(Yellow post-it: I don't know when next I'll have the internet, because the one at home isn't working, and end of the year parties call frantically, and when one is due to leave the city on Tuesday, one doesn't want to spend one's time entirely on the internet. And it'll take some time to get a cable set up in Mumbai, unless I find a friendly neighbourhood cyber cafe, soooooo, basically this is ta-ta for this year, and this city. Join me again in 2007!)
Anyway, every year, around this time, I do a little friendly round up of what I've been up to in the past year. If you've been a reader through 2006, then some of this stuff will be old. But, if you've just joined me, like recently, then whee! Here we go!
2006 was an odd sort of year. Everything changed, drastically, and with this frantic pace, and I felt mostly like I was standing still and stuff was going on at supersonic speed around me. I know I say this every year, but this year, wow, I can't believe it went so fast. Is it always going to be this speedy?
In January, Small and I were left flatmateless, after only three months of living alone, so we had to start looking for someone, and fast. We met some people, but no one really seemed to either a) want to live with us (Not because of us, of course, we're fantastic) or b) fit our long list of requirements to be our flatmate (ie: not be psycho).
In February, I learnt a valuable lesson about men, and how to be careful, even when you're taking all the right precautions. (Ick, that was a horrible time) and on a happier note, I got my tattoo, which I'm still very much in love with.
In March, not much of significance happened. I wondered why guys hate labels so much (and that question? Still open to anyone who feels like answering). Ooh, and we got a new fridge!
In April, my dog Cookie had puppies--three of them, and Small and I, with our respective parents, decided to take a trip to Egypt. Oh, and I went on about how cool my job is. :)
In May, tra-la-la, we went to Egypt! And, oh, it was excellent. Everyone should go.Oh and we finally got a new flatmate.
In June, beloved friend Urvashi left for the States, and that was a very sad, sad time. (Of course, I also swore I'd never leave the city. Ahem.) Oh and I bought a MotoRazr, which I fell vastly and thoroughly in love with. Sigh.
In July, was the Unvirginity Anniversary and the entry of the rat in our kitchen. Good ol' Mortimer. We killed him, you know. Also, I debated the merits of dating more than one guy at the same time. (Which I tried recently and it was good fun.)
In August, there was (re-sigh. I seem to be doing a lot of sighing in this post) the Romance. Which was good fun, and made for a nice August. I decided to no longer be a journalist. (Hah! See how long that lasted). And I covered Fashion Week.
In September, Lily left and Tall came into our lives. I disgraced myself forever by weeping in a nightclub. Oh, and Romance ended. I started working here, as well.
In October, there was the Halloween party that will go down in history. (WHO will come to my Halloween party in Bombay? I have noooooooooooo one. Well, two friends, but still, two people do not a Halloween party make) And my vibrator addiction started around then. Ahhh.. good October.
In November, I decided to move to Bombay. Oh, and I made a trip there too, just for fun.
And finally, here we are. December. Of the twenty fifth birthday, and moving, which I do apologise for being obsessed with. I've become quite boring about the whole thing, I know, but it's like I can't wrap my head around it. Wow. Four days to go, before what will be the most challenging year in my life. This New Year's Eve, the party is at a friend's farm in Faridabad, around a bonfire, with lots of alcohol and the people I love.
I do hope 2007 will be as exciting as this one.
Happy New Year.
Tales from urban India
26 December 2006
The Girl Who Snubbed Christmas
'Twas two nights before Christmas,
And out on the town,
Young eM took her friends out,
To let joyness abound.
Two friends she had known,
For six years or more,
One friend from a year back,
Another for about four.
Most of them single,
Some newly so,
eM single for ages,
Just going with the flow.
Who needs holiday season,
she asked with a cry,
It just makes you melancholy,
And miss some stupid guy.
I'm too old for Christmas,
Was what she thought next,
Santa? Christmas stockings?
They leave me quite vexed!
But first, I should think,
A back story you need,
An insight into eM's mind
For this story to proceed.
Every year in December,
Tis as if it was a plague,
Depression comes upon her,
She becomes appallingly vague.
