2009

I may have to live with some new experiences in 2009. No, I am not going to (thankfully, cause I think it has already overdone with) talk about the Mumbai attacks (not unless I actually plan to do something), or talk about resolutions or list of places I intend to travel in this year. I am going to write about somethings, that on the face of it looks small, but sinks down and these are the things that come back when you lie down on the bed, in someone’s arms or alone and well… think about them (what else can one do I suppose?)

Y doesn’t like X – We talk about female intuitions, so powerful and sometimes so accurate. What I have realized is we are all humans after a point, our gender doesn’t differentiate us. When it comes to a relationship, if you love someone deep enough, you instantly gauge if something is different. Maybe he feels it? My female intuition says so. Why is it that he always frowns when X messages, or doesn’t like the funny anecdotes or jokes I read out from X’s messages? I think male intuition works as well.

X found out my blog – yes he has, yes he read everything, yes it is my stupidity (I mailed him a post… forgetting the existence of Google) and yes he likes it (well I would too if someone wrote a book on me!). What do I do? Well, it ranges from being embarrassed that well, whatever you think or fabricate (now I shall have to insist on some parts being “fabricated” isn’t it?) is on display to the person you never wanted to show it to (other being Y) to cool nonchalance and actually asking “How you find it? ofcourse it is not you, just a little inspiration you see …” (My pride always rescues me, who says pride goes before a fall?)

Object of my affection – this has been the most weird experience of my life. X called one morning to say he has had the most devastating experience of his life. My genetics command that my thinking process goes from worst to better, now ‘devastating’ can’t be good so my thoughts ranged from what if he lost his job to what if he has been diagnosed with AIDS? (Now that really freaked me out). What I got to know later that his ‘love’ of his life got married and didn’t tell him. I also happen to know that the ‘love’ apparently had a breakup three years back but X being X still pinning for her felt his world has ended. I felt his pain, but I draw a line on being the sounding board or a shoulder to cry on from my object of affection for someone else! I am sorry X, I know you will read it and you won’t like it, but you won’t say it. (But then it is my blog, my thoughts, you discovered it and well…live with it). An aftereffect that he may be missing in all his mess is it has somehow made him more approachable, more demonstrative and I can say more human. I think the whole world revolves around hope. More than money, love, power it is the hope of getting the love, money and power that keeps us kicking and when that goes away, survival kicks in. Maybe same is happening with X, he says hope is gone, so what does one do when hope itself is gone? He reaches out to whatever he can cling to… shreds of comfort, people and maybe past memories until hope comes back (and it does). So while he struggles and clings, I just pray it happens sooner than later. As for me, I wonder, does he love her or the memory of her?

I don’t know how will 2010 be when I ponder on these points… will they be there still? Or will I choose to drift away? I know if I was X or for that matter Y, I would have stored myself in a box, placed it in a remote corner of the heart and would have thrown away the key…

Meow Meow

After much thought and deliberation, I think my esteemed cat – Freddie should get a mention in this not so esteemed blog. Why a cat? Well, to start with, after last weekend, I thought I should write on the a tirade on

- Our neglect of responsible citizen duty
- Sadness on such a beautiful Taj Colaba building destroyed (where I attended umpteen conferences, wonder what happened to Crystal hall and ball room? Will they look the same again?)
- Fear of stepping inside Oberoi again, where 90% of my client meetings take place
- Frustration on the government laid back attitude and lastly
- Anger. Anger on why? Why this senseless massacre?

But then, I thought, what the use of writing this is? Unless, I actually get up and do something to resolve any of these points, am I not being one of those million people in India, who are going to dissect it to death, then just shrug and say it is hopeless and carry on with their hum drum lives? Anyways, instead I decided to talk about something more cheerful. Something like my cat.

Did I mention in this blog before that I have a cat? I think not. His name is Freddie, four legs, green eyes, whiskers, black ears and tail – the whole works. Apart from an essay on him, I can also say now (and with a considerable amount of envy) that he is soon becoming the most privileged member of our family.

He is allowed to sit on the dinning table (something I was never allowed to, for the sheer fear that it may break into two) at gran ma’s place. He came home one Sunday afternoon, when after lunch I was too full and lazy to actually get up from my chair to shoo him away. Y took pity on him and gave him milk to drink which he greedily gulped away and started meowing for more. Maybe it was written on Y’s face that he is sucker for all things feline and more charity ensued. What followed (and which is now a set pattern) was Freddie comes everyday, he sometimes even sleeps in. Everyone at home has mellowed to him- including me…

All events of our life have a trickle down effect. We may not realize it that time but it is true nonetheless. With Freddie, it has been the same. I buy more milk. I eat more vegetarian – not because I really want to, but because whenever there is a non vegetarian dish being made, I invariably end up giving half of what I eat to Freddie. I may cook vegetarian food, for him its fish/prawns/meat everyday. He even has a thing for butterscotch ice-cream! (Branded cat I say) I don’t go out so much cause I worry he will stay hungry. I am sure if not anyone else then Menaka Gandhi will be proud me. My friends think he is extremely cute (I think Freddie thinks he is good looking too, going by his airs). S and P went gaga over his picture and B wanted to know if I am getting him back to Mumbai. Y gave him the ultimate honour last month. Freddie became ‘Freddie Chutiya’.

