heart breaker

mcshit with a side of lies, anyone?

I can blame it on the fumes from the fireworks at New Years. I can also blame it on my biological clock that seems to be stuck in a metal box that is amplifying the ticking and making it really, bloody annoying - driving me to lose all better judgement. I can also blame it on my complete lack of judgment. But then why play the blame-game? Especially, when it’s me I’m playing with?

This is in reference to The Guy I was supposedly, sorta, kinda seeing in the beginning of the year.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen he turned out to be a McShit with lies on the side, and Lady Luck decided to super-size me.

Not only did he put me through immense mental trauma (I’m talking about the jealousy-kind) he has now decided to bad mouth me to his posse – within ear-shot of mine – just so I can find out the nastiest way – through the grapevine.

If that wasn’t enough, I have to deal with his smug ‘I’m-so-super-cool-with-my-long-bloody-hair-and-my-big-bloody-Mercedes-and-my-bloody-tattoos’ attitude every bloody day.

Apparently I sure know how to pick ‘em. In fact I think I am like honey to the B’s (and F’s and C’s and M’s – and all the other nasty words you can think of)

Just for once I would like the big deli in the sky to give me my order.

Super-sized McNice - Happy Meal, hold the nasty.

you know you’re ready to mingle when…

You overhear some management colleagues talking about hiring a new account director and you ask if he is cute, rather than qualified.

You are almost willing to forgive all the crap that someone put you through, just so you can snuggle.

You are on the treadmill and a foreigner hottie is doing crunches on the floor behind you, and you peer at the mirror in front trying to get a glimpse inside his shorts.

You think your taxi driver has nice eyes. And you justify it by exclaiming “they looked really intense through the rear-view mirror, okay!”

You think every guy is hitting on you. It’s not true, you’re just hormonal.

Some grey haired man in the gym seemed cute to you. When you mention it, your gym buddy thinks the blood has rushed rapidly out of your head.

You flirt with a child-man in your office – he’s a summer trainee for god’s sake, Mrs. Robinson, you.

You have train acquaintances – because you’ll go home at the same time everyday. Indicating you have no life.

You go for an exclusive launch party and the waiter slips you his number.

You contemplate swinging over to the opposite sex. Just so you can snuggle. It’s all very pathetic isn’t it?

You start making lists of why you are ready to mingle, hoping some smart, intelligent, stud reads it, finds you insanely interesting, comments and the both of you meet, have instant connection, love each others company and make sweet history together…

Crap.
Woe is indeed me.

me fair lady

Yes. Another weekend hit me in the face. And, as usual, I had nothing to do, no plans at all. Until yesterday –a guy from my office asked me to accompany him to the racecourse. One of our client owns a stud farm.
It was supposed to be a formal occasion, so I donned my little summer dress and looked absolutely fabulous.
I pretended I owned one of the horses and elegantly clapped when it raced – and spoke loudly of its winnings. Needless to say, the guy with me regretted taking me entirely.
I’ve never been to the races, so this was fascinating. I realized that there’s a certain pleasure that goes with dressing up all good ‘n pretty on a Sunday afternoon. I attended the high tea afterward also, and I wore my sunglasses throughout – I was pretending to be someone who didn’t want to be recognized – Incognito, as I told my colleague.
Nobody cared if I was ‘cognito’ anyway – either way, it was fun to pretend.

Some facts about the races and life in general:

I thought the racecourse would be crawling with young eligible stud-farm owners, whom I could rake in and start a stud-farm of my own, if you know what I mean (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) Unfortunately, there were only old bookies and older stud farm owners – and although it did cross my mind that I could be an Anna Nicole and marry a rich old man and get all his money… I also thought, it was important to have standards.

Indian women are so much more attractive than the paunchy, old farts they have on their arm. While I was stuffing my face with finger food at the high-tea, my companion was having a visual treat of all the PYT’s that flocked the place. He even saw a bunch of, what he termed as, “yummy mummies”.

I am one of the guys. Even in a pretty little summer dress and a little bag, with my hair all up in a French bun, I am one of the guys. My colleague slapped me on the arm several times to point out a hot chick. This is very bad news. Even in my dolled up state I am a buddy. (He only said I was looking elegant when I prompted him in the car)

Men who own horses dress badly. Unless they are the sons of men who own horses, then they dress like something out of a Chirag Din ad (read even worse) And, if you’re not betting, a horse race is boring – except for the part when they gallop past you. See how this little metaphor translates wonderfully to life as well?

