From the other side.

So right now, i'm at a tiny little coffee shop that serves delicious food. I'm here for a late lunch. Alone. But i'm not really alone because i have a very interesting conversation happening at the next table keeping me company.

An affair. Man is married. Woman has a daughter. Woman's upset about man's wife and him not spending time with her. Man's upset about some letter the woman's daughter wrote to him. Man's saying: "Even your daughter thinks that, so maybe i'm not worthy of you." Woman's saying: "I can't believe you're saying you want to break up with me. What will i do? Where will i go?" And man's saying that he wanted to break up in a fit of anger, because he was upset with woman and something she'd done (i can't figure out what) and so he thought he should break up. Of course, it's turning out that the man's wife is getting to know about this.

And so the conversation is going on.

Some of this is familiar territory. I've been there before. I've been the woman. I can tell what she's thinking, i can speak her words before she does. But thank goodness that's a part of a past that's so long gone that it's starting to get blurry. Still, this is so bizarre.

Maybe there's a reason i'm hearing this. Maybe i should walk over to their table and tell the woman, "Get out. He's never going to leave her." Maybe i should tell the man to grow some balls, man up and do the right thing. Or just leave her if he's going to treat her like a piece of shite.

Maybe some day they'll both be sitting together, or alone, and listening in on a similar conversation between somebody else.

Sigh. Life, i tell you. I'm off now to go and look this guy up on facebook because i'm curious. (Yes, i heard his name. And no, i'm not ashamed of eavesdropping.)

Oh well.

December's come and almost gone, the entire year's wasted away and i'm still left with a flourishing paunch and a whole lot of fat.

I paid through my nose for a gym membership. I tried kickboxing. I checked my thyoid levels over and over. Still no luck.

I don't enjoy gymming. I hate it. I find it pointless, and unnecessarily excruciating. Yes, one sees results, but gosh, do i have to go through all that torture to see them? Moan and groan and exhaust myself?

It's not like it's a new realisation. I've known that i don't enjoy gymming forever now. I enjoyed kickboxing, but it didn't become addictive enough. I like swimming. I like dancing. I enjoy the stillness of the mind that Yoga offers. But i just haven't been able to find any of those in places that are accessible.

So here i am, looking at all the pretty faces around me, knowing that i can be one too - if only i could get rid of all that rubbish and yeah, change my eating habits - but lazy and unable to do anything about it.

I lack discipline. And motivation. Ugh.

It's messing with my head. Not liking. Not liking at all.

Sugar Ray kind of day.

Two more places ticked off my travel wish list.

Rishikesh and Jaipur. After years of longing to travel to them, i managed to do it this year. Last week, in fact.

My colleagues (now friends) and I went on a rafting trip to Rishikesh, organized by Women on Wanderlust. And then we went to Jaipur. I love the stillness of nature camping at Rishikesh and the bustling life and colours of Jaipur. And now that i've broken the taboo on both places, i'll be visiting them again. Soon.

Yay me!

Fire.

There are two kinds of restlessness. Both make you uncomfortable. Both make you do things you wouldn't have thought you were capable of. Both have the ability to consume your senses and douse them in the kind of atomic movement that resembles the Doordarshan screen of the yesteryears during interruptions in telecasts.

But they're radically different, these two kinds of restlessness. One will make you feel like you're wasting away your time and depress you. And the other will make you feel like you're wasting time and will fire you up. It will not let you sit still in your chair, nerve endings wrung out as the fire pokes at your vey being, quietly droning Get up get up get up get up getupgetupgetupgetupgetup Do something do something do something dosomethinggetupgetupgetup and you feel the desperation of that fire. You feel that desire sweep through you and make you want to do something radical. Something you haven't done before or in very long. Something good. Like weave a story that's been forming in your head in bits and pieces for years. Or a poem that you've been indulging in foreplay with, but never quite managed to make torrid love to. Or draw. Just doodle. Or take up that abandoned plastic packet that makes crinkling sounds at the slightest touch but quiets down as you dip into it and fish out beads and wires and other such to string into beautiful forms and shapes.

Don't sit still and wait for it to pass - this fire doesn't light up too easily, or too often. So you can't afford to let it die in vain, because every time it comes alive, you come alive. In those moments, you are every maginificent thing you dreamt you would be. You are awesome. And you can make things happen.

My advice to you? Go feed it. It's exactly what i'm doing.

Why am i not blogging?

I have no idea.

Well, i kinda do.

Actually, no, i don't.

Maybe it's because there's nothing happening. Nothing major at least. Not yet, at least.

There are some cases of mistaken identities. Some of temporary insanity among people who were once familiar but are now growing into strangers because they're having trouble thinking straight. There's some growing familiarity with others.

There's work. And there's travel. I'm off this weekend for ten days to a place that i've been wanting to go to a long time.

And i still want to go to Goa. I miss Goa. I miss the beach.

I love my life. I wouldn't want to change places with anyone else.

And yet, i'm not blogging. I have no stories. Even if i do have them, i don't feel the inclination to share them. It's a weird state of...limbo.

I need things to move, so i can blog. Bah.

"So, what sort of music do you like?"

I've been asked this question too many times. And every time, my answer's the same. I like everything. Well, almost everything.
 
