31 July 2007
Mouse didn't feel up to going home, and they suspected malaria, so I tottered to the admissions desk and got her a room, and they took her up in a wheelchair. By this time I was fine again, only really, really wiped out (I don't know why I've been feeling so fatigued lately, it's really odd. I even stayed in the entire weekend, and my flu is gone, so it's just the cold.) Anyway, so I sat next to her, calmed her down, told her it was okay and called various friends and relatives in the US to keep them updated. Although, again, that is a very weird thing to do, coz you're all like, "Oh, hello, you don't know me, but I broke your daughter." I left to go home and get her some stuff to settle her in for the night, but today she is fine too. Only quite cross that they're not letting her go home till tomorrow.
Anyway, so that was my Monday. Except, oh, almost forgot, I went out with an old friend of mine yesterday, a friend from when I used to participate (briefly) in Delhi's theatre circuit. Bet you didn't know that about me. I'm full of hidden facets. Anyway, so it turned out that a bunch of people we had done theatre workshops and plays with are in Bombay. Of course, the only one from the theatre workshop where we actually met who isn't an actor is me. But I decided in like first year college or something, that I could either do many things mediocrely, or I could focus all my energy on one thing. So I did. I picked writing. I was never going to win an Oscar anyway.
And tomorrow is Sameer's birthday, and August which is a very expensive month for me will begin, bringing with it FIVE birthdays. Luckily, my friends are so scattered, only two will be in Bombay. I hope. But I also owe a lot of birthday presents for July (I really like giving birthday presents, no matter how old the person is, I think everyone should be congratulated for being born) so yeah, August will be tight.
Mouse is reading The God Of Small Things right now, and I'm loving the fact that I have a data card because this is like sooooooooo 21st century, you know? If you're reading this, call me! I'm bored and hungry. (You can't do anything about the hunger part, but you can alleviate my boredom. Everyone should be cheered up while they're in the hospital, even if they're not technically in the hospital. It's a depressing place)
28 July 2007
A little hope is more dangerous than a big hope. Big hopes are easily quenchable, you know somewhere in the back of your head that it could all blow up and you’ll be left back at square one. A little hope on the other hand, never quite leaves you, and niggles and niggles away at the back of your mind, leaving you exhilarated and butterfly-tummied at the oddest moments. It’s not easy to push away a little hope. It’s like a mosquito versus a snake. It stays under your skin, itching and you have to keep scratching at it. There is no anti-venom.
A little hope is not worth wallowing over when it’s proven to not exist, no one—least of all yourself—will get the sort of misery the abandonment of a little hope causes. The vanishing of a little hope annoys you more than makes you sad, it makes you dislike the world and get cross and snarly inside. A little hope gives you pleasure—not the same sort of pleasure a big hope does—not a rainbows and puppy dogs pleasure, but a muted sort of feeling that life is not quite as bad at it seemed after all. It’s not toe curling or sunshine on a cloudy day inspiring, but it is hope. Killing the little hope often makes you shrug your shoulders and go, ‘Oh well, what’re you going to do?’ and yet, and yet you feel as though there will be no big hopes, no hopes of any kind at all, because the little hope can very easily feel like a big hope under the right circumstances.
Of course, if you’re a cynic like me, you’ve made provisions for the end of a little hope too. I’m having a shitty week. Completely, one hundred per cent shitty. It started, to be fair, with only a sixty per cent shittiness—with this nasty flu, but then as all other areas of my life began to roller coaster downhill with the same alarming rapidity—I sit here Friday evening and wonder if it could possibly get any worse. Seriously, in the history of bad luck weeks, I think mine deserves to be up there in the hall of fame. They should have halls of fame for bad weeks. It might make us feel a little better about ourselves. Two days for this week to end, and the only thing not affected—yet—is my social life. Watch that also go now. I’m betting by Sunday, I will officially be inching towards the D-Cold Total in my purse and thinking of ending it all. (Although, I don’t think D Cold Total can kill you with an overdose, only seriously fuck with your liver). No, none of these downward spiraling things are anything I can talk about here, but I’m sure you can marginally guess, excluding my social life, what the other aspects of my life are. Yeah. Just about everything I’m afraid. And the only thing I can whine about online is that I did a really hot salt water gargle and scalded my tongue. This sucks. There are days when I’m proud of having so many people reading this thing and other days when I wish no one did. Then I could whine to complete strangers and tell them EXACTLY how terrible my week has been, blow by blow, point by point, maybe get some good advice, and instead? I’m reduced to being fucking diplomatic and not stepping on any toes or anything. AAAAAAAAAAAARGH.