I don’t know whether it is a common Indian male or rather any male phenomenon (didn’t find any research on it) that the more they like something or someone, the more they use profanity for it. Like when I saw my best two buddies meet after six years first thing they said was “salee MC/BC (I hope you know the full form) kahan the itne saal kami**” I had a hard time keeping my face from turning beet red. This was a few years back. Now (thanks mostly to taxi drivers in India), I don’t even bat an eyelid. So I think Freddie has made quite an inroad to Y’s heart and the name has caught on... even Freddie responds when we call him Freddie Chutia!

Thinking on these lines I think I can safely put it in my Christmas wish-list that I definitely don’t mind being a cat in my next life!

Rain on my window

I woke up to the sound of water. It was raining. At first I thought it was the terrace water tank overflowing again. My landlady has this habit of putting on the water pump at oddest hours, sometimes in the middle of night and suddenly you are jolted awake to the sound of falling water. I yawned and looked at the watch 11:45 pm. Well, not that late. The sound was much softer than gushing water and pulling the curtain, sitting on the elevated verandah next to my bed, I saw minute droplets of water spraying on the glass window…

I love rains. They make me nostalgic, happy, pensive and romantic in equal measures. My earliest memory of rains is jumping deliberately into water puddles in an oversized raincoat (to save my school bag as well from getting wet) and splashing the brown muddy water all over the white uniform. I used to love the fact that we were allowed to remove our wet and queasy shoes and socks at school on rainy days. The rough school floor always had a strange comfortable feel to it. The phone beeped, breaking my thoughts.

X had messaged asking if I was sleeping…

“I am a one man woman, I can’t even think of breaking someone’s trust”, I retorted to D. We were lying on the bed, too full after lunch at my place. The stillness gave some time for the food to settle into the inter-molecular spaces and allowed us to move again. “Hmmm… it is hard to remain in one state, be it for a human, or a feeling. You never know…”
That was four years back.

Now I surprise myself into wondering how can one person love two people at the same time? And if it’s wrong why doesn’t it feel wrong to be with X, why does his touch feels so good, or why when he kisses me, my knees give a funny feeling? I feel the same way about Y. Sometimes I wonder is this what it feels like…bittersweet… when you have tiny cracks in your glass wall.

“No, I am awake. Looking at the rain.”
“I miss you”
“Me too”
I wish I could kiss you X, feel your lips over mine, feel your skin, the way you smell immediately after you shave, the mixture of aftershave and soap, I wish I could hold you tight. I also wish I could go back in time and have my perfect glass wall again.

I sighed and went back to bed… Y was snoring softly. I spooned into him and snuggled into a deep comforting sleep.

Correspondence

From: iambeautiful<iambeautiful@gmail.com>
Date: Nov 13, 2008 1:36 PM
Subject: How could you?
To: tunawhatcurry@gmail.com

Dear “Fishcurry”,

Not that I want to call you “dear” but unlike you I still believe in politeness. I can’t even say that I was happy to see you at T’s wedding. I was planning to come but then thought maybe you would be too busy to attend family ceremonies (you never care a damn about family get-together do you?). I can never understand how such good people as Ma and Dad (yours) can give birth to such a wild child. I am ashamed to say that you are my sister after what happened last night. How could you? Even though she quite enjoyed meeting my other two exes, I am shattered! And what about this “I haven’t reached that stage yet? What the hell were you girls talking about?

I have spoken to Ma (yours) and she has promised me that she will call you and ask you to say sorry for your behaviour. This is just not done. Dad (yours) is just too busy to pick up my phone and listen to me. And don’t think just because I am writing to you I have forgotten how on Ma and Dad’s (yours) 25th anniversary, you displayed our old family photographs, one having my naked picture in the group! I still get livid thinking about it. It was extremely embarrassing, staring at my naked picture sitting on the potty and showing bum. I have still not forgiven you.

How could you be such a bitch!

Thanks but no thanks

G

From: tunawhatcurry@gmail.com
Date: Nov 13, 2008 2:36 PM
Subject: Re: How could you?
To: iambeautiful

Dear Dear G,

Since you didn’t want to call me “Dear” in the first place, I thought writing it twice will suffice for both of us eh? When did you last have your medical checkup? You should try Zen meditation… will lower you BP (I think you must be having it? Shouting like the way you do?)

You still even remember that 25th anniversary party? You were 2 year old in that pic and all two year old bums look alike. So don’t worry, no one knows except the “family” as you call it. As for how I got into …err… being that will be best answered by Ma and Dad (mine). Although my personal opinion is Dad (mine) will be shocked that a 30 year old still wants a biology lesson. All I can say to help your cause is Ma (mine) had a lot of rumballs when she was pregnant.

