Dab on a little colour why don't you?!

As far as dressing goes, I stick to the safe, tried and tested. I have a few tops which scream with colour and at one point I even had pink pants (I know!). But for every time that I wear a funky top or a particularly bright shade of lipstick, I spend the next ten days scurrying back to the safe shades as a sort of penance for breaking my own safe-colour boundaries.

I know women who can wear what seem to be the most outrageous clothes in ridiculous combinations of contrasting colours and manage to make the whole thing look effortless and fashionable all at the same time. I on the other hand, have neither the pluck nor the talent to carry off such a look.

So, to the girl that was wearing the bright green fluorescent top over olive green leggings teamed with red shoes - your outfit was hideous. But I admire your courage!

Surprise!

My morning routine usually follows this pattern:

Get up, walk to the front of the house, collect newspaper, skim headlines, make sure that the world is still going to hell in a hand basket, carry on with other morning activities.
The necessary ingredients in the newspaper are always present.
Murder- check
Rape - check
Corrupt Politician-check
Sania Mirza loses a match - check
And so it goes on...

But there are some mornings which just take you by complete surprise, even when you are as fairly cynical about life in general as I have become. Thankfully, I have only had the misfortune to come across one particularly crazy individual who dated three women at the same time. Not just had a drink, flirted, made a few calls; but actually had three functional relationships during the same time period. Now despite all the possible excuses of 'I work in advertising', 'My mother is dying', 'I had a bad childhood', 'My parents got divorced', 'I have no friends' etc etc, I somehow imagined that this was really as bad as it got!

But then, I woke up this morning and read this lovely article in The Times of India. I was in absolute awe! Despite everything else and all the moral implications of his actions, you have to admire the sheer genius of juggling 14 wives at the same time! And that too, on a mere Rs 70,000 per month salary. While the rest of us struggle to keep one life above water and in some semblance of sanity, this guy led 14 completely independent lives! Before he is jailed for bigamy (is it still bigamy when it's more than two?) and deceit and marrying women under false pretences, I think someone should give him a prize!

This is what I love about life. Just when you think nothing could surprise you, it does!

The Waiting Game

Hospital waiting rooms are always portrayed as these grim, sterile places where no one is ever happy. Every TV sitcom, every movie, every book description is usually the same.

But I find them to be completely the opposite of all these things. For one, they're not very sterile. Anything you've never had before, you can catch in a doctor's waiting room. That's why I find it ridiculous when the doctor advises you to not go anywhere or hug people because who knows what you might catch when your immunity is low, but it's quite alright to wait outside his office with a bunch of sick people for about an hour or so, which is more than enough time for the germs to get anywhere they want to.

But more importantly, I've had some really good times in hospital waiting rooms. Last year, I spent a fair amount of time in them, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. My mother was usually with me on these occasions, and we were periodically shushed for making too much noise while giggling away at ridiculous jokes that no one else found funny.

It's also a great place to watch people. I don't mean in the creepy-stalker way, but in the observing-human-nature-at-its-finest way. I've watched the old south Indian couple with 'arranged marriage' written all over them sit quietly in their seats, not a word spoken between them for more than half an hour. But then he takes her elbow to steady her when she walks with halting steps towards the doctor's office. The parents with anxiety written all over their faces, who manage brittle smiles and casual conversation to keep up appearances for their five year old with cancer. They never realise the kid knows exactly what is going on, he told me all about it while we were waiting together for our tests.

My favourite is always the sick parent accompanied by a child. There's always an air of 'This is wrong! It should be the other way around'. I remember one young woman crying bitterly while her mother underwent her radiation session, saying "This is not the way it should be". But when is it ever the way it should be? We're all meant to be hale and hearty forever! Until reality sets in anyway...

I've never been one to strike up conversations with random strangers, but my mother will go all out to talk to whoever looks even the teeniest bit friendly, and sometimes even when they don't! So we've met old people, young people, couples, widows, children, rich folk, the middle-class, eternal optimists and those who are just about ready to throw in the towel.

It may have been many things; but for my mother and I the waiting room was never unhappy, never grim and never, ever boring.

I remember her always upbeat, with a quick wit and big smile. She is older now. Grey, and slower in her steps.

"When my husband died, I didn't want to live anymore.
I went to the kitchen and took out some fish to cook for our lunch. And then I remembered I'd need only one piece. Such a little thing, but I broke down... every day... little things, and I'd cry.
Death is so final. One day, he was there. The next, he was gone; and it was done.
I'd go to his cupboard, bury my head in the smell of his clothes. But soon, that was gone too."

We spend a year with someone, or two. When it ends, we are sometimes sad but life goes on and things are fluid enough that something takes the place of the one that's gone. I see people my age, in love, but then it's over and nothing really changes. It is something that I am grateful for; the ability to cut someone out of my life and carry on without any great pain or regret.
It is my gift.

