Things i discovered about myself lately.

- I can handle relationships much better than i used to be able to a year/two years ago.
- I'm not an anal girlfriend. Or a nagging one, for that matter. It's the men i date who make me that. (Note to self: Change taste of preferred traits in the male species.)
- I'm a sucker for men in Checked prints.
- If i had been a full-time gamer, i would have been rolling in so much cash, i could have bought the world three times over.
- I enjoy House and Trance immensely.
- Those people i used to think didn't know of any other way to spend time than putting and sending? I've become one of them.
- I stil enjoy my food, but have cut down intake by at least half. It depresses me.
- I ignore most of my ailments thinking they'll go away on their own.
- The best way to increase my knowledge about things is to play games about them.
- I want nothing out of life.
- For all the strength of character i boast, i think i'll be devastated with any more deaths in the family.
- I'm most definitely going to hell.
- I have a heart partially carved out of stone.
- I'm actually scared of globe-trotting.

- I'm selfish.

- I'm not petrified of spiders any more.

I love Bangalore.

Perspectives, places, clouds and rain.

FROM THE TOP: View of LIC Building outside Hard Rock Cafe; Soaking in the Sun, Jagdish Nagar; Choco Chip Muffin at CCD; Rains near Chinnaswamy Stadium; Dawn at Cantonment Railway Station on the morning of F's departure; Leafy Reflections, Cubbon Road; Auto Dew, St. Mark's Road; Dog on Shutter, Shivajinagar; Lonely Hearts Club, Office Terrace, Richmond Town.

Ain't no sunshine when he's gone...

... but there is a glorious rainbow!

Mellllllllt...

Yes! Thank you, God, thank you!

Dance classes are happening. And i'm going to be restarting in November. Bellydancing Intermediate and (trumpet) Kickboxing! Woo hoo! Bloody hell, i can feel the rush of adrenaline already!

I need this in my life right now. Oh God, i need it so badly!

Conversations of the Married.

She, drunk and coming home really late in the night: I hate being married.

He, sober and not sure if he heard right: What?

She: I hate being married.

He: Okay...

She, growing petulant: I hate being married because i hate being called wife.

He, soothing: Okay... So, what do you want to do about it?

She: I don't want to be married.

He: Okay. Sleep over it.

She: Okay.

Last night, i thought i was going to die.

Yeah, it's a little silly, i know. There is a background to it though.

Taking cabs back home when i get late meeting up with friends has become a habit with me. So last night, when G and i got late leaving Highnote, we decided to call for a cab. Within 15 minutes of calling for one, i get a call from the driver. I direct him to the place, and he finally ends up going a little further away than the pickup point.

G and i walk to the cab, and we don't see the cabbie's face at all. What i do see upon getting in, is a brown suede jacket trimmed with fur, neatly cut hair at the back and black, thick frames. Very stylish, and i must confess my bias, very unlike a cab driver. Immediately, my senses are on the alert. Because hell, in India cab drivers don't dress so well. I try my best to get a look at the driver's face - rear-view mirror, side mirror, sitting forward and trying to peep. No luck at all.

There was no trace of an ID card on the dashboard, absolutely nothing. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and that gave way to apprehension. So G and i sit in the backseat, and we're sending messages to each other because obviously, we can't talk about it.
Me: "Machcha, he doesn't effing look like a driver da!"
G: Lol
Me:Little bit weird no? Do you think my karma's catching up with me and i'll be molested or something?
G: Che thoo you better call (referring to calling after i get home)
Me: Ha ha ha! I know the perfect person to be on line with! P Diddy!
G: Imagine my karma. Lol.

And so she leaves, and i ask the cabbie to turn on the radio because the silence in the cab is oppressive. What song should come but "Roop tera mastana". I wish that the earth would swallow me whole - like it wasn't bad enough, my thoughts stray like a street dog and i end up thinking the song will only add fuel to his fire, if he has any.

By and by, the fear subsided and i relaxed in the seat, loving the music playing and humming along. I reached home in one piece. And i messaged G to reassure her as well. But by God, next time on i will really have to watch out for travelling late by cabs. Got to take this as a warning sign.

Oktoberfesht.

We'd only ever heard of Oktoberfest as the legendary beer festival of Germany. When KF brought it to India, it was a novelty - a taboo one, at that. Fascinated though i was, i never managed to go for one until yesterday.

B cooked Thai Yellow Curry and Herb Rice that we belted as we waited for K and V to return from their visit to Coimbatore. Rumours of our going to the Oktoberfest were in the air, but B and i didn't pay much attention to it. I for one had just finished spending an entire day at office and was in no mood, or presentable state, to head to a beer drinking festival.