Your current girlfriend, apparently is a lot more intelligent than you, and you will be pleased to know one of your exes (that she managed to bump into, I DID NOT push her) is her batch mate. We are going to see some interesting times aren’t we? And don’t worry they only told me that you haven’t gone…err… all the way yet. I think you took those moral science lessons too seriously. Whatever you say I am happy to note that we share the same gene pool and I am always there for you…

Yours truly,

Bitch
P.S. Are you gay by any chance? All hints point to it.… you can tell me. I would love to have a gay brother. It’s “handsome” not “beautiful”.

My lovesong

Sing me no songs of daylight,
for the sun is the enemy of lovers.
Sing instead of shadows and darkness,
and memories of midnight - sappho
(Now who was sappho? google :) )

Deflower? anyone?

Dave Letterman (don’t ask me who he was, but someone very farsighted I suppose. You can always google him) once said,” Humans are the only animal who can have sex over the phone.” I beg to disagree. They are the only ones who have it on the internet as well. Now before all your twisted thoughts get active, this doesn’t have to do with naughty websites or actions but has to do with naughty words…

I was sitting at D’s place, with a fruit juice in hand (I am trying to stay away from alcohol, end up confessing my ‘ever’ dying love to X in drunken state). She was on her laptop typing furiously and the ‘katkatkatak’ of keyboard was almost giving me a headache.

“What are you working on?”
“Oh nothing… just like that…talking to an old friend”
“Hmmm…”

I picked up my copy of M&B. It was eight years after I picked up a M&B at the airport (Mills & Boons for all deprived romantics) and thought maybe I should read to see how they are writing nowadays, whether it is the same younger trembling women and macho, tall dark, sexy hunks (who also happen to be millionaires and great kissers). How come real life is so different? I mean the one who is handsome doesn’t have money, the who has money has mistresses and the one who has both is gay. Life is unfair tell you. I found the same soppy romantic stuff page after page. I guess some things never change or may be we don’t want them to. M&B kept my romantic fantasies going when I was a high school kid and I am sure by the way it sells, they are still doing a good job at it.

“I am just so disgusted, it is just hormones, and no one actually loves someone like forever!” D said declaring in mid air and almost throwing her laptop aside. That jerked me from my steamy kiss and most probably err… the bedroom scene and I looked at her from my glasses (I had a meeting in Mumbai and had flown down. Glasses always add an extra touch. X was busy and I had an evening free. D was also free, for a change she had no date, so I went down to her place to enjoy her big fluffy bed and to sleep in with the AC blasted at artic temperatures, and you value AC when you live in a city like Mumbai. Callous but true. Besides there is something so snuggly to sleep in a chilly room under soft warm blanket.)
“What happened?” I asked.
“These men, they just want one thing all the time”
“Food?”
“Duh!!! Sex”
“Ah. And what brings it on?”
“Hold on, I need to check on our microwave pasta, I smell something burning”

I took the opportunity to snatch the laptop and check my mail. Her G talk was still open and she was having err… what can only be called cyber sex with some bloke is US! I like a good girl closed that window, and like a bad girl couldn’t help noticing words “deflower”, “womanhood” and “manhood”. It was funnier to me than eeeeky. I thought those words had gone away with the M&B novels I read 8-10 years back. Does anyone use “deflower” nowadays or for that matter know its meaning? (Incase you don’t know, you know where to go – Google). I also noticed how D connected more on an emotionally level. Even for a verbal and may be a casual encounter the words focused around “hugs”, “kisses”, “feelings” and the man, the US dude, was pretty graphic. What is even more interesting is how men and women connect even on the internet. For all those long distance lovers, there is no other way to make out, but even in words, women focus more on emotions where men are more on – what else but as they had put it “manhood”! (And you thought I was going say food). I wonder which gene mutation made us so fundamentally different. I guess, I can say at some level it is true that sex is equally between the ears as between the legs for a woman. But till it sinks in with the majority of the opposite side, I guess there will be more “Hail womanhood, my manhood beckons!” to be heard, errr… read about.

Live to Eat

On Thursday everybody in the office had three things on their computer screens:
a travel website giving weekend options
rakhi card websites
online games and orkut
It was the last working day of the week and everyone- including me was looking toward the long weekend – Friday to Sunday, official holiday. Gods are being kind and we have Independence Day, rakshabandhan and Sunday all in a row!

Unlike my colleagues, I was not going out anywhere (since I figured I am going to bump into the same lot there too- everyone was fleeing to weekend retreats). I have no brother in town so rakshabandhan too was going to be limited to phone calls, I had my itinerary ready – sleep, eat, watch TV, read, listen to radio, sleep, eat… basically the order kept on repeat. It was a jolt, therefore, to find out that Saturday (today) was going to be a busy day.

