Here I am reading aloud a new piece I wrote at Depot 29*

* I realise that reads like I wrote the piece AT Depot 29, but in fact, I wrote it at home and only read it at Depot 29. But Depot seems like a nice place to write as well! 


As some of you may know, I have a collection of short stories coming out with Westland this year. (Probably next month!) I've always been drawn to the format of the short story--perfect little universes where you can go fully macro-mode, zooming in closer and closer to the character. I wrote some of them four years ago, when I was away in the hills, trying to restart my writing.

Cold Feet happened, and work stuff happened, and I had sort of forgotten about them, until I had a bored afternoon, and was going through my "creative writing" folder, and came across my stories again, and they were still... good. At least, I thought so. The writing didn't make me cringe, as old writing sometimes does, the stories still felt fresh and tight, and so I sent them off to an agent friend, who sold it for me, and I wrote a few more--I put ideas on post-its, just a few words to indicate what I thought: "Michael Jackson kid" for example, that turned into a story about a reclusive superstar who died and is told from the point of view of his daughter, or "cat prostitute" about a cat who lived with a prostitute in Bombay, and likes to walk the streets herself. You get the idea.

A few weeks ago, my friend Karan Khosla, who is a super talented musician and in a few bands, asked if I'd like to a spoken word thing at a gig he was playing. The story had to be under three minutes, and he'd accompany me on the guitar. The Good Thing and I chopped one of my 8000 word stories into 800 words--no small task!--and then we put in breathing breaks, so I remembered to catch my breath and read slowly, and I rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed till I knew it almost off by heart. My reading aloud skills have never been great, which kind of sucks if you're a writer, so I was glad of the practice too.

All this to say, I finally uploaded it to YouTube! It's the adaptation of a longer story, but it had to be complete, so I tweaked the middle and the ending. Video off my phone, so it's not AMAZING, but I did put in subtitles so you can "read" along.

Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Why am I still blogging?

Dooce, one of the blogs I've been following for the last ten something years, has quit to focus on other stuff. Back when we used to do this thing regularly, when blog meet-ups meant you actually knew everyone's URL, I had a lot more people I knew here. Regular commenters, I commented on other people's things, we met, we talked, we had an Indian blogging community.

Does it make sense to keep writing on this thing? What purpose does it serve if you're going to read me on other forums anyway? My blog gets the least amount of engagement now, if you consider all the other social media I'm on.

It's not about the money, it was never about the money, but we live in an age where if you have an opinion and an intelligent way to put it down, you can publish it pretty much anywhere. So all the stuff that you could save for your own blog, you'd put on other forums. And get paid for it too.

Why am I still here? Partly because I'm holding on with my fingertips to something that was once awesome, and that I believe can be awesome again. Partly because this is the only space which is all my stuff all the time, unlike Facebook or Twitter or Instagram which has other people's thoughts as well. Partly because after close to eleven years of doing this, I've grown accustomed to this place.


This may not be the future, in fact, I'm fairly sure this is the past. The blog as we know it is dead and it's time for those of us that are left after the great social media shakedown to see what new things we can do with it. If you're listening, talk to me.  

UPDATE: HOLY SHIT, THANK YOU GUYS! I am so, so touched with all the outpouring of good wishes. You're the best and you've convinced me. :) This blog isn't going anywhere: I'll stay if you will. 

In which we ramble on about Social Media Responsibility in a somewhat adult manner

(I tried to write this erudite, all encompassing first sentence, but I'm very mildly hungover and my thoughts are still slightly jumbled, so I'm just going to plunge right in.)

It came to a head when a Facebook fan page I subscribe to, that of an animal shelter that does excellent work and usually places or homes most strays that come their way, had as a status update, details about the brood (is that the right collective? Jumble? Bag? Clutch?) of puppies they had just been foisted with. Included in this update were details about the irresponsible owners, and that's what made me a bit uncomfortable. Rather than just saying, 'oh, you know, this is how the dogs were treated' which was pretty bad in itself, they chose to share that the former owner was blahblahblah (insert details yourself.) I commented on this update, saying pretty much what I'm saying here, don't see how it's relevant and so on and they replied saying the details had been posted to "shame them". 

That brought me to a halt. It's not Animal Shelter's job to shame anyone, surely? They could've said, "The dogs weren't vaccinated and allowed to roam about and get pregnant a lot", which is true and everyone would've been equally shocked and disgusted, but I don't think they had any right, any OBLIGATION even, to put up details like they did. It's like saying, "eM is a bad cat owner and SHE SMOKES." My smoking has nothing to do with my cat owning and for another, it's none of anyone's business whether or not I smoke, but if I was a bad cat owner, then I suppose it would be kind of a social responsibility to tell me off about that. Right?

I think we're going too far with social media. This may seem like I'm being all old school and "oh, no one needs a watchman" but the truth is, words that are written are far more permanent than words that are said. Stuff on the internet lingers forever, coming up like a bad meal during a Google search. 

Then, there's this blogger I sometimes read (mostly because her life couldn't be more different than mine) and she had a post about Kony and how she refused to say anything to her many hundreds of thousand Twitter followers. You can read the post here, but in a nutshell, she just couldn't be bothered, for the most part. She has other things she supports, and she didn't think just because she had that many readers, that she should force something down their throats. Fair enough. This is where my thoughts about social media responsibility get kind of mixed up. Not specifically the whole Kony thing (which is turning out to be a fiasco, by the looks of it) but then I was wondering, if you have, say, over 10,000 Twitter followers or several hundred friends on Facebook or a blog that gets lots of hits, shouldn't you in some way, shape or form, be giving back, as it were? On the other hand, it's not your funeral. You should be able to do what you dos. But, back in the day, if you were a well known journalist or author or something, you picked your cause and you raised awareness about your cause and people still do that and just because we're all on the internet and it's free, doesn't mean that we don't have to help. On the other other hand, maybe your audience is just like, "Dude, we don't want to hear about all the things you're doing to make yourself feel better! We just want the content you normally provide!" and so by posting about these things, you're basically running the risk of losing your readers. 

And, coming back to Facebook, I saw a status on my cousin's wall the other day, where he said he received a bunch of anonymous photos, not too explicit, by someone obviously sending it to the wrong number. He wanted a second opinion on whether it would be okay, if he blurred the faces out, to post them on Facebook. Ultimately, he put himself in the sender's shoes, and decided against it. I don't think a lot of people would be that considerate. 

I love Tripadvisor and consult it regularly, but sometimes, I can't help but wonder if the really, REALLY shit reviews are just someone with an axe to grind. I've started moderating my Twitter somewhat, so that I'm a little less gratuitously bitchy. Do I really want to say that, I ask myself, if I'm having a bad meal or someone in the public sphere is pissing me off and so on. And mostly, I realise, it can be avoided, without losing my honesty to my Twitter followers. 

Naming and shaming is all very well, but I think at some point, we need to draw the line. It's not our job to be the parent to random people on the internet, or be their Supreme Power or whatever. Say what is absolutely necessary (and I know, I know, I haven't always lived by this rule, but I am now.) If typing out something about someone else makes you feel:

a) slightly sick about how they'll react to it.

b) filled with vengeful glee.

you probably should rethink that. 

Why I am like a woman who has been married for a hundred years EXPLAINED!

Welcome back to question time! It's time for me now to take part two of the questions (and don't worry, I'm not going to stretch this out forever, this will be a three part post. Part one here.) Anyhoo, has been a pretty slow week. I spent most of it watching Scrubs, my new obsession.

