I've been a flirting machine these days! I swear, really not kidding.
So, on to episode 142 in Those Days, Those Nights starring eM as herself.
Scene 1:
(A park outside a popular cafe. Young people cluster around a dried out fountain. Some are smoking. Two girls sit by themselves on the side, talking animatedly. Camera zooms in to their faces.)
Iggy: So I should be leaving now.
eM: Yeah, me too. I have plans for later tonight. (pauses and looks over her shoulder at the group of young men who sit on the other side) D'you think we should say bye to them?
Iggy: Well, I'm guessing yes. It would look kind of rude if we didn't.
(eM sighs and rises. They walk over to the boys)
Iggy: Hey where did Meg and Kirti go? Weren't they hanging out with you, K?
(eM makes a face to herself in her head. No one notices. She then checks out the guy sitting next to K. It's rather dark, so she can't make out his features, but he looks nice enough. Iggy pulls out a cigarette and eM realises that they are going to be sitting there for a while. Still she stays standing)
K: Have a seat. Hey, by the way, this is my friend Manav.
eM: (smiles) Nice to meet you.
K: He's a friend of my brothers.
Manav: So how do you guys know each other? From college?
eM: (laughs sardonically) This should be fun!
K: (looks sheepish) Uh.. we used to.. that is... date.
(eM meanwhile has turned the other way and is thinking about something else. When she returns to earth with a start she notices Iggy is on the phone and K and Manav are deep in conversation)
eM: So, yeah, I'll just sit here and talk to myself then.
(Both boys smile at her, K sheepishly and Manav with interest. Manav then rises and sits next to her at which point her phone rings. eM goes off to take the call and returns smiling brightly)
eM: Sorry! Sorry! That was my mum.
(She realises she likes the way Manav smells and smiles her very-large, very-toothy I'm-hitting-on-you-smile. She notices K's eyebrows raise.)
K: Manav wants to know where to party in Delhi.
eM: Oh are you here on holiday?
Manav: Yes. I live in Atlanta.
(eM thinks That would explain the accent but decides not to say anything)
eM: Well it really depends on what sort of music you like listening to
Manav: I like rock and retro. That kind of stuff.
eM: Ooh then you should definitely go to Turquiose Cottage (shoots a look at K) In fact I'm surprised K didn't suggest it himself.
Manav: Oh that sounds like a nice place. I'd like to see it.
eM: (hesitates, begins talking, stops and begins talking again) Actually I'm going tonight with a couple of friends. You.. guys... should totally come with us.
K: Well, count me out. Can't get out on a weekday.
eM: Manav, you can come with us anyway.
Manav: Sure, I'd like that.
(They exchange numbers. K's face is unreadable through this. He looks like he too is pondering something. eM walks away feeling empowered)
~~~~~~ End Of Scene~~~~~
Anyway, so he did come that night and we really hit it off. It was nice to be told I was pretty, nicer to be told that I was intellegent and the fact that he enjoyed my company as I did his made it better I guess.
Truth be told, I did hold back. This was K's friend after all, some sort of ethics had to be used, right? The thing is, after coming out of one rejecting relationship, I've become so used to rejection, it's the norm for me. So if once in a while a guy actually thinks I'm pretty cool instead of pushing me away with games, I wonder what's wrong with him. Dumb, I know, but at least I'm aware of it.
But along the way, I think it was in Hyderabad, I realised that I was being an ass. After all, he was here for only a couple of days and I was enjoying myself. Why are women so stupid? Why are they only drawn to those who will hurt them? I sure as hell wasn't going to get into that rut again.
So we've been meeting up and talking. In fact, we went out last night as well and he said if he was in Delhi he'd definitely want to date me. "I think it's the hair," he said shyly, "It makes you look somewhat hippy-- but not totally."
Awww.. I thought and said, but beyond mild flirtation nothing has happened there. Which I'm okay with. We're planning to stay in touch even after he leaves, but is a couple of days enough to build a foundation for an email friendship?
Time will tell. And when it tells me, I'll let you know.
| My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.
"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times "Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine "A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll |
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28 October 2004
25 October 2004
A Long Weekend, weakened
Hello all.
I'm back, fattened and feted.
I find about long weekends that you get so much more done in three days than you would if you were somewhere for a month. I think it's the pressure, "do this today because you won't be able to tomorrow." So I managed in three days to a) visit the old sights and cultural hotspots--museums, architecture, etc b) Bond with my aunts and grandparents c) Go to Char Minar for the nighttime Ramzan shopping mela. (From where I got some very pretty bangles-- purple-y and sparkly!
flashback
Hyderabad used to be my all-time favourite summer vacation. Every summer, as soon as school shut, my mother and I would go there. We started packing about a week in advance, my contributions were my dolls and books, which I never travelled without. Then we'd get into a first class coupe (an antiquity they don't make anymore) on a train, the kind where we had the whole compartment to ourselves. And after two days of journey, we'd be there, met at the station by cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles---all so happy to see us as we were to see them.
I barely saw my mom on those vacations. I have six boy cousins, four of whom were always in Hyderabad, and we'd spend the whole day creating secret clubs, inventing rat poison (with mud, cement and twigs), playing cricket or flying kites. Some days (and these were the best) we'd go to my grandfather's farm and eat and swim in a large tank.
present day
All these images came vividly back to me in my grandfather's farm, now sadly, much smaller because he's getting too old to run it all and had to sell most of it. The old farmhouse had been redone, but some things like the ancient bathroom with its huge copper bucket still stayed. And the dark kitchen where my grandmother crouching over a stool conjured up delicacies.
flashback
There used to be a hill (two hills) where we found uncut amethysts. It was something we regarded with matter-of-fact wonder. Going mining on Amethyst Hill was something we did every holiday. We never really found anything of value (though my older cousin once found a beauty---big and shiny and pure purple. He gave it to an uncle who turned it into a keychain. Men!) I invented a whole story about an Amethyst Fairy that would be displeased if we took ALL the amethysts, so my younger cousins at least, left behind some. (Hey, we always found amethysts next time!)
present day
I attempt to walk towards Amethyst Hill after lunch. It'll keep my mind off the nicotine cravings that make my stomach twist and cringe and my nails bite painfully into my palms. Past the grave of my boy-uncle, my mother's little brother who died at 13. He was flying a kite and fell off the roof trying to detangle it. My grandparent's only son, born after four daughters, he is the sorrow on my grandmother's face, her mouth turns downwards in repose.
My grandfather built that grave for him and as children it used to fascinate us. "Here lies a courageous young man". We knew not to ask too many questions so whatever I know about him I glean from my mother and from his little grave.
But the road to Amethyst Hill is overgrown. I have been warned repeatedly about snakes, and I'm wearing floaters so I'm easy prey. There's no point picking my way across the weeds. Suddenly I feel a biting pain on my left foot. It's a big black ant, burrowing its way through the tender skin between my toes. The pain is mind-numbing and I stagger back to the farmhouse. By this time, my toe is five times its normal size and throbs and itches at intervals.
flashback
Every summer, without fail, I'd have to get rabies shots. One summer Champie (my aunt's Scottish terrier) was burying a bone and like an idiot I started to dig near him. Champie was never the best-tempered dog and he flew out and bit me.
Champie terrorised all of us actually. The only person he listened to was my aunt, and sometimes my now-29-year-old cousin (who I will call Abhinav). Once the family left for the farm and neglected to tell Champie. He raced after them all the way there and when they heard desperate panting on the doorstep they let him in. And he died.
I don't know why he chose to follow them. He was used to being on his own. But perhaps he knew his time had come and wanted to say goodbye.
And Bobo. My dog in Trivandrum, half-Alsation and named after Boris Becker, the tennis player. He was such a sweet dog. I would hide and my mom would let him off the leash and say, "Where's Mynna?" and he'd always find me, plumy tail wagging up a storm.
When we moved to our little Delhi flat, my parents figured it would be cruel to take a big dog to a small house. So they gave him to my grandfather.
What a life Bobo led! He sired an entire tribe of dogs with his tan eyebrows and wide smile, he refused to let any other dog within a mile of the farmhouse and best of all he was free to roam as he wished. But one call from my grandfather and he'd trot behind him occasionally looking up at him with adoring eyes.
He died too, at a ripe old age, bitten by a cobra.
present day
There are no dogs left in the farmhouse now. Only my aunt (formerly Champie's owner) has a fat little dashchund called Daisy. Daisy loves me, but she loves everybody. I call her Fattie and vanity injured she sits in a corner to sulk. But not for long. I'm giving her a ear-scratch and like Cookie, she can't get enough of it. To show her gratitude she starts to hump my leg, looking sheepish when I scold her.
The nicotine pangs increase. I'm pacing in the guest bedroom, stuffing my face, anything ANYTHING to get rid of the horrible knot in my stomach. My veins feel like they've stopped moving, I feel water retentive and sluggish.
I say I'm going downstairs to make a long distance call. Near the phone booth my cigarette-hungry eyes have alreay noted a tobacco seller. No dice. "Make the call from here," my aunt sweetly insists, believing she is doing me a favour and helping me save money.
I pace some more.