It's too much to handle,
Birthday, Christmas cheer,
Normally she'd like to stay in bed,
Until the New Year.
But, two nights before Christmas,
A miracle was born,
Inner Zen was developed,
And she was no longer forlorn.
Christmas? I can deal,
She said with a smile,
New Year's Eve is a piece of cake,
I haven't felt this way in a while.
Perhaps it was the change of scene,
The dreaded upcoming move,
But come sunny Christmas morn,
eM had regained her groove.
It is a Christmas miracle!
She exclaimed with a grin,
Doldrums have gone away from me,
Now pass the tonic and gin.
(Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year!)
22 December 2006
www.selfobsessed.com
> So, the nose story. Also known as the dude-why-are-you-not-drinking story. Anyway, so whilst (I love the word whilst, I could use it everywhere. Say it with me: whilssssssst, WHilst, whIlst. See how flexible?) I was in Bali (which is a sentence most of my friends are sick of by now, but aha! ahahaha! I have cunningly fooled them by handing them a matchbox from the hotel I was staying in, so all they can do is roll their eyes, because technically, I'm not saying whilst I was in Bali) I got very drunk one night on champagne and margaritas (note to people who have not mixed champagne with anything: DON'T) and so I went to wash my face, to sober up, I think, and as I was wiping my face, my piercing got stuck in a towel and yanked downwards. At the moment, I was too drunk to care, but the next morning I woke up with a) a mouthful of fur; b) a splitting headache and c) a nose that I couldn't even touch. Big deal, I said, pish posh, it's only a nose, it'll heal, so I let it be for some time . All through my birthday party, I was all lalalalala, and no, don't mind my nose, it's just a little sore. And then people kept hugging me and I'm not very tall, you should know, so I'm usually squashed into their chests, and when one friend did that, I screamed, and this just kept happening till it was all raw and red and pus encrusted. I know right? I really don't want to be telling this story, it hurts me more than it hurts you. Not only that, it healed in the middle, so you have the original piercing hole, pink healed skin and um, my nosering. So, since even touching it made me want to pass out, reluctantly I went to the doctor. And she put me on antibiotics, twice a day, not to mention an anti-inflammatory pill and a foul smelling cream and VITAMINS! (I always feel the need to capitalise VITAMINS, just because they're such capital things, ya know?)
Older readers will recall, this is not the first time I have been hurt in the line of duty. I broke my toe and walked into a glass door. Dangerous business, journalism.
> There's a dhabha next to my office, famous for its kebabs, and today I ordered a plate of chicken tikka and two naans. Except, the oil from the tikkas has now dripped all over my keyboard, despite many swipes with a napkin and my keyboard is all sticky. Ew. Worst of all, it's taken out the 'i' button, the one I use most as you can see, so the tip of my forefinger that I'm using to tentatively swipe at it is also sticky. Time for some more obsessive hand washing, I think.
> Blogging people have been met, one by freakish coincidence, because Small had a friend in town who turned out to be her family friend and all of them came back to our house to chill and I recognised her name I think and we did the whole ooh-this-world-is-so-small squeal. (Well, I squealed. She's much too dignified to squeal) So hello, Surly Girl and it was nice meeting you. The second was actually someone I had never met in "real life" though since I know Hobo and the two of them were friends and I read his blog, and we chatted on MSN occassionally, it seemed only natural that we should hang out whilst (muahahahaha) he was in Delhi. And we've been having fun, haven't we, Zaphod? Oh, and because I have no life, I also emailed this other girl whose blog I read, and that's been a fun correspondence too. Hasn't it? HASN'T IT? What would my life be without the internet? A lonely, lonely place, that's what.
> And today Shark Tooth sent me an email with our address on it, and directions on how to get there, and that was very nice. Only, he'll be working once I land, so in all likelihood I will have to find him to collect the keys and officially move in.
~Sticky fingered eM signing out.
<
Older readers will recall, this is not the first time I have been hurt in the line of duty. I broke my toe and walked into a glass door. Dangerous business, journalism.
