Newsletter: Five Nights In Delhi Edition

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NB: this was going to be six nights in Delhi, but I had an unexpected cancellation and so I spent my weekend gloriously watching Project Runway and Strike and since I was watching Strike anyway, I decided to reread the last of the Comoran Strike books which I have no recollection of, having read it in a tearing hurry when it first came out. There's a new one out soon! I'd read JK Rowling's grocery lists to be honest.

Anyway, by some trick of fate, I had plans for every single weeknight this past week. This hasn't happened to me in a while--old age, darlings, old age, your friends' changing priorities, your OWN changing priorities, life, work, it'll happen to you too, unless you're one of those labrador retriever extroverts who cannot handle a night in, in which case, my advice to you is make younger friends. I thought I'd document this, a very social week in my life just so we can examine it a little closer.

Monday

"Who wants to meet a millionaire?" I said, giddy with my own wit, but K wasn't having it. He looked at me deadpan, he enjoys doing that and said, "EVERYONE is a millionaire, they're very common, what you mean is a billionaire." Well, who wants to meet a billionaire is not as fun and alliterative, I guess I could have said, "Who wants to bang a billionaire?" but most of them aren't that good looking. Much like Scarlett O'Hara, people seldom notice this about billionaires because they are taken in by their charms. In this case charm = money. Money gives you polish, an air of confidence, even if you're sweaty and your clothes aren't that great, you could buy better clothes, but like Steve Jobs, you like to stick to what you know.

The particular billionaire we were going to "meet" was a cryptocurrency blockchain abracadabra morewordshere guy who was coming to India to launch his company. I wouldn't have thought this was the kind of event I would be invited to, what do I know about wingardium leviosa? But the person throwing the party was a friend, and he said, "Come! There'll be drinks and stand-up comedy" and I am always curious about the rich and famous.

So the billionaire stood up and said things about his company, which sounded very interesting but also like they were in Latin, especially after three glasses of wine, and we settled in to watch Abish Mathew's set. He's "the other guy" from AIB, by the way. Like, you'd say, "that guy, that guy, that guy, oh and that other guy." If I'm not very much mistaken, he often plays the straight man to his friend's punchline, like not a literally STRAIGHT MAN although that too, but the person who asks, "And then what happened?" to make a joke go forward. Anyway, maybe I just don't get stand up but I have found very few people very funny. And in this post-Nanette world (PLEASE WATCH IT ON NETFLIX) it's a little dated to say, "The only privilege men have is to be able to go to the bathroom whenever they like." OH MY GOD MAN IT IS 2018 IT IS TIME TO RETIRE THAT BATHROOM JOKE.

We were at the Taj Mansingh, which is a grubbier and yet posher Taj than the others. It has not changed its decor since the 1980s I don't think. The last time I was at that particular rooftop was when you could still smoke everywhere, and Vikram Seth was launching one of his books, and there were LITERAL OYSTERS coming around on trays. OYSTERS. At a book launch! I had three, my first time eating an oyster too. (These were also the glory days of excess where a fashion designer's new store greeted me with about a KILO of caviar on ice which no one was touching because "fish eggs ew." I ate as much as I could spin out of that story.) Now however, we had to trudge down to Rick's, favourite haunt of Rahul Gandhi, which has a smoking room attached, I assume for the use of this sort of guest, but which I smoked in merrily.

 

Tuesday

 

 

 

Samit and I have been friends for so long, I don't even very clearly remember a time before we were friends. Okay, I sort of do, because when I first met him, I was 23, a young reporter with a chip on my shoulder about writing my book, time was passing and there I was with NO BOOK, and he was 25, a young writer whose first book had just come out to great fanfare. I was so spittingly jealous, I might have asked him questions which all had an ulterior motive, along the lines of: SOOOO HOW DID YOU DOOOO IT? Hmm? HMMM? Anyway, much water and many books have gone under that bridge since then, and now he is a support system and a co-moaner about this ridiculous writer's life we both seem to have chosen with no regards for the practicalities of it all.

He had a party, and I was lounging about on his sofa, drinking the sangria, talking about all those things you talk about at parties, everyone there was a good friend, so I let my thoughts stack up like a little pile of coins on the table. We got to talking about what it would be like to meet our younger selves at a party such as this one. My own twentysomething self would have rejected any words of wisdom I had to offer her with a pert "that will never happen to me!" and as Samit said we'd both have loud words, not like each other much and then go home and think about it for the next year or whatever. Ahhh but I'd like to think I'd like myself at 26, still so shiny eyed and optimistic, just as I think my 46 year old self would like me now and my 86 year old self would like all the other mes. No, actually, my 86-year-old self will be DONE with everyone's bullshit and will probably tell everyone to fuck off. (I aim to be an old lady in this regard very soon.)
 

