Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself

I have been obsessed about one thing and one thing only in the last month, and that is the impending end of my twenties. Good decade. I've gone on about it in other posts, but this is it, the last two weeks that I have to be young and restless. Not that thirty is old, but some things have changed, most notably, my desire to go out has been replaced by a desire to stay in, under my quilt and read. That could just be winter speaking though. I do get extremely lazy in the wintertime. Which is odd, because, in the summer when it's hot and horrible, and everyone wants to stay in with their ACs on, I want to go out and party and live the life.

But they say you change the most in your twenties, possibly growing at a rate even faster than your teens. (Not physically growing, that ship sailed for me at sixteen, and I have been the same height ever since) This decade, I have reinvented myself at least three times, and sometimes, I feel a flashback to an older me, a reaction I forgot I used to have, that just crops up in moments of vulnerability, and I'm taken aback, I'm all, "Oh, right, I used to feel like that." What happens to old personalities? Do we fold them up and put them away among mothballs? Where are the mes that used to be? Maybe, like an onion, if I kept peeling layer after layer of myself off, I'd find the original me, the me I began with. On the other hand, the me that lurks closer to the surface is who I am now, for better or for worse, my personality has formed, and it's hard to break yourself of it. Not bad habits, them I'm constantly trying to eradicate: obsessing and overthinking and needing to be in control of situations and the more obvious ones: smoking and not getting enough exercise and indulging myself too much in the finer things of life.

It's also been a year since I moved back to Delhi, and I can't say I regret that decision. I miss Bombay, I think some part of me will always miss Bombay (but I'm not saying goodbye forever, I'm just saying goodbye for now) but on the other hand, it's been a good move. I'm getting lots of work, I have a large-ish flat,  I like the weather and the people I now know, and reconnecting with old friends, having standing dates with some of them, like we haven't done in years. And, as for Bombay, I have, what we'll call, a Good Thing going on right now, which means I have an excuse to go there every month. Not that I need an excuse, but still. It's nice. Said Good Thing is also nice; and when it's not happening in Bombay/Delhi, it's happening in other parts of the country or the WORLD, and that is so awesome.

Another nice side effect about moving back to Delhi which I hadn't considered in my original pro/con list was that I travelled a LOT this year. Having family here, and resources, meant that I could take off when I liked and it was just a lot easier, having someone pop by and check on the cat and the house and see that everything was running smoothly in my absence. This could've technically happened in Bombay too, but everyone's so busy there that you hate to ask your friends to drop in and see if everything's okay, and while my maid was great, I don't know if she had the work ethic to visit every. single. day while I was gone, which made me stress wherever I was. A lot of my stopovers, especially to the far flung South, were at Bombay airport, so I'd sit in the glass lounge, gazing out wistfully at the tarmac, wishing I was getting off there instead of wherever it was I was off to. Except in the monsoon season, of course. Then I was just like, "HAHA, SUCKERS!"

And now, I will leave you with some pictures from around my house, since I've turned into a homebody and haven't gone anywhere in the last two days. Okay, okay, 24 hours. But it's still a LONG time!

Picture of my liquor cabinet, that tequila bottle is about four years old now, and has had the same four shots left in it since I carted it back from Bombay. The Tia Maria behind it has become one of the things I actually drink, having recently learnt how to make White Russians. (They're good cocktails too.)





Yearned after these flowers at Khan Market the other day and a very kind friend bought us both a bunch. I always think of Mrs Dalloway when I put out fresh flowers, but having flowers is like a fancy indulgence, it always makes me feel posh and rich and adult.




That is a blackboard I bought, full of good intentions (me, ie, not the blackboard, though I'm sure if blackboards had intentions, this one would have good ones) that I'd have a to-do list up and little motivational quotes or pretty poems to look at, and yeah. I haven't updated it since I bought it. Oddly though, the haiku on it now is about flowers, and that sort of went with the flower lights across it, so at least it serves some purpose.






My plants are doing well, thank you. I've only killed three and they're under the windowsill, dead stumps in pots, but otherwise, I think that's a pretty good success rate. I like dressing up this window too, when I'm writing I gaze off  to my right where all the plants are, and it helps me mull. It's one of TC's favourite spots AND I need some oxygen to fight all the cigarette smoke I put into the atmosphere. Win-win.

Why you gotta be a hater, yo?

Delhi, my darling, at this time of the year, you look smug with loveliness. You're all like, "Hey, India, I got winter, I got pretty outdoor restaurants, I got places where you can buy boots AND places where you can wear boots. I'm pretty much the winner of everything." And justified. You are remarkably gorgeous, the weather is remarkably gorgeous, and it is that brief window, that happens only for a few precious weeks, where everyone's in a bloody good mood, crimes drop (a little) and if you steal someone's parking spot, they'll let you off with a chuckle, instead of pulling a knife on you.

But, man, you hate single women. From my limited observations, you're entirely different around single men, with them you adopt a cheek pulling, hair tousling, boys-will-be-boys attitude, invite them over for dinner, guard your teenage daughters, but still look out for them with a parental twinkling eye.  Bachelors have carte blanche in their flats, they can have women over, have noisy parties, and still be invited downstairs to the landlord's house for a meal, or something. You see pieces of writing about Delhi, where the single male writer is going on a rhapsody about their single male writer life. And while I'm not complaining (I got lucky enough to find one of the few flats in Delhi without an owner attached to the ground floor) I do think that as a single woman, I get a bit of a short shrift.

