Saturday, February 25, 2006

the fists around my heart

My parents have left for the States. They arrived safely and called about two hours after they landed at my sister’s house. They called to tell me how absolutely beautiful my little niece is. My father has not carried her yet, he says she is too small, so he stares at her from a distance. Like the proud grandfather he is. I miss my family terribly. I wanna cry every time they call me, because I wish I were there too. I miss my mother’s smile and I miss my daddy’s cooking.

And I miss my sister’s faces.

I read this blog about how one can literally feel the love for your siblings, like it is a fist wrapped around your heart, which tightens at their every joy and their every strife. I have had this fierce protection for my sisters, these two fists around my heart, for as long as I can remember.

When my sister Nicole was in college, she used to go for those extra classes and my dad would pick her up everyday. One day he didn’t and she said she would come home by bus. She was walking home. It was about eight pm. And some guy tried to kiss her. We were watching television, and from our seventh floor house we heard her cry. My dad, my mom, Vanessa and I ran downstairs. Between tears she told us what happened, and my dad ran to beat him.

I, all of 8 years old, ran with him. To kill him. To kill the guy who made my sister cry.

Every time she gets one of her asthma attacks, I get so paranoid, because I don’t know what to do, so I end up yelling at her to “breath goddamnit!” Which doesn’t help. It only makes her cry. And then I want to kill someone all over again.

My world crashed when my favorite doll, Gillian’s head fell off. Nicole ‘operated’ on her and made her all better.

She is so talented and has more creativity in her little finger than I have in my whole body. She is the fashion guru in my family. She gave me the first crochet flower she ever made. I carry it in my purse till today.

Nicole always thought she was the ugly one from the three of us, cause she did not have the light eyes and the light hair. To me she always looked like Snow White. With the fair skin, and the dark black-as-night hair, and deep brown eyes.

My eldest sister Vanessa looked like Cinderella. Eyes of the bluest skies, and brown hair. She is the most intelligent person I know. She works her ass off, she strives to do better, she gives great advice, she cooks amazingly, she is a perfectionist and she loves like there is no tomorrow.

She was like my parent growing up. She showed me how to put on a sanitary pad. She washed my bum when my dad was not around to do it. She taught me math. No, she tried to teach me math. I still can’t solve those stupid ‘trains-traveling-in –opposite-directions’ problems.
She was Nessa.

Nicole and I were once messing around with her hair. We combed it all in the front, covering her face. Then we put on some glares and moved the hair away from her nose so she looked like cousin It. We laughed so much at our “creation” and we could see Vanessa’s shoulders shaking. We moved the hair away and she was crying. She had had a very bad day. But she never stopped us from having our fun.

Nicole will agree that Vanessa is the best eldest sister that anyone could ever have. With just the right balance of fun and seriousness, and gives us unconditional love that I hope we never take for granted.

When I was little, I wanted to become a bus conductor. In support of my dream, my sisters, who used to travel to college then, collected their bus tickets and from their friends too, so that my dad could make me a conductors bag (out of my grandfathers old cigar box) and my mum gave me an old stapler as a clicker. I charged them to enter and exit rooms.

My mom once bought us all shoes from Bata. One pink, one green and one red pair. We created a S.O.S Treaty (share our shoes). We all signed it, and my mother was the witness. I still have that treaty paper.

Sure, we have had fights. Taking sides, pulling hair, crying, screaming, vowing never to talk to each other forever… forever being all of ten minutes. I have hit Vanessa, and then cried instead of her while she consoled me. I have said evil things to Nicole, and she has taken it.

But if anything happens, if anyone hurts these two people, I would hunt them down and torture them. If there is anything that they need, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to try and give it to them.

To the two greatest women in the world: I love you eternally and unendingly.

The fists only get tighter.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

the abc of my weekend

A research got three girls in a Tata Innova bound for Pune.

Before reaching we stop for chai, coffee and Kotimbirwadi. The best thing you could possibly have in that Highway food deli.

Chalu Shiners. A term used, by our focus group (girls from 16-20) to describe girls who hang out with boys, are attractive to boys, and have no morals whatsoever. All of us fell under this category.

Daft. The weekend was daft.

E is for Elevator. Where L is for lobby and C is “obviously” for coffee shop. We couldn’t find the coffee shop, to Noojes, it was obvious that C was for coffee shop. She will agree that this was her “blonde” moment.

