The games Fate plays

Fate is such an indecipherable mystery. A sort of storeroom to stow away life’s unexplained, irrational tales. If you wonder why certain things went the way they did, well, Fate’s the woman who seems to be the answer to everything. Quite an overactive little busybody, our Fate.

But, I digress. Fate made them meet. Where? I don’t really know. Two strangers, same hometown, caught in the same strange city, but because of such bizarrely opposing circumstances!

She, in the city, chasing the love she thought she had. He, leaving behind the love he once had. As usual, fate brings them closer. The sparks fly. The love, it happens. She couldn’t escape it anyway. Finally, in her head, it all begins to fit. Why it didn’t work out with anyone else before. The tears of the past all seem explained. Finally, she was truly happy. The ghost of her past had managed to lift its ugly shadow. The sunshine was back, and so was her smile.

But as Fate would have it, the ghost of his past refused to lift its shadow from over him. It refused to let him look ahead. Did he want to look ahead? The bigger question was, did he want to look ahead with her? No he did not. Don’t be silly, Ms. Presumption.

Hush now. If you listen closely, you can hear the evil cackles of Fate. Result of the pure sadistic pleasure she derives from the cruel games she plays.

Unrequited love. So grand, so archaic, so Elizabethan. If only it felt as glamorous. But for her, it was a pattern, something she should have gotten used to, a long time ago. The silly optimist in her would make her believe it was different each time, only to have her silly heart broken again. He would never love her. Of course he wouldn’t.

Well, Ms. Optimist. At least he was open about it.

Yes. Like that makes it any better. In fact, ignorance was so much bliss, wasn’t it?

What next? She’s contemplating packing her bags. Leaving. Back to the same hometown she’d left, to pursue love. This time, she’s returning to it, defeated, hurt, miserable, a failure. Running away? Maybe. She has no strength left to fight back. And fight for what, really?

Oh, the sheer senselessness of it all. The sheer waste. She wonders why she had to run into him, let him teach her how to live, make her feel alive again. Wonders when he became a part of her soul. Wonders why she left her soul around to be trespassed on, and her heart to be trampled.

Oh, she wonders… 

Yes. I am all those things...

Yes. I...

1) Swear.
2) Get extremely angry.
3) Am impulsive.
4) Can be immature
5) Nag
6) Am Lazy
7) Am all messed up.
8) Am emotional
9) Am spoilt
10) Am unreasonable, sometimes.
11) Am arrogant.
12) Am vengeful.
13) Am wicked.
14) Am a procrastinator.

But, I also...

1) Love with all I have
2) Am the best friend.
3) Understand.
4) Don't judge.
5) Am your equal.
6) Stand up for what's right.
7) Am the hopeless closet romantic.
8) Will do anything for you.
9) Am a good daughter / sister.
10) Return lost mobile phones to their owners.
11) Am independent.
12) Am accomodating.
13) Am the eternal optimist.
14) Am generally happy and positive.
15) Am always there.

Is it then, so hard to love me? Is it so easy to hate? I take you with your flaws. Can't you focus on the good for me?

I'm not perfect.

I'm not trying to be.

I'm just myself.

Do you still like me?

Of sons and remains of coffee

Remember that boring evening at work? You stuck in your office, me in mine? And that sudden coffee plan? Barista at 8. See you there. 


Should have known then what a bundle of lateness you are. I finished reading a two whole chapters of my book before you walked through that door, bag in tow, hair swishing. "Sorry Moodles. Got stuck." 


"It's ok, I say," smiling. One really can't be mad at you, can one? 


We spoke that evening. A lot. Chatter chatter. About what? Nothing of consequence. Work. Colleagues. Gossip about cabbages and kings. And did we wonder whether pigs have wings? We must have. 


Coffee. That's how it always starts. Why didn't we do more coffee trips when I was around? Oh yes, it's always been work.


Never mind that now. 


