I don't know why, but despite thinking up so much stuff to write, I never end up writing any these days.

Perhaps it's just that I'm too tired to do anything but fall into bed.

And, of course, the absence of a decent word processor...meaning Microsoft Word. I'm not saying Wordpad is a bad software, considering that's the only thing I can use on my laptop, but I miss Word. And at work, I'm just too busy (and stressed out) these days to get to write on my blog.

Rakhi Sawant's getting married to the NRI. I'm glad. I quite like the girl. And the boy.

I read somewhere (on someone's blog, I think) a day or two back (or may be earlier, I am not very sure of things these days) and the writer, a woman, said something to the effect that having undergone the humiliation of an arranged marriage, she was glad to see Rakhi having her Swayamvar, so that, for once, people will be looking at guys and saying, "Oh, look, there goes a Rakhi reject". That felt good.

And what a lovely solitaire she's got! It's a little too big, but it's gorgeous. A gorgeous ring on a gorgeous girl. Of course, there probably exists no girl on earth who will not like diamonds. While Sparrow tells me that the whole idea of diamonds is hyped and nothing but a marketing scam by De Beers a century or so back, but a diamond is a diamond and diamonds are forever.

Arranged marriages. I know. While I've always known that I'd never find anyone for myself without my parents getting hold of a boy, it's still not a very nice thing to feel. Perhaps the origin of arranged marriages lies with a bunch of useless people like me.

I am a very negative person. I wonder if it is a natural or an acquired quality.

I wonder if I'll be alive five years down the line. As I was telling the Sparrow recently, I am totally incapable of thinking five years ahead, because I can't imagine living that long. Well, I'm twenty five and I'm still very much alive, probably unfortunately...and with no current plans of kicking the bucket. :)

Counting days till the wedding.

It's a little hard to digest. I'll be Mrs. Ganguly. Or rather, Mrs. Banerjee Ganguly. I am still undecided whether to take his surname or not. But I'm keeping my Ganguly, that's for sure. Let's see. It'll probably be an impulsive thing in the end, when I sign the papers.

I hope I can keep my sanity till next month.

I have realised that I need to be rich, and on my own, if I want anything. I was thinking today about why I am so obsessed with money - though I don't really need too much to get by; it's just comfort I seek, not luxury - and I realised that it's something that's happened in the latter half of my life. It sounds horrendous and it hurts a lot, but it's true (which is probably why it hurts so much) - if I want something - anything, even if it's just spending some time with someone I care about - I need to pay for it. Otherwise, it doesn't happen. It's such a disappointing thing to realise about oneself, isn't it? And I have tried to be nice, you know - seriously. But it doesn't work out. Ever. And it never will - at least now I know.

So I'm trying to prepare myself for life. I don't think I'll change much; I'll probably always be the lost girl who lives in her dreams/nightmares more than she does in reality.

I need to go for a long, long drive.

I have seen my dream house (well, as good as you can get in Bombay) which I'll never live in. I've seen my dream car which I'll never drive. I've seen my dream holiday which I'll never go on. I've seen my dream pets which I'll never have.

Which is why dreams are dreams and not reality. Which is why I've been trying so hard - perhaps too hard - not to dream. But you can't ignore the basic part of your character, can you? Not for too long. It'll creep up. Dreams, nightmares...lately, more of the latter than the former. Despite the dizziness, I'm almost reluctant to go to sleep nowadays. I never know what new nightmares await.

But on the positive side, I can tick off two more things to do before I die: Getting married and going to Paris.

Pre-marital stress, perhaps. I wonder if all girls go through this. Or may be its just normal stress. After all, it takes very little to raise my B.P., isn't it?

But I do need to stop dreaming.

Because, perhaps, I don't deserve to live my dreams. After all, I'm just a tiny speck of dust in the bigger scheme of things. It doesn't really matter, does it?

I am very, very tired.

I want to go to sleep and never have to wake up.

Sometimes, I get insanely jealous of some of my happily married friends...

What do you really want?

Nothing that I can have.

Some days I feel like a sack of potatoes about to rot, being desperately thrust from one hand to another in the futile hope that someone might find some use for it.

It has been raining like crazy in Mumbai - but of course, no one needs me to tell them that. It's all over the news. It's quite irritating, actually...why can't they just give chutti like normal cities instead of making us wade through all that dirty water all over twice a day? Such a thing to be proud of, no, having employees die of the rain - you can always say, "Oh my God, they were such dedicated people that they gave up their lives for their work!!" and light candles at the Gateway of India. And yet more gushing about how Mumbai is such a "resilient" city that never sleeps.

Gaah.

I hope this city floods tomorrow - why wait for tomorrow - tonight itself. Let the roads be filled with water such that even buses can't move without getting water in their exhaust pipes. Let people be stuck inside their homes (I pray to the Lord to give them enough sense to stay indoors if there's that much water around). May be the State Government will finally be forced to declare holidays. Of course, that'll probably just mean losing out quite a few off Saturdays for us later this year, but well, whatever. Que sera sera. And anyway, since the weather people are predicting heavy rainfall during the next 24 hours, it'll probably be a sunny morning.

Wedding cards have been printed. I've been spending quite some time lately collecting addresses of my friends. The Bombay ones I'll distribute in person, but that'll be much later.

I am terrified.

I am also quite certain that I'll regret not being able to participate in the preparations for my own wedding. This being the first and last marriage I'll ever have, at times, I feel very, very sad and lonely, not being at home and helping with all the hungama the family is plotting.

Then again, there are times when I feel I'm glad I'm not, because the more excited I get, the more I'll begin to expect, and when I don't get any of it, I'll be all heartbroken.

This sack of potatoes has been through a wafer/chips factory, been sliced into thin wafers, processed, packaged and let loose in the retail market. And now, as the expiry date is drawing near, and they're trying to sell if off by offering free toys and things with it.

That's what I was thinking of last night while waiting for the painkillers to kick in. Blame it on that.

Inter alia, I've been following "Rakhi ka Swayamvar" and have seen most episodes. I find it quite interesting. And I can't help admire that woman, really.

It is rather unfortunate, but these days, some random phrase from somewhere - TV, book, music, anything, will strike me and I'll brood on it and get upset, wishing my life had something of that, or how like that my life is or...

*sigh*

I'll finish that pathetic book now.

Ill again *sigh*

Recent times have shown me, quite pointedly, if I may say so, exactly how unfit I am. Something or the other keeps happening almost all the time. While I've never been fit as a fiddle with superb resistance to ailments, I haven't been prone to falling ill every other week, either. It seems, lately, that I'm hardly ever without significant pain/discomfort in at least one part of my system. Or maybe I've always been like this, but didn't pay much attention to it before.

But no, I doubt that. I could climb three flights of stairs in college without too much discomfort. One year out of college, and I can't do it anymore. The other day, two consecutive trips from the sixth to the fifth floor and vice versa (no, I haven't stooped to taking the lift for that, yet) left me gasping for breath and sorely tempted to reach for my inhaler. A 1 km brisk walk (which would have been utterly effortless earlier) just doesn't happen anymore. I saunter around slowly...and if I forget to make it slow or am angry enough for rapid strides, I pay for it exactly fifteen to twenty minutes later through not only panting/gasping like a dog in a car, but also cramps that leave you crippled for at least a minute or two.

Five years in college without air-conditioners and wandering around in the afternoon (I preferred going out in the afternoon because it was always less crowded) weren't really all that bad. Now, a walk in the sun for five minutes is enough to make dark spots appear in my vision, and to top it, a mother of a headache immediately starts growing at the back of my head. And more often than not, it leads to a nose-bleed. My poor little nose has bled more in the past year than in my entire life prior to that. Heat has always made people - in general, and not just me - a little sick, but complete inability to stand heat? That's taking things a bit too much, isn't it?

There was a time I was quite proud of my tolerance to pain...not anymore. The pain levels have either gone up dramatically or my tolerance has come down significantly. Logically, I think the latter makes more sense. Pain makes me dizzy...and almost dysfunctional now. Analgesics don't work half as well anymore. Good thing here is that if you're dead asleep (or blacked out - it really is the same thing, isn't it?), you're saved from the pain for that period of time.

And then there's the vertigo. Five years of college, and I'd barely had three-four episodes. Last one year, I've had more than a dozen. I sit up suddenly when I'm awake, and immediately the world starts spinning.

Sometimes, these days, I feel more helpless than I felt when I was laid up with Hepatitis, IVs in both wrists and aching all over as if I'd been the ball in the trolls' soccer world cup.

I could go on and on, but I'm bored. Perhaps I'm developing ADD now as well.

And you know what the saddest (or funniest - depends on how you look at it) thing is? I don't really think I'm any more unhealthy than most people around and I doubt if I'm mistaken.

Mumbai, for all its virtues, is a very unhealthy place, I suppose.

But would I change my coming to this city, much as I detest it? Never. For this city has given me one thing that is more precious to me than anything else in the world.

Blue eyes blue

Ever heard this song? I love it. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve always been drawn to the darker songs.

This is Eric Clapton, by the way.

I thought that you'd be loving me
I thought you were the one who'd stay forever
But now forever's come and gone
And I'm still here alone

'Cause you were only playing
You were only playing with my heart
I was never waiting,
I was never waiting for the tears to start

It was you
Who put the clouds around me
It was you
Who made the tears fall down
It was you
Who broke my heart in pieces
It was you, it was you
Who made my blue eyes blue

Oh, Never should have trusted you

I thought that I'd be all you need
In your eyes I thought I saw my heaven
And now my heavens gone away
And I'm out in the cold

'Cause you had me believing
You had me believing in a lie
Guess I couldn't see it
Guess I couldn't see it till I saw goodbye

It was you
Who put the clouds around me
It was you
Who made the tears fall down
It was you
Who broke my heart in pieces
It was you, it was you
Who made my blue eyes blue
Oh, Never should have trusted you

'Cause you were only playing
You were only playing with my heart
I was never waiting
I was never waiting for the tears to start

It was you
Who put the clouds around me
It was you
It was you
Who put the clouds around me
It was you

Oh, never should have trusted you
Oh, never should have trusted you
Oh, never should have trusted you

Someone from a long, long time ago left a comment on my last post…it is such a coincidence that it was just this morning that something happened and I was remembering my internship at the Supreme Court, and thought of this anonymous person who used to comment on my blog. I am reasonably sure who it is by now, though. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Think of it that way, nothing really matters.

I think I should call up the doctor in Bangalore sometime. I forget what, but something recently made me think of him.

A senior of mine at work got engaged. Popped the question (and the ring) to his girlfriend over a seven course meal in the Zodiac Grill. So cute, no? They actually are a rather cute couple.

So that’s that.

That stupid USB modem I bought last week doesn’t seem to be working. Gaah. There go all my plans of downloading comics and reading them over the weekends instead of brooding and pining. And there go those manga series I wanted to see as well. Damn. I think I am just destined to sit and brood, at times. And whine, of course.

Things are going good with the ex-hotelier – hopefully. Things at this end are getting nicely tied up.

Oh, yes, and we saw Angels and Demons. Lovely movie. A lot more Church-friendly than the book. And the Vatican looked lovely on-screen. So did Rome. I hope I would get to see these places in person, sometime…the Pantheon, at least, if nothing else.

I have often wondered what I really want from life. I still don’t have a clear answer. Yes, I would like to see the world. Yes, I would like to be rich. Yes, I would like to indulge in good food. Yes, I would like to write a few books. Yes, I would love to drive a great car. Yes, I would like to be loved and cherished by the one I love. Yes, I would like to be happy. Normal things. But the one major, major thing that I really, really want? I have no idea. Pathetic, isn’t it? Someone told me once (or maybe I read it somewhere; I don’t remember) that life is not worth living unless you’ve found something to live for.

