have you noticed how all great stories are stories of revenge and/or equaling a score? how all great protagonists spend their life engaged in a battle of wills with their rival, to emerge (always) victorious in the end? stories like that have everything – lots of passion, characters with an unbending resolve, ambition, some blood and gore, a light drizzle of stolen kisses on the steps of some beautiful building, a few car chases, a little bit (or a lot – depending on your preference) of sex, and of course, melancholic pictures of gorgeous people.
thing is, none of this is possible or worth anything at all, without a worthy adversary. not in the films. not in books. and definitely, not in your life.
in today’s day and age - you’re nobody (at least nobody important), if you don’t have somebody gunning for you.
those of you are generally one step ahead (and it doesn’t matter ahead of whom, if you’re wondering) and know this, also know that there are certain advantages to having an enemy. firstly, people start treating you with respect. sometimes also with great sympathy, but you’ve got to ignore that and concentrate on the respect, since, it’s a known fact that only important people have enemies. secondly, your life (till now only occupied with mundane earthly to-dos) suddenly becomes worthwhile. there is reason for living. there’s excitement in things even as ordinary as brushing your teeth. having an enemy is like being in love. only there’s no chance of it burning out or fading away.
now i don’t have a wildly exciting life. no adrenalin pumping car chases. no frame worthy black and white photographs of melancholic moments, no blood and gore, unless you could count the numerous cuts and bruises i give myself by just standing still.
but it (my life, ie), i have to admit has its moments. i spent half of last week in bed with food poisoning, thinking i was going to die. and the other half, partying like i just graduated, celebrating the fact that i was indeed alive. and in between that i realized one thing – i might not have an enemy worth basing a film on, but i do have a worthy adversary - in myself.
seriously, i am out to kill me.
it wasn’t enough that last week, i gave myself food poisoning from a masala toast sandwich, i bought from a shifty looking sidewalk vendor, because i thought his set-up had atmosphere (puh leese). today, i walk into office, and at the threshold, i trip over my own feet, almost breaking my teeth on the murky beige tiled floor.
there is an upside of being your own worst enemy, though, apart of relying on yourself for moments of high drama in your life. it’s just that one of you is going to win and for once, you can be damn sure, that it’s going to be you.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
"you'd better tell his majesty that many people nowadays like marmalade instead"
i love breakfasts. sunshine filled mornings on the front lawn, sitting on wicker chairs, with a table laden with fresh fruits and thick round sausages bursting at the seams, and poached eggs, and lichies and cream, and mutton chops, and cold milk cereals, and liver fry, and toast with the butter having melted right in. (aah, to eat your fill, and just lay down and die there.)
yeah, i completely, totally, irrevocably (is that declaration enough, doubting thomases?) love breakfasts. thing is, i can just never do them.
not that i haven't tried. (god, how i've tried). i've set alarms. i've called up friends in the dead of the night to inctice them to meet me for breakfast the following day (and yes, wake me up for it). i've gone to sleep thinking of sausages and bacon and eggs or pancakes with maple syrup or even croissants. but to no avail. sure as the day is sunny (with possibilities of mild rain), i wake up at ten-0-clock, rush into the bathroom, rush out of the bathroom, rush to office, rush to the coffee machine, rush outside with coffee to have a smoke, rush back in and start working.
as you can see, my morning schedule leaves very little time for breakfast. unless i plan to eat on the run.
but it wasn't always like this. when i was littler, i DID breakfasts. i'll skip over the details of breakfast at boarding school (though i shovelled that down my throat, too), which like all boarding school breakfasts was totally tasteless while having all the nutrients necessary for growing children (or such like). but breakfast at home (see first para) was divine. there's no other word for it. it was my first thoroughly orgasmic experience, when i still didn't know what an orgasm was. sure i hated waking up in the morning for it (especially since i was on holiday) and sure i never understood why the whole family had to have breakfast together, just because my dad deemed it so, and sure i didn't enjoy it as much, because it was the norm at home...but hell, it was great and what i wouldn't do (apart from going back home for a holiday) for a breakfast spread like that.
now breakfast is a distant dream. to be worshipped from afar (which helps me retain my love for it). to be had only if and when you don't end up going to bed at all, on a given night or if a fanciful lover takes it upon him/her to serve you the meal (take a minute to till your head to one side and say "aaah").