My BFsF have a theory: they think i prefer slow tracks. But today, when i was listening to a certain track, i realised what i love hearing: powerful beats. They could be slow, fast, but they just need to be powerful tunes. I can't describe it any other way, except i know that every time i hear one of the kind, my heart begins to pound, i feel a sense of restlessness and a desire to achieve something. To me, Satrangi from Dil Se is a powerful tune. Emily and the Woods' 'I can't steal his heart' is a powerful tune. And the one that made me realise my kind of music, Coke Studio's Madari is another.
 
So yeah, that's the kind of music i like. And if you haven't heard Madari yet, hear it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcI3VYhHtqs

Catching up on movies, courtesy British Airways.

BA pampers you with good food and good alcohol and soft blankets and cushions for your back, but best of all, it has awesome movies loaded on its in-flight entertainment units. I caught up with movies that i wanted to watch, and some that i stumbled upon. That's a total of six movies in 20 hours. Here are my two-bits about them.

The Avengers: Bleagh. Hulk is fun, Iron Man is Iron Man, and the rest are just yeah whatever. To be honest, i was quite disappointed. Also, the big question: Why are plots about aliens making a comeback? Is it because it's 2012 and the world's supposed to be ending?

Snow White and The Huntsman: Such trash. I fell asleep halfway through the movie and didn't bother watching the rest. The biggest mistake was casting that Kirsten Kristen whatever chick as Snow White. She's worse than Aishwarya Rai when it comes to emoting, really.

Dark Shadows: What happened to Johnny Depp and Tim Burton??? What happened to them??? I was looking forward to watching this one in the theatre and now i'm so glad that i didn't. Such a confused movie, doesn't know if it wants to be comic, tragic, tragicomic or just plain terrifying. Why Depp, why? *sniffle*

Madagascar 3: This is one movie whose sequels are as good as the first one. I watched it, enjoyed it, gaped and was carried away with it like a ten year-old in Disneyland. Gloria and Melman were awesome. Oh, and i heart Afro Circus!

Hysteria: I'm not a big fan of period movies, but this one was hilarious. A romantic comedy actually, but full of fire and pleasure and funny moments. The story's about a young doctor who wants to do remarkable things with medicine, but ends up curing women diagnosed with 'Hysteria' through therapy involving his...hands. Apparently, the movie is based on real events. And if that's so, then one of the porn industry's most-oved products really does have a fascinating history. Watch it and be entertained.

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World: If you had two weeks left before Armageddon, what would you do with them? Steve Carell doesn't really care because his wife has left him. Keira Knightly wants to meet her family. Events bring them together and they embark on a journey that results in a simple, beautiful movie. The soundtrack, a mix of popular songs from the 60s to the 80s, is melodious and works really well for the plot. And yeah, should i have been home, i would have bawled my eyes out. But i didn't want to scare the old couple sitting next to me, so i silently wept into my paper napkin leftover from a not-so-satisfying lunch. Get your hands on it and see. It is fully awwwwwww.

The Nebulous One is now a Phoren Return!

Well, so i didn't get to go to Goa...

But i went to London! For 10 days! 10 Freaking days!

Work took me there, but i extended my stay and my goodness, London is beautiful! It's just like Mumbai - a city whose rythm and way of life is easy to slip into. It's a big, big, big place with so much to see and do that i think i'm still having difficulty believing that i was there till yesterday.

 

More will be coming up soon on Potli Baba, but yeah, just wanted to give you guys a low-down. It's the reason why i've been absconding this last month, trying to get my paperwork etc. in place.

I'm so glad i got my passport done last year. (Sending up a silent prayer.)

"You talkin to me?"

This was taken sometime in October last year, when i drove down to Goa with Geek Boy. We spent an entire day beachspotting from Britto's after having bought ourselves new shades.

What an inactive, lazy day it was. Sigh.

Every time i close my eyes and think of Goa, i imagine myself on the beach, the wind in my hair, the sun in my eyes and a plate (or two) of food in front of me. Oh, the bliss.

It seems like ages sinc i last went there. It's time to go back. I'm coming Goa, i'm coming!

Oh, Hiatus, how i dislike you.

So i've been gone. For way too long i think. Let me see now, when was the last post written? 300 years ago? Yep, just as i thought.

Why haven't i been blogging here? For one, my baby wordpress blog is growing slowly and needs more love and attention, so i've been there. Then there's the twiddling of thumbs at work that's keeping me busy. And in the middle of this, there's been a bit of travelling on and off. And there are dance classes. Three more days to the Salsa Congress and i'm sweating bullets because not only have i not lost weight, my skin's decided to turn into a pimply 12-year old's and my body's acting up big time. I've been going easy on it but i think it's time to whip it into shape.

In other news, i spent the weekend in Wellington, Ooty. Sigh. Enough said. To give you a teaser of what it was like, let me share a picture with you. Here:

See what i mean? That place is colourful and quiet and so, so appealing. Will be posting about it on Potli Baba soon.

So yeah, that's that. Love life's been pretty cold, and there's no major upheaval happening otherwise. It's all calm. Hopefully there isn't a storm brewing.

Fingers crossed.

Songs for friends. Because you guys deserve it.

To the asshole who claims to be my friend but behaves like he's my husband, parent or the man to whom i owe my life. I owe you nothing, you jerk. This one's for you and your attitude. By all means, shove it up.

