Wednesday, May 31, 2006

monsoon too soon

It’s raining. It’s pouring. Somewhere, some old man must be snoring.

It’s the thirty first of May and it’s already here. The days of monsoon have arrived. It’s wet and it’s cold. The roads are slippery with water and mud. Cars speed past you raising a wave of brown water on your newly ironed clothes. No matter what shoes you wear, your toes inevitably get pruned.

The day starts out sunny, so you decide not to take your umbrella. And then it rains. And suddenly you find yourself huddled under a tin roof with some other souls who had the same thought as you. And the rain doesn’t relent. The heavy drops amplified, as they lash down on the tin roof.

You wash your hair everyday because if you don’t it gets that stale wet smell that is disgusting. Your clothes get soaked through to your underwear and if you don’t have a change you might be at risk of catching a rare pelvic cold.

It’s humid. It’s sweaty. Trains are filled with partially wet passengers, all breathing the same stale air, because all the windows are tightly closed for fear that the rain water lashing in will wet them further. You become so obsessed with not getting wet, you find anything remotely wet annoying.

You hate getting out of the house, but you have to go to work. The traffic is killing because three cars in front of you, someone has driven into an open ditch and can’t move. You see people on the street with plastic bags on their heads. Everyone in your office has a nasty cold.

The street vendors wash their used dishes with rainwater collected in an old dirty green bucket. And even though you know this, you still cannot resist the urge to have a nice warm chai or a wada pav. Or a plate full of hot onion bhajyas.

Everything is flooded over. Street drains overflow because they are clogged with leaves. A municipal worker wears a bright sunny yellow hooded raincoat and tries his best to unclog them. Frogs look like moving pebbles on the street. Toads croak all night.

The sound of rain makes you want to pee. Looking at the rain makes you want to sing love songs. Taking a walk in the rain takes you back to when you were nine and you picked tadpoles from the far corner of the school field. The drops on your face make you think back to the first time you were kissed in the rain. Then you try to sing Diana Ross’ ‘Kiss me in the rain’, but your voice is gone from the cold that that colleague gave you. So you stop singing and daydream instead. About a warm bed, hot chocolate and a nice comfy someone to hug when the wet wind blows through the sheer curtains.

But inevitably there is no one you can hug. So you get a really fluffy warm blanket and wrap yourself five times in it, and like some kind of giant pupae you wait. You fall asleep, the chill clean air has that unmatched smell of fresh, wet mud – deep breath. And another.

And another.

And then you wake up, and it’s a monsoon day all over again.

Monday, May 22, 2006

die with a 't'

That’s what a diet means to me.

And since I have started gyming in a big way (it’s been two weeks, thank you very much) I have actually been watching what I eat. No carbohydrates in the night, no colas, no aerated drinks and no desserts.

Things were going so well. Until I chanced upon hell’s own little shop of temptation. I was eating a nice tossed salad at a restaurant on Sunday evening with a friend. The dressing was low fat and all it had was lettuce, olives, peppers and tomatoes – all things right and good. We left, me, feeling very satisfied that I kept to the regime.

Dee, my friend, wanted some dessert so we popped over to the next spot. I vowed that no matter what happened I was not going to touch anything sweet.

The place is called Amore. (When the moon hits your eye like a big scoop of yum that’s Amore!) People were pouring out of it like it was a fast train to Virar. Millions of hands reaching with money to the counter. Millions of little spoons with minute amounts of gelato and sorbets in them. Millions of drooling people flocked the counter.

I nudged my way to the front of the crowd following Dee. And then I fell in love.

Beyond the lightly frosted glass display was creamy heaven. Tiramisu, Belgian chocolate and Baileys gelatos, hand-made waffle cones and Kiwi, Fresh Strawberry sorbets.

I clutched Dee’s arm in a panic. Suddenly I was in Diet’s Garden of Eden and a luscious, big, red, juicy apple stood before me, tempting me. My mind swirled in a beautiful gooey chocolate frenzy, and I was abruptly shoved out of it by a heavy man in a green shirt asking for a taste of the Blueberry Cheesecake Gelato.