I’m bored.

It’s been a while.

Recent times have been rather turbulent. Anyway, hopefully the storm’s blown over (or been caged in a jar for some time, at least), so I’m back to being happy. Touch wood.

I saw an utterly gorgeous cat yesterday – shiny jet black (not a single hair out of place or of another colour) with emerald green eyes. With all due respect to K. Ganguly and P. Nair-Sharan, this cat was so stunning that I had to stop for a minute to ogle. Dark as night…

There was a fire in my kitchen last night – my stupidity, I suppose, but I still don’t understand how adding water to hot oil would create a fire. Lots of steam and fumes is usual, of course, but a full blown fire? I was quite scared for a minute there, being pyrophobic and all. Then I fetched a bucket of water from the bathroom and doused the burning pan (and the gas stove) with it. And then turned off the gas. I felt quite brave and good about myself after that. No damage to property – just that half the kitchen was dripping wet (which dried off by morning) and there were droplets of oil everywhere (the maid was quite annoyed by that and quite puzzled, trying to figure out how the hell I managed to do such a thing).

There was one more thing I wanted to write about, but I forgot. I did speak to quite a few people yesterday, though – phone, email – both. People I had been out of touch with for a while.

I realize that I’ve grown quite old. I am attending parties of the next generation nowadays – last month, it was the naming ceremony of the son of one of the Sparrow’s friends; this Sunday, it was the first birthday of the daughter of another of his friends.

I have also realized that I am utterly miserable when I don’t see the Sparrow for long. When I have a day off and he can’t come over due to some stupid reason, it’s almost like not being able to breathe. Actually, it is. I’m told this is love. [shrug]

Sometimes, September seems a little too far…and sometimes, it seems a little too close.

I get to meet my Mashi tomorrow – the woman I love most after my Ma.

I wish I were somewhere quiet and writing a book. I was thinking of the quaint little cottage in Lava and the lovely view of the hills and the cute puppy called Rocky who enjoyed chewing my sleeve so much…

Nostalgia. I really am getting old.

Astrocenter tells me: Because you see the truth of one situation clearly just now you may be coming across as rather critical. Try to add tact to honesty, and make it obvious to mates that you don't mean to cause harm. You want tangible gestures of affection to make you feel appreciated and wanted now, either in cuddles or in presents.

Sometimes, they manage to hit the nail right on the head.

I read this today. A very, very dear friend of mine had her father suffer the same fate at the same hospital. He has left this world for a better place, but the pain, the trauma of the family as they grew up…medical negligence, indeed. The best doctors I have seen mostly work independently and are not very rich…perhaps, when you race for money, you lose out on your “doctor-ness”. And, most often, in these cases, it is the administrators who are to blame, rather than the doctors. Business in hospitals essentially reduces doctors to slaves working for money.

I, as a lawyer of the corporate world, am perhaps the last person on earth talking of the race for money. Ah, the irony.

Sometimes, I wish I had actually become a doctor just like my parents wanted me to…and I don’t think it’s because some snarky relatives decide to tell me at the most inappropriate times that the family would have been happier had I gone into medicine. My parents are happy with me, thank the Lord, and the rest of the world can boil their head for all I care.

I am becoming quite a hypochondriac these days. The tremors in my fingers have increased and I wonder if that is the beginning of neurological decay. It hardly matters, anyway.

The Ex-hotelier is still floundering around in her confusion. The Hotelier is nearing a break-down. Hopefully, things are going to get better from today on, for damage control measures have been put in place.

It’s a strange thing, trust, isn’t it? I find myself caught in the dilemma that is quite the opposite of what the Ex-hotelier faces. She trusts people with her pride and not her life and it lands her in a soup. I trust people with my life and not my pride and it still lands me in a soup. The only three people, till date, I have trusted with my pride have driven me to near-extinction. Sometimes, I wonder how much of me is actually alive. You can’t just trust anyone, can you? You need to draw a chart listing things for each person you know under the head “can trust” and “can’t trust” and then write down the issues under each head. How the hell are we supposed to remember the entire thing? The less you trust, the happier you will be. “The only safe plotter is he who plots alone” and all that.

I have procured 1,000 Places to See before You Die and I would be lucky if I can see half a dozen of those in my life. Chances are, I would probably die without seeing any. But it’s quite disappointing, the book. They mostly list expensive hotels.

I’ve spent $45 on a book that I desperately want asap. The Indian sites showed me Rs.990 and delivered a month later/when it releases in India. So I went to Amazon and ordered a priority courier. They have promised me delivery early next week. That was last evening. Today I learn that I would get it in India in June for Rs.300. Had that mail come yesterday, would I still have ordered from Amazon? I don’t know. I might have. At the moment, I feel I can’t breathe till I have that book in my hand. What book? Percy Jackson and the Olympians: Book 5: The Last Olympian, by Rick Riordan. Just the other day I was wondering when the next one is coming out…and it seems it came out on May 5. Yes, a book – the last one of a series that I am crazy about, was released and I had no clue. This has never happened before. Am I losing my mind or am I just growing old?

A good friend from college messaged last night to ask how I was doing. Quite sweet of her. Made me smile.

I retrieved my iTunes library and my headphones are on loud, blocking out all sounds but the music. Is it just because I am the daughter of a musician that music helps me block out things I don’t want to get into? If you ask me what songs I have heard today, I won’t be able to name a single one. I have not heard a single word. It’s just the music and not the lyrics. What I will be able to tell you are the moods of those songs and the tune.

Insane, I know. But then, I have never proclaimed sanity. But then again, how can I know I am insane if I actually am?

For the few hours that I actually managed to sleep yesterday after my culinary experiment at 3 AM (Phad Thai noodles, which turned out decently, except that the lemongrass I added was too dry and quite irritating) followed by Dhoom (I am not yet bored of it), I dreamt that I was drowning. I don’t know how it will actually feel to drown, but in my dream it felt good. Cool, calm, a little painful when I breathed in the water, and then, blessed darkness. I was quite confused when I woke up and the sunlight streaming through my window hit my eyes. I am tempted to walk out into the water at the beach near my flat and figure out if it actually feels that good. It probably won’t, but still…

I have dispensed a lot of gyaan today. I have asked a question that has been plaguing me for quite sometime. The answer I have received feels like empty words, just like so many places, so many people, so many words before.

I am quite tired of words. How hypocritical is that, having written so much on the blog this week…?

“The Wedding” is turning out to be quite educational. It has some statements that I should probably write out on flash cards or something. One of the gems: “Frugality has its own cost.” Who would have thought I would learn some things from a romantic novel? I must thank the concerned doctor who presented the book to me. But most of what I learn also adds on to my fright. Does it matter?

Que sera sera.

NM took me out for dinner last night to Oh Calcutta. Lovely place, lovely food. We had a lovely cocktail called “kal boishaki”. He picked me up from work, took me to the restaurant, let me order with a few suggestions, paid for everything and dropped me home, without a word from my side. And listened patiently while I ranted and offered reassuring advice while at it. For a moment, I felt we were actually back in Calcutta and in one of those good times we had shared together before things went downhill…but then, I realized, this was much better, because it was all spontaneous from his side. He was the one who called me in the morning to ask if I was free for dinner in Oh Calcutta. What an appropriate name. it makes one go, “Oh, Calcutta!”

When I came back home last night, I felt better than I have felt for a while now. I can’t remember the last time I went for dinner at a place I really liked (well, last night was my first time in Oh Calcutta, but NM had assured me beforehand that I would love the place, and I did), and had food that I really enjoyed.

Last night I realized that it is these small things and gestures in life that make me the happiest. All I want is a little pampering like a normal girl deserves. Maybe I am not normal, but I am a girl after all. Last night, I felt like a girl after quite some time. And it felt good.

I need a new watch; the belt of this one is ruined. I should have asked my parents to get me one, I realize now, when they came. Now I’ll need to go out and buy one myself. I think I will go and do that. My parents have offered to sponsor a shopping spree for me. Thank heavens they are not into the cost benefit analysis of every bar of chocolate I wish to buy.

Ideological clashes are a strange thing, indeed. I had spent the last few years under the illusion that if I locked most people out of my life, I wouldn’t need to bother about that. But unfortunately, it seems to find its way in anyway. I gave up my idealism years ago to avoid this shit, but, I guess, it was all in vain. Destiny is destiny – you can run, but you can’t hide from it. And I am very tired of running most of the time for two and a half decades.

Sparrow tells me what a negative person I am and shakes his head despondently.

NM told me yesterday, “Don’t do this to yourself.” But there isn’t any other way and he agreed with me by the end of our dinner and our conversation.

I have drawn the card of Death in the Tarot today.

It’s another day and I still want to run away.

I’m still homesick. I desperately want to call up my parents and tell them how scared I am, how miserable I feel when I think of certain things and how confused I am about my future. Unfortunately, it is not something I could do. First, I wouldn’t want to ruin their joy and excitement as they prepare for September, and second, they can’t really do anything, and third, they wouldn’t want to interfere. So, finally, I realize that the sanctuary I have been relying on for so many years is going to be difficult to get into in the future. No more unconditional sanctuary. That’s a cheerful thought, isn’t it?

I have bugged one of the Doctors with a bit of my worries, but given what an intensely private person I am, I just can’t say everything…yeah, so even if I did call up my parents, I won’t tell them everything. I will never be able to tell people what all exactly happened…which is of no use to anyone. So what’s the point?

And the most frightening thought is this: the one person I have a right to expect to stand by me and back me up, has made it abundantly clear that he won’t, not where it matters the most.

So I am heading for a paradigm shift…with many aspects that are distasteful to me…with everyone expecting me to change myself in almost every way…and with my support system taken away. I am terrified. I wonder if it is fear that is making my ears bleed again these days.

I need my friends around again. For distraction, if nothing else.

My Tarot Reading for today:
“If you believe the message conveyed by Judgment and the Hanged Man, you may have to give something up today. If your emotional life isn't bringing you all you'd hope for, Jayantika, you may need to give serious thought to severing ties with a lover or friend to free yourself from the frustration it brings you. Be ready to make a sacrifice. In the professional sphere, you feel a sense of discouragement. The World indicates that you deserve compliments and recognition for your work, but the Hanged Man is doing his best to prevent your colleagues from appreciating your achievements. Rather than becoming downhearted and thinking angry thoughts, keep up the good work and have confidence in the future.”

I have realized (yes, I know I should have picked it up way earlier) that anything I put up on the blog these days is related to the Sparrow. That’s a frightening thought now, isn’t it, to be unable to think of anything without this one person wandering into your mind? As one of the Doctors told me last night, “Aapko bhayankar wala pyaar ho gaya hai.” Me, of all people. Imagine.

I’ve been following the Fake IPL Player’s blog avidly. The KKR Jerseys that the Sparrow’s friends got us are going to be utterly useless now…and we haven’t even worn them even once. [shrug]

I have begun reading “The Wedding” by Nicholas Sparks…one of the Doctors gave it to me. I’ve read only a few pages so far, but it’s good…no mushy stuff yet, thank the Lord. Or, perhaps, I have lost the ability to identify mushy stuff. I wonder if I should try out some Mills and Boons and figure out if I still find them as repulsive.

Life is very dull. No cat, no fiancé, no friends. It’s quite lonely out here.

And I am still terribly homesick.

There are so many people I need to call up, but never end up doing so. Every time I remember, I am in the middle of something else, and by the time I get off, I forget what I was supposed to do. By the end of the day, all I call think of is my bed and my comforter.

I made stir fried Phad Thai noodles yesterday. I improvised on the recipe and added green mangoes. I quite liked them. Maybe I’ll make some today, too. Or maybe I will make some phuchka again. I don’t know…let’s see what I end up doing. Maybe I’ll just be stuck till late in office and end up having something here.

