My absolute dream wedding :|

Right. Calm down. No, seriously...Stop snorting out that wine. No one's getting married here. (Well, all my friends are, like it's the mating season, but that's a story for another day.) 


So let me explain. I was randomly surfing and stumbled upon this. Now since I grossly ignore this blog and haven't updated it in donkey's years, I thought I'll take part in this contest thing put together by www.99labels.com. So here are the rules, before I yap some more: 


"All you have to do is blog about one or more of the following topics:


1) My big fat Indian wedding


2) What “not to do” while planning a wedding!


3) My dream wedding – Simple or lavish?


4) Traditions I love/hate in Indian weddings


5) My wedding shopping spree!


Now I can't really yap about 'My Big Fat Indian Wedding' and 'My Wedding Shopping Spree' as much as I'd like to, since, er...being married is a pre-requisite here. I don't really have too much experience in the 'wedding planning' zone either, since the last wedding I attended was of my sister's, 10 years ago (I really had no choice there). And despite being certain I'd hate most traditions in Indian weddings if I knew what they were, I don't think I'd be any close to winning the competition writing about imagined traditions. So then, 'My dream wedding it is'. 


Well, knowing how much I hate weddings, I'm surprised I'm even arsed to write about them. If and whenever I do choose to get married, I'm certain my mum will have to prod (and slap) me awake at least thrice before I'm willing to get out of bed and bathe. Speaking of bathing, I should technically be allowed to not shower on my own wedding day (this in keeping with my philosophy of 'showering is overrated'). 


So well, here goes my dream wedding, and for those of you who still need it to be spelt out, it's going to be 'simple', to say the least. Well, here are the rules:


1) Gold is strictly to be banned at my wedding. I hate gold. HATE. IT. It's yellow and shiny and ugly and expensive. Anyone thinking of gifting me gold should first go to the nearest jeweller, sell it and present me with the cash. 


2) I should be allowed to wake up on the day I'm technically supposed to get married and decide whether I want to do it at all. No one should even raise an eyebrow if I chose to say, "Gah...It's too hot today. Perhaps I get married tomorrow, yes?"


3) The groom and I are going to wear shorts at our wedding. And so will our friends (If groom and friends don't agree with this, well, please point me to where I can buy a new groom and new friends). If you want to be wearing three layers of sarees and 25 kgs of gold, you're going to feel mighty stupid. Especially since I'm going to marry on a beach.


4) The minimum cut off for the present you buy me is Rs. 9,999. I will surely accept whatever you get me even if it's below the minimum amount, but I will judge you and call you names in my head (Names may range from cheapster, kanjoos, skinflint, etc.). Guests will have to declare their presents at the entrance, based on which their meals will be decided. Dal and rice for the cheapsters, a full 7-course gourmet meal for people gifting me a car / house / home theatre system, etc.


5) Relatives above the age of 45 (except my parents and the groom's) aren't allowed to the wedding. Separate video-conferencing facilities will be set up for them at home, where they can choose to watch the proceedings. A separate hotline will be arranged for them to leave me congratulatory messages. I'll be damned if I sit and answer all those phone calls.


6) There will be music along the lines of 'Kuan ma doob jaungi' and 'Ringa Ringa' to dance to. If this is too down market for your tastes, please get the eff out of wedding.


7) The bride must be allowed to take a power nap sometime in the afternoon. Guests may continue having fun in the meantime with housie or musical chairs or whatever it takes to get them out of my hair. 


8) I will canoodle with my husband in the middle of the venue. Beach tumhare chacha ka nahi hai. And don't forget, it's MY wedding. 


9) I may just walk out of my wedding if I get too bored. The groom can choose to join me or not, depending on the level of fun he's having. If he is, good for him. I'll be at home reading when he's back.


10) Please don't stand in line to get pictures clicked with me, in the manner of a rationing queue. Just tap me on the shoulder when I'm in the middle of dancing and go *click*. Don't be disheartened if I look spastic, though. 


11) No video shooting at my wedding. I don't want to be reminded of the biggest mistake of my life, alongwith with visual evidence. 


12) There will be free-flowing beer and breezers at the shaadi. People expecting Moet Chandon and Laphroaig should bring their own booze. This isn't an Ambani wedding.


13) Oh, and did I mention this is to be a court shaadi? I don't have the time, patience and the money to spend on pandits and their rituals. After the court, head straight to the beach. 


14) You will not come to my wedding and criticise anything about it. You will not call me fat or my husband names. You will come, have fun and leave at a decent time. Do not outstay your welcome since husband and I will want to go home and sleep. And by sleep, I mean sleep. Not the bonking kind.


15) You will not call up through the week and tell me how much fun you had. Please. Spare me the phone calls. I will assume you had fun anyway and leave you to it. All phone calls will be transferred to the earlier-mentioned hotline till further notice.