Saturday early morning got two phone calls – my landlady decided to celebrate her 25th marriage anniversary (now I really salute all you couples out there… I can’t even think how I will stay alive for 25 years … forget stay married). It was a dinner invitation. Gran ma called next. Last week being Y’s birthday, she wished to take us out for lunch. Now even though I planned to rot at home like an alligator, I admit, I was surprised and relieved. I won’t have to cook food and no utensils to wash- Yippee! Today was going to be a great day…

It is close to eleven thirty now and I came back from that dinner an hour ago. And I feel like a python, yes a python that has swallowed an oversized prey and can’t move. Much to my embarrassed and surprise (at my eating capacity), I ponder over the list of trash that has gone in:
- breakfast – aloo puri
- lunch – galouti kabab, mutton kadai, chicken curry, biryani, rice, rabri, fresh lime soda
- dinner – chana dal, cake, lachcha parantha, mutton korma, malai kofta, fish roll, sandesh, icecream and rasgulla.

Phew! No wonder more than love, money and world peace, all I want right now (as I clutch my growling tummy) is pudinhara!

Gene Pool

I took my grandmother out. I thought she looked tried of life’s banality and needed a break (or maybe it was me), but together we went. We had stepped out of a book launch – a translation in Bengali of La Douleur. My French was rusty and I can’t even understand Bengali to save my life, so I sat there, with a fake smile counting the minutes ticking by and was the first one to flee (I didn’t even try out the flavoured tea they were offering) with gran ma in my tow. She is much more sociable than I am. It was her friend who translated that book. Mrinal Sen was there, he also knows her. I was quite thrilled for that one second to be among old people who were sparkling like precious antiques.

We wandered around aimlessly for a while, taking in the sultry, humid weather mingled with dust, honking horns and neon restaurant boards of Park Street. I asked her what she wanted to eat. She said she was game for anything, it took her to a Spanish bar and pub (atleast that’s what it said), it was first time for me too. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise- futuristic décor, eye tonic staff and good music. I think gran ma was much more thrilled than I was. Maybe she remembered her Canada days… to my surprise she asked for the drink menu and ordered a beer. I ordered a frozen watermelon margarita- something I had never heard before- and found myself staring at a huge fountain of crushed ice topped with margarita mixture and watermelon juice. By the time I could finish even half of it; my gran ma was on her second mug.

I was feeling woozy in head but relaxed and nice, I commented,” This is new you. I never thought we would have such a nice time. Now I also know which side of the gene pool I inherit. My dad’s family never even touched alcohol. They were pure vegetarian Brahmins…”

“I know darling. But I am happy you go after our side. We are more interesting,” she replied and winked.

It is strange how naïve we are as children. We have this perfect world around us and as we grow older, we start spotting cracks, blemishes and let’s say how imperfect our world really is. The final straw comes when we ourselves realize we are not perfect and become more tolerant of ourselves and maybe others. Learning how to see and not really see at times.

When I was a kid, my gran ma was someone I had most fun with. She still is a hugely entertaining person. A free spirit…but apart from just humour, jest and vitality, now, after 20 years, I also see the sadness of leaving her alcoholic husband after 20 years of marriage, of losing her sister to malaria- the deadly of all kolkata diseases, of going through the harrowing time of breaking the news to her second daughter that she was adopted… still as she herself says,” I don’t care what happened in the past, I am here to live my present, my future.”

My maasi had the perfect marriage in my eyes, I remember, 15 years back, they were posted in Dehradun, Mausaji is in the defense services. I was 13 years old and had gone to spend the summers. They had this huge old house with lots of servants. I got whatever I asked for breakfast and used to see from the window the couple sitting in the verandah sipping tea and gazing each other adoringly (yuck! Should have known then… it does sound sickly sweet). Ten years down the line … I knew enough to realize that my Maasi was having an extra marital affair and my Mausaji was too artificial in life to do anything about it (I think, he too was having an affair… pretty convenient say?). Talking of extra marital affairs… I am the not the one to pass judgements anyways.
“Why are you giving such a funny expression?”

That jolted me back to present and I asked her, “Do you think I have taken the dark side of the family too?”

“Well dear, everyone has a dark side, some people accept it and live with it and some try to hide it. It is a double edged sword, but everyone has to deal with it”

“How come ma turned out to be so different?”

“She had genes from your Nana’s side I guess; they were always prim and proper. He was too except for his alcoholism,” she replied winking at me.

I smiled at her spunk. Thankfully somethings still remain the same.

Tale of two cities

I was looking out of the small window and saw rain striking the glass obliquely, making slant watery lines as they got washed away due to high speed. It was shaky and I clutched the handles of my seat inspite of going through the drill innumerous times. I always get butterflies when a plane takes off. It is the mild version of the giant wheel for me. (It is also a scarier version, since have seen enough programmes on Discovery Channel on airplane crashes). I was flying from Mumbai to Kolkata. Nowadays I try to live a double life in its truest form. Shuttling between Kolkata and Mumbai. Work is divided, friends are divided, love is divided and even lovers are divided between these two cities…

“God I missed you”
“Well… doesn’t feel like it. You hardly call.”
“I always reply to your messages”
“Should I say thank you?”
X kissed me on my forehead as a reply.
“You know I am a married woman”
Kiss on the cheeks
“You also know that I have a low opinion of men”
Kiss on the eyes
“I have decided, I am going become a nun”
He silenced me with a kiss on the lips.
“You can’t become a nun dear when you kiss like that”
“Hmmm”
“Feeling guilty?”
“Hmmm. Lets go out; sitting with you here can only lead to one place.”