To the friend who needs to get a grip and move on already. This one is all yours.

The weirder you act, the more songs i will dedicate to you.

Honestly, what are the chances?

The day before, in the midst of a conversation with Achilles, i happened to ask him about a common friend i hadn't heard from in a while. The last time we spoke was when he had ass-dialled my number. (Ass dial, n., the phenomenon involving the phone in your back pocket dialling a random number on your contact list when you sit on your behind. And yes, i made the term up. Yay me.) Today, i got a call from him.

Just this evening, Sister K and i were bitching about a used-to-be-friend when The Boy came up in the conversation (in context, of course). Somehow, at that exact moment, i had a vague ESP of sorts - and this, i've been having on and off for a couple of weeks - and wondered, imagine the coincidence if he happens to call. Exactly 40 minutes ago, he called. From a local number. (I might be meeting him tomorrow.)

And like that's not enough, he had been on a road trip to Leh last month.

Uncanny, huh? Makes me feel like i should've spoken about things that i've been wanting to happen. Who knows, by some miracle of fate they would come to being...

Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend.

Sweet darling,

I have loved you from the first moment i tasted you on my lips. It's been a long, overwhelming love affair, sometimes accompanied by a shot of alcohol but always by epicurean orgasms. Every spoonful was a promise of better tomorrows, happy memories and lasting loyalties.

But i'm afraid it can't go on any more. Your love is doing nothing for my curves. The larger your temptation, the worse effect it has on my body fat. For the first time in all our years together, the fact that i stand to gain something from you is not a pleasing thought. That i have to lose everything you've given me, done for me since way back when i was a permed punk in college, is heartbreaking. Gut wrenching (and even that isn't going to melt all that lard, imagine).

I have to get away from you... I can't see you any more. Love you, touch you, feel you, taste you or experience your fullness, your lustiness. I don't know what i'll do when i do see you, but it definitely won't include sitting close to you, looking at you with starry eyes, sweet-talking you, asking you how your day was behind that cold display glass you call your home, and - not able to bear it a second longer - ravishing you with passion. No, it won't be all that.

I must forget you.

I know you'll never understand, but i hope that some day, you'll forgive me.

Always your lover,
N

Silence while the Brandy+Hot water+Honey speaks!

I'm back from a fun night with a whole bunch of people i have never quite hung out with before - including someone i cannot stand at all. (I have imagined a conversation in my head: if somebody tells me that she's good fun and i should hang out with her more often, i will turn around and tell them that i will hang out with her when she and i stop being professionally attached. Until then, i will hate her.) I went out with a bunch from office to Monkey Bar. Chilled out. Nice place. Decent crowd. Actually, ogle-able crowd. Yumm food. I must go out more often!It's been a day of... well, a weird kinda day. I made a friend at work thinking that i needed new friends, and the times that we hang out, i'm mostly silent. Conversation is slightly superficial. I have nothing to say. I don't know what's wrong.
Is it weird that i'm posting at... 1:35 a.m in the morning? See, my laptop was on Sleep mode and i had to switch it off before i went to sleep so i thought i'd log in and check mail and stuff and this just happened because there's a lot i'm holding back today and i don't want to hold it in any more.

I've been extremely angry since yesterday. I want to give a lot of people a piece of my mind because their attitude is pissing me off big time. Sometimes i wonder why i even bother with them. But then i realise that they're friends, and that when i make people my friends, they automatically win the right to trample over me. I guess they forget to read the little clause next to the asterisk that says, "Ocassionally, you shall get as good as you receive". But then i get down to wondering if it's my thought process that's skewed and that they might actually be in the right and i in the wrong. And then i get confused and don't think about it any more.
Riding helps rid me of my anger. I zip on the roads and zag through traffic, and it's a cathartic feeling. Today, as i was riding to physio (yeah, major health issues, don't even get me started), going at 70 on M.G.Road, only one thought was on replay in my mind: I hope i hit a vehicle and get distracted enough to stop feeling so angry. And every time, this thought was followed by a vehement NO. I didn't really want to hit anybody. All i wanted to do was scream. Loud enough to get people within a mile to wobble on their two wheelers. Get all that anger out of my system. Anger that people judged and assumed and lied and were apparently being thoughtful for me when actually, they were worried about themselves and their association with me. But it didn't happen. I just couldn't scream. So i kept on riding. I'm unscarred, physically at least. It's like Udupi Krishna (a guy i used to bully in jest a lot at my first workplace) used to say: "One day, this volcano will burst. And then you will see."

I like the high Brandy gives me. It doesn't create a fog in my head and place my brain right in the middle of it. In fact, my head's fine. My body, on the other hand, is showing signs of tipsy-ness.

I discovered Bonobo today. And this particular song of theirs triggered a story in my head. Difficult love, surviving the odds like a first time-lucky Poker player. The man on a bicycle, the woman in a bus. Their so-common-but-so-uniquely-theirs love story. Their happy ending - in the back of an open lorry; wind rushing through their hair, content smiles on their faces made bigger by the force of the air trying to peel the skin off their faces as it whizzes past - like everything they need to live a good life has taken the form of the other person; lusty green trees on either side; blue skies above, tarred road behind, tarred road ahead, disappearing into the horizon; travelling, travelling... getting away...