I'm back, fattened and feted.
I find about long weekends that you get so much more done in three days than you would if you were somewhere for a month. I think it's the pressure, "do this today because you won't be able to tomorrow." So I managed in three days to a) visit the old sights and cultural hotspots--museums, architecture, etc b) Bond with my aunts and grandparents c) Go to Char Minar for the nighttime Ramzan shopping mela. (From where I got some very pretty bangles-- purple-y and sparkly!
flashback
Hyderabad used to be my all-time favourite summer vacation. Every summer, as soon as school shut, my mother and I would go there. We started packing about a week in advance, my contributions were my dolls and books, which I never travelled without. Then we'd get into a first class coupe (an antiquity they don't make anymore) on a train, the kind where we had the whole compartment to ourselves. And after two days of journey, we'd be there, met at the station by cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles---all so happy to see us as we were to see them.
I barely saw my mom on those vacations. I have six boy cousins, four of whom were always in Hyderabad, and we'd spend the whole day creating secret clubs, inventing rat poison (with mud, cement and twigs), playing cricket or flying kites. Some days (and these were the best) we'd go to my grandfather's farm and eat and swim in a large tank.
present day
All these images came vividly back to me in my grandfather's farm, now sadly, much smaller because he's getting too old to run it all and had to sell most of it. The old farmhouse had been redone, but some things like the ancient bathroom with its huge copper bucket still stayed. And the dark kitchen where my grandmother crouching over a stool conjured up delicacies.
flashback
There used to be a hill (two hills) where we found uncut amethysts. It was something we regarded with matter-of-fact wonder. Going mining on Amethyst Hill was something we did every holiday. We never really found anything of value (though my older cousin once found a beauty---big and shiny and pure purple. He gave it to an uncle who turned it into a keychain. Men!) I invented a whole story about an Amethyst Fairy that would be displeased if we took ALL the amethysts, so my younger cousins at least, left behind some. (Hey, we always found amethysts next time!)
present day
I attempt to walk towards Amethyst Hill after lunch. It'll keep my mind off the nicotine cravings that make my stomach twist and cringe and my nails bite painfully into my palms. Past the grave of my boy-uncle, my mother's little brother who died at 13. He was flying a kite and fell off the roof trying to detangle it. My grandparent's only son, born after four daughters, he is the sorrow on my grandmother's face, her mouth turns downwards in repose.
My grandfather built that grave for him and as children it used to fascinate us. "Here lies a courageous young man". We knew not to ask too many questions so whatever I know about him I glean from my mother and from his little grave.
But the road to Amethyst Hill is overgrown. I have been warned repeatedly about snakes, and I'm wearing floaters so I'm easy prey. There's no point picking my way across the weeds. Suddenly I feel a biting pain on my left foot. It's a big black ant, burrowing its way through the tender skin between my toes. The pain is mind-numbing and I stagger back to the farmhouse. By this time, my toe is five times its normal size and throbs and itches at intervals.
flashback
Every summer, without fail, I'd have to get rabies shots. One summer Champie (my aunt's Scottish terrier) was burying a bone and like an idiot I started to dig near him. Champie was never the best-tempered dog and he flew out and bit me.
Champie terrorised all of us actually. The only person he listened to was my aunt, and sometimes my now-29-year-old cousin (who I will call Abhinav). Once the family left for the farm and neglected to tell Champie. He raced after them all the way there and when they heard desperate panting on the doorstep they let him in. And he died.
I don't know why he chose to follow them. He was used to being on his own. But perhaps he knew his time had come and wanted to say goodbye.
And Bobo. My dog in Trivandrum, half-Alsation and named after Boris Becker, the tennis player. He was such a sweet dog. I would hide and my mom would let him off the leash and say, "Where's Mynna?" and he'd always find me, plumy tail wagging up a storm.
When we moved to our little Delhi flat, my parents figured it would be cruel to take a big dog to a small house. So they gave him to my grandfather.
What a life Bobo led! He sired an entire tribe of dogs with his tan eyebrows and wide smile, he refused to let any other dog within a mile of the farmhouse and best of all he was free to roam as he wished. But one call from my grandfather and he'd trot behind him occasionally looking up at him with adoring eyes.
He died too, at a ripe old age, bitten by a cobra.
present day
There are no dogs left in the farmhouse now. Only my aunt (formerly Champie's owner) has a fat little dashchund called Daisy. Daisy loves me, but she loves everybody. I call her Fattie and vanity injured she sits in a corner to sulk. But not for long. I'm giving her a ear-scratch and like Cookie, she can't get enough of it. To show her gratitude she starts to hump my leg, looking sheepish when I scold her.
The nicotine pangs increase. I'm pacing in the guest bedroom, stuffing my face, anything ANYTHING to get rid of the horrible knot in my stomach. My veins feel like they've stopped moving, I feel water retentive and sluggish.
I say I'm going downstairs to make a long distance call. Near the phone booth my cigarette-hungry eyes have alreay noted a tobacco seller. No dice. "Make the call from here," my aunt sweetly insists, believing she is doing me a favour and helping me save money.
I pace some more.
23 October 2004
A yellow post-it appears
I'm trying to post from my aunt's computer, which isn't showing the usual font/url/ital bar on top that blogger normally does.
Well, you'll all be glad to know, I'm surviving. Nope, scratch that. I'm actually having fun! Maybe fun is a little strong. Um.. okay, let me rephrase, AGAIN... I'm realising that even though I'd much rather be spending this weekend in Delhi, doing what I do, (nicotine, nicotine, why hast thou forsaken me?) I'm okay with spending it here too.
As I predicted, the meals and the naps happen round the clock. Yesterday, I fell asleep at least five times, in between naps I ate. But then I thought, "Hell, never going to be able to do this at home right?"
Everyone has a family holiday experience I think. For some, it's about walks with their grandfathers across long stretches of farm land, for others it's about hanging with your cousins, for me, it's this eating-sleeping thing
I'm not being very verbose I know. But this chair is funny, it hurts my wrists and my back and the keyboard feels odd too. So I'll tell you all the whoooooooleeeee story when I go back home,
Only tonight and tomorrow to get through without smokes! :)
Well, you'll all be glad to know, I'm surviving. Nope, scratch that. I'm actually having fun! Maybe fun is a little strong. Um.. okay, let me rephrase, AGAIN... I'm realising that even though I'd much rather be spending this weekend in Delhi, doing what I do, (nicotine, nicotine, why hast thou forsaken me?) I'm okay with spending it here too.
As I predicted, the meals and the naps happen round the clock. Yesterday, I fell asleep at least five times, in between naps I ate. But then I thought, "Hell, never going to be able to do this at home right?"
Everyone has a family holiday experience I think. For some, it's about walks with their grandfathers across long stretches of farm land, for others it's about hanging with your cousins, for me, it's this eating-sleeping thing
I'm not being very verbose I know. But this chair is funny, it hurts my wrists and my back and the keyboard feels odd too. So I'll tell you all the whoooooooleeeee story when I go back home,
Only tonight and tomorrow to get through without smokes! :)
20 October 2004
*Throws A Tantrum*
Aargh. Aargh.
What could be worse than having to spend an entire weekend with relatives, with phrases like 'You're so thin!" repeated ad nauseum?
Having to spend the entire weekend with relatives with phrases like "You're so thin!" repeated ad nauseum in Hyderabad. Yes, you read correctly. I'm being dragged, kicking and screaming the whole way to "go meet my grandmother" and assorted relatives in possibly the most boring place in the whole Indian subcontinent.
The worst part is, I'll probably spend all of five minutes talking to my grandmother. My mom is envisioning long bonding conversations where Grandma passes on the wisdom of her 70-something years on to me. I'm envisioning chewing off my own arm due to lack of nicotine.
Yeah. Can't smoke there. But, it makes me feel slightly better to know it's not just me. My mom can't smoke there either. (Mua-ha-ha-ha).
No cousins/co-conspirators in town either. (I don't get it. If they don't have to go for the stupid "festive season" why do I? It's not fair).
Here's what a typical day will be like: Wake up. Eat breakfast. Have a nap/drop in on some obscure branch of the family. Eat lunch. Nap # 2. Tea time (probably with another obscure branch). Dinner. Sleep.
Even looking at it is giving me a panic attack. But, silver lining--- there is a fully loaded comp with DSL no less, so you will probably see hundreds of aimless posts where I vent some more. I leave tomorrow evening and return Monday morning.
An entire weekend. I'm screwed.
What could be worse than having to spend an entire weekend with relatives, with phrases like 'You're so thin!" repeated ad nauseum?
Having to spend the entire weekend with relatives with phrases like "You're so thin!" repeated ad nauseum in Hyderabad. Yes, you read correctly. I'm being dragged, kicking and screaming the whole way to "go meet my grandmother" and assorted relatives in possibly the most boring place in the whole Indian subcontinent.
The worst part is, I'll probably spend all of five minutes talking to my grandmother. My mom is envisioning long bonding conversations where Grandma passes on the wisdom of her 70-something years on to me. I'm envisioning chewing off my own arm due to lack of nicotine.