I am getting obsessive about food nowadays. Not that I’ve ever been the eat-whats-on-your-plate type, but at this moment, I would give up ten years of my life to go to Calcutta and have a Mocambo steak or a Chelo kabab at Peter Cat or the mutton reshmi kababs at Arsalan. Frankly, I don’t remember when I had red meat last. It was probably sometime last year. Ah, no, it was my last visit to Cal in January for my convocation. I don’t think I’ve had any mutton after that.

I dreamt of momos last night for a while…and how they kept moving away from me. What a nightmare. I didn’t even get to have momos to my heart’s content during my Delhi trip recently. Perhaps I will make some one of these days.

The Ex-hotelier has begun writing on her own blog. Good for her, I say. It feels good to have at least some of your frustration out of your system, even though some (like my “disagreement” with the Sparrow last night) can’t be put up on public display. But still, venting helps. Keeps one sane, I have always maintained…well, whatever semblance of sanity you might have left.

I want to go home.

I want my friends back in town.

I want a new phone.

I want a new laptop.

I want tons of surprise gifts.

I want a good book that would be so engrossing that it would transport me to another world.

I want a good Italian dinner with fine wine.

I want an exotic Japanese dinner.

I want to be happy.

I want, for once, to be pampered, and pampered properly.

I want to be treated like a lady as I once was, even though it was for a very short period of time.

I want to go to some random, obscure place right away.

I want to disappear into the woods for a while.

I don’t know what I want.

I discovered today morning, while munching on my baked beans on toast, that rosemary is a herb you need to be in a mood for to appreciate. There are times when those worm-like strands feel like heaven on your tongue, and there are times when you just don’t want them in your food. Unlike, say, oregano or basil, which you can have anytime. Or maybe it’s just me.

I am quite fond of herbs, most of the time. So, today morning, other than the usual cheese and oregano, I replaced garlic butter and paprika (I’d had too much of chillies last night – I had phuchkas for dinner, and I love them ultra sour and ultra spicy…and therefore, wished for something not too spicy in the morning) with basil, thyme and rosemary. It’s not the first time I’ve had this combination. But this was the first time the rosemary felt out of place, and left me wishing I’d chopped up and added some fresh parsley instead.

Rosemary is for remembrance. I’ve read that in several places. Was it something that I didn’t wish to remember that caused me to dislike the flavour today?

It was Mothers’ Day yesterday. I wished Ma and Ma-in-law…but I still haven’t bought them gifts. Let’s see; I may pick up something today. I felt so lethargic yesterday that it was a task to get up from the bed to fetch a glass of water…in fact, I held out till I was so thirsty that my throat dried up and began to hurt, and then I put two bottles next to the bed.

Oh yes, and I discovered that parsley is not a good substitute for coriander when you’re trying to make Calcutta-style phuchkas. It tastes like grass compared to the fragrant coriander. I guess it is something meant only for continental stuff.

And I opened a jar of chocolate-hazelnut spread last night which tastes like heaven. It is so, so perfect.

Yesterday morning…perhaps it was lack of sleep…perhaps it was something else…I had a morning full of kitchen disasters. I put some milk to boil and forgot about it, happily chatting away on the phone with the two moms…when two hours later, a delicious condensed milk fragrance hit me, I ran to the kitchen only to find that almost the entire milk had evaporated, leaving behind thick cream…and I hate that cream. Sparrow was quite upset when I told him that I threw it away; he loves it. Next time I have a kitchen mishap like this, I’ll save the cream, sweeten it, and keep it for him. Not my fault that I can’t stand malai, now, is it? Then, the frozen spring roll leaves I’d bought taste quite bad and are extremely difficult to fry. So my spring rolls (made with leftovers from a Chinese takeout the day before) turned out quite bad and almost inedible. Then the aloo-bhaja was burnt to cinders on one side and was absolutely uncooked on the other because, yet again, I was busy watching TV and forgot all about something cooking in the kitchen. It was then that I decided no more cooking for the day.

Speaking of herbs, I quite like lemongrass in my tea at times…it is very soothing. The first time a Parsi friend introduced me to it, I didn’t really like it all that much…I suppose it is an acquired taste. I found myself craving for it today morning, and I made myself some. It goes well with herbed baked beans, thought I still wish I hadn’t added the rosemary today.

I suppose I sound like a housewife, discussing herbs and all. Of course, I am anything but. But cooking experiments are fun…especially when you have a bakra to experiment on. He’s still in Cal, trying out some of the restaurants I’ve been recommending. I gave him a whole list before he left…of which he’s visited a grand total of one, so far. Let’s hope, now that the little sister is back in Cal, that he visits at least one more tomorrow. What a family I’m marrying into – no appreciation for good food. They’ll eat almost anything you put on their plates, unless there’s some medical reason for them not to have it, and never complain if you go on giving them the same set of vegetables everyday for two months. [shudder] The Ma-in-law has been gleefully threatening to overhaul my diet and convert it to a “healthy” one with lots of vegetables and other things that I have, till date, maintained to be inedible. [shudder] Let’s see.

One of these days, while on my way to work, I saw a hoarding – an ad for something which I don’t remember – which said “creating….bah blah”. The first glance showed me “cheating…blah blah”. Of course, I doubled back and peered at it again – and saw that it said “creating” and not “cheating”. Funny, isn’t it, how just one letter can make all the difference in the world? I was quite amused. The Creator created us. The Creator cheated us.

Yes, yes, I know my obscure sense of humour does not gel with most people. Why should that stop me from enjoying something that amuses me?

The Sparrow is in Calcutta. I want to go, too. I want to travel, travel, travel till the end of the world. And beyond.

Perhaps I should have stuck to my original plan of taking off instead of getting caught up in these marital affairs. Hopefully, at least some part of “seeing the world” will still happen. Let’s see what the future holds for us. “Us” – it becomes now. I am reminded of my rant on mixing of zodiac elements. This is what happens with water-water. You get a homogenous mixture. Of course, I am the brackish water and he is fresh, pure water – but we mix well, even if I do say so myself. I find myself becoming less cynical and less jaded…but he, somehow, manages to remain as sweet as he was the first time I saw him.

For some reason, I am reminded of something one of my friends in college told me around the end of fourth year when we sat gossiping in my room – well, more like me brooding and the other two giving me gyaan in order to cheer me up. She had said that I would end up marrying a Bengali Brahmin boy, chosen by my parents, who shall be quite near perfect…and then, when I’ve found the guy matching the description (well, when the guy’s been found for me, if we stress on semantics), she would tell me who I should have married. I am tempted to call her up and ask who it was she thought I should have married. Not that that’s going to affect my impending marriage to Sparrow in any manner whatsoever, but still, I’m curious.

I remember telling the Pseudo-Gentleman once that I would keep my man very happy when I do find him…or something to that effect. I must ask the Sparrow if I am keeping my word. While I have made him laugh, I have also made him cry. Does that make me a bad woman? I suppose it does.

The Sparrow thinks I should visit the Godchild over the weekend and play with her. I am not sure if that is a very good idea. I miss that cat enough as it is…I am not sure if spending all my weekends till September – or any holidays that I might get – with her is going to improve my chances of happiness post-September. Since I will not be allowed to keep a pet once I move in with the Sparrow, would it not be wiser for me to get used to the absence of any furry creature that greets you with unconditional affection? Perhaps. I know it myself that I cannot stay away for long.

I am homesick. Quite homesick.

The sheer magnitude of work I have done on Form 8s this week is rather funny, if you think on it.

I desperately need a new laptop which works. I am going crazy. I need to write something half decent. I need to know that I can still write something half decent. I wonder if I can afford a new laptop. These are the times I hate this city with all my heart. I would have been buying a car with down payment had I been in Delhi/Calcutta.

But Bombay it is, for the rest of my life…well, most of it, at least. *sigh* I will retire someday to a quiet hill station…though heaven knows how old I will be by then. Then there’s always the chance that I’ll become such a corporate bitch that I wouldn’t even want to move anywhere that’s not a hardcore corporate city by that time. One can never say what the future might bring. Exactly a year ago, at this time, I was at home, watching anime day in and day out and preparing to shift to Mumbai during intervals. I haven’t been able to watch any anime ever since I moved to Bombay. It’s such a pity. That was something I really enjoyed. I wonder what is happening in Colourcloud Palace these days…if it’s still on air. I used to love Riyuuki. Or with God(?) Save Our King. A rather amusing thought just struck me…all my life, it’s people like Clark Kent (Superman), Raj (Nagraj), Father Abel Nightroad (Trinity Blood) etc etc…essentially, the bespectacled, soft-spoken and mild-mannered nerds who have appealed to me more than their super-powerful alter egos. And now I’m marrying one. I wonder if Sparrow, too, has a super-powerful alter ego…that, I think, would be uber-cool.

It's formal...I'm engaged.

It has been so long since I blogged that I don’t even remember what I wrote about last.

Things have happened while I’ve been away. I am officially not a free woman anymore. I have also visited Delhi, met up the Sparrow’s grandma, who is quite a darling, met his Uncle, who pointed out some very important things about the Sparrow. And I met my friends. And some of his as well. It was a busy, busy few days.

Does it feel different to be formally, officially engaged? Does it feel different to have a diamond ring – his ring – on my finger? I don’t know. The Sparrow and I don’t really feel all that different; we figure perhaps it hasn’t sunk in. We’ve both been running around a little too much right after and we haven’t been able to spend any time together after that.

And he’s off to Calcutta this weekend. I want to go, too. I want to visit Chowringhee and Arsalan so much that it actually hurts. But unfortunately, even if I ignore my rapidly diminishing bank balance and do fly off to Calcutta, I am unlikely to enjoy it much. Sparrow won’t have time for me. The Pseudo Gentleman and Cool Guy are frolicking about in Kanyakumari at the moment. The Jovial Jockey will probably have a grand total of an hour to spare for me. Li’l Sis is at home – playing with the cat, I suppose. It’s been five months since I saw that cat. And now that the other cat has moved out to live with her own Daddy, the flat feels strangely quiet. I doubt if I’ll ever be completely happy without a pet in the house. There I go whining again…but honestly, after the frantic pace and meeting so many people and visiting so many places of last week…when last night, I finally had some time and the flat to myself, I realized I was lonely. For a few moments as I entered my pad, I expected the cat to come up to the door as usual and insist that I pick her up and purr against my shoulder…and I wondered where she was. And then I realized that she’s moved out. I am back to returning to an empty flat every night with no one to greet me when I come home…no one who’s glad to see me after a day of work…no one to curl up and sleep on my lap while I watch TV…no one to follow me around while I conduct yet another cooking experiment. I woke up several times during the night…and didn’t see the cat either curled up on my comforter or sleeping in her favourite chair or chewing on my hair.

I’d better stop before I get any more sentimental.

I finally read the reputed Fake IPL Player’s blog. Quite entertaining, I must admit. I’m waiting for the next post…and the end of IPL for his identity.

I desperately need a good book, I think. I’m wading through “M is for Magic” at the moment, but frankly, it isn’t up to Gaiman’s usual standards – it’s not bad, but it’s not one of those books that will hold your attention for long. I put it down and slept on my flights both to and from Delhi. Perhaps I should start on “The Wedding” that one of my best friends gifted just before my engagement…perhaps in the futile hope that I might develop some romantic inclinations.

And I need a new laptop badly – one which has MS-Word installed in it. Perhaps I will go out this weekend and buy myself one. And then I can spend my weekend reading comics. I have a cartload of unread ones procured from a colleague last month.

I wish the doctors were here. I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss them.