I don’t know what came over me next. Everything went into slow motion. I reached into my bag for money and whispered to the man to give me a cup of the Belgian chocolate gelato. And as he passed it to me I could feel my tongue licking my lips.

I took a little portion in the mini plastic spoon and I allowed the sin to melt in my mouth. I took a bigger portion and allowed it to slowly slip down my throat. I closed my eyes and I got lost in cold, delicious, creamy pleasure.

Before I knew it, the little cup was clean. And I sat there, spent, sinned and satisfied.

I have decided to stick to my diet. But on occasion, I am going to indulge in life’s big pleasure, cause I now know, that happiness comes in waffle cone, or a paper cup - that’s entirely up to you.

Saturday, May 20, 2006


If ‘A’ had a thing with ‘B’, and that thing sort of dies down but then sometimes gets rekindled if the catalyst is right. And then ‘B’ has a change of heart about certain things and starts pursuing ‘C’ who is supposedly a friend of ‘A’s’.

Now ‘A’ gets incredibly angry seeing both ‘B’ and ‘C’ sort of flirting, especially in front of ‘A’ and other friends. So ‘A’ confides in ‘D’, who is part of the friend circle, and ‘D’ says that ‘C’ is not reciprocating any of ‘B’s’ advances. So ‘A’ sort of calms down, and realizes that maybe it’s just ‘B’s’ way of getting back at ‘A’.

Then on location ‘E’, ‘A’ notices that ‘B’ is constantly passing and asking ‘C’ to go chill with it. And ‘C’, lacking the necessary brainpower to realize that this is bugging ‘A’, who is supposedly ‘C’s’ friend, accepts.

So ‘A’ is in a state of complete jealousy. ‘A’ pours its heart out to ‘D’, who again says that ‘C’ “would never do something like that” and that ‘A’s’ imagination is running wild when it sees ‘C’ and ‘B’ holding hands.
So, one night, ‘A’, ‘C’ and ‘D’ go out.

‘A’ decides to ask ‘C’ exactly what is going on, and if there is anything between ‘B’ and it. And if there was, ‘A’ would be fine with it, but ‘A’ needs to know, before it bursts.
‘C’ claims there is nothing, and it has no interest in ‘B’, but has a lot of interest in ‘X’. ‘A’ breaths a sigh of relief and resumes talking to ‘C’ as if nothing happened.

Weeks pass and ‘A’ is noticing that a lot of times, it isn’t ‘B’ asking ‘C’ to hang out, but ‘C’ walking up to ‘B’ asking it to hang out. ‘A’ resumes the silent treatment. But ‘C’ has too thick a head to get it. So what happens is that ‘A’ ends up going crazy and lunatic.

What’s more, at an outing, where all three are present, along with ‘D’, something nasty happens. ‘A’ does something stupid, which it thought was funny at the time, ‘B’ gets angry and yells and ‘C’ quietly looks on.

Now on location, ‘B’ stops communicating with ‘A’. No hellos. No goodbyes. And ‘A’ being equally stubborn, does the same. So ‘A’ and ‘B’ haven’t talked for a while. And ‘B’ and ‘C’ are constantly hanging out. So ‘A’ gets, as usual, incredibly angry and one morning decided to confront ‘C’.

“See, the thing is ‘C’, ‘B’ and ‘A’ used to have something. Now for whatever reason it’s not happening. But what ‘A’ cannot handle is ‘B’ flirting with ‘C’. And ‘C’ letting it. And what’s more, ‘B’ has not spoken to ‘A’ since the outing. All ‘A’ asks, is that if ‘C’ doesn’t want the advances, stop them. So why won’t you, ‘C’?”

Besides, isn’t there an unwritten rule that one doesn’t hit on ones friends you-know-whats? Is ‘A’ and ‘D’ the only people who know this? Does ‘C’ have no clue? But then again, ‘C’ is a supposed friend.

‘C’ looks at ‘A’ and says it will not do anything to reject ‘B’. ‘C’ says it did not know that ‘A’ liked ‘B’ (lie # 1). And that it will not ruin that over something ‘A’ thinks is happening. ‘A’ is dumbstruck. And say’s well, thanks for talking anyway.
Even after the talk, ‘A’ sees ‘C’ asking ‘B’ to hang out, and they hang out alone together.
And when ‘A’ sees that, it also looks at ‘C’ straight in the eye.
There is nothing there. Nothing but, what ‘A’ can best describe as, pure evil.