Thank heavens I did not wear a hat. Apparently, they only wear hats at the Derby. Imagine how lunatic I would look dolled up in a hat at some random race! (This is not a fact, I just thought about it)

All men suck. Oh come on, I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t grumble a little on my blog, now would I?

Anyway, it is way past my bedtime and I have had a tiring day at the races. Pretending you’re rich is a tough job. Sunday was good and Monday promises to be better – it’s a holiday. Three days of blissful R&R.

And then came Tuesday. Sigh.

love and anti-love

Love:

She tries to breathe through the smoke. Another chicken burnt to the bones.

Damn, she should’ve learnt to cook from her mother.

She opens the window to let out the smoke - he’s going to be home any minute.

He smells the smoke, and smiles, “I’m too tired to eat, let’s just watch TV, ok?”




Anti Love:

She makes another one of her mother’s speciality recipes.

It smells good – so what if it’s taken over two hours of her time?

Table laid, she waits for him to walk in– any minute now.

He slams the door shut.
Walks into the bedroom saying, “I’m too tired to eat, im just gonna watch TV.”

addiction to fiction

It is my new addiction. Thanks to Wiseling's whimsical offer I am now a part of a new 55 Fiction blog.
What is 55 fiction? It’s telling a story – in fifty five words.


(1)

They sit in a park, watching kids play.
She looks endearingly at him. He looks fascinated, at the children.

Without looking at her, he says, “I want to have a bunch of them, someday.”

Her hand wanders over the flat stomach she took years to attain.

Still looking at him she says, “Yeah. Me too.”


(2)

“She's a wonderful person. Hardworking, intelligent…"- I said to him – "She is one of those people who's really dedicated to what she's doing. She's good that way, I think."

His eyes continued to watch her as she walked down the corridor - "Yeah, she's got great breasts too…"

"Really?" I said questioningly, "I hadn't noticed."


(3)

They rented Before Sunrise.
He watches it in bed with her - his girlfriend of three years.

Jesse to Celine, “I know happy couples... but I think they lie to each other”

Movie ends. He waits for his girlfriend to fall asleep.

Gets his mobile phone and texts someone- ‘Wish you were here. Goodnight.’

spit sucker

I had a dentist appointment yesterday. I have proximal cavities. One is now filled. The biggest one I am told. And I can’t stop my tongue from fiddling with it.

I hate going to the dentist. I feel violated. Some masked someone gaping down your orifice with whirring tools and a spit sucker. I hate the spit sucker.

I think going to the dentist would humble anyone. You have no control over your drooling. You’re laying flat, a big, harsh light pointed right at you. Your mouth wide open – exposed – a probing so deep, it makes you wonder if he can see your thoughts floating around in there – and with that thought you quickly stop thinking.

Thankfully my teeth are not in as bad a shape I envisioned them to be. I was diagnosed with proximal cavities about two years ago. And for two years I’ve had on and off nightmares of my teeth crumbling when biting on something hard. It wasn’t pretty.

Speaking of strange dreams, I had a bizarre dream the other night. While I was sleeping in my dream, someone rearranged my toe rings. When I woke, in the dream, I couldn’t figure which one went where and it made me very anxious – to the point where I was screaming down at my feet – Who did this? Why did you do this?

Shudder.

I used to have this creepy recurring dream. My second sister and I would plan to throw my eldest sister out of the window. We’d carry her and dump her over the balcony. In five minutes, my eldest sister would walk back into the house – all bruised. I, being very nervous, would plan to help her throw my second sister over the balcony. After which, my second sister would walk back – again all bruised and battered. Both of them would then realize that I was the common denominator and would throw me out of the balcony. I’d never return.

I don’t have that dream anymore. But I do get recurring falling dreams.
Maybe it’s the sequel.

Basically I think I need a spit sucker for my dreams.

reality check

I sat in the office canteen, picking at the putrid looking Chinese food that lay before me. I made a mush of the rice and the gravy and then mutilated the vegetable balls.
The girl sitting next to me, realized my day wasn’t going well.

Out of concern she asked, “What’s up? How’s it going?”
Without looking up I muttered, “Life sucks. And then you die.”
She looked straight at me and sighed, “And what’s more… we live in a third world country.”

I looked at her in shocked silence. She masticated nonchalantly on her noodles.