Did one garage sale (see photo) which went swimmingly, as in, I sold most of my clothes and luckily, the ones I didn't sell were the ones I decided to keep in the end anyway*. Happy ending. Also bought one white, long, racer back summer dress, two pairs of shorts, one long black stretchy tunic, one black shirt with cut-out embroidery and one CD collection that I used to have somewhere in Delhi but can no longer find. Plus, made a profit, but THEN my car got towed and I spent most of it getting it back. Oh well.

(*including the colourful halter top you can see in the picture)

On to the questions! Lalalala.

First! From Pesto Sauce, who asks, "Tell me when is your second book coming out?"

Heh. Something both you and I want to know, my friend. Here's the good news. The book is happening, slowly but surely. I have approximately 15,000 words done (and I'm aiming for a 100,000) the characters are shaping themselves well and I have a good idea of where the story is going. The bad news is that discipline comes and goes, and there are some days where I do no work at all. But, rest assured, the first draft should be done by my birthday (which is mid-December) and after that, inshallah, we shall figure out the rest.

Second, from Jo (who hasn't enabled profile views so no link, sadly), who asks, "So tell me your difference in passion about blogging over 5 years?"

Good question, Jo. Goo-hoo-d question. I think I've mentioned this before, but being a freelance is pretty much living in your head all the time. Which means some of your dear-diary thoughts get verbalised during the day, even if you're just talking to your cat. Which means sometimes a blog is extraneous. OR, if you're struggling with three deadlines that you've put off till the last minute it means that the last thing you want to do in your free time is write some more. The passion? Has somewhat waned. We are like an old married couple now, me and my blog, and sometimes we have great sex, and sometimes, well, just a kiss on the forehead suffices.

And, almost a follow up question, from Touche, "Your frequency of writing would have windled from day zero to present...but still there is something which makes you go on and on. What drives you to do that?"

I guess, to continue with my old married people metaphor, because at the end of the day I come back to something I love. And blogging combines two things I dearly like doing--talking about myself and writing. It's win-win! (Yes, I'm a narcissist. Yes, most writers are, if you scratch the surface. Yes, this is also the reason I would never date another writer.) I like blogging because it keeps me connected, I can ramble on about various things in my life and because, well, it's sort of fun, no?

Another Kiran In NYC asks, "have you ever regifted a gift?"

Y'know, mostly not. Presents have a sort of sentimental value for me, I like all presents, even if I barely know the person that gave them to me, so I keep LOADS of things I have no use for. What I do do (hehehe.. doodoo. I am a five year old today) is buy something for myself and regift that. So like a book I got for a journey, or a top that doesn't fit, things like that. But those are only courtesy gifts, given when I'm going somewhere where I don't really know the host, but it's polite to take something anyway---like a friend of a friend's thing or something. And everything is new, it's not second hand stuff, so don't be scared if I give you a present!

I think that's it for today, check back again for part three, coming up soon!

I begin all angry and rant-y but then I walk the talk

Soooooo tonight I'm straight shooting from the hip, also in not a very good mood. I should be in an excellent mood--nice wine drunk (we named him Max), nice company--but then this ASSHOLE shows up, tagger on with friends and then proceeds to mouth off about all sorts of nonsense. To which I'm like okay, everyone deserves their own opinion. Then he recognises my name (wheee! sorry, it still pleases me) and then he's like (imagine this next bit all drunk and slurry) " I thought your book was shit." To which I'm still like, eh, can't please everyone. THEN in total overstepping of personal boundaries, he says, "Oh. you're not as sexy as I thought you would be." And then I think I spent the rest of the night trying not to cry from fury. Not that I care so much that he didn't think I was sexy--I'm a very your opinion is your opinion and mine is mine and live and let live etc and plus, I wasn't feeling very sexy anyway, and it's kinda a compliment to think your writing is sexier than you are. It was just the way he said it, this entitlement he felt he had, all BECAUSE I AM A MAN AND BECAUSE I AM THREATENED BY YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE YOUNGER AND A WOMAN and it was very not nice. Then later he weaves over and--I shit you not--pats me on the head and he's lucky he didn't lose his fingers, coz I would have bitten those mothers off. It was like seeing my Internet Troll with a face. Aargh. Depending on whose side you're on, you'll be happy/sad to know I didn't engage with him, but let him sit there, stewing in his own juices, just thankful I didn't know him in real life, and thankful I was me and not anyone else.

But you guys were nice and tonight, in post-Max stupor (we decided since wine had so much character we might as well name the bottle. It was a lovely Pinot Noir. Yeah, I watched Sideways too.) I'm going to answer questions one through five. (Don't worry, I will answer them all, just not in the same post.)

Question One asked by Rajvi: "how did you meet the love of your life?"

Well, the way you phrased it sort of threw me for a loop there. Where I can tell you, where is easy--we were both at a party, I was lonesoming by myself in a corner, batting away the stray boys who aimed towards me, asked me what I did and then turned it into a conversation about themselves, but this one, a bonafide cutie, all Jesus looking (but hotter) actually started talking to me about writing, how his favourite writers were Terry Pratchett and Oscar Wilde and before I knew it, my eyelashes were batting up at him and he was asking for my phone number and everything is awesome. (Except for the long distance, but then, no one likes long distance.)

How on the other hand, would require me to backtrack a little, go through my love life of the last four years, tell you how nothing really seemed to work for me. When I met JC, I was a little low, cynical as all hell, convinced that no one would really ever want to be with me and he treated me like I was special and perfect and now, almost two years later, you guys, I feel special and perfect. I feel cared for, I feel loved. And I am able to once again be the girlfriend I was at 20, giggly and playful, nurturing and considerate, knowing that I have his back and he has mine and we are a team, a TEAM, the two of us. It's brilliant. I recommend it highly; love.

Question two from Thresia: I like green eggs and ham. Do you want some green eggs and ham?

I'm not sure. I might be hungry, but, BUT, I have this new awesome cook and I've been eating most of my meals at home, which is a major achievement for me (not to mention much better for my figure) but I do like ham. Eggs, meh, not so much.

Question three from Yachna: So, do you miss delhi...how did life change from delhi to mumbai ?

I miss Delhi intensely right now. Winter is my most favourite season, and I love feeling the first nip in the air, the first night without the fan on, the first smell of mothball-y clothes, the smell of woodsmoke in the air, hot coffee and a cigarette. Things I love and I rarely experience anymore.

On the other hand, at 2.30 this morning, I lurched into a nearby auto rickshaw and made my way home alone. Good? Good.

I am more confident in Bombay, a Bombayite as much as I am a Dilliwaali. I know the streets of my neighbourhood, I wear a dress to casual Tuesday dinners, I can say "boss" with the best of them, and yet, I miss some things. I'm homesick for one city when I'm in another. I'm a nomad these days, based somewhere, heart somewhere else. Bombay turned my world around, but Delhi was where I learnt what a world was, so I'm really here and there.

Question four from Glox: What's your current FB status?

Ooh, easy question (good thing, considering it's nearly 4 am). Mine is inspired from the song Sweet Dreams (and on days when I'm lazy, my current status is just a song I've been humming) so it's eM travelled the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for something.

And, inevitably, when you post a lyric as a status, one or more people will complete it for you, and they did.

And my last question for tonight from Lucie: what have you learnt in those 5 years? How much do you think one grows up in that time?

Oh boy. This is going to take some effort. Right.

Five years of blogging has been beyond wild. I went from random internet chick to not-so-random internet chick, which is pretty cool, considering I was only aiming for a higher random anyway. I received both bouquets and brickbats. I had some great validation for my writing from total strangers and I learnt how to tell the truth. (This is an important skill.)