Yeah. Can't smoke there. But, it makes me feel slightly better to know it's not just me. My mom can't smoke there either. (Mua-ha-ha-ha).
No cousins/co-conspirators in town either. (I don't get it. If they don't have to go for the stupid "festive season" why do I? It's not fair).
Here's what a typical day will be like: Wake up. Eat breakfast. Have a nap/drop in on some obscure branch of the family. Eat lunch. Nap # 2. Tea time (probably with another obscure branch). Dinner. Sleep.
Even looking at it is giving me a panic attack. But, silver lining--- there is a fully loaded comp with DSL no less, so you will probably see hundreds of aimless posts where I vent some more. I leave tomorrow evening and return Monday morning.
An entire weekend. I'm screwed.
16 October 2004
In which I talk about normal things
It's been so long since I did so many things. Like last night for instance. It was Friday night and usually I live it up somewhere or the other. But by the time I battled rush hour and got home, my body just refused to move. "Go wherever you like, " it told me, "but don't expect me to come along."
So I called my friends and said,"Sorry count me out," changed into tracks and a t-shirt and sat in front of the television. Ah, bliss.
It's been so long since I sat home on Friday night, so long since I had lemon tea with honey and watched The Apprentice (which was brilliant last night, by the way. Great advice too, with Donald Trump telling the girl who he fired: "You just didn't fight for yourself.")
And then I started thinking about my job and about my life and where I would be in five years. You know the kind of thinking you can only do in your bedroom with Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in the background, your phone silent and your book face down on the floor.
They've got this new policy at work, come in at 9 am and leave at 5. Okay in principle I suppose. But not so okay in practice, because as a reporter, you'll have evening assignments at six which finish by 8.30 so by the time you're done filing the story etc, you've worked a 12-13 hour day. I swear, they're going a little mad.
What's next, you ask? Well, rumour has it they are introducing a 'corporate dress code'. One of the things I love about my job is that I can wear what I want. Like today I'm in an old sweatshirt with brown cords and long earrings. That has to stop with the new dress code apparently--- trousers and a shirt or some such madness.
God, I don't know why I didn't just stay safely in college, piling up degree after degree. There are some days when I feel so wrong for this job, so like this is such a big mistake. Restlessness, maybe... does everyone feel this way too?
In other news, I didn't mention that I had joined jazz classes. Yes, every Sunday my body goes through a series of movements, which on everyone else looks like dance, but on uncoordinated me, looks like convulsions. But it's fun. And rather exhilerating. And the instructor has such a cute ass! Guys usually don't, but you should see his. I lech freely when he's demonstrating something in front of the class. Mmmm... :)
Oh and I finally bought a 10-CD changer for my car. I've always been a cassette person, but the joys of not rewinding and fastforwarding! The joys of not changing sides! In fact I think it deserves some poetry. Here goes:
Foot on clutch, I look
At the scooterist near me
And the bus beyond
There's a woman trying to cross the road
She pauses because of the honking and smiles
There's a beggar at my window
And he's asking me for anything at all
And then the light changes and the cacophony rises
And I press 'Next Song' and glide away.
Okay, pretty bad, but you get the picture. (Ooh, totally unintentional on my part but just look at all the first letters of the poem. Pretty cool, eh?)
It's been so long since I blogged like this. So long since my life was uneventful, so long since I could speak of my everyday life without it being so long that I had to break it up into episodes. So long since I thought about my mundanities.
In short: I'm ready to take a break.
So I called my friends and said,"Sorry count me out," changed into tracks and a t-shirt and sat in front of the television. Ah, bliss.
It's been so long since I sat home on Friday night, so long since I had lemon tea with honey and watched The Apprentice (which was brilliant last night, by the way. Great advice too, with Donald Trump telling the girl who he fired: "You just didn't fight for yourself.")
And then I started thinking about my job and about my life and where I would be in five years. You know the kind of thinking you can only do in your bedroom with Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in the background, your phone silent and your book face down on the floor.
They've got this new policy at work, come in at 9 am and leave at 5. Okay in principle I suppose. But not so okay in practice, because as a reporter, you'll have evening assignments at six which finish by 8.30 so by the time you're done filing the story etc, you've worked a 12-13 hour day. I swear, they're going a little mad.
What's next, you ask? Well, rumour has it they are introducing a 'corporate dress code'. One of the things I love about my job is that I can wear what I want. Like today I'm in an old sweatshirt with brown cords and long earrings. That has to stop with the new dress code apparently--- trousers and a shirt or some such madness.
God, I don't know why I didn't just stay safely in college, piling up degree after degree. There are some days when I feel so wrong for this job, so like this is such a big mistake. Restlessness, maybe... does everyone feel this way too?
In other news, I didn't mention that I had joined jazz classes. Yes, every Sunday my body goes through a series of movements, which on everyone else looks like dance, but on uncoordinated me, looks like convulsions. But it's fun. And rather exhilerating. And the instructor has such a cute ass! Guys usually don't, but you should see his. I lech freely when he's demonstrating something in front of the class. Mmmm... :)
Oh and I finally bought a 10-CD changer for my car. I've always been a cassette person, but the joys of not rewinding and fastforwarding! The joys of not changing sides! In fact I think it deserves some poetry. Here goes:
Foot on clutch, I look
At the scooterist near me
And the bus beyond
There's a woman trying to cross the road
She pauses because of the honking and smiles
There's a beggar at my window
And he's asking me for anything at all
And then the light changes and the cacophony rises
And I press 'Next Song' and glide away.
Okay, pretty bad, but you get the picture. (Ooh, totally unintentional on my part but just look at all the first letters of the poem. Pretty cool, eh?)
It's been so long since I blogged like this. So long since my life was uneventful, so long since I could speak of my everyday life without it being so long that I had to break it up into episodes. So long since I thought about my mundanities.
In short: I'm ready to take a break.
13 October 2004
The One With The Sex
I remember very clearly the day I lost my virginity. It was July 20, 2002, a hot summer afternoon, no college and an empty house all at our disposal.
K and I had been daringly progressing from making out to heavy making out to even heavier making out, till it seemed like the room would explode from the intensity of our desires, throbbing and hanging in the air like unsaid question marks. It seemed as if even the mirrors were fogging up, those sultry summer days and that everywhere we went, even in public places we couldn’t stop touching each other. Just gentle hand brushes or an arm around the others waist, but secret tingles at the thought of the secret hickeys hidden away on our bodies.
We had, of course, planned it, both of us being virgins, even gigglingly bought condoms--- Durex Super Fine, if memory serves. And then he looked at me and said, “So we’re really going to do this?” And I squeezed my eyes shut (as I had heard long painful stories from my girlfriends) and said, “Yes, we really are.”
I wish I could tell you it was beautiful and pleasurable, but it really wasn’t. The pain I felt, so much worse than the first time I used a tampon, his apprehension about hurting me, because though I tried to hide it it showed on my face. And his pain (did you know guys feel pain at losing their virginity too? Cool) mixed with his desire. Not pretty. In fact we almost stopped several times.
But then we perservered and finally we weren’t virgins anymore. I rolled over, naked and sweaty, and little knowing that this would become a habitual thing, lit my first post-coital cigarette. (Can I just say, someone should write an ode to the wonders of a cigarette after sex. Nothing, but nothing, feels as good, not even the act itself).
That evening we went for a walk to a little-known park in the area. K bought some roasted corn from a vendor, and we sat on a bench there, not talking, not even looking at each other but just being in that moment. It wasn’t even happiness, it was beyond happiness, the kind of feeling that makes your stomach clench and your eyes prickle. The kind of feeling that scares you sometime. The kind of feeling you cannot articulate.
My legs felt as though they couldn’t hold me anymore, and I knew that I glowed because I could see the reflected glow on his face. I felt like the first woman on the earth and all I wanted in that moment was to be alone and be silent with him in that park forever.
Sex with K was never just sex (until the end). It was making love in all senses of that phrase. So much so that by the end of it when we lay spent, I’d find tears in my eyes. And that didn’t surprise me.
I had sex with an old flame on Saturday. It was brilliant and he was more experienced than K ever was. But now, looking back, I wonder how I could reduce my beautiful tear-inducing making love to random sex.
It’s tough some days.
K and I had been daringly progressing from making out to heavy making out to even heavier making out, till it seemed like the room would explode from the intensity of our desires, throbbing and hanging in the air like unsaid question marks. It seemed as if even the mirrors were fogging up, those sultry summer days and that everywhere we went, even in public places we couldn’t stop touching each other. Just gentle hand brushes or an arm around the others waist, but secret tingles at the thought of the secret hickeys hidden away on our bodies.
We had, of course, planned it, both of us being virgins, even gigglingly bought condoms--- Durex Super Fine, if memory serves. And then he looked at me and said, “So we’re really going to do this?” And I squeezed my eyes shut (as I had heard long painful stories from my girlfriends) and said, “Yes, we really are.”
I wish I could tell you it was beautiful and pleasurable, but it really wasn’t. The pain I felt, so much worse than the first time I used a tampon, his apprehension about hurting me, because though I tried to hide it it showed on my face. And his pain (did you know guys feel pain at losing their virginity too? Cool) mixed with his desire. Not pretty. In fact we almost stopped several times.