Though Delhi didn’t treat me too well this time around – that’s a long story which I may post sometime – I find it hard to dislike the city. In fact, I am quite surprised at how well I took things there without whining much. Overall, I had a pretty good time there, despite the heat, the frequent power-cuts and the strange incidents. We joked about how I belonged to Bombay now and Someone Up There clearly didn’t want me in Delhi. And then, from the moment I landed in Bombay, the joviality went down the drain. Someone Up There clearly doesn’t want me in Bombay, either. Perhaps Someone Up There doesn’t want me to be at all.

I want to go home. Unfortunately, there are no holidays lined up…and I won’t get any leave…well, I dare not ask for any since I will take a long, long time off for my wedding and the honeymoon. I wonder why a honeymoon is named thus. Strange, is it not?

But that does not stop me from wanting to go home…because the thought that the next time I go home (likely to be September), I will be socially, officially sent away from it forever, is scary. I do love the Sparrow and think his parents are adorable, but home is home…and, I think, will always remain home. It’ll probably be like school. Though I did the final two years of my schooling from a different school, the mention of school conjures only images of the one I spent ten years in. Home is home and will always remain home…so would I be able to call my new home “home”, too? It will probably always be Sparrow’s home. I wonder how that will affect us.

I suppose I am rambling.

Oh, yes, over to the important things. I arrived at my own engagement two hours late. The punctual me, who is almost always on time for almost everything. Can you believe it? Bombay traffic sucks, and it sucks at the worst possible time. It was embarrassing and it was painful. But I must admit that the Sparrow was an angel through it while we were panicking and getting frustrated at our extremely obstinate and ignorant driver who didn’t know the way and refused to follow directions. It was only after I entirely lost my temper and screamed that he kindly took to listening to instructions. Yes, cold, mostly even-tempered me, all draped in sari and jewelry, screaming my lungs out at the driver on the way to my own engagement.

I have realized afresh that I look terribly South Indian upon viewing some of the engagement pictures…especially in a sari. I’ll put up some on Facebook or Orkut sometime.

I met so many people that day that I barely remember any. It is at times like these that I wish I had been gifted with better PR skills.

I look at my ring finger and feel a smile creeping up. “He’s all mine,” said some girl in some movie…and that floats in my head. I can just close my eyes for a second and see his grinning face as he put the ring on my finger. And that lights up my day.

Sunset at the Beach and the Theory of Probability

Well…I was supposed to put this up last Monday, but I haven’t had the time.

Last weekend, the Sparrow took me for a walk on the beach…so that we could watch the sunset (and feel good about having done something romantic).

We ended up chatting about (well, not exactly, more like him teaching me) the Theory of Probability.

It started with Las Vegas. I told him I would like one domestic and one foreign holiday each year. He objected. While I was being given the usual dose on the importance of saving, and I told him not to worry and that at least I wasn’t a gambler and even if he took me to Vegas, I would get bored of casinos in a day or two – and probably won’t venture near anything except slot machines. (Yes, yes, very mature, I know.) Upon which the Sparrow began explaining how casinos work and how slot machines are the most profitable for them and what are their odds and quoted a lot of figures while I nodded away (habit acquired in college – nod politely and look vaguely interested as if you’re actually listening and understanding) and didn’t understand anything. Well, fortunately or unfortunately, the Sparrow is a hell lot smarter than my Professors, and therefore, with a patient smile, he began a monologue on the theory of probability and its applicability to casinos. I have not yet ceased to be amazed at the sheer amount of things he knows. Perhaps an explanation of probability is one of the most unromantic things to tell your fiancée when you’re supposed to watch the sunset on the beach with her, but isn’t it rather endearing as well? The next time his Mom asks me if her son has progressed to muttering sweet nothings to me, I shall relate this event.

We did watch the sunset for a while after that, though. Let me tell you, sunset is incredibly slow (not to mention kind of boring), and after a while, I went, “Go down, down, you bloody ball of fire!”, much to the amusement of the Sparrow.

We also saw several people urinating. How utterly disgusting, isn’t it? [Note to self: never, ever sit on a public beach and bathe in antiseptic upon returning from the beach.]

Among other things, the hotelier is planning to be back in the country. I hope she does; the way we all see it, that is the best course of action for her at the moment.

The ring ceremony draws near. I wish time would fly faster. Well, the rings are not ready yet…and I don’t know if we are, either. But that doesn’t really dampen the excitement/anticipation, does it?

The cat grows more and more spoilt by the day. I, as my parents reiterate every time we chat, have a knack for spoiling everyone rotten. When the cat returns to her parents, they are going to cry for my blood, I’m sure. I was given a well-behaved, no-fuss, active kitten to shelter’ and in less than three months, she has been turned into a spoilt, lazy brat who is terribly brand conscious. She used to eat everything of the chicken given to her, including bones. Now she requires shredded, boneless breast pieces, or she will not touch her plate. She used to be given cheese once in a while. Now she needs at least one slice of cheese every day – and it has to be a slice of Britannia cheese – she will not touch any other brand and she will not touch cheese cubes, either. If there’s nothing else available, she’ll pick at bits of grated cheese with a withering look at me. And the funniest thing is, all her whims and fancies and temper tantrums come out in my presence. She’s quite well-behaved at the in-laws place. She bites and scratches her dad, but not much nakhras with him, either. And she loves playing with Sparrow; all her laziness disappears the moment he enters my apartment – she’ll rush to him and climb his leg immediately. He loves playing with her, too. It is one of my favourite things to do these days; watching the two of them play. Which, of course, always reminds me how badly I want pets of my own – our own – and how utterly wonderful it will be to see him play with cats/dogs at his place. But no pets, Sparrow says.

And that reminds me, I saw a Xylo today…it doesn’t look half as great on the road as it does on TV. I still think Safari is the best looking of the lot…but damn, Sparrow won’t let me have an SUV, either.

Never mind. No point in reopening wounds which refuse to heal anyway.

Recently, in some random conversation, I asked the Sparrow what he would do if I cheated on him. He got all serious and said, “I don’t know.” Of course, bringing up a cat means your curiosity is enhanced, so I pressed him for more. He frowned, thought for a bit and said, “If it’s just for lust, I don’t think I would mind…but if it’s an emotional affair and you’re actually in love with the guy…I would be very hurt.” “But what would you do?” I asked. He got the most serious look I have ever seen on his face and said, “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.” Suitably chastised, I muttered that I’m unlikely to cheat on him anyway. He grinned (yes, yes, exactly like the cat) and said, “I know!” Men, I tell you.

It is good to have your affections being reciprocated, isn’t it? “I love.” “I am loved.” They go so well together.

This is the view from the terrace/smoking zone of the office. Well, it looks gorgeous in the picture, does it not? The picture has been taken by a talented colleague with a super-cool camera.

Appearances can be deceiving. Yes, yes, I know, that’s such a clichéd thing to say.

I want to visit the Sula Vineyards. Right away. And stay in the Bungalow there…all six of us, the doctors, the hoteliers and the banker and I. It would be such good fun. Some two-three days getaway.

Unfortunately, the prospects of that happening are almost nil. The doctors and one of the hoteliers are not here, and the banker will never shell out the dough for an expensive bungalow; it’s against his principles to go do anything luxury-style.

Perhaps just a visit to the Vineyard could be done. I don’t know. I wish we would just drive to the place, take the tour, get some wine and drive back. But no, impulsive stuff like that are considered foolish and unacceptable.

People are quitting left and right from the firm. That shows recession the finger, I suppose.

My life is beginning to look like a very, very poorly written chic-lit. Worse than some of the trash I was reading a few months back. All the stupid stuff women do in those books, overanalyzing things, arbitrary assumptions, moodiness, being extra-touchy…I am on my way there and I don’t like it one bit. Pathetic. It was quite a realization last night.

“A Nice Quiet Holiday” by Aditya Sudarshan is a bloody good read. It felt like an Agatha Christie in my hand. I’m impressed. And quite pleased that someone from a law school has written fiction. (Yes, the Guy with the Nice Voice is writing, too, but he hasn’t completed his stuff yet…hopefully his should be out later this year/early next year.)

I wonder what happened to Samit Basu. It’s been quite a while since I read anything by him. I do hope he writes a good book soon. The Unwaba Revelations were rather disappointing.

I want to write a book, too. Well, I want to do a lot of things. But I never end up doing them. Like right now, I want to be driving an SUV on the Pune Expressway at a mad, mad speed. Speed is lovely, is it not? The thrill of a speeding car can hardly be matched with anything else…

But instead, I am sitting on my chair in the office, reviewing documents.

I want to go home. To my parents. I need the sanctuary. But I don’t know how effective it will be this time.

Perhaps the reality of marriage is finally beginning to sink in, now that the engagement is drawing near. Perhaps the loss of the careless abandon with which I have lived this far is frightening. Perhaps the thought of every small thing being subject to scrutiny/criticism – or worse, permission – is beginning to scare me. I am not a particularly independent person…or so I thought. But the idea of my doing absolutely anything being subject to the whim of other people makes me uncomfortable.

I need to re-learn not to ask for anything…and not to pick up something just because I want it and can afford it upon a whim. I don’t think it is very fair – and that everyone should be able to do what they want if they are able to – but then, when has life ever been fair?

Hope is a bitch that will always let you down. And not just let you down, but stamp all over you, till you can barely breathe.

No expectations. The only way you can be happy. I wonder why, after a lifetime of my Ma trying to teach me that, I still have not managed to learn my lessons. Even with so many disastrous events in the past. And if I didn’t learn it when I was young and smart, will I ever learn in my old age?

Agreed, I am not technically old. But it feels like a century has elapsed and now I stand with one foot in the grave.

Melancholy thoughts. Not nice.

I don’t know what I will do once the goddaughter has left. Humans can never match up to the warm feeling that a pet will give you…of course, as I was telling the banker the other day, with cats, it isn’t them who are your cats, it is you who is their human.

I don’t know what I am doing, I don’t know where my life is going…and I can’t particularly bring myself to care. But why am I brooding over it if I don’t really care? Strange, isn’t it? Perhaps I do care, just think that I don’t.

Good Lord, this is beginning to sound like a horrid chapter from an overtly dramatic romance. Eww.

I am afraid I am losing whatever little mind I had left.

Life, in general, has taken a rather hectic turn this year. Did I ever imagine I would be this busy? No, never.

And then there are the misadventures, which I intend to put up, but just don’t get the time to. Now that I finally have a few minutes before I need to draft something again, here they are:

Thursday, March 26, 2009: Jay locks herself out of her house
Early morning (around 7, if I remember correctly), the garbage guy rang the doorbell. By the time I picked up my garbage bag from the kitchen and brought it over, he had left, but I could hear him on the stairs just below. So, in my bleary-eyed wisdom, I stepped out to look over the stairs while the door banged shut behind me. So, there I was, in my pyjamas, standing outside my flat with a garbage bag, without my keys, phone or glasses.

Friday, March 27, 2009: Jay misses her flight
Early morning again. Arrived a few minutes after my senior – around 6.10 for the 6.45 flight. Unfortunately, Kingfisher Red people overbooked and closed the counter before their scheduled time, and tried to dilly-dally about. There were some six-seven of us for the same flight who had to take the next one. They gave us a full refund, though, without us having to put up a fight.

I am beginning to believe that early mornings just don’t work for me.

However, the weekend was mostly good (even though I had to spend most of Sunday working). The Sparrow took me for a drive when I arrived from Ahmedabad late Friday night. Ma-in-law and I went out for a movie on Saturday – Aa Dekhen Zara. I found it quite cute. Stayed in my future home till Sunday evening, after which the Sparrow dropped the cat and I back to my place.