Fondu, oh the amount of cheese I had this weekend is not funny!!

Garlic Bread, Nachoes, Barbecue Chicken….

Hom, the way our waiter pronounced Ham. My club sandwich contained Hom and Baacone (Bacon) We could not stop laughing.

Indonesian Nasty Rice that is to die for!!

Koregaon Park. We shopped for silver and slippers. And passed the luscious German Bakery.

Lush. The club we went to. Packed with hot, stiletto-wearing, college girls, all drinking Bacardi Breezer, while we sat in our jeans and pink pajama’s

Moustaches. There was a longest, darkest, thickest competition going on. The parlours in Bombay are gonna make a lot of money on hair removal.

Natata Wada. It’s too much to explain.

Pune. What a city. I really wanna go there more often. Rent a room at Central Park. Have a yummy bubble bath, shop at Koregaon Park, and eat in Malaka Spice.

Red Wine. A bottle was ordered and brought to our room. Then we had more at dinner. Then more at the club. And more at lunch the next day.

S is for Swiss Cheese. The restaurant that we went to for dinner. We had white and red wine. And conspired against our driver.

To total wasted weekends. Pretending to work, but having a ball!

Underwear. And lacy, silk nighties…

Weekend party.

Yummy food.

Zzz catching up on some, Except for someone snoring in my ear. ;))

an introduction

This, my blogger friends, is Danielle Ria Patrick D'silva (bottom)
My neice, born on the 12th of Feb 2006.
Say hello everybody!

And this, for the purpose of some of my blogger friends, is Freddy Ljungberg (top)
Arsenal mid-fielder and sex -bomb extrodinare...
Say hello everybody!

Sunday, February 12, 2006

cool beans

I have had just three hours of sleep. But I have not felt this energetic and happy for a long time. Early Sunday morning, the 12th of February, 2006, I became a very proud aunt.

She is seventeen inches long. She weighs five pounds and six ounces. And she’s got curly hair. She is a month early. So she is tiny. We don’t know her name yet. But I’m sure it will be a pretty one.

I know she will be a cool kid. After all, she is related to me. Yeah baby!

Yesterday I went for an office terrace pot-luck party (that would explain the three hours of sleep). The place was in the middle of Dadar, but you’d never know. It was so gorgeous. The perfect party place. We danced, I learned how to salsa a bit. I must admit I am quite good.

We sang. I played the guitar. I sang in public, this is the second time this year. I’m getting quite bold really. But I was damn good. I got an applause and all. I was told I should join a band, and train my voice. May be it was the vodka talking. But hey, I was good and I know it. I bonded with some work girls. A big thing for me, cause I don’t really get along with women. In fact, I kinda enjoyed it. The whole girly talk thing. Maybe it was the vodka talking. Again.

It was a good weekend. After eight months of anticipation, my little beanie is finally born. We called her beanie because she looked like a little kidney bean in her first sonography picture.

So for now she is called Beanie.

Happy Birthday Beanie ;)

Friday, February 10, 2006

seven and deadly

So, I was having this conversation with some people in the office. A question was posed to us, a rather interesting and very insightful question...
"If you and an excess of one of the seven deadly sins, which would it be?"
After contemplation... i muttered Lust. Definatly Lust.
Yea, sure sleeping is one of my favourite things to do, but I also love to dance and walk and go out, so it can't be Sloth.
Yup, I do love to eat, but hey my eyes are bigger than my stomach... not physically...jeez.. it's just that no matter how much I think I can eat, I only can manage one fourth of it... So Gluttony is out... And Greed I guess.
Wrath, there have been very few times that I have experienced complete Wrath. Intence anger.. This is only when I care about something enough to make my blood pressure hit the roof.
Envy, yes I am a jealous one. If looks could kill, there would be a lot of women and men dead right now. But, most of the time, I just don't bother. So it's not envy.
Pride. Ahhh. I am a Leo. I am the queen of my castle. I am the head of the jungle. But I am also a meek, gulible fool, who is often a door-mat, despite her own better judgement.. So, yes I have immence pride.. But it's not in excess.
So, I was left with Lust. I like to look at male posteriors. I like to have a picture of Fredrik Ljungberg on my desktop. It's the one of him with no shirt on. I love to flirt. I love that rush. I love boys. I love men. I am not going to deny it. Lust. Definatly Lust.
Then I went on line to look up these cardinal sins, the deadly ones, these capital vices.. I wanted to know the punishment. Damn.