Today, secrets were revealed to the family in passing.

Yesterday was a scarring family evening.

And we're all stories waiting for our happily ever afters.

Blind Faith.

An interesting thing happened yesterday. I spent a few hours at Grandmom's place last afternoon. My youngest cousin, all of seven years old, chatted away incessantly as i lay sprawled on the sofa in the drawing room, all sad and depressed about life. Suddenly, fully excited, she left the room and came back carrying a 30 cmX30 cm square that looked like a doormat with spikes. It was an accupressure thingie that people are supposed to stand on and well, heal themselves.

I didn't bother standing on it. Instead, i rested my feet as i sat on the sofa. Very agitated by my behaviour, my cousin scolded me and then proceeded to stand on it herself. If you stand on this, she said, all your health problems will go and you'll live longer; maybe 100 years even.

Really? I replied. Yes, she said, see, i'm doing it no? I'll live for very long, 100 years, 6000 years even!

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her older sisters and i pounced on them, forcing them to surrender their false promises under the glare of our we-know-better eyes: 6000 years? Really?

She thought about it for a split second and with a confidence stretching beyond her years, replied, If God wills it, yes.

We admitted defeat. After all, there isn't much one can say to that.

Speed Demon and the missing ID.

I'm a man.

Well, at least when it comes to riding. I zip i zap i zoom i bend around curves like a racer and abuse people on the road with an "Eyyyyyy!" growled out like some gangster and generally wreak havoc. The only womanly thing i do when i'm on the bike is dangle my legs the old-fashioned Bollywood way in tune to the common and irritating 'Lalalalalalalala' background music of songs.

Yesterday, i was taught my lesson.

I met Sister K and her friend at WoodStock for lunch. (I had a big glass full of Kahlua Mousse that was dipped and bathed in Kahlua. Like the Kobe cows in whose skin beer is routinely - and lovingly - rubbed in, it seemed like the Mousse ingredients were infused with copious amounts of Kahlua individually, mixed, and were then doused in some Kahlua. That's how strong it was. And delicious.) Because i was getting late for work, i ran out, wore my helmet, wrapped my work ID-cum-swipe card around the bike handle, jumped on the seat and zipped. Three minutes away from work, as i was gloating about the fact that i managed to make it back in record time, i looked down at my dangling ID card to make sure it wasn't flying away.

The ID had gone. Vanished. No clue where, when or how. Wait, i figured the how. The hook that holds the ID card to the rest of the noose that's supposed to go around my neck was loose. The ID had fallen out.

I had to retrace my steps all the way back to WoodStock. And i had to do it real...slow. My panic was not how i would get back to work, but what the possibilites of a fake ID could be for anybody who could find it. It had my name, accompanied by a grumpy picture of me. I'm a Muslim, they could use that information and make me a terrorist!

Heart pumping, i went back. No, i crawled back on my bike, scanning every inch of the asphalt for a rectangular patch of plastic. People honked, some shouted, some tried to run me down (almost), but i didn't care. I needed my ID back, that's all that mattered.

I finally found it near WoodStock, on the service road i travelled back on. I was so overjoyed that i could have kissed it hard and long, except that many tyres had already left their mark on it. I did bite it, though. Okay, i bit the hook of the noose after inserting the ID to stop it from falling out ever again.

And then all the way back, i thanked God a bazillion times for not letting my ID fall into anybody's hands. And to show my gratitude some more, i rode back slow. Real slow. 

What if we've got evolution all wrong?

What if evolution was meant to get simpler, and not more complicated? If we're the beginning of the chain of things, with complexities and emotions and feelings and needs and wants and desires and all that? And that, as we actually evolved, we got simpler, less complex, more focused, clearer about who we were, what we were and what our purpose was? So that when we reached the single cell stage, we were stripped of thoughts and emotions and feelings and physical needs and knew just to multiply without a fuss? And what if then the single cell became a dot and ultimately vanished, and that was what death was?

What if we've got evolution all wrong, and that it's actually backwards? That this is not really evolution, but devolution? And that's why we suffer so much and are so uncomfortable in our skins, constantly seeking something, something elusive?

A workout by another name.

It's called an Insanity workout, but those of us attending kickboxing classes know it as, well, kickboxing. 50% of this is what our instructor makes us do. And he pushes us and pushes us and pushes us till we just want to kill him. It's also really true, this kind of workout will do miracles for people with a will power, because when your body gives up under the strain, only that will propel you. But i can guarantee, it's a physical high unlike any you'll have ever experienced.

In other news, i haven't gone for kickboxing in three weeks because of health issues, and i can see two months of hardwork unravelling as i eat and don't exercise. I miss it. I need to get back to it soon.

I need those abs by the end of this year.

Friday night.

I have no idea after how long i went out to socialise. I felt like a turtle emerging from its shell, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, like a marmoose...never mind, you get the drift.

It was a hip-hop party. And in keeping with the theme, i wore a black dress with a slightly plungy neckline covered up by a series of strings of silver pearls. And i wore silver pencil heels.

And i danced. And danced and danced and danced.

And i died. Because i made a grave error in judgement - i wore heels and danced thinking i could take it. As a matter of fact, i couldn't.