i miss it. and so (in a rare, pro-active moment) i've decided to introduce it back in my life. for the sake of my future children and my future childrens children, who otherwise might grow up (if we haven't obliterated the world, ie) never knowing what breakfast is. so today onwards, my new motto is, "take back the morning".
i shall henceforth endeavour to wake up every morning. early (but not too). just early enough to take back the morning. and i shall do this, not just for me, but for breakfast lovers everywhere (who have witnessed the demise of their favourite meal). for hedonists (for whom this has become a forgotten pleasure). for lovers (because breakfast after sex is a great way to start your day. who am i kidding? just sex is a great way to start your day). so no, not lovers, children instead, who will grow up to reject their coffee for a good old fashioned breakfast.
and you my dear readers, can join the movement too. if you are in the neighbourhood, lets meet for breakfast.
yeah, i completely, totally, irrevocably (is that declaration enough, doubting thomases?) love breakfasts. thing is, i can just never do them.
not that i haven't tried. (god, how i've tried). i've set alarms. i've called up friends in the dead of the night to inctice them to meet me for breakfast the following day (and yes, wake me up for it). i've gone to sleep thinking of sausages and bacon and eggs or pancakes with maple syrup or even croissants. but to no avail. sure as the day is sunny (with possibilities of mild rain), i wake up at ten-0-clock, rush into the bathroom, rush out of the bathroom, rush to office, rush to the coffee machine, rush outside with coffee to have a smoke, rush back in and start working.
as you can see, my morning schedule leaves very little time for breakfast. unless i plan to eat on the run.
but it wasn't always like this. when i was littler, i DID breakfasts. i'll skip over the details of breakfast at boarding school (though i shovelled that down my throat, too), which like all boarding school breakfasts was totally tasteless while having all the nutrients necessary for growing children (or such like). but breakfast at home (see first para) was divine. there's no other word for it. it was my first thoroughly orgasmic experience, when i still didn't know what an orgasm was. sure i hated waking up in the morning for it (especially since i was on holiday) and sure i never understood why the whole family had to have breakfast together, just because my dad deemed it so, and sure i didn't enjoy it as much, because it was the norm at home...but hell, it was great and what i wouldn't do (apart from going back home for a holiday) for a breakfast spread like that.
now breakfast is a distant dream. to be worshipped from afar (which helps me retain my love for it). to be had only if and when you don't end up going to bed at all, on a given night or if a fanciful lover takes it upon him/her to serve you the meal (take a minute to till your head to one side and say "aaah").
i miss it. and so (in a rare, pro-active moment) i've decided to introduce it back in my life. for the sake of my future children and my future childrens children, who otherwise might grow up (if we haven't obliterated the world, ie) never knowing what breakfast is. so today onwards, my new motto is, "take back the morning".
i shall henceforth endeavour to wake up every morning. early (but not too). just early enough to take back the morning. and i shall do this, not just for me, but for breakfast lovers everywhere (who have witnessed the demise of their favourite meal). for hedonists (for whom this has become a forgotten pleasure). for lovers (because breakfast after sex is a great way to start your day. who am i kidding? just sex is a great way to start your day). so no, not lovers, children instead, who will grow up to reject their coffee for a good old fashioned breakfast.
and you my dear readers, can join the movement too. if you are in the neighbourhood, lets meet for breakfast.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
how to win friends and influence people (in delhi)
you're new to the city. you want to get to know it well. hang out with the locals. make new friends. basically, get a life outside the pages of the well worn travel guide you're carrying. and you're wondering how. here's a quick 5 step guide to meeting the people of delhi.
first of all, you should pack yourself a suitcase and move to bombay. there's nothing like moving out of delhi to meet delhi-ites. and the sooner you understand this, the better. bombay seems like a favourite haunt. i mean seriously, i've met more people from delhi in bombay than i ever did in delhi. (and i've spent 8 years in delhi as opposed to two weeks in bombay)
if that's just a wee bit impractical and you want to remain in delhi, and still make some friends (though god knows why) try the whole strong-and-silent attitude. go out. lean against some wall somewhere (preferably, in the shadows) and watch people. nothing captures attention like that does, in a city where everyone's talking nineteen to the dozen, about themselves. and if you don't get arrested for suspicious loitering, you'll definitely make some new friends.
take autos to get around. they'll always take you somewhere that's not even remotely close to where you wanted to go in the first place. that way, instead of going someplace where you already know people, you'll land up in a strange place with strange people. and that's where you bring the strong-silent attitude into play to befriend them.
