A purrmoonition

I have a feeling that life is not as it should be. I was born human and being human was supposed to be the best thing ever on this planet - that's what all the Hindu scriptures say. But I feel I've been short-changed somewhere and that someone out there is laughing all the way to the celestial bank. 

Something needs to change. My Cassandra sense says it probably won't. I'm not a cat or a cow. That's why.  

I am so desperately in need of change (that is the good sort - so hold that blitzkrieg, forces above) that I went ahead and revamped my blog. So if you've come in to the boudoir for the first time then you are okay else you might just be tempted to cry for some relief from all the purple. 

I don't care. I've decided to paint my room purple because I've figured that if loving the colour purple from the time I was born (slight aberration: when I was 7 I fell in love with yellow - thankfully that coldly played out) and ending up working in the purple company has still not cured me of the purple passion then it's for life. Only I can't seem to find a nice purple picture. I think I want one. 

But I really mostly want change. A friend of mine wanted change so badly, he just went and quit his job. I cannot do that. Besides, I love my job. It's the one thing that's keeping me sane. 

Though with this sea-less weather in Bangalore, I really cannot do much. I can't even go to work. I can type only with my index fingers (often just my left) and so life goes on. 

Returning from the doctor today I couldn't help wishing I were a cow or a cat or something like that. 

When cows or cats get sick, they don't need to work from home. They can just rest till they are better. If they are really sick then can be put to sleep. And there are no debates about euthanasia and what not. 

Cows or cats are not affected by the weather. They don't need saltwater-clogged-taps weather or hair-curling humidity. They are happy in the sunshine and the rain and the snow and everything.

Cows or cats never need to exercise. Cows or cats are not fat. They just are. 

No one compares a cow to another cow.

They are never imperfect. They just are. 

They are expected to do nothing more than cat things or cow things.  

And cats and cows always have change. A cat gets nine lives; a cow probably gets a new shady place to chew its cud. And here, I haven't even been able to buy shades!

A cat or a cow. It's probably an easy life. 

But may be turning into an animal is not the sort of change I want. 

I want what we all want - to be happy, healthy, hungry, alive, free, and loved. And yes, a little good sex couldn't hurt any. May be then even my joints will be jolted into good behaviour. 

Hell, this purple has pleased me so much that although I have a premonition none of these wants will see fruition anytime soon, I am still purring away. 

Joys of dating

It began as a very sorry day with a French leave. Call me a loser, but I am a happier person when I am working even if it is (as it so usually is) working from home!

And when things finally panned out and the day settled in, I was so tired that a massage seemed like a good idea after which it was obvious I would fall asleep.

When I woke, it was with that oh-no-I've agreed to go out today- feeling. And the horror of horrors - I'd had to meet new people!

But when a dear friend tells you that it's not so much an outing as a date and that you will be picked up and dropped to the house and that all your drinks will be paid for it's seems pretty rude to refuse.

What more does a girl who spends all her life in a Bangalore suburb want?

What does a girl want on a date?

A man who cleans up well.

A man who is genuinely sweet to the girls' folks.

A man who treats the girl like a queen and helps her select what to wear.

A man who says she looks beautiful even if the mirror screams about going on a diet and pronto.

A man who jokes and laughs and talks about his day on the way to the venue.

A man who listens when the girl bitches about a day that began all wrong.

A man who takes her to a place that plays her kind of music even if he isn't too keen a follower of hard rock.

A man who says, "Have a large whiskey, sweety. You are my date. Don't worry about anything."

A man who is thrilled to see the girl having fun!

A man who gets all her jokes and even those of her friends.

A man who shares her passion for men - fun, interesting, and filled with sex appeal.

Yes, the second of the best dates ever in my life (read about the first here) and it happened again with a very special someone whom I didn't have to shag but with whom I could discuss every aspect of having sex, ex-factors, heartache, meeting men, and what not, and not worry about being perceived as pushy or a tart (though any real man will tell you that it's tantalizing to have a woman who can be both).

And thank the Lord I am surrounded by perfect men who know what it is to be themselves and kind and nice and genuine and fun.

Life is good!

Bless you, sweetydarlings, who've tried to cheer me through these 'sick' times, you know who you are.