But then I see her, and wonder what it must be like to love someone so much that your life ends when they leave. It must be beautiful. It must be devastating. Even though I can't imagine it, it must be...

RSVP - Comprendez Vous?

Whenever I was invited to a birthday party of a schoolmate, my mother would make sure that I replied to the invite and let the person know if I would be attending the party of not. The day after the party, I had to call and say thank you for a wonderful time, even if the party was a dead loss with soggy chips.

Years later I found out about the RSVP on wedding invitations. I took this to mean the same thing that the school birthday party protocol entailed - you had to let them know if you were going to be there or not. On one occasion I did not reply to a wedding invitation in time, and was mortified at how rudely I had behaved. I avoided the bride for six months thinking she may still be mad at me. As it turned out, there were 800 people at the wedding. For all she knew, I was there!

But never, ever during all those years of birthday party and wedding invitations did I think that a reply was optional. RSVP meant you had to!

Repondez s'il vous plait! They even say Please! In French!

And yet over the last few years I find that when I invite my friends to a party or ask them to confirm their attendance, they seem to think this comes with an added condition of 'if you feel like it'. They do not see it as impolite, or an inconvenience that I have to moonlight as a psychic and play guessing games as to whether or not they will be making an appearance.

When did it become passe to let the host know that you will be present at an event, eating the food and yes, perhaps you will bring three or four guests?!

I find this really annoying when it happens. And the only thing more annoying than this, is when someone confirms that he/she is coming and then 'sends word' through somebody else that they won't be able to come. I have realised halfway through a party that a friend was missing and when I asked where she was someone else pipes up with, 'Oh yeah, she said to tell you she couldn't make it.'

For the love of God, we live in an over-connected world. We've gone all the way from the place where it was hard to get in touch with people to where you have to try really hard to avoid someone! Between cell phones, facebook, gtalk and real life - you're always connected. So why on earth would you need to 'send word'?? Was it too hard to expend five minutes worth of energy to type out a message or dial a number to make your own apologies?

Needless to say, my list of invitees is getting a LOT smaller every year!

Pricing

They flowed like a river
Hung staccato in the air

Wrapped me in delirium,
Before they freed me, again

Had the power of armies
The moral weight of nothingness

They were brutal in their ugliness
Before turning gloriously beautiful

Made me love
Made me hate, made my pity turn to indifference

They were gospel truth
And hollow lies, banalities to fill diaries with

Six hundred rupees for a paperback
Twelve hundred for a hardback

And yet when all is said and done,
Words are still cheap

The ways to centre ourselves,
We lost in the frenzy.
Recaptured slowly now, as if learning to read and talk again.

The grace of standing alone,
forgotten, in the warmth of hugs.

While we sit in the breeze and miss our imagined happiness,

another second went by.

Life is Fair

For two months, I ran five kilometres three times a week and did yoga for one hour every day. I lost 0.5 kgs.

Last month I ate doughnuts, a ridiculous amount of chocolate, tonnes of junk food and made no attempt to exercise. I lost 1.5 kgs.

I suppose there is such a thing as trying too hard.

With friends like these...

Conversation with a friend after a particularly painful visit to the dentist.

Me: Does my face still look swollen?
Friend: Nope, you don't look any chubbier than usual.

There is something unnatural and creepy about people who are perpetually happy.

I want to hit them.

Indian Psyche Questions

How is it that we strap on our seat-belts as soon as we get into a car and gasp in shock every time another vehicle seems to come within two feet of us and can still hop into a rattle trap of an auto rickshaw with no safety features whatsoever and fall asleep within two minutes?

Bubble-Pop

Like most other people, I have an idea of what 'normal' constitutes. The events, behaviours, situations etc that can be confined within this realm of possibilities.

But ever so often, I come across things that don't quite fit into that category.

Like the man of God, that can molest little children and still celebrate mass in Church.

Or the father that rapes his daughter because a Tantrik tells him it will help his business prospects.

The man who agrees to an arranged marriage, and then tells his new bride he's gay.

The boy who watched his mother suffer his father's infidelity, and then follows his good example in multiples many times over.

The people who lecture endlessly on ethics and morals and the importance of honesty, and then can't string two truthful sentences together.

The religious group that defends the traditional values of a country, and then beats up its women.

The women who gossip freely, and then scream off the rooftops about loose tongues when their daughters are talked about.

I've always wondered what kind of logic is followed by people in these situations. What possible explanations could they have that would make their actions normal. Someone once told me that being drunk was no excuse for making bad decisions, no matter how much your judgement was hampered. Something I argued against vehemently! Now I'm wondering, isn't it so much worse when you're perfectly sober, with (for all intents and purposes) perfectly sound judgement, and still making horrible decisions?

But I think a part of me no longer wants to know. Maybe it is a bubble that I live in and denial is my best friend. But if that bubble protects me from understanding the skewed logic of absolute and complete sickos, then I'm quite alright!

Parallel Lives

You put on your make-up.
I brush my hair.