> There's a dhabha next to my office, famous for its kebabs, and today I ordered a plate of chicken tikka and two naans. Except, the oil from the tikkas has now dripped all over my keyboard, despite many swipes with a napkin and my keyboard is all sticky. Ew. Worst of all, it's taken out the 'i' button, the one I use most as you can see, so the tip of my forefinger that I'm using to tentatively swipe at it is also sticky. Time for some more obsessive hand washing, I think.
> Blogging people have been met, one by freakish coincidence, because Small had a friend in town who turned out to be her family friend and all of them came back to our house to chill and I recognised her name I think and we did the whole ooh-this-world-is-so-small squeal. (Well, I squealed. She's much too dignified to squeal) So hello, Surly Girl and it was nice meeting you. The second was actually someone I had never met in "real life" though since I know Hobo and the two of them were friends and I read his blog, and we chatted on MSN occassionally, it seemed only natural that we should hang out whilst (muahahahaha) he was in Delhi. And we've been having fun, haven't we, Zaphod? Oh, and because I have no life, I also emailed this other girl whose blog I read, and that's been a fun correspondence too. Hasn't it? HASN'T IT? What would my life be without the internet? A lonely, lonely place, that's what.
> And today Shark Tooth sent me an email with our address on it, and directions on how to get there, and that was very nice. Only, he'll be working once I land, so in all likelihood I will have to find him to collect the keys and officially move in.
~Sticky fingered eM signing out.
<
19 December 2006
The post in which I pretend that I'm super-popular and you've asked me all these questions (humour me)
Today we tackle Turquoise Cottage: Pallavi from Bandhavgarh writes in to ask:
Dear eM,
Your blog is all I live for. But there is one thing that has always bothered me. Why do you keep going back to this TC place? What's the deal? Do they PAY you to make an appearance or what?
Eagerly awaiting your reply,
Pallavi
Dear Pallavi,
Turquoise Cottage (or TC as we call it to make it easier to text or refer to in conversation; NEVER TC's though, because that is just wrong) used to be one of my favourite places in Delhi. Notice how I said "used to be".
Turquoise Cottage came about when we were all in first year college, I think this would be late 2000 or early 2001. Originally a very popular place, like all Delhi clubs, it had its days in the sun, before gently fading away to attract only thirty somethings. Or late twenty somethings. Definitely not us. Now, let's put me in context. I was a most Serious Young Person in college, all duuuuuude-bring-back-the-70s and at the same time, let me adjust my silver framed spectacles and quote the Romantic poets at you, while we argue metaphysics. Right, do we have a picture? Excellent. Therefore, cluh-bbing, dahlinks, was way beneath me. This was around the time I discovered Old Monk and Coke, and drinking in friend's basements, and buying three cigarettes for the delectable headrush I always got with the first drag.
So when Friend Who Was Older Than Me (in his twenties, although it saddens me that he was younger than I am now) took me to "this really nice place with good music", I went. And fell in love. I loved that it wasn't crowded, that the booze was reasonable, that they played all this rock music. Delhi then didn't think rock was cool, it was all PSY! and TRANCE! everywhere we went, even the good ol' Mezz, once a favourite, had sold out by opening its doors to the horror that was electronic nights every Tuesday. And it was too crowded to move. (Incidentally, even now, my mother says, "Aren't you going to the Mezz tonight?" despite the many times I have sighed and reminded her that it is, in fact, six years later).
Turquoise Cottage has a lot of good memories for me. I remember arriving there the day I lost my virginity, all knees trembling and raw skinned and feeling as though everyone could totally tell. (I told my friends though and there was much toasting and war-whooping, much to poor old ex-boyfriend's dismay. Although he was pretty pleased at the act too, I might add.) It's a place where I've met people, and flirted, and hung out with friends, and now at parties and things, people come up to me and say, "Haven't I seen you at TC?" and we know so much about each other from that question, what music we like to listen to, what kind of party scenes we're into, and even, usually, what professions we're in.
But now I feel going to TC is like a force of habit. I don't know why I go anymore. It's much too crowded and the wrong sort of crowd too, ever since they started cover charge, the music always seems to be the same (Rage Against The Machine, Du Hast Mich, The Reason etc etc). Every time I go, I feel as though THIS time could be different, that we'd be taken back five years, when TC on a Friday was all you could ask for from life, when you met and talked to nice, new people regularly, when you didn't have to dress or anything, when the bartender could see you from across a room and know exactly what to fix you. My friends who used to be regulars just like me have dropped out saying stuff like "The music is too loud, dude" or "It's way too crowded." But I keep going back.