I just looked at him while sipping my tea. I think we both realized how much we missed each other. I was leaving in an hour – to Kolkata. I said, “So, till we meet again. Miss me”.

Is there a way I can have my cake and keep it too?

Inflation

After all the dash of creativity (self assumed) at harakiri, and holding my appraisal letter in hands there is only thought which comes to my mind picked up from my friend’s tag line - The light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off due to inflation and hence budgetary cuts.

Job? Anyone?

Tagged

I opened my blog after a long time, laziness prevailed and thanks to new “proactiveness” in office, didn’t even read a page forget write one since a month. Discovered I have been tagged grace a manorathan and as this tag goes, I have to write about five people or types of people I absolutely hate. It’s funny really, I have been thinking of people I really hate…as in the dictionary puts in: detest intensely and can’t come up with a single name. I can go with the usual blah blah of hypocrites, liars, egomaniacs (in media industry, every second person is a megalomaniac), but it won’t be true. I feel somewhere along the line I have bits and pieces of all these in me (how much I would like to disagree), so thought why not write about five moments in which I really hated these five people/ things:

My last maid - she couldn’t understand Hindi/English, I knew no word of Bengali, except elementary stuff like jal (pronounced as “jawl”) khabe, chand korbe (no it doesn’t mean staring at the moon at night). I, the ultimate believer that language is a trivial barrier, failed after shouting my throat hoarse that please clean the utensils properly… I broke my record of never firing anyone by saying bye bye to her within a month. Much to my chagrin, she perfectly understood the meaning of salary, holiday and no work today in Hindi… grr grr…

Bandhs – This no one can understand except the Bangla bandhus of Kolkata. On everything there is a bandh – a strike. It is as if these people have found an ingenious way of adding to all their holidays the government and the private firms took away in the name of productivity and efficiency. Oh! it doesn’t matter at all if someone’s life depended on reaching somewhere. These people take their bandhs very seriously- afterall, what is one man’s sacrifice in the name of the greater good?

Moi – Ofcourse how can I leave myself? After all good is boring and bad is in, so shall we make a count of all things I vowed never to do? One, two, three? Never to lie, never to cheat, never to have fooled around before marriage as ma says (naughty naughty), never to be confused and never to be greedy in the seven sins of life. Well, Mr. Bond, should have seriously followed your lesson – ‘Never say never again’.

Philips Kotler – I should begin with a disclaimer here (for the peace of mind of all MBA ‘jargonized’ civilization and aspiring ones – for there are many) that I intend to no way criticize the work of esteemed Mr. Kotler. After all, how can I, when (thanks to you) hundreds weedle their way out of squeamish interviews on ‘essence of branding and marketing’ to fat salaries using the great words like ‘4Ps, inflection vector, fragmentation’. For me the best use of ‘Marketing Management’ by Philip Kotler has been when I hit the heavy book on Y’s head in anger during one of our fights, and he almost fainted :)

Auntyji – this goes to all aunties of mine- fat, tall, short, slim, beautiful or ugly. The skin is just the covering as my next door sadhu baba would say. He is also into nude therapy (couldn’t stop myself from adding that part). Inside they are all the same. I wonder how can someone go into a mindless loop of when is someone getting married, who is having how many children and the most irritating of all, who is killing who in those twisted saas- bahu sagas. Although it also makes me wonder where is the missing link? Which DNA strand got twisted along the line to make us so susceptible to enjoying perverse emotions?

HaraKiri

Tired of all that bullshit I wrote till last year on my performance appraisals... I wrote this...

---starts---

I have become an octopus with eight hands for my clients. Also handling clients like A (can't give their names, they will kill me kill bill style), I have developed immense sense of nirvana as that’s the only way to go without going mad. You learn to handle high volume of work, unrealistic expectation, doing work of three people single handedly (now I know what Zen said about everything is possible, you just have to expand the capacity of your mind), engage clients when they have a pre conceived agenda of bashing you left right and centre (must have fought with their spouses early in the morning). With B(another one...) you learn to make plans on plans which are derived from another plan as for even talking to someone you need to plan the talking points, FAQs, brief history and geography as well. Your phone never stops ringing and you actually forget about your husband (I hope you don’t communicate that to him). Lastly, after doing all this, at the end of the day, you are still alive and have the capacity to take on a crisis that happens in a nincompoop place somewhere interior of UP and you handle it. Phew! For the sheer capability of it… I think I deserve a promotion and a raise.

P.S. I have logic for a promotion and a raise, after honing myself to such a position, it is impossible to return to normal life. Rather have more than less. I hope I also get some extra points for creativity.

--- ends---

I hope they too have my twisted sense of humour. Incase, not, does someone, anyone has an interesting job for me out there?