But then we perservered and finally we weren’t virgins anymore. I rolled over, naked and sweaty, and little knowing that this would become a habitual thing, lit my first post-coital cigarette. (Can I just say, someone should write an ode to the wonders of a cigarette after sex. Nothing, but nothing, feels as good, not even the act itself).
That evening we went for a walk to a little-known park in the area. K bought some roasted corn from a vendor, and we sat on a bench there, not talking, not even looking at each other but just being in that moment. It wasn’t even happiness, it was beyond happiness, the kind of feeling that makes your stomach clench and your eyes prickle. The kind of feeling that scares you sometime. The kind of feeling you cannot articulate.
My legs felt as though they couldn’t hold me anymore, and I knew that I glowed because I could see the reflected glow on his face. I felt like the first woman on the earth and all I wanted in that moment was to be alone and be silent with him in that park forever.
Sex with K was never just sex (until the end). It was making love in all senses of that phrase. So much so that by the end of it when we lay spent, I’d find tears in my eyes. And that didn’t surprise me.
I had sex with an old flame on Saturday. It was brilliant and he was more experienced than K ever was. But now, looking back, I wonder how I could reduce my beautiful tear-inducing making love to random sex.
It’s tough some days.
12 October 2004
The Fling Commandments
fling ( P ) (flng)v. flung, (flng) fling·ing, flings v. tr.
A brief period of indulging one's impulses. See Synonyms at binge.
Informal. A usually brief attempt or effort: You take a fling at it.
A brief sexual or romantic relationship.
1) Thou shalt determine the nature of the relationship before thou proceed. (Specify: one night stand, short term, long term)
2) Thou shall abide by the "no-kiss-and-tell" rule.
3) Thou shalt not pretend nothing ever happened, unless the other person wants it that way.
4) Thou shalt not cheapen nor demean thy partner in any way or form.
5) Thou shalt own a form of contraceptive (In other words: No glove, no love.)
6) Thou shalt not leave hickeys/love bites on any normally visible area of the body.
7) Thou shalt not bring another date to meeting with said fling, unless fling is informed that it was a one-night stand prior to hook-up and not a fling.
8) Thou shalt not diss the friends of the fling.
9) Thou shalt not make any promises, thou does not intend to keep. (Best not to promise at all)
10) Honour, respect and be honest with thy fling and thou shalt be assured a place in their hearts.
A brief period of indulging one's impulses. See Synonyms at binge.
Informal. A usually brief attempt or effort: You take a fling at it.
A brief sexual or romantic relationship.
1) Thou shalt determine the nature of the relationship before thou proceed. (Specify: one night stand, short term, long term)
2) Thou shall abide by the "no-kiss-and-tell" rule.
3) Thou shalt not pretend nothing ever happened, unless the other person wants it that way.
4) Thou shalt not cheapen nor demean thy partner in any way or form.
5) Thou shalt own a form of contraceptive (In other words: No glove, no love.)
6) Thou shalt not leave hickeys/love bites on any normally visible area of the body.
7) Thou shalt not bring another date to meeting with said fling, unless fling is informed that it was a one-night stand prior to hook-up and not a fling.
8) Thou shalt not diss the friends of the fling.
9) Thou shalt not make any promises, thou does not intend to keep. (Best not to promise at all)
10) Honour, respect and be honest with thy fling and thou shalt be assured a place in their hearts.
11 October 2004
About A Boy -l'extrémité
That was the experience that bonded me and Rajat. We soon became best friends, close friends, perhaps even closer than him and Karuna, because we never had anything to screw around with the “platonic-ness”. I knew Karuna was jealous to an extent, but Rajat still fawned all over her, so she still felt like a diva. He would abandon me in an instant if she snapped her fingers, and sometimes she got a little tired of his affection, so she avoided him for days, leaving him distraught.
Oh, I forgot to mention, he got himself a girlfriend. Another neighbourhood kid, she was really tall and wore tennis skirts and had legs at 13 that I would kill for, even now. The two of them would sneak off to Sidharth’s place and dance. (Again, I remind you, early teen in India, means, at most, kissing someone). She didn’t hang out with us much, preferring the company of Nitya’s (remember her from the Devyani post?) younger sister. Okay, we said, she’s uncool. So Rajat hung out with her separately and with us more often.
Of course, Diya, that was her name, was the love of his life and all. That’s what he said. And when he wrote to me, more often now, he’d pepper it with sentences like: I just spoke to Diya. God, I love her so much. Never has someone undertsood me so well. Eye-roll.
During this period, much happened. For one thing, I left for boarding school, so my friendship with Karuna, already a little strained, started to crack. For another, Rajat and I set up a regular correspondance, so regular that once every two weeks, I’d get a long missive from him, partly to me and partly to my new school friends all of whom thought he was really hot.
Just as an aside: everyone loved Rajat. He was that kind of guy. He could endear himself to anyone. My mother loved him, my friends adored him, my friends’ families adored him and even my father found it in him to soften up a little. And he was MY best friend, I used to think proudly. Doogie, my independent-minded, labrador-looking mongrel, adored him and did her whole running-around-in-circles-because-you-rock-my-world thing.
And, god, he was sweet. He once changed his entire flight schedule, landing up in Delhi two days early, just so he could make it for my sixteenth birthday. And he didn’t have time to shop, so he stopped off at the duty free and got me some Timotei shampoo and a deodarant, I think. (This was before foreign goods flooded the Delhi market). And he was the only boy at the party, so he flirted charmingly with everyone, posed for pictures and yes, danced attendance around Karuna.
I wonder why I never had a crush on him. He would have been the perfect target for my affections. I was sixteen, never had a ‘real’ boyfriend, actually never been kissed, and he was always so sweet to me. I think, for me, when a guy is my friend for such a long time I find it hard for me to look at him sexually. Eventually, all my male friends take an androgynous position. Even this guy I kissed a couple of years ago. We never followed it up and later, if anyone even suggested that he was a member of the opposite sex I’d look at them as if they were a little mad. So I never get this whole “she saw her childhood friend through new eyes”. If you’ve got sexual tension, best to get it over with in the beginning is what I think. Oh well, now that I’ve inserted my two cents for the day, back to the story.
The summer I turned sixteen was different in many ways. Most notably, because I left boarding school and joine done of the big “factory-like” public schools in Delhi. Secondly, because I was no longer the insecure, gawky person I was when I left. Now I was sure of myself, and my talents. Plus orthodontia and contact lenses made me feel pretty secure that I wasn’t too repulsive.
Rajat had by then, left his boarding school as well and now lived with his mother in Colombo. (Y’know, I should have at least made an attempt to disguise some of this information because if he comes across this in cyberspace, he’ll recognise himself immedeatly. Oh well, too late now). He went to an international school there, had (much to my amusement and chagrin) a slight American accent, friends with names like Tony and Claire and basically lived a whole different life.
So he IM’d me over ICQ one day and said he was coming and could he stay with me? His father, who he usually stayed with, had moved out of Delhi, so he had nowhere to stay.
“Sure, sweetie,” I said, “It’ll be great to have you here. We’ll be roomies!”
Getting permission for him to stay would not be a problem. Like I said, my mother loved him, my dad was out of town, so I casually informed her he was staying and she equally casually okayed it.
But I was a little worried. He sounded so different these days, his whole outlook had changed. And well, he was a little jaded not my sweet boy-brother that I loved. I brushed that aside though. This was Rajat, we were talking about after all, and we always got on like a house on fire. Karuna and I had long ago lost touch, but I was sure that that wouldn’t come in the way. It was a good thing Rajat was coming. Yes, it was a good thing.
So he came, and yes, the first few days were idyllic. We didn’t hang out all the time, but I had a life too, so I was okay with him meeting his other pals once in a while. Sometimes he went out at night, way beyond my curfew, so he got a key. Sometimes, I’d go and sit with him in his---my---room, and we’d just talk for ages. Or rather, if memory serves, I’d talk and he’d potter around, occassionaly saying, “Listen to this song” as he played something. Once, and this sticks out in my memory, I came back from somewhere or the other, exhausted. Rajat was sitting on the couch and he moved up to make room for me. I whined about how my feet hurt and how I was so damn tired and he pulled my legs across his and massaged my feet.
This, I thought, was a truly great friendship. I didn’t give a damn that a boy was touching my feet. I just gave in to the whole warm, fuzzy feeling.
I seem to remember a girlfriend in the background. Anjali Something-or-the-other, who I once found at home, curled up on his chest watching his all-time top favourite movie Braveheart (Beats me. I don’t know what he saw in it either). And I once saw a half-written love letter from him to her (Okay, so I’m a terrible human being. Yes, I read it. Wouldn’t you have?). And I remember having a conversation with her. But she is vague in my memory, as vague as whatever happened to Karuna that summer, because I barely saw her. I guess she was toppled from her pedestal, to be replaced by another goddess. Rajat did tend to worship his women. Not a bad thing, but terribly taxing by the end of it.
(For the women, ie. Men can worship all they want to).