Fate made me move to a different city. You were heartbroken at seeing me go. I, at leaving you behind. Should I have packed you in that suitcase like I'd planned? I should have when I'd the chance. See? I'm not always impulsive. 


I promised never to lose sight of you. I promised I'd be there. I promised to do all I could, to stop you from hurting. Wishing I could have all of your pain. Friends? We were beyond that years ago. Soon, you became my son. Me, your overprotective mommy. "Sleep. Get some rest. Eat on time. Don't smoke so much," and all that. Did it bother you? I hope not.


Being your mother, a full time job I loved. I wanted to envelope you in my love. Protect you from the big, bad world. A mother fawning over her little baby. Apart from the fact that I didn't give birth to you, all the motherly instincts were there. I felt normal. I felt like a woman. Responsible for her cub, shielding you from the eyes of the world. Fiercely protective. You were just mine. 


Maybe I overdid that bit, in hindsight. Somewhere, I lost the plot. You were not my son, I, not your mother. Happy realisation. Too late. You were not mine for keeps. I had no right to be jealous. I had no right to keep you chained. 


But all I did was want to see you happy. All I ever wanted was to grow old together. With you. Live in that palatial house by the sea, which you'd sell your kidney to buy for me. That's ok. About the kidneys, I mean. That's what two kidneys are for. And no, no dog named Gaffurbhai would run in the passages of our home. Shh. No arguments. My word is the law. Because mother knows best.


So what happened? We lived together, we loved together. Sometimes each other. Sometimes other people. But we loved. And we laughed. And sobbed. And hugged. And we sang. And we cheered. Life was good. I had you. And you had me, or so I thought.


Why the past tense now? Why the end, when the beginning seems like just yesterday? Where did time lose us? Where did we lose time? Where did we lose ourselves? Where did I lose you?


I don't know you anymore. And much as I'd like you to, you don't know me. We stopped being a team. When? And when did the tears replace the laughter? Over and over? Why didn't I ever notice? 


I was busy. Chasing my dreams. Making new acquaintances. In a different part of the world. You were there. Was I there for you? I now doubt. Like I now doubt everything else. Love, friendship, top that list. 


You're gone. And there's nothing I can do about it. 'We' died a pernicious, cancerous death. And now all that's left behind? A black hole. Where happiness goes in, never comes back out. Seeped in. Sucked in. We died a gory death. 
This is not the death I ordered, God. Wait, I never ordered one. Trust you to mess up, as always, you interfering pile of trouble. 


A cup of coffee stares at me now. Half drunk. It has unfinished business. Coffee. That's how it always starts. But it can end in two ways, mind you. One, you drink it all up. Feel happy. Refreshed. 


Or, two, you pour away its cold, forgotten remains. Then you wonder. How would you have felt if you hadn't forgotten to consume it?


And the coffee on my table? I forgot to finish it. Left it behind. The warmth is now gone. What remains behind is a sad, watery, sickening taste of caffeine. 


I get up. Pour it away. Watch its remains flow down the sink. With the other hand, I wipe a silent tear that forces its way out of my eye. 


Goodbye, my son.


I love you.

Is your S-P-A-C-E-B-A-R working fine?

(Resurrected this post I'd written a month back. Still holds true, I guess).

If it is, kindly use it more often. And not just on the computer.

The tiny percentage of population that knows me quite well, knows how fiercely protective I am about my space. In fact, I'm just short of marking my territory by peeing around it. Cross that line, and you're done for. Really.

It's strange how people don't get the thin red line between 'overtly caring' and 'space intruding'. And I see this especially since I'm going through an unpleasant patch right now (read: break up). I love my friends for being there. But really, I'm not dying and neither is anyone else. And the few close friends I have understand my need to be alone sometimes and don't keep 'checking on me'. They don't keep calling, SMSing, pinging me on chat and asking me if I'm okay. They still poke me in the ribs when they meet me, give me a big hug and tell me about the hot pair of legs they can't forget from last night's party. Or they rant about how much they hate their jobs. And trust me, that works for me.