Wednesday 

 

Summer House still endures as one of the trendiest places in Delhi. Partly, I think it's habit. We love to go to a place over and over again, till we know our exact order and the waitstaff and the table we prefer. But mostly, it's because it fits into that perfect triangle: location (Aurobindo Market is close enough to HKV to be cool but far enough away that it's not actually HKV which all the trendies have ceded to the rest of the city who wander around the village sadly looking for trendy people), pricing (not the worst + some sort of shitty happy hour + who cares, we're on daddy's credit card people come here the most anyway) and music (OUNCE OUNCE OUNCY-OUNCE OUNCE OUNCE OUNCE).

But the service is shitty, the food isn't that good, and really, you're just paying for the privilege of being in one of Delhi's more cool places. I liked to think as I watched all the waiters ignore us, even as they spotted us wave and cry, that this star too would fall. It's been more than two years though, and Summer House is going nowhere. AND, irony of ironies, when my out-of-town friend said, "Please suggest somewhere nice we can meet for drinks" it jumped into my mind precisely because of that triangle.

Thursday

 Standing and smoking outside PDA (Diva's new cocktail bar, which is on Zomato Gold, which I have been using practically EVERYWHERE #notanad) this group of Particularly Delhi Girls walked up. Now, my friend Shrayana, who I was out with that evening, and I are both Delhi girls as well, but long years of apologising or trying to make up for our city has made us a little more--shall we say--circumspect in public. Neither of us would walk into the bar talking at the top of our voices. It's not us, it says "LOOK AT ME YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR." Now this lot, had no problem with us listening to every word they said, in fact, I think they relished it, like a stage show they were putting on. I know it, because for a brief time in college, I tried to be that sort of Top of My Voice As I Enter A Restaurant Person. Look at how much fun we're having, my conversation would say, and when other patrons turned to look at us, I thought it was envy in their eyes. (Now I know having been on the other side, that it's just plain old loathing. Do shut up.) "Get me nicotine patches," yelled Girl One to Girl Two who was standing right next to her, and Girl Two yelled back, "What happened to your vape?" and Girl One declares, "My Juul BROKE, ya!" And at this point, I exchanged looks with Shrayana, feeling about a hundred years old, and needed my martini desperately. (Note: PDA has such good drinks, we should all go.)

There has to be a word for this collective of Delhi girls, who say "bro" like they mean it, and who talk a certain way, like Valley Girls or the Sloanes, but Delhi-ish you know? Can any of you think of a name for their collective?

Friday

You know when you're with good friends and you finally manage to spit out what's been bothering you about something, and you finally articulate it in this golden sentence, and suddenly your brain clicks into place like you've had a really good massage and that night you dream about that problem so when you wake up in the morning and think about it, it's no longer aching? That was Friday night (and happy birthday to Niyati who hosted and listened!)

This week in stuff I wrote

Remember all the Deep Dark Hints I've been tossing around about You Are Here? WELL, the mystery is over because it is the TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY this year, and Penguin is rejacketing it and isn't it beautiful? It'll be out in August, and this version has a foreword by me, so please buy it for everyone and yourself. No events, but if you're in Delhi, let me know and I'll sign it for you at our mutual convenience.

 

In my book recommendation column this month on Mughal women and prize winning novels. (Plus I think the best book I've read all year.)

And in my Mythology for the Millennial column, are sages ancient India's Harvey Weinsteins?

Newsletter: Garbage fires, strange but true stories and what's cooking

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Since I left Goa, I have been embroiled in a wedding. This was of my cousin--my mother's younger sister's son--someone I grew up with and have spent many merry summers with as a child. My mother used to travel quite a bit for work, and when she did, she'd pop me on a plane (as an "unaccompanied minor") and send me off to my grandparents and aunt and uncle in Hyderabad. I remember the first time I did this on my own quite well, I was only three or four I think, and it was an Air India flight and the stewardesses made a big fuss of me and gave me an entire bag full of boiled sweets to carry away with me. I felt quite grown up arriving with my sweets, doling them out to my cousins if they were nice to me. (Although this time they told me that I also used to carry a large bag of Hajmola candy and only give them one or two at a time instead of sharing it nicely. I countered that if I had shared it nicely, the bag would have finished before we had even started.)