Saving Grace

There are times when I absolutely forget myself and become a good person.

I feel very kindly towards pregnant women. My PMS and the actual cycle through all my years of existence has led me to understand that pregnancy which is the ultimate PMS, has got to be respected.

Pregnant women have strange desires and weird moods. A cousin had to see the Krishna Raja Sagar Dam before she gave birth to my niece. And throughout the drive to the dam, she was unbelievably quiet. Didn't even act bitchy and make nasty cracks as is her wont. So being preggo actually made her nice.

A classmate from college is due to have a baby. And so in all the goodness of my heart, I stupidly asked her to let me know if she wants help of any sort on Facebook to which another classmate comments - why don't you be her midwife? (This is supposed to be LOL funny, I guess) And then preggo classmate says, 'Yes, why don't you? My husband will faint with all the screaming and cursing.' (Now this, is supposed to be ROTFLMAO funny.)

And amidst such graceful ladies with this wonderful sense of humour, I could hear this voice in my head going on about the road to hell...

Grace. I love how graceful my post-graduate classmates have always been - the twats.

After a brilliant reading of The Wasteland by one of the better lecturers we were lucky to have, while some of us sat spellbound, in tears, moved beyond speech - a voice piped in horror: "Are we to learn this for the exam?" No matter how brilliant the text or the teaching, my classmates' preoccupation - do we already have notes for this? Is there a guide?

Grammar & phonetics were classes I loved to miss. Seeing my favourite papers massacred by a teacher who taught through her notes and couldn't say it right always ruined it for me. And having the teacher proclaim (and thrice), 'Grammar is boring, but girls you have to study this for marks', had me swear that I wouldn't attend her classes.

And then this classmate who found me on a social networking site says, "Remember me? I sat bored through Maya Ma'am's classes while you perfected the art of absenteeism."

Ummm, hello again, loser.

Saving grace of these life experiences is that I realise anew how being good is so overrated. And I hear myself saying again in perfectly Brit tones - Piss off.

BF

You know that feeling you get when you know you are poised at the edge of something waiting...

and all happy things happen and you feel blessed?

All it takes is for some stray thing to take you back and push you down.

For me it was the zebra crossing. I was crossing the road decently when suddenly it was just too overwhelming. It all came back to me like it had happened yesterday. And I had put it very firmly behind. But may be not.

Strange, you can talk to someone endlessly and not miss them when they are gone.

Strange that the one person you trust to treat you right, does you so wrong and doesn't even apologize. When all your worst fears about yourself are confirmed oh so callously.

Oh bugger it. I'm funking it blue.

And I so don't need it now.

Argh.

B takes a flight

Now I know why we have little documentation of our past. Indians like me are essentially lazy. And we rather talk than write.

But since I am also noble with an eye to the future, I decided to overcome my laziness and document the life and times of Bhumika Anand that hasn’t been too bad in the past few months despite blog entries stating the contrary. You never know whom it will serve. I am very giving that way.

Ever played that game with yourself where you created stories from looking at people’s faces? Well, I think I’ve become a past master at that in the past two months. And I like my stories.

Because not doing that means getting bored out of your wits.

It turns out that travelling abroad via the Wright invention is as exciting as waiting indefinitely (in spite of having an appointment) at the doctor’s. Both experiences are fraught with anxiety and boredom in equal measures. And they are both extremely tedious. And you really are not encouraged to speak or laugh loudly in both places. No one tells you not to. It’s just like an unwritten rule. Again, not that there ever is anything to talk or laugh out loud about.

Fortunately, I did not meet any sort of creepy/cheap Indians that my friends often complain about encountering while on international flights. On the contrary, I thought I had ended up making new friends – the sort who come together during distress and trauma and stay together for life. Again, that was just me being absolutely naïve about people. But that’s a later post. And for the record, I did not meet the handsome stranger who would change my life forever either.