To top it all off, troll blogs and comments are back, just when you thought they went out with 2003. Nope, there are still people who love to hate you, just because you’re a woman, just because you write about going out and having fun because OH MY GOD GOD FORBID AN INDIAN WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ANY FUN OR TURN DOWN ANYONE ELSE AND SHE’S SO FUCKING UGLY DUDES HOW DARE SHE SPURN ANY ADVANCES SHE SHOULD BE HAPPY WITH WHAT SHE IS GETTING. Chootiyas.
I’m tired. I’m tired of coughing and having to blow my nose every five seconds and breathing through my mouth. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of being upbeat and optimistic and assuming everything’s going to be all right (rockabye) when it never is, really, is it? I’m tired of fighting to make my case, I’m tired of selling myself to people, I’m just generally tired. I want comfort, a backrub, an evening of not talking with people who won’t expect me to talk, I want compliments, I want to be nineteen again, I want to go home and yet I don’t want to sell out, I want my mummy.
25 July 2007
So, say hello to Mouse (which is a mini in-joke for me, because of her real name. I'm sad with the humour like that. I contemplated linking to her blog, but it's not anonymous enough, sooooooo Mouse she is till the end of the chapter) She's American, here for about a month and a half and we share a common passion for Grey's Anatomy (she has most of season 3 on her computer, which I've been watching obsessively) Disney movies, zoos and cats. And so far (day two now) we're getting on great, comparing notes on American men versus Indian ones. (They're mostly the same worldwide, sadly). Last night I thought I'd take her to Toto's, to like, you know, celebrate moving day and stuff. We were doing fine, till the tequila happened, lots of it, and did I mention she's superhot and very tall so we were more or less the centre of attention there. Although, funnily enough, we both got little notes on napkins, which made me feel slightly better about being short and sniffle-ful. Mine was from this guy who tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Hi, are you from SIMC?" "No," I said, preparing to turn back to my conversation. "Take this," he said, stuffing a much folded note in my hand. I raised my eyebrow (I can do that!) and he said, "Read it at leisure" so of course, I promptly opened it right then and the three of us (another friend joined me later) poured over it. It said, and I quote (much frantic handbag searching later, I think I've lost it. Damn, my purse is like the Bermuda Triangle.) Anyway, what I can reconstruct from memory was: "When I first saw you (excuse the handwriting) I wanted to spend the night with you. But after watching you this whole evening, I want to spend my lifetime with you. Pick whether you'd choose tonight, the weekend or the rest of your life." Followed by his name and phone number. I was all awwwwww, my first wedding proposal. Heh. Mouse's note was behind a coaster, folded and passed over, and her suitor was actually kind of cute. (Mine was fairly pudgy, spectacles etc. Just my luck) He said, "Can I buy you a drink? And intentions... Wana [sic] get to know you better." We giggled over that too and I was elected to reply to it, which I did, saying, "What are your intentions?" "Tell him I'm drinking tequila," whispered Mouse so I did. And then he got up and joined us and we all drank some more tequila. Toto's always does wonders for my ego.
Then we went back to the other friend's house, swigged Bailey's straight from the bottle, attempted to play Life but got bored and played 'I have never' instead. I love alcohol. Did you know that mixing Old Monk and tequila and Bailey's gives you no hangover? Eureka! Now if only this flu would magically vanish, my joy would be complete.
22 July 2007
I'm actually feeling slightly disoriented today. Not surprising considering I watched the sunrise through my window this morning once more. I've been doing an awful lot of that lately. It's nice watching the sunrise, being up that early (or late, depending on your perspective), there's a sense of newness and wonder to the world. About a week or so ago, I did the same thing, Saturday night leading into Sunday morning. An early breakfast at some hotel on Marine Drive, watching the joggers, and all the while glancing at my watch going, "Wow, it's seven am!" There's this sense of achievement in pulling an all nighter, you feel sort of pure and virtuous, even if you've done nothing more than drink all night long. Anyway, last night I had a sort of party, and quite a party it was too. At one point there were cops even. (No, not to tell us to quieten down but for another reason entirely, but that's not my story for the telling). There was so much alcohol that I thought I'd have plenty left over, but this morning it's all over. Except for lots of beer, which I don't drink sadly, but which will be useful the next time I have visitors. It was a nice ending to a very hectic party type week, in honour of the scout, who, like I said was visiting, and we fell madly in love and decided we were made for each other. Although she left Thursday, missing the party, but still.