And one of these days, like a time portal or something, it's going to be empty, and I'll get what used to be our favourite table, and the old foozball table will be back where it was, and people will be less hectic and dressed in jeans and sweaters and sneakers and prop up beer on the DJ console. And the music will be just right, no one would be dancing either, unless they were really ambitious, and I will be nineteen and hopeful that every evening is spangly excitement.
Sincerely,
eM
17 December 2006
Things I Have Learned Since I Officially Became Legal*
* To drink, ie, other stuff I've been legal for for a WHILE now.
That tequila will always get you drunk.
That tequila mixed with Old Monk will effectively make you forget an entire evening.
That you drink entirely too much.
That perhaps you're becoming an alcoholic and should go for AA meetings.
That your friends rule judging by the presents you got this year. (From Small and Tall, two of the sexiest tops you have seen, one blue with beads, cut away in the middle to reveal navel piercing, one orange-y corset type thing, from Small and another friend, a soft dhurrie for eventual all-white Bombay room, in pink and yellow and blue and green. From Pirate, who is also fellow December-born, an oval hipflask, which is BEAUTIFUL and totally takes away resolve to stop drinking, from Jerry and another friend proof that men can indeed buy clothes for women without misjudging size/fit etc completely, from Chitgo, Maximum City, which totally made you all awwwww, from Fariha lingerie so sexy it could probably do its own thing and no one would even notice you. Not to mention assorted flowers and a Jimmy Hendrix keychain. You love your friends for making you all misty eyed in the last two weeks in your hometown.)
That after one birthday party, another one the next day is always a good plan.
That at this second birthday party, staying sober thanks to raging hangover means you recall a lot more of the conversations you had.
That perhaps going braless in December is not a good idea.
That Friday nights spent with another old friend around fireplace with friendly Irish setter to pat is proof that you're getting mellow with age.
That weekends never used to be this busy.
That you're really leaving.
That little things like the electricity coming back makes you happy because now you can turn on the geyser to have a bath.
That despite hectic partying, it's been an uneventful week.
That you have so many people to say goodbye to.
That now you have to start obsessing about your New Year's Eve plans and you would just much rather watch a countdown show on TV and go to bed.
That that option is closed to you.
That tequila will always get you drunk.
That tequila mixed with Old Monk will effectively make you forget an entire evening.
That you drink entirely too much.
That perhaps you're becoming an alcoholic and should go for AA meetings.
That your friends rule judging by the presents you got this year. (From Small and Tall, two of the sexiest tops you have seen, one blue with beads, cut away in the middle to reveal navel piercing, one orange-y corset type thing, from Small and another friend, a soft dhurrie for eventual all-white Bombay room, in pink and yellow and blue and green. From Pirate, who is also fellow December-born, an oval hipflask, which is BEAUTIFUL and totally takes away resolve to stop drinking, from Jerry and another friend proof that men can indeed buy clothes for women without misjudging size/fit etc completely, from Chitgo, Maximum City, which totally made you all awwwww, from Fariha lingerie so sexy it could probably do its own thing and no one would even notice you. Not to mention assorted flowers and a Jimmy Hendrix keychain. You love your friends for making you all misty eyed in the last two weeks in your hometown.)
That after one birthday party, another one the next day is always a good plan.
That at this second birthday party, staying sober thanks to raging hangover means you recall a lot more of the conversations you had.
That perhaps going braless in December is not a good idea.
That Friday nights spent with another old friend around fireplace with friendly Irish setter to pat is proof that you're getting mellow with age.
That weekends never used to be this busy.
That you're really leaving.
That little things like the electricity coming back makes you happy because now you can turn on the geyser to have a bath.
That despite hectic partying, it's been an uneventful week.
That you have so many people to say goodbye to.
That now you have to start obsessing about your New Year's Eve plans and you would just much rather watch a countdown show on TV and go to bed.