Ah well, I read through my own rules before I could proceed and I really wonder if I have any hopes in hell of snagging a man who is stupid enough to marry me. But since I believe in being optimistic and cheerful, let's hope that I marry someone who does not have access to the internet and my blog. Someone from Sudan, maybe? Or Iran? Or Aamir Khan? 


Now excuse me, while I go and register on shaadi.com. See you at the wedding! ;)


This is my entry for 99Labels.com's Wedding Week Blogging contest. My post's under the category 'My dream wedding - simple or lavish?'

Some gyaan on the contest: 


1) Become a member of 99labels (If you are not a member already) by clicking on the referral link at the bottom of this post. (You get Rs 100 worth of credit free to shop!) .


2) Create a log-in preferably using the email id attached with your blog. This is to protect the anonymity of some bloggers as the referral link (read rule 2) displays your email-id.


Post your referral link on the post (This means that whoever becomes a member clicking on the link gets Rs 100, and whenever you referral buys an item you get Rs 500). To find your referral link: 


-Log in on www.99labels.com
-Click on “Invite friends” on the top menu.
-Go to bottom of page and look for “Copy and paste your personal invitation link” and paste the link at the bottom of your post E.g .  My Referral invite – http://www.99labels.com/v1/Become-Member.aspx?re=xyz@gmail.com


3) Copy and paste all the rules in your post.
4) Leave a link to your post in the comments section of the contest page of 99labels http://blog.99labels.com/2010/10/25/wedding-week-blogging-contest/.
5) Copy and paste the image at the end of the post and the category under which you have posted.


My referral link invite is: http://www.99labels.com/v1/Become-Member.aspx?re=whinythemoo@gmail.com. Buy some stuff off my referral and make me some money! #ShamelessPimping

It must've been love...

He chatted away, nineteen to the dozen. She listened patiently as always, sometimes distracted by the odd pang of hunger, as she waited for their food to arrive.

"...They loved my idea," she suddenly heard him say.

"Lovely, darling. I'm sure they're proud of you," she said, slightly stunned at how automatically the response was out of her, before she could even gather what he was talking about.

Pay attention. It's his big day. Don't spoil it for him.

"...And yeah. They want me to be in charge of the entire project. It's really something I've been waiting for, for so long. It's finally happening!" he was now saying. 

"I'm so happy for you!" she responded, a little more cheerfully than she felt. 

The waiter brought in the food. As usual, he joked with the waiter. The latter guffawed and went off to jot down the order at the next table.

Everyone loves him, she thought. 

Everyone? 

Her train of thought was distracted with the sound of spoons against the plate. He'd begun eating, while her plate was still empty. 

"I had a good day at work," she said, grabbing a butter naan. "Wasn't hectic enough to induce a headache, but wasn't boring enough to keep playing Solitaire, either."

"Hmm," he said, checking mail on his phone. "Why isn't he mailing, yaar?"

"Who?" 

"My boss. He's supposed to forward an important mail. If it doesn't come tonight, tomorrow's con call will be a waste of time!"

"Hmm. Yeah so as I was saying...My day was prett---"

"Hang on. I need to call my boss," he interrupted. 

He rattled off 5 minutes of jargon, most of which she'd heard at least three times through the day. 

"Oh good. He's e-mailing me right away," he said, absently. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing, really," she said, picking at her food. 

"Hmm. I seriously am so excited about this!" he said, full of good cheer.

"Yep, I know," she said, silently.

Roxette's 'Must have been love' began playing from the speakers. He looked up from his phone and looked at her.

"I love this song! Been ages since I heard it last," he said, getting up to go wash his hands. "I'll be right back."

"Uh huh," she said.

It must have been love, but it's over now
It must have been good, but I lost it somehow
It must have been love, but it's over now
From the moment we touched till the time had run out

"It must've been love, alright," she thought, as a silent tear escaped her eye. 

All a part of love?

Tears.

Doubts.

Questions.

Suspicions.

Anger.

Hurt.

Self-pity.

Humiliation. 

Lies.

Infidelity.

Fear.

All a part of love?

Not for everyone, no Sir.

This one's just for me.

Go find your own troubles.

Live me alone!

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon. The sound of the wind's coming in through the crack in the window, accompanied by the pitter patter of the rain. As I write this line, Timbaland and Justin Timberlake are crooning 'Carry Out' in my ears. I'm at peace with the world. At this point in time, I love being alone. There's peace of mind. There's silence and there's no one else. 

That's the best part.