At age 11, my mother was going to be traveling to South America, and she decided this was a great time for both of us to see the States. So off I went again as an unaccompanied minor, only at age 11, I was not a very attractive child, so not much fuss was made of me this time. I had a horrible "boy cut" my mother insisted on keeping my curls in and I was skinny with scabby knees and I wore boy clothes and everyone basically thought I was a little boy, which delighted me, because it was much more fun than being a girl. The stewardess who was in charge of me during the layover and transfer was black--the first black person I had ever seen in my life--and she kept joking that she should put a sign on me saying "It's a girl!" I wasn't insulted, only deeply jet lagged, and I could only follow around behind her in a state of surreal waking dream-ness.

The last time I was in the US, I realised, talking to another cousin last night, was right after school, age 18, which was also the year before 9/11. Getting around was fairly easy then, the embassy still gave you ten year visas, without much fuss, and my first impressions of New York were the Twin Towers against the skyline. I wonder when I will go again, but it's so FAR and I have so many other places I want to visit as well. Tickets are expensive, and life as a freelancer will just about get you a round trip to Europe which I love. Not to mention, at this wedding was this young American, a friend of a cousin of the bride's, and he kept asking me questions like "do people live together in India?" and "are there gay people in India?" which made me want to roll my eyes back into my head, but I didn't, I was very polite and answered his questions with the minimum amount of irony, but I think I had a glint in my eye, because he avoided coming up to us after that.

But the wedding was fun, even though after five days of party, I am not ready to face the world for a good long time yet. I've barely settled in to our flat, and next month, I am off to Trivandrum for a lit fest, back to Delhi, and then to Kochi for a party my father is throwing for us, then to Bombay for another lit fest, so February will be busy and I am TIRED already.

This week in crazy but true stories: I heard this one while I was waiting for a delayed flight in Hyderabad: an airline had been killing pets in the hold consistently for three or four trips. (There's a regular baggage hold and a special one for your pets, and you can't pressurise the regular one, so if you mix them up, your animal suffocates mid-air.) One flight, they took out a cat from the regular hold but the cat was dead. They freaked out, because hello lawsuit, so with some quick thinking, they acquired another cat to replace the dead cat and proudly presented it to the owner. The owner was like, "DUDE WTF. A) This is not my cat and b) the cat I put in the hold was already dead!" (This is totally a true story, I promise.)

This week in how to be eco friendly when the world around you is a garbage fire: In Goa, not only did I get my period, but I also left my menstrual cup behind in Delhi. This would not be a big deal anywhere else, but Goa has a garbage garbage disposal system (heh) and so, unless you contribute to the many landfills cropping up all over the place, it's hard to get rid of things like tampons. Luckily, I had borrowed some organic cotton ones from a visiting friend, but when I was done, I still had this whole bag full of used tampons I didn't know what to do with. We decided to bury them in the garden, but the stray dogs dug them up, so finally K said, "Let's just burn them" so that's exactly what we did. Two were still charred lumps of coal when we were done, but at least the rest disintegrated, and we buried the coal-y ones again. Things you never think you'll be doing on holiday: burning your menstrual blood in a bonfire.

This week in recipes: So happy to be reunited with the kitchen and the Instant Pot! I am really getting into cooking, and the garden went sort of crazy when we were away so we have kilos of spinach and aubergine plus some kohlrabi which looks like a satellite and which I am completely clueless how to prepare. But since I've been looking up the internet for recipes and things to do which are easy, I thought I'd share them here. (Note: I haven't made them yet since I'm waiting for some ingredients, but they look fairly fool proof)

First: a spaghetti aglio e olio but with SPINACH so I can use some of it up. Very easy recipe and you can totally omit the parsley and the parmesan if they are hard to find or too expensive. I always put some whole dried red chillis into my aglio olio and it tastes amaze. (You fry it with the garlic for full flavour.) \

Then some Instant Pot recipes which you can also make in your regular pressure cooker: this chicken and spinach ramen (did I mention we have a fuck ton of spinach?) I will be making this without the bacon, using water instead of stock (and one spoon of fish oil for the umami flavour), plus adding lemon grass and sriracha instead of chilli paste. It won't look EXACTLY the same, but it will be quite hearty, I think.

And finally this mutton curry, which looks really simple.

I've already made this paleo butter chicken (and replicated on stove top for my friends in Goa who loved it). Cauliflower soup (bumper crop of that too.) And some other things which were also good, but not as successful as those two.

Monday link list to start your week out right:


 

Because of the amateurish way the Babe report was handled (her wine choices; her outfit), and the way it was written with an almost prurient and unnecessarily macabre interest in the minute details of their interaction (“the claw”), it left the subject open to further attacks, the kind that are entirely, exhaustingly predictable. The usual subjects emerged with the usual opinions: within minutes, alt-right toad Mike Cernovich was dismissing Ansari as a “beta”; within hours, neoliberal icon Caitlin Flanagan had written a confused, disingenuous essay in The Atlantic using Ansari’s race as a rhetorical device for her disdain for #MeToo; within days, hardline carceral-state cheerleader Ashleigh Banfield was accusing Grace of harming the entire #MeToo movement. To no one’s surprise, The New York Times’s Bari Weiss weighed in on Monday night, rolling her eyes at what she considered to be Grace’s requirement that Ansari be “a mind-reader.”