start frequenting restaurants/pubs/cafes that have opened in the last three months. they'll be new enough to have a certain buzz to them and will attract the locals in droves (your chance to mingle). visit any place older than that, and you'll see just a half of the original customer/potential friend base. so strike when the iron is hot, my dear, and keep on the lookout for any new openings.
if all else fails, go to TC on a wednesday night. you'll meet everybody (and i mean, everybody. you can't ignore people, especially those who are joined to you at the hip- and the shoulder and yes, the toes too) and you'll get to know them because the same people will be there every wednesday. and you'll never think they're dull or stupid, because you'll never be able to have a conversation with them anyway. and and, everyone will be tall and beautiful or you'll think they are because you'll be filled to the gills with alcohol.
first of all, you should pack yourself a suitcase and move to bombay. there's nothing like moving out of delhi to meet delhi-ites. and the sooner you understand this, the better. bombay seems like a favourite haunt. i mean seriously, i've met more people from delhi in bombay than i ever did in delhi. (and i've spent 8 years in delhi as opposed to two weeks in bombay)
if that's just a wee bit impractical and you want to remain in delhi, and still make some friends (though god knows why) try the whole strong-and-silent attitude. go out. lean against some wall somewhere (preferably, in the shadows) and watch people. nothing captures attention like that does, in a city where everyone's talking nineteen to the dozen, about themselves. and if you don't get arrested for suspicious loitering, you'll definitely make some new friends.
take autos to get around. they'll always take you somewhere that's not even remotely close to where you wanted to go in the first place. that way, instead of going someplace where you already know people, you'll land up in a strange place with strange people. and that's where you bring the strong-silent attitude into play to befriend them.
start frequenting restaurants/pubs/cafes that have opened in the last three months. they'll be new enough to have a certain buzz to them and will attract the locals in droves (your chance to mingle). visit any place older than that, and you'll see just a half of the original customer/potential friend base. so strike when the iron is hot, my dear, and keep on the lookout for any new openings.
if all else fails, go to TC on a wednesday night. you'll meet everybody (and i mean, everybody. you can't ignore people, especially those who are joined to you at the hip- and the shoulder and yes, the toes too) and you'll get to know them because the same people will be there every wednesday. and you'll never think they're dull or stupid, because you'll never be able to have a conversation with them anyway. and and, everyone will be tall and beautiful or you'll think they are because you'll be filled to the gills with alcohol.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
the crazy blue of E - 602 : post one
this is the first post in the new series. and at the rate at which this house encourages visitors, there will be about half a dozen more this month. last week i had ophélie - friend and frenchwoman, who burys us in thank you's, please's and sorry's, and infuses our life with enthusiasm - over for 4 days. this here is her post.
mes dix raisons d'aimer sushmita
1 - si je ne l'avais pas connue, j'aurai continué à parler de l'inde sansjamais y aller. et je ne serais jamais tombée amoureuse de ce pays.
2 - si elle n'avait pas été là pour m'accueillir à l'aéroport, chez elle,pour me présenter ses amis, pour me faire célébrer diwali avec elle, pour mefaire apprécier delhi ou bombay, je serais partie en courant au bout de deuxjours.
3- elle m'a fait connaître le plus incroyable bar de delhi - le TC - et leplus délicieux bar de restaurant de bombay.
4 - elle a des amis si formidables - parmi lesquels la fabuleuse aparna/jija et le dévoué vineet - qu'on se sent triste dès le premier jour en lesvoyant, parce qu'on sait qu'on va devoir les quitter.
5 - elle a une soeur supercalifragislisticaspialidocious, qu'on ne sauraitrésumer en moins de cent mille mots. lona, incroyable lona/sangeeta: jolie,drôle, prévoyante, cultivée, intelligente - tout le contraire de ce qu'elleprétend être. et si semblable à sa soeur.
6 - elle a un appart génial. que ce soit le pocket 40 introuvable de delhiou le pioneer heritage building de bombay tout aussi introuvable, la maisonde sush vaut le coup de se perdre. on s'y sent tellement chez soi, tellementbien qu'on n'a jamais envie d'en partir. et quand on en part, on sait qu'ilnous faudra y retourner.
7 - elle est exactement comme on aimerait être. insouciante, se levant tardparce qu'elle n'arrive pas à réveiller tôt le matin; fêtarde, ne refusantjamais une bonne soirée par fainéantise; énergique et drôle; jolie etsociable, amoureuse de tout et de tous, ouverte à toutes les possibilités età tous les univers.