Living alone can be a bitch at most times. Especially when you don't cook, hate cleaning and doing the dishes. And when you're a sucker for home-cooked food. But on the upside, you can have corn-flakes for lunch (like I did today), have friends over whenever you want (provided they have clean feet) and wake up at 1 pm on Sunday (again, behaviour that yours truly exhibits beautifully). 

I love the freedom Bangalore gives me. It gives me enough time to catch up on a life I'd been missing out on for at least five years of my life. There's a living to be earnt here, but there's also a life to be explored. You have enough time to spend hours in that new bookstore lazing around, or you could go to your favourite coffee shop on your way to office and spend an hour there before you head home. You have enough time to gym (yes, yes, I'm joining one soon). There's a lot of time to do things I didn't do before. 

I think I like living alone. Not because of the mad freedom I get. But because it's nice doing things on your own. Knowing you have to make your own decisions and can blame no one else. You forage for food, you eat outside, and pull up your socks when you look at the alarmingly receding bank balance. That's when you get a dabba delivered at home. There's lots to learn, and no lesson can be a waste, can it? 

Perhaps you should consider some of the following things when you're living alone, though. Like:

1) Try living alone instead of at a PG, if your budget can allow it. PG owners begin to think they own YOU and are extremely strict about the stupidest things. Also their deadlines are quite silly. You don't want to be home at 8.30 pm on a Saturday night, do you? In fact, on most days, you'll end up stepping out at that time.

2) Have your own vehicle. Or at least be best friends with someone who does. In Bangalore, auto drivers are willing to use a meter only if you speak Kannada. Otherwise, you're an 'outsider' who deserves to be ripped off.

3) Speaking of Kannada, try picking up the local language. Very useful. With locals and auto drivers alike. Till then, you're an outsider. I have no clue why the world laughs at Bal Thackeray. Come over here and you'll know.

4) Your neighbours will tend to be unfriendly if you don't know their language. I've been living here for two months, but I still can't say I can identify who lives next door. As far as they are concerned, I'm the slutty girl next door, who has boys over, who steps out at all odd hours, lives alone and wears skirts and wears shorts at home. When you look for a house, try getting a place that has a young vibe. Try noticing the kind of people that are walking in and around the building and if they fit your profile. Helps. I was conned. Badly.

5) When they say that the house has water 24 hours, don't believe them. Actually, don't believe anything they say. 

6) Try and be inconspicuous as you can. Don't piss off the building by bringing noisy friends over and making  a racket. No one likes noisy neighbours, especially if they don't like you in the first place.

7) If you're Muslim, good luck getting a house. Chances are you'll have to build your own house. The house agents here are generally given strict orders by owners NOT to get Muslim tenants. Sad, I know. 

8) Everyone is out to rip you here. All services are grossly overpriced. Haggle till you're blue in the face. Or if you suck at bargaining like I do, take a local friend along, who knows the language. 

I'm no guru, and I don't display the most exemplary 'living alone' behaviour, but I hope to goodness you don't spend your energy fruitlessly cussing at your house owner, when you realise that your new geyser doesn't work because he hasn't got the building plumbing repaired. Till then, it's heating water in a microwave for me. One more thing I can't be arsed to do is, cook. The thought of buying groceries, putting them away and chopping stuff after coming from work and cooking is something that makes starvation look like a pretty option.

So don't learn from me. Actually don't learn from anyone. It's a brilliant feeling to reclaim your life and make your own discoveries.

Having said that, don't purposely walk home just to see how long it takes, despite your friend's judgement. It always takes 1 hour 10 minutes. My aching shin confirms this. 

Well, have you lived alone? Are you still doing it? Share experiences! The floor's open for comments.

Bang-galore chronicles in a blog post

Yes, so I've been away for a while.


So, I haven't been blogging much.


So, I can't really say I didn't get the time to write.


So bloody what?


I'VE MOVED! MOVED TO BANG-GALORE!


It's been 20 days so far. And quite honestly, I like this place. True that my house-owner is a fat, rotten asshole who makes me pay for the damaged plumbing in the flat, and that the auto drivers here should be castrated without anasthesia, but there's something about Bangalore that makes you feel like you are a part of it. The city welcomes you into its fold and lets you be. It's non-intrusive and young, just the way I like it. 


House-hunting wasn't half a nightmare that it promised to be, thanks to Wish. The torrents of Kannada, Malayalam and Tamil he bursts into are highly irritating at most times, but really useful when you're house-hunting. I will not grudge him the languages ever again. To get back to the point, I have a really pretty, decently equipped house, that my parents have put their sweat and blood to do up for me. What would I do if they hadn't come along to help me set it up? I think I'd have dumped all my stuff on the floor and thrown a noisy tantrum. Hmm.