But, mostly, I suppose, my blog has given me a certain amount of confidence. An internet persona is a wierd sort of thing to have as all my readers who blog will know. You're different when you have a keyboard, wiser, less prone to mistakes but also the editor of your own biography. THIS, in short, is my LIFE. I can see what's been going on for me, year to year, what I've been sad about, what I've been pissed about, even, sometimes, days when I've been drunk. I can see the graph of my life, the way it curves, the ups and the downs, and while it's an odd sort of feeling, having all that information out there, it's also poignant. My very first sentence on the internet, for instance, the one that goes: "First off, this was not what I was supposed to do. I am technically supposed to be working, but it's one of those days when all my work finished early and here I sit at 6 pm, trying desperately to look like I'm working... I'm a journalist, so typing is a good thing!" I look at it and I think, oh my, I used to have to justify what I did with my day, I used to want to please someone, anyone. And I also think awww, look how sweet I was! (Also, I seem to have eleven comments on that first post, to which I'm all WTF? I know I didn't have eleven comments when I began!)

I'm not making much sense anymore and I suppose I should go to bed. But, to answer the second half of the question, I think it's possible to grow up more in five years than your entire lifetime. I think Original eM, if told about Present eM's lifestyle and what the future held for her, would probably laugh and tell you that wasn't possible. 22 to 27. Just out of college to OMG I WROTE A BOOK AND PEOPLE HAVE READ IT! Jesus. Do you believe it? Is this just a dream? Am I there yet?

IMPORTANT UPDATE EDIT: A bunch of us are getting together and having a gigantic garage sale tomorrow (Sunday, Oct. 25) at Zenzi, Bandra from 1 pm to 5 pm. There will be cheap awesome things (clothes, books, accessories, shoes etc), and you should come. (All the brainchild of this brilliant blogger.) I'd come early, if I were you and bring change and shopping bags. Eeeeeeeeeeeee! So excited!

We’re so very retro in here

I am sooooooooooo tired and the internet is soooooooooo slow today that I am very tempted to abandon all attempts at blogging and just go to bed. But, but, you know I love you and I needed to blog a little today, to feel a little love at my very own social media thing, to feel like I was reaching out and talking to an audience that was talking back and have the good times—party like it’s 1999!—all over again.

But how do people sustain a blog for so long? Coz that has me beat. Five years, FIVE YEARS and I’ve all done grown up now, y’all. Do you remember me when I began, wet behind the years, discovering the thrill of shouting out words to an invisible audience? Do you remember my naiveté, my little hopes and dreams, the way I talked about everything and then do you remember when the tide turned and I turned and everything changed and I couldn’t anymore?

Well, I’m bringing that back. FUCK people knowing my name, I give not the tiniest damn. I want to talk about what I want to talk about, for instance, today I want to tell you how much I miss my boyfriend’s earlobes, he has the sweetest ears, all small and set flat against his head, not horrid and stick out-y and they are sweet even if you nibble them. It’s weird to miss someone’s ears of all things, but I suppose I’m going bit by bit.

And almost in the same vein of confession, I need to say that I have not, in fact, had a bath today, internet. I have been so tired and so grumpy and so hungover that I forgot all about bathing and will, in all likelihood, go to bed exactly as I am. (OOOOOOH!)

I had two rad Diwali parties this weekend, one was my own, in which there were, possibly, more foreign people than Indian ones, but we played teen patti and then segued into Charades and it went on till 3 am AND we had a noise complaint despite the music being way low, so you know it was a success.

And on Saturday, Diwali, my lovely friend, Gia and I went for another party dressed in saris, looking beauteous. Gia is not Indian, but, BUT, she was the one who got me into my sari and it stayed on and relatively neat all evening, so all props to her (see picture for how good it looked on her). It was a good party. I found myself in my usual position, crosslegged in front of the speakers, iPod in hand and soon we had a real Bollywood dance party going on and I was very proud. If I was a DJ, I’d totally be called DJ Dhinchak.

And in honour of bringing bits of the old Confessor into the new, I’m introducing an idea I got from Schmutzie—where she asks her readers to ask her a question, any old question about any old thing and she answers. She said it much better than I am: “For a couple of reasons, I always like weblog entries like this: the weblog's author ends up writing about things that all us readers want to know, it is fascinating to see what the commenters want to know about, and it reveals an ongoing conversation between author and readers that reminds me of the community aspect of blogging that I love so much.”

Anyhoo, so ask me whatever’s topmost on your mind and I’ll turn those questions into the next post!

Wake me up perhaps not when September ends, but somewhere in the middle, okay?

Bad blogger, bad! *wrist slap* But honestly, you gu-uys, how am I supposed to stay motivated if no one comments on my posts anymore? Like, seriously? 13 comments? Are we for real? If you commented loads, I'd write loads! See? Win-win.

But, Happy Dusshera! I have spent the evening with my friend Vik's family, which was awesome. I was feeling the teensiest bit in the doldrums today, so I just got Ira out of her house, got us both into salwar kameezes and we said we'd go where the wind took us. Ideally, we wanted to find a Ravana burning thing, but I believe the only one in Bombay is at Shivaji Park which is miles away, so we settled for calling on Vik and cajoling an invitation to his parents house for dinner. Where we watched The Amazing Race and some show on Star Plus called The Perfect Bride. Have you seen this show? It is BEYOND hilarious. From what I can see, it's where women compete to be the perfect daughters in law, and they live in this house they share with (tan tara tara) their future MOTHER IN LAWS. No, seriously. The sons live right next door and then they get together and do stuff, and this tripe is what passes for entertainment these days. Holy crapola, Batman. Also one of the girls looked vaguely familiar. She might have gone to school with me, although all the reality show watching I have done recently has turned my brain into mush, so I could be wrong.

I had a pretty fun weekend all in all. Asides from a lingering fatigue which I haven't been able to shake (I don't know whether it's the weather or y'know, woman stuff, but wow, do I feel tired) I've been quite active. I did my FIRST FOREIGN FEATURE STORY, thank you very much and I'm all like duuuuuuuuuuude, why have I not tapped this lucrative side of freelancing before? And all the other freelancers I know are all like, um, duh? But, basically it involved me going to the Art Expo and running into Anjolie Ela Menon and having a nice cosy little chat with her.

Also, a little piece of "dirty" writing I did is now on the stands, and since no one wants to excerpt me (hmph) I'll just give you a little taste right here on my blog:

"Aditya’s sole experience until that point was Neelima, a shy girl in college, who he kissed at one of the hostel parties, kissed hard, working his tongue into her mouth. But at the merest hint of his hand slipping down past her shoulders, she had stiffened and pushed him off and he was nowhere closer to figuring out how they felt, her breasts, whether the shape stayed or whether they were malleable, whether they moved under his hand or whether they throbbed. It appreared he was doomed to be fourteen forever.

It tormented him, his virginity. He knew there was something fundamentally wrong with him. For the first time in eleven years, he started thinking about sex constantly again, and everyone was the subject of his fantasy. (....) And just as they had started, the fantasies had stopped. He was celibate, he was cerebral, he resigned himself to being a virgin forever. On his 27th birthday, just a few weeks ago, he had taken a few friends out to dinner, and they had come with their girlfriends or wives, and he had been able to talk to the women, really talk to them, without the constant slideshow of flashing images in his mind, how so-and-so would look naked, how another’s mouth would open when she came, how that one’s ass would feel. People assumed he was having sex, if not regularly, then at least a fair amount. And since he was reticent about it, they assumed he got some quite frequently and often included him in their wink-wink-nudge-nudges. The only person in the whole world who knew was his colleague Disha, who shared a cubicle with him, and who had taken him out for tequila shots the night before to celebrate his birthday. And who was now nakedly stretching across his bed. Naked. "

But besides my little foray, there are some other really good stories too. It'd make a good present, especially for like a bachelorette party or something.