Damn.

shouldive, wouldive, couldive

I was reading about quarter-life crisis in the newspaper today.

Apparently, it’s a phenomenon, especially amongst young working women. It all goes back to the pressure of what “should” be happening in your life.

You should be working, you should have a great job, you should be putting one hundred percent into what you’re doing, you should have a great friend circle – no, not one or two friends, like a group of confidantes who you should have amazing after work hours with. You should have an active social life – parties, weekends away – if not with your friends then with your should-have significant other. And if all that wasn’t enough – you should have a great slender body and be fit and active – especially because you should be having an active sex life.

It’s true. The pressure is immense. Thinking about it I don’t qualify for a lot of the ‘should’s’ listed – but that should be alright, right?

I mean after a long work day, you can’t be expected to transform into a stiletto-wearing, pub-hopping woman of the night – we don’t all live on the sets of Sex and the City.

And outside of work, which is about nine hours a day for me, where is the time to catch up with a circle of friends – who also may have lives outside of you? No, unfortunately we do not live on the sets of Friends either. Everyone needs to get home, everyone has to travel, it isn’t realistic to assume that people can just meet and chat for an hour, unless you live five minutes away from them.

And the significant others. Considering we have no time outside our nine hour days, we rarely meet people outside of our immediate work place, or outside our profession. Which limits the possibilities a tad, doesn’t it? Are we all expected to hook up within the circle like some kind of inter-career marriage ritual? Besides, what if you meet a teacher, and his work ends at 5 in the evening, while yours goes on for another four hours, by which time he is already home and uninterested in moving, or has made other plans?

And the body bit. How are you expected to keep a fit body when you have to eat whatever your canteen offers because you have no time to dictate your diet? How do you make time, 2 hours a day to go to the gym?

Note - people with fabulous bodies make it their life’s mission to have fabulous bodies.
You think those damned Pussycat Dolls do anything but yoga, gym and pilates?

Real woman have bodies dammit!

I feel for working women going through all this pressure. And the sad part is it’s not going to stop just because you’ve identified it. Apparently you should make a list about what you want to achieve before a certain time – in order to be happy in your life.

I almost made a list.

Then I realised it was just another ‘should’ – which really should stop, shouldn’t they?

buffalos don’t have wings

Isn’t it amazing? I let an entire Valentine’s Day pass without ranting and raving about my crappy luck with love?

Surprisingly though, I had a very nice Valentine’s. No, I did not find the man of my dreams nor did the current man in my life turn into a knight in shining armor.

I have been working with my ex art partner on this website design and concept. We work really well together and it was kind of sad when we parted ways. Now that we are back in the same office, we try to do stuff together as much as we can. She and I have been going crazy figuring out how this website will work and how it will look. We spent days thinking of a concept – and eventually we fell in love with what we got.

So on the 14th we had to present it to my boss, who would approve it or not. And he loved it. Our hard work was appreciated and he was very liberal with the compliments – which trust me, is not usually. He even called some other people to check it out. And when she and I hugged, he joined it – to her surprise and my horror.

Post work I went for a drink with a couple of friends to a place called 'Brew Bar' (Note - Long Island Ice Tea is the bomb). I did have a fight with the waiter though. He tried to pass off Chicken lollypops as Buffalo wings. And when I insisted that what was on the plate was not Bufflao Wings, he looked at my half finished glass of Long Island Ice Tea and said patiently, “Madam, Buffalos don’t have wings.” How can you argue with that? I won't even get into the Fish Fingers thing.

Post that, some of us went dancing. I was happy. I didn’t miss anyone. I didn’t pine for love. I didn’t feel sad for that entire day. The next day I was at work bright and early – worked a little more on my website, my baby and went home.

For a change it feels good not to be all messed up because of some stupid commercial holiday that is only for losers and victims of filmy crap.

I think if I did receive a stuffed animal, a heart shaped box of saccharine sweet candy or a bunch of vegetation, I’d run screaming in the opposite direction - probably to the nearest bar to get me one of 'em Long Island Ice Teas.

certifiable

After going to town to meet a friend who was leaving for the States, I took a cab to my old school. My mom, who was a teacher there for almost thirty-two years, was invited to an alumni function. There were mails going around for the last two months about this big function, but I was totally uninterested in going.

