Got a few stories of my own.

P mailed us all a link yesterday - Cassette from my ex-lover.

I read it this morning - accounts and fairy tale-like stories of women who've been gifted mixed tapes by their boyfriends. I remember those days too. The only difference was, i used to get my own mixed tapes recorded and gift them to myself. Yeah i know, i can see the 'L' blazing on my forehead.

But there was this one guy - incidentally, my first ummm...love - who put together a tape. And included a song in it that he completely detested, only because i liked it so much. I was touched.

They're all right, those women who shared their accounts and playlists with the world on the site/blog: first loves ARE something else. Mine lasted four years, and ended in him getting married to someone else. Sigh. Heartbreak High.

I must admit, though, those were some of the best years of my life. The sort of silly things we did, despite him being six years older. Those secret rendezvouses, the long walks in the nights (uh, no, we were never alone on these), the group outings with me travelling on his Suzuki Samurai, him picking me up sometimes and dropping me off to school (!) and later, college. I remember each moment so clearly after all these years, it seems like only yesterday.

I still have those mixed tapes. Just haven't gone back to listening to them. Perhaps i'm a bit afraid to open up Pandora's Box and let out all those things again.

P.S, here's the link: http://www.cassettefrommyex.com/

Heady, heady weather.

It started out with the sky turning a sullen-yellow that turned into sepia. The wind blew, the young trees bent in submission as it rushed past leaf after leaf. I stood outside, letting it whip my hair into a streaked frenzy. Watched the good-looker from two offices away as he bent over the cemented railing to let the breeze really hit him. Paid attention to the splendid colours of the sky once more, breathed deep the smell of nature and impending rain.

I love this weather. Reminds me that this is all it takes to lift my spirits and sweep them high above the clouds, straight into heaven. My life is full. I need nothing else now.

My bucket list.

This is for you, A. Pretty simple, really. And my bucket list - things to do before i kick the bucket - hasn't changed too much over the last eight years.

• Own a penthouse with a lovely sit-out with a mini-garden, and a glass roof in the bedroom that slants towards the ground. (This one you obviously know.)
• Learn to play the drums, perhaps even the violin if i have the time.
• Visit Egypt and Switzerland.
• Climb the Telephone Tower in R.T.Nagar and watch the world right from the top.
• Float.

Random-oxide.

I drove today. After close to three months. Without incident.

I made up a chorus last night: "I wanna see, wanna hear no more/ come back to me and i'll show you the door". I don't know where the silly thing came from, considering i was in the middle of watching the RC vs DD match.

Reminds me, i love the concept of the DLF IPL. I'm hooked onto it, and how. I can bet my left arm that the TRP ratings must have shot through the roof. Ya, so cricket zealots believe it's a violation of the sacred spirit of the game and blah blah blah but, think about it - globalisation's so effectively demonstrated (!). Sure, the players are auctioned and bought, but isn't that how cricket has been in the past handful of years? Personally, i think the IPL only sort of brings transparency and openness to the money-minting angle.

I was thinking about... it. Realised that after all that has happened, if things should work out between him and me tomorrow, i'm not sure i'd want it anymore. It's the whole once-bitten twice-shy syndrome. Besides, there's way too much bitterness now for the feeling to be dislodged easily. I have become a sad, withdrawn, bitter person.

There was also something else i was thinking about - how people fall in and out of marriages. And i realised, it isn't courage that makes a person take the 'right decision' and opt to stick in the marriage: essentially, we're all cowards and don't have the balls to break away from something that's been a part of our lives for however long, regardless of how traumatic it's been. What does take courage is to opt out of it, because then you're pep-talking yourself out of taking the easy way out. Some would call the latter a selfish act, an act that brutally disregards family (values, name, heritage etc.) and systems. I think it's a matter of perspective, and letting your needs drive your decisions.

I love my mother. I love the fact that she's so young, so caring, so in love with everybody around her that she'd so anything for them. (Which is not something i can say for myself.) I want to understand my father better - he's so quiet about what goes on inside of him that the rare emotional outbursts that happen seem like freak incidents that can only be ignored.

I want to live alone. I do. I want to find myself a comfortable 1 bedroom penthouse, do it up simply - more minimalistic than anything else - and fill it up with warmth and the smell of cooking. I want to listen to good music while i do this, and make weekends last forever and read books and sleep as much as i want and just not worry about where life is taking me.

I don't want to live very long, though. Perhaps 50 is good enough for me. That's 25 years left to do everything else i want to. Hmmmm...