I didn’t know what to make of the newly-married/highly demonstrative couple next to me. We’ve discussed PDA on my blog before. But that was largely influenced by the then male protagonist in my life. In life as it is now, so completely devoid of drama of the stormy-emotion sort, I was quite baffled to learn that I’m quite a prude when it comes to watching people snog each other in my presence. I bet I take a completely different view when the smooching and the mooching are being done by me. I can’t help but feel that I’ve trespassed into someone else’s boudoir and the gate-crashing is not even a fun experience.

I was also aghast that the couple snogging next to me spoke in Kannada, said things my mom and dad (and I missed them terribly already) would say to each other – bag thongodiya? (did you take the bag?) and promptly settle down to rubbing each other’s cheeks prior to a full-on lip-smacker!

But they were sweet. The boy ordered me my whiskey on the rocks (well, not exactly, I ordered my own but he summoned the attendant for liquor first and ended up ordering a coke while I stuck to my desire to be the next best thing to spasmoed and ordered my usual whiskey on the rocks double) and the girl wanted to know the how-to and the what-to of the seat buttons. And I helped her. And never let on to anyone that I was travelling international for the first bloody blooming time in my life. Because as my friend Preethi says, when you follow the mob, you can’t go wrong.

So for anyone reading my blog and thinking of all the excitement of travelling abroad the first time, relax. It’s not worth being excited about.

And really, nothing ever makes up for the boredom – not even a Hindi movie. (And they are so much better than English as they go on and on for three hours.) On my virgin flight to London, I watched Love Aaj Kal and tried to hide my tears when Deepika cries when Saif finally realises he loves her and all that. What to do, I’m a sap that way. Also by then we were five and a half hours in the plane and no sign of reaching bloody buggering London. Now that I think of it, that’s why I cried. I tried to watch Julie and Julia or the other way round, but all that cooking and eating and going mmm… put me sleep.

So that was about a nine hours to London after putting up with the sudden, debilitating Bangalore fog. And I still had another 12- 15 hours before I could begin to yodel.

Sitting in the plane following the route map and wondering when the ordeal would end I was quite smug that I knew myself so well. I started out not being excited about this trip especially when the venue was decided to be Sunnyvale and not London. To top it all, something in the flight disagreed with me and had me sneezing. And I had no anti-allergen in my hand baggage. And I was worried they’d think I had swine flu! Bah! The joys of international travel! And if I had my way, I know, I would have avoided it altogether.

Now you will think I’m either a liar or too full of myself and an ingrate but you would be right only about the too-full-of-myself part. I was grateful that I would be getting to see new places, places I would’ve otherwise seen only on TV or post-retirement, but really the timing couldn’t be more wrong and the desire less keen!

While trains often make me think of who might have touched what/done what (I’ve seen a man shag in a bus that started from Shivajinagar) and sat where, flights are like little glorified Pushpak BTS buses (even the Premium economy ones) but clean. And there is no view. Yes, clouds and all that, but if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all! And it’s unbelievably claustrophobic. The only bright spot was that the food was quite good.

And so I began my journey to a country I’ve always been amused by – America.

Things to do on Flight No.1

Make sure you have your passport and all your papers including those insane documents you carry for your visa interview.

Carry a pen.

Buy a book before you reach the airport. The airport book shop has a lousy collection. I wanted to buy a nice and happy P.G. Wodehouse but had to settle for the serious My Name is Red.

If you are lost, ask around. But you will generally be safe if you follow the mob.

Take your music.

You can carry make-up/moisturizer/deodorant as long as it’s in a transparent zip-lock and as long as you are not carrying litres and kgs of the stuff. I did. And I live to tell the tale.

You can actually work on the flight but that’s being so geeky so I’d much rather you don’t.

Take frequent walks but avoid doing elaborate stretches unless they are paying you to entertain the crowd.

Never ask the attendant to help you with your luggage. Ask a co-passenger.

If you can, buy a bottle of water at the airport before boarding the flight and get the attendant to fill it for you. They don't give bottles in flight and if, like me, you drink water by the gallons it's really an annoyance.

When you smile at people smile a little distantly so people know you are friendly but they won’t fall upon you and tell you the story of their lives. Unless you want to hear it, of course.

Remember you will always crave your neighbour’s choice of food and drink.

Watch a Hindi movie.

Always carry all your medicines. If I had had my anti-allergen, I wouldn’t have been so bored; I would’ve merely been stoned.