Poor Sparrow. He hates driving in Bombay and it stresses him out like nothing else. And yet, he drives me around because I simply love it. Sweet, isn’t he?

This is what Tarot says for me today:
You might find yourself with your back to the wall today, dear Jayantika. It's possible that someone will ask you to choose between two options in life, or between two people. Being faced with this ultimatum will throw you off balance, and render you incapable of making a decision. The alliance of the Lovers and the Tower is playing havoc with your convictions. Before doing anything, try thinking about your emotional future with a cool head. Your professional life is overshadowed by the Lovers, who symbolize a dilemma. Temperance, the card that represents you, doesn't have sufficient weight to counterbalance the difficulties that arise from this, and you are therefore incapable of taking a decision or stand up to your colleagues, even if that would be the right thing to do. You should make sure that your hesitancy is not interpreted as cowardice. Such an attitude could be held against you at a later stage.

And this is what Astrology says:
You may have been a bit indecisive lately when it comes to love and romance, Jayantika. Perhaps your mind is drawn to one person while your heart is drawn to another. Perhaps you are trying to trick your mind into seeing a certain quality about someone while you ignore parts of them you don't really like as well. Make sure you accept people for all of who they are, and not just their individual parts.

Sometimes, these people manage to hit the nail right on the head. Sometimes, they make you think about things you’ve never bothered to think about before, but should have. Sometimes, all they dispense is ineffable twaddle. “Ineffable twaddle”, now. How I love that phrase since I saw it in “A Study in Scarlet”.

Sometimes, I wonder why I can’t honestly make myself care about me, despite the fact that most people who care for me repeatedly advice me to do so. The Sparrow and I had a brief discussion about this last night. I thought about some of the things he asked. Dreams, plans, wishes for the near future…and I realized that I don’t know the answers to any of these…and I don’t particularly care. I don’t know what I am doing or why I am doing anything, really. Just going with the flow, I suppose. Why? I don’t know. What do I want to do – exclusively for myself? Write a book. Own a private island and retire from active social life. Visit every country in the world. Become a sidekick to a Superhero. Meet aliens. Go to another galaxy and never come back. And most importantly, to die happy. Sometimes, I think, death is more important than life. Cheerful thoughts. But then, do I really care how I die? Not really… as long as it is not particularly painful and early. What is fear of old age called? Gerascophobia or something like that, I think.

The songs of Gulaal are particularly depressing. Very nice music, very poignant lyrics…I quite like them, but they are also rather depressing. This is why I sometimes avoid music. It gets to me too easily. But then, I suppose, a lot of things do.

All or nothing. Not a good way to live your life, is it?

My head aches and my vision is rather dark and unfocussed. I suppose sleep deprivation is finally catching up with me. What I really want to do at the moment is to go home, meet the hotelier, perhaps the Sparrow and go to sleep. And not wake up for four days (well, that is how long I can go without eating…but then, those are functional statistics; sleeping figures should be longer – so, maybe a week, then) in a row. And then, when I do wake up, hopefully like would have sorted itself out and saved me the trouble.

Unfortunately, Reality has always been rather cruel to poor, delicate me. I have to pay many, many bills and run quite a few errands. And tomorrow is a working Saturday. I really wish I can go home early today.

Sometimes, just the thought of going on with life makes you feel sick, does it not? You just want to curl up in your comforter and not wake up ever again. I wonder if it is that feeling of security with which ostriches die when they bury their face in the sand and pretend there are no hunters around while they are shot. Do they know they are going to die and choose to make it as comfortable as they can?

Escapism, I suppose, is not exclusive to humans.

But then again, I don’t think I am as careless about me as I am purported to be. I do indulge myself where material comfort is concerned. I will take a cab over a bus or a local train any day if I can afford it. I will not walk where I can drive. Why, I have been asked. Is it just because I am a spoilt brat? Perhaps. Perhaps there are other things. Perhaps the other things are so comical/unlikely that people don’t believe me when I tell them. Perhaps that is why I hardly speak up when I am in pain. Because, frankly, no one really cares that I am; and even if they do, other things will always take precedence over it. And that hurts more than anything physical. So, some things are better left unsaid. I have been ignoring this bit of wisdom lately, for some reason. Bad, bad me. I wonder why my sense goes for a foreign tour when I need it the most. But then, that’s typical of my luck. What I want/need the most at a given point of time is exactly what I will not get.

I want/need/seek material comfort. In fact, come to think of it, it’s the only thing I actively seek out. Would I give it up if asked to?

The answer is obvious. Yes, I actually am that big a loser. *shrug* So sue me. I didn’t ever imagine I would need to bargain for comfort. So I won’t. If you want something you can’t have without making a scene or demanding outright (in which case, it will simply be dismissed as childish and you’ll be told to behave), you had give it up without a fight and save yourself the disgrace/insult of being dismissed/ignored. What is a little more disappointment to you when you’ve been used to it all your life? Why open old wounds?

I wonder if I should post this. But then, it doesn’t matter either way, so dash it all. I rant in my impotent misery/anger. What difference does it make to the functioning of the world? What impact does it have on the greater scheme of things? None whatsoever.

People are supposed to be happier in their month of birth. Why does March make me want to stop living very, very strongly? Is it Fate’s way of telling me that I am on borrowed time or that I should never have been born?

Sometimes, all I want to do is to let go of everything. Let the vase crumble and mix with the earth.

Aisi saza…deti hawa…tanhayi bhi…tanha nahi…
Neendein bhi ab…sone gayi…raaton ko bhi…parwah nahi…
Aise mein baarish ki boondon se apni...saanson ko sehla bhi do...
Badhti hawaon je jhonko se dil ko...nagma koi laa bhi do...
Palkon ke kono mein baithi nami ko...dheeme se pighla bhi do...
Yeh zindagi...aisi hi thi...tumne kabhi...jaana nahi...
Jeevan ki rahon mein aana ya jaana...bata ke nahi hota hai...
Jaate kahin hai magar jaante na ki aana wahin hota hai...
Khone ki zidd mein ye kyun bhoolte ho...ki paana bhi hota hai...
Wo pal abhi waisa hi hai choda tha...jo jaisa hi hai...

Damn. I can’t remember when I wrote last. Life has been getting hectic…or, I should say, work. Did I write about my trip to Ahmedabad and Gandhinagar which are really quaint places? Walking down the roads of Gandhinagar reminded me of Ranchi and Bhilai. And why I love small towns more than big cities. Maybe some day I will be rich enough to retire to one.

Holi, which usually makes me miserable, was spent at the Sparrow’s place. I had a good time. Slept till late, received new clothes, received a tourmaline ring (it is nice to have a fiancé who likes buying you unusual jewels). The cat charmed the family while I laid back in peace and relaxed and felt content. The Sparrow and I watched a movie – the name of which I forget, but it had Joaquin Phoenix and is about this cop family and drug dealers – with the Sparrow’s head claiming the cat’s usual spot on my lap. Picture of contentment, yes? Indeed.

Let’s skip to my birthday and leave out the unpleasant things in the middle. Quite a change from what I would have done half a year…or even three months back. But then, I suppose this is what love is about.

Anyway, so Saturday evening, the Sparrow picked up his would-be wife and the cat. Poor thing – he’s so stressed out while driving. It is rather funny – he will sit imperturbable through stormy situations, and driving stresses him out. And it is also quite sad…for me. For I am a car-crazed bitch who would drive to the ends of the world (yes, one of those post-retirement plans). Everything feels all right in a moving car…for that short while, you leave behind your stress. Of course, ironically, I can’t drive. I was taken off driving lessons at 16 (after three days) because I have a tendency to speed and swerve only at the last minute. I remember how I loved the rush it gives. For a supremely risk-averse person, that is strange, yes? I need to learn rational driving before I get married.

But yes, the Sparrow hates driving. So, in all probability, those cross-country drives I fantasize about are not going to happen. Pity.

Once we were safely deposited at his house, the Sparrow stopped frowning. I got loads of gifts at midnight – clothes, gold things, a clock, Egyptian paintings, a briefcase and a framed picture of the Sparrow and I grinning like love stuck fools. It is a very cute picture, if I say so myself. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to be sure that this is reality and not a dream. Given how vivid my dreams are, if this indeed turned out to be one, I would probably just pop in a bottle of Alprazolam and go on dreaming forever. This is one dream I will not let go of, for if this is a dream, I don’t want reality to interfere.

I don’t suppose I am making sense.

Anyway, I met the Sparrow’s college friends for dinner on Sunday as well. Wonderful people. I can’t wait for the doctors and hoteliers to be back; we would all get along spectacularly. And all couples. Is that not lovely?

I heard cartloads of Sparrow Tales from college. It was quite entertaining. And endearing. The fellow is actually quite endearing, you know. Despite his barbs to the contrary, it should be quite evident why I fell head over heels.

The sweetest boss on earth under whom I did two internships while in college is in town. I do so want to meet her. Let’s hope it works out tomorrow.

The cat’s favourite activity these days is leaping up on my shoulder and then clawing my back. It is good things I wear conservative clothes; I would look like a victim of domestic violence otherwise. The visible bits of my arms – the hand and wrist – bear evidence. If I took off my socks, my feet would look the same. But I love her anyway. The Sparrow thanks his stars that my parents have a spoilt cat at home and know exactly what cat bites and scratches look like, or they would think the fiancé is abusing their precious daughter. Quite amusing.

The Brave Sparrow’s Birthday

It was good fun.

I would say that’s all I have to say, but I promised the Brave Sparrow that I would be documenting it – and well, I do agree it needs to be documented. For pure gloating rights, if nothing else.

March 7th, yesterday, was the Brave Sparrow’s birthday. Now, this being the first birthday of his that I would be seeing, I, of course, wanted it to be special. Unfortunately, being a corporate lawyer means you don’t have enough time to implement any of your elaborate ideas. So, what I managed to do instead, was to get him twenty nine gifts (it’s his 29th birthday) – which, I must admit, I’ve been collecting over the past two weeks or so, whenever I’ve had any time. The doctors helped immensely. I wish everyone had been there yesterday…

But anyway, just thrusting twenty nine gifts on a poor fellow’s head would have been very boring. (I’m not saying that I’m not boring, I know I am, but well, I would rather not bore the guy I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, you know, more than I help.) So, what I did instead, was to turn it into a treasure hunt. I wrapped everything, numbered them and hid them at different places in my apartment. Then, I took an album, put numbered cards in it with a four-line rhyme clue for where to find each gift. I wrote the answer on the back (so that if he couldn’t figure out the answer, he could take out the card and read the answer. Also, in my newfound mushiness (God, I’m becoming such a GIRL), I explained why I got him that particular gift, and one reason why I loved him on the back (mushiness not for public display) of each card. To the Sparrow’s credit, he cracked all but one or two – and those were really vague. (The clues were actually pretty straightforward and the last two that I wrote were nearly nonsensical, me being nearly asleep at four thirty in the morning when I finished writing them.) I have pictures of him opening each and every gift (and the cat’s in quite a few of them, too). I’ll make an album of those sometime.

It took almost all day to find all. We took a couple of breaks in the middle, once when I made him cheese balls at his request, and second for our Chinese takeout dinner, for which a good friend of mine (he was in Bombay for a day, returning to IIT-KGP from a conference in Goa – these nanotechnology people, I tell you, get to do all sorts of cool things) joined us. Oh, yes, and the cake. I’d also gotten him 29 roses, I thought I’d put them on the gifts, stuck to the number, but I got late (isn’t it amazing how the flower people disappear the day you need flowers?) and the Sparrow turned up at my place before I returned with his cake and flowers. So the flowers were simply handed over to him (in a newspaper, I confess). So that’s that.