Lust (Latin, luxuria) (fornication, perversion) Desire of the Flesh.
Punishment: Smothered in brimstone and fire.
Ouch! At least I won't be dismembered alive. Yay!

What are yours? Give it a go...
And just so you know how you're gonna end up.. give this a look see..

Gluttony: Force-fed rats, toads, and snakes
(The people up north would feel right at home.. they eat elephant pickle.)

Greed: Boiled in oil
(ahhh, the human fritter.)

Sloth: Thrown into a snake pit
(ok. Well, that's gonna make you run around and get you up off that lazy ass.)

Wrath: Dismembered alive
(oooo.. that's gotta hurt. But aren't you gonna be angrier post the dismemberment?)

Envy: Put in freezing water
(Huh? I think this would be a better Lust punishment for men. The "go take a cold shower" theory.)

Pride: Broken on the wheel
(Whatever this means.. I think it's one of those ancient punishment gadgets)

Now that you know...

Have fun in hell my pretties.... muahahahaahah(evil laugh)

Thursday, February 09, 2006

spring board jinx

I went to Olive for a lovely four-course Italian meal with some friends the other night. We had a fabulous time. Apparently Olive is the place to be seen and all, I, on the other hand, was trying not to be seen because I arrived straight from work – in my jeans and a T-shirt glory.

The place is very nice and very lah-dee-dah as well. Those places are never really my scene but I had the pleasure of good, down-to-earth company. We were two single girls and one guy who is gonna be married in about 5 weeks. We had a great time talking and sharing stories.

When I told them about how the guy I kinda like has gone back to the States, she said, hey but you liked someone else who also went away, right? I, eyes lowered, sheepishly nodded the affirmative. So they laughed. And I instantly developed the ghastly nickname of “spring board”. Nasty aren't they?

Why? Because every guy I have met who is nice in the last two years have up and left within about two months of me knowing them. And two months is the maximum mind you. And they don’t go anywhere close. There was Kuwait, Canada, Australia, Sri Lanka and most recently Chicago.

So these “friends” of mine, began to giggle and make fun of me. Comments like, “Want a visa, why don’t you date her for a bit?” happened. Or, “Lemme kiss you. Oh damn it... It’s Canada, I wanted Australia. Can I kiss you again?”, “Hey, do you have a passport? How about an accent? Cool can we go out?” or “She likes it the intercontinental way, baby!!”

Even the guy who is getting married asked if we could go out a couple of times, cause he wants to settle abroad eventually. Apparently, I’m his only hope. Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong. I laughed my ass off at the comments. In fact I had a couple of super one-liners too, like maybe I should start charging: Visa Guaranteed. But I never really thought that much of it until I started counting. It was technically five in two years. But only three meant so much to me.

Even so, it’s sad isn’t it? Maybe it’s me. Maybe I see potential disaster. Ok, maybe it’s not so harsh. Maybe I see that it will never go anywhere. It works out well because I’m suddenly not afraid to commit. Because they would never ask. Right? I am suddenly devoid of thinking long term. I know I will never marry them, or get into that stage of a relationship when the fighting and the being nasty to each other begin. I know that I will never be taken for granted, cause it’s too short a time. I know they have only seen my good side and maybe a little of the bad. A very little.

So there is everything right with it really. It seems perfect doesn't it? Doesn't it seems foolproof?

It seems so.
But the cons out weigh the pros in such a big way. Because I want to show my bad side, sometimes. I wanna have those stupid little fights. I wanna make-up and I wanna know that the person is mine. That’s the reason I am sad. That’s the reason I feel empty everytime they go away. Because of the cons.

Damn those cons.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


We all have our little secrets. Things we don’t want anyone to know. Little thoughts or feelings that swirl in the depths of our minds. Deep, dark secrets.
They may be trivial things like not telling your mom what exactly you did when you went out or not telling your colleague that you have a bar of Cadbury’s in your drawer.
They could be repulsive secrets that you would never want anyone to know. Because if they did they would judge you. And look at you different. And think you were weird. So you would never tell anyone. Ever.
But what do you do when you need to spill it? Who do you go to when you’re about to burst? Whom do you trust enough? Who is that one person you could tell absolutely anything to and they would never judge you? Ever.
I don’t think I have ever had someone like that. I don’t think I have ever told someone everything. I guess it’s just the fear of being judged. Of being looked at weirdly. Of being exposed completely. I guess that’s why I have not given out my blog address to everyone.