You really don’t need to wear socks but do carry a jacket/coat in your hand-baggage. But here I’m getting ahead of my own story so wait for the next instalment.

Do you have a first-flight experience? Leave me a comment.

A perfect day!

Tea in a bookshop with books that I'd never buy with a classmate I didn't recognise but whose company I enjoyed; lunch with a pretty girl and a very good friend trying out a new cuisine and getting to learn about a culture and saying, "Oh well, they were more fun in Bapsi Sidwha's The Crow Eaters, though the chocolate mousse is orgasmic"; portrait session with a true artist and the mad Bollywood couple; dinner from spicy Chettinad.

This isn't a post. I just wanted to record a day of bliss and much learning. And I simply don't care about writing it well or creatively.

I learnt about living a rich life in spite of one's disability. Have hands; will ride. Have feet; will walk. Have a thought; will share.

Today is always better than yesterday. At least we don't have to go to school.

When you are down, give yourself over to P. G. Wodehouse.

Dhansak is over-rated but chocolate is never.

Women are so much better off if they are not in relationships.

A good picture is worth over a thousand words.

Mediocrity has a great fan following but only a few elitists follow true genius. It's a heartening thought.

There is always something more to do, an undiscovered passion waiting...

In conclusion, you can hate them but you also need them to stay sane - people.

In praise...

We are all nice people in this world - if simpletons.

Well, I've noticed that lavish praise is usually meted out to mediocre stuff while sheer brilliance doesn't get half the box-office. What does that tell you?

Like this,

"This is very well-written. No one likes sad, intense stuff, anymore, no?" (I actually got this when I introduced Eliot to a half-wit.)

Or more simply, "Oh look at you, you look so good!" (Beat) "But why are your eyes all sunk in!"

I think people can't stand it if you look really happy or are really good at something.

Unless you are Aamir Khan. And after watching for the first time Tare Zameen Par and 3 Idiots in a span of a month (I'm very clever that way) I can quite concede his brilliance. Though to be honest, he doesn't look like a college kid, but suspension of disbelief is what theatre is about.

So since 3 Idiots is doing so well and Chetan Bhagat is not, I saw a lot of information on both everywhere I went. (And just for the record, Chetan Bhagat, your book, well, did you really read it? Do you like it? Really?)

Like in this recent article I read (The Instinct of Aamir Khan) cites Aamir Khan to be good and reasonably normal because Shah Rukh Khan speaks in the third person, Salman Khan is whacko, Sanjay Dutt may be a little mad, and Sunny Deol is so egotistic. Why? Why can't he just be good and reasonably normal? And who are we to decide what is normal, anyway? (But that's a different discussion).

And then I realised that's exactly how we are. So it's like this, it's very hard for us to praise something good genuinely and well for itself unless we put something else down.

You got to a party and this party is just so much better than the last one, no?

Oh yes, she's a good anchor. The other one had a weird accent.

A particular TV serial is good because the other one is just so bad!

And something most people asked me recently - Did you like America? Isn't it better than India?

How do you answer something like that?

In Memoriam

So on Sunday when my friend from primary school, who used to be my then best-friend and hence was part of/responsible for much of the drama in the formative years, bumped into me at the mall, I was extremely blase.

A mere, "Ah look at you, how are you then?" and I stopped. She was probably a little nonplussed. She answered. I nodded all happy and said, "Okay then, see you around" and walked away.

I didn't used to behave that way.

My usual behaviour included but wasn't restricted to jumping in place, waving my arms all over the place, pulling them in for bear-hugs and even planting a few chaste kisses all the time screaming, "Tell me everything, what's your number? We have to stay in touch now that I met you again!"

In fact, she had previously once received just that treatment.

Now I know friendship and most other relationships have a sell-by date.

And people move on.

It's a good thing.

Especially when you realise you have nothing in common anymore.

Especially when you lose respect for the person they have become/are becoming.

Especially when any conversation you have involves merely putting someone else down in the guise of being clever and funny.

Especially when you no longer trust the person or the relationship.

Especially when meetings involve a lot of liquor and mindless laughter and little else.