Remember I spoke last week about having a new favourite club? Well, I've been back several times and the magic still lives on. If you live in Bombay you can't not have heard of China House, the new place at the Hyatt (I don't remember whether it's the Grand or the Regency, but the one close to the domestic airport) and I LOVE it. I can't really explain why, maybe it's the campy music--very hip-hoppy mixed with some 80s and 90s stuff, which is soooooo much better than the usual lounge bar house crap that normally plays at these places. It's super expensive, and yet. Oh, I can't really put my finger on what the fascination is. There are COUCHES. And pretty people everywhere. And last week as I was minding my own business, heading to the loo, I bumped straight into Sanjay Dutt. (Hey, I'm a Delhi person. These things impress me). If you haven't checked it out yet, you totally should.
Lessee, what else has been going on? The problem with all this drinking is that you very seldom remember all the fascinating things you tell yourself you simply must blog about. Tonight I had full plans of sitting at home watching Freaky Friday followed by Hitch. (Tomorrow, I go to the bookstore and yay! Harry Potter! Yay! The movie was quite nice too, I think OoTP lends itself more to cinema than any of the other books. Of course, again they assume everyone's read the books because they've left out a good deal and haven't explained a lot of stuff, but Daniel Radcliffe. Rowr) but social plans call and tonight I am out with Sameer. It's a tough life, but someone's got to do it.
18 July 2007
Where have I been?
With scout, who is in Bombay briefly. We're sorta having a chick blog conflab, well, nothing as organised as that I admit, but still, we're chick bloggers, we're conflabbing, let's just call it a really, really mini-blog meet. Yesterday, we got reasonably buzzed, today we will attempt to move beyond reason. Other factors that contribute towards me feeling good today (besides no hangover, and friendly company ie) is the fact that a comely member of the opposite sex (hi!) read my blog, and recognised it, even, when I mentioned what is was. What price anonymity, when you can flirt a little, eh?
I was accused at Melody's happy to you party, of writing entirely for an audience and not "doing any writing for me anymore" and while at the time, I sputtered a little bit and then said snottily and wimpishly, "That's your opinion" before I tossed my head and looked away, I realised the next day (by which time it was too late) that really what I should have said was duh.
Of course I write for an audience. I blog. If I didn't want an audience, I would journal. (Which I do, but trust me, a week of that writing and you'd be begging me to go back to the sex already). And any blogger who tells you they write for themselves is totally lying. Unfortunately, the problem with this is that when you're blocked, like I am at the moment, words are just not forming at my fingertips like they normally do, you feel this sort of panic to update, and immense and utter frustration at not being able to get the words out.
So, even though I've been busy and I've had a lovely weekend, and I have a new favourite club, I can't seem to summon up the appropriate enthusiasm all these things rightly deserve. Just basic writer's block, nothing to get anxious about, but I'm going to update this later, when the need to spill is back. Later this week, I promise.
11 July 2007
* Must also be willing to buy and read the new Harry Potter book and sit on me if I attempt spoilers (because I read really fast) and then have long energized debates about it
*Must be willing to admit I’m right. Well, some of the time.
* Should be open to smoking in bed.
* Should most definitely not be open to eating in bed.
* Tallish, yes?
* Ooh, and rather lean, since we're asking.
* Must love cats, and be willing to have cat hair shed all over him. Bonus points if he discovers special scratchy spot by the cheek. (From both me and tc).
* Must be creative enough to fabricate a lovely and romantic present out of dried macaroni, sparkles and glue.
* Must also have the common sense not to present the Macaroni Sparkle thing on a Significant Occasion, such as one's birthday.
* Spontaneity is valued in this position. (Including, but not limited to holidays, presents and bathroom nookies)
* Must find habits that even my best friends roll their eyes at "endearing".
* Preferably not a very good liar, either.
* Must be passionate about something--like, I don't know, painting, or writing or xboxes.
* Must be social.
* Must have a liver the size of a humpback whale.
* Must be in the same city. (Extra points for living within the free home delivery radius)
* Must be willing to check all baggage into storage for the duration of our relationship.
*Must not cry like a little girl at the mention of the word 'relationship'.
* Must not be fashion illiterate; ie; don't wear tight crotch fitting pants, or flowered fitted t-shirts. (But on the other hand, must not be too fashion savvy either, because that's just gay. A middle ground is all I ask for, someone who likes to go shopping but doesn't recommend boob belts)
*Must think I am a Literary Genius. (Another set of bonus points if you too are a LG).