And, before I stop pimping, could I direct your eyeballs towards Metrotwin Mumbai, the other blog I do? (Making the count eleventyhundred and fifty six, for those of you at home keeping track.) I write about Bombay and the stuff I like about it and so do a bunch of people and another bunch of people in London and it's very fun. Promise.

Anyhoo. I think that's a long enough post to inflict on you guys. I hope you had a great long weekend, and SERIOUSLY, COMMENT ALREADY, WHAT DOES A GIRL NEED TO DO FOR REASSURANCE AROUND HERE?

Think of this as a NOTE not an actual POST

* I'm going to Goa tomorrow!

* I've been ill with the flu and it's been NASTY, but on the plus side, even my maid says I've lost weight. Hurrah for the wasting illnesses!

* I've started a new blog, over here, which I'm very excited about.

* I'm up for a Golden Quill award--please go vote for me. I've never won anything *sad face*

*Did I mention I'm going to Goa tomorrow? With JC and Small and another friend, Bulbul? I love Goa in the monsoons. Sigh. This should be a fun recuperation.

Short and sweet, just like *ahem* some people I could mention

This is just an update post, really, to point out to you some interesting things that have gone down recently.

First of all, I'd like to point you in the direction of a very interesting deal that's going on on Twitter. Started by Samit, a bunch of writers, previously published or otherwise, are engaging in a race to finish their novels first. You can find the whole thread here with live updates. It's most fun and most motivating, especially for me, because I have 3000 words of my next magnum opus all ready, but those 3000 have been sitting and stagnating in my "writing" folder forever. This should help me get off my ass a little, huh? It's turning into somewhat of an internet phenomenon, and I'm throwing it open to you guys, anyone who has an unfinished project, jump in and compete. The prize? One finished novel. You can find an updated list of participants over here and the Facebook page over here.

Second, I got a rather interesting email today from Michael of Whoogaau. He says: "I just stumbled upon your site and I’m not sure if you’re interested but we created a gift card for your readers which gives them $30 to spend at our store. All your readers need to do is visit our website and enter the code THECOMPULS into the cart. We ship to all countries and there are no conditions." Well, thanks, Michael! I guess this is a publicity thing, but still, it's pretty neat that you get a gift certificate. The site makes Ugg boots, for which I have no use in this hot and tropical city, but be sure to go on over if you're interested and let me know how the experience goes. Free stuff is awesome!

Thirdly, I'm going to be live on radio in Chennai, between 3 to 4 pm tomorrow, talking about blogging and so on. The channel is 104.8 and the show's called Live Cafe. If you have any pressing questions you HAVE to ask, tell me in the comment section today so that I can make sure the host asks them.

Okay, that's about all that's new. Have a good Wednesday!

Well Toto, I guess we're not anonymous anymore

UPDATED TO ADD: The reading is on Saturday, August 23rd at 6.30 pm. It will be at Full Circle, Shop No. 13, 1st Floor, MGF Metropolitan Mall, Saket. Come and say hello. :)

In Delhi and madness promptly descends. Being met by the parents at the airport, and had picture clicked by mother's brand new camera phone as a) I wheeled my trolley out of the airport b) I walked to the car c) I stood with my dad and grinned my tired hungover up till three in the morning Old Monk tequila smile d) as my dad and I both signed copies of our books for a family friend (who gave me a lovely new pen. I'm dying to do some signing! Someone please ask me!) My parents have fully submitted to the media hoopla. They might even be more excited than I am. I'm actually supernaturally calm, all like, "Oh, it's not a big deal" or "Book? What book? Oh, thaaaaaaaaaat book. Right." Yes, I am aware that I sound like an idiot.

Although I think I might've OD'd on all this book talk. I've been asked the same questions so many times, I have to keep remembering what I said before so everyone gets different quotes. And OH MY GOD BOOK DOES NOT EQUAL BLOG I'M VERY FLATTERED YOU READ THE BLOG BUT THIS IS ABOUT MY BOOK. BOOK. B.O.O.K I know, though, that it's the obvious question. Everyone wants to know about how you turn a blog into something that gets published and read in bookstores. There's one simple answer: you don't. Writers are writers. Before the blog, we journal. I still carry around a notebook for commutes and things, so I can get things down when I think of them.

Okay, final word, final whisper about Delhi book related things, I promise. There is a party at Agni on the 22nd, but that has very limited space, soooooooo, there's another reading at Full Circle at some new mall in Saket. (Which means the piles of cement and scaffolding has actually turned into something, which makes me feel all Odysseus and oh, I've been away forever.) I'll confirm the time later. It's on the 23rd, which is Saturday. Come. The Bombay launch is the weekend after next, on the 29th at lalalalala Blue Frog! Aren't we all poash darling? I think we'll have a similar bookshop reading there also, so we can fit everyone in.

Leela is here! She stayed back for the launch and for Bani and Maya's berfday, and we did din-din yesterday, her and me and Bani and Ishan. We went to Ego, at New Friends Colony (I didn't realise it was still going strong!) and had a fabulous time despite the fact that it was a dry day. Then Ishan went home and we piled into their new fancy car (We're talking serious fancy here, the kind of car you'd never even sneeze in, let alone eat or drink or smoke) and went for a pahtay thrown by a new friend (and someone who's been helping with the online stuff of the book). There was alco, and Jenga and coaching in Hindi swear words and it was all very fun. Bani and I now have plans to go watch Jaane Tu and Bachna Ae Haseeno and then go eat chicken wings at Bennigans. Sometimes, in Bombay, in the middle of the night I lie awake listening to the sounds of crows and traffic and dream of those chicken wings. They're really good.

Ooh! Foreign-returned relatives were met brieflyfor lunch last week and I got a brand new iPod nano! The 8 GB one! And it's blue! And it has my initials on the back! I love it. Shiny, iPod babies will happen.

Anyhoo. Sorry about the infrequent posting, but it has been madness (MADNESS!) around here. Regular programming should resume shortly though.

eM (and scout's) excellent adventure

(This will be a very long post. You stand warned.)


First, from the travel journal.

17th April, 2008, International Airport, Mumbai

I love looking for omens before a trip. This time there have been two--a good one and a bad one. Do they cancel each other out? The good one is that the Singapore airport code is SIN, which pretty much is a message for me from the universe. I've decided if GOD wants it, how can it be wrong?

The bad one is that this airport has not a single bookshop past immigration. I can buy a hundred different cups of coffee but not a single book. Damn. I'm sticking to flying out of Delhi.

Since there are no bookshops, I'm journalling furiously and equally furiously (well, not ANGRY, but you know, rapid) sending text messages to everyone I can think of.

