Goodbye, 2007, who could hang a name on you?

Oh, come on. You didn't think I was going to leave you without a year-end recap, did you? Even if it DOES mean posting more than once a week, it's a special time of the year and it's been one hell of a year, actually.

If you're just tuning in, the links to the other three year-end posts are here, here and here. This year, we're shaking it up a little and doing proper accounts, so the year isn't just events, it's how those events have affected my life. (Ooooooooooooooh, fancy, right?)

LIFE CHANGING TYPE THINGS:

Well, duh, I moved to Bombay.

And then there was tc--the only steady male in my life. (And in tc's life, the discovery that he is a boy)


I got my hair coloured. (Hey, it was a big deal at the time)

The blog turned three.

We made it to six months.

Leela gets hitched!

I have new flatmates.

I turn 26.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNT

How to commute.

How to get to Daman.

How to get rid of weird men who try to pick you up at bars.

How to fall sick several times a year.

How to use Craigslist on a slow blogging day.

How to fight loneliness.

How to write posts about blow jobs and realise that Indian men might, in fact, be better lovers than Indian women.

How to check your American flatmate into a hospital.

How to survive a gynaecological exam. (My cervix still cringes)

How to write to anon trolls.

I've learnt also other not so concrete things, like how to make new close friends and how to dance without caring about what other people think and how to *ahem* make what I call the eMpolitan, a pink concoction I devised last night at Kalyan's party. I was trying to amuse myself by putting lots of alcohol and various juices into the blender and ta-dah, a drink was born. I even had requests for second and third servings.

ZE LOVE (I USE THE TERM LOOSELY) LIFE

I had a second date.

There were moments where I considered changing my sexuality.

I had a nonboyfriend, in a committed fling. (Sighhhhhhhh. That memory still makes me wistful)

I tryst with exboyfriends in my dreams.

Almost, I meet someone new.

I discover dating, with a capital D. ATING.

I meet Volt.

We finish.

I developed many random crushes on and off during this year, which were great fun, just for the heart flutters and the putting on perfume for someone else. Sadly, none of them actually went anywhere. I'm still too chicken, even at this grand old age to make the first move. But they were fun while they lasted. Right now? I'm footloose and fancy free, which means if I decide to have a torrid beach romance in Goa for the four days I am there, it should be completely stress free. Keep your fingers crossed for me!


FAME AND FORTUNE (HAH!)

THE Telegraph UK article. (I don't have links to the rest of the stories, but this is the one that sparked the rest off.)

Over the next couple of months, since it came out there have been a bunch of other articles and blog posts, some nice, some not so much. It's been an interesting experience though. I won't say entirely fun, but interesting.


AND SHAKTI

Who I miss most when I'm in Delhi. I have to keep reminding myself not to call, that there's no point in calling, that there will never be the hanging out, the chilling, the intimacies. God, 2007 was a random year. So random, so senseless. If this is character building, these heartaches, I'd rather stay characterless.



NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

This year I will be good. (Well, not SO good that I'm boring, but I will try and avoid being bad.)

This year I will keep account of my finances.

This year I will learn at least three new things--like politics and French and playing the guitar. Something.

This year I will join a gym and get in shape.

This year I will save up and go on at least one foreign holiday.



Off I go now, to more festivities. I'll see you next year.

The Stars Are Brightly Shiiii-NING!

La la laaaaaaaaaaaaa.

I'm just back from Delhi abrim with holiday spirit. I go off to Goa in five days, and yes, I know, Goa during New Year's is like a mela or something, but we have cottages! And we're driving down and you know I heart road trips. Even the fact that Airtel and Vodafone and every other service provider seems to have only one thing on their agenda: Make eM as miserable as possible; isn't a dampener.

Plus, I will be whirling with social activities even before I leave. My plan was originally to get some work done on the book--edits are happening and I'm wading through each chapter, tweaking and fixing--but that's all going to have to happen in the daytime. I like writing at nights, nighttime is when I am awake and alive and alert. In fact, the book got written mostly during the hours between 1 am and 3 am, back in my house in Delhi. I don't know whether it shows in the writing. I hope so. I want it to be a late night book. A vodka book. I can't wait for it to be out already. (April, by the way, dahlinks, as far as I know)

Speaking of books, my supremely talented friend Samit has his third book out. If you're a fan, you already know this. If you're not a fan, you should be, because his books are awesome. I've been all literary this weekend, and even met with Advaita Kala, author of Almost Single, a book I enjoyed hugely. We met right before my flight had to leave, so hurriedly at the IIC, over chutney sandwiches and coffee we discussed Indian Chick Lit and What It Means and Dodging Labels.