I've been getting quite a lot of annoying calls these days, where people keep calling wondering if I'm going to be free all the time, now that I'm single. Hey, it's not like only the boy used to keep me busy before! I still had stuff to do around the house, books to read, writing to do, a job to work on, friends to catch up with, solitary walks to take, coffee shops to visit, sleep to catch up on, amongst the zillion things I normally do. And probably the best thing I like(d) about the boy was that he understood this need for my space. He never intruded upon it, not once. If I wanted to be alone, I just did. Maybe he didn't agree with it, but neither did he question it. Which worked for me.

So what needs to change now? Why the constant calls trying to keep me busy? If I need help, I'll tell you. I promise. And I'm pretty certain I'm not suicidal yet. So it's not like if you don't speak to me for two hours, I pretty much must be staring at that bottle of rat poison. That's not what a break up needs to do to you. Why should it? You haven't stopped being an independent person. Your life hasn't stopped moving. Your job isn't waiting for you to 'come out of depression' (yes, someone assumed I must be clinically depressed), so why assume I must be staring at his handkerchief and crying my eyes out? I don't know if that's how you do it, but I don't.

Why is giving space to people becoming such a difficult task? Forget about me, but everywhere I go, I run into people who won't give their friends / partners / parents / children any space to breathe. How difficult is it to let people be for a while? Respect your own space, don't let anyone mess with it. Then you'll find it easier to respect other people's alone time. It isn't necessary to know what your person is upto every minute of every day, and really, it's ok if he / she makes plans with a bunch of friends, without asking you to join. You should do the same, too, you know. It's healthy. Checking people's phones, emails isn't the nicest thing to do. If a person wants to deceive you, he'll do it anyway, however watchful your eye is.

The mantra is: Just Give It A Rest. Do not suffocate. If it's yours, it will remain with you. If it isn't, it isn't going to stay with you however hard you try.

Now, time to check on that Spacebar, yes?

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?

Why the Kindle v/s Physical Book is a non-existent debate

(Friendly warning: This blog is penned to encourage a healthy exchange of opinions. Comments of the 'You're-an-idiot-because-you-can't-afford-a-Kindle' kind will not be tolerated. Leave comments that convince me that you've a brain and we can take it from there. Feel free to oppose my point-of-view. I'll like you a lot more if you don't, though. Cheers.)

I'm a stubborn little twit when it comes to certain things. And when I'm completely convinced that my point of view is THE only possible point-of-view, I refuse to see sense. Very cow-like I know. But what to do?

Which is why, I absolutely don't get this whole Kindle v/s Physical Book debate that people are having these days. I mean, what's there to debate about? It's like debating whether walking is better than hailing a cab, or whether sex without a condom is better than sex with one on (don't ask me what's better. I don't know). But the debates ARE pointless. Get what I mean?

And if you don't already know which side of the debate I am on, you're a douche bag.

How can anything, anything remotely substitute the feel of a book? However new, shiny and filled-to-the-brim with orgasmic features your bloody Kindle is. Come to think of it, my bone of contention is just that. Having a book that does stuff it isn't supposed to do in the first place. I'm sorry I'm old-fashioned, but I don't think I want my book to automatically turn pages at the click of a button. And no, I don't want to be able to stick a headphone into it, so that it doubles up as an audio-book. If I want an audio-book, I'll get it myself, thanks.

I don't want to be able to download my book. I want to be able to buy it. Smell it. Lovingly run my finger along its binding. Cringe when the cover gets dog-eared. Get pissed if someone folds a page instead of get a bloody bookmark.

Call me pseudo, call me a weirdo, but I think visiting a bookshop is an integral part of my life. The feeling of wanting to buy the whole bookstore (except where the Twilight series is stocked, thank you very much. I'm still trying to con someone into taking my copies), the sheer delight at holding a book I've been wanting to buy for the longest time, sifting through rows and rows of books, sitting down on the pouffe at leisure and reading a big chunk off a random book, the feeling of curling up under the quilt on a rainy day with a great book, there's so much more to a physical book than it being a mere book. Geddit?