Conversation.

*Tring Tring*

Oh, sorry. Wrong beginning.

*Vibraaaate vibrate!*

"Hello?"
"Kya hai bey kuttey?"
"Bhak saaley"
"Bhak madar****"
"Bhak t*** m** k*"
"Bhak cho**"
"Chup bey madar****"
"Chup bey l****"
"G*** mara bey b***** ke"
"Tu mara bey b***** pappu"
"Achcha waisey phone kyun kiya?"
"Aisey hi, gaaliyan dene ke liye."
"Oh achcha, theek hai. Ho gaya na? Chal abhi rakh."
"Rakh l****, rakh."
"Tu rakh bhen****"
"Haan theek hai. Kutta saala."
"Chup bey madar****."
"Haan theek hai, chal bye."
"Haan bye."

By far, one of the most fun and dirty conversations i have had in a really long time.

Oh, which reminds me (actually, 'dirty' reminds me), my friend G called this morning. Like his calling itself wasn't an event, he called at 3:40 a.m. Trying to go all husky and sexy on me saying, "I just felt like waking you up from your sleep." And then he offered to hang up - an offer that wasn't genuine, of course, but i took it up anyway because i was dying to curl up and go back to bed. And he went all abusive and tried dirty talking, which of course didn't work either because all the dirty talk we have is because of the lack of better things to talk about. Besides, he thinks he's this complete stud, so there's not much one can do except ask him to go get his job done somewhere else. All said and done, though, he's the one i talk to when i need serious advise - and one that makes sense.

So anyway, after i went to sleep, i had two very bizarre dreams - one of which i screamed my lungs out in, in absolute mental distress because a bunch of security guards were giving me a lot of unnecessary grief about a parcel. And the other one in which it seemed like all the world's zoos were let loose and animals were as free to move around as people. So there were snakes hanging down from trees like branches, sharp-eyes crocs doing the rounds in drains and sewers while ocassionally putting their heads out on to the roads to survey their chances of food, monkeys (like we don't have enough of the two-legged kind already) and God-knows-what-else.

Between yesterday and today, these are the interesting things that have happened to me so far. The fact that i'm sitting with my nose covered because S at work is giving out acidic fumes of body odour, is not something we need to get into details about. Sometimes i think he wears that smell with pride - some mad scientist (remember Roald Dahl's Bitch?) must have told him that the scent will unknowingly creep up into women's nostrils and attract them to him like moths to a lamp. Tch tch. What these young boys won't do for Lays these days. (Oh my go, it rhymes. It rhymes!)

Oh, Horror!

My phone rang at 8:30 last night, and i wondered why R was calling me. Putting it down to confirming my ticket at K's dance performance, i answered with a sing-song "Hello!"

"Quick, tell me a funny story. Now. Or i'm going to lose it." Stumbling, fumbling in the crevices and folds of my brain for something that would make her laugh, i said the first thing that came to my mind: "Once upon a time, there was a rat who used to roam around here and there. One day, a thorn pierced his bum..." and stopped because it sounded so lame to my own ears.

It hit home then. I don't know a funny story. Any funny story. And to think i'm supposed to be a funny person. I'm terrible at funny stories when people are down, but great at drawing them out and gettting them to talk about it. (Which is why, primarily i tell everybody in shit to "talk it out" with the concerned parties.) But now, i've decided to go about memorising funny stories with a vengeance. One never knows when they might come in handy.

Oh, i just remembered one that has never falied to make me laugh till date - A was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and i was sitting in the hall watching TV and talking to her. A2 was as usual messing around with A, then suddenly he left the hall and walked into his bedroom rapidly like his ass was on fire. Seconds later, i hear a "Prrrrrrrr!" and A2 emerges, looking like nothing's happened, like walking into the bedroom was the most natural thing in the world to do. Only, he didn't count upon the farting noise being so loud that i could hear it out in the hall. He looked at me rolling on the diwan and laughing my guts out at his crackpot behaviour and i still can't get over his expression - somewhat like a startled rabbit caught making out in the forest or something in the dead of night! Hyuck hyuck! The moron!

Thrilled to bits about my weekend.

My reports came on Friday, and got me feeling extremely low. I've got severe Hypothyroidism and a bunch of other equally bad diseases.

So i needed something to feel better about over the weekend. And that something came in the form of movies. Two movies back-to-back at Inox on Saturday, and one on Sunday. Family time too.

