All of life's questions.

Of rereading and pigs.

2012-01-15T16:50:00.002+05:30

An early theme to my year seems to be rereading and pigs. If you glance at the little list that's just begun to the right of this post, you will see what I mean. This theme, I might add, is a vast improvement on the no-reading and rats of 2011.

I am currently rereading Service With A Smile, set in Blandings, as you should know and if you don't then go away and read more Wodehouse - about the only thing I can insist that you *do* read. Wodehouse improves the quality of life.

Travel comes early to me this year too, and a healing trip to Australia is in order very soon. More from, or after, the Oz then. Hope you are having yourself a wonderful beginning to the year, wherever you are.

Ohhkay then, let's move on. (Or pretend to, till we actually do.)

2011-12-29T12:36:00.004+05:30

I scoff at the idea of boxing life in calendar years and trying to make decisions for 12 months at a time, and let me tell you quickly that I still do. If you have been reading my previous sappy posts then you may think I am being double-standardy about this and you are right. For one, and only one, area of my life, the biggest, most important, and one that needed the most urgent and best focus, for that one area I am using the end of a year to attain closure.

That only single sole one thing and, er, for a few other things.

Er *anyhow* moving on quickly, so yes, I shall also box my life in calendar years for now and make resolutions! for 2012. Most of the things I want to do next year, I have already started this year and now need to follow through and keep to in the new year.
So my resolutions are not for 2012, but for the rest of my life (resolutions are basically decisions, right?).

---> I will continue to focus on losing weight, and add exercising to controlling food. I have to lose 20 kilos, of which I have so far lost a grand total of 800g. But so what! You watch this space for updates.

---> I will read every day. I simply will. I will make time for my books, my love, I have ignored them for two years now because of always being distracted by other things I love equally or less.

---> I will drive daily. I will fire my *terrible* driver and *save* that money.

---> I will save more money. I need to save more money, and I will.

---> I will read more online and get over my irrational irritation with reading long features online. That way I will be as caught up on current goings-on as I would like to be.

---> I will be more tempered, and generous, in my judgement of things and people I have a tendency not to like. I will assume the good until proven wrong.

---> Last, and most important. Having told A the truth and finally stopping pretending to be/feel something other than what I am/do, only to keep him in my life in *some* way, I have taken a vital step towards, what is scarily called, inner peace. I will now never again give in to the temptation to return to him, because I miss him, and pretend to be okay with what I am not okay with.

I have already put this in process about other people, not stretching to reach out to any one who does not reach out to me and, after finally doing it for the one person I was unable to do it with, I think I have affected a significant change in my life. All my life I have been a people person but as I age I realise that being a people person does not necessarily mean that you make all, or most of, the effort.

Wish me peace and strength in the coming, most difficult, weeks of my life, and I wish you the same two vital things. I would wish that you have no difficulties at all, but then, you know how we are, we wouldn't call that living.

2011.

2011-12-28T18:17:00.005+05:30

Perhaps the best thing 2011 taught me is that while I am too old to be denied anything I want, I am also too old to want that which I know will be denied. After 6 years of meeting A once a year, this year, our 7th, we met almost every month, sometimes twice. It has been really nice meeting him, spending time together like never before, but it was strengthening the illusion of a relationship that I have with him. Strengthening the illusion in my mind, and making me even more entangled in a web made of imaginary things, the web of wishful thinking.

I called him yesterday to tell him that I still love him and that to move on, I need to leave. He was supposed to be in Bangalore. But it turns out that I called him just at the exact same moment that he stepped out of a meeting in my city, on his way to surprise me by appearing at my work place. I can look at this as a wonderful romantic co-incidence or I can disregard it as a lie. He came in half an hour at any rate. We spoke and for the first time I told him the truth, the defeating truth and we parted officially. He, still urging me not to love him so much, to allow him to be a friend and not cut him out because I feel too much. Have you ever been asked not to love someone so much? It is an odd thing. Quieting as it is, it is not a sad moment. It is just a silent moment, you simply say nothing, you just let things be, you know you cannot love less, not right now, not till you leave, maybe never, maybe you will love or not love, but you can never love less.

Everyone is saying I made a great decision but I think it is was the only one. Love alone cannot keep you going from year to year and having lost the best of my years to a lost love, I now feel able to move on and welcome a new year of my life with complete blankness. It was so good that I could meet you A, and say goodbye in person and say one last time, to you, in person, that I loved you.

I will write again, though not about this for a while. Unhappiness will not leave me for a while, as the big hole left in my life shrinks and I slowly heal from my decisions. A happy 2012 to any one who may pass by. Make your decisions, stick to them, spread happiness, stay stunning.

2011-12-22T12:21:00.002+05:30

Ironically, on their last day together, she slept next to him like it was always meant to be. Like it was always meant to be.

After the dark.

2011-12-16T18:30:00.002+05:30

Find it hard to believe I haven't written in almost two months. I haven't read in almost a month, save a page or two of the book I am pretending I am reading. I live in great disquiet. A year has gone by and nothing has moved forward in my life. I have the same frustrations and fear as before and I am growing constantly more angry with myself for not having done something about them earlier, when I could have, when it would have been easier. The three great evils I have to fight are a) weight b) the rat c) the job and though I have left it too late on all three counts, I am taking advantage of a new year to try and finally change things, shake them up a bit. Wish me strength, dear reader, I haven't been too strong, I haven't been too happy.

In the company of fables, there is hope.

2011-11-05T18:24:00.005+05:30

Earlier this week one day I saw a perfectly shaped sliver of a moon. A quarter moon? I think so. The ones we drew as children, and it gave me, oddly enough, some hope. There remains, some hope.

The re-imagining of One Thousand and One Nights by Hanan al-Shaykh is enjoyable. It is not brilliant, and the couplets and limericks lose most of their meaning when translated into English but still, it was thoroughly engaging and a very satisfying read. I recommend. Fables and stories are always so wonderful; even when full of sadness and violence, they are uplifting. No?

Re-energized windows.

2011-10-26T22:11:00.004+05:30

I am half lying, watching the world of lights from my window. I have new big picture windows. The house has been renovated and now, just lying on my bed, I can see the festival take shape and explode all over the sky. It's Diwali. So nice. Every once in a while, a streak of light goes spiralling into the sky and bursts into a sparkle of colour and lights. I am alone. I am letting myself feel being alone, feel the unbelonging, enjoying solitude and appreciating the world for making things a little sparkly for me. The world enjoys as I watch; recovering, re-energizing, returning to life. It's so peaceful.

In defence of myself.

2011-10-25T22:40:00.003+05:30

I really should be writing more. Much more has happened than the biggest ending of my life. I went to Greece, and had a brilliant time. I got drunk, and lost a chance for something in the making. I haven't been reading again, but am going to correct that now that my two-week holiday has started and Diwali socialising will be over. I have started losing weight, and have taken on a 6-month project to get rid of the excess weight entirely. There's lots to write about but I am so drained by the ending, the end of A+K, that I feel at a loss for words. Everything seems insignificant. In whichever way, even till the last time he requested that song from us, A+K existed - torn, drained, unhappy with each other, exasperated with each other, out of love, out of patience, out of control, out of luck - we still existed. And now, there is nothing. I need time to heel. I feel silent. I will write again. I will be happier. I think.

Ah, these festivals.

2011-10-25T22:24:00.004+05:30

More than seven times today I have picked up the phone with the intention of wishing you a happy Diwali. But words escape me. I have nothing but silence for you. I saw a book you would love, but what will I write in it? What message? Have I not already said every thing to you? Will you not love and respect me now only, and only, if I remain silent. Yes. I can feel the relief, the return of some semblance of respect. Even from this distance, I can feel the relief and respect; you may not spend hours a day thinking of how I am silent but I know at the back of your mind you will register. You will register the familiar name missing when your phone rings, the name you roll your eyes at regularly, are indifferent to most other times, your phone rings but it does not flash that name any more and you will register this, I know.

I filled your life with myself, wanted or unwanted, so my absence will be noticed at some point and at those few times when you will think of me, you will not think of me with hatred, anger, scorn, suspicion, fear, angst, negativity. You may think of me with nothing for now. But one day, you may think of me with respect, and regret for treating me this way. My staying away, and staying silent, will be worth it for that moment alone. The chance of that moment.

Because I did not deserve to be treated this way.

2011-10-19T15:40:00.001+05:30

I have done it.

It continues, somewhat clunkily.

2011-09-22T21:04:00.007+05:30

Tarun Tejpal's book The Valley of Masks is his best yet, well imagined but disappointing in its end. And overly descriptive as is his wont. I am now reading Luka and the Fire of Life, which, as expected, is a blast with many fun things such as hands that are not handy and Torrent of Words which gushes down in to the River of Time and what not. I was supposed to pick up Mohd Hanif's Alice Bhatti book but something's making me not read it yet.

I have started driving, in fact I drive every day from work and am currently learning to reverse and park in tight situations. I believe I will master that too. This is fantastic, like a dream come true. My friends tell me they can't believe it has happened and you know what? I can hardly believe it myself.

Among other unbelievables I have achieved is waking up and getting to work on time. One hardly knows how to say what one feels at this achievement. It's one of those things I wondered about vaguely, I used to tell myself that at SOME point I will have to wake up before 10 a.m. on weekdays and then how will I cope? Very well, it seems. I wake up at 9 these days with equal reluctance, I find, as I used to wake up at 10, only now I get to work before 10.30, leaving everyone including me stunned and delighted.

Now this pretty much leaves only weight to conquer and with a renewed energy of being able to achieve strange! and weird! things, I feel that I will be able to overcome this too. Imagine how hot I will be, weighing 20 kilos less, driving and arriving everywhere on time. Who will be able to resist me then?

Amusing myself such, I drag myself across these clunky boring days. There are things to look forward to though: a short trip to south Goa, with book and beach in store. A longer trip to Greece, possibly. Two weeks of annual leave definitely, with a trip to the hills with M&M and Chew possibly. And, most importantly, by the end of this year, a final conclusion on the Saga of the Rat, this way or that. I have written him an email, to which he has promised a reply, which will decide this or that way for us. If by the end of the year he doesn't reply then, of course, the way is clear too. So there will definitely be a final word on this episode by the end of this year, which, my dear friends, is a bloody long time coming.

In each life...

2011-09-19T21:46:00.005+05:30

Suddenly, from nowhere, he comes in my dreams and reminds me that he is no longer there. It's odd how you tend to forget someone's dead. You feel as if he's there, a part of your life, just not visible at the moment, like an old friend, whom you may not see or talk to for years but you know they're still there.

I dreamt that we are trying to climb a steep path. There are lots of people, it's a tourist spot, he has a camera in his hand. It's a steep path, and he's unsteady, and I have his arm in mine and I am coaxing him to attempt the climb. But the gravel keeps giving way and I am scared he'll fall. I tell him to step aside on the grass, there is a parallel grass path across a little drain that's snaking up the gravel path. I tell him I will rush up the path and come up from the other side of the drain to catch up with him - I leave him alone with fear in my heart but I tell him to stay steady. But he's lost his balance, he walks a few steps and I rush around to find him fallen into the drain, face down. He's crashed. He's dead, maybe, I run and with the help of others drag him out. I sit there crying, helpless, with my father's head in my lap, crying, begging for this not to have happened, CURSING MYSELF FOR LETTING HIM BE ALONE, letting him be without help even for that little while.

It was too much grief to take even in a dream and I woke up and I felt as if he was around. I felt fear at first then I told myself my father will never do me any harm. I still felt too shaken to be alone. It was 5.30 am. I called my mother from the other room but when she came I didn't feel like telling her about the dream. I said I had a bad dream. And she brushed it off. 'Again!' she said and went back to sleep.

Some things are your burden alone and you can't share them with anyone. I sleep the sleep of a guilty daughter, who was too preoccupied with herself to ever realise that she was losing her father. Who could have done much more. I deserve these dreams, they are my burden to bear. I wait for the days I will dream happy dreams, papa, where you will forgive me for being lazy, uncaring and I will be able to see you happy, carefree, rid of your burdens. Till then I will continue to bear the burden of not doing enough, without complain.

2011-09-14T15:48:00.002+05:30

Whenever I hear the song Norwegian Wood, a crushing ache fills my mind. I associate the song with innocent happy times that may never return; I associate it with the aching beauty of the novel; I hear the words and everything makes me quietly explode with sadness.

What ifs.

2011-08-31T21:54:00.004+05:30

I feel quite content. I have most of everything. I have some home, some family, some money, some work, an office, lots of friends, I have fun. I don't have too many liabilities, and not too many worries. I am 33. I am not married, and it looks like I will not marry at least for a while. Is this a bad thing?

I am not sure. I do miss the companionship of a boyfriend - someone to come home to, even if that means on the phone. To always have at least that ONE person whom you can attend things with, go shopping with, do grocery with, go on a drive with, you always have the company of one person. And of course so does the other person. Healthy dependency, love, friendship, companionship, I miss that. Not that I ever had that in large doses in any of my relationships but I do have a void for that companionship in my life. But the question is - will that fill with marriage?

Is it not true that most marriages become more about dividing of chores and getting on with daily life? The good marriages I mean. I am not even talking of cheating, lying, beating, falling out of love, arguing all the time, mismatched habits and so on. Let us put the negative things away. The good marriages that I see are mostly about how well-oiled the day runs and how much free time you get to yourself because someone else is there to take off some of your burden. Before a child it is still common to hear about couples spending time together but after one, almost never. After a child it is always about how the good husband took care of the child so I could breathe.

Do I really need that? The joy of the child - do I feel a void for that? No. Certainly not. Any wish to have children around is more than fulfilled by my niece and nephew and my friend's children. Then, do I still need to marry? Not really. I think. I want companionship and if that companion wishes to marry, then perhaps I will. Otherwise I will not, because for me a marriage is only tying someone down to you legally if you are not intending to have children.

I do miss having someone in my life but it is becoming increasingly impossible to think of being answerable to anyone about my time, or share my space with anyone, my room for instance, or theirs. There is so much at stake on both sides that I am content waiting and watching and life happening to me. If I find that companion who has the same ideas as mine about love, sharing and comfort then I will be happy. But I am not doing too badly right now. While I do think of what will happen in the future, I find that I am not scared that I might be alone.

Meanhwhile.

2011-08-24T15:52:00.003+05:30

I have started my health plan and yesterday I refused pizza! (sigh) and dessert! (double sigh) at one of the better Italian restaurants in town. Let me correct that statement. One of those Italian restaurants that have a good reputation for no reason even though the only thing they make well is pizza.

Now consider my sacrifice.

So what I did eat were shrimp cocktail and baked chicken, which tasted like nothing on earth, and the only thing that saved the day was a glass of Italian Chardonnay at the beginning of the event (only one glass) and a drop of VSOP to wrap up the evening. Foodwise, that is.

Otherwise, friends, Maggot, Kashmeer, HSB, and Maoist were there, apart from the very lovely AK who had invited us to this event. We were joined by new friends Y&A and altogether we had a ball. I am quite happy with the way things have begun this week. Monday was a holiday you see.

Today I am off to meet Chewie and Annielove and tomorrow PP and MD, and day after, possibly, I will meet the Rat with whom I have killed all differences by way of being quite indifferent to most of the annoying things he does.