So then, how are you going to get all of this with a Kindle?

Sure. It holds like a few thousand books. It turns pages at a click. It runs on batteries. It cuts down on all the space you'd need for your books, the pros are endless. But are they really pros?

Firstly, do you need thousand odd books on you at all times? How many books can one human being read at one go? Five, if you stretch your imagination to snapping limits?

Secondly, who the eff needs pages that turn at a click? How much effort does it take to turn a freakin' page? So what if an actual book needs both your hands? What are you going to do with your other hand when you're reading anyway? (Hmm...A Kindle may be useful when you're reading erotica, but that's the only advantage I can see as far as the use of one hand is concerned.)

Next, the whole concept of battery-operated books is so unnatural. Like a baby born with a complete set of pearlies and painted toe-nails. It's against the law of nature, that's what's wrong!

And that brings me to the biggest pro-Kindle argument that fans have: It saves you space that books will take up.

This leaves me most flummoxed. But that may be because I don't see books as a waste of space. They're an integral part of my house. Like sofas. Or the dining table. So, my family takes up space in my house. That does NOT mean I will replace them with robots now, will I, just because robots can keep my house clean and do my dishes with utmost precision?

And how can something that's important to you be considered a waste? Our clothes and shoes probably take up more space than is considered normal, but we don't stop buying them, do we? Neither have we come up with electronic, space-saving alternatives to clothes, as far as I know.

So if you haven't got it already, the point I'm trying to make is, that in my opinion, you will somehow accommodate things that are important to you, without looking for easier alternatives.

Sure, you can download a book from an e-book website, but what can be more fun than waiting outside a bookstore hours before a much-anticipated book is going to be released? Or going and picking up a pre-ordered book from the shop?

If you're a true-blue book lover, you won't really mind the space crunch and the other 'inconveniences'.

It's like having a baby. It poops, it cries at midnight and can't even distinguish its teeth from its nose. But heck, it's still perfect!

What is it about loneliness?

What is it about loneliness, that the best of us fear so much?

Is it the fear of waking up alone?

Or the possibility of having no one to talk to in the middle of a tearful night?

Why does it hurt to have no one to call your own?

So you've convinced yourself that you love living with your pet. Freedom and all that. Then why does the sight of your neighbour hand-in-hand with his wife bother you?

What is it that frightens you most about loneliness?

A lonely birthday? A solitary Christmas eve?

No friends to haul you out of an accident?

A call that will never come, despite waiting for it all night?

No shoulder to vent into? No one to wipe the tears?

No one to take a long walk on the beach with? To appreciate the wind in your hair?

Are you amidst a crowd, yet lonely?

Looking for a face that you call familiar? Is it the absence of that face what's bothering you?

Ah, I see what's troubling you.

The need of a hug, the want of a kiss, the pain of love.

Tis Christmas, gentle folks! *Hic*

...and so we’ve reached the end of another eventful year. Almost.

I know you’re going to hate me for saying this, but honestly, 2009 wasn’t a bitch to me at all. In fact, it was one of the nicest years of my life. Any year you didn’t lose someone you know to a terror attack, a flood, a morning walk stabbing session or a reality show has to be great, right? Oh and neither did I get a pink slip (does a white petticoat count?), a pay cut or the lack of an increment.

2009 was the year that’s helped me become the person I am. And I’m sorry if this is coming across as a egotistical post, but I’m not sure I care what you think. So let’s talk some more about me.

The year that’s almost over helped me learn a lot. It made me wiser as a person, brought new friends into my life, helped enrich bonds with the old ones, took me travelling to Delhi and Trivandrum, taught me how to write better, made me realise I’d die without Twitter, taught me to love and be loved and got me new high-heeled shoes.

You really can’t grudge a year like that.