Watched Speed Racer with my cousins and mom; and loved, completely loved the movie. Getting out of the theatre, we decided to go in for another one - The Water Horse. After Speed Racer, it sort of faded in comparison. The colours, treatment, everything was so completely different. Yesterday i watched Bhootnath - the first half is pretty enjoyable and then they go right ahead and screw up the second half badly. Maybe the guys were at a loss on how to end the movie, so did what they did.

Then we headed to the Food Court, where i stuffed my face with lots of food (duh!). Chocolate Mousse, Chocolate Gateaux, Chicken Kabab, Caramel & Nuts ice cream... basically, all things sweet because from today, i go off them.

It was a super duper weekend. And i spent a lot of time with family. So i like it. I'm beginning to feel like the old days again. Yay.

Now let me tell you about my visit to the 'Hostile Hospital'.

Not really a hostile hospital, but it just sounded nice because it's Snickety. After days and months of near-panic that i was suffering from multiple illnesses - thanks to the regularity with which i have been falling ill - i decided to take the plunge. So i went to Elbit.

The family wanted to come along. And i told them there were some facts of life they were better left in the dark about - like perhaps my liver being damaged because of excessive alcoholism, or my uterus doubling as a breeding ground for cysts and fibroids and stuff. Actually, i didn't really say all that. I couldn't. So i quietly let my mother accompany me.

At the reception, i asked for the Healthy Woman Exam. The first thing she asked me, of course, was if i was married. And i told her i was single. "Then you can't take the test ma'am. It has a Paps Smear test." Thinking i had heard wrong, i asked her again. And she answered in almost the exact same words: I wasn't married, so i couldn't take the Paps Smear test, therefore the Healthy Woman exam. Obviously, i had to let the matter rest because mom was around, otherwise i'd have asked her if her recruitment had virginity as one of the qualifications for employment, or by some chance, her name was Mary with a 'Saint' thrown in somewhere for good measure. Bloody hell. My single status isn't necessarily proof of anything innocent. Or deprived. What if it turns out later that i've actually been suffering from AIDS and could have been cured if i could have had it diagnosed today? What if i have some other horrific disease of the sort? What if? Huh?

Benignly smiling at her, i opted for the Executive Health Check-up. Mom and i stepped into the lift - more like a cage of flimsy metal dangling in mid-air because we could see a gaping hole in the earth under the lift. Needless to say, the urine sample was not a tough job at all considering i was all set to pee in my pants all the way to the second floor, praying to God to spare me the irony of plunging me to my death in a hospital.

The blood samples were a little more painful though. I was completely fascinated by the colour of my own blood - a deep, dark red. I was even more fascinated by what seemed like bubbles spurting forth into the container. "You think those are bubbles? How will bubbles get into the blood?", asked the guy who was drawing it from me. "That is fat."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't know who was more disgusted - him or me. I realised i couldn't get away with pinning it all down to voluptousness. It was sick, greasy fat. Ugh. I really, really have to work it all off.

I also know now why the canteen food is so average too. If people get such bad news all the time, they'll be more than happy to eat the bland food thinking its healthy.

Let me tell you about the creepy crawly night i had.

I slept like a baby last night after a really long time, at peace with the world. At least, i did till 3:30 a.m this morning. Which is when i felt a touch as light as feather on my right toe. Now this unbelievable phenomenon woke me up for two reasons: a) i sleep alone on a really tiny bed, so there's no chance that some man was feeling amorous at a godforsaken hour in the morning; and b) this fleeting touch was soon followed by a vigorous flapping of Geranium petal-sized wings.

I didn't feel scared, just irritated that my long-awaited peaceful sleep (those medicines the doc gave me must have really worked) should be disturbed by some stupid insect - which by the time i woke up fully, realised was a flying cockroach - that was fluttering around in my room. So i reached overhead for the K750i (no, it's not an insect repellant or a little gun designed to shoot at unsuspecting insects) and switched it to torch mode, to figure out where the cockroach had landed. There it was, crawling over the posters from college kept on top of the Godrej cupboard.

I did have the option of throwing the duvet over my head to stay cocooned and protected from the cockroach's prying antennae and hairy feet, but it was hot as Dante's Inferno. Reluctantly enough, i got out of bed to play the part of Death. And what an unglamorous role it was - with my phone in one hand throwing light on the spot where the cockroach was and a hawaii chappal in the other, i reached out slowly, carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike it.