My legs felt like they were full of tiny soldier corpuscles that were tearing through my muscles in their fight to emerge into daylight. They hurt like mad. They're still hurting, which is why i've taken so long to post this.

And i think i bust my right knee in some way. I can't step too hard, otherwise i collapse like a ton of bricks.

Bottom line, never wear heels and dance. Especially high pencil heels. Especially when you know you're no longer 21 and 52 kilos. Glamour can go soak its fucking head, just be comfortable because remember, you have to live in your body for the rest of your life. And i can assure you that right now, my body's not too happy with me or my brain.

On the brighter side of things, the party was good fun, like a coming-back celebration. I'm half-out of my comfortable, numbing shell now; it's only a matter of time before the other half comes out.

Sugar rush.

I'm not a big fan of U.S.Pizza pizzas, but their brownies? Ohmigodtheirbrowniesaretodiefor! A layer of walnuts followed by a gooey, sugary centre and a fine base. So sinfully good that i think i am bordering on the obsessive. And they're close to my workplace. So maybe i'll order a batch every day.


Yum.

Uncommon knowledge about The Nebulous One.

I love wrapping presents. And i'm quite good at it.


I wanted to be an Archaeologist when i grew up.


I used to love writing poetry in my younger days. Now i love writing short stories.


I used to laugh a lot and be happy most of the time. I miss those days.


First nights spent all alone in new or unknown places always keep me up till dawn. I only fall asleep when i see the first rays of the sun.


I cry when i watch movies.


I'm an only child. But i've always wanted an elder brother.


I never stop fighting for the things i believe in, unless the thing i'm fighting for shows that it's pointless to fight. Sometimes, i don't stop even then.


I know what it's like to wait for someone you know is The One.


In my moments of absolute guilelessness, i'm quite an accident-prone person.

Happiness is a dash of Yellow.

This picture takes me to a happy place. I hope it does the same for you.

Prodigy Friday.

So this is how easy starting over is.

I came back from a week in Leh on Saturday. Anything i say about the place won't come close to what it really is. And it's supremely beautiful in every way.

I went with 15 other women, all of them total strangers brought together by Women on Wanderlust. It was a great experience. I made new friends, had loads of fun and was glad that i was with a group of women who were mostly non-bitchy and non-political but so game to change plans and try new things.

It was like starting a new life. Starting over. I didn't want to hear from anybody back home. I didn't think of the life that existed, waited for me back in Bangalore. I only called my parents. I had no desire to talk to anybody else. I wanted to be nobody's shoulder to cry on, ray of hope, or world of love. I wanted to be, for me. I didn't think. Imagine that! I didn't THINK! I was lost in the scenic beauty of Leh. There was no work, no love, no worry, no stress, nothing. Just taking the day as it comes; having fun didn't take any effort. And that's when i realised that it would be so easy to let go of everything, of everyone. It would probably be a good thing too, because Leh healed me in ways i didn't think was possible. It did so much good to me without my realising it.

I hate being back. I've had severe fits of anger already, and fights that could have been avoided. But it's true. I still want my escape. I want it to last longer. I don't want to get back to my life. I'm being forced to, but bloody hell i'm going to put up a fight.

This time tomorrow...

... I'll be spending the night at an unfamiliar airport. Waiting to board an early morning flight to an unfamiliar place. But over the next six days, i hope to get familiar with it. Soak it in. Smile a lot. Experience a certain lightness of the heart and mind. Take decent pictures with my new 16GB card. Wear new clothes. Pack stuff in a new strolley i bought this evening. Wear new shades. Make new friends, perhaps. And come back refreshed.

Pray that i survive the night tomorrow. And the nights away from home that will follow it.

Planting a thought: our life revolves around four-letter words. Mostly.

s ago, in a moment of shared solitude, a couple of us got talking about life. And one of us came up with this theory: four letter words ruin our lives.Weeks ago, in a moment of shared solitude, a couple of us dug a little deep into our souls for answers to things that were happening to/around us. One of us then came up with this hypothesis, so to speak: our lives are ruined and ruled by four letter words.

Don't think it's true? See.

Love. Life. Fuck. Hate. Feel. Hope. Real.

Haven't we all fallen on our faces because of at least two of those words? I have, because of all.

'Kill Me' for the day.

Q: What are love bites given in a drunken state called?
A: Hic-ies.

Why Jensen Ackles's character in Supernatural and I are kindred souls.

We're both tortured souls.

We've got strong defense mechanisms in place - hard, uncaring, cold on the outside. But when stripped off the layers, not-so-bad people underneath.

We're both kidas by nature.

We say it like it is, no mincing words.

When it comes to loving people, there are no half-measures. It's all in or nothing.

Our gut drives us.

We've got our inner demons waging a war against us, and we're losing steam battling them. But hell, we're still putting up a fight.

We're both badass.

That's a good start, i think.

Picture courtesy: http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/

It's alright.



I can feel that honeyed voice next to my ear, that hand holding mine, consoling me, telling me that it's going to be okay. Just, give it some time. I doubt it will be, but i'll heed your advice Corinne Bailey Rae, because you make me believe in it.

Note to self.

All it takes is a moment of weakness. A moment of extreme vulnerability that you cannot fight, do not want to fight. And so you give in. You set aside the weeks and weeks of resistance, a tiny glimmer of light that there can be life beyond this - even if it's not the life you want - you set aside all of that and you take that step.