And hence, dear 2009, you shall be missed. But absolutely not if 2010 gets me a 200% hike in my salary.

Now now, what’s with the hurry to shut the Firefox window? You really didn’t think I’d let you read all through without listing out my New Year resolutions now, would you? Come now, I will take you through all the false promises I am making to myself, simply because I can then prove to thee how terribly bad I am at commitment.

1) 1) I will travel more this year. In fact, I will save up some cash every three four months and travel to a city I haven’t been to. Alone, if the parents can’t make it. But travel I will.

2) 2) This year, I will click more photographs. I have begun to love the amazing feeling that a well-taken photograph brings. I believe I have come a long way this year on the photography front too, since I’ve stopped chopping off people heads and arms and am including their entire body in the frame.

3) 3) I will cut down on junk food. The expanding waistline is threatening to pop out of my jeans. While we’re on the subject, I have no pretences about being regular to the gym. Ever again.

4) 4) And I WILL write more this year. Seriously. The sorry amount of times I’ve updated my blog freaks me out. How can I person with an opinion on every damned thing not have anything to say on the blog? Also note that I will comment on my friends’ blogs more often. Only then can I resolutely bully them to comment on mine.

5) 5) I will read more. Although I can’t say I wasn’t satisfied with the number of books I bought the last year.

6) 6) I will go out there and meet newer people. 2010 is going to make me a social butterfly. Spare me the air-kissing, though. Try that and I’ll spit on you.

7) 7) I will learn more gaalis. This is absolutely necessary since auto and taxi drivers are striving hard to make me miserable every day.

8) 8) I will write more on paper than this electronic nonsense. Will also buy more lovely stationery. Please note: amazing stationery does to me, what sexy lingerie does to men. I is a geek.

9) 9) I will stick up for myself more often. 2010 will bring out the no-nonsense side of me, both at the professional front and in personal life. But I promise to be my nice self at most times.

10) 10) I will not work the terribly long working hours I do right now, unless I have to. I will stop faffing around through the day only to sit till 8.30 every evening.

11) 11) I’m going to cry less and make more people cry. I’m so serious about this. Bwahahahaha!

12) 12) I will stalk fewer people on Facebook. I need to realise that looking at completely retarded photographs of fucktards isn’t right, especially when it’s 7 p.m. in the evening and I should be leaving for home.

13) 13) This year, I will stick to my New Year resolutions.

I’m sure I’ve missed out a few. But then, if I didn’t think of them when I should have, they’re probably the important ones I SHOULD miss.

So go on then, what are you planning for 2010? You know where the comments section is. Use it!

When staying awake becomes a serious problem...

I wrote this entry while I was in Kerala on a junket, recently. Thought I'd reproduce it on my blog.

Conferences / seminars are always so interesting...NOT. I'm here on a perfectly lovely Wednesday morning in Trivandrum, trying to keep my eyes open in a workshop,that doesn't remotely concern me. Why am I here, then? Don't ask me, ask the PR person who invited me. In my defense, however, I'm doing a perfectly convincing act of taking down long-winded notes. So is everyone else. It's impossible to stay awake through this endless droning.

Why are Indian speakers (very broadly speaking) so terrible at addressing audiences? Why is it that they cannot keep up their audiences' attention for more than three minutes? Most people begin with reading out reams and reams of literature, hoping it will make up for the lack of enthusiasm on their part. And as if reading out volumes of text isn't bad enough, there is the variety that will support the endless droning with slides and slides data.

For instance, "In 1994, our organisation had achieved only 34% growth,which jumped to 61% in 2001. However, we weren't satisfied with this growth percentage, hence, our target for the next five years is to achieve at least 54.7% growth."

Excuse me, but all I heard was "Blah, blah, yak, yak". What's your point? Did anyone tell you, mister,that no one cares a rat's ass about your data? Can you stick to whole words and less numbers unless absolutely necessary?