* Must enjoy the occasional Karaoke night. And must get up on stage and rock the socks off Bohemian Rhapsody.
* Must love me passionately. This is all. Even when I'm snarly and PMSing.
Isn't there a bit somewhere in the Bible about "Ask and you (or thou) shall receive (or receiveth)."?" Well, are you there, God, coz I've totally asked.
6 July 2007
So, because I had nothing to do on the plane ride, I wrote a list of things I now know about Bombay. Yes, I'm jobless like that. Yes, my opinion and yours may differ. Yes, it's okay when that happens. No, it's NOT okay to leave nasty troll comments saying so. Be polite, she said firmly.
Lessee, I now know that Fort is not in fact, a fort, like I expected. The first time I was to meet someone there--I think it was Sameer--he said, "Meet me at Fort." "Okay," said I, "What fort?" "Um.. Fort," he said. "Yeeeees," I said, "But what do I tell the cabbie?" "You tell him FORT," he said. "Is it an Old Fort, or a Red Fort or a Tuglaqabad fort?" I asked patiently. "It's. Just. Fort." he said, not quite so patiently. Still, I was sure he was wrong and I was right, until I got there, and the cabbie said, "Fort." and I looked around and there were only buildings! Where, oh noble citizens of Bombay, is the fort?
I also now know how to say 'wine shop' instead of thekha. I did try to say thekha, in fact, I still say thekha when I'm talking to people from Delhi, but try as I might I could not get the aforementioned noble citizens to accept anything other than wine shop for the place we get booze. Nor could I get the auto guys to accept it. So, with a sigh, I resign myself to wine shop. 'Boss' though, is something I still can't wrap my tongue around. I've tried--the whole when-in-Rome thing--but it just doesn't happen. Maybe another six months.
I've learnt whole new things about seasons. There are two. Rainy and not rainy. Rainy is nice, it's sort of the Bombay equivalent of the beginnings of Delhi winter, very romantic and Hindi music inspiring. Non-rainy is not fun. I've also learnt how much hair serum it takes in both these seasons to keep my hair from becoming an uncontrollable mass of frizz around my face. Oh, it still frizzes. But imagine if I didn't use any serum at all?
I've had some Points Of High Achievement. These include:
a) Jumping onto a train while it was in motion. I'm so excited about this one, although whoever I tell look at me askance and mutter things about people killed while doing the exact same thing. It's just that I've always been so chicken about these things. I'm the kid who had to wait for the swing to slow down before I got off it, glancing enviously at the children next to me, who swung it till their legs were nearly perpendicular and then insouciantly leaped. Ergo, big achievement.
b) Eaten almost an entire cow. This may not seem like something to be proud of to you, but I've always had a picky appetite and in Bombay, I find I'm always hungry. Ravenous, even. This is a good thing, because I begin to look less like a Somalian refugee and more like an active healthy human being. Also, it's just really nice to go to a restaurant and ask straight out for beef without being arrested.
c) Made friends with bartenders and DJs. Specifically the ones at Zenzi and Hard Rock. I was at Zenzi, week before last, soaked completely and I asked the bartender to make me a really, really large drink and he did. Almost filled the glass half full with rum and then looked at me saying, "I'm not taking responsibility for the consequences." And the DJ at Hard Rock plays Wonderwall for me as I walk in and wave at him, because this one time, he refused to play it and I was all oh-I-just-moved-here and he said he'd play it every time I was there. Nice, nice.
There are other intangible things I've learnt too. When I was in Delhi this time, my friends had to actually caution me about stuff--don't drive too late, don't get out of the car to go to the ATM and so on. And I realised, my defences were totally down. I can now walk down a road without looking over my shoulder, I can travel late at night without being obsessed by the thought that I'll be raped or killed, I am more confident and this is so awesome. Although, when I do move back to Delhi, this might be a problem. Still, it's nice to not live in fear.
I've learnt how to make new friends. This may not sound like a big deal, but it is. I was terrified when I left Delhi that I would be at a loss for people, kindred spirits, that I would be alone and lonely and friendless, because the older you get, the harder it is to like new people. But, reader, I have. And I continue to. Living in a new space jolts you out of your comfort zones and, I think, is really a test of your character.
So, not bad for six months, eh? There's other stuff I know as well, for instance, where to get cheap underwear, and how to tell whether you're on Marine Drive or Worli Sea Face (don't laugh, I confused the two for four months out of the six I've been here) and sources for stories and a good set of doctors and many other little things like that. It's been an up-and-downish six months too, the good things balancing the bad things. But you know what? Not for a moment do I regret it.