SexyKnees.com

This is not a link to kinky site (all you perverted oldies out there you), not a fashion site, not even a site dedicated to arthritis where they give tips on how to relieve knee pain and make them look sexy again. This is just an account of a girl who has just realized that she is really low on all the moral values ma taught (sorry ma, but I really was never made out of sati savitri material) and has just discovered the best function of knees—how they turn into jelly when you are being kissed. There are guilty pleasures everyone has, some secretly enjoy all those bitchy and regressive saans bahu serials, some enjoy kinky sex, some like reading M&B novels on the sly (mostly men who sneak with one from their wives enroute the loo). Mine is being kissed, by X. It gives me goosebumps, prickles my skin, gets my hormones racing and most important gives me jelly knees. He may be a bad lover but he is a good kisser.

I missed it so much with you Y, why the hell don’t you just take me in your arms and give me sexy knees again?

Aapka bhavishya kya kehta hai? (what's does your future say?)

Some days are happy days … as in everything atleast starts right. You have sex in the morning when you are half sleeping and your other half- bf/husband/whoever is really turned on (wonder what makes them so ‘all for it’ in the morning – bad breaths or the pony tail turned horse’s tail?) and does all the moves on you while you just lie back and enjoy the experience. On reaching office you discover that the boss is on leave and client is in a day long workshop so you can read all those gossip columns and daily astrological predictions- ‘Aapka bhavishya kya kehta hai’ (“Just for fun” you say incase someone catches you reading whether green is luckier than blue for you today).

My day started the opposite way … fought with Y the night before on his super bloated ego (even that’s an understatement I think!), had to deliberately face the wall on the opposite side and sleep (now every girl has her pride and rather kill than thinking of snuggling in the same blanket). Woke up and realized that forgot to remove the kajal, mascara that I had put for the party last night and now had raccoon eyes. I was looking so bad that even if I would have stood, naked, infront of a man eating tiger, he would have refused to eat me up. Was just getting into the train, when cell phone pinged- message from X... was asking me how the War of Roses is going on. Ok, I agree I shouldn’t have dished out the details of my less than perfect ‘other’ relationship to him, but I did… and now I think he enjoys the perverse pleasure of knowing that my road to pleasure has rocks, no boulders on the way. I replied something inconsequential like we are just fine and have not killed each other yet. He, ofcourse, insisted on details. I do have to admit that I like this thing of having platonic relationship with X. We do everything – go out, take nice long evening walks, spend hours discussing everything under the sun, hell, I even dress up for these dates- but we don’t touch. That’s an unsaid No No as we both are trying desperately to squash the lust worm. Sometimes I even think why doesn’t he just go ahead, get a girlfriend and get laid. Maybe that will end it all, I will be too pissed to go out with him (I was always selfish) and that will break the circle.

I reached office earlier than usual and found no one had come in yet. There is something refreshingly exciting in entering an empty office and being the first one to sign the register. I ignored the Economic Times and settled down with a page 3 section. Invariably moved on to checking my horoscope. Not that I believe in them… just for fun you see. Maybe it comes subconsciously from the fact that Ma used to read our fortunes for fun every Sunday from The Sunday Indian Express in the afternoons. (Even now I have this sneaky doubt that she buys Bejan Daruwala’s annual forecasts. Though she never follows them, maybe it is just harmless fun). It did lead to, me, becoming addicted to reading The Sunday Indian Express and even now, when I am in an industry where I read on an average ten papers a day, it is my favourite paper on a Sunday.

Even the horoscope was not with me that day and predicted something that I always knew… my life sucked and will suck if I ‘don’t brace the changes and karmic obligations for a fuller life’. Like what? Run away and settle in Kenya? That’s just geography. Just then super bitch client called and blasted me for using ‘there’ instead of ‘their’ in one of her releases. Inside, I was dying of mortification, how could I do that? This is the mistake even my 5 years old nephew won’t do. I replied, in my best professionally voice I could manage, that it was a silly mistake and will rectify it. Apparently super bitch client was also PMSing and went ahead to say that she is unhappy with the release (without mentioning why) and I have to redo it. Sigh! I wish I could kill her with the phone cord at that moment. I am sure she won’t die even then, she is made of sterner stuff than that and even if she does, she will haunt me the rest of her life.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, called D and told her I am coming over. The day ended with me sitting on fluffy cushions of D’s sofa while she looked dreamily at the ceiling smoking a cigarette and exhaling smoke rings that fascinates me no end. We were already down half bottle of vodka (although I usually add lots of fruit juice and lime to ease my guilty conscious that I am halfway to a drunken euphoria). D shifted her gaze and looked at me in the eyes and said,” So, what is eating you up?” I didn’t have any answers. I guess I am in a limbo. I think all that have is more than enough, and it is in a way, but then what else am I waiting for? Why sometimes the niggling emptiness inside when I lie on my bed night after night? “What difference does it make? I want to enjoy one day at a time”, I said after sometime. She replied with her usual “Hmmm…”

Two hours later (or so I think it was… next morning details were fuzzy) we were rolling on the floor, clutching our stomachs, helpless with laughter watching the silent movie and totally drunk. I never felt better and I was laughing so much that my eyes watered and stomach ached. I thought nothing could burst my bubble and then the cell phone pinged again. It was X (or was it Y? can’t remember, but gauging the reaction from both of them next morning, definitely X. He sounded as cold as Antarctica) asking whether the war was still going on? I typed fuck you in caps and hit send. Later realized it went as duck you. Thought will call him and clarify but then thought its ok… after all duck is also 75% obscene.