This time in Delhi I even took a break from 4S (which was packed on a Saturday night! Whatever is the world coming to when beloved dives are being taken over?) and went to the very posh Smokehouse Grill in GK II. Run by the same guy who owns Mocha, I believe, it's a lovely place, even if it IS super expensive. Very nice music, decent crowd, a little small by Delhi standards but hey, I live in Bombay, I can't complain. And it was nice going somewhere that wasn't the same ol', same ol', you know? I went with Surly Girl, back from Australia for a holiday (and who has totally inspired me to go to Sydney next year. I'm putting coins in my piggy bank already!) and Mr Crowley and many other non-blogging friends, coz I have some of those too. My energy levels run lower in Delhi, plus living with the mater meant I got calls asking, "Where are you? What time are you coming home? Who's dropping you?" which, shall we say, dampened my all-night-long enthusiasm. (Plus, we all ran out of money).

The weather in Delhi was brilliant, at least the weekend I was there. It was like the city was welcoming me back with open arms. Patches of winter sunshine, even disembarking from the flight to be told it was five degrees celcius outside wasn't so bad. And Sunday, when I left, it was gloomy again. Awwwwwwwww. Delhi, I love you too.

And I forgot to mention the man I met on the plane. (An OLD man, so no plane romance) There was lots of turbulence, and I couldn't read, so I grasped the side of my seat and tried not to squeal, which is when we made eye contact and he told me all about his life. He's writing a book, works in sales, has consequently no time for writing. "I bought a separate laptop for my novel," he said mournfully, "But I have no time." His wife has an MA in Economics, and so doesn't appreciate creativity. (This is point where I began to edge away and fiddle nervously with my headset) His daughter is 23, lives in Delhi and is married and the COO of her company. She's uber creative. He told me all about his novel as well, but because idea plagiarism is rampant, I'm not going to post it. And he has a son. We didn't talk much about his son, only his daughter and his mother, until I said "Excuse me" and watched Heroes for the rest of the flight.

My outgoing calls aren't happening, because Airtel stopped by on a "surprise verification visit" and I wasn't home and tomorrow is a bank holiday sooooooooo, Merry Christmas. Happy belated Eid and if I don't get a chance to blog before Goa, an excellent New Year.

We Are Now Twenty Six

Phew.

Quite a long while for us to be living, no? Quite a long while for us to be blogging too, considering I began this thing way back at the callow age of 22. I like to think that over the years, with each consequent birthday post (three now!) I sound older and wiser. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Anyway, enough with the ruminating and on with the memory creating.

Right, so my birthday officially began Wednesday night, which was totally unplanned. I had a friend over for drinks and him and Shark Tooth and I were sitting around my living room when he said, suddenly at eleven, "There's a new club opening tonight where my friends are at, want to go?" I shrugged, Shark Tooth shrugged and we said, "Why not?" and made it to this new place--Blue Frog--like right at five to twelve or something. "Quickly!" I said, "Tequila shots! It's almost my birthday!" We got the tequila and downed it and not a moment too soon because then my phone started ringing and didn't shut up till almost midnight the next day. (I feel so popular and loved.)

Blue Frog is AWESOME, by the way. It's right opposite Kamla Mills, I forget what the mills it's in is called but I think Mathura Mills? Anyway, it's got this really trippy ceiling with these video images that do screen saver-y things, and it's shaped like an amphitheatre. All the tables are sunken in, circular and lined with pink lights. In the middle there's an open space to dance in or whatever, right in front of the stage. They're apparently going to have live music every single night, and the night of my birthday I got really lucky, because first of all they had this fabulous woman singer (I've been Googling and Googling but I can't find her name, so instead, here's a link to the club. Ooh and it also gives me the address--Mathuradas Mills, I was right.) who was doing Tori Amos indie music type songs, only not covers, I'm sure of that and secondly, they charged entry at Rs 300 per person and I know for a fact this is going to increase later (ENTRY not COVER. Robbers) and thirdly, because not the entire city knew about the opening--half the city, but not all--we actually got a table. But Blue Frog despite being lovely is sooooooooooooo expensive, I don't think it's going to happen again for me till the beginning of January or something. My advice is to tank up somewhere cheaper before you go. But you should still pay it a visit, it's got this completely global feel that a lot of clubs try so hard to get.