8- mais elle a les mêmes faiblesses que nous: indécise, elle a toujours peur culture et sa génération, elle ne sait pas si elle doit enfin "s\'installer"dans quelque chose ou avec quelqu\'un ou continuer à découvrir le monde quis\'ouvre à elle. une seule chose l\'importe: être heureuse.
9- elle n\'aime pas bollywood et surtout pas kabhi alvida naa kehna, mais çane l\'empêche pas d\'aller demander au DJ de mettre la chanson pour me faireplaisir et de danser ensuite avec moi.
10 - tout cela pour dire que je ne la connais que depuis un an et demi, maiselle est déjà devenue pour moi comme une soeur jumelle. ma petite (grande?) et folle soeur indienne.
1 – if it wasn’t for her, i would have kept talking about india but wouldhave never been there, and i wouldn’t have fallen in love with that country
2 – if she hadn’t been there to pick me up at the airport, take me to her place, introduce me to her friends, celebrate diwali with me, make me appreciate delhi or bombay, i would have run away within two days
3 – she made me know the best bar in delhi – TC’s – and the most delicious restaurant in bombay
4 – she has such incredible friends – from the fabulous jija/aparna to the always devoted vineet – that you feel sad the first day you meet them because you know you’ll have to leave them someday
5 – she has a supercalifragislisticaspialidocious sister, that couldn’t be summed up in less that a hundred thousand words : lona, incredible lona :pretty, funny, always there when you need her, smart, cultured– the exact contrary of what she claims to be, and so much like her sister.
6- she has a great apartment, whether it be the cannot-be-found pocket 40 of delhi or the cannot-be-found-either pioneer heritage building in bombay, sush’s house is worth the search for it. you feel at home, and you feel so good that you never want to leave. and when you leave, you know you will have to come back.
7 – she’s exactly the way we dream to be : carefree - waking up late because she doesn’t feel like going to work early in the morning ; reveler - never declining a good party because she’s tired ; dynamic and funny ; pretty and well-at-ease with people ; in love with everything and everyone, open to all possibilities and to all worlds
8 – but she has the same weaknesses as we have : she’s always afraid of doing the wrong thing, she’s torn between her culture and her generation,she doesn’t know whether she should settle in something or with someone, or keep discovering the world that is opening to her. she has only one thing in mind : being happy
9- she doesn’t like bollywood and especially not kabhi alvida naa kehna, butit doesn’t prevent her from asking a DJ to put on the song for me, to make me happy and then dance with me
10- all those things only mean one thing : i’ve only known her for one year and a half, but she’s already become like my twin sister. my little (big ?) and crazy indian sister
mes dix raisons d'aimer sushmita
1 - si je ne l'avais pas connue, j'aurai continué à parler de l'inde sansjamais y aller. et je ne serais jamais tombée amoureuse de ce pays.
2 - si elle n'avait pas été là pour m'accueillir à l'aéroport, chez elle,pour me présenter ses amis, pour me faire célébrer diwali avec elle, pour mefaire apprécier delhi ou bombay, je serais partie en courant au bout de deuxjours.
3- elle m'a fait connaître le plus incroyable bar de delhi - le TC - et leplus délicieux bar de restaurant de bombay.
4 - elle a des amis si formidables - parmi lesquels la fabuleuse aparna/jija et le dévoué vineet - qu'on se sent triste dès le premier jour en lesvoyant, parce qu'on sait qu'on va devoir les quitter.
5 - elle a une soeur supercalifragislisticaspialidocious, qu'on ne sauraitrésumer en moins de cent mille mots. lona, incroyable lona/sangeeta: jolie,drôle, prévoyante, cultivée, intelligente - tout le contraire de ce qu'elleprétend être. et si semblable à sa soeur.
6 - elle a un appart génial. que ce soit le pocket 40 introuvable de delhiou le pioneer heritage building de bombay tout aussi introuvable, la maisonde sush vaut le coup de se perdre. on s'y sent tellement chez soi, tellementbien qu'on n'a jamais envie d'en partir. et quand on en part, on sait qu'ilnous faudra y retourner.
7 - elle est exactement comme on aimerait être. insouciante, se levant tardparce qu'elle n'arrive pas à réveiller tôt le matin; fêtarde, ne refusantjamais une bonne soirée par fainéantise; énergique et drôle; jolie etsociable, amoureuse de tout et de tous, ouverte à toutes les possibilités età tous les univers.