I am not in love anymore, dear reader. That's the way things are. That's how much life has progressed. I am not in love any more and I sleep well at nights and wake up fairly content.

I have also made great effort towards moving to Melbourne, applying to a whole lot of places and mailing a few people for help. It is not easy. I don't know if I will be successful at this. But I will try my best.

I have been trying to read The Valley of Masks and going very slow. The writing style is odd and I haven't yet decided if I like it or not. It uses a phrase, much like a takia kalam, to hold a section of the prose together and keeps looping paras back to the phrase. For instance: It was cold like that. Blah Blah Blah Blah. It was cold like that. You get what I mean? Now this can be nice when the links are valid and it's still new and surprises you - but I find that every few paras are being linked to one such phrase. It is becoming not so nice. If this goes on, it will become annoying. Let us see. I have only read some 10 pages. Must get back to reading.

No chance today though. Hoooooohah.

Some decisions.

2011-08-11T00:33:00.006+05:30

I will make my public blog a travel blog. Why haven't I done so earlier?

I will try my best to move to Melbourne.

I will lose 20 kilos, more if I can, and maintain the optimum weight all my life.

I will get back to reading from tonight. Starting with The Valley of Masks by Tarun Tejpal.

I will continue to learn to drive and drive myself very soon.

As soon as I am driving, I will take on another side project. Like a language. Or dance. Or something. An instrument perhaps.

I will continue on the good path when it comes to relationships and be the open, fair and unobsessive person that I am managing to be right now. I'm done yearning, or at least showing it. The Rat and I are friends, on my terms, and will remain so. I am happy. I have no expectations that he is not meeting, because I have none. Finally.

I will review this in a month and update it. That's what.

2011-08-05T16:21:00.003+05:30

Istanbul was good to me. Things have begun to turn, I feel, since I visited Istanbul. From the time I visited Istanbul. What a place. What a role. To live between two continents, to be torn between identities, to manage so much history, so much beauty... To be modern, historical, culturally rich, entertaining, to drink and to fast, to smoke and to not eat pork, to pray five times a day, to party all night... Istanbulins do all this with great joy, with a smile on their lips and with pride in their words.

'I have no expectations from the world,' he said to me, 'I know no place is more beautiful than Istanbul.'

I have more to write, which I will do after the 10th, when my sister leaves with her children. Life has been hectic, but also full, with the family here.

Ho hum.

2011-07-21T13:24:00.003+05:30

I think I am having a very bad case of existential crisis. I don't feel like writing, or talking to anyone. Both my great loves and both things I have always felt easy to deal with. I am off to Istanbul in a couple of days for three days and really looking forward to the break. Perhaps I will write when I am back.

Stories that stay.

2011-06-15T22:51:00.002+05:30

It's really difficult to write about The Wandering Falcon. Jamil Ahmad has put so much love into the stories, and he clearly knows so much about what he is writing, that anything you say about the book or the subject can sound ill-informed or worse, presumptuous. Yet, I want to write about it, chiefly to compliment the writer.

Set, I think, in the autonomous tribal area near Pakistan, these interconnected short stories tell the tale of the different tribes - the Mahsuds, the Wazirs, the Afridis, the Gujjars, more - by picking a story of one person from many different tribes. Somewhere, it is the tale of the eldest daughter of a poor man who ends up competing with a bear for her husband's attention, elsewhere it is an enfeebled old man who once used to be known as the Tiger; yet another tale is of a man returning, from Germany, to the country his father left years ago, chasing the notion of homeland, chasing the idea of belonging.

But always, each story, is the story of Tor Baz, the black falcon, the wandering man who has no home and no one to belong to, who roams these lands and whose path intersects with most of these people at one point or the other. He may not leave a lasting impression, he does not take over the tale, he is not the hero, but he is there, in the background, wandering silently, even aimlessly, making a difference in ways he may never realise. Above all, though,The Wandering Falcon is the story of a people from a harsh, unforgiving land.

I say *the* story, because I doubt anyone else can do a more definitive task of writing about these people and their land. I say the story also because, to me, these are not interconnected stories but more like a loosely structured novel. In a way it is close to Daniyal Mueenuddin's collection of interconnected stories describing the way of life of a certain people.

Jamil Ahmad joins a longish list of writers I like from Pakistan. He and words are clearly old friends. The measured tone with which he writes and the near weightlessness of his writing are proof of this. I have no doubt he has stories stashed away, perhaps half done novels, perhaps only scribbles, ideas. At 70 something, this is his first book but his eyes shine with untold stories. And I, for one, cannot wait to read some more from where The Wandering Falcon came from.

Where am I headed?

2011-06-12T22:50:00.005+05:30

I feel very restless. As if something is about to about to about to happen but is not happening. Or worse, something *should* happen but does not. I am also becoming very sensitive to other people's behaviour and not feeling like giving even an inch. These are times when I feel like retreating to my old friends, the ones who have proved over years that they care and whom I don't mind giving that extra inch or five. So for the coming week at least, I am retreating, I will be working hard anyway and not have much time to socialize. But even if I do, I'd like others to earn my time. If not, I will happily come back home from work and read, and be by myself and maybe even exercise, by which I mean walk lazily in the park downstairs.

2011-06-11T16:50:00.001+05:30

Aaaargh. So it seems I cannot make this blog public ever again, as I have liked my public blog with the same email id and blogger cannot separate the profiles. Ooooof. I hate technology. Back to being secret. Too much emotional shit here to make public. Damn.

2011-06-11T01:54:00.002+05:30

Briefly I made this blog a secret one. Then I wondered why and found no reason and opened it up again. Those who know me already know the shit that goes here and those who don't, well, hello you guys: enjoy, ignore, abuse, agree, share, smile or roll your eyes.

Words to die for.

2011-05-18T13:47:00.004+05:30

A restless young person telling a tale riddled with existential crisis, quaint encounters with quirky people, a man who does what many of us dream of – taking off, cutting loose and giving an alternate life a chance. This is what is special about The Sly Company of People Who Care, this man’s improbable journey to an unthinkable land.

The highlight of the book, the reason you must read it, is the language. I salute Rahul Bhattacharya’s way with words, his ability to tame words to say exactly what he wants in, often, ways that make you linger over sentences. Here is a writer who has taken the standard of Indian writing in English up by several miles, who is in the league of the finest writers I have read from any country, from any time. Many Indian writers can learn from him the art of integrating a foreign language into the story. He introduces Guyanese words to us and then slowly, so delicately, so finely, releases them into the book, and before you know it you understand more than a dozen words of another language.

The Sly Company is a definitive study of Guyana, continuously engaging, and disarming. The writer is open to new experiences and speaks of people who are ‘alone, amiss, awander’; he travels the country and tells us about the ‘moody houses of Guyana’; he delves into history and reminds us about niggeryards, where slaves once lived; he explores the Indian connection, he talks of modern-day Georgetown, writes of music, food, gangsters, politics, and presents to the reader a whole picture, a truly impressive work.

In a book titled so, it is natural that people stand out the most. The book’s about the cunning Baby, a diamond hunter, with whom the narrator goes off on an incredible journey. The book’s about Uncle Lance, who becomes the narrator’s Sunday Buddy. The book’s about Jan, the sultry woman who can seduce without effort, with whom the narrator has a raging affair at the fag end of the novel and with whom he darts off to explore another country, Venezuela.

This is where the so far excellent book suddenly takes a dip. The narrator is not beyond a little self-obsession, by now going on and on about why he left, why he is in Guyana, why he is with this woman, sometimes leaving the reader wishing he would stop questioning himself daily on everything he does. In a book where everything happens randomly and at no particular pace, the suddenly intense relationship manages to be jarring. Introducing another country into this book which is mostly about Guyana also takes away from the book. When you are so deep into another country’s history, people, food, culture, politics, you don’t want to suddenly read about another country’s people, food, places. You feel somewhat cheated, wondering what more lovely things those pages could have told you about Guyana.

Having done this, the book snaps back into place with a near-perfect ending. Notwithstanding the Venezuela portion, I still recommend this book very highly. For people who like to read about other cultures, lands, people, who like meditative writing, who love language, this one is unmissable.

Life in lists.

2011-05-14T22:09:00.008+05:30

These days I am reluctant to write anything because life is becoming more of the same thing, and even I am bored of it. Here is a list of boring things.

I am still attempting to go on a diet (but failing, but will start from May 26, which is the day after I return from Bhutan! and also my dad's birthday).

I have still not finished Sly Company, it's been over a month since I started, I never get to reading these days but I have to finish it by tomorrow to write my review... It is tough, as it is highly dense (though beautifully written).

I am still not over the Rat. I again started speaking to him and had a fight in a day AGAIN and again we lost our cool and AGAIN he said the same things that crush me, he never understands me, and again I stopped talking to him and AGAIN he said sorry (but this time I am not listening, and this time I think I might get over him because I am very angry in a very strong and silent way.)

HOWEVER, here are a few new things.

I have started driving lessons!!! Today was my third lesson and it's all going quite fine. I am too excited and I hope to drive myself hither and thither one day.

I have bought my mother a 40-inch LCD television for Mother's Day and I am feeling very pious. Like many mothers she loves to watch television and she is very happy.

I agreed to meet two job offering people, in a move to Keeping My Options Open. And I even agreed to meet them on the weekend but that eventually didn't happen, but if they call again, I will not say no to meeting.

And, now, I am going off to Bhutan! After that I shall start my diet, I will go on a house renovation spree, I will hopefully be back to reading, be over the Rat :-( and I will tell you all about everything. Stay radiant, dear readers, spread sweetness and light.

Ordinary Loves.

2011-05-01T15:23:00.004+05:30

Nothing of note has happened in the past week, except that today I have applied for a possible job situation - a major achievement considering I have been at the current job for over eight years now. There was a time jobs came by on a platter, now I am either too 'senior' or too picky for new jobs. Both I suppose. I am just afraid of change, yes, that's my basic flawed personality trait and hence I float and float and float.

I am making changes there, though. Apart from Those We Do Not Speak Of, I have started my diet. I have to lose a lot of kilos, my dears, a lot many several kilos.

I am also making small progress with the book Sly Company, which, no doubt a delightful read as far as language is concerned, is turning out to be a rather tedious one too, with one person constantly musing on his life, and the travelogue becoming more about him and him being obviously proud of the 'different' kind of person that he is. But still, the language and story so far is good enough for me to keep reading. More soon.

2011-04-20T14:10:00.001+05:30

Small steps. Baby, tiny.

Endless endless.

2011-03-31T20:20:00.004+05:30

Imagined loves are the worst. You love someone, you care, you get hurt, you think you've had enough and you want to leave. You imagine you matter to someone. You think they think of you. You turn your phone on silent, thinking you don't want to hear the incessant ringing of the calls, which no doubt they will make, no doubt regretting hurting you, no doubt fearing losing you. No doubt. They will call and say don't be hurt, don't leave me, I care too. Maybe they will even confess a love, a secret love never expressed before.

No calls come. Or worse, one single call comes. A polite enquiry, an unthinking call, just to say hello, and you imagine it to be the call, the beginning of many, the realisation of love. But no. It is merely a call, not a regretful one. No one regrets anything. No one knows why you didn't answer, they forget, in a while, that you didn't answer, that you may be gone. They forget to remember you.

Imagined love dies without a sound, or a dent. Without any real tears, and without the one you love even coming to know. When imagined love dies, you can't even grieve for real. You lost nothing, nothing but a part of your imagination.

Updates.

2011-03-27T16:05:00.004+05:30

After a long time, a peaceful day at home with no agenda. I will read a bit, talk on the phone some more, lay about and have chai, have a cool drink, it's getting hot in the days now, daydream a bit, sleep again maybe, and recharge for the new week.

Near finishing Sonia's book Beautiful Thing, which is a good journalistic account of the life of a Bombay dance bar girl. She has really put in a lot of solid research and I like the fact that she hasn't played herself up - as the author, as the martyr who goes into these murky environs, dealing with dirt of various kinds - and neither has she remained uninvolved with the narrative. It's very nicely done, without giving herself importance and without leaving the narrative flat. She shows up once in while, celebrating a pimp's birthday, talking to a 'customer', being a friend to the bargirl... making you respect the fact that Sonia went through all this, giving her the right to tell the story to the world, and enjoy the accolades that are following.

I am half way through Maggot's new book's manuscript, which I have to read with care as he wants feedback on whether the whole thing works together. He has really evolved as a writer, such ease and with such delicate loveliness do his stories flow that I can't help but admire him. Secretly of course. Friends must be kept in strict control and not be told such good things openly.

Next week is a mixed one with little rest and little social activity - have bowed out of anything before Thursday - something I am going to make a rule of - so I have the first three days of work and early to home. Which is nice and relaxing. Near the weekend there will be a dinner at M&M the Boys and, possibly, Chew, and also possibly, The Paris Tea Party, which is all nice. Oh and I bought lovely purple spectacles! They are dark purple and sleek metal and look rather fab! Yay.

PS: Notice, no Rat talk. This is the way things are going to be. I have decided to be real about this. From now on the Rat is a person whom I once went around with, broke up, never really got over, tried to remain friends with and failed. Now we are not in touch save the occasional birthday wish. That's reality. And I am sticking to it instead of some fantasy world story where we will eventually be closest of friends.

Wooof.

2011-03-23T12:33:00.000+05:30

I have been overworked and overpartied and hence no time to write. Soon.

Time.

2011-03-18T20:58:00.003+05:30

That's it. I am moving on. Have sent a final explanatory, nice, email to the Rat, which he will no doubt ignore again but I have done what I could. Even my other issue has closed, the magazine I mean, and FINALLY I can get back to my reading from tomorrow. Look forward. To that, to feel better about myself, to not hurt all the time, to meet PP and VM tomorrow for lunch and to the India match. And to AM's birthday on Monday! So much to look forward to. Why have I been crying over what's not?

2011-03-10T17:31:00.002+05:30

And so the Rat has broken my heart again, and lived up to being a rat. Ten days ago I sent an email asking him to reply to pointed questions and after a lot of I will I will, give me time, I will, it has come to nothing. And now I am no longer waiting. Not really.

2011-03-10T15:19:00.003+05:30

After Paro, Samit, Jai Arjun, Anjali, I am now reading Omair, Nishat and Sonia. Rahul Bhattacharya, Sarnath and Anuradha Roy will follow. This is my year of reading Indian authors, is it? Scary how many of them I know and how, many were not authors when I first knew them. Speaks of a new world here in India. And I must say that all the books I have read range from being quite fine to quite good. So promising.

Fine lines.

2011-03-10T13:24:00.006+05:30

Anjali Joseph's Saraswati Park is surprisingly good. I say surprising because I had dismissed it as yet another privileged class person attempting to write about the Indian middle class. But the details, gosh the details. So admirable, the way Anjali weaves in every detail about Bombay's daily life - from the beautiful buildings to the paan wala, avoiding stress on the obvious, the locals for instance, and highlighting the less talked about. Such as the letter-writers of the GPO, the occupation of our hero Mohan, which makes him sit right in the middle of all things old and happening in south Bombay. Mohan's character is so well described, I almost know what he would want to eat for dinner. It's a fabulous read. As is the sensitivity with which she describes the gay relationships of Ashish, the young entrant to Mohan's life who, without realizing, spurs on Mohan to accomplish the dream of becoming a writer that he has nurtured for long. Perhaps the weakest of the three main characters is the wife, Lakhsmi, whose mood swings you can't quite understand though it is easy to identify with her dissatisfaction with the daily rut.