Enough of plugging Blue Frog (hey, do I get a discount?) and back to me. Thursday was my happy to you! And I spent the day teetering between feeling all jumpy and excited to being in the depths of depression. It's my birthday-related bipolar disorder, happens every year, but each year, it takes me by surprise. Finally, I couldn't take it any more, and I got out of the house to meet Chrisann, and we went shopping--one tube dress in white with black skulls on it (it's actually a lot more feminine than it sounds) and one sparkly white top--and got my hair done and then I went home to get ready for dinner at Olive.

Dinner was nice even though everyone except me and Chris and another friend, Yasmin was late and some people cancelled but slightly too propah for the drunken birthday celebrations I had envisioned. So after two margaritas, we went to Vertigo to sing karaoke (we did I Will Survive. Heh.) and were joined there by Pieces! Yay! I hadn't seen her in some ten thousand years so after several hundred tequila shots she suggested we go back to her place and I merrily agreed and I only got home at six thirty in the morning. Excellent birthday.

But I was so terribly hungover when my mother arrived at eight thirty the next day that I was chugging the water as we went to Oshiwara to pick up my birthday presents, one of which I sit writing at right now. My room looks transformed--I have brand new old furniture (ANTIQUE, my mother said) a desk, two bookshelves and a chair, a brand new mattress, which is springy and lovely and makes me never want to leave my bed and new curtains in blue and green. I may never leave the house again. (And I'm so broke, I don't think I will. If you want to see me at all this month, it will be in my house. I'm just sayin')

Saturday night was the 1987 theme party, which turned out to be not so much 1987, but still fun. No one played my specially planned games, but the booze had to be replenished and I had lots of presents and a blueberry cheesecake and that bit was fun.

My mom left last night, and Mr Crowley stopped by for a drink and my birthday celebrations were officially over. I have a feeling it's going to be a good year.

An Open Letter To My Not-So-Nice Anon Commenters

Dear Little Troll,

What's wrong? I feel a gap in our communication. What exactly is it that's upsetting you about me? I've tried to fix it, really I have, but every week, every new post, you pop up with another delightful insult.

Is it me, troll? Have I let myself go? Do I look fat? Am I not still bringing minty freshness into the bedroom? If that's so, then I sincerely apologise. I like to believe our relationship is one of trust and mutual understanding, that I will say something, and you will respond to what I am saying as opposed to a random battle you seem to be fighting with me in your head.

Sometimes I feel like I am giving you too much freedom. Spare the rod and spoil the troll. But my strongest belief is that if I let you do what you like, eventually you'll do what I like. I have great hopes from you. And then I look back, just randomly, over my last couple of posts and I am sad and disappointed. I am hurt, troll, that despite my greatest efforts, you still feel the need to tell me that I suck because I don't know Malayalam or Telegu. That my writing is terrible, at best. That I am far too "Western" to even attempt to be Indian, no, no, don't look away, troll, you and I both know you said it.

But then, there is a service you perform, even if you don't know it. You are funny, even when you are insulting. Some days you make me giggle, even while on other days you crush my spirit and make me want to just delete this blog and start over somewhere else. You come to my blog even when you think it's "peurile" and "personal blogs are a waste of time". You believe that what you have to say is so profound that you must share it with everyone else. You take a post I've spent an hour or so working on, and you make it about you.

Wow. How do you DO that? I've been trying for years.

See, the argument you give me is that since this is on a public space, you're allowed your right to diss me as much as you like, because like it or not, the blog is not a journal. I made gentle noises about this on a previous post, but I think I need to reemphasise. Allow me to respectfully disagree. Nope. You're not allowed to say rude things. Why? Because, yes, I get that it's a public space for judgement and so on, but you know, the last time you went to a nightclub/restaurant/generally fun place? No? Not ringing any bells? Well, most of these establishments that exist in the real world, away from the murky confines of virtuality, have this little sign that says, "The management reserves the right to provide service to whoever they see fit" or something along those lines. So basically, they could kick someone out. It's a public place, it's open to most. Therefore, if you are bad mannered on my blog, you will be evicted. Simple.

Let's not go there, though, trolly (can I call you trolly?). Let's establish some common sense type things, yes? I'll even make them easy to read and understand:

1) You not likey blog, you not visit.

2) You not likey blog, you definitely not refresh comment section to add new two cents.

3) You have opinion, very nice, you start own blog.

4) Where your book deal is?

5) You think eM is ugly/dumb/getting too much attention/all of the above, oh no! You mutter under your breath, or even out loud. No need to send bad emails.