Around this time the Internet was “in” in a huge gigantic if-you-haven’t-got-it-you-must-live-on-the-moon way. This was 1998 people, jog your memory a little. And despite my dinosaur of a modem (I existed on a 19.4 kbp) I was perhaps the most hooked of them all. Sure, my chatrooms took a while to load. Sure my ICQ chats started with ‘Hi’ and then half-an-hour later a responding ‘Hey, a/s/l?’ But I loved the idea that I could actually talk to someone in the States or in Australia or wherever all the while in my very own study. Wow. And I could create my own identity. Double wow.
It’s true confession time. And I swear, if I am ever reminded of this at any later time after this post, I’ll simply deny it. Ha. It never happened, so there :P ~takes a deep breath, clears her throat once or twice and nervously continues~ I had an Internet boyfriend. Okay, two Internet boyfriends. But, before you judge me… actually, screw it, judge me. I totally deserve it. I was quite the loser.
So I spent quite a lot of time online. The guy I was virtually dating was called Rick, he was 25, from Australia and had a dreamy Aussie accent. We exchanged long, copious emails, met online and flirted a lot and (since these were the days before I knew about online stalkers and paedophiles) I gave him my home phone number. He called quite a bit too. It was really rather flattering.
One day, when Rick was due to call and I was mooning around the telephone, Rajat came in accompanied by one of his female friends. I was a little annoyed with him, seeing as I hadn’t seen him in ages. We had all but stopped hanging out, though he lived in the same house, it was as if he was in a hotel or something. And this irked me.
So, when he strolled in and said casually that his friend wanted to use the computer, I lost it.
“You can’t use the Net, I’m waiting for a call.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll only take a minute.”
“I said NO.”
In the end, they did go online, but I soon told them to disconnect, because what part of “I’m waiting for a call” did they not get?
“Do you have to be so rude?” he hissed at me.
That was it. I had had it up to there with his attitude. I said a lot of really rude things, which I probably shouldn’t have including ‘You treat this house like a hotel’ and ‘I never even see you anymore’. Oh god, I think I transformed into my mother for a brief moment there.
He packed his bags that night and left in icy silence to go to aforementioned female friend’s house.
And that, my friends, was that.
An epilogue (because I know you’ll kill me if I leave this story hanging)
I tried to patch things up on several occasions, but I guess he felt like I really didn’t belong in his life anymore. I heard he came to Delhi a year or so ago, and I called him. He sounded less than enthusiastic to hear from me and when I left my number with him, he never called me.
Another friend of mine spotted him with Karuna. She said he looked terirble--- long, greasy hair, chubby the works. And when she asked him whether he had spoken to me, Karuna and he exchanged glances and laughed.
Too bloody bad.
Oh, I forgot to mention, he got himself a girlfriend. Another neighbourhood kid, she was really tall and wore tennis skirts and had legs at 13 that I would kill for, even now. The two of them would sneak off to Sidharth’s place and dance. (Again, I remind you, early teen in India, means, at most, kissing someone). She didn’t hang out with us much, preferring the company of Nitya’s (remember her from the Devyani post?) younger sister. Okay, we said, she’s uncool. So Rajat hung out with her separately and with us more often.
Of course, Diya, that was her name, was the love of his life and all. That’s what he said. And when he wrote to me, more often now, he’d pepper it with sentences like: I just spoke to Diya. God, I love her so much. Never has someone undertsood me so well. Eye-roll.
During this period, much happened. For one thing, I left for boarding school, so my friendship with Karuna, already a little strained, started to crack. For another, Rajat and I set up a regular correspondance, so regular that once every two weeks, I’d get a long missive from him, partly to me and partly to my new school friends all of whom thought he was really hot.
Just as an aside: everyone loved Rajat. He was that kind of guy. He could endear himself to anyone. My mother loved him, my friends adored him, my friends’ families adored him and even my father found it in him to soften up a little. And he was MY best friend, I used to think proudly. Doogie, my independent-minded, labrador-looking mongrel, adored him and did her whole running-around-in-circles-because-you-rock-my-world thing.
And, god, he was sweet. He once changed his entire flight schedule, landing up in Delhi two days early, just so he could make it for my sixteenth birthday. And he didn’t have time to shop, so he stopped off at the duty free and got me some Timotei shampoo and a deodarant, I think. (This was before foreign goods flooded the Delhi market). And he was the only boy at the party, so he flirted charmingly with everyone, posed for pictures and yes, danced attendance around Karuna.
I wonder why I never had a crush on him. He would have been the perfect target for my affections. I was sixteen, never had a ‘real’ boyfriend, actually never been kissed, and he was always so sweet to me. I think, for me, when a guy is my friend for such a long time I find it hard for me to look at him sexually. Eventually, all my male friends take an androgynous position. Even this guy I kissed a couple of years ago. We never followed it up and later, if anyone even suggested that he was a member of the opposite sex I’d look at them as if they were a little mad. So I never get this whole “she saw her childhood friend through new eyes”. If you’ve got sexual tension, best to get it over with in the beginning is what I think. Oh well, now that I’ve inserted my two cents for the day, back to the story.
The summer I turned sixteen was different in many ways. Most notably, because I left boarding school and joine done of the big “factory-like” public schools in Delhi. Secondly, because I was no longer the insecure, gawky person I was when I left. Now I was sure of myself, and my talents. Plus orthodontia and contact lenses made me feel pretty secure that I wasn’t too repulsive.
Rajat had by then, left his boarding school as well and now lived with his mother in Colombo. (Y’know, I should have at least made an attempt to disguise some of this information because if he comes across this in cyberspace, he’ll recognise himself immedeatly. Oh well, too late now). He went to an international school there, had (much to my amusement and chagrin) a slight American accent, friends with names like Tony and Claire and basically lived a whole different life.
So he IM’d me over ICQ one day and said he was coming and could he stay with me? His father, who he usually stayed with, had moved out of Delhi, so he had nowhere to stay.
“Sure, sweetie,” I said, “It’ll be great to have you here. We’ll be roomies!”
Getting permission for him to stay would not be a problem. Like I said, my mother loved him, my dad was out of town, so I casually informed her he was staying and she equally casually okayed it.
But I was a little worried. He sounded so different these days, his whole outlook had changed. And well, he was a little jaded not my sweet boy-brother that I loved. I brushed that aside though. This was Rajat, we were talking about after all, and we always got on like a house on fire. Karuna and I had long ago lost touch, but I was sure that that wouldn’t come in the way. It was a good thing Rajat was coming. Yes, it was a good thing.
So he came, and yes, the first few days were idyllic. We didn’t hang out all the time, but I had a life too, so I was okay with him meeting his other pals once in a while. Sometimes he went out at night, way beyond my curfew, so he got a key. Sometimes, I’d go and sit with him in his---my---room, and we’d just talk for ages. Or rather, if memory serves, I’d talk and he’d potter around, occassionaly saying, “Listen to this song” as he played something. Once, and this sticks out in my memory, I came back from somewhere or the other, exhausted. Rajat was sitting on the couch and he moved up to make room for me. I whined about how my feet hurt and how I was so damn tired and he pulled my legs across his and massaged my feet.
This, I thought, was a truly great friendship. I didn’t give a damn that a boy was touching my feet. I just gave in to the whole warm, fuzzy feeling.
I seem to remember a girlfriend in the background. Anjali Something-or-the-other, who I once found at home, curled up on his chest watching his all-time top favourite movie Braveheart (Beats me. I don’t know what he saw in it either). And I once saw a half-written love letter from him to her (Okay, so I’m a terrible human being. Yes, I read it. Wouldn’t you have?). And I remember having a conversation with her. But she is vague in my memory, as vague as whatever happened to Karuna that summer, because I barely saw her. I guess she was toppled from her pedestal, to be replaced by another goddess. Rajat did tend to worship his women. Not a bad thing, but terribly taxing by the end of it.
(For the women, ie. Men can worship all they want to).
Around this time the Internet was “in” in a huge gigantic if-you-haven’t-got-it-you-must-live-on-the-moon way. This was 1998 people, jog your memory a little. And despite my dinosaur of a modem (I existed on a 19.4 kbp) I was perhaps the most hooked of them all. Sure, my chatrooms took a while to load. Sure my ICQ chats started with ‘Hi’ and then half-an-hour later a responding ‘Hey, a/s/l?’ But I loved the idea that I could actually talk to someone in the States or in Australia or wherever all the while in my very own study. Wow. And I could create my own identity. Double wow.
It’s true confession time. And I swear, if I am ever reminded of this at any later time after this post, I’ll simply deny it. Ha. It never happened, so there :P ~takes a deep breath, clears her throat once or twice and nervously continues~ I had an Internet boyfriend. Okay, two Internet boyfriends. But, before you judge me… actually, screw it, judge me. I totally deserve it. I was quite the loser.
So I spent quite a lot of time online. The guy I was virtually dating was called Rick, he was 25, from Australia and had a dreamy Aussie accent. We exchanged long, copious emails, met online and flirted a lot and (since these were the days before I knew about online stalkers and paedophiles) I gave him my home phone number. He called quite a bit too. It was really rather flattering.