It was a lovely, warm feeling, watching him crack a clue, fetch the gift, open it and squeal in delight. I love the way he grins. He’s one of those people who smile with their entire face – and not just the lips. His eyes crinkle in amusement and glow almost luminous, his cheeks flush a little and dimple, and his elfish teeth reveal themselves. The entire appearance is that of innocent mischief. And its utterly adorable.

I know that sounds like something straight out of chic-lit. God, I’m hopelessly in love, am I not? Not so long back, a colleague asked me something about him and I probably looked rooted, for she said, “Oh, so you’re too much into it to be objective anymore, is it?” And I could only nod.

But yes, the primary thing is, the Brave Sparrow had a happy birthday, and I can safely claim some of the credit. And that makes me very, very happy.

Imagine a crystal/glass vase. Clear and unblemished. Now imagine someone knocking it off the table – maybe inadvertently, maybe not – it does not matter. Can you see the vase falling to the floor with an almighty crash? Someone comes in, picks up the pieces and puts them up on the table again, sort of bound together. The cracks are visible, though. But the vase being in such a precarious position, keeps getting knocked off again and again. Ultimately, it is so riddled with cracks that it is impossible to make out that it was ever a clear vase. The cracks become its beauty, its design, its nature.

Now imagine the owner giving away the vase. It goes to a new place, a new table. This table, however, is wobbly, and there are clumsy people around. The vase falls to the floor almost everyday, until, fed up breaking over and over again, it decides to remain on the floor.

But even on the floor, it keeps getting kicked around. By this time, the cracks have become nearly invisible, for there has been so much shattering and breaking, that the crystal/glass has nearly been ground to a fine powder. The shape of the vase has changed, and it is barely held together by some weak adhesives here and there. The owners barely recognize their vase anymore.

Some repairmen volunteer to repair the vase. They try and give it a new shape, use it for a while in various capacities, but ultimately abandon their task – the vase has probably become useless by now…in fact, it is not even a vase anymore.

I wanted to write that a day or two ago. I didn’t have time.

The godchild has been very naughty lately. She has broken quite a few things, spilt milk/tea/water all over, peed in random places. Perhaps she just wants attention. I haven’t been in the house for a significant part of the weekend…Monday, I returned home near dawn, Tuesday was again a late night. I don’t blame her for being bored and alone…and in that matchbox apartment of mine. I hope I can return home at a decent hour today and spend some time with her.

The doctors have left the city, for good. It feels strange. I keep picking up my phone to call/sms them, and then realize that they are not here anymore. Feels like a gaping hole in my side. I hope they succeed in their project…and maybe return to Bombay next year. That would be the best thing ever. But no, I won’t hope/expect for such miracles. There is just no point.

Sometimes, it just seems that my luck has gone down the drain and drowned itself. Is this compensatory penalty for the stupendous amount of luck required to find the Brave Sparrow? Perhaps luck decided that since it’s granted me the Brave Sparrow, which is perhaps ten/fifteen times of the luck I was entitled to get, it needs to be compensated by taking away time to be spent with him/other things. If that’s the case, I can’t really complain. I’ve got a guy who is better than what I probably deserve, and everything else can go to hell. But it would be nice, for once, to have things go as planned, smoothly, without interruptions. It would be nice to have a LIFE. I want time to spend with him. Is that such a bad thing to ask for that we never get it without a billion interruptions? Anytime my friends (most of whom have shifted out of Bombay now) and I plan something, Work interrupts. Is this how the rest of my life is supposed to be? What is the point of life, then, if all you do is work, work, work? To what end are we working? Happiness, right? Money, right? But are we happy working 24/7 with no time to spend with the ones we love? Are we happy making money that disappears heaven knows where without us enjoying even 5% of it? Why is it, in this blasted city, that work takes precedence over everything else? Why do I have to leave my friends/family on a scheduled holiday to work for vague, faceless people who I have never seen and will probably never see?

Work is important, I agree. But is it all important? Does nothing else matter? Is it a cardinal sin to wish for life, love, family? Is it worth sacrificing all of your personal life to work? Whatever happened to the work-life balance? Why are we slaves to work?

Work is God, I’m told. God makes slaves of us all. So does work. But they are not the same. If I need to visit a temple for whatever reason – say, a ritual – while documents are being executed in office, will I be allowed to go? But that’s not God, I shall be told – that’s just religion. How do you define God, then, if you take away religion from the equation? Religion, faith, belief, rituals…can we separate these from the concept of God?

I hate the Bombay work culture en masse. Not just is it inefficient, straggling, onerous, stressful and all that, it is also inhuman, the way I see it. How long can you make people work 18 hours a day before they collapse? I am sure there is a survey on the life expectancy of people in Bombay compared with quieter, smaller towns, where work is not all-encompassing and people have a social life. How many of us “yuppies” suffer from lifestyle diseases decades before we should? Why are psychiatric problems higher here? Because, in working away to death, we burn our bridges to the sanctuary of love and affection that family/friends have for us. How many of us can claim to have people who would come running at four in the morning – not on the phone, mind you, but in person, if we need them to? How many people in high-flying jobs in Bombay would forgo – can afford to forgo, actually – a week’s work to help out a friend in need? Not monetary help, but physical presence, just being there, taking care of the friend. The very concept would be laughable. And yet, in small towns, people will just drop everything and turn up. It is not a myth, it actually happens. I would know, I am a small-town girl. Yes, I know it is an extremely uncool thing to admit to, but I am…and in many ways, I am proud of it. People in small towns may be conservative, uncouth and the like, but they are genuine, and have not lost their humanity in mountains of files and banknotes. They are still humans – real humans, and not work machines.

I think I have already whined about this sometime before. But it is frustrating. It feels wrong. I don’t care if I don’t become the richest woman on earth or win Nobel prizes for my work. What I want, at the moment, is some semblance of a life. I want to go home to Princess and watch TV while she sleeps in my lap. I want to take a walk or just idly sit with the Banker, maybe talk, maybe not. Just be content and secure that he wouldn’t have to leave for work – or I wouldn’t have to leave for work – if I blink. Is that too much to ask for in this corporate world?

The Banker told me of a place with mountains on one side and the sea on the other – small, sparsely populated, gorgeous looking town. “You would love the place. You can live there and write your book…but what will I do?” he mused.

True. That is the problem with our corporate lives. We cannot live in a small town – we won’t have anything to do. Maybe I should have listened to my parents and taken up medicine. Maybe I would have been assisting my Dad with his patients at the moment. Would I have been happier? I will never know. Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. The path’s been chosen, and all we can do now is to walk down it. Some run with all they have. Some walk as fast as they can, saving their energy for later. Some stroll by lazily. Some have to be dragged. And some sit on the roadside, watching other people go past, wondering if they are on the right road, and without any means to find another road.

Where do I fit in? I really have no idea. Not running, definitely. Maybe the other phases, differing at different points of time. I suppose that’s true for most people…it’s hard for humans to be consistent, isn’t it? And imagine running, running, running, constantly…you’d drop dead soon…ironically, the runners are probably the most consistent ones. And they do drop dead…or get riddled with ailments, having burnt themselves out.

In the end, the eternal question pops up…is it worth it?

Aha.

Just recording some random thoughts, really.

The Banker was really pleased with the small party we threw for him the other day. Nothing much, really – we blew up some balloons, hung some streamers, got wine and cake, those snow and ribbon sprays, and a party popper, which malfunctioned, unfortunately. While his birthday isn’t until next week, since the doctors are leaving (one tomorrow and one a couple of days after that), and the hotelier is mostly MIA since his new job, we decided to have it early. Of course, the Banker wasn’t told it was a party until he turned up to a highly colourful room. I still haven’t removed the decorations. The Godchild loves playing with them. She’ll burst a balloon, get scared, stay away for a few minutes and get back in action again. A full time entertainment, that one. Did I ever mention how she loves watching TV, especially Priyanka Chopra’s songs and cartoons? It’s really cute. In fact, I’ll just put in some pictures.

The Banker is taking me to his friend’s wedding this weekend.

ICICI Bank sent me an i-mint card. And I already have around some 800 odd points on it, thanks to my transactions with ICICI. It’s kind of cool. The only thing is, the reward I want to claim required some 8000 odd points. And I am a little too lazy to figure out where all I can swipe the i-mint card for points. I wonder if CCD has it. I’ve become a daily customer.

I desperately need to buy sugar. I feel lost when there is no sugar in the house. Talk of a sweet tooth. It’s been a while since I’ve had oatmeal. I need sugar.

I’ve had biriyani for lunch and am feeling rather sleepy.

The prints I ordered have not come in yet. I wanted to give the poster (and some prints) to the doctors before they left…darn. Zoomin sent a message in the morning saying that they’ve been shipped, I should be receiving the lot today…but there’s no sign of anything yet. They send it from Bombay itself, so I should be getting it today, right?

The doctors are leaving. For good. I don’t know what I will do without them. Life would be really strange. Granted, I will not be as lonely as I was, with the Banker and all, but still, there’s going to be a gaping hole. *sigh*

I want to go home and play with the cat. I hate the look she gives me when I leave her in the morning. And I love the way she comes and purrs when I get back home. Unless, of course, when I am really late, in which case, she sulks for a while. It is so nice, not having to go back to an empty house.

Random rambling

It’s been a harrowing week. There are times when I feel I can kill for a good night’s rest. Can you get tired of waking up feeling exhausted each morning? Whatever happened to ‘when going gets tough, tough gets going’, I wonder.

There are ten thousand things that I have/intend to do, and I am getting nowhere near them – the personal ones, that is. Either I am too busy to do anything, or I am too tired. Is this how the rest of my life is supposed to be? Running around at other people’s orders, unable to keep any personal commitments whatsoever – unable to turn up for concerts which I buy tickets for, unable to go home in time to play with the kitten, unable to speak to family for more than a couple of minutes, unable to create anything, unable to keep promises made to my significant other…

All work and no play makes Jay a dull girl – not that she was particularly luminous to begin with.

Despite earning what seems like a huge amount for a beginner, I have no life – and I have no money. Of the 34 books I bought in mid-January, I am reading the ninth one. There was a time I got depressed if I didn’t get to read at least one book each day…and it was always the more, the better.

I am trying to order some pictures online, but the blasted site keeps hanging up. I hate this. I have been trying since the morning.

I was speaking to a friend last evening. A fellow law school graduate, this guy has decided to stay at home for a couple of years and write books. He didn’t sit for recruitment at all. Yes, this is the Guy with the Nice Voice. How I envy him…and admire his guts. That is exactly what I would want to do. But, unlike him, I don’t have the guts to do it.

There are so many things I need to buy. Urgently. And I have no time.

I just love my life.


That was what I wrote yesterday, and didn’t have time to complete and post. And now I have forgotten what else I wanted to whine about.

Had painful dreams last night. Kind of funny, I suppose, though…but I actually woke up with my legs aching…which, I suppose, is even funnier.

The Goddaughter is doing well. Of course, my limbs look like I am a victim of domestic violence. (So do the friends’.) It is quite strange…there was a time when, upon getting a small cut on my finger, I would sit around for hours holding up the finger. Now, I am more concerned about getting blood on my clothes or on the floor than the cuts on my skin. How people change. Is this what they call growing up?

How grown up am I? I don’t know.

It’s been ages since I spoke to the Pseudo Gentleman, the Cool Guy and the rest of the college lot. Or family, for that matter. Or the school gang. Oh, right, I whined about that yesterday already.

Oh, yes, NM bought me a balloon last week – worth Rs.180. The Doctor was traumatized. I think it was quite funny…and sweet, too. It is not often that NM gets sweet on me. Poor thing. I tease him quite a bit about being broken-hearted now that I’m committed to the Banker.