Rewind and Undo

I stared out of the train, feeling the wind on my face. X always says it is because that moment when we are pushing our way towards the door and hanging precariously, half inside half outside, it gives us our personal space in this crowded rush of Mumbai. I was fascinated by the reason but for me it was something different. I stared, sometimes with radio plugged in (thanks to my technology savvy uncle who was utterly disgusted my by old fashioned mobile, which would have made a better object to hit someone rather than to be used for talking), to see if anything ever changes in this city. Many people have written about this city, fortunes made and lost, history made or plainly the powerful effect of Mumbai. I travel the same stretch of harbour line everyday, twice and see the same vashi creek (it looks better in winters as lots of birds flock in), sometimes greyer than usual because of the filth floating in it, followed by the mangroves or what is left of it, after the land has been filled up to accommodate the ever growing population of Mumbai. Sometimes the people who enter the coaches from different stations also seem same. They even smile at me as they get in. But mostly it makes me think of where I am going? Whether anything ever will change at all? I may move to Kolkata in April, but that’s just geography. A beep of message jerked me back to reality. It was Y asking me when I will be back…

I wonder why so many people stay together in marriages or in a long relationship? Is it because one it is done, there is so much to undo that it is better left as it is? Being together and still behaving as if strangers. If each one of us was given a chance to undo our past, what all we would have done to be back where we were? Sometimes I envy Y, his needs are simple… atleast it seems so. Food, game on PS2, whatever is in front of him at that moment and work. Love, affection and loyalty are taken for granted. I wonder if he wonders. I know X wonders (I would give anything to take a sneak peak into his mind). In the meantime, I have moved ahead, no more sideways. And I feel things going away, moving apart… like the big bang theory but it is so slow that you can’t see. You can just feel it.

How come our parents never seemed so shaky? They never fought, never had multiple lovers, always remained loyal and did the right thing (ok, ok I know they where not saints, but then they were ‘parents’). I want to erase my past, my present and feel the fresh, untainted love again, but even if I could undo, I think most probably, it would drive me out of my mind.

Talk to me...

“That feels heavenly, even better than a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning”, I beamed looking at A as I dipped my feet in a tub of warm, soothing, shampoo water. She smiled back and put the tub on ‘vibrating massage’ that is only for people taking the spa pedicure: the advantages of keeping yourself on the good side of your parlourwali. “So, tell me what is happening in your life?” she asked. The combination of an armchair, warm soapy water swirling around your feet may not result in relaxing your feet but it definitely loosens your tongue. No wonder all salons are a hotbed of gossips.

Just as I was going to launch myself into a tirade of complains/ complications (ok, I agree, they are mostly imaginary)/ work bitching, my phone rang. Ma was on the line.

“Hi Ma! What’s up? How come you called in afternoon?”
“Beta, you remember maasi was suppose to come to Mumbai tomorrow, she has some work in passport office in the morning, but she said she may come to meet you in second half. Take her around na a little.”
“Hmm… ok. Will take out to lunch.” I said calculating mentally focusing on my schedule for tomorrow on how to fit in 2-3 hours extra. There was a beep for call waiting and I just check… Mummyji on the other line. I don’t know how… maybe mental telepathy or something, my ma and mother –in-law have this tendency of calling me at the same time, especially when I am enjoying doing some third thing. Sigh!

“Office call ma, will call you later. Love you. Bye!” (telling her that I am hanging up to talk to Mummyji will be close to sacriledge!)

“Paye lagoo Mummyji, kaisi hain aap?”

“Jeete raho beta, I called to say that Richa bhabhi has just had a baby girl.”

I choose to ignore the hidden connotations and say “Hmmph!” Why is it that mothers, mother-in-laws infact any female after the age of 30, if she gets married and has kids, talks only of husbands and kids? I wonder if all women are compulsory sent to a training camp where they are taught ways to harass all women under 30 or anyone who is single/ does not have or wish to have kids/ does not conform to the “auntydom” in general.

If there is such a list, please include my name in the ‘Do not call’ register!

“Beta, I know this is a bit early to ask you people, especially girls nowadays, but let me tell you when we were your age we already had kids, see Richa, shaadi ke ek saal bad hi usne apni saans ko poti ka mooh dikha diya (she has gifted her mom-in-law with a granddaughter after a year itself)”

“Hmmm.” Ok. So Richa has entered the hallowed halls of fame but would I want to do the same? Having a so called “bundle of joy” taking away all the joy out of the life by crying as if the tears will solve the whole world’s water crisis and doing poop and peep as and when it pleases (yes, yes I know you will call me mean, but then I never was gung ho on maternal instincts). No Thank you. I prefer my DINK status.