Thinking I would just pop in to tell my mom I was outside waiting for her, I ventured in, dressed in old jeans and a ratty black tee and my big basket bag. I walked around aimlessly looking for my mom, and looking to see if I recognised anyone from school. Some guys did look familiar – you know, just older with facial hair, the girls were dressed up to the nines. I looked completely out of place.

I found my mum surrounded by a group of big hulking men, all asking “Miss, do you recognise me? Class of ’89?”. My mother was in her element – it’s amazing how much she remembers. A man walked up to her and asked if she knew who he was – she looked at him and said – “Ali, Blue house, in the second grade, you looked up Mrs Wilma’s skirt and yelled out what fat thighs she had!”
Needless to say, Ali, now an airline captain and his wife were both amused and suitably embarrassed.

I told my mother I was going to wait outside for her, cause dad was coming too and we’d have dinner together. As I talked to my mom, I heard a table whisper my name, when I turned around I did not recognise any of them, “Juniors”, I thought, smugly.

As I was leaving, clutching my big bag, trying to look down and hoping against hope that no one would recognise me, being grossly under dressed and all, I looked up for a minute and was met with a big smile.

He used to be in the green house. Never tall. Always cute. I had a huge crush on him for a while. He was in my mother’s class when he was in the first grade. Now, twenty seven, dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers, he looked, well, smashing.

We talked for a while, he met my mother and we talked a little about what we were doing now. I sat for a while at his table, with all his batch mates. He then asks, “Remember when we were in the first and we had a full day of school, and you were in the nursery, and had only half a day? You used to come and hang out in our class with your mom... you were so cute”

I didn’t remember that detail. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. This guy was talking about me like I was a bitty baby in bloomers. I did wear bloomers at that time, cream and white chequered bloomers. I think he had that image in his head. The horror.

As we talked he asked me for my number. This was a good sign. It meant he was not thinking about the bloomer story anymore. Then he dropped another bomb. Turns out he knows the current guy in my life – although he doesn’t know about me and him.

He said we should all go out together. And I grunted a disillusioned ‘uh-huh’. But he took my number, So mixed feeling were running through my head– messed up about the new guy issue, and really giggly and gawky at the old guy.

Later, giggly and gawky prevailed. He said we should definitely catch up and go out sometime. I sputtered a “sure, that would be awesome”. He half hugged me and then left.

Damn he was cute.

I think I can definitely be classified as boy crazy.

Yup. Definitely boy crazy.

Ten things you need to know about pandemic influenza

Oh come on.

Like you actually thought this was going to be about pandemic influenza? This is about me.
It’s always about me. And anyone who comes here thinking – ‘why doesn’t she write about something less shallow than her life’ – Go away. Be gone. Get lost.

I’m not here to please you. You are here to humour me.
If you have no time for my ramblings, I am more than dandy with that.

It’s almost 3am and I am at work. Pretending to work on a pitch. No, not pretending, trying. Really trying. I’m nervous in this office. I can’t stop thinking about when I will get to go home. This is my first night here – I’m not sure where to sleep, or whether I should sleep at all.

I can’t believe this kind of trivial crap goes through my mind most of the time. It’s like it’s on over-drive but no one really cares.

I feel low.

I’m going through one of those recurrent quarter-life crises. Almost 26 years old, single, no life partner on the horizon, stuck in a full time job, getting paid chicken poop, living in the back of beyond, a victim of public transport, no social life, no time for hobbies, no time.

Weekends are longed for and when they begin, you cram them so full of things to do, that you end up being tired the rest of the week. Weekdays can’t be messed with because your new job demands you not to make plans and leave early enough to do something fun, before you head back to the village.

All men suck. The ones who don’t have girlfriends or wives or are gay or are pretending not to suck, until you fall into their trap and they divulge how hideously sucky they really are.

Money is being made everywhere you look. Smart individuals with zero talent are raking in the cash. Why? Because they have foresight and are bold enough to make the money that is there, waiting to be made. There is so much money in this city and none of it is in my bank account.

There are so many things I want to learn – pottery, salsa and capoeira. None of which I can do – don’t ask me why. And don’t tell me I could if I “really” wanted to.

Did I mention how much men suck? Especially the ones I happen to be so lucky to encounter. It’s almost as if this secret manual, a code on how to piss me off, is passed amongst them. Like a little all-mail underground cult with an evil agenda, dedicated to making me feel crappy. Maybe I’m giving myself way too much importance.