It is a slow, detailed, story of people and relationships and dreams that is best read when you are in the mood for some such. It's so easily paced, so easy to read, and yet detailed and altogether charming.

Drown by Junot Diaz is, not surprisingly, high energy and lovely. More fine stories here, more about Yunior and Rafa from the Oscar Wao world and about people and their dreams. Must read. Absolute must for lovers of people stories.

Losses.

2011-02-25T12:37:00.005+05:30

It's a difficult few days. Today's papa's second death anniversary. These 'days' are so cruel, it's so stupid of us to mark dates on the calendar and remember them and, knowingly, bring sadness upon us. Humans are so, so, foolish. As if there isn't enough gloom.

He was alive at this time that day so I don't really feel sadness just now. How can I when I remember him being alive, though not talking, though going down, but alive. It was around 9 that hope died. I wasn't there, I'd come home to bring my charger, to write a mail to the Rat. I was. Not there. In the end. I have always thought this a fitting end. My mother was there with him, as always, his children were caring, were bothered, but not there for him in the end. As always.

I was writing a mail to the Rat because it was his birthday the next day. Tomorrow. This time it's different. I haven't spoken a word to him for almost two months, I have vowed not to till he shows me reason to, and he hasn't yet. I sent him a book autographed by Orhan Pamuk and he texted me a delighted thank you. He couldn't contain his excitement, he said. Well, he could contain it enough not to even try to call, not to even acknowledge the goodbye email sent almost two months ago. Heh.

I keep waiting for things that do not happen. And one of them is to absolve myself of the crime of not loving my father the way I love him now, when he was alive. Another is to forgive myself for always linking him, a man I never loved enough, to the Rat, a man I loved too much. I keep waiting. That's become half my life now. The other half, well, it goes on. Half your life always goes on. What's the choice?

2011-02-21T15:07:00.002+05:30

When I realise that I like a room filled with daylight, sunlight is preferred but daylight will do, when I suddenly realise how much I enjoy sitting alone in a room lit by the day from three sides, I realise I am older. Gone are the days when I liked dark rooms, dark curtains, dim yellow lights, hours in the dark, talking on the phone in the dark, those days are gone. Now, I must be older in a way.

What I've been reading.

2011-02-14T15:15:00.004+05:30

Samit Basu's Turbulence is great fun, up to a point. Let's say about 3/4th of the book is highly entertaining. It's cleverly written, it's well written, the story is fun and you really want to know what happens. Then there is a huge showdown and you see various superpowers play out and it's all very highly fun and really very well done. From here though, surprisingly, it goes down. It drags. Too many random characters, including villains who only come for a couple of scenes. In true Hindi movie style, which I'd expected him to stay away from, the main villain's parents are held hostage and he flies off abroad to protect them. I don't think the scenes from abroad are done well, there is no connect to what's happening there while we are still in Mumbai. A romantic angle is quite cheesy and the sex/romance scenes are not as clever as the rest of the book. Perhaps they could have been avoided, it really comes to its worst toward the end of the book. I strongly feel that that blowout scene towards the middle-end of the book should have been the final showdown.

Still, the first half of the book is at par with any good international sci-fantasy and really well written. You feel proud that a fellow Indian has achieved that. Anyone interested in Indian writing in English must read Samit's book, as he is one of our few truly good writers. And his sense of humour and wit is tops.

Jai Arjun Singh's book on the movie Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron is most fun when he is actually talking of the movie, the plot, the dialogues and the edited scenes. It's really tedious when he is talking to Kundan Shah and is more like monotoned reportage rather than an interesting and insightful work on an i. and i. movie. It's a great thing that someone's done a book on that movie, what a movie!, but I think only die hard fans of the movie (like myself) should pick this one up. It's kinda sad how a person who clearly appreciates satire and cutting humour could not really write a witty, engaging, book on it. But Jai Arjun seems to be a good man and we are all for good men hence I bought and read the book.

This seems to be my year of going back to Indian writing in English. In between Paro's excellent short stories and Samit's entertaining novel and Jai Arjun's non-fiction book on a movie, I have been reading the Tishu's entertaining untitled Bollywood-romance chicklit and will move on to Saraswati Park, which comes highly recommended by S and Beautiful Thing, written by yet another of my authorly friends/acquaintances. Everyone I know has become an author! And so far all of them have been quite fine.

To balance things out I have also started reading Drown by Junot Diaz, something I have been meaning to do for a long, long time but meeting the man recently has given that wish the push. Loved the one short story I have read so far. That man. Cannot. Go. Wrong.

Shades of alone.

2011-02-11T15:54:00.007+05:30

On times like this, when I am surrounded by noise but no one wants my time, when I can be free for a few moments, when I can keep to myself in a crowd, I feel... relief. I feel tense muscles relax slowly, I feel my brain, which has been taken over by tight angry thoughts, ease back in place, breathe again. At these times I like to start a song, on YouTube perhaps, enjoy the tune, the words, and write some stuff. Tell no one in particular that I feel relief.

At other times, when I am alone at home, surrounded by the books I want to read, reading the book I am reading, or just lying on my bed, staring at nothing, awake in only one sense of the word, at these times when I have nothing to do for long hours and no one to talk to and nowhere to go, I feel happy. I am so lazy that I never want to do anything, or so it appears. I have never really had days of doing nothing so the 'never' theory is untested. I long for such days. I fight for my Sundays. I look forward to the weekends, for those few hours of alone, filled with nothing but my own thoughts, or not even those. I never feel like cleaning the cupboard, or dusting my books, or getting online, I just want to lie there alone, with nothing on my mind. I feel happy.

Alone in a train, for instance, or a flight, going somewhere, before I have reached, before I have met people or have things to do, I feel... calm. There is nothing one can do for the moment, one cannot jump out of the plane, walk out of a train. There will be things to do, but at the moment, right now, I can do nothing, and I do it. There is no sense of guilt, of being lazy. With the sun streaming on my face, or my book, the cabin comfortably air-conditioned, the noises blocked out by my mind, which is elsewhere - maybe in the past, maybe in the imagined future, maybe just idling - but my mind elsewhere, and on a train, in transit, when I am alone, I feel quite calm.

Solitude, now that's rare, and hard to distinguish. I feel a little scared of solitude and hence I can handle it only in doses. I have felt solitude and liked it - at times during my travels, I have not been online, not contacted anyone but my mother on the phone, I have sat staring at the sea or the mountains or the trees, I have felt the earth move when it really does not, I have felt a strong sense of belonging to nature... It's intense, this solitude, and I have sometimes felt solitude when I am alone.

But last night, walking back that little stretch from the iron gate of the colony to the warmth of my wooden door, during those, what 17?, steps, getting off the auto, carrying my bags and my worries, walking back home alone, all alone, always alone, always having to earn for the family, always looking but not finding, always needing but denying, ignoring, often tired but going on, I felt, for the first time, quite lonely. And for the first time I felt a shudder of horror at being alone, so alone, all the time, at all these times.

Then I reached home and I could hear my mother walking to the door and I switched my smile back on. In my room, after tea with my mother, with nothing more to do for the night, I felt happy once again.

Setting him free.

2011-02-05T16:57:00.006+05:30

Two years after, nearly two years, I stepped into that place again.

February 26, 2009, at some point in the day. I, in pajamas and a white t-shirt, I think the same white t-shirt that I wear today in fact. I remember that day pausing to think just enough to check if my clothes were torn -- did they have holes? -- or intact. It is the Rat's birthday and my father's funeral. I am convinced, like the silly person that I am, that my father passed away the previous night to not spoil the Rat's birthday for me for life. That's what I still believe. I have slept at some point and woken up at 6 a.m. and arranged for the funeral. I am being helped, severely helped, by many people. My friends are flying down from Mumbai, taking the overnight bus from Shimla, sending comforting books from Bangalore, gathering around me in Delhi. My uncles are rushing around. My sister is on a flight. My dadi is strong, my mom a pillar of strength. But I feel quite alone. My father is dead. I have killed him, I feel, by not paying enough attention. I didn't let him know how much I loved him, because I never thought he would die. I feel alone, I feel like I should furiously work, do something, do everything, make up make up make up, duty duty duty duty, perform perform. I must perform well on several fronts so I can't focus on any one thing. I feel like I deserve to do everything alone so that I have no time to grieve. That's what I deserve.

I have texted a whole lot of people about him passing away, giving them the time of the funeral. We go to the hospital to the collect the body, I can see all of it as clearly as it is happening right now. My mother almost falls when the body is brought out. He looks so different, so - dead. He has changed overnight, he was warm, now he is cold, distant, gone. Mom recovers, insists on travelling with him in the ambulance. I follow in the car. My sister lands, she doesn't know, she is not supposed to know but her mother-in-law bursts into tears as soon as she steps out of the airport. It is not fair. My sister shouldn't have been alone when she found out - that was not my plan, I wanted to protect her, I wanted to tell her. But instead she calls, her voice has disbelief, her voice has betrayal, how could he not wait for me? she does not ask. What did I do to not be there? she asks. How do I comfort her on the phone? I curse the lady who told her. When I held my silence, how can SHE not. It's MY grief, OUR grief more than hers. I curse curse curse, I feel better for the moment.

My sister and I are making our way to the crematorium, me from the hospital, her from the airport. My mum follows in the van, my dadi is with me. This takes more than half an hour surely but I have no memory of my thoughts or action during this journey. There must have been calls. There must have been silence. There is a large crowd waiting for us when we reach. In the crowd, I scan for people I really want to see. Random cousins are crying, why? why?, they come to hug me, why? don't!, leave me alone!, thoughts are rushing through my head. Apu, in the crowd, I rush, hug, cry, break down for two minutes. My sister, finally, she looks so much younger, smaller, alone. She is crying, we hug, we can't say anything to each other, I try to calm her down. I feel worse for her, before I feel nothing any more. I have a job to perform. I must make sure my mother, my sister and my dadi are fine, not crying, that they are never alone. I have tasks. I will light the pyre. I must do the rituals. After a few murmurs that a man should do it, which I stare down, no one dares to come in my way. It is clearly my right, and I am going to take no nonsense, I tell an uncle I like. I talk to no one I don't want to, I can barely tolerate the crowd. So many people. So many cousins I don't see, my office people, my friends. In a pool of familiar strangers, my friends are a source of comfort.

My uncle asks everyone to back away, he announces that I will be performing the rituals. Some people protest, a cousin comes forward and says he can do it, I ask him to fuck off, everyone understands. They are really nice about it, after all. My dadi can't believe her son is gone before her, she cries her heart out when she sees him lying like that. I am given a pot of water, I have to carry that heavy pot and walk around him while chants are chanted. I am to break it after a certain chant. I worry. What if it doesn't break. What will this do to my back, I can't afford to collapse here, I have recovered from a slipped disc just a week ago and I have remembered, wisely, to wear my belt. I am so responsible. I am not bad. I am not that bad. Please, papa, I think, someone, see how responsible and adult I am being.

I am not supposed to lift heavy objects but I am silly, adamant, I am going to. I walk numbly around my father, how many times? I don't remember. I don't look at anyone but everyone's looking at me, I know. They are watching, my family and closest friends with genuine grief, some in helpless frustration, some looking for signs of weakness, some proudly, some because they can't take their eyes off the ritual, but they are all watching. I must break the pot. I do. Relief. My father's soul will be fine.

I walk into the crowd and H is there, I collapse in his comforting arms. H is a sight of strength, as are all my friends, but especially him, whom I have always looked upon as an elder brother. He is there for me. And he is surrounded by all my friends. Maggot, V, M2, PP, Tishu, MD, everyone is there for me. I have told Apu to take care of my sister and mother and always be around them. EE is standing with my dadi, I instruct her not to leave her alone. My dadi is howling. I must not howl, I don't even wince. I feel very numb, but I also feel something. A hint of pride. I will do this well, for my father, I can't afford to break down right now. Yes, I feel a sense of pride. My feelings are for myself alone. I feel so guilty that I feel like I must super-perform to make up for everything I did not do while he was alive.

We move on to the actual burning of the pyre. I can focus on the gory things and freak out. But I do what is required, I light the pyre when I am asked to, I hold my mother when I feel I should, I smile at Apu when I think of it, I hug my sister when I can, I stand in line and thank people who came, because I am asked to do so. I sign at documents. I listen to instructions and nod. I return the next day and am asked to collect bones from the ashes. I do it without thinking, touching my father for the last time.

Today, after two years, H's father passed away suddenly. I went to the same crematorium for him. I was in the crowd this time, him performing. I don't know if he lives with guilt, but I do know how it is to be up there, with a thousand well meaning people watching. The day from two years ago that I have managed to block out so far flashes before me scene by scene. I haven't even thought of that day before today. I have never thanked Apu, none of my friends, no one. I feel happy that I did everything the way I did, I was strong, I did not break down, I took care of my family and I continue to take care of them today. But even today I have guilt, I didn't love him enough, I tell Apu.

Don't be silly K, she says, you did what you could, now set him free, don't keep him tied to you by your guilt.

I never thought of it this way. I am so selfish, always have been, that I never thought that I am keeping someone else tied to me by feeling guilt towards them. I am going to work on setting my father free from this bond of guilt, and, in the process, I think, I am going to heal as well.

Where do they all come from?

2011-02-05T16:31:00.006+05:30

She came in, a little awkward, hesitant, trying to fake confidence, silent, following this other woman. The other woman is also trying to fake confidence, but in a less enigmatic, more annoying, way. The other woman speaks loudly, in English that teeters but doesn't fall, the English that seems wrong but is not, it's just awkwardly correct, and the other woman speaks loudly. She announces that our silent girl is going to be a model, or hopes to be, and needs to be made up. How much will it cost, she asks loudly, to make her pretty. I look at our girl. She is dark, her skin is marked, she has seen unhappy days. She wears black and white checked pants with a black tee; she is slim but not in shape; someone's been advising her on how to talk, walk, dress, smile and she is trying to be a different person. How MUCH? shouts the other woman, THREE THOUSAND? No, I want light make up only. She bargains. Our girl's artificially acquired beauty is not worth that much to her mind, light make up will have to do. She wants her hair cut too. She wants our girl to be ready to rock. They are taken inside.

As I leave, I see our girl again. Her head is in a pool of soap, her eyes are closed. She looks almost pretty now, she has finally two silent moments to herself, someone's pampering her, massaging her hair, shampooing it with care and expertise. She is clearly not used to this, and so, wisely, she is enjoying it. Who knows what fate lies ahead, since that fate seems to be in the hand of the other woman. For now, for these quiet moments, our girl is peaceful, storing the blissful moments in her cells.

Meanwhile.

2011-01-29T22:49:00.004+05:30

Did I tell you I wanted to take everything slowwwwly and wanted a lot of space all around me? I surprised myself by saying that to the Actress today. It's true, oh yes. I want to stand in the centre of an empty room and talk to people who are at the very ends of this room; or better still, not there at all. I mean, I won't talk to them then of course.