8- mais elle a les mêmes faiblesses que nous: indécise, elle a toujours peur culture et sa génération, elle ne sait pas si elle doit enfin "s\'installer"dans quelque chose ou avec quelqu\'un ou continuer à découvrir le monde quis\'ouvre à elle. une seule chose l\'importe: être heureuse.
9- elle n\'aime pas bollywood et surtout pas kabhi alvida naa kehna, mais çane l\'empêche pas d\'aller demander au DJ de mettre la chanson pour me faireplaisir et de danser ensuite avec moi.
10 - tout cela pour dire que je ne la connais que depuis un an et demi, maiselle est déjà devenue pour moi comme une soeur jumelle. ma petite (grande?) et folle soeur indienne.
ophelie's article. babel fished in english.
why i really love sushmita
1 – if it wasn’t for her, i would have kept talking about india but wouldhave never been there, and i wouldn’t have fallen in love with that country
2 – if she hadn’t been there to pick me up at the airport, take me to her place, introduce me to her friends, celebrate diwali with me, make me appreciate delhi or bombay, i would have run away within two days
3 – she made me know the best bar in delhi – TC’s – and the most delicious restaurant in bombay
4 – she has such incredible friends – from the fabulous jija/aparna to the always devoted vineet – that you feel sad the first day you meet them because you know you’ll have to leave them someday
5 – she has a supercalifragislisticaspialidocious sister, that couldn’t be summed up in less that a hundred thousand words : lona, incredible lona :pretty, funny, always there when you need her, smart, cultured– the exact contrary of what she claims to be, and so much like her sister.
6- she has a great apartment, whether it be the cannot-be-found pocket 40 of delhi or the cannot-be-found-either pioneer heritage building in bombay, sush’s house is worth the search for it. you feel at home, and you feel so good that you never want to leave. and when you leave, you know you will have to come back.
7 – she’s exactly the way we dream to be : carefree - waking up late because she doesn’t feel like going to work early in the morning ; reveler - never declining a good party because she’s tired ; dynamic and funny ; pretty and well-at-ease with people ; in love with everything and everyone, open to all possibilities and to all worlds
8 – but she has the same weaknesses as we have : she’s always afraid of doing the wrong thing, she’s torn between her culture and her generation,she doesn’t know whether she should settle in something or with someone, or keep discovering the world that is opening to her. she has only one thing in mind : being happy
9- she doesn’t like bollywood and especially not kabhi alvida naa kehna, butit doesn’t prevent her from asking a DJ to put on the song for me, to make me happy and then dance with me
10- all those things only mean one thing : i’ve only known her for one year and a half, but she’s already become like my twin sister. my little (big ?) and crazy indian sister
the crazy blue of E - 602 : introduction
i have always gravitated towards monster houses. not really dark cobwebbed houses of B grade movies, but bright cheerful, sunny houses that could none the less swallow someone up. and i don’t mean literally (that would only make you believe that i’m on some hallucinogenic drug and give you an excuse to not take this post seriously). instead, houses that give you enough space to not spend a single waking moment in them, for months at an end, yet still feel that completely overwhelming sense of being sucked into a different reality when you step into them.now, those are the actual monster houses. the real mccoys. the dangerous ones. the ones that masquerade as sunshine homes and then suck you into a vortex of another world. houses that somehow encourage people other than you to just s-t-a-y. cocooned in a lazy languid time.
there are a lot of people who have come and vegetated in whatever monster house i currently inhabiting at any given moment in time. there are a lot of people who’ve spent short periods of time there – coming and going as if connected to it with an elasticised umbical cord. there have been complete strangers who have dropped by on a certain evening to watch a film, and stayed on for three months.
but the true test of a monster house, (and one that all the houses i’ve lived in have aced) is not how many people it enfolds in its energy, but how many people it keeps away. and thankfully, all my houses have scared away as many people as it has welcomed. there are people who quicken their pace when walking by, when they aren’t walking 4 kilometers out of their way to avoid the vibes that my house radiates. (gleeful rubbing of hands happening here)
anyway, i now have a new monster house (in as much as it's possible to own a house, while trying furiously to not let it own you). and in case you haven’t realized, it’s E-602. i have to admit that, it has got a good, full-bodied, sunshine filled, monster character. this i can tell because, there has been a spate of guests every since i moved in and my cartons have barely been stripped of the tape.
so to celebrate that, i’m introducing a new series on my blog (it’s called “the crazy blue of E-602”, just in case you were wondering). everyone who comes to stay has to put up a post. about anything. this shall serve a two fold purpose. one, it will appease the monster house gods (and i have to tell you, that there are very few things apart from drinking rituals, which actually do). and two, it shall give me material for my blog, while i concentrate on the aforesaid rituals.
could life get any better?