Wanna know some secrets? Trivial as they may be?

In school, I used to pretend to be asleep when my Hindi tuition teacher used to come home. It used to work.
When I pass a group of people, I suck in my stomach.
I have peed in a men’s room.
I have pictured my funeral.
I have cried during Oprah. And Pretty Woman.
I sometimes forget what I look like, and then I pass a mirror and I wish I hadn’t. Mostly cause I am disappointed.
I fear that I will fall down a flight of stairs and break my legs.
Sometimes on Sundays, I forget to bathe. Gross.
I wanna trip a girl in my office so bad. Just so I can see her fall.
I am sad that my so-called best friend has another best friend. So what? Am I #2?
I am jealous of prettier women. Not cause I wanna look like them. But I’m just jealous.
I haven’t been a regular at church for a while. But I cried when the Pope died. Cause I liked him.

I have peed in a pool.

I should stop now.
Before the judgement starts.
Before the looks begin.
Before I am completely exposed.

Why this sudden bout of confession, you ask? I came across an amazing site, that I think everyone should read. It’s updated every Sunday. It is awesome.

Cause everyone loves a good secret.

Friday, February 03, 2006

blah and double blah

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Yea sure it does. Is that the reason I haven’t received an e-mail for almost two and a half days now? Yea I’m counting. Pathetic isn’t it? Well, welcome to my world.

I’m sure we have all pined and hoped and prayed for something. I’m sure we were all, at one time, willing to give it all up, trade it all, just to prove to someone how much we cared. And if we did, we probably spend our days regretting and blaming and finger-pointing. If we didn’t, we spend our days wondering what if?

It’s wrong to expect too much from anyone. I know that. But inevitably I do. I believe that if I give, I should get back. I believe that if I love, it should be reciprocated. Yea, it’s naivety at its best. It’s wishful thinking. It’s just plain romanticism.

I’m being nice. It’s stupidity. Out of sight is out of mind. Who ever wrote these damn proverbs wanted to cover all sides of the story. So in every situation you could chose which was more appropriate. Like Too many cooks spoil the broth, but many hands make light work? Stupidity!

Anyway, in this case there is no choice.
Out of sight is out of mind. That explains a whole lot. Doesn’t it?


Wake me up when the heart break ends.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

high hopes

I hope that this year is better than the last.
I hope that my work is good enough to get me a job somewhere.
I hope that I don’t die an old woman, surrounded by cats and poop.
I hope that if I do live with cats, I have lots of kitty litter to avert the stench of cat poop.
I hope that instead of cats, they are all puppies.
I hope that Sammy comes out ok.
I hope he remembers me.
I hope he is still the best graphic designer I know.
I hope my art partner is happy in her new agency.
I hope she misses me.
I hope that my ex’s new girlfriend treats him well and doesn’t hurt him.
I hope she is not prettier than me.
I hope my niece is a beautiful healthy baby girl.
I hope she looks like me.
I hope I don’t live to be a hundred.
I hope when I’m old I can still tie my shoelace and know where my home is.
I hope he likes me.
I hope he knows that when I say like, I mean love.
I hope I never run out of passion.
I hope if I do, I have someone who will rekindle it.
I hope Harjee doesn’t make a nasty comment about this post.
Actually, I secretly hope he does ;)
I hope I can afford my own home soon.
I hope that when I do, I get a little puppy.
I hope I never fight with my sisters about property.
I hope I never care about wealth more than them.
I hope I have enough wealth never to care about it.
I hope that some creative director reads this blog, loves it and offers me a job.
I hope his office is on Madison Avenue.
I hope I never stop writing.
I hope just cause this is a new post, the panty conversation doesn’t stop.
I hope that the thing they say about everyone having someone in the world is true.
I hope my boy is reading this.
I hope I never reach the stage where I don’t fit into my jeans.
I hope the friends that I care about, care about me equally.
I hope I get some soon.
I hope I always have enough money to shop.
I hope I never have enough bags.

I hope this wasn’t too boring.