Not that I have met any potential man but when I do, I want to do friendship, not love. Not love at all if I can help it but certainly not love at first. After the Rat, whom I am still only slightly out of love with, I don't think I can do any real kind of love; not the intense kind; not the I-want-breathe-you kind. I am too old, too wise for that stuff now. I want to be friends, stay friends.

Recently I have been toying with the idea of being alone for the rest of my life... with only a few friends to go out with once in a while and you know what? it doesn't seem so bad. So from this position, life can only get better. If nothing else, I got me mother and me sister and her children and hopefully I shall perish before any of them ever will.

Morbid thought such as above strike me all the time. I constantly dream about ghosts too. That there is a ghost in my house, or that there is a ghost in a house where I am. I freeze. I get scared. I keep wondering why I get these dreams. My mum, whom I awoke the other night and begged to sleep with me, kept a KNIFE under my bed. She said someone told her that was good for bad dreams. Of all the things! I made her take it away immediately. Who could sleep with a sharp knife under their bed?!

The internet says that dreams of ghosts indicates unresolved issues. Oh well. I gotta lot of those, dude.

Things to savour.

2011-01-18T22:39:00.008+05:30

Paro's book is a lovely collection of shorts, written in a measured, almost soothing, tone; each with layers of contexts. They have possibilities; readers of different kinds can bring their own endings, their own frames of mind, to them and hence the stories have, for me, that much more depth and meaning. I am so happy. I always thought she would be a wonderful writer and I am glad; in the day where every stupid person thinks they can write stories because they know the language (sometimes not even that), someone like her, who can actually tell wonderful stories using the language to her advantage, to the stories' advantage, has got around to doing it. There are such few good writers among us, such few of the calibre comparable to current international greats and here, I am convinced, is as good a collection reflecting the state of middle class India's mind as any. Read, for the language, for the simple characters, for the straightforward story of everyday India, and for the possibilities therein.

I especially liked The Dead Camel, Summons and the first story, the name of which I forget just now.

We do it in threes.

2011-01-14T16:59:00.004+05:30

I am reading three books at a time, for the first time, effortlessly. I always wondered how people read multiple books at a time. Now I know. I read a short story in the day; read bits of the ms. on the comp; and read the Wodehouse before sleeping at night. There is enough time between the novels and the short stories, and enough disconnect between one short story and the other.

I have said my final (final, final) goodbye to the Rat, I have lost hope about the Dark One, and given up on That Thing I was wondering about.

I am on a diet, have lost 600g in 3 days, I am keeping my New Year Resolutions, and I, my dear fellows, am on a break starting just about now.

Those things that don't happen.

2011-01-07T12:41:00.001+05:30

I cancelled two of the three dinners this week because my mother's not well and I wanted to be home with her. I feel very happy having done this.

In other news, it's the friendship that never was.

I have deleted two numbers, and people, from my life this year whom I never imagined life without. And I still hardly can. Wish me strength, strangerreader. And I wish you happiness in return.

Too much, and too little.

2011-01-05T15:58:00.003+05:30

Complaining to the Tishu about social-overcommitting and having no time for myself, I began to wonder if this is some sort of split-personality psychosis at work. Do I, for instance, go all out looking to fill every inch of my time and then the other me, if you follow me, I should say us if my fear is true, or the second me to be absolutely correct, so, then the other me, if you follow the me in station right now, goes mad thinking there is no alone-time and I have too many things to do.

There may be, what I am driving at, two of me - in case you have missed that point - one who is lonely and/or an extrovert (eeesh!) who needs to meet people all the time; the other who is normal and doesn't want to go out all the time and wants to do people in small doses.

How else do you explain that just after my sister's left (today) and I wanted to heave a sigh of relief (from now on), I am having dinner with Murty today, Office Girls tomorrow, M2 day after, lunch with Mumble on Saturday and going to a party on Sunday? Does this sound like a normal working person's week? If you aren't quick enough to figure out, let me tell you: No. It sounds like a party animal's week and I AM NOT A PARTY HOUND. I am not an extrovert. This is someone else. Yet. How can I refuse Murty - we were supposed to meet on Sunday and I cancelled, then on Monday when he did, then on Tuesday I did and now we agreed on today. Office Girls have been wanting to celebrate end of anniversary issue for a long time and we fixed tomorrow two weeks ago; I see M2 once a week and Friday is the only day she and I both had free; Mumble and I have been meaning to meet ever since her book launch (months) and she called and fixed Saturday and I couldn't say no. And I can't help people's party timings.

Why this justification? To whom this justification? I need to tell myself why I am doing exactly the opposite of what I want. The answer, I guess, is that though I am constantly craving doing nothing, I also love my friends and like to spend time with them. Hence, life's crazy, dude. But I hope to satisfy my need for alone-time soon. I am off from work for 10 days starting Jan 15 and it will mean days of laziness at home, reading and doing nothing at all. Aaaah!

In other news: The Rat has said he will call me today. If he does, this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship that first promised to begin in 2005. Or it may be the end of the friendship that never was. Or, he may not call and I wouldn't know what to do but to wait and see. Let us see.

We stick to patterns.

2011-01-03T15:01:00.007+05:30

I have been successful with my New Year Resolutions! This is drastic. I read, I slept, I woke up and came to work on time. I am on a diet and I am going to lose **sit down, reader** 24.8 kilos by April 14, 2011. Yes. Such is the goal, such the situation. This is an all-time high and my goal is an all-time low, so let's see where I get when and how. Expect updates.

I got into a fit of simplifying life, which led me back to my desire of being *friends* with the Rat. Why can't we just drop all issues and be friends. In an attempt to ask him if he felt the same, I called him. He didn't answer. Nor has he replied to my text asking him if he wanted to talk. Any of you who have been mental enough to follow this blog will now be rolling with laughter at my stupidity and my naive expectations of the Rat; others who are my friends will start to disintegrate with frustration. Oh well. You are right right right. All I can say is that I am not making any never-again decisions. I am simplifying life - that is the only decision I have made and intend to keep. Let's see if the Rat calls back and when; I will take things up when there are any things to take up. For now, since he hasn't replied or taken my call, there is nothing to be done. So. Back to doing nothing much. An easy week at work, and a two-week break coming up. For now, I am happy with this much. And happy seeing that the Rat's latest ratbehaviour has not disturbed me like there's no tomorrow.

There's always tomorrow.

Ah, so.

2011-01-02T18:57:00.005+05:30

There is undue pressure on me to evaluate my life, just because it is now officially a New Year. Such mortals, such pawns, we are. As it happens, I am at one of those curious points in life where I don't seem to have much nor, however, do I have much to complain about. I have been in this place before, fleetingly, and somehow it brings me down a bit; just a little bit.

Let's see. I have the same old reliable job that takes me places - heh heh - and in fact last year's only high points came from my work travelbits to Bangalore (where I met the Rat after three years), Jordan (where I made two good friends and discovered a fantastic country), Mauritius and Taiwan (where I travelled with friends).

I still have family support and lots of loving friends. Though some equations seem to be changing for no fault of mine, I believe they may come back to normal and if they do not, then perhaps they were not so close to begin with and I misread the sitch. Which is okay. As I still do have a lot of friends, five-six of them who call me daily, couple of whom I meet once-weekly and that is enough social scene for me.

I now am not in love with anyone, which is odd for me. For five years I have been in love with the Rat but the last (unbelievable) interaction with him, which showed me that he still does the same things and gives me the same lies, proved that he not only does not care a damn for me, he also does not credit me with wee bit intelligence. He gave me such an amusingly silly lie that it left me cold and silent. We didn't wish each other for the new year and I feel nothing about it but a passing sad feeling that it is finally over. From his tweet it seems he came to Delhi on his way to work and, typically, did not call me. Earlier it would have bothered me and he would have given silly excuses if confronted. Now I don't want to confront him, this piece of information just goes down into the Proof He Doesn't Care bin and convinces me that remaining silent is the right decision.

That leaves me with no male interaction that is even slightly romantically charged, if you know what I mean. I am currently not flirting, not dating, not being hit on, not hitting on, not looking to date, not pining for anyone. It is bloody weird. And I wish this would change soon. Though my motto for 2011 is to take it s.l.o.w. so nothing will happen in a hurry. But it better start soon!

As promised to self, I am reading again. And Wodehouse is keeping me sane this first weekend of the new year. More news later.

Hello, Better Days.

2010-12-30T13:33:00.003+05:30

I have had my big New Year Eve bash a little early this time. Tuesday, we celebrated M1's PhD (it is over after six years of looking like it never will) at her place and from the moment I left work I knew that this was the day for me to get drunk. I had had another one of those interactions with the Rat on Monday; I was stressed out because of ongoing, neverending!, work; and I was meeting all my lovely friends - Chew, M2, V, HSB, Maggot, Bah, and all the rest - and just the sight of them relaxed me so much. I had intended to get drunk and I did within the hour. Ex-cept tha-at I stayed there, drinking, for the next five. It went a little crazy, dear random readers of the web, it went a little o'board. I believe I sang, and did various other inappropriate things such as accepting a challenge to kiss M2 on the lips. Eeeesh. The debauched life; it's fun until the next morning. Though, I must say, that I do not regret my drunken night, I do not grudge myself this one. I have had a reasonably dull year after a really horrid 2009 and I am now looking at 2011 with a fixed eye and several expectations. Better days have to be nearby.

After Monday's disappointing (same, nothing will ever change) to-do with the Rat, I am now never going to break my silence with him (for real). He is simply not worthy of my emotions nor my niceness. I will hurt, pine, miss him but I shall say nothing to him. No complaints, no make-ups. This is it.

Last night, which was the end of a severely hungover day, was lovely with the dear Maggot taking us all out for a lovely Goan dinner for his birthday. It is so sweet, the Maggot, as are all my friends. So sweet and talented. I have no idea what I have done to deserve so many lovely interesting loving people as close friends. I am going to stick with them, and I am going to gun for happiness. That's what. Come on, 2011, show us the good stuff.

A little cooler in the head.

2010-12-27T20:00:00.002+05:30

My last post about the Rat was too angry. I am not angry. And the fact is that now that I feel so much less, if he only made the slightest of efforts to be in touch, I would. All I need is a sign that he wants it, that he values it, and that's what I don't get. That's all. It's a sad loss for me, for I really would have cherished a warm, loving, lifelong friendship with him. God knows I have cherished the idea for a lifetime. So what will happen from here with me and the Rat? It seems like nothing. Unless he decides to follow up our case with love, understanding and a lot of patience. Ha! Ha! HA!

In a bizarre turn of events, I suddenly cannot but read beyond page 204 in Perdido Street Station! Suddenly some things have happened and I at least must read the next chapter to see what that was all about. Sigh. If there weren't 400 more pages to go, I would have even tried to finish it.

Beginnings, and endings.

2010-12-26T20:42:00.007+05:30

It's all decided. I am going to read Perdido Street Station till page 200 (I am on 160) and leave it. China Mieville is one of our greatest coolest writers, but this book ain't my cup of tea. This doesn't mean that I am not looking forward to Embassytown and won't buy it immediately when it comes out in May. I have liked every other Mieville I have read and there is no reason to think I won't like his next. Meanwhile. I will begin the new year in the customary fashion - by reading a Wodehouse. This year it will be Full Moon, which I haven't read in years. I still remember its beginning, with the moonlight shining on the castle, and I am super excited about entering Blandings Castle again! On my immediate reading list are also Salman Rushdie's Luka and the Fire of Life and an Andrea Camilleri mystery.

The day I wrote my last post, due to a certain chain of events, I promised A a lifetime of silence. When he texted me last night, I briefly felt angry before feeling silent. I feel bad that I am not replying. But I feel so let down by him, and so dejected. He has knowingly hurt me so so so much, and denied me simple things that everyone else in his life has access to. Simple things like meeting, forget things such as travelling together, things all friends do, but we can't because of the demons in his mind about me. His text was cheerful, wishing me for the new year, and yet completely lacking in emotion. A breezy message, as if nothing is wrong, as if no one is hurt and as if nothing means anything. He wants me to say 'oh thanks, same to you' and then just forget him till he next decides to get in touch.

I would do that for people I don't care about, don't care to hear from, but I can't pretend to be happy about things I am not happy about. Not to satisfy his bizarre need to keep a civil front even if everything is rotting and dying. I have said everything I can say to him, I know he doesn't care about me, I know I am thinking of not having replied to his text while he probably is not. But at the same time, I don't feel like reaching out and ironing out differences if all he wants is to keep a civil front. I don't feel the need to hard-sell my friendship to him any more. I feel more ready to just give it up and let it all go, than ever before.

I don't think he does but IF he wanted to save this friendship, he should have done it or let me do it when I was going crazy trying to. All it would have taken were little things: a few more smiles, a few more minutes of his week, a little more attention, a dash more sensitivity. But he looked at me and what I gave with suspicion, imagining all sorts of things, thinking the worst of me and pushing me away each time we came close naturally. Now it's gone and all I have for him is silence.

As Eminem says in that song: Next time? There will BE no next time.

It's a struggle, my friends.

2010-12-19T18:35:00.003+05:30

So I have read one more chapter of Perdido Street Station, a book I have been trying to read from September, and one that I have been wanting to read for years. There must be a reason why I cannot read or cannot read this book. Let's see. One is that it is too tediously written - describing things about a world that you are forced to imagine but clearly I am not imaginative enough to do so. Lines upon lines trying to describe the various type of semi-human races that exist is this bizarre world, the various sections of the town with their own rules and unique characteristics; how the railway lines cross in the air, how a person is pulled by gravity towards the west because the rail takes a bend... it's just FULL of descriptions most of which are hard to grasp, for one of my feeble intelligence and attention span. Second, it's deliberately disgusting. How a pig is thrown to a grinder and how it is torn apart and its shrieks and its blood and its disgusting detailed end... I just don't find any thrill or literary genius in this kind of thing, if the book is full of it. Third, I have hardly been home any given night to read! I have been out too much and on the phone with people on Sundays and stuff. I have had no time to read. Today was an exception, I woke up early enough to finish all the catching up with mum and friends AND get time to read. I must correct this next year. Last, I think in my mind it is connected with the Dark One. Since he has stopped talking to me, I feel like I cannot read this book any more. I would have loved to discuss it with him, he would have thought me foolish but perhaps upon insistence he would have shown me what I am missing. Is it that I am missing something or is it that it is too science-fiction and not enough fantasy for me? I am not sure.

I will keep reading pages from the book till the end of the year but I am quite sure my opinion will not change, and also sure that I will not finish this book. Hence I have already marked it down on my list as abandoned, shoved the dismal 2010 list down where I can never see it and made room for a brand new reading year.

I have three resolutions for 2011! I will lose weight. I will wake up at 9 every work day and take the metro to work. And I will read every single day, unless I come home drunk. Let the year begin. **cracks fingers**

I think.

2010-12-17T17:03:00.005+05:30

I haven't been writing because there isn't much to say. I feel I am going through a significant transition period and that soon some solid things may take shape. Or I may die before it does, as the building in which I work is under terror threat: the people who did the most recent blast in the country have sent us an email saying We Are Next. It is too exciting. But coming back to the earlier thought. I'm not quite sure what transitions I mean. I am not sure if I mean, like a relationship or a new job, these things are not clear to me yet. But I just feel that something is afoot and I feel it quite strongly.