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
kanpur ki rani ka anti-aging formula
a few days ago, tulika called me. (who the fuck is tulika?, you're thinking) well, tulika was my art partner at lintas. we started our careers together. she fresh out of art school and me fresh out of dropping out of my masters. it was a mad time. we worked crazy hours. spent days altogether at the studio. shared a couch with 8 people most nights. contributed heavily towards increasing the income of the guy who owned blues. and yes, we learnt to sell soap.there was this other thing too. tulika and me had a song. our song (no relationship is complete without one). that we'd sing on top of our voices when we though office was getting too quiet. we sounded terrible (think chalk againt the blackboard). but what we lacked in melody we more than made up in enthusiasm.
that was then. in the last couple of years, we fell out and kind of lost touch. for no particular reason. just one of those things.
and then, a few days ago, tulika called me.
i knew it was her because she burst into song as soon as i picked up the phone. it took me two seconds to react, that was all, and then i joined her line for line (although the both of us only know four lines of the song).
suddenly i was 21 again. green and gauche. full of spunk and optimism. ready to take on the world. cocooned in the comfort of having friends that you share years of history with. singing because i loved my job. singing because the world held promise. singing because i was heartbreakingly happy. singing because i could.
and to think, all it took, was one phone call.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
home is where the cartons are
this is what i had to say to friend when he was moving house.
"a new house. a new life. decisions. decisions. i would think it's all a little overwhelming. either that, or wildly exciting. there's always such a rush that accompanies moving into a new place. usually because moving would require you to leave some not so nice things behind..old jobs, failed relationships, weird screaming neighbours. not that your new house won't come with it's set of problems, but at least you don't know about them right now.
i've moved houses more times than i can count and i thought i'd share my "essential house movers checklist" with you.
one, a bottle of wine in the fridge, (well, i guess you'd need a fridge first) since you never know just how gorgeous your neighbour might be.
two, the softest, smoothest, yummiest, starched cotton sheets. (if you're going to be sleeping alone you might as well enjoy it.)
three, take away menus. (just to ensure that your neighbours don't wake up one moring to a strange decaying smell of your body rotting from starvation next door)
four, some good music. you need it to air the heavy silence out of the house.
and thats it. once you have this everything else just falls into place. and even if it doesn't, you don't care anymore"
i just moved house and this is how it is.
chaos. chaos. chaos. and cartons, cartons, everywhere. and not a single storage space in sight. my wardrobe is over flowing with clothes. my bedroom looks like the storage room of a salvation army depot. my gorgeous cotton sheets are being used to hold piles of linen. i can't unpack the remaining 11 cartons, which cover my living room from wall to wall, because there's noplace to keep anything. my hair is frizzing with the stress and humidity. nothing is falling into place. and i do care.
why am i getting my knickers in a knot about a mere house, when my complete life is in chaos, you would think. well, because, lives are meant to be chaotic and honestly, it's going to take me a heck of a long time to straighten out 26 years. a house is a mere trifle compared to that. and house by nature are supposed to be an oasis of peace and tranquility, (at least when it's not being a hotbed of sex, drugs and rock and roll). where children can run around and dogs can lol about in front of the fireplace. or such like.
clearly, mine doesn't make the cut. so i'm treating the situation with the gravity it deserves by ignoring it. and taking a well deserved one week break in delhi.