Now... now... now... WHAM! I switched on the light in my room, took the limp little blackish-brown body, wrapped it in layers and layers of plastic bags and threw it in the kitchen dustbin so the sounds of its struggle to free itself wouldn't disturb my sleep. I even went so far as to go to the loo so i wouldn't have to get out of bed again.

Sighing, half-smiling in anticipation of some more hours of blissful sleep, i headed back to bed. Just to play it safe though, i left the light still switched on so i could check for other creatures hiding in the dents and crevices of my pillow and duvet before i settled in. And voila! I see Miss Charlotte dangling comfortably from her web halfway to my bed.

Now, i hate spiders more than anything else in the world. So even if it meant i would lose a few more minutes of sleep in trying to get rid of it, i would do it. And i did. Finally, throwing my duvet to the side, i melted into the groove of the mattress that was still warm from my hours in it, and hafl-closed my eyes. I could see flashes of lightning through the window in my parents' room across mine. I could hear the wind whooshing through the champak trees on the street outside. I could hear a dog yelping softly, a car zipping on the main road, the vigorous flapping of Geranium petal-sized wings in my room...

Bloody hell. There was no chance that stupid cockroach could've escaped my little trapping device so easily so fast, and this flapping was stronger. Which meant that another cockroach had adroitly found its way into my room. On came the torchlight again, up came the hawaii chappal in my hand. I searched for a minute, couldn't find the pest, admitted defeat and pulled my duvet up to my head. The cockroach could go soak its head somewhere.

I settled down immediately of course, but my brain didn't. So like a typical junkie suffering from hypochondriasis, i imagined tiny little creepy crawlies running marathons and relay races all over me. And i was left tossing restlessly in bed till 6:00 a.m. Like people count sheep to fall asleep, i tried hard to count the seconds that lapsed between each lightning strike showing in my parents' room. Nothing. I was as wide awake as an owl on caffeine. Then i tried scaring myself to sleep, imagining ghosts moving in the dark; instead ending up imagining ghosts of all the cockroaches and spiders and rats and what-nots taking their revenge by crawling all over me. Basically, i was back to being sleepless.

Approximately 30 minutes after i managed to fall asleep, i was woken up again by the sound of my alarm going off. Every nine minutes, at that. Just about enough time to let me fall asleep and jar me awake immediately.

Boy, what a bad night. I was left wondering this morning, as i got ready for work, if it wasn't a sign from God about my past life, or worse still, my future reincarnation. I'm not even considering it to be symbolic of the present, because i'm a bitch in my present life, not a pest that wakes people up from deep sleep and makes life miserable. (No, we're not going to go into the calls i make to people i know at bizarre hours after i'm fully high and happy.)

Enteric-coated Pantoprazole Sodium And Domperidone SR Capsules...

... whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I got the meds on Saturday after innumerable stomach aches and a much-needed visit to the doc. He prodded my belly like some newfoundland, asked me a few questions and then prescribed these with some other tablets.

And i'm supposed to be on a strict diet of home food - fat chance that's going to happen with my social life keeping me as busy as it is right now. Which is a good thing, it keeps my mind off other shit (except when i read Jodi Picoult and then, in a fit of overwhelming emotions i do stupid, self-destrucive things).

Life has been pretty helterskelter, pellmell, hooha, shoosha for the last...umm, four days. I enrolled myself into the Center for Film and Drama - sounds more intellectual than it actually is - where i get to watch international movies from across the world every weekend; played Baddy (Badminton) for an hour on a lovely Friday evening, post which N and I sprawled on the terrace, letting the wind sweep away the heat and sweat from our bodies. We spotted human satellites in the sky, watched the thunder roll in, and i wished upon a shooting star. Saturday night, caught up with H, her fiance and a couple of other people who don't deserve any mention here, over God knows how many shots and BMs and what-nots. Didn't eat a bite of food and still managed to wake up without any hangover from the previous evening. Yesterday, went for a book reading by the author of V.S. Naipaul's biography, Patrick French. Plus, i got an autographed copy of the book!

And in the middle of all this, i found time to groan and moan about my poor stomach. Despite the medicines - which i haven't been taking regularly - my tummy feels like it's made out of lead. Or perhaps it's a machine that makes weird gurgling noises and spews acids all day. I'm wishing i could stand with my hands spread wide, waiting for all these evil things i feel happening inside me to leave like the charm from Fiona's body (damn, i even look like her now - an ogress!). Only, it will be the spirits of junk food making a quick exit after having created a mini-zoo of a variety of bacteria and other micro-organisms.

Yappaaaa. I so badly need a pick-me-up right now. And not in the form of lines.