It is more possible that I am falling out of, rather than in, love. That may be one transition process that will be complete soon. It can be that I myself am changing as a person; I think differently now than I did a few years ago. I am more at peace. I think. I need less. I think. I am happ-ier. I think. Somehow, it is very weird, I feel, yes, happier. I feel like not much can go wrong in the near future because I don't want too much and am not expecting anything big. It's the old old law of happiness = no or low expectations. That's where I am at. For now.

In 2010.

2010-12-08T15:29:00.003+05:30

I seem to have lost the Rat. Finally. It's been a month since we spoke, more than three weeks since either of us got in touch. After more than five years of this-is-not-working, I-care-but, I-don't-want-to-stop-talking and you-just-don't-understand and I-am-fed-up, this looks like it. There are no words to express how sad, and angry, I am, so I will not bother.

I seem to have lost the Dark One. For reasons unknown. I can only guess that I may have disgusted him in some manner but I can't see how and I don't see why he shouldn't give me a chance to explain or say sorry. This is a four-year-old friendship. Or was. I may or may not hear from him again, one never knows. I am done trying.

I went to Jordan. It was one of the most enriching experiences I have had in my travels. I also made two good friends there, one of them with a bit of potential to become more for a bit, but I don't think so anymore. Still, all in all, an eventful and important trip.

Tam got married. Officially. I was there. It was great and romantic and lovely and Melbourne is a place where my heart lies.

Apushoe and Tam got pregnant! Apushoe is going to have twins on MY birthday next year. It is too thrilling.

I visited Taiwan, which was a great experience too. And it was with my mad friend with whom my friendship is finally settled after a bit of unsettling something a couple of years ago. Taiwan is cool, I am glad to have seen it.

I read very little. I am terribly unhappy. I have bought a lot of books and I hope to remedy this in the new year. There is no choice but to. I can't read so little ever again - it's my worst reading year ever.

I found an answer to my chronic skin problem - it was as simple as moisturising! And it came from a chance encounter in the hills with a doctor who lives in the world's oldest living city. I live for such chance encounters.

I made out with a friend. I fear the worst for my friendship with him, but I don't regret the making out.

Two of my close friends got married. Rads and Az, the latter with whom people thought I would. Maybe I would have, if he had asked. Who knows. I don't ask myself questions that I am not expected to answer.

I met the Rat after three years, and yes, that was special and, in a way, final.

Loot from Taipei.

2010-12-05T19:09:00.000+05:30

.

2010-12-05T18:59:00.003+05:30

I am back from Taiwan after a lovely break but now I am low again. It's been three weeks since I got in touch with the Rat, and about a month since I actually spoke to him. It feels weird; it's sinking in only now. Just to recap for myself: We fought and fought, I tried to reach him, he was really rude and I gave up. Then he called but I didn't take the calls. Then I mailed him saying I will get in touch when I can, but got in touch the very next day at which point he again rudely ignored my several calls and texts. And I swore on my father that I won't get in touch with him ever again. That's it. And, what has surprised me is that, he hasn't got in touch at all. I thought he cared more than this. Heh. We live in such a fool's world. If I knew that if I didn't call him he will never care to get in touch, this would have ended a long time ago. And perhaps not ache so much.

I reel with ache and sadness, dear fellows. This sucks. I suppose things can only get better. And all that.

Here and there.

2010-11-21T01:59:00.004+05:30

Of the five books I bought today, I am most thrilled by Samuel Beckett: Complete Dramatic Works and most curious about (yet another) new Swedish mystery writer Hakan Nesser. When I say new, I mean, of course, that he is being introduced to India now with several of his works being translated only recently. Yet another mystery series, dear people, isn't that just wonderful? Well, wait till I read it and tell you if it is.

Little else has happened after a lot happened earlier in the week. I broke up in my mind with the Rat on Sunday night for good, having done major drama of swearing on my father that I will never call him again. Well, that worked for me. I will not break my word after swearing on my father's dead head, if you know what I mean. On Monday I went and made out with a Friend Who Shall Not Be Named (for fear of god knows who is reading) after drinking a bottle and a half of red wine each. The two cases are not related, the Rat and the making out I mean (the bottles and the m.o. is definitely related), it just happened to have happened in that sequence. I think. I am not entirely sure and I am not investigating this question in my mind because I don't want to answer questions that I am not being asked. I've had no time to think about it so far, as Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I was busy with Rads' wedding functions and Friday I was closing issue AND meeting HSB and M2 for drinks and today I was closing issue AND meeting VM for lunch and AM for dinner and movie.

Sometimes it's good to have had no time to think. Isn't it? I have a Sunday to rest my mind that's been abuzz with happenings, personal and the big media scandal in which several of my friends are involved on both sides, and then three busy days before I head off to Taiwan. I can tell you one thing, my dear unseen listener, I haven't looked forward to getting away so eagerly before.

Thank god for Taiwan, and other places in the world, that are places other than where I live so I can regularly escape from my place. Er. You know what I mean.

We lose control.

2010-11-18T02:31:00.002+05:30

Ooops. Make-out session where no make-out sessions were supposed to be. Ex-boys and once-kissed where only wedding festivities were going to be. Things are taking a different turn. I am off to Taiwan next week. Running on auto-pilot for now. Go to work, perform, leave, head to relative, wish Eid, head to wedding, perform, wish, greet, express joy, flirt with Once-kissed, acknowledge ex-boyfriend, avoid New Flirt's attention without obvious embarrassment to both, express joy, perform, eat, leave, make excuse, get home, sleep. Wake up. Go to work. Perform. That's what.

Once back from Taiwan, I will be in the last month of this year. I hope to get things back in order and get some reading, some order into my life, people. Till then it's crazy. Crazy sad, crazy mad, but crazy.

Things can only get better.

2010-11-15T13:11:00.003+05:30

So I have been desperate. I have been horrible. I say I will never, and I do it again and again. Enough. I have sworn on my dead father that I will never again never again, and this time, I will keep this word. I never got to show my dad how much I love him and in this way, depending on some cosmic Universe messenger thing, I hope to convey my love for him. I will give up the Rat finally, because I love you too much to break your word.

And that's that with the senti stuff. Too much mush and depression has been going on. I am lying low for now and when I write again, it will be a cheerful tone. It has to be, it cannot get worse than this, netwallahs. It simply cannot get worse than this.

2010-11-14T03:17:00.006+05:30

And having told you I can't do this friend thing, that I still love the idea of us and, probably, you, I feel a lightness that will probably keep me afloat till I forget. Till then, I will not take your name. I will keep you deep inside, till I can face you again, on equal ground.

Singing my life.

2010-11-13T21:10:00.003+05:30

Immensely senti, listening to November Rain on loop. Why do people sing such songs? It's like exactly what I feel tonight. Well, not exactly of course. I know it's not love, but whatever the Rat feels if he doesn't show it, I hardly have a choice but to leave. The saddest part is the knowledge - however much I try to cover it up with benefit of doubt etc - the knowledge that this relationship, this whole what do you feel, why don't you show it, is only in my mind. He never felt, he never showed. He showed what he felt, an occasional phone call, once a year coffee... that's all he ever wanted and he showed it and I refused to believe it was true. And, man, how I suffered. And now I hear this song and almost cry when it doesn't really apply to our reality. It applies to the world in my mind, though, and I allow myself to cry.

Songs have always moved me so much, they can change my mood and I wonder if these singers realize what effect they have on listeners. I say it is a good way of making money, to sing for someone. I tip my hat to you, singer, player with emotion, for making me feel love again tonight. If only for the loss of it.

We freak out in random spurts.

2010-11-13T02:19:00.003+05:30

It's been four days since I decided to move on without a word and it's killing me today. It's as if everyone's deliberately trying to remind me of what I cannot have, of what I am missing. Yesterday I met a girl he had met at a conference and who is marrying a cousin of M2. Today two people took his name, only to refer to random other people called by the same name. It aches, people, it aches. I am hurting. But I shall not budge from decision this time. It's not like he has done anything to show he cares anyway. He never does.

The New Life.

2010-11-11T13:19:00.005+05:30

From November 15, I will start a new regime. This will involve walking, forgetting, reading, not drinking and relaxing. I have been too hard on myself (no really!), trying to be a friend to an unloving ex-lover, trying to be a daughter to a ghost of a father, trying to undo things I cannot, trying to not stress at being 32 and single when it is okay to stress, I should really just give up on trying and just give in to daily life. So I CAN'T be a friend to the ex-lover, it is too hard for me, I have failed. I can't have the Dark One back, I don't know what happened and he doesn't respond and it is NOT my responsibility alone to save our friendship. I can't undo what I did not do for my dad, he is gone. I can't do anything. I am doing whatever I can for the mothers, the sister, that's ALL I can do. And it's okay to freak out about being alone for the rest of my life, sometimes. I am prepared, I am preparing, but I really do not mind the thought too much. I have so many loving friends, a loving family, and I will survive.

What I do need to do is concentrate on myself and my health. I need to start walking, stop drinking, and I really need to start reading more for my mental health. Rads is here to be married! and it was so much fun to see her and S&S last night. More of them in the coming week till 18, when the wedding happens. Time to show self-restraint, dear K, time to be mad happy but not mad drunk!

And then something snapped.

2010-11-09T12:22:00.007+05:30

Over the years, we have had many fights, many screaming matches, many make-ups, many let's just chuck its and many let's try all over agains but there has been a common theme to all of this. While I try to protect your ego, not to insult you in any irreparable ways, you never seem to care about that when it comes to me. You shouldn't have sent that nasty text last night. There was no need for nasty, you know that. I told you my pride was hanging with a thread but you, assuming you can correct everything with a single call the next day, went ahead and snapped it right off with that unthinking text. Now no matter how many times you call, or not call, you have done damage that you cannot mend. All of this has been done before, said before, I have made noise, got angry, got upset, got needy, got pushy, felt despair, begged, blocked, abused, accused but always come back. This time I am going without any of the usual screaming and accusing and announcing and flouncing. I know you don't read this anymore, but if you ever bump into this by chance: Goodbye.

Desires. And what we can make of them.

2010-10-26T22:22:00.004+05:30

This is going to be a psycho post and somewhat disturbing for those who know me, I think. I am not even sure what is going to come out of my mind but I am not going to censor this list so be brave, dear reader, sit down, and hold on to something non-slippery. In top-of-mind order, here are my desires at this time and their status and what I plan to do about it. As I said earlier, I am on a happiness mission and the idea is to reduce unfulfilled desires and give generous time frames to the others so that happiness can be had. Happiness, in case you don't know (really?), is had by not having unfulfilled desires. (This is my version of the highly silly, happiness comes from not having desires explanation.)

To be happy. Here, I have encountered the biggest unfulfilled desire of all with no possible time frame to put. I can't, can I, say that I will give myself a year to be happy and after that quit this desire? This listmaking is not going well, already, dude. So. Okay. UNFULFILLED until further notice.

Sex. Erm. How can I put a time frame to this? What will I do if I do not have sex in that much time? Quit wanting it? Jump someone? Pay someone? Er, UNFULFILLED until further notice.

Reading more. I am reading very little and want to read as much as before. I will start this from today and get back to reading nonstop. UNFULFILLED. Time frame: By end of Bombay I would finish the book I am reading and then read everyday. Otherwise I will stop fussing over this and pretend I don't care or accept that I have become an occasional reader.

Meaningful, loving, friendships. Fulfilled. Yay!

The Rat. UNFULFILLED. Time is up since his last text today. I am pretending I don't care and will pretend till that becomes reality. Not yet happiness causing but will get there.

Family support. Fulfilled. Woohoo!

Travel. Fulfilled. Bonus: Often travel for work, hence free. Double yay!

New love. Unfulfilled. Time frame to be put when I get over the Rat for real.

Flirtation. Fulfilled, somewhat, by the Cute One. Doable.

Money. Somewhat fulfilled. While I am not penniless, I could have more. Time frame: If the April 2011 salary increment is not good, I will either leave job for better paying or take up freelance work to add to income.

Humour in life. Fulfilled. There is humour in everything.

Excitement, buzz. Mostly fulfilled. Parties, launches, drinks, travel, meetings, events, gossip etc is part of my life. There is enough buzz.

Lose weight. UNFULFILLED. Time frame: April 14, 2011.

The Dark One to come back: UNFULFILLED. Time frame: If he doesn't come back till Jan 1, 2011, I will never have him back and refuse to do anything with him.

Now I am really having to think of others. I am leaving out small desires. I must have thousands if stupid little desires...

...aha.

To have fun in Bombay: Almost certain to be fulfilled.
For the weather to be not so humid in Bombay: Oh come on, we will NOT let that matter. Desire CANCELLED.
For everyone to love and want me: Many people do, everyone CANNOT, and it really doesn't matter as long as you have enough friends. Desire CANCELLED.
To be slim overnight: Desire CANCELLED on unreasonable grounds.
For that new tall quiet man to have talked to me: But it's in the past. Others did talk to you. One man doesn't matter. There will be more. Plus, there may be more meetings with that one. Desire kept on SIMMER. Time frame: Till second meeting with NTM, if he still doesn't pay attention, I will not think of him again. (But so hot.)
For the Rat to fall in love with me: No comments. (Really K?)
For the Rat to say sorry and beg and plead me to come back: REALLY?
For the Rat to shift to Delhi: CONTROL YOUR SHIT, K
For me to genuinely get over the Rat soon: Desire encouraged by pretending this is already true.
To sleep peacefully every night: I am used to erratic sleep. Desire CANCELLED due to never having been true. I will sleep the way I can
For my skin to improve: Unfulfilled but process to fulfil this desire is under way with medication from angel from Varanasi.
Angel from Varanasi doesn't vanish on me: NO reason why she will. But if she does, I will hunt down another good doctor and continue treatment.

Okay so I can't think of more things as of now. I am sure the list is much longer. This seems like too little and the situation isn't so bad. I haven't really kept Worries here - I should add Worries and maybe I will make another list of Worries later. Goodnight for now. Putting down these things is half the battle won. No. But still.

Decisions.

2010-10-26T18:02:00.003+05:30

I have decided to be happy. Er, happier. I have also decided to not take any baggagefriends into the new year. Once again. But this time I intend to go through with it. I have also decided, most importantly, to take things only on face value. No more maybes, perhaps, but thens, howevers. If someone gives me cake, I have cake. If they say they want to give me cake, I don't believe it till I have cake. If they indicate they want to give me cake, I don't get these indications. I don't think for them, understand the unsaid, or justify for another. That's in the past. I am going to make a list of my desires, and try to reduce the unfulfilled ones, put a time frame to the rest and act on being happier. List on next post.

The wait.

2010-10-19T22:20:00.004+05:30

I can feel the force almost physically, the force with which I am keeping myself from writing, from reaching out. I search for a reason to write, search for a reason I may have been given - and I find none. I have been in this place before, when, each of those times, I said to hell with reason and acted on a whim, satisfied for the moment, and hurt yet again after a while; much worse this time, much deeper that time, more numb now. I do not have a reason and I have learnt, the hard way, from history. I will not act without a reason. It's killing me, I can feel parts of my heart and mind crumpling and falling away, silently screaming for a solution, for this pain - torture, fear - to end. But I will not go looking for an excuse to stop this hurt this time. Soon, either the solution, the reason, to stop this pain will come, or, all of it will crumple and fall away, and I will be left feelingless; so immersed in pain that I will no longer find it alien or disturbing. Soon, something must give.