"a new house. a new life. decisions. decisions. i would think it's all a little overwhelming. either that, or wildly exciting. there's always such a rush that accompanies moving into a new place. usually because moving would require you to leave some not so nice things behind..old jobs, failed relationships, weird screaming neighbours. not that your new house won't come with it's set of problems, but at least you don't know about them right now.
i've moved houses more times than i can count and i thought i'd share my "essential house movers checklist" with you.
one, a bottle of wine in the fridge, (well, i guess you'd need a fridge first) since you never know just how gorgeous your neighbour might be.
two, the softest, smoothest, yummiest, starched cotton sheets. (if you're going to be sleeping alone you might as well enjoy it.)
three, take away menus. (just to ensure that your neighbours don't wake up one moring to a strange decaying smell of your body rotting from starvation next door)
four, some good music. you need it to air the heavy silence out of the house.
and thats it. once you have this everything else just falls into place. and even if it doesn't, you don't care anymore"
i just moved house and this is how it is.
chaos. chaos. chaos. and cartons, cartons, everywhere. and not a single storage space in sight. my wardrobe is over flowing with clothes. my bedroom looks like the storage room of a salvation army depot. my gorgeous cotton sheets are being used to hold piles of linen. i can't unpack the remaining 11 cartons, which cover my living room from wall to wall, because there's noplace to keep anything. my hair is frizzing with the stress and humidity. nothing is falling into place. and i do care.
why am i getting my knickers in a knot about a mere house, when my complete life is in chaos, you would think. well, because, lives are meant to be chaotic and honestly, it's going to take me a heck of a long time to straighten out 26 years. a house is a mere trifle compared to that. and house by nature are supposed to be an oasis of peace and tranquility, (at least when it's not being a hotbed of sex, drugs and rock and roll). where children can run around and dogs can lol about in front of the fireplace. or such like.
clearly, mine doesn't make the cut. so i'm treating the situation with the gravity it deserves by ignoring it. and taking a well deserved one week break in delhi.
Friday, September 01, 2006
grand standing
i have a slight problem. a kind of disease. more like an average-phobia. i expect a certain grandness, a whimsy romance to permeate my life. and you know what, most times it does. though not all the time. now even i’d be hard pressed to find some splendour in the dampness that is spreading through the walls of my spanking new house. but you know what i mean.
now this comes with its own set of issues. how could i even begin to explain to anyone that i’m standing in the rain because it warm and wet at the same time. because despite hemingway, the rain conjures up images of water slicked bodies coming together rather than death and decay. because it is at times full of passion and fury and other times soft (and definitely not as creepy) as cobwebs.
thing is, when you go looking for grandness and romance, you find other things too. wary side steps sometimes, and complete bafflement at others. and sometimes you find nothing. zilch. kuch bhi nahi. thenga.
this whole finding nothing is when your faith will waver and you’ll tell yourself that you’d rather have some good random sex than wait for imaginary men to climb your bloody balcony in your fanciful quest of romance and grandness. this is the time when you’re going to have to be strong. you’re going to have to daate raho. to believe that even when you’re not getting any action you’re not a complete loser. (note: this is not a sour grapes thing. it could be, but it's not)
because in between searching and not finding and finding and not searching, your life will be fraught with excitement. how could it not be? how could it not break your heart to watch a beautiful stranger leave the room? how could cream bell’s strawberry stick, with grainy bits of seed not make you want get down on your knees and thank the good lord? how could a cup of coffee mean so much if you didn’t drive 300 kilometers to get it? how could you not have a pretty wonderful conversation that stretches for half an hour without knowing who's on the other side? how could you ever find yourself in the wrong place with the right guy or right place with the wrong guy? how could you ever invite trouble and then court it with pleasure? how could you not take someones hand and dance in front of strange beautiful houses?
and how could your heart withstand it all, if it wasn't battered, bruised, trampled upon, broken, fixed, refixed, bursting, thumping, beating, doing cartwheels and set free a thousand times over?
now this comes with its own set of issues. how could i even begin to explain to anyone that i’m standing in the rain because it warm and wet at the same time. because despite hemingway, the rain conjures up images of water slicked bodies coming together rather than death and decay. because it is at times full of passion and fury and other times soft (and definitely not as creepy) as cobwebs.
thing is, when you go looking for grandness and romance, you find other things too. wary side steps sometimes, and complete bafflement at others. and sometimes you find nothing. zilch. kuch bhi nahi. thenga.
this whole finding nothing is when your faith will waver and you’ll tell yourself that you’d rather have some good random sex than wait for imaginary men to climb your bloody balcony in your fanciful quest of romance and grandness. this is the time when you’re going to have to be strong. you’re going to have to daate raho. to believe that even when you’re not getting any action you’re not a complete loser. (note: this is not a sour grapes thing. it could be, but it's not)
because in between searching and not finding and finding and not searching, your life will be fraught with excitement. how could it not be? how could it not break your heart to watch a beautiful stranger leave the room? how could cream bell’s strawberry stick, with grainy bits of seed not make you want get down on your knees and thank the good lord? how could a cup of coffee mean so much if you didn’t drive 300 kilometers to get it? how could you not have a pretty wonderful conversation that stretches for half an hour without knowing who's on the other side? how could you ever find yourself in the wrong place with the right guy or right place with the wrong guy? how could you ever invite trouble and then court it with pleasure? how could you not take someones hand and dance in front of strange beautiful houses?