That that option is closed to you.
13 December 2006
The One In Which The Very Tanned eM with sand in her underwear makes you all jealous
I'm in Bali! And I'm not even an heiress. (And yet I am blogging. Does this make me a little bit sad? I think so) No actually, I WAS working, she said defensively, and since I have access to the internet and since I love you all very much and since I got most drunk last night on margaritas and champagne, I feel the need for confessions coming upon me. I have the most copious notes all bloggable, but I've left them all in my room, so detailed update will happen later.
Is it cold where you are? Is it? Is it? Because down here in the Southern Hemisphere, I'm chilling in a skirt and a tiny tank top, having spent my evening sitting on the beach, watching the waves, smoking a cigarette with my iPod playing Thousand Miles (if I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by?) Although, you've probably figured I'm here on work, as part of a junket, so I really wish I was with my friends. This is a clubbing sort of place, all glamour and excitement. Fuck my friends, I really wish I was here with my lover. Sigh.
I had actually earmarked this very hot American to be my holiday romance. (His name is Dylan and his sister's name is Marley. They're getting a dog called Bob. I am so not making this up). He was quite yummy when I met him last night. I asked him for a light and when he did, he said, "Now you have to tell me your name" and I was all, "Okay! And here's my number! And call me!" Actually, no. I gave him my name and we chatted, and then I got very drunk and the last I saw of him, he was following around this Pakistani guy who was his friend and I suspect they were in the closet because they spent the entire evening murmuring to each other. (Don't mind me, I'm just bitter because he didn't hit on me. AND I was wearing my new tube top.)
Anyway, I should go. Work beckons and I'm also quite hungry. Look out for an update tomorrow night?
UPDATED, ALREADY: So many, many things need to be taken care of now that I'm back in Delhi. I got home last night, and started in alarm to see how empty my room was till I realised that I had actually packed most of my stuff to send off with Shark Tooth. Moving is done, therefore, except for my clothes, which means my entire summer wardrobe needs to be forced into one suitcase. Not to mention knick-knacks that I don't go anywhere without. And photographs. It all seems so close now, only three weeks to go.
In other news, it's my birthday tomorrow. And when I called Small last night to say hello and tell her joyfully about duty-free tequila that we will consume to celebrate the quarter century, she said, "Dude, how many people have you asked?" "Oh about twenty five," I said happily confident. "Erm.. I think not," she said, "Because I know a LOT more people are coming." Oh dear. I am, to put it classily and in a foreign language, uber fucked. Because now I have to buy lots more alcohol. And food. But at the same time, I am also secretly thrilled that so many people will be there to celebrate the glory that is me.
Back to Bali then. I did manage to go clubbing, twice in fact, with the TV journos who were there as well. Actually, we were at this place called GWK (a big tourist spot in Bali, the highlights of which are two ENORMOUS statues of Garuda and Wisnu--Vishnu to us--remind me to get back to how weird it was to see Hinduism in a place that wasn't India) and I met this guy who owned an Indian restaurant there called (dum-dum-DA-dum) Gateway of India. Fifty points for not calling it the Taj something or Dilli something else. Anyway, no, he was fat with a huge gold Om hanging on his hairy chest, but he was sweet and knew quite a bit about the nightlife, so at his suggestion we went to this place called Kama Sutra, where he also said, "If you have any trouble getting in, just tell them you know me." And so, all three Delhi girls, and so all three quite expert at name dropping we breezed into Kama Sutra, sat for a bit watching the empty dance floor and then decided to inaugurate it. Of course, inevetibly, as soon as we hit the dance floor, the DJ played Mundiyan To Bachkey. Followed by Dhoom Machale. Sigh. So we exited and sat on the beach and watched the lightening crackle over the sea and walked with the waves slapping against our shins and it was lovely. Till it started to rain and we headed back to our hotel.