Inter alia, also met the Bangalore Doctor last week. He has changed so much…it’s like all the lightness, joie de vivre…all that’s gone. It is not very nice. When a default settings of a person are changed from happy to sad, it isn’t good. It is too bad I didn’t get to spend much time with him; I should, probably, have wormed the entire story out of him. Perhaps a bit of it is guilt. Maybe I had a part to play in the change as well. I’d thought I didn’t really care anymore…but it seems like I do. I want him to grin and sing and generally be happy like he used to be a couple of years back.

You can never really stop caring, can you? There are other priorities that come up later in life, other people you care much more for, but in the end, there remains a soft spot in your heart for people you once cared about, no matter what they did to you. Pathetic, I suppose.

Some things, in life, never change. No matter how much you want them to. And some dreams…not matter how much you want them to come true, will remain just that. Dreams. Figments of your imagination.

I am rambling. I know. But it’s been a long time since I rambled. Mindlessly.

Met the Banker yesterday. There was a time when I rejected other people’s opinion that it is important to see the one you love at times, even though you’ve been in touch through phone/mails etc. The physical presence is important. I never really believed that…until yesterday. Ten days of not seeing him…let’s just say it wasn’t very pleasant. Last night, when I almost didn’t get to see him because both of us were caught up with our respective work, I realized truth of the words I had not believed earlier. Last night, I drove halfway across the city (ok, that’s an exaggeration, but well, whatever – he couldn’t come, so I went) to meet him. Last night, I would have driven to Pune to see him had it been required.

Of course, driving is something I am ready for at any given moment. Is there anything better in the world than a car and a long, long drive?

The Pseudo Gentleman and Cool Guy are going for a cross-country drive this summer. I would give almost all of my remaining life-span to join them...or to take a car of my own and drive till the end of the world. But, obviously, I can’t. Some dreams are destined to remain just that.

I just love my life, don’t I?

And for once, the sarcasm element is really low. For once, I actually want to live for a little bit…at least long enough to experience the joys (and sorrows) of marital life. Ideally, I would like to die without regrets…obviously, that’s never going to happen, but at least I could try and reduce the regrets bit to a minimum. Of course, that doesn’t seem to be happening…since I want it to happen. My luck is just amazing…I don’t get what I want till I stop wanting it. I will probably drive across the country – or maybe even the world…but only when I don’t want to, anymore. I will probably have my own pets some day – but it will be too late for me, by then. All the people I have ever wished would reciprocate my affections would probably do that – but, as usual, it would be too late. I will probably be a decent author – a couple of centuries later. I will probably get rich – but when I can’t enjoy my money anymore. [shrug] Story of my life. It is actually quite funny, when you look at it that way. We can make a comedy of it.

Yes, I could take a leaf out of Kaka Dadu’s book and try to turn all that intensity/misery into comic apathy…or sarcasm, at least. Let’s see.

And, God, can I whine or can I whine. It is a talent, really. IB was right. For better or for worse, I don’t know. I probably never will.

On Valentine's Day and the unofficial engagement

It should have been the best day of my life.

After all, it is not every day that the object of your affections goes down on his knees before you, puts a tanzanite ring on your finger and asks, “Will you marry me?”, is it?

It should have been the best day of my life. And it was. Till about five in the evening when I went to work. But let’s not get into that. What’s a little work-life misery compared to the best moments of your life?

So, while the Hotelier and I waited for the Brave Sparrow to finish packing, he served us water in steel glasses. I probably should have understood something was up right then. And then, Mr. Brave Sparrow, despite the adjective, disappeared. I drank half the glass of water before realizing something metallic was clinking at the bottom. First I thought he’d dropped my keys in it. Then it sparkled. And I went, “OH!!!” The poor Hotelier must have thought I found the remains of an insect or something, judging from his concerned, “What happened?” I pushed the glass towards him and his reaction was, “Oh!”, too. And then he grinned. “Good for you,” he said. I fished the ring out of the glass and stared at it for quite a while.

The Brave Sparrow appeared after a while, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said. And it is. It’s tanzanite set in silver with a couple of diamonds, shaped like an eye. I held up my palm with the ring on it. He picked it up. And went down on his knees.

I should have cried, I was so happy. But of course, the standard me never has the right reaction at the right time.

The Hotelier took pictures. I’ll put them up sometime. Not here, but on my Facebook or Orkut accounts.

The Brave Sparrow is in Delhi attending weddings. I miss him. It’s not like I see him everyday while he’s in Bombay, but I miss him anyway.

Ah yes, whoever said cats are not affectionate can go boil their heads. When I returned home late Saturday night from work, highly upset despite the beautiful morning I’d had (things happened at work – as if it wasn’t bad enough that we had to work over the entire weekend – and I’m not yet experienced enough to shirk things off like water from a duck’s back – but hopefully, I shall learn in due course of time), and sobbed on my pillow, it was my goddaughter who brought me back into a good mood. Half the credit would go to the Brave Sparrow, of course, but the remaining goes to the cat. If you’ve ever had a cat or a dog, and have cried before them, have you noticed how they reassure you? Dogs will lick you, put their paws on your knees and nudge you with their wet noses till you are back in a good mood. Cats will climb on your lap, purr, pat you gently and rub their face against you. It is one of the best feelings on earth. No matter how upset you are, they will put it right. Yes, so that was the other thing.

Now, I have a lifelong reason to remember (and celebrate) Valentine’s Day. I would have never thought I was mushy, and I honestly don’t intend to destroy my reputation as a cold fish, but the very thought of that (excluding the evening) makes me fell warm and fuzzy.

I eagerly await the Brave Sparrow’s return.

On my Godchild

My Goddaughter has been staying with me for the past few days. She is absolutely adorable. Of course, she is also the most energetic kid I have ever seen in my life. Heaven knows where she gets this inexhaustible energy from. The tiny little thing that she is, it is amazing how she can jump around. She wakes me up at six thirty for her early morning snack and immediately begins her morning acrobatics while I trudge back to sleep – well, until she decides that my fingers are the best chew toys in the house. Today, thankfully, she decided that sleeping was a better option than trying to make me play with her. So she curled up atop my comforter and dozed off.

She has my maid wrapped around her little claw. The maid comes in these days and immediately begins playing with her while I get some more sleep. And she shakes hands with her before she leaves.

And she is such a cute little thing, you can’t help but dote on her. Her pelt is a lovely shade of pale gold with dark, coppery stripes. She has liquid amber eyes just like my Billujaan back home. She is six months old. And she is the best pest-controller I have ever come across. On Friday, when her Daddy dropped her at my place, she severed the tail of a fat lizard that was trying to invade my flat. I doubt if any lizard would ever dare to enter my house. The tiny cockroaches in the kitchen, on which heaven knows how many tins of insecticides have been sprayed, have suddenly gone underground. I have not seen a single one since Friday evening. Amazing, isn’t it?

The best thing? Unconditional affection. Whoever said cats can’t be affectionate needs to get their head checked. Last evening when I got back home, she came running as soon as the door was opened. It felt wonderful. All the stress, disappointment, frustration etc that plague you during the day in the “real world” just fall away when a warm ball of fur is curled up in your arms and purring loudly. It feels great that at least someone is really, really glad to see you.

Left to myself, I would have a large house and quite a few cats and dogs. Maybe some others as well. Maybe I should go and marry some rich farmer in rural South Korea.

Looking back at my life, I realize that I’ve been reasonably healthy and happy only in the periods with a pet present. Of course, with pets these days, humans end up being the pets. Kitu Ganguly, for example, the youngest daughter of the Ganguly family, owns the rest of us. Leo was less autocratic, but then, dogs are inherently simpler and nicer, I suppose. I miss them. Oh, damn. I will not begin to think on this issue and what I want and can’t have and all that shit.

No, I will, instead, think of my Goddaughter. Damn, I wish I could go home right away to play with her! I am not sure when she will leave; her Daddy is coming back to town today.

On love and hope

Hope is a bloody painful bitch. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if she had not come out of Pandora’s Box. Incidentally, I also wonder why it is called Pandora’s Box in the first place. She never owned it. She just went ahead and opened it. We humans are useless, aren’t we? We can’t even name things properly.

As I often quote, the best things about being a pessimist is that you’re either proved right or are pleasantly surprised. It has been the motto of my life for quite some time. I have no idea when I managed to forget the lesson in the middle. Perhaps being loved doesn’t suit me too much.

But it makes me happy. It hurts at times, as I learnt recently, but overall, it feels great. Now I know exactly NM and the Pseudo-Gentleman meant when they said, “You’d know when you’re in love; you wouldn’t have to think.” It’s something you just can’t explain. Do I hear violins when I see him? No. I just feel warm, safe and content. And happy. He just has to grin, and it makes my day, makes me forget that I am supposed to be annoyed with him. The wiser people tell me that that’s all that matters. And it’s true.

It’s not a cakewalk. I would be a fool to expect it to be. But it would be as damn near perfect as it could be.

The last time I thought I was in love, I’d told the guy, “I certainly care for you enough to die for you, but I don’t know if I care enough to live for you.” I seriously never thought I would ever want to. That I would ever want to grow old, just to be by someone’s side.

But now I do.

Baby blue and blackish blue mixed together result in a lovely shade. It’s not a smooth, homogenous hue, but it is nice, nonetheless. Perhaps I should take up painting again – if only to mix this colour. And I must explain the colours theory to him sometime.

I thought of writing a poem, but that’s just going to make this post unbearably corny. My dear Brave Sparrow, ich liebe dich.

Update

Yeh dil pighla ke saaz bana doon
Dhadkan ko awaaz bana doon
Smoking smoking nikle re dhuan…

Poignant words, aren’t they? The first time I heard them, I went “WTH?” Now, however, I’ve decided that I quite like it. Some things, I suppose, have a tendency to grow on you. So that’s that. Saw the video last evening as well, with the person who’d told me about the song in the first place. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?

So that’s that. The genius cousin is working on a new fractal. I had a long, lovely weekend with some wonderful people. Life’s good, things look happy and gay. Well, “gay” as in joyous.

One of the hoteliers has gone off for a couple of years. I hope she visits soon; if I sit and think on it, it’s kind of scary, not having her around. I wonder how the other hotelier is actually doing. He says he’s fine, and I hope he is. It would be but natural to be a little sad and lonely without your better half around.

I wonder why women are always called “the better half”. It might not always be true for a relationship, right? In my case, it would be the other way round.

The doctors are as cute as ever. Sometimes, when I am in one of my pensive moods, I wonder what I did to deserve such great friends – and of course, I am very grateful for it. It’s not like I’ve not had my share of assholes, but the good ones are just so great that it’s indescribable. So what if I don’t have ten thousand friends? The ten that I have more than make up for it!

All right, I’m getting sentimental now. Happiness – and content, I suppose – may do that to one.

I consider myself lucky to be caught in this Dimension.

Song for the day:

Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can’t help falling in love with you
Shall I stay
Would it be a sin
If I can’t help falling in love with you

Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be
Take my hand, take my whole life too
For I can’t help falling in love with you

Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be
Take my hand, take my whole life too
For I can’t help falling in love with you
For I can’t help falling in love with you

Another Story

"Don't do it," Snake said.

Rat looked steadily at him with her beady eyes for a full minute and then burst into peals of laughter. Snake looked offended.

"Look, girl," he began. "Don't get carried away. You are biting off much, much more than you can chew, here. And you're not even like me; you can't swallow the thing and hold it in your middle and let your juices work on it. You'll burst. You're a bloody mammal, girl. Keep that in mind."

Rat laughed again. Snake shook his head indignantly.

"Well, don't listen to me, then. Go, do whatever you want."