One day, when Rick was due to call and I was mooning around the telephone, Rajat came in accompanied by one of his female friends. I was a little annoyed with him, seeing as I hadn’t seen him in ages. We had all but stopped hanging out, though he lived in the same house, it was as if he was in a hotel or something. And this irked me.
So, when he strolled in and said casually that his friend wanted to use the computer, I lost it.
“You can’t use the Net, I’m waiting for a call.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll only take a minute.”
“I said NO.”
In the end, they did go online, but I soon told them to disconnect, because what part of “I’m waiting for a call” did they not get?
“Do you have to be so rude?” he hissed at me.
That was it. I had had it up to there with his attitude. I said a lot of really rude things, which I probably shouldn’t have including ‘You treat this house like a hotel’ and ‘I never even see you anymore’. Oh god, I think I transformed into my mother for a brief moment there.
He packed his bags that night and left in icy silence to go to aforementioned female friend’s house.
And that, my friends, was that.
An epilogue (because I know you’ll kill me if I leave this story hanging)
I tried to patch things up on several occasions, but I guess he felt like I really didn’t belong in his life anymore. I heard he came to Delhi a year or so ago, and I called him. He sounded less than enthusiastic to hear from me and when I left my number with him, he never called me.
Another friend of mine spotted him with Karuna. She said he looked terirble--- long, greasy hair, chubby the works. And when she asked him whether he had spoken to me, Karuna and he exchanged glances and laughed.
Too bloody bad.
7 October 2004
And now, a word from our sponsors
Wow, it’s been a hectic 24 hours. I mean, really, just when you think that your life can’t get any boring-er than it already is, something comes along and smacks you right in the side of your face. Pow!
What’s been up, you ask? I realise I haven’t said anything about my present life in recent posts, concentrating instead on the past. Fear not, the Rajat story will continue.
But, a few words nevertheless, on the rest of my life.
So a good pal of mine from college--- Iggy---just got a job as a management trainee in one of those fancy, foreign companies. (Damn, I have such trouble with the name! What was it again? Oh, yeah, Price,Waterhouse Cooper). So she wanted to celebrate. We were to meet up, get a drink somewhere cheap and catch up on everything that had been happening.
Also included in the plan was another college buddy, Meg. Now, I like Meg. I really do. I just don’t like her around boys. Around boys she’s all big-eyed and helpless damsel, which gets annoying after a bit.
Our group in college is rather weird. Everyone has at one point or another had a major blowout with someone else, leaving the atmosphere tense and smoking. Take Iggy and I for example. A couple of years ago we got into this fight of gigantic proportions over all sorts of little things that had been boiling for a while. We didn’t speak for something like three months (and that’s hard to do when you’re in the same classes and have the same friends). Eventually, we made it up, but it seems as if our friendship is just about re-emerging now, that we’ve put the past behind us.
Though we get on like a house on fire. Maybe it’s our zodiac compatibility, y’know we share the same birthday and all. But she’s so different from me. Poles apart really.
And then there’s the little tension between Meg and NT. You see, Meg was dating this guy for a really long time (for her) and then the relationship ended because she cheated on him. But still, Meg and NT are best friends and NT started to date Meg’s ex-boyfriend (My life is the Bold And The Beautiful). Now, Meg can’t say anything directly to NT coz technically she did cheat on him and all. But still she’s pretty pissed off that her friend should be dating her ex-boyfriend. Understandable? Totally.
Anyway, so feeling all “girl power” and everything I message K : “Hey. Will be meeting Iggy and all around six. If you want to meet up let me know.”
But still I was totally unprepared when Iggy said, hesistantly, “Um… K. will be coming too.”
Okay, so I hadn’t told anyone I was inviting him along. Turns out Iggy, Meg and K have been hanging out ALMOST DAILY. My friends. How dare he poach on my friends!!! I don’t randomly hang out with his buddies, now do I? And as for them, bloody Judases, they never, but never, “hung out with him and smoked a j” when we were dating. What in the name of fuck was going on?
Iggy said quickly, “Now don’t overreact. I mean, we’ve all been really bored, so we’ve just been hanging, ya know? Me and Meg and K and Nikhil.”
“Nikhil? Who the fuck is Nikhil?” This was going really badly. I used to know all of K’s friends, they used to know me. It could have been worse, I expect. Nikhil could have been a girl--- the kind with long straight hair and tall and with an armpit bag and manicured nails.
Still, I decided to go. The evening would at any rate not be boring. In fact, perhaps a lot less worse than the odd things that had been happening to me lately. (More details on that later).
Anyhoo, it was rather weird seeing K again. He’s lost so much weight. His stubble was a little overgrown. His hair framed his face in it’s glorious curls. And oh, he smelt so good.
There was a little awkward moment in the car. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit next to him. Meg refused too, so it was up to Iggy to do the honours.
And it was weird sitting in the back seat of his car. And it was odd talking to him. But, you know, I didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain I thought I would. Maybe I AM over him. Maybe I’m finally ready to move on. It’s a good feeling.
But, I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I examined the situation a bit. Okay, there we were Iggy and I on one side, K and Meg on the other. Ggy was saying something, I was laughing, Meg said nothing, K reached over and touched her on the arm and asked if something was wrong. She smiled wanly up at him. Conversation moved on to………. Hold it! Meg was totally hitting on K. Why had I not noticed this before?
The two of them disappeared for a bit to smoke another joint and I turned to Iggy, horror-struck. “Okay, is Meg hitting on K?” I asked, thinking that she would dismiss it as a wild suspiscion. Instead she looked at me sadly, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Their body language is just too….comfortable.”
I was aghast. My friend and my ex-boyfriend? I felt as if I had just been thrown into a Dali painting or something. Any minute now the waiters would lay melting clocks on the table. “But it’s just a suspiscion,” Iggy was quick to add.
Meg and K have known each other for ages. I mean, before I even entered the picture. Then they had a huge falling out, and it took all my convincing powers to get K to talk to her again. I know she’s hit on him in the past. I know he’s never acted on it. I also know she flirted with him while we were dating but I dismissed it as harmless.
Of course, now that K was single again, what was there to stop it?
Happily, Iggy and Meg disappeared to the bathroom leaving me some time alone with K.
“I’m sorry,” he said
I looked at him, at his soft eyes and the dimples at the corners of his mouth and I wanted to cry.
“Between you and me..” I said and stopped.
“Yes?”
“Are you having a scene with Meg?”
“What?? No way! Me and Meg? Are you insane?”
And, reader, I believed him. It may have been two months since we broke up but my K lie detector still worked. (It happens with every long time relationship. You automatically know when the other person is bullshitting you. I’m serious). And right now, baby, my lie detector was silent.
K reached across the table and took my hands, that were nervously rearranging the cutlery.
“Babe, if I wanted, if I could be in a relationship right now, I’d be with you. I just can’t feel anymore.”
“But I felt love for you,” I said softly.
“I know, and not a week goes by where there’s not a day that I don’t totally regret our breaking up. It’s just that, well, didn’t you feel like you were living a façade when the two of us were together?”
“I thought we were happy. I thought we’d be ‘together forever’.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Oh K. I don’t hate you. I’m not even in love with you anymore. I just miss what we had, you know? I mean, we were best friends, and no one gets me like you do.”
“Same here.”
“So,” I said smiling, arching an eyebrow at him, “Am I still the last person you slept with?” (Okay, sorry, couldn’t resist that).
“For sure,” he said, smiling back at me, “since we broke up I’ve kissed one person when I was very drunk and I don’t remember her name or her face.”
I carefully evaded all questions about my own sex life (Can it even be called a sex life I wonder, that one night of making out?) though I did drop a few hints and evilly enjoyed his face dropping.
[And now, a word, a mere whisper of an update on the aforementioned sex life. Whatever happened between Shiva and I is now over. I kinda thought it would die a natural death last week, but I didn’t expect it to be so abrupt. Oh well, I’m glad I didn’t get attached. That mantra worked like a bloody charm! For more on what he’s up to, go read his blog, coz I doubt I’m going to get a first-person update any time soon. It was fun while it lasted. This is the point where I say, ‘Good luck with all future endeavours’ and ‘I hope we can still be friends’.Consider them said!]
Right, this here is a huge-ass entry and thank you for reading all the way up to the end. I would have broken it up but I think you would’ve killed me for having two serial stories running simultaneously. But I just wanted you to know what was going on and what I’ve been up to.
Famous last words:
K to me, “So we’re good.”
Me to K, “Yes, we’re good.”
Hurray for happy endings!
What’s been up, you ask? I realise I haven’t said anything about my present life in recent posts, concentrating instead on the past. Fear not, the Rajat story will continue.
But, a few words nevertheless, on the rest of my life.
So a good pal of mine from college--- Iggy---just got a job as a management trainee in one of those fancy, foreign companies. (Damn, I have such trouble with the name! What was it again? Oh, yeah, Price,Waterhouse Cooper). So she wanted to celebrate. We were to meet up, get a drink somewhere cheap and catch up on everything that had been happening.
Also included in the plan was another college buddy, Meg. Now, I like Meg. I really do. I just don’t like her around boys. Around boys she’s all big-eyed and helpless damsel, which gets annoying after a bit.