What am I doing? Am I happy with the direction my life is going? Where will I be in five years? Those are the deep questions that plague my mind now. You’ve got to admit they are deeper than - when will he call me? Who is he with? Why do I want to kill that stick-figured chick?

This makes me a tad pleased.

I’m older, and deeper, and wiser.

Ok maybe just the first two... Hey, two outta three ain’t bad.

toothpaste for dinner

Courtesy – www.toothpastefordinner.com – for getting me through boring work days.

FW:

I've realised that I’m too messed up to be in any sort of relationship. One needs to have a lot of patience and time to even consider me as a “better half”. I’m demanding, possessive and a tad insecure. And if one gives me reason to be any of the above in excess – God help them.

I’ve decided this, whatever I am so called into, vis-à-vis my previous post, isn’t a major relationship – I’m talking long term. Cause if it were one would try and calm me down about issues I have with stick figures.

I’m treating this undefined thing, like a fling. I like flings. I am good at flings. I’m old enough to have a couple of flings. And if I define it like a fling – I become less messed up in my head. This is a good thing. It’s psychology.

I’ve realised I am the jealous type. And the more I try and hide it, the more it eats me up inside. So if I have murderous feelings towards more than one woman – I’m going to show it. So the man in question better deal.

I’ve realised that it is in my best interest to keep myself happy and free of stress. And if that means I am never getting married, having a relationship and a family and ending up living alone with cats and a bitter disposition, so be it.

I have concluded that I am an attractive woman. As Maya Angelou would put it, a phenomenal woman, and if I am to emanate this belief, I have to believe it first.

Lastly I have realised that this post is turning out to be one of those “I’ve realised” forwards that circulate the net. So I’m going to stop.

in other news...

I’m kinda, sorta, maybe, not-too-sure, perhaps, possibly seeing someone.

We met in December 2006 – which was still the “good” year technically, so I’m a little relieved about that bit. But we are “getting into something” in the New Year – which is scaring the beejeesus out of me – cause of my super superstitious odd-numbered-bad-year-luck thing.

I have met everyone that is possibly close to him from his parents to his dogs to his building’s watchman and he has met no one of mine. This is fine by me, because the whole “meeting the parents” bit freaks me out a little.

Now, I have been single and mingling, with no good results, for the better part of two and a half years. And suddenly, bam, I find myself in a relationship quandary.

We call each other, he cares about where I am, we go out and his arm is around me, His hand reaches for mine in a crowded club, I’m the one he calls before he goes to bed, I’m the one he messages in the morning and I’m the one who gets to sit in the front seat of his car.

This is all new. It’s all good, but it’s all new. And I am baffled. As if I did not think enough. My mind is now on overdrive. I’m constantly preparing myself for inevitable disaster.

The day before yesterday was supposed to be the day he’d walk up to me and say whatever this is, it’s over. Yesterday was the day he was supposed to call me and tell me that he’s met someone, or that his ex is back in the picture. Today was the day he just gives me the cold shoulder and doesn’t return my calls and text messages.

Last weekend was our first out of town trip. It was not exactly a romantic get away or anything. We went with some thirty-five people to his friend’s dad’s farm. Some fifteen friends were there with twenty parents.

He was introduced to some elderly man as himself; I was introduced to the elderly man as his better half. My feminist instinct was under check, or else I would have demanded an apology. In fact, my 50’s, apron-wearing, home-maker, house wifey side, absolutely loved it.

As usual, the pessimist in me is waiting for the bubble to burst, constantly thinking that it’s never going to work, before it has even begun. And I think, assuming that each day is going to be the end is making me miss out on a lot of good things.

That, and the intense jealousy I am feeling toward some of his annoying, ditsy, Paris Hilton-esque female friends, who probably eat a single pea for every meal and think the weighing scale goes only to about 40kgs. Bloody damned stick figures.

On the 31st night he took me out to this club and we celebrated the New Year together. Before he dropped me home we discussed “us”. I asked if it was a fling, he said no. I asked if we were seeing each other, he said yes. I asked if we were exclusive, he said as exclusive as I wanted us to be. He told me if there was anyone else, I’d be the first to know.
(Insert romantic ‘sigh’ here)

If this is just another one of the big man upstairs’ sick jokes, I swear, somebody’s gonna get hurt real bad.

And it better not be me.

happy frikkin' 2007

Remember how I was hoping and praying that this year was as good as 2006 and not as completely awful as 2005?

I'm guessing the hopes and prayers didn’t quite work out.

My car was stolen today.