The next nightclub was on our very last day, where me and one of the TV journos decided to be adventurous and again on the Gateway Guy's recco went to a nightclub called Mbargo, which was much nicer than the first. And not just because the name had an 'm' in it, though that did help. The music was more jumpy, people were dancing, the locals were hooking up with firangs and the booze was affordable. In fact, all in all Bali is pretty cheap. One Indonesian rupiah is about 200 bucks, and since my drink cost me 40k, that would be about Rs 200. It's a little disorienting dealing with hundreds of thousands, but cleverly, I wrote down all the conversions on a piece of paper with the help of a calculator (my mental arithmatic is terrible. So is my any-kind-of-arithmatic) and I had something to refer to each time I wanted.
I managed to do some shopping as well. Most of the shops had huge summer sales on (Southern Hemisphere, remember?) and the clothes would have made Sarojini Nagar blush, because the shops all had DKNY! 90 PER CENT OFF! and joyfully I entered, only to find DKNY was yeah, the local version. Genuine ripoffs. But I found a very cool DVD shop, selling for 10, 000 (50 bucks) and completely stocked, so I bought Borat, Transamerica and Fast Food Nation. I would have bought more, but I wasn't sure how the print would be and whether I'd get home to find Indonenesian porn or something, so I refrained nobly. And I bought some very cool flipflops at Bata, of all places, but they don't look Bata-ish, so it's all good.
Lalalalala. I'm sure there's more, and my computer is here so they'll keep popping up. :)
Have a good My Birthday!
Is it cold where you are? Is it? Is it? Because down here in the Southern Hemisphere, I'm chilling in a skirt and a tiny tank top, having spent my evening sitting on the beach, watching the waves, smoking a cigarette with my iPod playing Thousand Miles (if I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by?) Although, you've probably figured I'm here on work, as part of a junket, so I really wish I was with my friends. This is a clubbing sort of place, all glamour and excitement. Fuck my friends, I really wish I was here with my lover. Sigh.
I had actually earmarked this very hot American to be my holiday romance. (His name is Dylan and his sister's name is Marley. They're getting a dog called Bob. I am so not making this up). He was quite yummy when I met him last night. I asked him for a light and when he did, he said, "Now you have to tell me your name" and I was all, "Okay! And here's my number! And call me!" Actually, no. I gave him my name and we chatted, and then I got very drunk and the last I saw of him, he was following around this Pakistani guy who was his friend and I suspect they were in the closet because they spent the entire evening murmuring to each other. (Don't mind me, I'm just bitter because he didn't hit on me. AND I was wearing my new tube top.)
Anyway, I should go. Work beckons and I'm also quite hungry. Look out for an update tomorrow night?
UPDATED, ALREADY: So many, many things need to be taken care of now that I'm back in Delhi. I got home last night, and started in alarm to see how empty my room was till I realised that I had actually packed most of my stuff to send off with Shark Tooth. Moving is done, therefore, except for my clothes, which means my entire summer wardrobe needs to be forced into one suitcase. Not to mention knick-knacks that I don't go anywhere without. And photographs. It all seems so close now, only three weeks to go.
In other news, it's my birthday tomorrow. And when I called Small last night to say hello and tell her joyfully about duty-free tequila that we will consume to celebrate the quarter century, she said, "Dude, how many people have you asked?" "Oh about twenty five," I said happily confident. "Erm.. I think not," she said, "Because I know a LOT more people are coming." Oh dear. I am, to put it classily and in a foreign language, uber fucked. Because now I have to buy lots more alcohol. And food. But at the same time, I am also secretly thrilled that so many people will be there to celebrate the glory that is me.
Back to Bali then. I did manage to go clubbing, twice in fact, with the TV journos who were there as well. Actually, we were at this place called GWK (a big tourist spot in Bali, the highlights of which are two ENORMOUS statues of Garuda and Wisnu--Vishnu to us--remind me to get back to how weird it was to see Hinduism in a place that wasn't India) and I met this guy who owned an Indian restaurant there called (dum-dum-DA-dum) Gateway of India. Fifty points for not calling it the Taj something or Dilli something else. Anyway, no, he was fat with a huge gold Om hanging on his hairy chest, but he was sweet and knew quite a bit about the nightlife, so at his suggestion we went to this place called Kama Sutra, where he also said, "If you have any trouble getting in, just tell them you know me." And so, all three Delhi girls, and so all three quite expert at name dropping we breezed into Kama Sutra, sat for a bit watching the empty dance floor and then decided to inaugurate it. Of course, inevetibly, as soon as we hit the dance floor, the DJ played Mundiyan To Bachkey. Followed by Dhoom Machale. Sigh. So we exited and sat on the beach and watched the lightening crackle over the sea and walked with the waves slapping against our shins and it was lovely. Till it started to rain and we headed back to our hotel.