There's a third type of speaker one often sees: the nervous type. This type is so obviously pissing its lacy panties, that they even have no idea what they end up blabbering about. Add to that, they even mess up their technology and end up displaying the wrong slides to the wrong headings.

When will people learn that seeming effortless and well-prepared with your material is the key?

As a favour to the world, I'm taking the responsibility on mine young shoulders to enlighten the public speakers of the future, with a few home-truths:

1) Make your session interactive. Ask your audience some trivia related to your topic, perhaps? It helps them keep awake and interested.

2) Talk to audience. Maintain eye contact. This helps them know that you're talking to them and not at them.

3) Do NOT read aloud, whatever you do. If reading out is all you're going to do, just hand over your literature to your audience and let them read it. It might be more interesting, anyway.

4) Cite as many examples as you can to support the point you're trying to make. Or ask the audience to come up with some. Examples help retain your proposition better, in the minds of the audiences.

5) Keep it simple, stupid! Avoid too much technical jargon unless absolutely vital. It is one of the reasons why your talk becomes a snoozefest.

6) Try reducing your talk to a maximum time limit of about 20 minutes to half an hour. Trust me, attention tends to wander beyond that. So unless you know that your presentation is going to receive nothing short of a standing ovation, don't drone on and on. And yeah, if you look like Bradley Cooper, you can talk for as long as you want!

7) Lastly, inviting your audience to be a part of your presentation is most important. No one likes listening to someone who loves the sound of his own voice. Believe that your presentation must get the attention it deserves. Once that is achieved, you have to take the effort to make people want to listen to you. It sure will take a lot of hard work from your side, but then, who said it was easy?

Whew. I'm done with all my gyaan, folks. Now, back to the very lovely speakers who are carefully disobeying my carefully put together advice!

Blonde moment of the week...

So yeah. I'd gone through the week without any blonde moments hurled my way (not important enough to write about, anyway), when I decided my week would be incomplete without at least one such moment.

I was at a Rich Media workshop yesterday, and it was a lot more fun than I expected. Well, some of the speakers were crashingly boring (is it me, or can't most Indian speakers hold up their audiences' attention for more than three minutes?!), but the two or three that were interesting, made the trip worth it.

One of the interesting speakers was a senior Indian guy from advertising (let's call him Apple Junkie), who sort of has a reputation to be a bore. I'd never heard him speak before, so I believed what my friends had to say.

To my surprise, Apple Junkie's session was nothing short of fabulous. He was funny, goofy, intelligent, witty and very knowledgeable, all at the same time. Everyone loved him. So throughout the workshop, I was steadily tweeting about the sessions (less in the interesting ones, a LOT during the boredom inducing ones).

After Apple Junkie's session, my tweet said exactly this (and I'm NOT proud of it):

"Apple Junkie was superb. I'm glad I came."

To which the Overated Outcast almost instantaneously replies:

"I'm sure Apple Junkie is glad you came too. (Sorry couldn't resist that)."

Seriously, could I be anymore stupid?!

P.S. You know where the comments section is. What's been your best blonde moment of late?

P.P.S (Shameless plug alert) Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/eyemanut87

You know life's good when...

1) Your boss is nice enough to convince you to stay back although you've quit. And not just because he particularly needs you, but because he cares enough to convince you that you're making a bad career move.

2) When you join work again and almost half the office thumps you on the back with sheer happiness.

3) You feel good about going to work, because suddenly everything seems sunshine-y.

4) You have enough money to buy your mum a washing machine, on a whim, without calculating your budgets.

5) You really love meeting old friends, who in turn, seem absolutely happy in catching up with you.

6) You are in touch with the first guy friend you ever made, and love how he's turned into this really awesome, witty, funny person.

7) You have the power to make Manchester United lose by going on saying that they will, just to spite your best friend and cousin (read: Lammy and Rohit). Hee hee. This is fun especially since you don't even care two hoots about what happens to the future of football.