This blog post is triggered off by the fact that it is Sunday afternoon, and I just tried, very unsuccessfully, to order lunch. I called three places and was told my order was "too little". I am a small person, I eat small portions. They have a "single sized" serving on their menus, and all I wanted was to get one of those single sized things to my doorstep, rather than have leftovers lying in my fridge for weeks. Waste not, want not, isn't that the rule? I can't order a whole bunch of other things, and yes, I do think this is a girl-only problem, because I think a dude would be able to eat a lot more than just a single serving of something. (I'm generalising, but this is from watching a lot of boys eat a lot more than I would.) Finally, one restaurant took pity on me, and decided to send me lunch, but usually, it's a whole lot of, "Yeah, no, we can't send that, it's too little."

And then, this got me thinking about other ways being a single lady in a city not equipped for single ladies had gotten me down. I touched briefly upon it in this piece I did for the Sunday Guardian on moving, but allow me to quote some of the things potential landlords said to me as I was househunting:

"The door is locked after 11 pm, you can call if you want to be in later, but you won't be later."

"Here is the barsaati, here is the bathroom, our grandson comes to visit often, he's going to want to use your loo."

"I only rent to young women, but I'm concerned you'll be *ahem* lonely, all by yourself in that big flat."

And, of course, the classic, the what-we've-all-heard:

"Absolutely no male company." "But.. but.. I have male friends." "You have male friends! Harlot!" (Okay, slight exaggeration, but only slight.)

Then, of course, if one is having sex (which I'm not confirming or denying here, just sayin') then everyone hates you. PDA = Not Allowed, but this we already knew, being a conservative country and adopting the opposite of the motto "the whole world loves a lover" and turning it into "keep it in your pants, goddamnit, because we never think about sex, oh no, the reason we're overpopulated is because pretty fairies come in at night and bless us with children." The whole country, Bollywood included, loves a male lover, again the head shaking, eye twinkling, boys-will-be-boys thing, but as a woman, you keep your knees together and your protests loud. And even then, you must have done something in order to interest a boy in the first place. Harlot Part Two! Overnight male guests get tea in the morning, but I get the stink eye from everyone, including the help and random neighbours. Men have "male desires", but single women have to be either a) married or b) sad virgins. When I was younger (and this is a true story), and I happened to be in a car with a member of the opposite sex, within five minutes, there'd be cops surrounding us, threatening to call our parents if we didn't give them some money. TRUE STORY. Is it any wonder that the iPill, a morning after, emergency contraceptive only, is flying off the shelves? Another true story: in my entire life, I have only bought condoms ONCE, and even then, blushing with shame, mumbling a request, and keeping my eyes downcast the entire time, so the shopkeeper wouldn't think I was actually *gasp* having sexual relations. I imagine (I've never actually witnessed this) that when men buy condoms, there are balloons and high fives and woot! score!

And, that's the end of my Sunday afternoon rant, brought to you by my lack of lunch.

Lists I might have come up with weeks ago or made up right now to use as a writing device

Potential tattoos I could get to commemorate my twenties

'A Learning Experience'

'Drink More Water'

'Not A Good Idea'

'Yes, A Great Idea'

'Tattoos R Permanint'

Other names I came up with for my cat after the name TC already stuck and it was too late to change it but are so cool they make me want another kitten

Gingervitis

Bill E.

Deadline

Things my cellphone has said (or continues to say) in the middle of Serious Meetings making me wish I had changed the ringtone but which I never remember to change anyway leading to more awkward situations

"Would you go to bed with me?" (SIDE BAR: Actually a segue for the popular song at the time, viewed here, it's not so bad when you listen to the WHOLE SONG.)

"You have a message, Your Royal Sexiness"

"Hallelujah!"

"Oye message, message!"

This theme.

Some texts I got or sent that I liked and made into a draft post intended to post several, but could only find three so will make them a part of this post instead

"Creepy creep man next to me is very interested in your chesticles."

"There was once a Delhi where spontaneous plans were possible."

"Tulip? I can be a tulip."

"Have just had shower and he has friends visiting so I'm feeling too shy to emerge so sitting in closed bedroom texting you in attempt to look busy."

Ways not to react when someone tells you their dad plans on buying your book after having a nice civilised chat with you, unless you're aiming for strange looks from your companions

"Woot! Sale!"

Other things people will look at you strangely for

Changing into an outfit for a wedding in an airport bathroom and having to take your top off, standing in the middle of the bathroom with only your bra and jeans on as your sweaty fingers frantically try to unzip your party dress and pull it on BUT IT'S NOT HAPPENING GODDAMNIT and god knows how many people you flashed and HAS NO ONE EVER GONE TO A WEDDING FROM AN AIRPORT BEFORE?

Things you could potentially do in order to procrastinate some more

Buy new flat tall winter boots because you neeeeeeed them and it's coooooold and you have to be stylish OR ELSE.

Lie flat on your bed wondering if you perhaps use too many capital letters to make your point.

Tweet obsessively about something household related.

Go on Gchat and say "Hi!" to everyone with a green light near their names.

Do some spring cleaning.

Water your plants.

Follow links to more links to more links, convincing yourself it's all research in the end anyway.