We slowly clear the mental clutter.

2010-10-17T19:34:00.005+05:30

This weekend, I:

Decided, finally, on which category of house I want and how much I can invest, check. Brother-in-law satisfied, sister happy, I am glad.

Returned property dealer's call (four calls) and fixed meeting for second potential house in the coming week, check. Brother-in-law satisfied, bari mama (why she cares?!) relieved, another thing off my mind.

Fixed tailoring/friendship disaster - my sister's clothes being stitched by friend who's charging off abroad midway - check. Sister relieved, not lost yet another friendship, phew.

Called mother of to-be-married friend back and promised her I will take the stuff she wants me to take today, check. Mother of friend relieved, friend happy, one major work will be done.

Called old friend back finally (5-6 calls over week and a half) and had a chat with him and assured him I still love and care for him and very interested in all he does and will be glad to see him soon, check. Diva friend calmed, ego satisfied, one BIG task done, phew.

Fixed one dinner, with said friend, in Bombay, check. Friend happy; I, glad to have one thing sorted about the trip so I can tell others when I am free or not.

Fixed the DVD player so my mums can watch movies in the afternoon when I am at work, check. Mothers happy, BIG GUILT off my mind. PHEW.

Promised mothers to take them out for a movie tomorrow, explained why I couldn't pay them attention (lied about work, movie timings) (real reason: laziness and heartache), check. Mothers happy again, the sweethearts, and K totally guilt-free and happy to go to party tonight, leaving them alone.

Decided to get back to reading, check.

Decided to get back to diet, check.

Called up annoying friend whom I avoid but respect and have a soft corner for, and wished her a festive season, check. Friend happy, and I don't mind.

Told the Dark One, I will not be getting in touch any more, check. The Dark One probably relieved, K's ego-badgering and seemingly futile efforts can stop.

Decided, again, not to get in touch with the Rat, after briefly considering giving in, check. There is no evidence that the Rat's even thinking about me and I will respect myself more as a result.

Right. That's enough sorting out for one weekend. Expect updates and results wherever applicable. Happy Dussehra people, and Shubho Bijoya! Am off to PARRRTY.

Things.

2010-10-17T18:49:00.005+05:30

Woke up to 14 missed calls and texts but none from the quarters I want them to be. Property dealers, mothers of friends due to marry, unhappy friends, that's all I got. This will be some year, if at the end of it I've lost two of my most cherished friendships... I laugh and carry on but somehow when it comes to this space, which is still largely private, bare feelings come out and I am unable to write about anything but the gaping holes in my heart. Must be so boring for the readers - Things with the Rat okay, not okay, okay, not okay, everyone must wonder why I can't just give it some rat poison? Because I don't hate him darlings. Just like I don't hate the Dark One for deliberately causing me hurt and heartache. I guess everyone must have their reasons.

The other big disappointment of this year is the dip in my reading. I am constantly with a book but unable to read more than a few pages at best - and most nights I don't even do that. Some blame has to be attached with how busy I have kept myself, out almost three days a week and not returning till late, but still, I have had enough time to read at least 10 more books than I have. More, in fact. I am looking at my Books 2010 list and wondering what went wrong. I have been unhappy most of the year, but then I have had periods of unhappiness before... I don't know what has happened but I can't bring myself to read most nights. Am about 100 pages in Perdido Street Station and I want to read it but I can't! I hope to correct this soon... with a few days off in Bombay, and then a week in Taiwan. Let's at least get a book a month in, from now on, K. And hope that the next year is better in all respects.

That's what I do each year, hope that the next one will be better. This is not working very well.

Unrest.

2010-10-13T18:25:00.004+05:30

Meet friends, try and get the Dark One to talk, fail, eat sinful food, distract self by talking to old friends all the time, t.a.l.k.a.l.l.t.h.e.t.i.m.e, dinner with friends tonight, dinner with Tuchi on Friday, attend a book launch on Saturday, go to a party on Sunday, attend a book launch next week, keep yourself going, surround yourself with people, don't think of anything, don't say anything, don't cry for anything. Shut up. Live on. Don't love, don't think, don't speak, move up, move on, don't hope for a better tomorrow. Who knows if it will be better. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes.

I feel no love.

2010-10-11T17:53:00.004+05:30

I am sinking and not because I am so fat. (I am going to lose weight in the next two weeks before I head to Hyderabad and Bombay.) I am terribly hurt and disillusioned about the Rat - I have been hurt several times before but not disillusioned in this manner. Disillusionment is a lot sadder than just hurt. This time instead of running back to him at the Point of Too Hurt to Carry On, I shall gather all my courage and go right into the black hole of hurt and depression and hope to emerge, healed. It's truly over, this time. Wish me luck, my friends and strangers. This is going to be difficult. And the most difficult of all will be not to let him know, and slip in and out of his city without getting in touch. Oh dear. Oh my dear broken heart, heavy with impending doom and gloom, muster courage and let us move on.

Life in the metro.

2010-10-07T23:39:00.005+05:30

The metro is a great leveller. People from all positions of money and fame come together here, for it's fast, it's air-conditioned, it has a women's only compartment and there's one every minute. Those who need to keep a watch on the purse (like me) can get from place A to place B in under 30 bucks. That's less than a dollar. Instead of spending 400 bucks on a cab, which cancels without warning, 120 bucks on an auto that, literally, means mud in your face, and worrying about the driver showing up/taking car for a spin/murdering my parents (okay, that's just me but it DOES happen) (poverty is the evil behind it all) - instead of worrying about all that, I can walk to the station, pay Rs 18, travel in comfort and with speed and do it all again.

Seeing this, a lot of people have started using the metro in south Delhi, my part of the city, usually filled with snooty people wanting to show off their cars' lengths. One would think that they do it to reduce emissions but no such luck, they do it to save petrol and travel faster. Good enough I say. So now you see an elegant grey head wearing a Naga shawl skirt and a loosely draped Anokhi kurta. At the same time you see a teenybopper in black and white checked pumps. You see a young married woman from the not so well of part of society, dressed to the hilt; needing to show to hide that there is not much to show; probably wearing all her jewellery. You see the clearly poor, with frayed cloth bags been used over and over again, for vegetables, for carrying milk packets, for carrying gifts to places, for carrying tools of work. You see people like me, watching others, keeping a distance. You see people cursing in their mind, cursing someone, anyone, for the delay - to somewhere, in something. You see chatty girls, animatedly discussing nailpolish, you see that the grey head is smiling knowingly, she knows you are checking people out, you are not a regular, you do not belong.

She knows. She doesn't belong either. The metro in my city is more the domain of the lower lower, yes lower lower, middle class - who can't afford the auto, but can do better than the bus. There are those who can't even afford the bus and how I wish I could buy everyone in this city a lifetime card for the metro... but where do I start? She smiles for she knows that people like her and I are just temporary travellers on this line, the metro is nothing but another option of commuting for us. I look at her and smile and wonder if she knows that I am thinking sad thoughts about the poor who are not in the metro. Perhaps she does. She is wise. She is grey. And she has a killer Naga shawl.

Cutting a cheque is not a solution for anything but it's something. I wait for the chance when I can help a poor old person travel in the spanking new metro and be part of the progressiveness of their nation. I will report success when I meet it.

Good, bad, ugly.

2010-10-05T17:44:00.003+05:30

Udaipur was lovely, and healing. I had time to myself after many days, which I spent sleeping, eating, watching LOTR trilogy again, going to the spa, thinking of reading, thinking of nothing. It was a good weekend. I am currently in a frazzled state of mind as I have had a final showdown (alone) with the Rat. I have ranted and raved and hung up on him and ranted again on text. All of which he ignores. The question is that does he ignore it because he knows I am not going anywhere or because he doesn't care if I go away? After five years if I don't have an answer, I doubt I ever will.

I am setting on another journey - one that takes me away from you A. Like I said, next time you find it convenient to reach out to me, I will not be close enough to hear. I feel miserable dear readers, but I will see better days. Everyone must.

The usefulness of men.

2010-09-30T00:34:00.003+05:30

Men are so useful. Sometimes. Those cousins I told you about in my previous post? They have all grown up and were running about usefully everywhere and doing all possible things during my nani's fourth-day ceremony. All my female cousins sat about and gassed and all my aunts talked about the departed and worried about food and so on while the boys ran about, got the photo framed, collected flowers, delivered stuff, shifted stuff, carried people back and forth from home to puja centre, dropped random people at certain places, drove around running errands, errands, errands.

I remember, during papa's time it was just me and my sister who had to do all the Post Death Stuff - certificates, finances etc. Though all my cousins and uncles pitched in during the cremation and ceremonies and all - I would hardly know what to do by way of ceremonies if I didn't have my mother's extended Punjabi family - but after that there was only us, who did the LOT of paperwork and the mother, who is still doing the ANNOYING bank work. If I had a couple of brothers, I would have dumped everything on them and cried a hearty cry. There was no time for that. Which is a good thing, in a way.

Recently someone accused me of locking away emotions. The Rat would roll on the floor with laughter at that - IF ONLY, he would say, and go back to laughing and crying alternately. But it's true that APART from him, I really don't bring up or talk about any other thing that troubles me. Guilt regarding father, money situation, bari mama's looming death, my mother's health - these are things that trouble me daily but I don't think or talk about them, fearing that if I dwell on them, I may go to some dark place I can never get out of. So even as I talk about these there is a mental wall that actually blocks these things out. Maybe I will go mad one day. Ha ha. That's what.

Farewell, chaiji.

2010-09-26T17:14:00.004+05:30

My nani passed away late on Friday. My closest friends are quite shocked, to know that I had one to begin with. Poor chaiji, I suppose I have never paid her the attention that a nani deserves. Some blame is to be attached to my parents, who did not visit my nani's house often, and we didn't have too much interaction with that side of my family. But mostly this is because my maternal family, my cousins, are not the brightest lot, and have never really made me want to seek their company. And since my nani lives with them, I haven't visited too much over the years and haven't formed the usual kind of emotional bond. Like Aza and Za'a have with my mother, for instance.

So my sister and I visited my nani only at Rakhi and Tikka, two festivals where brothers and sisters are forced to renew their brotherly and sisterly vows. And since I started to work, even those biannual visits became irregular. The relationship between chaiji and her two grandchildren from the elder daughter was a silent sufferer in this. I strain to remember any fond memories too, in fact. Her toothless, happy grin at seeing me, patting me, and declaring that she is proud of me... one day when I saw her in the last years. She always seemed to be proud of my sister and I more than my other cousins, but then that's very easily understood, what with all my cousins being particularly dull and not high achievers. I suppose they didn't have the exposure that we got with dada's intellect and intelligence, and the school we went to, but more than that dada, who made most of what we are today. I realise how terribly pompous I sound but this is only in comparison to my cousins, remember.

The other, very sharply clear, memory I have of chaiji is from the day of my dad's funeral. It was so sad to see his two mothers, my dadi and my nani, sit there and cry their heart out. While my dadi wept silently, my nani kept shouting loudly, asking god why my dad was taken away when it was her time to go. I remember my uncles getting angry with her, at her shouting and creating a scene. I was too busy to notice - but I think we fail to understand the pain of a parent losing a child, even a child-in-law. I think chaiji, ill even then, really did mean what she said and I am grateful to her for that noble thought. To genuinely want to give away what would eventually turn out to be the last year of her life for my father... I won't forget that.

Each time someone close passes away, I hope, like a Santa Claus-believing child, that they meet my father up there, somewhere, and my father's afterlife becomes easier...

I am sorry I didn't turn up for your funeral, chaiji, somehow I thought it didn't matter to me. On hindsight, it's affecting me more than I thought. Maybe it's just guilt at realising what a selfish and cold person I have become. Albeit, I pray for you, and send you my love. Too late, too little, as usual.

On the move.

2010-09-23T22:23:00.005+05:30

What's happening, folks? Which folks? No one is reading this. As it should be. If you are not Tam, the Tishu, M&M, Maggot, the Rat (who never reads), the Sister or the missing Dark One (who is missing), you should not be reading this. Who am I to you? Don't waste your time. This is personal shit here, no intellectual debate ever takes place on this blog.

So what was I saying? Yes. Nothing much is happening except lots of little and exciting travel bits. That's all there is left in life these days. Sometimes I wonder what I would have done if I didn't have this bloody boring but easy job that involves travelling once a month. I will be off to Bombay soon, to see the Cute One, Apushoe, SDS, Tuchi and, depending on Situations, the Rat. It should be lovely and fun filled! From there I will sidetrack to Matheran, a place I have been wanting to visit since many - several! - years. We are all booked and done. The Cute One, Star (another Jordan Friend) and I.

Then I am off to Leela Udaipur, one of the most luxurious properties in the country, for a weekend with the self. It's right by the lake and you take the boat to it, if there is water in it. In the lake, I mean. If there is a lake, I mean. It's a seasonal lake. However water is something we have no shortage of this year, seeing that it is the wettest in 32 years or something (which means for the first time in my life, by the way). SO. That should be nice, eh?

Then I go off to Hyderabad, and I will meet the Tishu for the first time since she left! YAY! When did she leave? The day before Ronnie the Drivegem did, I remember. Ronnie the Drivergem is back, by the by, part-time, which means he will come when I need him IF he is free. Even with drivers I have this conditional sort of relationship. Sigh. So I go off to Hyderabad and stay at The Park and meet the Tishu and party and eat and oh! so much fun! that should be.

Later in the year, I am likely to go to Taiwan, somewhere I would love to go, and Hong Kong, which is one of my favourite SEA cities. But this is not confirmed yet. More on it when I know.

Travel keeps me going. Ha. There, that's quite literally then.

Fleeting moments.

2010-09-20T23:19:00.005+05:30

Nothing much of interest has happened all week. I have my life and space back - the children and the sister left Tuesday - but I haven't been able to do anything with it. Since Wednesday I have mostly stayed at work. This is shit life, dudes. This is where it can't sink lower. You know what I mean? Shit.

So it was with a certain amount of pleasure then that I did not go to work today and instead went to see M2 off to the airport with Chew. She's gone THREE WEEKS to the US. These freelancer types, I tell ya. But since I wasn't able to see her all of last week due to work and all of the week before due to it being my sister's last week in town, I really wanted to see her once before leaving. What joy. It was a chilly breezy 22 degrees, we drove on fairly empty roads and had fun conversation all the way. Briefly it went something like this:

M2: I need a cig.
Chew: Let's smoke.
M2: I won't share my smokes.
Chew: WHAT?
Me: Just share guys.
M2: I can't eat.
M2: I forgot charger.
M2: I forgot book.
US: **Eyeroll**
M2: I need to take a dump.
M2: I forgot my medicine.
M2: I think I have fever.
US: **Silence**
M2: Do you think they have chemists?
Me: Like OF COURSE?
M2: No not the USA you idiot, the airport.
Me: Oh.
While Chew: Mad laughter.
M2: I hate flying.
Me: No, really?
M2: Cow.
Chew: Mad laughter.
M2: You think the plane will fall down?
Chew: Of course NOT Mitsi!
Me: You mean, like a camel?
Chew: Like a WHAT?
M2: LIKE A WHAT?
Me: You know? Like a camel falls from his height to sitting position?
M2: You are really retarded, woman.
Chew: Mad laughter.
Me: OH *I* am retarded, says the person who asks if the PLANE will FALL DOWN.
M2: Guilty cackle.
M2: I shouldn't have eaten so much.
M2: My back hurts.