After a drink at the airport bar, I feel a lot more optimistic. It's 11.25 pm and I left my drink to come and board. And the gate's still closed. Sigh. Who are all these people? What are their stories? In front of me, two couples, one with a really ugly but kinda cute in a troll like way baby, single male passengers, six, no, eight, three old ladies, FOUR old ladies, one "mixed" couple--blonde boy and Asian girl. Woman in burqah (ooh, gate's opening!) two little girls and their mother (there'll be kids on this flight. Please keep them far far FAR away from me.) one woman in hijab, unfortunate looking sister and brother, their mother's better looking, so clearly the dad had more to do with their genetic coding, woman in bright pink pinstriped shirt carrying a briefcase, MORE old women, maybe it's like a holiday for them, troll baby's crying now, two burqahs, tall blonde couple, tall old man, ooh, cute boy! (Let me be near a cute boy, no, wait, quite tired. Let me be near a cute boy on my way back) more blonde couples, sheikh type dudes, another cute boy, no, I think it's the same one, boring, boring, boring, kid with spiky hair, REALLY ugly woman, man, there are unattractive people here today, boring, okay, time to board.


Why we were there in the first place

My hotel was most fancy, you can check it out here. Sadly, I didn't manage to take advantage of any of the facilities and only had ONE of their excellent buffet breakfasts, a fact that now at 12.14 in my hot little room with my stomach grumbling, I'm beginning to regret. I landed at around 7 am (5 am India time) and proceeded to stay up for the next, oh, fourteen to sixteen hours. (How DOES she do it, I hear you asking. COFFEE. RED BULL. MINIMAL FOOD. Coz food makes you sleepy.) All the same, I had to make sure I wasn't sitting down for more than fifteen minutes because then it was just la-la land.

I met the other bloggers on the panel--Daryl and Victor and Kenny. Et moi, representing Indian Womanhood and India In General and Young Adults and People Who Like To Pah-tay. That's quite a few labels. It was quite a hardcore IT conference, and I was actually rather surprised that they asked me at all. I mean, I'm fun and all, but I didn't think my blog was exactly... topical. Oh well. Another nice thing was that no one in the audience had read my blog so I was able to be completely myself without any odd, tripping up questions. I got quite a few laughs and people came up to me afterwards saying they'd like to read it, so I wrote down the URL on several pieces of paper. I really need to get business cards made.

Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm finally getting the hand of this panel discussion stuff.

It's the scout!

Tearful reunion happened. In the midst of a room full of IT people, we squealed and giggled and talked very rudely in Hindi to each other (rudely, because it excluded everyone else, not because we were saying mean things. That happened later.) I chugged down my last glass of wine, got a refill and together we skippety-hopped up to my (smoking) room on the 27th floor, where we did a general gab fest and catch up and then I got dressed so we could get out of there.

Dipso meets dipso

Really, did you think it WOULDN'T be a drunken weekend? This is me. And scout. Possibly the two bloggers whose content is MOSTLY "So, I was out last night and got very drunk.."

After we left the hotel we went down to the business district which was pretty close by and to this place called Barrio (China, was it?) to meet two of scout's friends, one, the very famous and fabulous Aurora (ooh and we got to do the "oh my god, it's such a small world!" conversation which it seems I shall never escape, even in foreign countries) and another friend, whose name on scout's blog I have forgotten, so I'll just call her Katy.

We had some more drinks and it was my first experience with the whole not-smoking-at-bars thing, which in theory, I guess sounds like a great idea. I mean, you smoke less and all. But in practice, you're smoking just as much as you would, only there's a new annoyance factor involved in getting up and leaving the table. Man, smokers are like lepers these days. Good ol' polluted India. This is why I'm never moving.

After mini-pizzas at Barrio, we moved to the girls house, which is HUGE by Bombay or even Delhi standards and also on the ground floor. Most young people who live alone, in India at any rate, get the nosebleed floor, so that was surprising.

I almost passed out at their house despite vodka and TV, and so there had to be a practical arm lift to get me out of there. We went to Clarke Quay, a name I love because I love the word 'quay' and I kept rolling it around in my mouth. Quay, quay, quay. I wish we had a quay. I'd totally go every day just so I could tell the rickshaw guy 'Quay'.

Okay, now I'm actually tired and I have other stuff to do. More in the next post!

eM is hanging by a moment

* I exist in a vaccuum: Well, not quite. But, almost. I have only sporadic access to the internet these days (hey, it's the end of the month and I have bills to pay.) So I'm writing this between work at Kalyan's house, where I arrived with laptop to throw myself at his mercy. And to play with his brand new kitten. He's a cutie. (The kitten, I mean, but Kalyan isn't so bad either.)

* Public appearances: Shall actually be made this week. I'm speaking at the Kitab festival this year, Friday, 4 pm at the Asiatic Library. I'll be talking about being a Young Writer In India and though it's all very fun, I'm also stricken with fear. This time it's not a comforting panel discussion where I can choose to be quiet if I want to. This time I'm actually going to be talking ALL ON MY LONESOME into, what I suspect, will be an indifferent audience. You should come and watch me, just for the entertainment value.

* New friends and one new word! Akshay and I have been hanging out quite a bit these last few weeks. We both live pretty much in the same suburb, and we both don't have 9 to 5 jobs that take up our time. This in itself, mixed with other common personality traits, is enough of a foundation for a friendship. We have, of course, also been consuming De Booze quite a bit and in one of our drunken moments of wisdom (Bloody Mary, Red Box, Sunday, 5 pm) came up with the word Platonic. Yes, I know it's already a word, but we were using it to define the men and women in our life who we hung out with constantly but with whom we have no romantic entaglement. Now we use the word a lot, as in, "Where's your Platonic tonight?" and "Oh, I saw that with my Platonic." See how it works? And much much more resonant than just, say, close friend or something.

* Entertainment: We went to watch August Rush the other day. I had read a review and I thought it said Katherine Heigl (from Grey's Anatomy) and I thought it was a chick flick, so when we entered the theatre and it began I was convinced that we were in the wrong theatre. But it had the delectable Jonathon Rhys Meyers and that little kid from Finding Neverland and Robin Williams so we stayed and watched it anyway. Sweet movie. All about music and finding music in every day things which reminded me of a guy I met last week who told me he was a sound engineer. Cute guy also. Hmmmm.

* Hate mail! I received this little gem last week:

from: Sreejesh Sreenivasan (suv100@gmail.com)
to: thecompulsiveconfessor@gmail.com

date: 15 Feb 2008 21:19

subject: butt ugly


Haaaaaai
I was really excited after reading ur blog. I told my self.....now here was a real polayadi mol of our generation, very much like kamala das or suraiah or whatever (the old hag keeps changing her name all the time) who gave perverts like me some thoughts to jerk off on.....Well the excitement only lasted till I saw ur damned photo in vanitha mag. The first thing I said to myself was "CRAP". The Cherummi who used to sweep my house when I was a kid... thats u. Honestly I think the cherummi was better looking.

The guy who humped you, was he fucking blind or was he too stoned to give a shit? Anyway it would have been better if u remained anonymus or used a photo of a hot model instead of your own. Just hope nobody scans it on to the net for ur sake.

Wow. Who stole his testicles? I was going to edit his email address, but then I decided not to. For one thing, it's probably fake (I mean, come ON, suv100? Really? Very 1bruce1 of you, Shree, ol' pal) and for another, hey, this guy needs to get some and really fast, so maybe I'm actually doing him a favour by leaving it up there. I'm gaining karma points here.

In which we pick bones and try to make some points without babbling too much

I spent most of this last week at the Kala Ghoda festival. There were many panel discussions by many friends and two by me (which were totally last minute because of a mix-up so I couldn't tell you guys about it) and basically I've been a schmoozer. Schmoooooooooooooooooooozer. Good fun. Although I do have a bone to pick with Naresh Fernandes, editor of Time Out Mumbai, who was on the online writing panel with me. In fact, I have several bones. (I realise I should have just said these things at the panel, but I have acute stage fright, it's horrible. I just about keep it together. And by the time I muster up my courage to say anything it's time to leave. Sigh. Well I'll be speaking at the Kitab fest this year in Mumbai, so hopefully, I'll be able to not make a complete ass of myself then.)