9:30 p.m, just as we've downed a couple of diet cokes (B) and Teacher's (me) and are on our way downstairs to buy some nico sticks, who do we see but K and V. Half-dead from the bus journey, but alive enough to ask us: "WTF are you guys doing? Why aren't you ready?" B and i exchange looks and then shoot raised eyebrows in K's direction. "Oktoberfest, dude. We're going. Bloody get ready. Don't mess with me, i've had a really bad bus ride and i really, really need to get pasted." Uh, okay. Unarguing, we quietly climb the stairs to the house, and run helter skelter - K because she's in two minds on whether she should hit the potty or not, B because she has nothing to wear and me because not only do i have nothing to wear, but the clothes they have will not FIT ME! I panic - i'm wearing dark green Harem pants and a sleeveless Fab India top, my hair's unwashed, greasy, strandy and held back by a hairband.

Plus there's a bigger issue - Oktoberfest is for beer. What will B and i drink?

Wine, vodka, cocktails, soda, soft drinks also available. Phew. Hallelujah.

While we scramble to get dressed, V sits biting his nails and getting frustrated about letting precious minutes of beer consumption slip away because of some women who want to be dressed 'appropriately'. "It's a beer fest, for heaven's sake. People come there to drink beer. Who's going to bother about clothes?"

Bondas. Most of them were well-dressed. And oh my Gosh, what masks! K bought herself one. No, two.

We got ourselves our little disposable cups and (drum rolls) started on breaking world guzzling records.

B and I kept alternating between the shtage show and the enclozhed shpace called, uh uh uh, Ultra Cafe. Der wazh great mushik - Jalebi Cartel wazh plain. We guzzled and guzzled till we were all pretty hi.

We danshes sho much. It wash gooo fun. Met Shalt n Peppa, Hash Cookiesh Man, and shum creepy shtrangesh. The place wash so fullo lie. It was greaat fun and we got back home and drank shum mo and went our fo a drive and got to shleep at 5 this morni. JSsdfjsdnasjfbh sadjhsjdh sadbshbfhsdmkmksdkf gunait.

Deewali!

Diwalis for me were always about burning colourful matchsticks as a kid because we couldn't afford crackers. According to my dad, we didn't need to because it wasn't really 'our festival'. Then, as i grew into my degree days, Diwali was about going over to PK's place, belting yummy Diwali food, bursting a few crackers and then most probably staying over.

This year though, Diwali was super different. And super fun. Of course, boy being gone away, i wanted to sit at home, gather my thoughts, figure out the whats, what-ifs and what-nots. K and B had other ideas - they wanted me to go with them to Chennai to celebrate Diwali at K's place. It sounded like a pretty good idea, but i just wasn't sure. And i thought i wasn't ready.

Then i discovered that Friday was a holiday for us. And i called up K in the n-1th minute and told her that, Hey, I'm going to be able to make it! By then B had gotten into trouble at her workplace so she couldn't travel with us Thursday night.

Friday morning, three of us reached Chennai - K, I and A (an addition i only knew of in the last minute, but not a bad one as i discovered in the days that followed). B would join us on Saturday morning.

We got to K's place, settled in and that's when the roller coaster ride began. Home-cooked meal after home-cooked meal all day, right through Sunday. Upma, Puri Choley, Aloo Paratha, Baigan Bharta, Aloo Capsicum Sabzi, Rice, Dal, Gongura Chutney, Dal Paratha, Gobi Manchurian, Methi Roti, Malai Paneer - i've lost count of all the mind-blowing food we ate. I think i must have grown a second stomach that weekend, because i just kept stuffing my face endlessly. And K's mother can really, really feed people.

A day full of eating on Friday was followed by a night of semi-debauchery - K's extended family came over and the house was rich with laughter, merriment, PJs, alcohol and yes, more food. (Women were not allowed alcohol, by the way.) Then followed the Diwali tradition of Teen Patti. I played, and for the first time in my life, I WON! Like, a lot. It's a different thing that the plastic chips didn't cash into real money but what the heck, it was great fun to be the winner!

Saturday morning, K and I went to pick up B from the airport at an insanely early hour. As a consequence, we slept in the car at the airport parking lot and were jolted awake when B called to tell us she had landed. Drove back home, belted more food, slept. Went for the office Puja in the evening, burst loads of crackers - including my first rocket! K's dad, V, A and K tried stunts with a rocket held in the bottle held in the hand. A almost lost her head because the rocket she lit backfired and came right at her.

By then, withdrawal symptoms had set in, so we decided to head out late in the night to put and send some. Didn't have much but it was a relief to be able to get back to doing our things and being the hooligans we are.