Somewhere deep down, you know it's probably not the right thing to do. But you WANT to do it. You believe that the weeks of resistance have earned you this little moment of letting your self-control slip. In fact, you believe you deserve it. And then, oh you poor delusional soul you, you believe that you can handle it.

Truth is, you can't. You can't deal with it. This was a mistake, you'll hear yourself say in your head. You'll let go and admit to being in love still, and with that you'll go right back to being hurt and feeling neglected and alone and desperate for attention from that one person who isn't giving it to you. There will be so many questions in your head, questions that run behind the answers you need, but you'll never ask them. Because you know that the answers you get are never going to be the one that satisfies you. In all likelihood, it'll just irritate and hurt you more.

You'll want him to open his eyes, to see, SEE, how easily you two fit together and slip into the normalcy of things. But he won't. Because he's him. And it's because he's him that you're so mad about him.

But you have to understand that it's also because he's him that you're in this state at all.

So yes, it really is easy to give in to weakness. But it won't do you any good, it'll never do you good. The why is simple, really. He doesn't want it.

Things you won't learn from Americans about Barbecues.

So, you know how when it's summer, Americans love making the most of it and spending the day out at the back of their houses BBQ-ing and sipping on some beer and making it all look like a breeze? Well, it's not as easy as it looks, i can assure you.

In our excitement to try out the newly-acquired barbecue and grill set at grandma's place today, my mother went and bought herself some boneless chicken, mushrooms, capsicums and giant-sized onions. And then, true chef style, she proceeded to marinate the chicken and dice the veggies. While i rode around town looking to buy coal for the barbecue, and came back with five kilos worth of coal and grubby black hands. (Coal's pretty cheap, by the way. 18 bucks for a kilo.)

Then we proceeded to figure out the best place to set up the barbecue. The space in front of the house was not an option because we didn't want the neighbours to see us. (Thank God we didn't grill out in the front, but for entirely different reasons.) We tried setting it up in the kitchen but that would mean the ceiling would resemble a black hole once we were done. Terrace, no. Too much work to shuttle between upstairs and downstairs for everything, plus it was hot. Since our choices were limited, the only one left was the back passage. So we set it up.

Next, i proceeded to line the base of the barbecue with foil. And then i put the coal grill on it. And then i put the grill. Now this is where it gets interesting: the instructions said, "Pour cooking oil or kerosene over the coal, and in 20-30 minutes, the coals should be hot enough to barbecue stuff on it." Because we're not Kerosene people, we poured cooking oil generously, lit a match and threw it on the coal with smug grins.

And then we waited. And waited. And kept waiting.

We poured more cooking oil. My mother tore up some cloth from somewhere, lit that and put it in. We burned 10 newspapers. We went to two neighbours begging for Kerosene.

Nada.

"You have to fan the flames!", said my cousin.

By then, i was sitting cross-legged in front of the barbecue, willing the coals almost telepathically to burst into flames. I turned to her and said, "Yes, for that, we need to have fire. We don't."

After half an hour of futile paper-burning, emptying three quarters of the big Homelite matchstick box and my mother throwing weirdass shit like Vinegar - that's how desperate we were - to set the coals on fire - my granmother, who had quietly been hearing the commotion from her bedroom, decided to put us out of our misery - "There's Kerosene under the sink!"

I don't think any of us have ever been so ecstatic to see fire as we were when we doused the coal in Kerosene and lit it up. It was be-yoo-ti-ful. So lesson number one: Use Kerosene only.

Then, the instruction manual said, fan the flames. Now that was a family affair. With the exclusion of my grandma and one of my cousins, every one of us took turns at fanning the flames. We're very proud of the little mound of muscle we've developed on our arms - some left, and some right. Because fanning the flames is a TIRESOME PROCESS! My God, i've never exerted myself so much physically other than in  kickboxing! Like, what the hell is that? And the bloody coals were kinda damp, so it took forever to get them going! So that's lesson number two: Always use dry, porous coal. And lesson number three: Get some serious fanning equipment so you won't need ten fans for yourself when you're done.

We started building the coal fire at 12:30 and were at it till 3:45. By the end of it, we weren't pretty sights. My hands were stained black and would have seemed more at home on a mechanic or a ragpicker. I still can't get the grub out from under my nails. Our faces were stained black. And the house, despite the verandah grilling, was full of smoke. And that's the biggest lesson from this thing: Barbecueing ain't no joke. You have to get down and dirty and sweaty and icky. Summer picnics and tables set on the lawn with pretty children running around and the mother smiling in a pretty summer dress as the dad looks on, giving a wideass smile and is giving you two thumbs-up? It's a myth. American fiction. An absolutely evil plot by hyper-imaginative minds to lure you into buying barbecue sets.

And that's the biggest lesson out of the BBQ: If you really have to, get somebody else to do the dirty work for you. You just sit and eat. Because the only good thing coming out of the entire process is the food. Amen.

Have you ever rode in the rain?

I'm happy to say that Bangalore's stopped being a moody bitch and gone back to being its usual calm, composed self. It's been raining here almost every day. And every night. When there's no rain, there's a cool breeze soothing people's tempers and making up for the lack of April/May showers.