Four years we parked our red Hyundai Accent at that spot next to the train station, and today when my dad got back from the train, it was gone.

It was bought as a surprise for my sisters when they came down from the states. It was a beautiful red, which my mum and I chose, as opposed to an old-fogey silver model. The music system was a swanky one – something my dad wanted to splurge on, ‘because we all like music on the road, especially me – he got those ones with a remote so I could DJ from the back seat.

Dad just got back from sitting at the police station for almost three hours filing a FIR, so he can give it to the insurance company. If we don’t get the car back, at least we get the money. It’s naïve to even think we will get the car back in one piece – especially in this country.

Anyway, it’s been a lousy day.

Hopefully this run of crap will not continue. Hopefully the rest of the year is better and brighter. Hopefully the insurance covers us. Hopefully my mum and dad are not too upset over this thing.

Hopefully the testicles of the asshole that stole my car, fall off.

on being inked

I woke up nervous as hell.

The horror stories about people ‘going under the gun’ were enough to scare me, but the horror stories I heard about my tattoo artist were pushing me over the edge.

I took a cold shower and unconsciously cleaned the upper right portion of my back more than usual. It was never going to be the same.

I walked up to the tattoo studio and some girl put some numbing cream on my back. I left and went to get a good healthy breakfast, think fruit juice, eggs, baked beans, potatoes and sausage. I ate like it was my last meal. The cream was numbing every bone in my body.

My closest girlfriend arrived and tried to calm me down. She laughed and joked and even sang ‘I feel pretty’, but I was a nervous wreck, no, wait, a numb nervous wreck.

As I approached the tattoo studio I got a phone call from them, I informed them that I was on my way, and they informed me that my parents were already there.

And from that moment, I was the calmest tattoo virgin ever.

My mother helped me fill a consent form, my father suggested colours and shading options, my best girl sang softly, someone took pictures and my tattoo artist dissipated all doubts that he was a maniac and made me feel most comfortable.

He talked to my mother who was very concerned with about the man who was going to ‘mutilate her baby girl’. He laughed when she told him she wanted to cut his hair and wash it.

The fact that my parents were there appealed to him on some level.
The fact that my parents were there calmed me down on many levels.

After the first half an hour the numbing cream wore off and I could feel the needle jabbing into me. Weirdly it was awesome.

I felt liberated, I felt a rush, I felt like someone who was doing what they wanted, I felt wild and free, I almost felt empowered.

I felt like an adult.

And throughout, all I focused on was my mothers reassuring smile.

i'm inked

I finally got myself a tattoo.

Something I have wanted to do for the last eight years. I remember checking out tattoo sites online when I was 17, and picking out designs and storing them for reference.

This year I finally decided what I wanted, I asked a very special person to design it for me and now, after about three months, it’s on me. My dragonfly.

Most people say a dragonfly is a clichéd design. But when I read about them, it occurred to me how beautifully perfect it was for me, right now, at this moment.

“The more you learn about this small but powerful creature, the more you understand that it is not merely a testimony to beauty, but also strength and most importantly, change.”

What amazed me, was that the dragonfly can spend three years in the nymph stage, living underwater, waiting to painfully morph into what they finally are. They are fierce, delicate, mystical and real, all at the same time. Native American astrology believes that every person has their own totem animal spirit, I’m not certain that mine is a dragonfly, but I am certain I love everything it stands for:

“The dragonfly spirit means you must consciously make an effort to express your hopes, dreams, needs and wishes. It is the essence of the winds of change; it carries messages of wisdom and enlightenment. It beckons you to seek out the parts of your habits that need changing, and then guides you to the path of transformation”

2006 has been a fabulous year – things have changed, I have changed - for better, not so much worse. I’ve travelled more than ever (two trips to Goa, two months in America and most recently Daman), I’ve changed jobs, and I am finally in an agency I have wanted to join for a year, My beautiful niece was born, I’ve met so many wonderful people, some who have changed the way I look at life. If I continue I might get into a whole barrage of reasons.

Honestly, I can’t think of a better, more beautiful way to commemorate the year.

Forever, I shall look over my right shoulder and remember.

Salute!

Not the best picture, but it'll do for now. Oh and look, the first picture I have of me on my blog. Talk about change and new beginnings, eh?

of bugs and boys

This weekend was a mixture of crazy fun and way too much stress.