Highlight of the day for me was the 'Good Housekeeping' photographs we took - K acted like a psycho Chinese tourist photographer who gives more poses than the people he is shooting, while i... well, i just goofed around playing the model homemaker. Touching curtains and appreciating the fabric, playing good host to guests by serving them dry fruits, wearing the dupatta on my head and ringing the mandir ki ghanti, smiling coyly, lighting up the diyas at the doorstep - K and I ran through the whole routine. By the end of it, her mother wanted to go hide under some pillows and forget the whole traumatic experience while we clutched our stomachs and laughed our hearts out.

Sunday dawned pretty late, and we drove down to Mahabalipuram for lunch at Moon Rakers. The table was full of food (again). Lots and lots of calamarie, prawns, fish, chicken, crab, paneer (yes, there was a vegetarian traitor among us). Mellow through the meal because i remembered things about the place i ddin't want to, my mood lifted when we hit the surrounding shops for things to buy. Picked up wrap-around trousers, psychadelic genie pants, cool gunjees and a couple of pairs of slippers. Left me very, very happy. And very, very broke. I didn't mind though, i loved everything i bought.

Sunday night, we boarded the train and added one last item of entertainment to our list of madnesses through the trip - scandalising our unsuspecting, youngish, cutish co-traveller. I'm sure we amused him aplenty because he couldn't hide the grin on his face everytime one of us opened our mouths to say something.

They say that Diwali is the festival of lights, the dawn of a new year. I don't know about the latter, but i do know that this Diwali sure lit up my heart as much as it lit up the sultry Chennai night sky. And yes, i ended up feeling light too. Much, much lighter.

How do you get over it?

Some people talk about it endlessly.
Some cry. Like i used to.
Some go on a rebound.
Others have one-night stands.
Some drink. Or mope.
Some turn into addicts.
The more talented ones write songs, get famous.
Me? Me just play songs that remind me of the superfantasticawesome time we had together. So, on my playlist right now:
1. You Know I Wancha - Pitbull
2. Fire Burning (Somebody call 911) - Sean Kingston
3. P.D.A (We just don't care) - John Legend
4. Doori - Atif Aslam
5. Woh Lamhe - Atif Aslam
6. Hum Kis Gali - Atif Aslam
7. Aadat - Jal
Somehow makes it seem like there's lesser distance between us. Sigh. Ah, well.

So, we're still in the process of talking about it...

...but the outcome is more or less clear. It's bye bye love.

Ah well.

P.S: Anybody have any arguments in favour of long distance relationships? Cause i most definitely seemed to have failed to convince him.

I'm not the anal girlfriend types but...

...it's been a month and 10 days since we've been dating (dayem, i used the 'd' word!). And of course it's more than just that now. I'm happy, comfortable, excited but also anxious and perhaps, a little worried at the same time. Boy's gone away visiting sister for two weeks, and i'm here trying to be all everything's-alright kind of normal. Like hell it is! Why is it that i don't feel like staying away from him for too long? Isn't it demented behaviour? And why is it that despite all the happy feelings, there's still this fear gnawing at my core telling me things i don't want to hear? Things like, "This is too good to last" or in worse moments, "This is more than you deserve". Umm, excuse me but, exactly what have i done to not deserve this?

We'll have less than a week after he comes back from London to, well, talk about things. Although i don't quite know what we're going to discuss. Left unsaid, it's all so much nicer.

Irony: Emotional Atyachaar on my speakers.

If i could freeze time...

...I would crystallise the last couple of weeks and preserve them for eternity. I'm so alright with the way things are going, it's scary. This kind of peace is almost asking for trouble to happen. (Yes, i'm being fatalistic.)

I had the most awesomest weekend. And i want it to be mine, just mine. Well okay, mine and his. :)

Goaaaaaaa.

A seafacing room with the beach a stone's throw away.
Lots and lots of Breezers, KFs and rolling.
Plenty of sleep.
The reluctance to get out of bed when there was an option to stay in and laze.
Yummy cheese tomato sandwiches. (By the way BJM, if you ever happen to read this, you realise we hardly had any Goan food? Pathetic, we were.)
An all night party with a 5 a.m hello to the beach at Baga.
Conversations, some pointless and some sensible. A little too sensible even.
A sleeper bus journey with the curtains constantly flying.
Dancing.
The coolness of the sea against warm skin.
Changing colours of the sky, and rain soaked greenery.
Three days just weren't enough.

Note to self.

I really must stop stuffing my face with murukku, samosas and banana chips first thing in the morning.

Let the party begin!

Friday night. I go out with ze boy for dinner, stuff my face, he drops me off at G's. I meet R and, too tired to stay awake, quickly go crash. 3 in the morning, my phone rings. R's calling. But why would he call me from the living room unless it was an emergency?

It was - he wanted me to jump out of bed and go join him at the dining table for some cuppas. And when i didn't do his bidding, he came into the room and dragged me out of bed. Some friends, i tell you.