Catholic Club will have hosted its annual Mango Showers again. Traffic will be horrible everywhere (I spent half an hour on the roads on my way to kickboxing class, trying every possible shortcut i knew. In the end, i threw a fit on my bike, behaved like an immature stuntwoman, hurt myself a little and made it to class half an hour late). Love will blossom alongside the little buds on freshly-greened trees. And i will ride in the rain.

It's a lovely feeling, it is. Now that i have mastered the trick of braking right, i enjoy the soft pitter patter of rain drops as i ride slowly, taking comfort in everybody else's hurry to get home while i sail away in no rush whatsoever. Sometimes, i stop by Di's workplace and meet her at the Chai shop for a piping hot plastic cup of tea that's the size of my thumb. We talk about things. What's happening, what's new, how the plants in her balcony garden are growing, how i'm doing. The sun filters through the leaves, my helmet shows off its bald, dewy head, and all is well with the world.

Except, sometimes, when our little chats have ended on a melancholic note, i never know if the rivulets of water flowing down my face are raindrops or tears.

Picture shot with my Sony Ericsson J10i2 camera.

I would like to...

- Wake up feeling like i have a fresh start
- Receive flowers
- Go on long drives on good days, with music and a map for company
- Receive flowers
- Wear hickies with pride
- Sleep for two whole days
- Be told "I love you" every once in a while
- Travel for the rest of my life
- Own a piece of land with a farmhouse and a bunch of 200 year-old trees
- Grow a lemon tree
- Make people understand that i can't always be strong
- Be taken care of sometimes
- Have my space sometimes
- Own my own place and do it up and throw parties and dinners and lunches and movie nights
- Age gracefully

When words just don't do the job.

There's been a raging war inside my head, between Me and Me, trying to resist/give in to calling you. I wonder how long the battle's going to last. I wonder who's going to win.

Stuffed turkey.

When i get down to thinking about it, i realise that i share a lot of traits with the flightless bird of Thanksgiving. We're both:

- Short and stout.

- Restless.

- Blessed with a sixth sense that tells us when we're in danger.

- Beautiful looking. When compared to the Archaeopteryx at least.

- Fated to get stuffed with food, regardless of whether we will it for ourselves or not.

But we both definitely don't share a bald patch and the little appendage dangling under the chin. (Thank God for small mercies.)

To elaborate on the last common trait, Sister K and i took my cousins to a new eat-out in Indiranagar. As an aside, the speed at which places are coming up in that area, it'll soon replace the astonishing fact that six babies are born across the world every second. So, anyway, this place is called California Pizza Kitchen - CPK for short - but it looks more like Buckingham Palace's dining room in size. The food isn't bad but not as tastefully done as the decor of the place.

As is always the case with us, we over-ordered. And we struggled to finish it. And just BECAUSE i am BIG, i am always treated as the disposal bin into which all leftovers go. So i ended up eating quite a bit and then, because i'm a moron like that, we ordered dessert too. In all fairness to Sister K, she ate most of the dessert. I ate some and then felt bad for the table because it hadn't had any to eat, so left some for it too. My cousins ordered for the Ice Cream Sundae and almost gagged at the sight of a giant glass full of ice cream, cream, nuts and chocolate that arrived. Of course i bullied them into eating it all up, and of course i took generous bites of it too, thinking it would melt through and fill the little nooks and crannies of my stomach.

But, surprisingly, on the way to drop my cousins off at Grandma's, i realised that there have been worse stuffed turkey days in the past. On those previous occasions, i could feel the food pressing against my chest cavity and all the way up to the entrance of my food pipe (the light at the end of the tunnel?), but last night, i only felt it pressing down on a point just above my stomach. Tiny relief, but at that point, any would do. Just goes to show that the food really wasn't that great. On the other hand, the place was. Nice, i mean.

Maybe next time i'll choose a different location for my Stuffed Turkey act. Perhaps that other new place on 100 feet that'll make a bird like me feel right at home. Guess why?

Because it's called Peacock.

Forever's a long time.

Cinderella.

“Come with me”, she whispered as she held on to him, lying next to him. Heart to heart, breath to breath.

“We’ll go away, we’ll be happy together. Don’t waste your life on unhappiness, don’t do this to yourself”, she pleaded. Her eyes were beginning to mist.

He turned his head to look at her face. Begging. Loving. Concerned. Desperate. He tore his eyes away with great difficulty. He loved her very much...

“I can’t. You know I can’t... I wish I could.”

“There was so much I wanted to do with you...”, she said.

They kissed. It was the last time they would be together. She had to make a decision before the ball. “Will I ever see you again?”, he asked. She pulled herself away from him, adjusted the straps on her gown which somehow reflected her sadness in its dull silver glow. She dragged her feet towards the door. Stepped out, looked around.

“That depends. Are you going to come find me?”

The door shut on his silence.

Outside, the chariot awaited. It would take her towards the ball. Away from him. She had her answer.

All eyes moved with her when she entered the ball. The prince waited in the distance. As she drew near, she saw something in his hand catch the light. A glass slipper. Bone-deep grief pulled her eyes shut before they could betray her; a tear escaped just in time to roll down her cheek. There was no going back now.

She knew how this would play out.

The glass slipper would fit perfectly.

Blue skies, clotted cream clouds, red flowers...