Now for the questions:
Why won’t ‘C’ let ‘A’ like it?
If ‘B’ and ‘C’ do get together, does ‘A’ have a right to be angry?
Does ‘C’ have any concept of the unwritten rules?
Should ‘A’ break the ice with ‘B’ and talk to it?
Is ‘B’ just trying to piss of ‘A’?

And remember, this is all just hypothetical.

Friday, May 12, 2006


There is a game going around Bloggersville. It sounds like fun. You ask for get a letter of the alphabet and you have to write ten words beginning with that alphabet and the significance of those words to you. I asked Noojes if I could play. She said yea. So, here goes nothing.

My letter is ‘T’.

T for Truth – I’m not much of a liar. I hate it when people lie to me because I can tell when they are. Whenever I have lied, it has come and bitten me in the ass. I cannot lie – I look like a guilty fool if I do. Can anyone picture a face of a guilty fool? ‘Nuff said.

T for Trains – They are the fastest form of transport in Bombay. They get you from Bandra to Church gate in less than twenty minutes. They are crowded, sweaty and I despise them. I am dreading travel again after my six-month stay in Bandra, the queen of the suburbs. Dammit.

T for Time – My time is precious. I hate being late and I hate being kept waiting. My ex used to keep me waiting all the time. Forty-five minutes outside a seedy theater was the record. I never understood why he just didn’t leave earlier. It drove me mad for three years.

T for Tomboy – I have always been one of the guys. I get along with guys much better than women. I used to climb trees, take snails home and catch tadpoles when it rained. When I was little I had a Rambo gun – it shot out arrows and made a nasty rat-a-tat sound. But, I am girly too, I love pink and pretty skirts – but I would kick, punch, push and shove all in my pretty pink skirt.

T for Travel – My dream job is to become a globe trekker. If I could travel the world and get paid for it, it would be ideal – because it’s going to take me a while to accumulate enough money to do that on my own. But in that time, I hope I find a keen travel buddy – I’m not the loner type.

T for Tequila – I once had about 6 shots of tequila. Needless to say I was out cold by the end of it. Tequila is the devil you love to love. One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. Floor.

T for Tease – I have always been teased. In school I apparently walked like Donald Duck. I was teased with several boys in my class. I was teased in college cause of my weird haircuts. I am teased at work because I talk too much. I am teased about my bye-bye flab. I’m teased about my white legs. I am teased when I use wrong grammar cause I am a senior copywriter. I am teased a lot. And sometimes, I do a bit of teasing too.

T for Taxes – I am finally in that dreaded bracket. I have the government on my tail. I have to pay income tax for the next year. And to evade some of it I have to invest. I don’t know what to do. I am in a state of complete panic because of it. I hate being a grown up because of taxes.

T for Tea – The only tea I enjoy is my father’s tea. He makes the yummiest tea ever, but he does nothing special to it at all. I have never voluntarily had a cup of tea outside home. I despise tea anywhere else. It’s coffee I love. The smell, the taste and the pick-up it gives you early in the morning. And I would like to thank my big sister for introducing me to it.

T for Think – I have been told more often than not, on various occasions that I think too much. And you know what? I think that isn’t as bad as people think it is. My mind is never blank. My thoughts are always on overdrive. I ponder, contemplate, deliberate, reflect, mull, ruminate, wonder, speculate, question, doubt and hypothesize my heart out. Every single day.

I think, therefore I am.

I think.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

butt of course

I’m so excited. It’s that time of year again. It’s time to get ready, choose your colours, choose your team, root your heart out, and be damned if you loose. You know what I’m talking about - its soccer season.

It’s the season when all the yummy hotties, from around the world, get out their tiny shiny shorts and chase a ball for some ninety odd minutes, it’s the season when it’s ok to stare at the television set without blinking, and yes, ‘tis a season to be jolly. Very bloody jolly.