ANYhoo, back to Naresh Fernandes (who says he doesn't read blogs, but if he's here, hello and welcome!). On the panel he said that blogs for the most part, were narcissitic, self serving, and really, who wanted to read about your visit to the store anyway?

I'll tell you who, Mr Fernandes, on this blog alone, about a 1,000 people every day. That's quite a few people, isn't it, who are interested in what store I shop at? My hit counter is now over five lakh people in three years, from all over the world.

Could it be the reason I'm getting so touchy is because maybe somewhere I think you're right? Some blogs are boring yes, sometimes I am filled with wonder that people read MY blog, seeing as the only topic of conversation is me, how fun can that be for anyone else? But, you know, I read memoirs. I read diaries of authors I love. I read other people's blogs to see what they've been up to. Sometimes, if I'm in a new city and I see something that's been mentioned in a blog I read, I visit it. Similar to what your magazine does, pointed out Annie at the panel, but then you said that your magazine had reporters who were writing what they thought the reader would like to know, as opposed to blogs which just meandered through the blogger's personal experience of a place.

Um, wouldn't you rather read a personal opinion? I know I would. I like food reviews and club reviews and things, and your magazine DOES do a good job with those places, I agree, but when I visit a place and write about it, I'm doing pretty much the same thing, I'm talking about what I had to eat and drink and whether a place is worth visiting. I think, from Google search stats that people listen to what I have to say on the subject as well, perhaps even more than they would with an established media brand, because I don't have an axe to grind. Perhaps, even more basically, because I'm not getting paid to write about any of these things. And because I'm not getting paid to write about, oh, say, a night at China House, you know when I say I love China House it's because I actually feel that other people should know that I love it for whatever reasons. Am I making any sense?

You don't read blogs, Mr Fernandes, which is what makes our opinions different because I DO read the mainstream media. Hell, I'm a PART of the mainstream media. I like to read reports in newspapers and magazines and then I like to read what bloggers have to say about it. It helps balance my opinions. It's also nice to see what other people have to say, other people who are writing because they LIKE to write. Are you not reading blogs because they're boring or because you actually don't want to know what a significant amount of people are thinking? I'm really curious, I swear I'm not asking just to be all in your face, but I'd like to know. But there's no point asking you these questions because (lalalalalala) you don't read blogs.

I would never define myself as a 'blogger' though. I have a blog yes, but I also have many other identities. The fact that him and I were on the same panel on online writing maybe should have told him that OTHER people took the medium seriously. Personally, I don't think you should take blogging TOO seriously. It's immense fun, yes. Reputations can be shaken, yes. But at the end of the day if you're writing something you wouldn't want to appear with your byline on it, then, well, you've crossed a line. And a lot of people don't get this. But I don't think you should be dismissive about blogs either. They're here, WE'RE here, this mass of people writing about everything from politics to books to personal lives. And well, most popular blogs in India and abroad have a far greater readership than a lot of magazines and newspapers. That says something, surely?


ps: I've been getting a lot of Facebook friends requests from people I don't know. If you read my blog and you add me, great, please just mention how you know me so I don't automatically ignore them all.

ps2: Please, I IMPLORE you, go read this post by Scout. Oh, scout, how much do I love you? Let me count the ways. Tee hee.

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

We are black coffee and a strong constitution

I am sitting with my friend Kalyan in his very very posh apartment, and feeling him read this over my shoulder. We have just been playing a very drunken game of Scrabble, where ("disappointingly no dirty words came up," says Kalyan) I almost won, only I was being kind and not kicking his ass. ("LIAR!" says Kalyan, but who do you believe here?) We are drinking Chardonnay Viognier, and being as posh as befits his home, but really, we're just regular drunks. Returning from Zenzi earlier this evening, we decided we'd do Alibaug tomorrow morning, therefore the night spend as we used to say in school. Drunk blogging yet again, and we want you to interpret an email:

Hi Em,

its amazing realistic blog.....I think ur blog seems An Indian wome's Ideal dreams....good..u piked up as a pickle and touches infront of others ..tasting some freakrs whom enjoyd wth XXX,Drink & Smoke

Yesterday dim light whn sat with "vodka"..ur smells come its like"vodka with lime cordial"....I Sucked at one time.....

I dont wnt to intrdce me 2 u..would be 28 (GM)...

All GM's can tackle one GFM mind easily..BRAIN also....all BRA-INs check in or out.....

Can I ask frankly..a random survey how many GM u enjoyed tll this time?..

When I have seen touches GFM abdomen ...body moved to Oval shape....So the radius was fully rounded within that circumference....When I bet to feel me...she told "Ho....U r in Traingle..I bewildered she would ran from me....like Archimedis........she proved as my body was straight and ..."ok"....then how U felt three point touches?"....she smelt my lips laid moustache "ur two eyes on the tip of pen..I laughed too much...

I dont know y i dsturbed........can u send me ur photo and phone number if possible?

One criticse frm me...do not write too dramatically..these days u r celebrating too much behind in celebrity strength of semen.

I can't love u...

keep it up

Take care

have a Nice Semens DAy..........................in all movement..If u have any time we can play dirty dance "Darde-disco" on dance floor?

THE BIN

Kalyan, an eminent and well versed gentleman in the field of semiotics is, to put it quite bluntly, confuzzled. I'm just amused. This adds to the things that confound me, along with the fact that I can now raise my left eyebrow and that tonight at Zenzi I met a boy who looked exactly, but EXACTLY like Frodo (ie Elijah Wood). He told me he gets that about five times a day, and I really feel for him, because he is not unattractive in his Hobbit-like way.

It is now Sunday morning, and I'm rereading and editing this soberly. Always save drunk blogs as drafts is my advice to you, darlings, because you never know what you might say in a fit of fittiness. Alibaug was very fun, well, the ferry ride there was and I made many seagull jokes. ("They're very gullible creatures." "All the nice gulls love a sailor" etc) Once there, we had to look at some property for Kalyan's aunt's friend, which was somewhat boring, but after we retired for lunch, the house we were at had a pool, so we were all like, ooooh swimming, only we passed out nicely on the deckchairs and didn't wake up till the caretaker lady came out to tell us we'd miss our ferry if we didn't hurry back.

Of course, since I had slept only two hours the night before, Saturday night was a quiet affair. A friend came over, someone I hadn't seen in ages so it was nice meeting and bonding with him. Although the last couple of days I'm overcome with missing old friends, Hobo, Urvashi, Small, Diabolique, come to Bombay, I need you.

I must now go for the 50 cent press conference, which is a sentence I never expected to type, but it's true. Life is odd.

UPDATED Clearly no one's ever going to send me dirty email again: The Bin sent me another email which is as baffling as the first, but from which I get that he is quite peeved that I published the first one. I'm going to put the second one up also--and here's where I'd like to say, everything you email me, like comments, become something I might put up here. You can say 'please don't run this email' if you'd prefer I didn't, but if it's abusive and/or dirty, I might put it up anyway on a slow week. Anyhoo, here's The Bin's second email (el transalatore, you were brilliant, by the way)

From: The Bin
To: The Compulsive Confessor
Subject: stub me!!!!!