You slip on some high-heels
I wear my chappals.

You check yourself out, make sure you're perfect
I grab a jacket, because I know I'll get cold.

You get to the car, turn on the radio to songs you don't recognise
I crank up the volume on old rock favourites, singing along at the top of my voice.

You enter a club, check for people you know
I talk with a friend as we drive to the top of a hill.

You're shouting over the music, trying to make conversation over your fifth drink
We sit with the headlights off, watching the city blink at us.

Your head is spinning as you take pictures with people you don't know
We talk of old times, good times, and laugh.

You crawl back into bed, not sure of how you got there
I lay awake, grateful for everything.

Only two years apart.
My life

Only two years apart.

Jaded-not

They're in the back alleyways,
Standing against the wall,
They're at bus stops everywhere,
Holding hands and looking coy.
Sometimes I hear them whispering,
He's begging her to stay.
I like that I can still smile at them,
It shows I haven't been harmed in any great way.

Alter-Ego

Never underestimate the pure, delicious thrill of being a 100% unadulterated Bitch!

Payback

When I was seven years old, my mother worried about me having no friends. I would sit at my table and play with my imaginary friends, do little craft projects and generally amuse myself.
I didn't miss having friends to play with all the time. I had three siblings who swung between torturing me and allowing me to tag along and that was really quite enough.

Somewhere through the years, things changed. I'm still very much of a loner, and love spending time by myself, doing my own thing... minus the imaginary friends of course. But I've built an excellent network of friends who I love spending time with. And I'm also a big believer in the 'group theory'. I have a group for partying with, one for lounging around and chatting, another for drinking nights that last forever, another for random walks with ice-cream... the list goes on.

During a not-nice time in my life, most of these friends were around to help me through it in some way or the other. There was one in particular, who helped me more than he knew but I never told him. One evening during this time, I went over to his house not really sure if I wanted to be quiet, or talk or just be. After I'd told him what was going on, he lay down next to me and held me for maybe ten minutes and didn't say a word.
It was just what I needed.

A little while ago, he lost someone very important to him. When I saw him so distraught and upset, I was in tears myself. But I realised later, that it was not only his loss that upset me. It was the fact that it brought home, yet again, how often we forget to tell people what they mean to us and how much we are grateful for having them in our lives.

You know who you are, and I'm sorry that I can't help in any other way except to say thank you. Albeit more than a year later, I'm glad it's now than never.

The Internet so Wonderful

I'm not the world's best when it comes to handling technology and all the implications that come with using the Internet. I have no idea how to write HTML code. Heck, I don't even know what it is! I don't know how to use the iPhone or any of its million applications, and on really bad days, I don't even know how to adjust my Facebook settings!

But I love Google. Google has relatively simple, easy-to-use stuff that even technology dummies like myself can use and understand.

For example, Google Analytics is a wonderful thing.

It tells me when someone from a random city like Atlanta, Georgia is on my blog, which posts they were looking at, on which day and for how much time.

Brilliant stuff, really. Kudos to Google.

Train Observations

The number of times people will step on your shoes is directly proportionate to how nice and expensive they are.

Hm. Who knew?!

You'd think the end of something that you invested time, effort and money into would matter to you. Just a little bit.

But strangely enough, it doesn't. It's another day. And really, things are just fine as they are.
No, actually they're better! Because I'm minus some really despicable excess baggage, with a whole new load of self esteem and worth, and the realisation that I really am quite lovely.

My definition for being 'a good person' has reverted to what it used to be - not the ones that help the poor and donate to the church, but people who do exactly what they please, and don't pretend to be something they're not. I like people that take a bribe and make no excuses for it, or people that sleep around and don't apologise for not having a devoted, committed relationship. Not that I condone what they do, but I like the honesty that comes with it.

Pretence; that's just evil walking around in a person.

So, in view of the fact that I'm devoid of any life-threatening illnesses, have a great circle of family (thanks Mum for having all four of us!) and friends, and an incredible year ahead of me in the home of the English accent - I'm going to have a hell of a time!

And of course, make no apologies for it.

Inclination

You're like an old, comfortable habit.

I could slip back in sync with you and dance to any old tune,
we fall into rhythm just that easily.
It's a year gone by, or two, and still it's yesterday

No awkward moments of small talk and unnecessary politeness.
But there are reasons we don't write, don't keep in touch and don't talk about each other
and they have nothing to do with bitterness or hope, thank God!
I'm just never quite sure...that we can pick up where we left off,
is a good thing or bad.

T-Shirt in desperate need of making for sale on local Harbour-Line trains

"I am getting off at CHEMBUR! Not Kurla, not GTB, not Vashi. CHEMBUR!!!
Now please for the love of God, STOP TAPPING MY SHOULDER EVERY SINGLE BLOODY DAY AND ASKING ME THE SAME QUESTION!!!!"

P.S. No I will not give you my seat because I do not believe in reservations of any form or type.