Especially when they start to think, act, and may be even tell you to your face that they are no longer interested in conversation but in just having a good time.

Especially when it involves throwing a lot of needless "you bitch" around and covering all the negativity with "I'm joking, ra".

Especially when the thought of spending time with "friends" begins to feel like an ordeal.

Especially when you start going prepared for scenes.

Especially when you begin to feel that you are being invaded and thrust upon.

Especially when lines are crossed and then shoulders are shrugged and what's the big deal or whatevers are uttered.

Especially when you are made to feel guilty for feeling. Like somehow it's your fault - too 'serious'; too 'stuck-up'; too 'needy'; too 'clingy'; too God-forbid 'intense'.

So it's fine. Life goes on. Happier, less negative. We all make newer friends who come with their own shelf-life.

Only sometimes I wonder if all my ex-bestfriends miss me.

I know I do. Sometimes it even hurts.

But sometimes it hurts even when they are around and that's just so much worse and then you know it's time they became the ex.

Praise the Lord, it's now dead. And I... I grew up.

.

An October Anniversary

You gave me hyacinths blue

Sincerity first and constancy next

They called me the hyacinth girl.

A year ago...

Days pass and in the silence

there is nothing left to say.

Diwali party invites are doled out

Let's play a game of cards.

I hope you find the hanged man

But I can see the future even without your cards

Tomorrow comes

and comes again

and soon it's time to see who's handicap is the best

on grass green on the other side.

The hyacinths are dead and dry

pressed down in the pages of memory

Truth, sincerity, and constancy

are forgotten in casual tête-à-tête.

An anniversary?

But no, it's just another day.

So let's celebrate it with sweets and lights.

And the pain is washed down by a few more pills

Blue as the hyacinths you gave me.

But tomorrow is another day

And I will have built my purple walls

I will sparkle with diamonds, twinkle with gold

And I will drink from the flower of forgetfulness

And it will again be just a happy day full of sweets and lights.

One good day in October

So the deal was to hibernate and read plenty of books. Bloody hand can't hold any book so that's off the list. But hibernation is on as I'm not checking any of the social-networking sites and surprise, life is going just fine.

And tomorrow is a good October day.

There were two of those before. But thanks to last year, I just have one now.

It's Aradha, my lotus' birthday day tomorrow. And I am happy and excited. So what if she is millions of miles away.

And work is exciting and fun even if working from home isn't easy. For one thing, my mom constantly monitors every changing expression on my face and I hate to see her so worried. And I'm still in bloody pain so I'm usually wincing softly or making my I'm-actually-dead face.

And secondly, I miss speedy internet and download like hell. Even a word document takes 30 hours to download.

My next material wish (after the success of the supermarket) is that either BSNL or Airtel decide to have lines in my back-of-the-beyond area, and I get broadband. I don't see why they aren't doing that already. We have traffic jams in my area - all the time. That's got to count for something.

So since there is no book, I'm into TV in a big way. For comedy I watch Friends reruns, to titillate my social consciousness I watch Colours, and for just dear-old soaps, I watch Zee. In between I catch bits of reality TV as well. Soon I might be able to take quizzes about TV. And my Hindi is getting as good as it used to be. I might even end up climbing a few corporate ladders, ji.

And Diwali is almost upon us. Since last year Diwali had become to me what Christmas is to most of the lonely West. I got a severe case of holiday blues and festive funk.

But this year, work came to the rescue and while organzing an online contest, I got damn excited about it again. So much so I picked up all sorts of lamps to light that day. I will of course sparkle with my new diamonds that made me bankrupt I think for the rest of my life. But since I'm broke I couldn't buy new clothes so now I'll have to just wear the diamonds and little else I think. My neighbours will probably thank me.

So life is not so bad.

And Anukutti, happy birthday day. Kissies and huggies (lol, will never ever stop saying that. It's a tradition now). Hope Arun exceeds your expectations and God, hope you like all your gifts, you difficult woman. Blessed be with health, wealth, job, and joy!

And when all goes well next year, hope you buy me my wig, my turban, my coat, my hat, my cigarette holder (though I can't smoke) and my boots. Oh and that skirt also. And a black lipstick. Mine's too old now.