Em...Published?..
I didn;t expect from you...F*off
.I am not asking Y u did?...Ur blog..U would do whtever u wnt...
Em condiment blog tidings alrdy clicked in India..I just strted a blog inspired from u...ur opposoite Gender "Y I can't?"...Ur three tangled codiment (S-D-X).....its rocking more than RDX....All hmnbeings are semiotics thrgh life...I attrcted ur ...not slave I got mail "Teacher to a student: a=b, b=c means a=c. Give me an example. Student: I luv u - u luv your daughter - so I luv your daughter"

I just maild for my interest,but u evincely published....I more attracted by literal language..How beautiful even if u dnt so tht u says....hurt?

If u r in my town I would come to ur room,slap ur cheek....that much irritaed when I saw ur publish..U also dscussed wth Kalyan?

I like ur sentence"If u have good Breast,No one Boos"....If u meet a man with all things he cannot get eye contact..only (B-C)

I will sent personal mail like this way what I felt..If u started to publish I wouild "Delete" as u point out .

Life is odd..Hey one qestion "U dont need inheritance to keep ur heritage?..

Have good SS..

Ok..tendulaker out....bloody..Good Breathy Bed sleep

The Bin

Out, damn block

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.

We've come a long, long way together

Happy three year anniversary to me.

Wow. Three years. It makes me feel rather ancient, well, on the internet anyway. When this blog was created, I really had no idea that I'd be hanging on for that long. I'm not great with sustaining projects. Usually I lose interest halfway through. But maybe it's something about the medium--it's so bloody addictive, you know? Like an instant writer's kick, to type into something and then magically see your stuff out there, your stuff, unedited, vulnerable, waiting for feedback. I admit, I'm addicted to everything about this medium. When blogs finally go the way of those old Geocities homepages, and mirc chatrooms, I will be very, very sad.

I'm addicted to checking my stat counter, to looking for new comments, to Technorati even.

I'm addicted to thinking of things to blog about--looking at each situation from a third person perspective, never being completely in a moment, because a minute later I think, "I wonder if I can get a post out of this."

I'm addicted to having another personality, not me, not the real life me, but The Compulsive Confessor, eM, someone who people listen to sometimes, someone who occassionally makes other people laugh, someone who has spunk and the courage to say what she feels, someone who a few people think is worth revisiting.

I'm addicted to the other blogs I read, to be a voyeur in someone else's life, to know about the initials that rule them, the Saturday nights across the world, the random childhood memories, the being at a traffic light on a Monday morning.

And I'm really, really addicted to knowing what happened to me three years ago, knowing how my years have gone, knowing that once this was important to me, once I lived another life as another person, and it's all there, all so accessible, and it's awesome watching the way my writing has changed since I was 22 and new at this, to now, at 25, an old grizzled veteran.

Yay, me.

ps: Curious minds wanted to know more about the book--I'm not saying anything except that it should be out later this year or early next year. I'm doing another round of edits and it's immense fun, not to mention BLOODY TERRIFYING to think that little ol' me will soon be a Real Live Author. Wow. I love blogging.

When we're NOT wallowing, we're actually having a pretty good time

* Have you lot seen Wife Swap? If you have, you know how glorious it isn't, and if you haven't, you simply must (6 pm, Sundays, Discovery Travel and Living). Anyway, it's possibly the most incredible television programming idea, simply because, oh, the grounds for bitchiness are way, way more than any Top Model type shows could ever offer. Basically, they choose two very different families and switch wives and then chaos ensues. So far, from what I've managed to see, there've been a Wiccan Goddess and a woman who believes her husband runs the household, a very very rich woman who shops a lot with another woman who spends a lot of time with charity and so on. You get the drift. There's a lot of talking about spending time with your kids and eating dinner together, which are funnily enough the two most popular rules that happen during rule change. But my very favourite part is the one right at the end, where the original couples face each other and there's usually a slanging match. One woman even refused to come out of her car, coz she had been a diva all week. Why am I talking about Wife Swap? Because I have no life, clearly.

* Wait that's not true. I did indeed go out this weekend. There was this blog party thing, a gathering of People Who Heart The Internet, about as much as I do. Of course, I'm only a closet nerd, but it's good to come out of the closet every now and then. I felt exactly like one of those weekend homosexuals, who are all whee-purple-ripped-tank-top at gay parties only to be all ho-ho-ho-I'm-straight-in-my-pinstriped-shirt-and-tie on Monday. Anyway so I gushed all over Bombay Addict, who looked rather bemused, but I really must pimp his blog, which I like a lot. It's an awesome blog. Go read it! I also met Amit and we were speculating about the identities of some of the pretty women there and I tried to talk him into going over to them and saying, "Hello. Would you like to see my *ahem* India uncut?" Hee. Only he refused. Spoilsport.

* Here I must put in a minor digression. Where have all the pretty boys gone? I find myself ONLY checking out women, for sheer lack of any eye candy whatsoever. Really. I go to places and I look around and the men are so appalling with tight floral shirts or jeans worn up to their armpits or man boobs, or with really bad teeth or you know, something and then there are all these beautiful women looking petite and fey and fairylike, and always very very well dressed and I know Delhi doesn't have this awesome reputation for treating women well, but hey, at least we've got something to look at. No, but Bombay women really know how to dress. In Delhi, most people overdo the cham-cham, like this one acquaintance of mine from college, who also got married in like second year and was insufferable ever since, and when I bumped into her at Rick's, she was wearing electric blue pants, which would be okay, if she hadn't turned around and revealed to me that the back half of her pants were, um, gold. Yeah. Not much for subtlety, no. The good thing about that though, is that the few women in Delhi who know how to dress without too much glitter, look lovely and distinguished, very much like yours truly. Oh all right. Not much like me. My clothes are minimalist, and I very rarely accessorise. But still. I usually look nice in them, which is what matters.

* After the blog party, me and Sameer, who was my date du jour, went to Hard Rock to hang out with some new people (I'm meeting so many new people these days, it rocks), and when we were right outside Hard Rock with all these fancy cars pulling up and fancy people getting out, my car stalled. And I mean refused to start again. So the bouncer and the valet pushed it outside and we spent some time opening the hood and looking inside it, only we had no idea what we were looking at, so we settled for looking despairing which is when two taxi drivers came up and with magic and lots of changing gears, managed to get it started again. And I drove it back inside Hard Rock to exactly the same spot where it, lalalala, stalled again. Oh, the mortification. This time the valet took over and we went inside blushing in embarrasement. Nothing that two vodkas with oj wouldn't cure. (Vodka-oj by the way, is my new drink). Then we took my car back to my house, hopped into a friendly auto and went to one of the New Friends' houses. Where he had the most posh alcohol ever. Like Jagermeister! Which is this German liqueur thing which you do in shots and which burns the back of your throat as you toss it down. Mmmmmmmm.

* All my new friends seem to have fancy alcohol, which makes me dread the day I will have to invite them all over and serve vodka or Old Monk or Kingfisher strong (coz the guy near my house doesn't have regular beer) in my house which despite my best cleaning efforts smells faintly like cat litter. Like last weekend? I was at another set of New Friends' house, and their house was lovely, with a view of the sea from each balcony and I just wandered around going wow. Wow. WOW. Anyway, so I was asked what I wanted and I shrugged and the host said, "You were drinking margaritas, right?" and proceeded to make me one. FROZEN. PERFECT. In margarita GLASSES. Dude. I nearly died.

* And one must mention one's first bit of current affairs reporting, which was excellent fun and made one feel all investigative-reporter-y. I love my job.