And you get the picture. I am finishing this today because evil things happened last night while I was typing this and I went and cried instead of writing. Eventually she left. I shall miss her, or will try to - if I ever get out of work. It's 11.11 p.m. currently (which is oddly amusing) and I am Still At Work.

2010-09-15T18:35:00.000+05:30

I am editing shit articles. Till later, then.

Appearing Offline.

2010-09-08T16:03:00.011+05:30

Somewhere in the very beginning of 2006 I met a man whose first words to me were: "Don't try to steal my jacket". We were stuffed in a small car, five of us and a driver, quite drunk and on our way to the Home of the Girls, to drink some more. These were those silly fun young nights, when my two lovelies were in Delhi, and we used to go to the Place That Rocks a lot. He was a friend of a friend of my friend.

All through the evening, he said not a word to anyone, looked disinterested and vain, and commented on little else but the music, and that too only to say how bad or ordinary it was. I thought him faintly attractive, what with a mess for a hairdo, a rocker t-shirt and being lean and dark but I hadn't thunk any thoughts of undressing him, so, at the point in the car when he said this to me, I looked at his frayed leather jacket and wondered what the hell he meant.

I still don't know. The other thing I didn't know then was that he and I will be friends in the coming years and part of each other's daily routines. Over that drunken evening, I was intrigued by him and attracted to him, wondering what he was all about - this man who spoke little, had a drummer for an ex-gf and made short funny clever remarks about mostly everything. Next day, all of us went to the dhaba next to our office and some more remarks about the people who were working around the dhaba made me decide that here was an interesting ass. An ass, yes, but at least an interesting one. All my friends are asses of one sort or the other and one more of the interesting variety wouldn't do any harm.

I added him to MSN chat and after weeks of nothing, one day he appeared online. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, for me. A friendship of interest and understanding and a respect for the other's space, a friendship fenced in by invisible boundaries which we never crossed. A friendship marred by only one big fight in four years (everyone who knows me knows how rare that is), over my demand that he wish me on my birthday. He taught me how that was not the hallmark of friendship, especially a friendship that gives a lot more than an acknowledgement of old age. I smile as I think of the way this person is. The only comparison I can make is to my grandfather. Intelligent and grumpy, dada thought the world was an insufferable fool and that only the meanest adjustments must be made in order to survive in it, but there was no need to be friends with it.

The Dark One and I were as different as two worlds should be, I emotional him aloof, I friendly him closed, I an extrovert him shunning the world, I, wanting things, people, experiences, him wanting to be left alone. We were bound by our love for books, reading, authors, our general cynicism about life, our low opinion of the Unwashed Masses, my adoration of his writing, a mutual respect for opinions - he would show me his writing, I would ask him about my several failed attempts at a relationship - and slowly we fell into a routine of daily conversations over the web where we discussed everything from personal relationships, family, love and life, writing and books. I would fill his life with nonsense about my work and he would gently accept all this nonsense without complaint. We chatted up to five, six, hours a day; on very busy days we would at least get a hello and quick what's up in.

I would have fallen in love with the Dark One, if I was not already in love with the Rat, and in a relationship with him in fact, when I first met him.

In many ways I do love the Dark One. I love his love for knowledge, his writing, his constant presence and the little ways in which he suffered this little fool, indulged me almost, because I knew the topics that interested him and which did not but blabbered on about everything under the sun anyway. I remember the days I used to push the Dark One to publish his writing, and how eventually I succeeded for a little while, before he decided the world was not good enough to write for, and started keeping his writing secret again. All the while I was aware of a dark side to my friend, his depressive tendencies, his blemished past, and worried every now and then where all this will lead. During the course of our friendship he met a nice lady who can only be admired for her courage and stamina and care for animals - perhaps this love led her to love this animal, my Dark One, and soon they married. She brought stability to his life and has been a good influence on him, adding to the positives of this otherwise negative ass. I have been part of his life, and him a part of mine, without any intrusions - at a distance and without crossing any boundaries. We never called each other, unless on birthdays or to arrange to meet if in the same city; after his marriage, I never texted him at nights or intruded in their life in any way; we never asked uncomfortable questions of each other; no demands were ever made, save that of a friendship. I had an envious friendship with him, something people can only hope to have without complicating the situation with love and lust, and things were lovely and smooth and beautiful.

I use past tense, you must have noticed. A couple of months ago, my friend stopped appearing online. I was not surprised at first, because there have been periods of absence before, when he was ill or busy or away. He never told me, just came back each time. I would always tell him, weeks before if I knew, that I won't be available from this to this date, as if it mattered. I thought it mattered. It must have. I don't know.

I haven't heard from him in two months save an occasional reply to my texts or emails, saying he was busy with work. He stopped commenting on anything I wrote, any picture I published, or acknowledging my comments on his writing or pictures. Most likely, he has stopped reading this blog, one of only four or five of my many close friends who know about its existence, he has certainly not acknowledged any post in a long time, like he used to. Knowing him, I know accusing him of vanishing on me will only make him retreat more, blame me for jumping to assumptions, being impatient, being annoying blah blah... But after two months of suffering, I couldn't bear it and asked him directly what the absence meant. I haven't received a reply. Four years of friendship has suddenly come to a... pause... I will say. It's unfair but I can do nothing about it. There must be a reason but I haven't understood yet. If this was another friend, the Dark One would advise me to wait and see.

I take this unasked and unspoken advice. Life is long, unfortunately, and I hope he will come back one day. Maybe he will read this one day. If he does, if you do, here are my last words, for now, to you: Don't try to steal my friend.

From Japan, a long time ago.

2010-09-05T20:44:00.004+05:30

When a particularly opinionated friend of mine dismissed it by calling it too tedious, I was determined to like The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet despite the pretentious name. David Mitchell is one of my favourite authors, I love number9dream and Black Swan Green and like the other two. How can he write anything tedious, I wondered, he, whose writing is as smooth as whipped cream, and who is among the least pretentious and most easily read modern authors?

With great fondness and determination to like it, then, I started to read the book somewhere early in July. Then the children happened and what with going out all the time, the sister and the children at home, and being distracted with this, that and the other, I totally stopped reading. It was a horrible time, I felt cut off from a dear friend and felt as if I was roaming around with an open wound that needed immediate attention without doing anything about it.

Things fell back in place just before my little mountain break and I went back to reading, and in a week since then, I have finished this rather fat book. That makes me happy. The other thing that makes me happy is that, after plodding through the first 100 pages over two months (my friend was right after all, dammit!), it suddenly turned into a soft light little story punctuated with a few thrilling what-now! moments.

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is a historical fiction set in the late 18th and early 19th-century Japan, when the Dutch had control over a trading outpost called Dejima, in Nagasaki Bay. It is about a clerk with principles called Jacob de Zoet who has left love, family and his country and travelled many sea hours to reach Dejima, where he hopes to work his way to fame and money and marry his love Anna. Except, two things happen and they spoil his plans. He falls in love with a midwife with a half-burnt face called Orito Aibagawa and he defies his bosses in the face of their wanton corruption and is demoted and relegated to nothingness.

Orito Aibagawa is another story. Her father, the respected Dr Aibagawa, dies in debt and the evil abbot Enomoto takes away his daughter, happily given away by a stepmother, in return of settling his debts. Orito is taken away to a shrine on a mountain where Very Bad Things happen and the story is about how she rebels against these VBTs, how de Zoet survives without love but with honour and, after many twists and turns, how everyone's life ends quite peacefully.

At each book, there comes a point when, after reading 450+ pages, you ask yourself (and want to tell people) if this book was worth reading. Yes. It very much was. Mitchell's flawless beautiful writing is only maturing with each work, his descriptions are simply marvellous, his characters subtle. The story becomes almost a thriller in the middle and there are times when you can hardly put the book down. It is a fantastic work of fiction from one we have come to expect such things.

But is it his best as many are claiming? Not at all. His best, for me, has been number9dream and Black Swan Green. You cannot pick from those two because you cannot compare the two at all, but I loved number9dream for its imagination, and Black Swan Green for its humanness. The man's a genius, folks. May he continue writing.

Green piece.

2010-09-03T15:56:00.000+05:30

I have a friend in Melbourne who leads a perfectly imbalanced green life. His shower monitor is set to 4 minutes, he never leaves the water running while brushing or washing dishes, he bikes to work, reuses every scrap of paper till it looks like a print of the matrix code and he seldom washes any of his clothes. At his home, you cannot switch a light on unless you absolutely must see something and on a holiday he rejects artificial temperature controllers and hitches a tent and sleeps in the garden if he isn’t near the wilds. He shouts madly at people if he sees them violating any of his rashly adopted green rules and as a result he has lost all his hair, most of his friends, and has gone absolutely impossibly crazy.

I am all for green moral policing, as long as it is not governed by the spirit of someone who committed double suicide in the summer of 1945. If I were to lead an ideal green life, I’d be riding a bike to work instead of driving, except that I can’t ride a bike and will have to take time off to learn. But I can’t take any time off from my current job and barely manage an annual leave of two weeks, so I will have to use my annual leave for this, which means I can’t travel to see my family, which is a huge personal loss, as I will not be able to enjoy my sister’s perfect biryani and this will lead me to the aforementioned imbalanced green life. I could take public transport, you would argue, which is surely the next best thing. Divide the emissions by thousands and there you have a neat solution. Of course, neat is a word I use loosely here. My OCD doesn’t allow me anywhere near the sweaty public of our country and travelling by the metro or a bus in this city will definitely kill me before I can save the planet from sinking.

In the face of these grim realities, I do what a mere mortal can. I have hired a driver and with that one clever stroke I have generated employment and divided the dreadful emissions by, er, two. It’s better than travelling in an auto, as my car is more energy efficient and has an air-conditioner. Oops. Man, it’s tough to go green. I accept. My travelling habits score next to nil green points but instead of going mad trying to do something about it, I try to do other things to make up. I don’t watch television, I don’t use air sprays, I don’t leave the water running, I reuse leftover water after boiling veggies, I haven’t added to the population, I don’t take detailed printed bills and have recently discovered that I have been practically feeding the babies of my fraudulent phone-company (tip: CHECK your ebills).

There is a way to be environmentally friendly without going absolutely impossibly crazy. I have a green moral police that keeps a score of my good and bad green deeds and as long as I have passing marks, I am fine. That’s more doable and sustainable, and hence in the long term will lead to greater goods. If you do too much too suddenly and die of a green attack, you are no good to anyone. Now if someone’s travelling to Melbourne, bike up to my friend and tell him this. He’ll be the one serially killing everyone who’s driving a car.

Within reach.

2010-08-31T15:29:00.004+05:30

The break at Ananda in the Himalayas was all that I'd asked for. A lot of reading time, misty mountains, good food, massages, and, discovery of the trip, meditation. I have always been attracted to the concept of meditation, seeing that I have such a restless mind, and for the first time I tried proper meditation, daily. Yog Nidra is yogic sleep, where you go into the edge of consciousness and stay just within touching distance of sleep. Sleeping with awareness, the teacher said. I did Ajapa Japa meditation, where you repeat a jap, chant, so many times that after a point you don't need to think about it and it becomes a part of you. This is Ajapa, or involuntary internalised, chanting. And then I tried Mantra Sadhana meditation, or focusing on one mantra. But I did Yoga Nidra twice and found it the most healing. You have to find the one that works best for you - there are many simple forms of meditation and I recommend it to everyone. As soon as my sister leaves mid-month and I will have more time and space, I will adopt meditation as part of my daily schedule. It really is so peaceful.

In other news, I stand firm on my plans of not going out all the time and reading more, and am nearly done with David Mitchell's latest. A note on that soon.

Recover, restart.

2010-08-25T12:54:00.003+05:30

I'm, slowly, getting my life back in order. Am back to reading, thankfully!, even though currently I am reading only about 10-15 pages at night before sleeping but at least the book's back in my life. I have decided to not initiate any plans of going out and accept only weekend invitations. I am also on a mission to lose 6.9 kilos before I go to Bombay and will not drink at all for the month in between. More time home, with family, with myself, back to walking, reading, eating healthy and sleeping on time. I feel good about this already.

It helps that I have no money and, after my driver bashed up my car, no driver and no car for two weeks. (And I don't drive.) I have made an excel sheet for my budget for the month so that I am not left with Rs. 2,500 at the end of next month. On the 25th. Less eating out! No drinking! Fewer movies! No midweek parties! More saving! That's what.

I am off for a long weekend to Ananda in the Himalayas, a luxury spa resort, where I hope to catch up on reading, indulge the self and find some peace of mind. See you on the other side.

Matters of the foolish heart.

2010-08-23T16:37:00.007+05:30

So the Rat and I are friends again. Don't ask. Because I will tell you without your asking. A long chat about Things, fresh promises of making Things better, general admission of mutual affection and reluctance to part ways and we are back to trying to be friends forever. I have said I am cynical! frankly sceptical! but it says that given a big enough window (months not hours) it will prove my fears wrong. Let us see, dear readers, let us see. The idiot heart wants to give it another chance. Later next month I am travelling to his city, which also happens to be the city of the Cute One, and I predict doom and gloom. However! I have decided to be most mature about matters of the foolish heart now and I hope to come out being all graceful and gracious.

It will be so wonderful if the Rat and I can really be friends. But *somehow* it seems most unlikely. In the past five years, we have hardly gone two days without him doing something insanely infuriating and me blowing my top and him accusing me of giving him no room to improve Things. Well. As I said before: Let us see. Steel your hearts, people, this may end in blood and tears.

Money, money, etc.

2010-08-21T22:07:00.007+05:30

I always seem to have less money than I need. I remember there was a time I used to earn Rs. 12,000 and I had just 500 in the bank at the end of the month and nine years later my state is the same. Okay, now I give some money to mum and take care of all my expenses but still - when will my money be enough and more? Maybe I should give in and marry an ugly millionaire because all the goodlooking millionaires are gay. I should have had a good middle-class south Indian for a father instead of my foolish lovable one who liked to live a good life and showed us the best way to live, while not really having the best money. Or not. I am glad I had that fool for a father because now I am exactly that kind of fool and hence live in this perpetual hope that something will give and all will be fine. It's a nice place to be. I can afford impulse shopping that way.

I have successfully cut out the Rat from my life, have not answered his emails or calls but I am immensely sad about it and only doing this because I know there is no other way. The fool only wants me when I go away. It's like not having a clock in the house. When you get one, you mostly check the time on your phone and not even look, or hear, the clock you wanted so much when it was not there. That'd be great, I have no problem being his clock. Except that I am not a clock. I have feelings. I want to be heard. Etc. You know. Not a clock. That's what.

Workey.