Our group in college is rather weird. Everyone has at one point or another had a major blowout with someone else, leaving the atmosphere tense and smoking. Take Iggy and I for example. A couple of years ago we got into this fight of gigantic proportions over all sorts of little things that had been boiling for a while. We didn’t speak for something like three months (and that’s hard to do when you’re in the same classes and have the same friends). Eventually, we made it up, but it seems as if our friendship is just about re-emerging now, that we’ve put the past behind us.
Though we get on like a house on fire. Maybe it’s our zodiac compatibility, y’know we share the same birthday and all. But she’s so different from me. Poles apart really.
And then there’s the little tension between Meg and NT. You see, Meg was dating this guy for a really long time (for her) and then the relationship ended because she cheated on him. But still, Meg and NT are best friends and NT started to date Meg’s ex-boyfriend (My life is the Bold And The Beautiful). Now, Meg can’t say anything directly to NT coz technically she did cheat on him and all. But still she’s pretty pissed off that her friend should be dating her ex-boyfriend. Understandable? Totally.
Anyway, so feeling all “girl power” and everything I message K : “Hey. Will be meeting Iggy and all around six. If you want to meet up let me know.”
But still I was totally unprepared when Iggy said, hesistantly, “Um… K. will be coming too.”
Okay, so I hadn’t told anyone I was inviting him along. Turns out Iggy, Meg and K have been hanging out ALMOST DAILY. My friends. How dare he poach on my friends!!! I don’t randomly hang out with his buddies, now do I? And as for them, bloody Judases, they never, but never, “hung out with him and smoked a j” when we were dating. What in the name of fuck was going on?
Iggy said quickly, “Now don’t overreact. I mean, we’ve all been really bored, so we’ve just been hanging, ya know? Me and Meg and K and Nikhil.”
“Nikhil? Who the fuck is Nikhil?” This was going really badly. I used to know all of K’s friends, they used to know me. It could have been worse, I expect. Nikhil could have been a girl--- the kind with long straight hair and tall and with an armpit bag and manicured nails.
Still, I decided to go. The evening would at any rate not be boring. In fact, perhaps a lot less worse than the odd things that had been happening to me lately. (More details on that later).
Anyhoo, it was rather weird seeing K again. He’s lost so much weight. His stubble was a little overgrown. His hair framed his face in it’s glorious curls. And oh, he smelt so good.
There was a little awkward moment in the car. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit next to him. Meg refused too, so it was up to Iggy to do the honours.
And it was weird sitting in the back seat of his car. And it was odd talking to him. But, you know, I didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain I thought I would. Maybe I AM over him. Maybe I’m finally ready to move on. It’s a good feeling.
But, I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I examined the situation a bit. Okay, there we were Iggy and I on one side, K and Meg on the other. Ggy was saying something, I was laughing, Meg said nothing, K reached over and touched her on the arm and asked if something was wrong. She smiled wanly up at him. Conversation moved on to………. Hold it! Meg was totally hitting on K. Why had I not noticed this before?
The two of them disappeared for a bit to smoke another joint and I turned to Iggy, horror-struck. “Okay, is Meg hitting on K?” I asked, thinking that she would dismiss it as a wild suspiscion. Instead she looked at me sadly, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Their body language is just too….comfortable.”
I was aghast. My friend and my ex-boyfriend? I felt as if I had just been thrown into a Dali painting or something. Any minute now the waiters would lay melting clocks on the table. “But it’s just a suspiscion,” Iggy was quick to add.
Meg and K have known each other for ages. I mean, before I even entered the picture. Then they had a huge falling out, and it took all my convincing powers to get K to talk to her again. I know she’s hit on him in the past. I know he’s never acted on it. I also know she flirted with him while we were dating but I dismissed it as harmless.
Of course, now that K was single again, what was there to stop it?
Happily, Iggy and Meg disappeared to the bathroom leaving me some time alone with K.
“I’m sorry,” he said
I looked at him, at his soft eyes and the dimples at the corners of his mouth and I wanted to cry.
“Between you and me..” I said and stopped.
“Yes?”
“Are you having a scene with Meg?”
“What?? No way! Me and Meg? Are you insane?”
And, reader, I believed him. It may have been two months since we broke up but my K lie detector still worked. (It happens with every long time relationship. You automatically know when the other person is bullshitting you. I’m serious). And right now, baby, my lie detector was silent.
K reached across the table and took my hands, that were nervously rearranging the cutlery.
“Babe, if I wanted, if I could be in a relationship right now, I’d be with you. I just can’t feel anymore.”
“But I felt love for you,” I said softly.
“I know, and not a week goes by where there’s not a day that I don’t totally regret our breaking up. It’s just that, well, didn’t you feel like you were living a façade when the two of us were together?”
“I thought we were happy. I thought we’d be ‘together forever’.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Oh K. I don’t hate you. I’m not even in love with you anymore. I just miss what we had, you know? I mean, we were best friends, and no one gets me like you do.”
“Same here.”
“So,” I said smiling, arching an eyebrow at him, “Am I still the last person you slept with?” (Okay, sorry, couldn’t resist that).
“For sure,” he said, smiling back at me, “since we broke up I’ve kissed one person when I was very drunk and I don’t remember her name or her face.”
I carefully evaded all questions about my own sex life (Can it even be called a sex life I wonder, that one night of making out?) though I did drop a few hints and evilly enjoyed his face dropping.
[And now, a word, a mere whisper of an update on the aforementioned sex life. Whatever happened between Shiva and I is now over. I kinda thought it would die a natural death last week, but I didn’t expect it to be so abrupt. Oh well, I’m glad I didn’t get attached. That mantra worked like a bloody charm! For more on what he’s up to, go read his blog, coz I doubt I’m going to get a first-person update any time soon. It was fun while it lasted. This is the point where I say, ‘Good luck with all future endeavours’ and ‘I hope we can still be friends’.Consider them said!]
Right, this here is a huge-ass entry and thank you for reading all the way up to the end. I would have broken it up but I think you would’ve killed me for having two serial stories running simultaneously. But I just wanted you to know what was going on and what I’ve been up to.
Famous last words:
K to me, “So we’re good.”
Me to K, “Yes, we’re good.”
Hurray for happy endings!
5 October 2004
About A Boy (Part Deux)
About A Boy- Part Un
“I need to tell you something,” he said, smiling shyly.
I absolutely love to hear secrets. It makes me feel like I’m an honoured person, someone who can be trusted and is, and someone who the other person depends on to make a call.
“Okay,” I said eagerly.
“Here’s the thing,” he bit his lip and looked confused, “I have a crush on Karuna.”
“Ooh, whee! I knew it! I knew it!” I did my little ‘I-knew-it’ dance, waving my arms in his face and jumping around.
“Look, stop acting like a kangaroo and give me some advice.”
Better and better. Not only was I being trusted with a secret, I was also being asked to dispense some wisdom. I put on my yogi face, and leaned forward with an expression of intense concentration.
“Tell me all, my little friend,” I intoned.
He rolled his eyes but decided to ignore my flippancy. This after all, was a matter of life and death.
“How do I tell her that I have a crush on her?”
I mulled over it and then thought of my secret fantasies, about the boys who I had crushes on. They would tell me they liked someone and when I asked “Who?” would say, “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” Then as my heart sank, further and further, into my platforms, they’d lead me to the mirror and say, “Look, there’s the girl I have a crush on.” Sigh. Of course, my fantasies always ended there. I was, after all, only 14. But still, even thinking about it today makes me all mushy. Re-sigh.
So haltingly, I told Rajat about this, leaving out the fact that it was my own personal fantasy. Also leaving out the fact that I knew, if he used it on Karuna, that it would be lost to me forever.
“That’s a great idea!” he said, eyes sparkling, “Myn, you’re a genius!”
I smiled wanly. Even though someone else was going to benefit from my romantic daydreams, it was nice to be told I was a genius.
So we planned it all out and set off for Karuna’s house. She lived right down the road and it was only a brief walk, which we spent in silence. Though I do remember as we walked through the weeds that Rajat took my hand casually and we swung arms equally casually. It was nice, to be able to hold hands with someone who was just a friend, and I think that’s when I first realised it.
Karuna’s mother, like my father, worked in the government service, which means a big cushy house, which gets bigger and cushier the higher you climb. So we weren’t kids who had to share our rooms, we had large-ish dogs and plenty of space to walk them and occasionally, our parent would send us the “office car”, an ancient creature called the Ambassador which for some strange reason, the Indian government seems to love.
We found Karuna, alone in her room, in her usual position--- sprawled across the bed, legs in the air, cradling the phone on one shoulder and playing with her dog’s ears.
At the sight of us, Dumpy (that family gave their dogs the most unimaginative names. Dumpy was actually Dumpy III, of a long line of black labradors, all called Dumpy) heaved himself to his arthritic feet and pretended to bark.
“Shut up, Dumpy,” said Karuna, and then quickly hung up and quickly threw her arms around Rajat. “When did you get back?” she asked, when they were done hugging, and she was able to look nonchalant. Karuna never showed too much enthusiasm if she could help it, especially around boys. I, observing her, stuck my hands in the back pocket of my shorts too and pretended to look at the framed photographs on her dresser.