And the reason is simple. I took a bunch of friends from work to my parent’s holiday home in the hills. I turned into a psychotic paranoid woman who was obsessed with cleaning - which left me with no time to really take in the fun.

We left on Friday night, three boys and me in a car bound for Lonavala. The rest of them, two guys and three girls arrived the following night. During the course of two nights, several glasses were broken, bonfires were made, food was copiously consumed and drinks were drunk – as were some of the drinkers.

But the funniest part of the weekend was the first night with just the boys.

On the way there, they spoke like manly men, grunting excitedly with talks of building a large fire and throwing large chunks of meat on sticks over it. Talks of trekking to the mountains and camping out. Talks of embracing the wild. I listened intently, trying very hard not to laugh.

When we arrived they ran around the house like little boys, up and down the stairs like happy campers. They got their drinks and took chairs outside so they could take in the breeze. The sun set. The single street light came on.

And that’s when disaster struck.

The creatures of the night, including big flying ones, appeared.

And our three manly men could not shake off their fear. They tried to pretend that those massive moths, bugs and crickets did not bother them until they started slamming up against the window, with loud thuds.

One of the boys swore he saw a bat. And in a matter of minutes these “cavemen” were grabbing their belongings and running for cover, a little short of screaming like girls.
This is when they realized that a huge grasshopper had made its way inside.

The boys huddled into a corner while I got rid of it. Alright, so I am exaggerating a little, they didn’t huddle in a corner, they just all stood like manly men on the other side of the room, while I tried to catch, scare and kick the creature out of my house, with verbal support from them, of course.

Bugs and the boys do not mix well. The next morning a panicked phone call was made to the people joining us. Several cans of bug spray were ordered to be brought. One of the boys wanted to spray the entire surrounding area with bug spray so he suggested about three or four large cans.

Still determined to get in touch with their inner caveman, the boys found some villager to get wood and build a bonfire for a small fee. They sat around the fire on chairs, occasionally prodding the logs while they ate the chicken that a nice little aunty to agreed to cook for them (on a stove, not a bonfire)

All in all the city boys had a blast. And I had a great time watching big hulking boys run for cover 'cause of big, hulking bugs.

the break up

I have been avoiding Satya, the guy who does my taxes, for the past month now.

I have been cheating on him with another accountant.

This other guy now has my papers. I have allowed this new guy to study my files, peruse my account and do my paperwork. I’ve even given him a Form 16, something Satya has been asking from me forever.

I have been with Satya for about a year now. We’ve gone through the PAN card process together, the TDS stuff and all the rest of it. Our meetings were brief but meaningful.
A signature here, a stamped paper there.

But it wasn’t enough. I needed more.
I needed someone who was passionate about my paperwork.
So I cheated.

Yesterday Satya called me and I did not pick up the phone because I knew I had to tell him.

I had to break up with the man who saved my money last year.

This is how the conversation went in my head:

Me: Hello?

Satya: Hi, It’s me… You know tomorrow is the last day right… (Voice trails off)

Me: Yea. I know… Listen, we need to talk…

Satya: Oh? What about? Are your papers not….

Me: Never mind the papers.

Satya: What?

Me: I’m getting my taxes done from someone else. I can’t do this anymore.

Satya: What?

Me: Listen, I needed to. He seems so much more into it. I know you have other clients….

Satya: What?

Me: Don’t do this! You know what I’m talking about!

Satya: But…but why? All I ever asked for is your Form 16, maybe sometimes too many times.
But, I did it for you..

Me: I know. I know. It’s not you. It’s me. I need more. I need someone who is into me.

Satya: I am into you. I’m the one that keeps calling. Do I even expect anything from you?

Me: I’m sorry. I really am. But I have to do this for myself. One day you’ll understand. We can still be friends and send each other Diwali cards.

Satya: (sighs melancholically)

So armed with what I was going to say, I called him back.
This is how the conversation went.

Satya: Hello?

Me: Hi, It’s me…

Satya: Oh hi...

Me: Yea. I know… Listen, we need to talk…(Voice trails off)

Satya: What about? Your papers?

Me: Never mind the papers. I’m getting my taxes done from someone else.

Satya: Oh ok.

Me: What?

Satya: Fine, I believe you owe me 1000 rupees for last year.

Me: What?

Satya: You can give me a check. Better still, mail it.

Me: What?

Satya: Ok. Bye

Me: Errm. Bye? Is that….

(click)




Arrgh.
Men. I despise men.