Bye Baby Bunting
Just spent the entire day on a baby fest. We were lunching at a colleague's house and her small son and another colleague's small son were generally being passed around for much admiration. I like babies. Admittedly, not as much as I like puppies, because babies don't lick, don't roll over to have their tummies scratched and don't wag their tails so hard their entire bottoms wiggle. Actually, babies don't even have tails. But writing that, I'm reminded of reading Rosemary's Baby, which I read one night when I used to live alone, when both my flatmates were working late. It got really thrilling and exciting, and I jumped at every night, only just as I got to the last page, I realised three pages were missing. I confronted Flatmate One angrily when she came home, because it was her book and she just said airily, "Oh didn't I tell you? Ya, it's missing a few pages." Hmph.
Anyway, so where was I? Ya, so these babies were adorable all Cerelac-ad-type and all, smiling and laughing on everyone's laps and when it was my turn I took them eagerly, because they looked so cute with the smiles and the bouncing, and I talked to them, one by one and I revelled in the perfect fit their heads made in my palm and their little fingernails and what did they do? They took one look at me and their lower lip started quivering and they bawled. Okay, so it wasn't that dramatic. But they definitely got fussy when I held them, despite the fact that I sat through one of them trying to detach my nose and the other trying to undo the strings that held my top up. I'm going to be a HORRIBLE mother, aren't I? :(
"There's a story on blogging in today's Hindu," my mother told me, handing me the literary supplement.
And as I started to disappear into my room, paper in hand, she said sadly, "But you're not in it." Clearly the recent newspaper mentions are addictive even for my family!
Home, home on the range
Went for a wine launch/tasting thing the other day and bumped into AB there. We got into a long discussion about Calcutta, and why she likes it so much, only she didn't really give me any reason why she should, aside from, "Ummm.. it's slower there" or "Ummm... it's very Bengali y'know?" and my personal favourite, "The girls dress very.. um... garishly, in like pinks and greens and yellows." All of which made me want to stay firmly in Delhi. I'm sure Cal. is a fantastic city and all, but Delhi just sounds more exciting in a general description, y'know? :)
Na, na, na, na.. Macarena!
Went to TC last night with Priya and all and stayed till the last order. By this time I was practically passing out and then they go, "Ya, so there's this farmhouse party in Mehrauli and we should totally go there."
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo," I protested weakly, but I was overruled, bundled into my car and told to drive to CR Park, where one of the guys we were going with wanted to pick up some grass. (Not us. We don't do drugs. Stupid thing to do, if you ask me).
Anyway, so they made me park my car there and rumbled off into Chattarpur, where all the big, swish farmhouses are. We stopped at one called "Rajpal Ranch", because that was where we were told the party was and honked furiously at the gate. The guard opened it, we whizzed through a huge driveway (and even I could tell it was big, despite the fact that by this time I was asleep against the window) and we couldn't see any other cars. "Where are the other cars?" asked Priya and "Where are the other cars?" we echoed and it turned out we were in the wrong farmhouse.
Luckily, I don't think anyone was home, so we went back to the gate, honked grandly again and were let out. I guess the guards were overwhelmed by the authority with which we honked because they didn't say a word. Rajpal should know about this though.
When we got to the right house and everyone was scanned as a thirtysomething blur, I whispered to the host that I'd like to take a nap, so he kindly ushered me into a large bedroom, with an even larger bed in which I curled up and went to sleep. Yes, alone!
And, zat, ladies and gentlemen, was my weekend. Fun, no?