Alcoholic Anonymous

I am so swearing off drinks! Bloody expensive and makes me want to sleep. Dreamt that I am peeing vodka.

1 bottle whisky, 1 bottle vodka and 3bottles beer up for grabs... please call

Dumpsville

I sat with my Harry Potter (yes I too have read the whole series and enjoyed it like my nephew who is one-fourth my age. But that can be another blog altogether, without digressing…) and stared moodily out of the window, over the balcony, at the gulmohar tree. I could see a crow perched up on a branch and stare back at me. It was Saturday afternoon and time was not ticking, it was crawling (rare for someone living in a city like Mumbai). My heart was not in place, I was bored and restless. I knew something was not clicking… something was wrong.

I hate to admit it, but I think I have been pseudo dumped. I use pseudo because I don’t know whether I am or I am not… dumped that is. Mr. X may come back (he usually does) but this time I have decided to toss him out. So it is like confusion on whether I have to dump him or am I already been dumped? Either ways it is not a particularly nice feeling and I chucked my Potter and thought why not pen down a ready reckoner kind of thing… you know… for all uninitiated girls like me who can’t face the fact even when it stares them in their faces that they are going through the experience of Dumpsville…


You suffer from PMS… all the time. Now I know why they coined the term ‘prickly pear’. It is like you want to scream at everyone who asks you “What’s wrong?” that “It is not that there is anything wrong, I have just been having an extended bad mood for the last two months!”

You hope that (here things can differ according to individual taste especially on the food point) – 1. He suffers from loose motions 2. He grows lice 3. He suddenly discovers while chewing food that he has chewed a giant cockroach along with his rice. 4. He suffers.

You can really relate to all sad, soppy songs in the world (ok that’s exaggerating it a bit). Instead of humming 'Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me', you start singing 'Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, dumb me?'

You get messages from all over the world except the number from which you want it to come from.

But most important of all, your ego dents. I mean it is not that it really creates a problem or makes you go into depression, but the feeling is same. When in college, my bucket of pride overflowed, and I approached this handsome guy (who actually looked a little a toad come to think of it now... yikes! my taste in men was really bad then) and when he rejected my offer of a date, cried even more loads of buckets. It is not as if you genuinely get affected, it is just that you can't digest the fact that after sharing intimate moments, anyone can become so uninterested in you. It is more of vanity factor you see... so we do as Moliere said "to find yourself jilted is a blow to your pride. Do your best to forget it and if you don't suceed, atleast pretend to".

So that brings us to the inevitable... what happens next? Do you forgive him (No), do you call him to find out what happened (No), do u give him a second (actually, definitely not his second i think) chance? (No). Then how do you get out of it? Any solutions? Since it is a ready reckoner, ofcourse it will have a solution… for me ... I look at Mr. Y and feel happy to be the kind again who will be counted in loyal dedicated committed lover when they do the sorting in heaven. And it happens sooner than you expect… the colour of his eyes are first thing you forget. Suddenly, one morning you wake up and can't remeber how he sounded, then goes the smell.

You meet next best/ worst thing around the corner and before you know it …baby, you are back in circuit!

Cold War...

He had said once, after we had a fight and I was hurt by his coldness : "Where is your sense of self? You shouldn't be affected, I think you have low self esteem"

Two thoughts going in my mind at exactly that moment were...

1. Yes, sure, the only problem is I am made of flesh, blood and feelings? (I seriously think nowadays, you are made of cement... you know concrete?)
2. Well, baby, proves my low self esteem - I slept with you didn't I?

Etcetera

There is no cure for mood swings. Most of the time they are caused by problems the heart knows and mind doesn’t register. Tried all conventional methods of retail therapy, alcohol (one even suggested sex! – good idea but complicated), good old coffee and conversations, but then realized as someone said (can’t remember the name) you can cure retail but you cannot cure wholesale… so from experience, when u are prickly, behave like one. No pleasure equals calling your boss stupid, fighting with ALL men in your life (X and Y have both kept me busy with that), cry without reason and generally have a day when you can release the witch inside you.
There is also no concept of ‘perfect couple’. It would be great if I could have a mix of X and Y with a dash Johnny Depp, Shiney Ahuja (he’s hot don’t you think?), Gregory Peck (the younger version ofcourse), Kishore Kumar added with wit of Oscar Wilde, Saki. It would help if he cooks and cleans, never raises his voice but still maintains his authority, considers men and women equal. What are the odds of any man fulfilling this criteria? None. What is the equation other way round? Same. So that practically makes everyone perfect for everyone else and brings me back to square one.

I’d rather be a woman any day than a man as 1. I can cry without any reason and he would quip, “You are acting just like a normal woman”. Excuse me? But I am a normal woman. (What is an abnormal one?) 2. I can wear pink as much as I want without any self doubt and most important 3. Women and children are the first to be rescued off accidents, sinking ships, burning trains and bankruptcy (I usually do that … make sad puppy faces and crib about living below poverty line for last week of each month). Shallow but effective.

Home not where your parents live, home is where your heart is. Exactly two months back my parents informed me that they are moving to Indore from Bhopal. Bhopal is home. It is where I will come back in the end. Although visit to Indore was still the same technically, house , parents there and same nagging on “Shaadi kab karogi”, it just didn’t click. Eventually I realized, it not just people, it is more the memories you associate with people that makes a person or a place fond for you. Bhopal is my memory bank of 21 years; where else would I feel at home?