The next nightclub was on our very last day, where me and one of the TV journos decided to be adventurous and again on the Gateway Guy's recco went to a nightclub called Mbargo, which was much nicer than the first. And not just because the name had an 'm' in it, though that did help. The music was more jumpy, people were dancing, the locals were hooking up with firangs and the booze was affordable. In fact, all in all Bali is pretty cheap. One Indonesian rupiah is about 200 bucks, and since my drink cost me 40k, that would be about Rs 200. It's a little disorienting dealing with hundreds of thousands, but cleverly, I wrote down all the conversions on a piece of paper with the help of a calculator (my mental arithmatic is terrible. So is my any-kind-of-arithmatic) and I had something to refer to each time I wanted.
I managed to do some shopping as well. Most of the shops had huge summer sales on (Southern Hemisphere, remember?) and the clothes would have made Sarojini Nagar blush, because the shops all had DKNY! 90 PER CENT OFF! and joyfully I entered, only to find DKNY was yeah, the local version. Genuine ripoffs. But I found a very cool DVD shop, selling for 10, 000 (50 bucks) and completely stocked, so I bought Borat, Transamerica and Fast Food Nation. I would have bought more, but I wasn't sure how the print would be and whether I'd get home to find Indonenesian porn or something, so I refrained nobly. And I bought some very cool flipflops at Bata, of all places, but they don't look Bata-ish, so it's all good.
Lalalalala. I'm sure there's more, and my computer is here so they'll keep popping up. :)
Have a good My Birthday!
4 December 2006
What's been goin' DOWN, bitch? (Trans: my life this past week)
Hi! 'Sup? It's been a while, no?
> I'm back at work, now, over here in the Delhi office for like a month before I leave . It was bound to happen , I suppose, and I'm sort of glad it did, because I haven't been a journalist since September and I was very afraid that I had forgotten how. Although now, Day Two at work, it all seems to be coming back so naturally that I'm wondering whether I ever left at all. (Cue Hotel California here, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leeeeeaheeeeeve.) Anyway, so December as everyone knows is a nice time of the year and unfortunately everyone else seems to think so as well, so it's busy busy time for me, both professionally and personally. This weekend was super-hectic, let's see, I did Lodi on Thursday (which we will NOT speak of, because I was so very very drunk I swore I would never drink again, also because I don't remember much); a party on Friday (where I stuck to Coke all evening and realised that even when I'm not drinking, I have an astonishing capacity to talk utter and complete crap); um, out with two new people on Saturday (which was fun! I haven't met new people in some time) and a picnic on Sunday at a friend's farm. As a result, Monday is all bleargh and coffee deprived.
> So, funny TC story happened once more. (What would I do without TC, dudes? What would I blog about?) Anyway, I was chilling there on a Wednesday, not with my usual crowd, because I had gone with Small and another friend and both of them left before I was ready to, so, I hung around. And the nice thing about TC is that I know practically everyone, so there's always someone for me to hang out with. So, I was chatting with this one guy and telling him about the imminent move and so on, and how I only have like three Wednesdays left, and he goes, "You're moving to Bombay? That sounds rather familiar," and I'm like, "Oh, how come? Are a lot of your friends shifting there as well?" And then he says, "Noooooo," his eyes sort of squinting at me and then, abruptly, "Do you have a blog?" And I just died. Well, I knew someone at TC was bound to read it, I suppose, and I'm glad it was just one person who figured it out and so on, so good work Nancy Drew! And hello, by the way, since you do read this. I feel like such a celebrity, in a more nerdy, internet kind of way.