6) Bad emails, baaaaaaaaaaaaad. No good. Make eM sad. And filling up trash folder. Forefinger hurts from delete.

7) We talking about you, now, yes? Whole post, just for you? You are only child?

8) Since whole post about you, you can put comments in this post. No delet-y. But after this, you not talk about postie, you talk about something else, we say bye-bye comment!

There we go. I hope I will not have to address this issue again in the future. You seem like a smart person.

Kisses!!

eM

I'm Like Vasco Da Gama, Except With Prettier Shoes

I know, I know, it's been a while. But nothing of massive consequence happened to me recently. And I've had a horrible, old woman, hacking, tuberculosis type cough. (I'll do it for you: yes, yes, smoke some more). Actually, I still have the cough, I need to go to a doctor and stop being so damn lazy about it. But! I have made new discoveries!

> DISCOVERY ONE: My cat is fucking adorable. He is. His new trick is to sit on top of the TV when it's on. But then he sees all these people inside this little box as he's lying sprawled there, and you can see the tip of his tail beginning to twitch as he pulls himself into sitting position and gazes upside down at the TV. By this time, I'm beginning to giggle, so when he plonks down on his stomach and makes grabs at the yummy Owen Wilson, I'm hysterical. Which is when he notices me, and is all like, "Whatchoo laughing at, woman?" Then, he will turn his back to me and the TV and the world in general and wash himself thoroughly and indignantly. This is point normally when I grab him and say, "Whoosh my handsome? Whoosh?" into his ear. He suffers this if we're alone, even purring a little, but if there's anyone else in the room, he looks at me all stricken and "Mo-oooooooom, please." and then scampers off. I love mindfucking with my cat. What else are small furry dependant creatures for but to sneak up and pat them on their bottoms as they stalk flies, thereby making them jump a mile in the air? Heh.

> DISCOVERY TWO: Okay, so I have an addictive personality. So far, my addictions are: coffee, cigarettes, potatoes, cell phones, the internet and lifestyle. This is why I don't do chemicals (besides the fact that they can completely blast out a few hundred brain cells), because I'm afraid that I might get all coke-head-y. (Also drugs are bad. Sorry, this is a particular pet peeve. And don't give me the whole oh-alcohol-is-a-drug schpeil. Face it, alcohol is legal for a reason and MDMA just isn't. And before you ask, nope, not an alcoholic, yet. That seems to be the one addiction I've been exposed to that I haven't grabbed on to.) Anyhoo, so recently I discovered the ENTIRE Babysitter's Club collection online. OMG. Hardly daring to believe my eyes I clicked a link and there they all were and it was Claudia with her funky clothes and Stacey who was diabetic and really a big city girl and also a trendy dresser and Dawn who had super long, super pale hair and was from California and liked health food and Mary Anne who was shy and cried a lot but had a very cute boyfriend and Kristy who had this billionaire stepfather and who I always suspected was gay and Mallory who had seven brothers and sisters and Jessi who was black and a ballet dancer. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. And I've been just reading them and reading them. Like chocolate or something. I can't bring myself to stop. Last night I was reading till THREE in the MORNING. I'm doomed. (Go to scribd.com and do a search for babysitter's club.)

> DISCOVERY THREE: So, I have two new flatmates, starting next month. Both girls, both from the old alma mater. It's nice that I sorta know them, because then I'm not sharing with absolute strangers. It's nice that I don't know them THAT well, because sometimes even the nicest friends can turn into absolute psychos when they become your roommate. I need to give these two pseudonyms though. What to call them? They're both tall--well, taller than me--so that won't work. Should I just give them random names? I think so. Okay, so the Compulsive household now includes eM, tc, Yamini and Lali. I'll miss Shark Tooth, but despite my best efforts, he's determined to move, so I'm glad at least his replacements are nice. And organised. And everyone leaves for work at different times so no bathroom issues, before you ask. I have SO much to do though, before they move in and he moves out, including changing the names on the lease and changing the address on my SIM card which is on Shark Tooth's name now.

> DISCOVERY FOUR: I have crow's feet! At the young and tender age of almost-26! This SUCKS. I refuse to be old. I don't WANT to turn 26. I'm having an aging meltdown. The party, which I've planned for next weekend (my birthday's on a Thursday) is going to have a kid's theme, as in, I've told everyone to dress as they would in 1987, I'm going to have games like Pin The Tail On The Donkey and Passing The Parcel and Three Legged Races and so on. It'll be just like being six again except with alcohol. Lots of alcohol. On second thought, this adulthood thing isn't bad at all.