8) People tell you, you write well. (Ok ok, that may not be true, but a little flattery never hurt anyone!)

9) One of your closest friends is almost getting a job she's really been wanting. With AWESOME money too.

10) Your haircut (courtesy Mikachu) looks lovely and you begin to feel like the diva that you've wanted to be. :P (Shameless plug: I'm not saying this because she's my best friend, but she's a REALLY fabulous hair dresser. You should totally get your cut from her sometime. Just go to Bandra, Mad-o-wot). :)

11) When you've read the entire Harry Potter series, for the 8th time (excluding book seven).

12) When you're up at 12 in the night, wanting to make a list of all the things that make you happy.

* big, happy smile* :D

I love you, world!

Happy Diwali and other rambles

Hello, kind readers and Happy Diwali! Since I get supremely bugged with the long-winded "Happy Diwali and have a crappy new year full of prosperity'' kind of messages, do know that I mean the best for you. Just don't make me say it. :P

On a not-so-side not, this year's 'Foot-in-Mouth' Award goes to me. Why? Because I was a part of the following conversation:

The cleaning lady from the gym (called Mavshi) saw me in the gym after quite a hiatus. She stopped by for a chat, reproduced below:

Me: Hello Mavshi, how's you?
Mavshi: Fine. Long time no see!?
Me: Arey haan. No time. So Diwali preparations in full swing?
Mavshi: You know I won't be able to this year, since I lost my son five months ago.

After looking suitably ashamed of self (but horrified in the inner depths of my mind), I wondered why, at such time, the earth doesn't open up and swallow me up whole. Alternatively, someone gagging me with a wet, smelly sock at the precise moment wouldn't be such a bad thing, either.

If God was sitting up there and distributing traits at the time of my birth, I'd like to have acquired some proficiency in knitting sweaters or gardening or making paper hats or something. Why such copious amounts of skills in asking a woman who has lost her son (and knowing about her loss) whether she's going to be partying hard this season?

It's like asking a student who's failed his exams if he's bought his text books for next year.

Why do I do this? The fact that it was unintentional is no excuse.

In fact, I have no excuse.

Sorry, Mavshi. I really am. But I sincerely hope you have a good Diwali. Wherever your son is, I know he will want you to. You owe this to yourself...

The Travails of the Traveler

Yoo hoo! I'm back from Delhi. I know I should have blogged about it ages ago, but what to do? I'm uber lazy. To describe the trip in a sentence, I'd say it was fabulously rejuvenating and fun.

Met up with loads of people I've been wanting to meet for the longest time - Sakshi, Shayon, Arushi and Phoenix, being some of them (actually that is the complete list, but I don't want to sound like a loser). I wish I'd seen a lot more of the places in Delhi, though. Whatever people may say, I strongly believe that our country is host to some of the most picturesque spots in the world, but it's disheartening how we still choose to hold ambitions of going abroad and gawking at the Leaning Bloody Tower of Pisa, while so many of us haven't even been to the Qutub Minar.

I went and visited a lot of these street shopping places though - Kamala Market, Sarojini Nagar and Janpath and bought loads of stuff of the streets. I have no qualms in saying that Colaba Causeway has more order to the chaos and that given half a chance, I'd go to Colaba a 100 times.

See this picture up there? That's Chandni Chowk. And that's all I'm going to say about the place, since nothing I say about it will justify the madness, the crowd and the utter craziness that is Chandni Chowk.

I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritties of the trip; I'd only make the whole thing sinfully boring. Suffice to say it was just the break I needed; I needed to get away from this city, meet new people and come back feeling like a daisy.

Now for all ye faithful readers, some photos.

The annoying wish-fulfilling pillar from Cheeni Kum.
The fabulously towering Qutub Minar...

That's our bloody government ripping off them poor foreigners. So that they can pay for us to scribble about our sordid love affairs all over the walls...


For more pics, go clicketty click here. No, you won't find any pics of me anywhere, in case you wanted to. :P