how ironic it all was. That i should go back now, when it was all over, to the place where it had all started.

Unconsciously, i had come a full circle.

Bhang de Basanti!

Holi came and went, but my desire to be knocked out by bhang didn't. Truth be told, i've only raved about the thought of bhang and never really done anything about it. Until recently when N managed to procure some from a man who comes to office selling chudwa-chabeena. (Talk about contacts.)

Super thrilled at finally getting my hands on some, i decided i put it to good use the very same day. I read up on bhang (turns out its the cannabis family), and heard freaky stories about people who've gone crackpotty under its influence - A was telling me about a friend who found a little road impossibly tough to cross, and scared me further with "Don't do it alone" and "If you start laughing, you'll keep laughing, or it will be the other extreme". Sigh. Three days later, i still had the packet with me. Unopened.

On Sunday, i thought WTF, let's just do it. Mom was in the room correcting papers and Dad was out. I didn't have the courage to carry the packet to the kitchen - a night shirt isn't a very good place to hide little packets, unless you count the brassiere worn inside it and the stories of hiding-secrets-in-the-bra that have been the stuff of Indian legends (and movies) for so long. I didn't dare do the latter for fear of wasting the bhang, so i quietly crooked my finger and removed a generous amount, hid it in the folds of my night-shirt and ran to the kitchen. I mixed it up, drank it and then waited.

And waited and waited and waited.

Zilch. I could've been having ground parthenium for all it was worth. Nothing happened! P called - i had spoken to him for hours on end because i was contemplating suicide a day before, and in the process had told him about the bhang. So he called and checked up on me.
"So, did you have it?"
"Yaa."
"Did you watch a funny movie like i told you to?"
"Yaa, sort of, but nothing's happening."
"You are a bewdi. That's why. How much did you have?"
"A third of the packet. Why?"
And before he could speak up, i said, "I didn't use too much jal jeera as base also da. Still, nothing happened."

I'm not surprised at his silence since then. I mean, bhang is supposed to be mixed with thandai or buttermilk only. No diary product (other than cheese) has ever seen the dust in my house, leave alone the fridge or the kitchen, and i was way too lazy to go out and buy myself Masti Dahi. So i made do with whatever i had. There was Fanta, lime cordial and jal jeera. I chose the lesser of the three evils.

Jal jeera. Shikes. God save bhang from the likes of me.