> I'll be out of town for a couple of days this week, because I'm going to (lalalalalala) Bali, which should be huge fun. And before I go, I need to organise a) packing (and I have SO much stuff) and b)a birthday/farewell party to celebrate the big two five, which I'm totally dreading, because my birthdays, while traditionally joyous occassions, always make me sad. Like New Year's Eve. Someone else should be throwing me a farewell party, no, she asked, hinting desperately.
> While in a way, I want this month to go by r e a l l y slowly so that I can have more time here, in Delhi, down the roads I know and with people I like, I also want to get my move over and done with really quickly, like pulling a scab off or something. I've finally decided when I want to leave also, on January 2nd, and lucky for me, many friends are planning trips there around then. I've, of course, unknown to Shark Tooth, promised boarding and lodging, but I don't know how many will actually show up at my doorstep. And when they come, we will speak in Punjabi and eat kaali daal. And I know, I know, I'll make friends, but the thing is, I've never actually had to make friends from scratch. I've always had a base, people I knew I could count on. It'll be good for me, and a lesson in character development, but it seems such a grown up thing to do, and I'm still looking around going, "Where are all the adults?"
That's all, I'm afraid. I promise more meat next time.
> I'm back at work, now, over here in the Delhi office for like a month before I leave . It was bound to happen , I suppose, and I'm sort of glad it did, because I haven't been a journalist since September and I was very afraid that I had forgotten how. Although now, Day Two at work, it all seems to be coming back so naturally that I'm wondering whether I ever left at all. (Cue Hotel California here, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leeeeeaheeeeeve.) Anyway, so December as everyone knows is a nice time of the year and unfortunately everyone else seems to think so as well, so it's busy busy time for me, both professionally and personally. This weekend was super-hectic, let's see, I did Lodi on Thursday (which we will NOT speak of, because I was so very very drunk I swore I would never drink again, also because I don't remember much); a party on Friday (where I stuck to Coke all evening and realised that even when I'm not drinking, I have an astonishing capacity to talk utter and complete crap); um, out with two new people on Saturday (which was fun! I haven't met new people in some time) and a picnic on Sunday at a friend's farm. As a result, Monday is all bleargh and coffee deprived.
> So, funny TC story happened once more. (What would I do without TC, dudes? What would I blog about?) Anyway, I was chilling there on a Wednesday, not with my usual crowd, because I had gone with Small and another friend and both of them left before I was ready to, so, I hung around. And the nice thing about TC is that I know practically everyone, so there's always someone for me to hang out with. So, I was chatting with this one guy and telling him about the imminent move and so on, and how I only have like three Wednesdays left, and he goes, "You're moving to Bombay? That sounds rather familiar," and I'm like, "Oh, how come? Are a lot of your friends shifting there as well?" And then he says, "Noooooo," his eyes sort of squinting at me and then, abruptly, "Do you have a blog?" And I just died. Well, I knew someone at TC was bound to read it, I suppose, and I'm glad it was just one person who figured it out and so on, so good work Nancy Drew! And hello, by the way, since you do read this. I feel like such a celebrity, in a more nerdy, internet kind of way.
> I'll be out of town for a couple of days this week, because I'm going to (lalalalalala) Bali, which should be huge fun. And before I go, I need to organise a) packing (and I have SO much stuff) and b)a birthday/farewell party to celebrate the big two five, which I'm totally dreading, because my birthdays, while traditionally joyous occassions, always make me sad. Like New Year's Eve. Someone else should be throwing me a farewell party, no, she asked, hinting desperately.
> While in a way, I want this month to go by r e a l l y slowly so that I can have more time here, in Delhi, down the roads I know and with people I like, I also want to get my move over and done with really quickly, like pulling a scab off or something. I've finally decided when I want to leave also, on January 2nd, and lucky for me, many friends are planning trips there around then. I've, of course, unknown to Shark Tooth, promised boarding and lodging, but I don't know how many will actually show up at my doorstep. And when they come, we will speak in Punjabi and eat kaali daal. And I know, I know, I'll make friends, but the thing is, I've never actually had to make friends from scratch. I've always had a base, people I knew I could count on. It'll be good for me, and a lesson in character development, but it seems such a grown up thing to do, and I'm still looking around going, "Where are all the adults?"
That's all, I'm afraid. I promise more meat next time.
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