Anyways, without digressing, I just gave an exasperated look at A and told Mummyji that I was entering a meeting and will call her later.

While the talkathon was going on, A had finished scraping my ankles and making my feet pretty. I have observed that having pretty feet somehow always makes the footwear look good… but unfortunately not vice versa. Maybe that’s way people just blow their fortunes on pedicures. Pedicures to poverty…

For all you people (and there aren’t many) who were wondering about X and Y. Well, X in his own words has gone B2C (Back to Celibacy). Is that suppose to make me feel bad? Well, it does not. I gave him plenty of opportunities to atleast say something, anything, but he didn’t. Now any self respecting woman would never decline marriage for anyone who doesn’t even say anything! But it also doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him. It is the kiss that you miss the most … sex one can find anywhere, but kiss has a different intimacy. What if you just want a kiss? That’s when the heartache starts…

As for Y, he is (surprise, surprise!) turning domesticated. Never thought marriage would be his unwinding. Maybe, he is one of those guy who find security once they marry and mate. Hmmm… maybe.

N just started his blog …pretty cool his first post was. Check it out on this link http://urbanmysticity.blogspot.com/ (and incase N turns out to be familiar…cross your heart N, you won’t tell!)

Safety Net

It was a Sunday afternoon and I was doing what I do best- reading newspapers. One of the side effects of working in public relations industry- can’t function without reading newspapers now. All newspapers had carried a report that day which calculated that if you take an average, a woman has been raped in every half hour in India since 1977. Shocking statistic. It also disturbed me more since I too belong to the same category – of being a woman.

Molestation, rape, murder, harassment – a paper won’t be complete without any news related to these or better, if a news on each, but that’s different story altogether. What bothered me most was if these numbers were true, we, as women, are indeed in much more trouble than we think. Why is this happening? Who is responsible for this? I can almost visualize all my female friends and colleagues blaming all the psychos, perverts, and men who think they are god’s gift to women. Are all men wolves and monsters? I don’t think so. There are enough nice men out there to support my statement (some of them we wish would do something without asking us first!).Blaming just men may not be an accurate answer. Convenient maybe, but a half truth still. Being completely honest to myself, I think somewhere along the line we as women have faltered too.

Imagine, one day when you wake up and find your husband/ brother/father doing the housework that usually you do or see your mothers do. What will you first think? (‘Wow!’ may come second or third on the list). Most common will be wondering to oneself “Is everything all right?” Some of you may even feel uncomfortable with the whole scenario. Doesn’t suit the conventional image right? There are some women who have families that divide the responsibilities equally, but then we are not talking about those. They are few and far between. Most of us have been bought up in a way where our fathers, brothers, chachas and alike have taken care of things unpleasant and unsafe. Being brought up in a smaller town I remember, for all late night parties (mostly birthday parties of friends. Discos and pubs are still unheard of and visited by girls who are ‘loose’ in character. Even the definition of ‘late night’ differs – nine or ten at night were considered extremely late for visiting anyone), we were dropped and picked up by papa or bhaiya. Sometimes little sister would also beg to accompany and mummy would (horror of horrors) comply and send her along… (better two than one … “you will be coming by 9:30 beta”). Ofcourse this sounds funny when one is living in Mumbai but 90% percent of India is still suffering this. We never protested, or rather were not given a chance to object. Never even thought there is anything wrong in this. They are just taking care of us aren’t they? How many of you women out there, even the self proclaimed ‘modern’ ones think that they can manage any situation by themselves? Hardly few. When we ourselves are not confident with our capabilities of self help, why blame others for taking advantage of it?

Let me give you a clearer example… two weeks back when I was traveling from home to office in a local train, a drunkard got in at one of the stations. Now local trains in Mumbai have demarcated compartments for convenience of passengers – men and women have separate compartments and men are not allowed to travel in the women compartments and most women follow the rule vice versa. Now I was travelling in a ladies first class compartment with around 30 more fellow passengers. The drunkard’s unwelcome arrival was greeted with horrified expressions and exchanged glances. Some women moved away from him. But that’s all. No one came forward and told him to go get lost. Finally three women came forward and shooed him off the train. What gave the drunkard so much courage to get on a compartment full of women? If all 30 of them would have come forward, I am sure he would have the guts to enter. Why do we expect some policeman or some male passenger in the adjoining compartment to bail us out in situations like these? Aren’t we strong enough? If a man has ever eve-teased you, have you ever gone back and shouted at him? If you have, then you know he would have most probably been shocked and then scared by your bold reaction. By not reacting, aren’t we passively encouraging people to take advantage of us? We are our self help, our own safety net and as Kiran Bedi puts it “Self Police”. I am not making excuses for male vile behaviour but at the same time, if we are self victimizing, we have no right to call them the offenders.

There is no place safe enough, no relationship secure enough and no attacker strong enough. We are own help. The day we start believing no one can touch us, no one will.