I'm not going to get into the tedious nitty-gritties of moving. It's completely tedious work and I'd advise you to avoid it like the plague if you can. Unless of course, you have a good enough reason like I do. :)


Work is good. It's been my first week in advertising. Feels strange to have moved on from journalism (for the time being, at least). Although I can't really say I miss the pointless press conferences and events. Advertising lets me be. On most days, I can be in my corner and blast music in mine own ears, and no one bothers with me. I can keep doing my own thing for hours, unless of course there's something urgent to be done. There aren't PR calls to attend, which is somehow the biggest blessing God has bestowed on me. It sometimes gets quite dull, but then, I think anyone moving from Mumbai to any other place in the world will feel the same way.


So far, no complaints. Life's good.


I love the vibe that this city gives out. Remember the vacation to Bangalore I'd taken in January? I couldn't help but think of Bangalore as the one place I'd like to move to, if I had to get out of Mumbai. Well, whaddaya know?


I don't know if I'll feel the same way once the next month starts and the bills start pouring in. When the bank balance will not be enough whatever the hell you do. When the extreme urge to eat steaming hot homecooked food will reach unbearable levels. When I'll sell my soul in a jiffy just to be able to hug mom and dad. When I'll be dying to have a Sunday afternoon that involves freaking out with the WiseAss and LOTS of mad laughter.


But I'll live through it. I'll have to.


I don't miss Mumbai. I miss my people. I miss my family, Mika, Lammy, Bippers, the whole freakin' lot. :(


But Mumbai, I didn't have a life when I was with you. Sorry. I don't miss you one bit.

How I got a bruise on my backside...

Ah yes. I've been away from this blog for a while. Stupid, really, for someone who wants to make a living out of writing. I is a fraud, I've realised.

So a lot of things have been happening lately. Details later, since I don't want to jinx things. A major overhaul is in the offing, either way, in the professional and personal front. And no, I'm not getting married.

Panda, Pimpo and I went on a much needed break to Goa. In fact, I think I'm still having post-holiday blues. Whoever wants to come back from the land of free-flowing booze, beaches, fish curry and rice, waves and relaxation, to local trains, office, colleagues, deadlines and routine? The trip was a lot of fun in more ways than one. Pimpo is staying back for the month (lucky bitch) at her aunt's, while Panda and I had to be dragged out of the place kicking and screaming.

But then, this post isn't about that. This post is about how I got a bruise on my butt. On my last afternoon in Goa.

So the three of us were heading to our friend Vijay's shack for our last round of drinks. We'd just finished an awesome lunch of fish curry and rice, garlic butter fish and beer in another shack and were idly strolling on Baga Beach. Suddenly, Pimpo and Panda let out excited squeals and began beckoning me towards them.

Well, they'd spotted a cow on the beach and were orgasming with the possible photo-ops with me and the cow. Ah well, I trundled along to them, while they asked me to pose. But the goddamned cow just wouldn't stop walking. Finally it did, and Pimpo had a bright idea asking me to pose alongside its face. The cow ignored us throughout, so I didn't really think it would mind. Also, for once in my life I was feeling brave about an animal. Maybe the beer had something to do with it.

I sat down near the cow, while Pimpo clicked away. Suddenly, the fucking cow turned its face towards me, making me almost pee in my pants. I got up suddenly and for some obscure reason beyond my realm of understanding, I started running backwards till I tumbled. On my butt. Till this moment, I have no clue why I was so frightened of the cow turning its face towards me.

Needless to say, Pimpo and Panda almost choked with the giggles, punctuated with "WHY were you so scared of your own sister? Hahahahahahahahaha!"

Bitches.

Now excuse me while I go get an ice pack for my posterior.

Just an iPod?

Watching an Aamir Khan movie every year is turning out to be jinxed. When things go wrong everytime you watch his flick, for three consecutive years, there has to be something wrong.

When I went to watch Taare Zameen Par in 2007, my sister and her fiance (now husband) met with a bad auto rickshaw accident.

Last year, when I went to watch Ghajini with Lammy, I lost my brand new Mango shades in the theatre.

Today, as I returned from watching 3 Idiots, I left my iPod Classic behind somewhere. And it's gone. Forever.

Most people think I'm being shallow and supremely materialistic (which I am), but that piece of technology was by far my most prized possession. It was the reason so many tedious, long drives became joyful and memorable.

It was my sole travel mate, steadily killing the mundanity (is that a word?) of traveling long hours. It kept me company when I was so damn tired after a hard day's work. When I was too tired to read, but had to stay awake, lest I missed my station.

It killed all unwanted sounds and conversation. We all know how important it is to tune out. And it helped me do just that. Tune out the frivolous banter in office, the ear-drum bursting sound of traffic, everything.

It made me fall in love. With music. With a man. With life. Don't ask me how. It just happened.

So many memories.

And you say it's JUST a piece of machinery?