Rat pulled on a serious face. "Snake, darling, I appreciate your concern. But I'm pretty sure I can manage on my own, really. It's very sweet of you to try and dissuade me, but it would be of greater help if you could teach me some stuff about poisons...maybe even give me a small bag of it, if you could. I've been saving money, I think I'll be able to afford it."

Snake stared at her. "Poison?" he repeated weakly. "You are not going to kill Ox, are you? I thought you were just going to exact "appropriate vengeance", as you promised."

Rat pursed her lips. "He ruined my life. Pig and Dog are willing to help me. Why won't you? Even Dragon has said that she would help. Dog said I would meet Monkey on my way to Ox, and he could help me, too."

"But Rat..."

"For the last time, Snake, will you help me or not?"

Snake looked defeated. "Very well. What poison do you want?"

"What's your strongest?"

"Venom-12, I call it. It took me twelve years to produce that one." There was an unmistakable ring of pride in his voice.

"Will it be enough for Ox, Horse and Sheep?" Rat asked anxiously.

Snake smiled and held up a bag. "This, my dear, is enough for half a dozen elephants."

Rat beamed at him and whipped out her wallet. Snake shook his head and smiled. "No, my dear. For this bag, I take no money. Do me a favour instead. When you are done with those three, kill Rooster for me as well."

Rat looked pained. "Rooster?"

"Am I stopping you from your quest for revenge?" Snake demanded. "Why should you derive me of mine? I am old and slow. I cannot fight Rooster. And yet, for every day that he lives, every breath that he breathes, I die over and over. Ox betrayed your love. Sheep betrayed your faith. Horse betrayed your clan. None of them claimed a life, did they? And yet you thirst for theirs. Rooster, on the other hand, killed my beloved. He took away my life. And yet you disapprove of my desire to see him dead?"

"No, Snake," Rat whispered, tears in her eyes. "Forgive me. I failed to understand. Your desire will be fulfilled. I will bring back Rooster's head for you, as payment for this bag of poison." She looked up at him determinedly. "Wish me luck."

"May the Skies bless you and grant you success, my child. Come back safely."

Rat nodded and scampered off. Snake sat lost in thought, then smiled to himself - a smile that only his enemies had seen before, but none who had seen it lived to tell the tale.

Dog and Pig were glad to see Rat well-equipped. As a precautionary measure, Dog gave Rat some sharp bones to shoot with (for Horse could potentially survive Venom-12, despite Snake's assurances), and Pig gave her a pot of thick, rich fat, to give her nutrition on her journey.

"Do kill Tiger for us," cried Dog and Pig and hugged her hard.

After tearful goodbyes from Dog and Pig, Rat went to visit Dragon. Dragon sympathised with her cause and gave her some gold frozen fire, which would become flames when Rat blew on them.

"Remember, my dear friend, to kill Rabbit for me," roared Dragon.

So, Rat took the frozen flames and moved on.

On her way to the land of her enemies, Rat met Monkey. Upon learning her mission, Monkey agreed to help her with it. He didn't want her to kill anyone for him, so she was surprised.

"What should I give you in return?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't need anything. You are killing off my enemies anyway, so I am getting the benefit of your work. That way, I should be helping you. So here I am. Do you know the layout of the houses of all these Animals?"

When Rat shook her head, Monkey shook his head irritatedly and sat down to help her out with the Plan.

They found the common tank that supplied water to everyone and threw in Snake's Venom-12. Next, they rubbed Pig's fat on as many places as they could and blew Dragon's fire on them. When the Animals tried to run, they shot them down with Dog's bones.

"Let's go for a picnic," Monkey suggested.

"But I should go back to my friends to let them know that I was successful," said Rat.

"They will see the fire and guess. Come on, let's go. I want to party!"

Reluctantly, at Monkey's insistence, Rat accompanied him across the bridge to a strange land. When she turned back and looked at the land of her enemies and friends, she realised that the whole forest was on fire. Her friends had perished along with her enemies. Agonised, she turned to Monkey.

"You killed them all!" she screamed at him.

"No," he smiled. "We did."

Rat stared at him with wide eyes. His smiled widened.

"You were caught in your nightmares. None of that was real. Your friends are still your friends, and they are here, in this world, where you belong - and not the one you were caught up in. Welcome back, Rat."

And Rat looked behind him and saw all her friends smiling at her - Dog, Pig, Dragon, Snake, Rooster, Tiger, Rabbit, Horse, Ox and Sheep.

"Welcome back," they all said.

A Story

Once upon a time...

His name was Brave Sparrow. Don’t ask me why he was named thus; he just was. Maybe Pa Sparrow and Ma Sparrow were feeling particularly rebellious. So, Brave Sparrow grew, brave as his name, valiantly defending his stand, his clan, into a fiery young warrior, who fought with his mind, and not his feathers. The Hawks feared him, the Sparrows loved him. The Crows and Ravens stayed away from his clan. The Doves and Pigeons respected him.

One day, the Brave Sparrow came upon Evil Blue Jay, who had strayed away from her clan. It was popular knowledge that Evil Blue Jay had cut her heart out and stored it away in a secret, secret place, to avoid loving anyone. But Evil Blue Jay was not recognized widely. So, when she met Brave Sparrow, she introduced herself as Great Blue Jay. She was surprised to know that the small bird she had just met was none other than the famous Brave Sparrow! Her minions had warned her against him.

Brave Sparrow, in the meanwhile, was thrilled to meet Great Blue Jay, thinking he had finally found a friend who would be fun to be with. For Evil Blue Jay presented herself as nice, charming and witty, and hid away all her evil in a corner of her devious mind.

So Brave Sparrow and Great Blue Jay became friends.

And one day, Evil Blue Jay had to go away for a short while to command her minions. Bored without his new friend, Brave Sparrow flew around aimlessly. He chanced upon a strange tree with a hollow core. Curious, he flew in, only to find a small locked box inside. Thinking he had stumbled upon a forgotten human relic, Brave Sparrow opened the box. It contained a pretty red stone which shone brightly. He decided to take it with him and give it to Great Blue Jay when she came back.

Little did he know that he had found the frozen heart of Evil Blue Jay.

When Great Blue Jay returned from her trip, she sensed something was wrong. She felt warm and happy, a feeling she had not experienced in a long, long time. She decided she would check up on the secret tree where her frozen heart was hidden after meeting Brave Sparrow.

Brave Sparrow was happy to see his new friend and gave her the stone wrapped in gift paper. Great Blue Jay had not received a gift for so long, she forgot all the worries about her frozen heart as she opened her gift. As she held up her heart, it melted and took its rightful place inside her. Evil Blue Jay vanished forever, leaving behind Great Blue Jay, all thanks to Brave Sparrow.

Will they live happily ever after?

Pensive

“Why are your blog posts so pensive?” someone whose opinion I value quite highly asked me today. I just read through some and realized that they were, indeed.

Why?

I have no idea.

I suppose that it’s probably just one of my characteristics. There are too many thoughts in my head at normal times. So I write down some of them. Makes me feel better, for some reason. No, I know the reason. It’s good to let off some steam. It’s easier to write when you’re down than to get hold of a friend and chew their brains out – unless you’re in deep shit and need help to get out, of course. The irony here is that when you’re actually in a rut, it’s difficult to realize when you need help. Quite often, you don’t end up asking for any and it’s quite by accident that a friend of yours comes by and finds you. Then they pull you out and berate you for not letting them know.

Most of the people I am really close to have no idea I have a blog. Which is probably why I can let myself get carried away here to a great extent. Bottling up is not a healthy trait; especially not for people who, deliberately or inadvertently, tend to think a lot.

Of course, the blog is not anonymous, so there is always the chance that someone might stumble upon it. Do I mind? No. I have not written things that were not meant to be written. Personal things, yes. But nothing that would ever compromise anyone who trusted me with any information. I am good with secrets – and that’s a fact, let aside modesty.

How do I decide when to write and what to write? Simple. I don’t. I write when I feel like it. Yes, I am moody. So sue me. I’m not harming anyone with my moodiness; in fact, it’s hardly ever apparent unless I’m uber happy pr uber sad. I’m not as moody as some people think I am, and I’m not as stable as some people think I am, either. I am not the delicate china doll that the family thinks me to be; I am not a brittle crystal vase that my close friends think me to be; I am not the indestructible stress ball that acquaintances think me to be and I am not the tough doormat that the rest of the world thinks me to be. So who am I? I don’t know. If I did know, I would attain nirvana. Am I just the person on the blog? Definitely not.

More pensive shit, I realize. *shrug*

Do I sound sad? I’m not. In fact, I am quite happy.

Whinging

The primary purpose of today’s post is to whine.

There is a fuel deficit in the country. I’m hearing it’s been called off now, but well, that doesn’t take away my right to whine at being forced to walk around for an hour in the morning in this abysmally hot city where there is never any winter, looking for transportation to get to work, because they never give us a day off for these minor things. With each passing day, I am reminded of exactly why I need a car. I hate the transportation in this city. The local trains are so crowded that they make you sick just looking at it. The buses are so scary and rarely stop – and, I might add, are impossible to figure out. I was directed to around half a dozen different bus-stops today morning. The cabs refuse to go to half the places you want to go. The other day, in a fit of annoyance, I asked the cabbie where HE intended to go. It was actually quite funny, in hindsight. He grinned broadly and told me he wanted to go straight and asked me where I needed to go. I told him. He grinned again and graciously offered to take me home, thereby making a short detour out of his “straight” course. I was so relieved to finally get back home that I let him keep all the change.

Yes, yes, I know all about how it is incorrect to give incentives to people merely to do their job.

I miss Kolkata cabs. They went everywhere we wanted them to – near, far, anywhere. In my five years of Calcutta, there have been just one or two instances when we failed to find cabs, and those were strike days or something like that.

And here is Bombay, where there is a huge favour being done to you if a cabbie agrees to take you. You should bow down to all the myriad of deities we Hindus have and thank them for this immense blessing.

Boy, oh, boy, are we blessed or what.

And if you do get a car, driving is a nightmare.

I want a Ruger P89 or a Taurus Millennium P145. Yes, I know .45 ACP is prohibited in this country. Darn.

Benjamin Button is a lovely movie.

I am suddenly feeling really sorry for Ramalinga Raju. No, don’t lynch me. I am as appalled with the whole fiasco as everyone. But really, did the guy mean harm? Maybe he just wanted to take his company further and resorted to some underhanded tactics. Not uncommon in the corporate world at all, is it? It’s illegal only if you are caught. He could have just disappeared somewhere in some obscure country and lived incognito there in peace, while Satyam went down and the rest of the Board got lynched. But he didn’t. Maybe he just made a mistake – and as Dumbledore says, being a greater and wiser man than most, his mistake was a lot bigger. Poor thing.

Yes, I know he did a VERY BAD THING.

I want to go home.

I’m attempting to read “One Afternoon”. It’s really quite pathetic. It puts me to sleep, though, so that’s a good thing.

What else? Nothing, really. I live more through mails and messages than in person, as usual. The doctors’ coming has been delayed by a week. That makes me unhappy. Or, at least, I think it does. The surreal aura still lingers.

It is difficult to pin-point exactly what you feel at a given point of time unless you’re really overwhelmed by a certain emotion, which is quite rare. I don’t know if anyone would agree with it. That is how it works for me.

I must make phuchkas this weekend. I have been wanting to for ages and ages, but never actually getting down to it.

I learnt recently that a group of crows is called “murder”. Now that’s what I call interesting.

I want to rearrange my furniture, heaven knows why. I wonder when I will feel active enough to do it. And I want to buy more pillows before my friends scream their heads off. I like having lots of pillows and cushions around. What is the harm in that, tell me?

And I desperately need to lose weight.

The Strand Book Festival has begun. I must attend. Sunday, perhaps. Hopefully.