2010-08-18T13:10:00.004+05:30

After ten years of being a loyal slave, I have started to look for work on the side, or new work entirely. And though nothing concrete has worked out so far, from the moment I have decided to look, I have got positive feedback and responses. So far, a business newspaper seemed inclined to take me on as features head if I didn't ask for three months before I joined (special double-issue was on at work); a radio channel wanted me to head a key station (!) but I chickened out (too much work at too frenetic a pace); a guy sitting in the US wanted me to edit his MS but the money was too less; an editor of a fashion magazine called me up and has shown interest in my follow up email and, the latest, a publishing house has accepted me as freelance editing option and shall be sending work my way. Of course that work may be too much for too less with deadlines I can't meet but still. It's the positive response that is heartening. Staying in one place you lose sense of your worth. I see a change in my career graph not too far away and gosh, it's been a long time coming.

Slowing down.

2010-08-16T13:21:00.005+05:30

I've been spinning around like a t. for weeks and after this weekend of lunch-movie-party-lunch-drinks am all peopled-out and ready to hide. Except I have nowhere to hide, now that my seven year old nephew has half my room to himself and will continue to do so for a month. Still, staying home the whole week and perhaps peeking out at the world on Saturday - and never Sundays! - is the way ahead. I need to do things that keep me going. I need to get back to reading, to spend time staring at the walls, have chai with the mothers and sister, torture the niece and the nephew, write this blog more often, have space to think, muse, and blank out. So, here we do not go.

Sunday, the jolly good fellow.

2010-08-08T12:55:00.006+05:30

As far as recent times go, which is not very far, this is a rare day. I am up at noon on Sunday - thanks to Chew screaming down my ear beating his chest about my sleeping and missing this beautiful life (sigh) - so I am up at noon even though I tried to fight it and guess what? It is rather peaceful. The children are at my sister's in-laws and though I miss them when they are not around, I can do with the silence for a day or two in between. They have been here three weeks and it's been days of unintelligible *noise* in the background. As an aside though, they are much better than other children I have seen and it helps that are adorable to look at and make the cutest of faces and ask the most trippy questions. Imagine if your children are not cute! My god. Then it's just the noise.

So till September 14, when my sister goes away, the house is going to be a mad place with little or no quiet and I am trying to store the peace of today in my cells to last till then. That's what happens if you don't marry young, you get used to your space and quiet and become a cribbing old maid. That's me. Of course the minute they go away, I start to miss them! It's a vicious cycle, dear friends, though a very common one as far as v. cycles go.

Life's more or less okay. I have had a super break in Mauritius and a small trip to Ananda in the Himalayas is coming up at the end of the month and these little breaks keep me sane. I have been busy with family and friends and, as usual, when I get the time I feel sad and lonely. But I think that's almost become part of the fabric that makes me. I have to think far back to two months in 2005 to remember a time when I was truly happy with nothing to cry for. But on the whole, I would say I am pretty lucky to have the life I do. My sister keeps harping on the fact that I should remain single (these married people, I tell ya!) and though I don't really care for marriage, I am still entangled emotionally with the Rat and I WISH THIS WOULD END. Though I don't want to lose a friend. Sigh.

The Cute One has been cute and same and I think it is time to meet the man and see where this could go, even though I don't want it to go very far. Hmm. Soon. Now back to reading, I have been reading slowwwwly and it is rather painful the way I seem to have gone off reading this year. Oh well. We shall be back.

News from this side is quite zero. Of course.

2010-08-03T22:53:00.005+05:30

So I am back but only just. I am yet to get over how thoroughly wrong I was about Mauritius. I expected hot and humid, got cool and windy; expected touristy and kitschy, got real and full of life, expected beaches and nothing else, got mountains, endless skies, sugarcane fields, numerous rainbows. There is a lot going for Mauritius and I don't know why I had labelled it an overly touristy plasticky island place that I'd never care to see. In fact, it was on the top of Places I Don't Care To See list up until I actually saw it. And now I recommend it to everyone who loves the sea. Personally, I love the mountains more but then on a mountain you can't stretch out on a boat under a mild sun, while sipping on rum and watching dolphins play around you. Can you?

In other news: Life is still messed up. The Rat is trying to be friendly again but I know only doom lies that way so I am being Strong and Firm and ignoring him this time. It is too hard to explain, dear reader, when all the time I want to call him up and tell him hundreds of things. But one reminds oneself that it does not really care for me and hence must be ignored. Firm. Strong. That's what.

Keeping balance.

2010-07-24T20:41:00.005+05:30

I am all packed for a week full of islands, book, chatter, wine (or local rum), exploring, food and, to curtail the list, fun. Finally, FINALLY, I will be able to take up the David Mitchell that has been lying unread but for 50 pages because of this that and the other, and am really quite thrilled at the prospect.

I am also thrilled at getting away. I have been feeling quite sorrowful about the Rat and the Dark One - the latter a continuous mystery, the first a continuous low point - and I think I really deserve a bit of fun. The Cute One has been cute and lively as ever and things are good. I think this will be a good friendship, at the least. But the Rat's absence has never been easy for me to take and am plodding along each day, trying to be in some super sort of control. So life has been a sort of balancing act for me. Down when I think of the Rat or the mysterious vanishing act by the Dark One; up when I think of the Cute One, the travels, the books, the friends... And we plod on thus.

So, I am happy for this bit of break. See you on the other side.

2010-07-21T00:10:00.002+05:30

Sister! Nephew! Niece! Work! Heartbreak! Work! Mauritius! Will write in the first week of August.

An unquenchable thirst for the human touch.

2010-07-12T17:20:00.007+05:30

I suppose I must count myself lucky. I have many rewarding relationships, some fleeting, some longlasting; some intense, some light, and some in-between. So many of my friends are so talented, brilliant even, and they all come to me for who I am and not what I do, or can do. (Because, well, I can't do much and never do anything.) They depend on me for companionship, opinions, a few laughs; they count me in as a listener and haul me in for support when needed. And they give in equal measures, in one way or the other. I take what I want from different people in my life: some are meant for love, some just for laughs. Some play the part of a parent, some a third, fourth and fifth sibling, some lovers, some soulmates, some travelmates, some coffeemates, some bookmates, some moviemates... I have more than anyone can hope for, in terms of people and support. And yet I yearn for that lost relationship. How easy it is to say things like 'count your blessings', 'be happy with what you have' and how difficult to actually do it, be it. No matter how many times I remind myself of my fulfilling people-life, I will still miss and want that one person who isn't part of this friendship wall anymore. I have everyone yes. But I want everyone, and you.

Hm.

2010-07-10T19:02:00.002+05:30

And it's been a week of silence between the Rat and I. Soon I will stop counting the days and one day it will all appear foolish and vague and I will laugh at how overly sentimental I was about someone who didn't care a fig, nor a fuck.

I have been wrong about the Dark One, it seems. All is okay. David Mitchell is also going well; oh and Maggot has kindly given me Perdido Street Station to read. Finally! I have that book. But it shall have to wait 400 pages.

Lost pieces.

2010-07-08T13:21:00.004+05:30

It's been four days since I said my final goodbye to the Rat and each day I think of him and feel cheated that he didn't even respond. Perhaps he has quietly accepted my decision - what is there to say anyway? - or, knowing him, he thinks it will be only days before I get back in touch. Whatever the real reason, currently it hurts a lot. The inexplicable disappearance act of the Dark One has added to this hurt and all in all I am having a rotten time of it, trying to pretend things are fine by cheering about football, flirting with the Cute One and focussing on other unimportant things (such as work). Friendships mean the world to me, and my world is fractured twice over right now. I hope for better days, people. I hope that suddenly everything, everyone, will fall in place. Wish me a free wish.

Partial to Mitchell.

2010-07-07T12:10:00.004+05:30

David Mitchell's new book is going very well. From Ghostwritten to now, he has shown such variety in his writing style that one respects him just for that. But with The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet he has also achieved, so far, a superb reproduction of the stage in his mind. One can picture the whole ship, dockyards, people, their gestures and expressions. It's perfect for now; it's too early to say but I have a feeling this is yet another winner from him.

Tonight is the saddest etc.

2010-07-05T21:45:00.003+05:30

I am very sad today. Told the Rat that I will never speak to him again and this time we both know I mean it. My one complain from him is that he doesn't voice his thoughts. I am sick of guessing and second guessing. If letting go of me, after all these years, is so easy for him that he prefers to say nothing, then so be it. I have resolved to be silent and I will no longer break my resolve for him, or anyone else. Also the Dark One has deserted me for no apparent reason. What will I do without him? The Cute One is also acting iffy (well, actually, that was always iffy) and on the whole life is not what it was a week or so ago. I suppose happiness and I are not meant to be.

We plod on.

2010-07-03T15:27:00.004+05:30

I have finally finished American Gods after two months of struggling with it. It went so fast and lovely in the beginning but 300 pages on (and over 300 still left), it started to become too complicated, with too many characters, and what with my distracted mind and football, it didn't hold my attention. I mostly skimmed through the last bit and I am sorry I couldn't pay it more attention, and that it wasn't as exciting as it promised to be. I would have put it down to the fact that it is too long for my feeble attention span, but then I remember Susanna Clarke (where IS her second book?) and her 1000+ pages and I feel naaah, it is equally the book's fault.

Now to start the delicious looking The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by that delicious man David Mitchell.

Lost in history.

2010-07-02T21:53:00.002+05:30

I have always known that my grandfather was a great man. Great in many senses. Money meant nothing to him: till now I keep hearing of the big house across the road that could have been ours because the head of DDA then was his close friend; how we left behind the bungalow in South Extension to his brother's family because he refused to argue with his family over property; how he never accepted money or gifts from anyone. He never flaunted his contacts: Amrita Sher-Gil was one of his closest friends, he was in touch with Bernard Shaw, Nehru, Roerich - my dadi still talks of their dinners with him and Devika Rani - many other illustrious people have been his friends but we lived our humble lives out of the limelight. In fact, once when someone threatened to write of Amrita Sher-Gil's friendship with him, he burnt all her letters to him. My sister saw those letters. I wish I had been old enough to be included in this part of his life.

But today I have learnt of something that overwhelmed me so much that I couldn't think straight for hours. I have often heard the story of dada having hid a krantikari at his home in Lahore during the Independence struggle. His family was a known one in Lahore and those days everyone got involved in their own way to fight for India's freedom. I found that very exciting, imagine hiding a runaway! in your own house! How brave how fascinating how risky! So when a sister publication wanted to do stories from the Independence struggle that bind families, I thought of that one. I told them that my sister can do this because she is much older and will probably remember more details. When I spoke to her about this she casually let out the name of the krantikari my grandfather hid in his house.

What would it have been like? To hear a knock on your door and see none other than Bhagat Singh there? Having run away from killing that fellow, he ran into my dada's house. The two brothers hid him and another man whose name my dadi cannot remember... later they were given away by who knows whom and not only Bhagat Singh but also my dada and his elder brother had to run away from Lahore to protect themselves against arrest, and the British.

Shaheed Bhagat Singh was the most fearsome, most prominent freedom fighter of our country, and for a day or two, or many, because I am not clear on this fact yet, my grandfather gave him shelter in his own house.

How can I not have known this before? My family never told me - we all treat our family histories so casually. This discovery has shaken me. All I remember of my grandfather is that he was tall and handsome and irritable - lahaul valakuwat was his favourite phrase - and a man with great taste in art and literature. He is the one who collected volumes of Punch, the one who introduced us to books, to Wodehouse, the one from whom both my sister and I have got the writing gene, for what's it worth. He kept writing even when he was 80, though most of his submissions used to be returned - I remember not wanting to hand him the rejected manuscripts in the post. I remember feeling very bad when, one day, he couldn't hear the television but we could and he wouldn't tell us till it got insufferable for him. I remember thinking how old and fragile my fiery dada actually was when he fell in Calcutta while using an escalator.

I miss him terribly, and this makes me miss my father even more. Dada used to tickle me and make me laugh and that was the extent of our interaction, almost. Then one day when I was barely 12, he passed away in a nursing home room, no doubt, still annoyed with the world.

I still love you dada and I still remember the little that I came to know of you. I hope you have met papa and I hope one day we will all meet again. Insha'allah.

Doom, and Gloom.

2010-06-28T23:18:00.005+05:30

My driver has quit. Is this the end of the world then? Is this how this will go? Must you show me your ugly face, End of the World? He was my Man Friday, Saturday and Sunday, with a couple of weekdays thrown in. He knew the ways; he was polite, quick, ever-smiling, resourceful, uncomplaining. He could read and understand English, he could TEXT, he made SENSE. And now he is leaving to chase some respectable career. Doesn't he know anything about all jobs being equal etc? What do they teach people in schools these days? Oh well. ~sigh.

And just now the ever-bitter and bitchy Vitch has called to say, "I shouldn't say this but remember how when I told you about my driver taking off for the summer, you were saying how lucky you were to have a driver who lives in Delhi so that he doesn't need to go to his village in the summer?" Where does this woman get off? I really don't know why I even talk to her anymore. Out of some sort of hangover of loyalty really. I almost asked her to control her bitchiness because you know? I *am* exaggerating my grief, I *will* live. But only just and as if without my legs and half an arm.

Odd people and other things.

2010-06-27T15:00:00.005+05:30

I have a throbbing headache from last night's interaction (last time, I swear) with the Rat but I must put down the really weird dream I had this morning (afternoon), while I was resisting waking up. I dreamt that I am sleeping half-naked stuffed into a blanket (it's 42 degrees here, dude) with that gay boy from office. Now this is really odd. I am not even close to him, I have always thought he was kinda hot to be gay but never in a serious way. We seem to be sleeping when he starts to make out with me and I am wondering if he's really gay. And then I have this really intense sex dream in which I change partners thrice. Dude. The gay boy changed to my 72-hour fling boy (which has a reasonable explanation of our travelling together again) and then he changed into my one and only one-night stand from four YEARS ago with my (now) dear friend from far away lands. Why him? I woke up feeling all messed up.

I suppose it is not odd to have sex dreams but why with three people whom I have no feelings for? There is the Rat, with whom I had just fought with last night, and there is The Cute One with whom I have been flirting continuously and spoke to last night... but none of them featured in this explicit dream. I feel strangely disturbed. I am determined not to let the upcoming trip turn into some sexapade with the 72-hour Man, but it seems my unconscious is trying to convince me otherwise. It is being most depraved, and I must control it.

On another and entirely different note: a small dog has taken shelter under the staircase of our house. This has shown my mum (who was obsessed with our Candy) and my dadi (who seemed to hate dogs and reluctantly learned to love Candy) in very different lights. I asked my mothers to feed the little thing but my mum resisted, saying that he may be infected and will start depending on us and that he will start coming up to the house and that the neighbours will protest when he pees all over the place... all of which are real fears. Meanwhile, my dadi feeds him chicken and biscuits on the sly. All my mother knows is that she gives him water three times a day. I couldn't help laughing; my dadi thinks it is okay to tell me that she is feeding a dog but not my mum. But you SEE. I won't be surprised if my mum too is feeding him on the sly - thinking dadi will go overboard! Heh. Oh life is odd. And dreams are odder, sometimes.

Fail.

2010-06-25T13:22:00.001+05:30

Hate Blogger's new design templates and they don't allow me to go back to my old one. Bah.

2010-06-24T16:04:00.005+05:30

I am going to stay put this weekend and finish American Gods. I must. It is shameful the way I have been ignoring that book. The fact is that, no the facts are that a) I have been going out too much and that b) it has become a bit of a d.r.a.g. Not Gaiman's best this. I am waiting to get to Naguib Mahfouz next.