Saturday dawned way too early thanks to a recording. Finished that and went for a relaxed breakfast at Zoe's. Then went home, packed clothes for the party and the next day, then rushed to G's place. Helped S with a couple of things and before heading out to shop with G.

Conned her into staying out till 7:45 and then had to take her back home for the party. By God, she was surprised. Completely. And the party was awesome, not just because everything fell into place so perfectly but also because i've never been complimented so much on the way i look! Black dress with a drop neck, black stilletoes, black chain and pearl earrings. Basically, i sizzled. Looking forward to having the same effect in Goa.

Sunday was very peaceful. Family day gave way to lots of sleepiness which gave way to conversation with ze boy for two and a half hours in the middle of the night when he was drunk and stoned out of his skull in the misty Coorg morning.

Went back to sleep with the sound of rain in my heart and a smile on my lips. Definitely helped me wake up all cheerful and happy this Monday morning.

Sigh. Life is good.

(P.S: Yeah, the writing doesn't do any justice to the weekend, but bear with me. These days i don't much feel like doing my job.)

Thoughts this morning.

How the hell am i managing to stay up with just 2 hours of sleep?
I'd never fogged up car windows before yesterday.
T-bone steaks are dead meat. I happen to be alive and kicking.
Oh.My.God.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven...
Thank God for long hair.
Mysore Road is a nice drive from the city.
I really need to get some work done today.
I can't wait for the day to end.
The Hangover is funnier when you watch it a second time in the theatre.

Been living a dream lately.

It started last Thursday evening, the meeting after 18 years, at Hard Rock Cafe. Spilled over to Friday with a looooong lunch at Cafe Oakwood, UB City. Weekend was a break, but still managed to stay in touch. Monday was maaaaaad, what with meeting for coffee and then deciding to meet again late night for dinner and OH, crazy throwing up of T-shots on an empty stomach in the company of girlfriends, half-an-hour long road mapping for the directionally-challenged half-australian half-bangalorean, a relaxed early morning breakfast (2 a.m is not the best time for French Toast) at Memories Of China with many golden chains-clad Member of the Underground at the next table promising to do something about someone's girlfriend in Toronto, a very charged cab ride back and weirdass messages thereafter.

Somebody needs to remind me not to drink coffee in the evenings. In fact, not to drink coffee at all. My body functions go all wonky and i end up being restless, supercharged and sleepless for close to half the night. The atmosphere in the cab only aggravated the condition.

I feel good chemistry. It's a rare, heady feeling and i intend to enjoy it to the fullest.

I R Old.

So, i was browsing through a blog today when i read of the Golden Quill Award for something like 'excellence in writing'. I went to the site to check it out, and oh my god for heaven's sake what the fish do i see but a copy of Kkrishnaa's Konfessions in the list of must-read books! I R appalled! What the freak has writing books come down to if some average nitwit gets away with crap writing and getting to the top of a must-read list, even if the list belongs to a maybe-not-so-popular awards page? No offense meant to the author with regard to the story - she has something unique there - but her writing SUCKS. Big time.

A writer, in case the world has forgotten and needs reminding, is not somebody who can string a sentence together and make a story out of several such sentences. NO. A writer is someone who can string several sentences together artfully, craft each sentence to evoke a reaction from the readers (okay, maybe not each sentence, especially if you're a Gabriel Garcia or Tolstoy kind of writer because then it'll be an overkill), and uses his/her skill of language to weave a wonderful, fascinating story.

Then i figured, most writing these days doesn't really follow that pattern. That style belongs to the veterans - the Amitav Ghoshes, Naipauls and R.K. Narayans of the world. So then are we really devalueing their skill and mastery by letting pieces of trash get away with publishing? Freedom of Speech and Opinion apart, why would anybody want to be an author known for his/her average writing? Even Chetan Bhagat - maybe he's improved in the last two books - what i remember from my reading of Five Point Someone, his writing was... average. Same thing - nice story, bad writing.

Maybe it's the new way of doing things. Maybe this is how new-age writing is going to be. But why? Why does it have to be bad even if it has to be simple and conversational? Why can't it be like, let's say...a Meg Cabot? She's simple and conversational. Or a Jodi Picuolt. Why does it have to be a terror for the reader?

And that's when i thought, maybe i'm old school you know. I'm fussy about my books and how i like the writing that i read, to be. That's just it i guess - I R Old. And ageing rapidly. But at least i can say that i grew up on books with character and good writing.

What's on my legs right now.

Flea bite marks.
A scar from a healed scratch caused by a midnight walk among the bramble-full jungles of Dandeli.
Another from a motorbike exhaust burn.
A blood clot that refuses to go away.
Veins. Deep blue and mysterious.
A jet black mole.
Stretch marks from lack of dancing/exercising.
Genie pants that cover them all up.