* And, I bought an AC! And I'm officially never leaving the house again! (I don't actually have any money left to leave the house till the end of June, so I suppose it's fortunate that I feel that way)

Surgeon General's Warning: Nothing remarkable said, more like life updates and general witterings

* Having recently been informed of this, I now feel this unbelievable pressure. Such performance anxiety is never a good thing, because suddenly I'm looking at my previous couple of posts and going, "Really?" So since I am one of the many India representatives, I feel like I should be writing about relevant stuff, like oh, you know, our new nuclear policy or something. But, yeah, very cool to be nominated and all, but wouldn't it be even cooler if I won? I'm not sure of the etiquette involved with this things, so I'm not going to say the obvious (vote for me) but little subliminal messages, like they do for alcohol or something won't hurt. The Compulsive Confessor--better for you than alcohol. Yeah, baby.

* Have I mentioned my bathing products recently? No? Well, I have now graduated from shower gel to shower CREAM, thank you very much, and I feel all exotic and nubile when I use it, because really, the scent, teamed with a steamy shower, is enough to make me feel like I'm in a harem or something. Really. (subliminal vote for me message here) There's nothing like feeling you're in a harem to have an excellent rest of the day. As a result of this steamy shower, I'm always practically drunk by the time I exit and dress, so I get to work all dreamy eyed and pose langourously against the coffee machine. Good fun. Only I think the receptionist thinks I'm on something.
(By the way, previous references to products are here and here.)


* So, ever since the post about Other Party, I am re-reminded about how very small this city is. How does everyone know, dude? I thought I was being super-discreet and everything. But, yeah, random people know, and it's strange and somewhat scary (but also quite flattering, I must admit) that everyone knows everyone and your assumed secret liaison is not really such a secret and everyone's actually sniggering, because, really, WHY did I assume this was so hush-hush? (On another tangent, absolutely love the word liaison. I think I'm going to use it more. Along with twilight and soiree. Soiree, especially.)


* I've also realised that in the past two months of manic party attending, I've always been invited somewhere or the other on Saturday night, usually for a private party. This makes me feel very popular and wanted, sure, but it's also a little worrisome, because this weekend, so far, have not been invited anywhere. Which means my Grand Record of not having to spend any money on Saturday night might just be coming to an end. Quick, someone throw a party and call me! I'll be sitting by the phone, I promise. My need to have my weekends chalked out on, oh, TUESDAY, is a side of me I don't normally reveal, but if I don't have a plan for the weekend, I am physically uncomfortable. Going with the flow is not a term I like. Actually, I'll go so far as to say it's a term I HATE with a purple passion. A magenta passion, even. I think it's my deep, screwed up need to have control over at least some aspects of my life. You have OCD? Hey, I have obsessive planning. I even plan out conversations before I have them, which gets alarming when the other person doesn't respond exactly the way they did in your head. I wish I was like a puppet master or something. This is also why I always need to be the one holding the remote.

* Also got this email from Filmmaker Friend today saying: "Hello little eM.Read your latest blog. Nice, fun reading but there IS such a thing as tooooo much honesty you know..." To which I responded, "Oh, why?" and he said: "Sharing angst in public is a bit like having sex in public. Its very personal and should be shared with only those who're that intimate. Grief, ecstasy, angst, etc not for public consumption.Thats what I feel.." I never really thought of it that way, but perhaps he's right. Maybe I do purge much too much on this blog. Any thoughts?


(and because a subliminal message isn't a subliminal message unless it's repeated a hundred million times, vote for me!)

Am I right side up or upside down, and is this real, or am I dreaming?

* Okay WHAT THE FUCK is going on? I know, I know I read stories that Shivam was kind enough to send me, and I read some stuff on Desi Pundit and I figured out that coz of some Princess Whatsherface chick, nothing with the url .blogspot.com is showing up on my computer. What I want to know is, who is this Princess and why is she disturbing my routine? A member of the LeT perhaps? Or an unpatriotic person? Or someone who writes about sex? So I went to Princess Kimberly's website (you can access it through this handy tool) but there was nothing I could find that might lead to it being blocked. So, I'm a bit of an airhead when it comes to technical terms like an ISP or other garbled mumbo-jumbo that seems to make sense to everyone else, so I'd really appreciate if someone gave me a "Blogs Blocked In India" explanation for dummies, please, please?

* Must point out Bridal Beer's new website Share-a-Plan. Great idea, a little bit like Meetup and eVite, but of course, a desi version. I've been invited to coffee and conversation on Thursday, you should come too! The invite here.

* Amidst all this socialising, I haven't in fact been going for the Cinefan film festival that's on, but I did go for the Osian's opening night party. Not exactly red carpet, but close enough what with Neville Tuli (is he gay? is he straight? is he oddly asexual? who can tell?) doing a little "Who are you and why are you here" thing at the entry of Olive. Luckily, he knows me, coz I met him for a story once, so I raised my eyebrows and nodded grandly, and he smiled, equally grandly. Then, with a squeal, I danced up to my friend Damien, who was already there and already drunk and the two of us spent the entire evening hand-holding, cheek-kissing and generally acting like two people who wanted nothing more than to get into bed with each other. Of course, he's, blah, gay, so no action for eM there. This man teetered up to us at some one in the morning and put his arms around both of us, telling us that he had been watching us all evening and our love was so pure and so clear and so on. At this point, I'm concentrating as hard as I can on crossing my arms so one of his hands doesn't accidently on purpose touch my boobs, but Damien's all like, "Oh you don't understand, we're good friends, but we're not like that." And I'm all like, "Heh-heh-heh-shut-up-Damien-so-this-man-will-go-away." Finally, Damien tells him that I'm straight and he's gay and the man goes, "But you're in denial! Your love is so pure and so, so asexual." At this point I am rescued by old friend from school, who had joined me at the party and I left the two of them, unregretfully, at it. So, ya, Saturday night was fun.

* I leave you with a song that has been playing over and over in my head. I think it's the new "my song". There's something about it that draws me, compels me to vanish inside the world that is evoked through the lyrics. It is my world. It's been a while since I've reacted so strongly to music.

Here goes: Crush by Dave Matthews Band.

Crazy, how it, feels tonight.
Crazy, how you, make it all alright love.
You crush me, with the, things you do,
I do, for you, anything too oh.
Sitting, smoking, feeling high.
And in this, moment, ah, it feels so right.
Lovely lady, I am at your feet, oh, God I want you so badly.

And I wonder this could tomorrow be so wondrous as you there sleeping.
Lets go, drive til, the morning comes.
And watch the, sunrise, and fill our souls up.
Well drink some, wine till, we get drunk, yes...
It's crazy, I'm thinking, just knowing that the world is round.
I'm here I'm dancing on the ground.
Am I right side up or upside down, and is this real, or am I dreaming?

Lovely lady, let me drink you, please, I wont spill a, drop no, I promise you.
Lying under this spell you cast on me.
Each moment the more, I, love, you.
Crush me, come on.
Oh, yes.
It's crazy, I'm thinking, just knowing that the world is round.
I'm here I'm dancing on the ground.
Am I right side up or upside down? Is this real, oh lord, or am I dreaming?

Lovely lady, I will treat you sweetly, adore you, I mean, you crush me.
Oh its times like these when my faith I feel.
I know, how, I, love, you. come on, come on, baby.
It's crazy, I'm thinking just as long as you're around.
I'm here I'll be dancing on the ground.
Am I right side up or upside down? To each other, we'll be facing.
My love, my love, we'll beat back the pain we've found.
You know, I mean to tell you all the things I've been thinking, deep inside my friend.

With each moment the more I love you. Crush me, come on, baby.
So much you have, given love, that I would give you back again and again.
Oh, the love, many now hold you but please, please, just let me, always

(isn't it beautiful? Download now!)