and how could your heart withstand it all, if it wasn't battered, bruised, trampled upon, broken, fixed, refixed, bursting, thumping, beating, doing cartwheels and set free a thousand times over?
why do you do, what you do?
yesterday, sitting at this gentlemen’s club that’s posing as a bar (and i’m surprised no one has noticed. and even if they have, they haven’t torched it down just to get rid of a huge pocket of dullness) at the intercontinental, my friend looks at me from across a table and asks me, ‘why do you drink?’
first off, i should mention, i hate people asking me questions to which i don’t know answers to. the simple ones are especially irritating. the things you really should know but have never thought about since you’re too busy worrying about whether it’s a dry day today - it being the 6th day of ganesh chaturti. and it's really not fair. i mean, how can you come across as a terribly bright woman who makes sparkling conversation, armed with a little knowledge about a lot of things, if people ask you questions that flummox you.
secondly, people are not supposed to ask you deep meaningful questions like that when you’re on your first bucketful of beer. the first drink is when your brain cells are casually disintegrating the information it has amassed during the course of the day and rearranging themselves into little cerebral cavities to turn in for the night. (brain cells work pretty much the same was government institutes work) and when suddenly forced to think of an answer to a question like that, the poor little things stressed, shriveled, and got into a manic buzz of activity in angry protest. (i have to admit, i felt extremely guilty about lulling them into a sense of false security, pretending that they were off the job, when my friend rudely pulled them right back into the thick of things.)
thirdly, it's an intensly private thing to ask someone. it should rank right up there with, 'how old are you?', 'how do you vote?', 'how often do you shave your armpits?' and such like.
i’m still trying to figure why he though i needed a reason to drink. drinking is like breathing, only more pleasurable since you aren’t ingesting huge amounts of toxic fumes. and i’m still trying to figure why i proceeded to give him plenty of reasons (each more far fetched than the other) all of which he conscientiously rejected.
but i have to admit, the answer came to me when i woke up this morning, clear of the head and cramped of the muscles.
i drink, because people like him drive me to drink. to get over the trauma of not being able to answer his totally irrelevant question yesterday, i drank another two bucketsful of beer.
and i really wouldn’t mind another one right about now. (hear, hear, nikhil)
first off, i should mention, i hate people asking me questions to which i don’t know answers to. the simple ones are especially irritating. the things you really should know but have never thought about since you’re too busy worrying about whether it’s a dry day today - it being the 6th day of ganesh chaturti. and it's really not fair. i mean, how can you come across as a terribly bright woman who makes sparkling conversation, armed with a little knowledge about a lot of things, if people ask you questions that flummox you.
secondly, people are not supposed to ask you deep meaningful questions like that when you’re on your first bucketful of beer. the first drink is when your brain cells are casually disintegrating the information it has amassed during the course of the day and rearranging themselves into little cerebral cavities to turn in for the night. (brain cells work pretty much the same was government institutes work) and when suddenly forced to think of an answer to a question like that, the poor little things stressed, shriveled, and got into a manic buzz of activity in angry protest. (i have to admit, i felt extremely guilty about lulling them into a sense of false security, pretending that they were off the job, when my friend rudely pulled them right back into the thick of things.)
thirdly, it's an intensly private thing to ask someone. it should rank right up there with, 'how old are you?', 'how do you vote?', 'how often do you shave your armpits?' and such like.
i’m still trying to figure why he though i needed a reason to drink. drinking is like breathing, only more pleasurable since you aren’t ingesting huge amounts of toxic fumes. and i’m still trying to figure why i proceeded to give him plenty of reasons (each more far fetched than the other) all of which he conscientiously rejected.
but i have to admit, the answer came to me when i woke up this morning, clear of the head and cramped of the muscles.
i drink, because people like him drive me to drink. to get over the trauma of not being able to answer his totally irrelevant question yesterday, i drank another two bucketsful of beer.
and i really wouldn’t mind another one right about now. (hear, hear, nikhil)
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