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.

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

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

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

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

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

Just Discovered: the happy side of Love.

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

And another one's added to the collection.

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

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

It should be done sometime this week, hopefully.

There's no stopping the shopping!

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

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

Here's what it made me buy:

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




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


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




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


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

I shopped for blouses.

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

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


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


Come to Mommy. *Siiiigh*


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

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

Basic Instinct, anyone?

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

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

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

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

WhatinthenameofGodjusthappened?!

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

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

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

It felt good being good.

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

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

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

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

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

Here's to wishing me luck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Congratulations, you will not be fasting to death today!

I'll be glad when we break up.

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

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

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

It's that kind of weather.

On my playlist today:

Aadat - Jal

Jalpari - Atif Aslam for Coke Studio

Chal diye - Zeb and Haniya for Coke Studio

Yeh haseen vadiyaan - Roja, on radio

Khaabon ke parindey - Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara

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

I time-travelled last night.

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

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

An unforgettable 24 hours.

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

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

Today was that kind of day.

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