They made small talk for a bit and Rajat kept shooting me meaningful glances, so as planned, I announced loudly, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“So then go, Mynna, don’t make a formal announcment,” said Karuna and she and Rajat fell about cackling. Traitors.
I left the room, only to go into the living room and press my ear on the connecting door. I heard Karuna’s rather nasal laugh, muted, and Rajat saying, “So, I want to show you the girl I have a crush on.” Then silence and then Rajat, hopefully, “What do you think?”
“I’m… shocked.”
This wasn’t turning out the way we had planned. Karuna was supposed to blushingly acknowledge Rajat’s feelings and reciprocate in a similar manner. I heard Rajat’s voice rising, getting slightly panicky, “Yes, but?”
Karuna said, “I’m sorry.” Softly, like she meant it.
Time, I decided, for me to intervene. I re-appeared, grabbed a distressed Rajat and headed for Khan Market. Nothing a Coke wouldn’t cure.
(stay tuned. more to come!)
“I need to tell you something,” he said, smiling shyly.
I absolutely love to hear secrets. It makes me feel like I’m an honoured person, someone who can be trusted and is, and someone who the other person depends on to make a call.
“Okay,” I said eagerly.
“Here’s the thing,” he bit his lip and looked confused, “I have a crush on Karuna.”
“Ooh, whee! I knew it! I knew it!” I did my little ‘I-knew-it’ dance, waving my arms in his face and jumping around.
“Look, stop acting like a kangaroo and give me some advice.”
Better and better. Not only was I being trusted with a secret, I was also being asked to dispense some wisdom. I put on my yogi face, and leaned forward with an expression of intense concentration.
“Tell me all, my little friend,” I intoned.
He rolled his eyes but decided to ignore my flippancy. This after all, was a matter of life and death.
“How do I tell her that I have a crush on her?”
I mulled over it and then thought of my secret fantasies, about the boys who I had crushes on. They would tell me they liked someone and when I asked “Who?” would say, “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” Then as my heart sank, further and further, into my platforms, they’d lead me to the mirror and say, “Look, there’s the girl I have a crush on.” Sigh. Of course, my fantasies always ended there. I was, after all, only 14. But still, even thinking about it today makes me all mushy. Re-sigh.
So haltingly, I told Rajat about this, leaving out the fact that it was my own personal fantasy. Also leaving out the fact that I knew, if he used it on Karuna, that it would be lost to me forever.
“That’s a great idea!” he said, eyes sparkling, “Myn, you’re a genius!”
I smiled wanly. Even though someone else was going to benefit from my romantic daydreams, it was nice to be told I was a genius.
So we planned it all out and set off for Karuna’s house. She lived right down the road and it was only a brief walk, which we spent in silence. Though I do remember as we walked through the weeds that Rajat took my hand casually and we swung arms equally casually. It was nice, to be able to hold hands with someone who was just a friend, and I think that’s when I first realised it.
Karuna’s mother, like my father, worked in the government service, which means a big cushy house, which gets bigger and cushier the higher you climb. So we weren’t kids who had to share our rooms, we had large-ish dogs and plenty of space to walk them and occasionally, our parent would send us the “office car”, an ancient creature called the Ambassador which for some strange reason, the Indian government seems to love.
We found Karuna, alone in her room, in her usual position--- sprawled across the bed, legs in the air, cradling the phone on one shoulder and playing with her dog’s ears.
At the sight of us, Dumpy (that family gave their dogs the most unimaginative names. Dumpy was actually Dumpy III, of a long line of black labradors, all called Dumpy) heaved himself to his arthritic feet and pretended to bark.
“Shut up, Dumpy,” said Karuna, and then quickly hung up and quickly threw her arms around Rajat. “When did you get back?” she asked, when they were done hugging, and she was able to look nonchalant. Karuna never showed too much enthusiasm if she could help it, especially around boys. I, observing her, stuck my hands in the back pocket of my shorts too and pretended to look at the framed photographs on her dresser.
They made small talk for a bit and Rajat kept shooting me meaningful glances, so as planned, I announced loudly, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“So then go, Mynna, don’t make a formal announcment,” said Karuna and she and Rajat fell about cackling. Traitors.
I left the room, only to go into the living room and press my ear on the connecting door. I heard Karuna’s rather nasal laugh, muted, and Rajat saying, “So, I want to show you the girl I have a crush on.” Then silence and then Rajat, hopefully, “What do you think?”
“I’m… shocked.”
This wasn’t turning out the way we had planned. Karuna was supposed to blushingly acknowledge Rajat’s feelings and reciprocate in a similar manner. I heard Rajat’s voice rising, getting slightly panicky, “Yes, but?”
Karuna said, “I’m sorry.” Softly, like she meant it.
Time, I decided, for me to intervene. I re-appeared, grabbed a distressed Rajat and headed for Khan Market. Nothing a Coke wouldn’t cure.
(stay tuned. more to come!)
4 October 2004
For Puja
Lovely one, I hope wherever you are, you know I'm thinking of you. I hope you're buzzing with energy with all the thoughts focussed towards you. I hope in your heaven there's ballet shoes and odd socks and coffee with sweeteners and cigarettes and denim jackets and sparkly pens. I hope you have love without pain, and can eat all the carbs you like. I know there will be music in your heaven, lots of it---jazz and hip-hop and Broadway. Lots of Broadway. And candles and incense and tarot. Though I doubt you need tarot now, being the "knowing-all".
And your big purple eyes are reading this over my shoulder, your pencil-thin eyebrows over a translucent skin raising, your wide, generous smile spreading across your face. Perhaps you're squeezing my shoulder now, saying, "Hello, my Mynnu."
Happy birthday, my Poo. VJ Poo, who I'm so glad I told I was proud of a week before you died. Please be happy and please help me to be happy. Forever 20, and now 23.
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
With drops of jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there’s time to change, hey, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like june, hey, hey
Tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated
Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there
Now that she’s back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there’s time to grow, hey, hey
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as plain ol’ jane
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the milky way
And tell me, did venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there
Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you’re wrong
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone
Conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back toward the milky way
And your big purple eyes are reading this over my shoulder, your pencil-thin eyebrows over a translucent skin raising, your wide, generous smile spreading across your face. Perhaps you're squeezing my shoulder now, saying, "Hello, my Mynnu."
Happy birthday, my Poo. VJ Poo, who I'm so glad I told I was proud of a week before you died. Please be happy and please help me to be happy. Forever 20, and now 23.
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
With drops of jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there’s time to change, hey, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like june, hey, hey
Tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated
Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there
Now that she’s back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there’s time to grow, hey, hey
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as plain ol’ jane
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the milky way
And tell me, did venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there
Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you’re wrong
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone
Conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back toward the milky way
3 October 2004
A Personal Statement
Let me say just one thing now, and then forever hold my peace. I'm NOT looking for another relationship right now. Hell, I'm open to dating 20 men at the same time (except that it might get a little tiring). I guess I like being in control, of knowing what's going to happen next, that's the writer in me. I don't enjoy being taken aback. Really, I don't. I also don't enjoy going with the flow.
But, let it also be said, that I expect nothing beyond, perhaps, a little walking around in my shoes. A little realisation of where I am, the baggage that has created behind me, the scariness of being newly single and not knowing what to do. I can't play games.
Maybe two months down the line I will be able to compromise my essential honesty, that I've been so used to, even taken for granted that whoever I was doing whatever with, would appreciate the honesty and repay it in kind.
Till then... what? I mean, am I supposed to lead a nun-like existance, not seeing anyone, not dating anyone, because heaven forbid, they "get the wrong idea"? I hate this whole get-the-wrong-idea concept anyway. You can only get the wrong idea about someone else if you want to. The other person definitely isn't shoving their misconceptions down your throat.
Aargh, this is a ranting post. But it needs to be said. It needs to get off my chest. There are times when I wish I was the author of my life, reaching with a huge eraser to wipe out things I didn't like or didn't need, re-writing stuff that I wanted changed.
A little lesson, dah-links, when writing your own life, always use a pencil.
But, let it also be said, that I expect nothing beyond, perhaps, a little walking around in my shoes. A little realisation of where I am, the baggage that has created behind me, the scariness of being newly single and not knowing what to do. I can't play games.
Maybe two months down the line I will be able to compromise my essential honesty, that I've been so used to, even taken for granted that whoever I was doing whatever with, would appreciate the honesty and repay it in kind.
Till then... what? I mean, am I supposed to lead a nun-like existance, not seeing anyone, not dating anyone, because heaven forbid, they "get the wrong idea"? I hate this whole get-the-wrong-idea concept anyway. You can only get the wrong idea about someone else if you want to. The other person definitely isn't shoving their misconceptions down your throat.
Aargh, this is a ranting post. But it needs to be said. It needs to get off my chest. There are times when I wish I was the author of my life, reaching with a huge eraser to wipe out things I didn't like or didn't need, re-writing stuff that I wanted changed.
A little lesson, dah-links, when writing your own life, always use a pencil.
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