Bangalore woke up to a beautiful day today. The higher powers were kind - there was a nip in the early morning air and the sky is just marvellous. Everybody was in a good mood, and it showed in their driving/riding etiquette.

Here's hoping there are more days of the sort in days to come.

UPDATE: I just got home from work. It poured like mad. This is how the world looks right now:

I'm telling you, if there's ever a mood swing contest between cities, mine would win hands down!

Nirvana.

Moments of peace are so rare that i end up holding on to them forever in some form or the other. Last night was one of them. After a fingerlickingly yum dinner of stuffed parathas ladled with tons of butter, i went out to the balcony at Sister K's home, sat me down and enjoyed an hour of quiet. Nothing but the rustle of Neem leaves, a pleasant breeze and me.

It was perfect. I was at peace.

Bittersweet, part two.

A bittersweet weekend.

I:

...usually go book shopping when i'm down, but yesterday's spree didn't leave me as happy as i was hoping.
...woke up really early on a Saturday - unheard of for me - to go for Kickboxing, only to find out that my instructor wasn't coming and that somebody else was taking the class.
...ordered for Lemony Snicket's Beatrice Letters on Flipkart and got it sometime last week - and then, i was over the moon! There's a wishlist piling up on my Flipkart account. I need to start knocking the items off soon.
...spent some time at Grandma's and am making plans to take the cousins to Goa next month. "Sure, take them", my Aunt said, "just so long as they don't have to see naked women everywhere."Fat chance of that happening.
...want to get back to swimming.
...have near-chronic lower back pain for the first time in my life.
...think i may have made a mistake.
...need to buy new clothes.
...need to stop keeping track of how long it has been since the breakup.
...need to move on.

Wearing a wet tee never felt this good!

I'm serious, y'all. Last night, the upper half of my t-shirt and the entire back was dripping sweat, no jokes. And all thanks to kickboxing. Or mixed martial arts, considering we cover every goddarn thing except Karate.

Every time our instructor makes us kickbox, he takes us on a la-la trip to the brink of death and brings us back. Stretch, push, bend, rotate, reach high, crouch low, and best of all, 20 push-ups if you don't answer his question with a resounding "Yes!" And yesterday, after an hour of near-fatal almost-heart attacks, the lift didn't work and we had to climb down the stairs. I cursed - at least the lift would give me a moment to calm my Chi the hell down! I'm not sure how dying is not a better alternative to all this. Really.

But the good thing is, i can feel my body become...powerful. There's still a long way to go before i can be as lithe and springy as a cat, but i'm getting there. I feel more...compact, like my skeleton's an air-tight container of pure muscle. My paunch is going, slowly but surely. It's a gorgeous, gorgeous feeling to see my body shaping up in a way that i've always longed it to for a while. Reminds me of the time i used to do crunches diligently everyday because i hated not having a flat stomach (despite having one). That was 15 years ago, you can see how things have changed.

Oh, and wait! Every time we're asked to shadow box and practice our moves, i imagine doing damage to A Particular Person. Punching him, boxing his face, kicking him in the groin...oooh, the pain i cause him in my head is delicious.

So yeah, all that sweating is worth it, i guess. I'd not be so happy to have a white tee cling to me like this even if i was getting out of the ocean in Goa, Halley Berry style. I mean it.

Well hellooooo Mister Delish!

I happened to catch the movie 'Leap Year' on HBO today. And can i say, at the first look of this man, i almost fell off my chair.

I have a huuuuuuuuuge crush right now on Matthew Goode. I'm head over heels in love with his lopsided smile...

... his rogue gentleman looks and oh-my-god those eyes...

... and that beard. And all that leanness.

Oh boy... I'm in love.

Images via Google.

Saying/not saying.

So, as i've made quite evident for a few days, i'm stuck on Adele. Today, i'm watching her Live performance at Royal Albert Hall. I love how raw she is and how open about her life, her heartbreaks and the person they have made her.

In the middle of all that chatting and singing, she spoke about herself, about how she doesn't think of things and just pushes them to the back of her mind; it only comes out in her songs.

That hit a spot with me. If you ever happen to meet me, you'll never know the kind of shitholes that are scattered across my life. I'll never volunteer information till you ask me about it. I'll not talk about it too much when i do because i see no point in talking about it: it's done, it's over. Those who know me well, know that a lot of pain and hatred and hurt and emotion lies behind a veneer of sarcasm, bitchiness and on rare occasions, silence. And i know that among all the people who know me well, nobody knows me quite as well as he does.

But, like i said, i won't talk about it if i meet you. But you'll see it pour out in my writing. A lot of it. It's the possible reason why Chopsticks, my friend, remarked once that if a guy wants to woo me, he just needs to read my blog. (Pshaw.)

Anonymity is comfortable, especially if i don't know who i'm talking to. Makes it easier to say things. So, much as i'm tempted to know who some of you guys - the people who read my blog - are, i don't want to really know. Once i do, i'll find it hard to be as open as i am now. And that's not the idea for this blog at all - it's a personal account of things that happen to me. I don't need things happening to make me uncomfortable about writing on my own blog, innit?

Yeah, sorry. I started out wanting to say something and said something else entirely. I just wanted to say that i love Adele and she struck a chord with me.

I think maybe we can be friends.

Today's song: Lovesong - Adele's cover of The Cure.