Without a doubt soccer is my favourite sport. And not just for the obvious reasons. My fetish for tight male posteriors is just one of its fascinating aspects. And boy, are they fascinating.
*Day-dream break please* “Oh Rio, your so strong”

Ahem, the second most fascinating part about soccer is the fact that you cannot bear to fall asleep, switch the channel or even take a pee break, for fear you will miss an unbelievably crazy goal that some mid-fielder shot in the 73rd minute of the second half. And if you do miss it, you will beat yourself silly- vowing never to pee again.

This is where I do not understand the passion for cricket. Cricket, where it is easy to fall asleep during a match, or maybe even the days in between a test series, is the slowest game- third only to golf and chess. I may very well be lynched for saying this, but the only cricket match I will watch is one between Pakistan and India – because that’s the only time when the damn game has some spice.

I cannot claim to be a huge die-hard soccer fan. I do not know all the names of all the players in all the teams. I do not know their best and worst game. I do not know their coaches names. I don’t know my Arsenal players numbers –(yes, I am an Arsenal fan – so all you Man U fans can kiss my a**.) In any case, when I say I love the game, I mean I love it. There is no other sport that I would willingly watch or pay to see other than soccer.

And I would pay more if Fredrik Ljungberg were bare bodied.
*Day-dream break please* “Oh Freddie can you bend over and pick up that pen, it fell by ‘accident’…”

The World Cup is my favourite. I whole-heartedly support my home country Brazil, and if they get out in the semi’s then its Portugal. And if this year, as some suspect, the World Cup is rigged by Germany, I will murder the lot of them. Shove schnitzel up their butts. If any of the countries are willing to rig this game, they do not deserve to play. This is an honest sport. This is a righteous sport. This is a good sport.

The fever has hit my office too. Some of the have started playing soccer on the beach every Saturday. (Including my national-treasure-butt boy, what a yummy treat it is.) I have volunteered to be a mascot and a cheerleader and a water girl if they need one. Apparently they don’t need any of the above. But I am going for the next practice anyway. They may take my life, but they will never take – My football.

I’ve got my Brazil top, my yellow and green face paint ready, the new 40” Flat screen in my uncles house is awesome, I have rested my eyes for some earnest butt watching - I’m all geared up for some serious soccer mania.

So join me, when I say, Olay, olay, olay, olayyy.

P.s: I have decided I have to marry a football player. Anyone know any single ones?

Thursday, May 04, 2006

jinxed cloud of crap

Things have been actually going well for me. I hate to say it because I have this acute fear that everything good will eventually blow up in my face, or, to put it crudely, I anticipate the sh*t hitting the fan, before it actually does.

Unlike most people who look for the silver lining behind a dark cloud, I lookfor the dark cloud behind the rainbow. Am I a cynic? Probably. But it's better to be warned than not, don't you think?
This year alone has been great. I made a decision not to quit my job, and I patiently looked for the dark cloud, but nothing. Nothing but sunshine.

My first meeting with my new group I cracked a film idea that went to the clientand it got through in one shot, so my ad film is going to be made in the next month or so. My boss took me aside and told me that I have great potential and he is quite pleased with the quality of work coming from me.

I have been to Goa twice in one year. This is always a good thing. And the second time I was in Goa I got a call from my ex art partner telling me that I won a silver advertising award at the AAAI ad festival. There I was, standing onthe white sands of Palolem beach at 2:30am, screaming in disbelief on my mobile phone. Sure, it's not a huge award, but it is something. I will go on to bigger and better soon enough. Maybe a Cannes Lion, maybe a Gold Pencil. Maybe.

I'll tell you what this does for me. My agency was so hell bent on not letting me quit my job. They promoted me, they gave me more money and they gave me opportunity. Now I have shown them, that it was all worth it. I'm worth it.

What is also great is that I might meet Chicago boy again in June. Then maybe again in August or September. I haven't met him in 14 years, but yea, three times in one year is a just that possible.

I'm also going to be with my family on my birthday. My whole family. For the first time in almost 7 years I will have all the people I love in one room. It makes me want to cry. Out of joy of course, not because they smell or anything. Giggle.

Sunshine continues, and maybe instead of enjoying it I'm keeping one eye on the now-stationary sh*t.

Waiting for it to rise up and do the inevitable.

Hit the fan. Sh*t.