MORE on the whole Aziz Ansari thing, but this time about the reporting which felt really salacious to me and most of my friends.

Our mom never thought that our blackness would hold us back in life—she thought we could rule the world. But that optimism and starry-eyed love was, in fact, born from her whiteness. It was almost impossible for her to see all of the everyday hurdles we had to jump, the tiny cuts of racism that we endured throughout our lives. For our mom, we were black and beautiful and smart and talented and kind—and that’s all that mattered. And in the confines of our home, it was all that mattered. But as we left home, and our mom began to see us interact as adults with the real world, she began to suspect that there was more to being black in this world than she had previously thought. I could tell that this made my mom uncomfortable, to know that the babies that she had birthed from her own body had entire universes she couldn’t see, so the more that my world and my career became focused on race, the less my mom acknowledged it. She just really didn’t know what to say.

How do you, a black woman, talk to your white mother about race?

For me, Patrick [Dempsey] leaving the show [in 2015] was a defining moment, deal-wise. They could always use him as leverage against me — "We don't need you; we have Patrick" — which they did for years. I don't know if they also did that to him, because he and I never discussed our deals. There were many times where I reached out about joining together to negotiate, but he was never interested in that. At one point, I asked for $5,000 more than him just on principle, because the show is Grey's Anatomy and I'm Meredith Grey. They wouldn't give it to me. And I could have walked away, so why didn't I? It's my show; I'm the number one. I'm sure I felt what a lot of these other actresses feel: Why should I walk away from a great part because of a guy? You feel conflicted but then you figure, "I'm not going to let a guy drive me out of my own house."

Sort of lost touch with Grey's Anatomy a few years ago--after they killed McDreamy---but this interview with Ellen Pompeo, the star, on how much she gets paid is really fascinating.

I remember going to one city, not particularly famous for its culture, and discovering it had two literature festivals. When I got there, I realised they were both happening at the same time and they seemed to be intent on clawing each other’s eyes out. One apparently was calling the hotels where the other had booked guests and cancelling the bookings. As the organiser handed me two drink coupons for the inaugural party, she complained that two of her writers had gone to the rival camp’s party. To add insult to injury, they had used her festival car, which she proceeded to recall with some relish. [...] Later that night I discovered my hotel bathroom came with one tiny sliver of green Medimix soap. My friend who was attending the other festival said his bathroom came with soap, shower gel and ear buds. I feared I was at the lesser festival. I just went down to the reception and asked if I could have a second Medimix soap, so I was not ferrying one sliver from shower to basin.

Going to Indian lit fests during lit fest season

People spotting safari at the Jaipur Lit Fest

(Since it's almost that time of the year, I dug this out of my archives. A version of this article appeared in Conde Nast Traveller in January)

Hello, check, one two three.

Ladies and gentlemen, here is a brief introduction: I've been to the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) enough times to be able to predict with accuracy the cast of characters you'd see if you were to wander. Think of this as a safari, think of me with a David Attenborough voice, and if you're all strapped in, we'll begin. Please do not feed the delegates. Thank you.

1) The Harried Journalist: Hard to get a good glimpse of this one, but there's quite a good specimen to your left running across the lawn, phone clutched in one hand, notebook in the other. Notice the way they're waving their cellphone in the air, like some sort of elaborate mating ritual. There'll be plenty of time for mating later at the parties, at this point, your Harried Journalist is trying to get some sort of data signal—any sort of data signal to send off some of the daily tweets s/he's promised his newspaper (okay, okay, news website) s/he'd do in exchange for being able to do this junket. Also, s/he's dying to make her/his friends jealous by posting a selfie next to a Speaker (more about them later on). Alas, no signal. S/he's going to have to trek across the lawn to the press terrace after all.

2) The Professional Reader: There she comes, probably with some of her relatives in tow—a mother, a cousin, a niece, a daughter. The Professional Reader, much like the elephant, usually has a matriarchal society, where she is most comfortable with female publishers. Lucky for her that they far outnumber the men. No one knows what the Professional Reader's real job is, she's always at some literature festival or another, always seems to know everyone, and is usually beloved in a quiet understated sort of way.

3) The Aspiring Writer: Watch carefully and you'll see not one but both sub-species of the Aspiring Writer. Here comes sub-species 1.0 The Ingénue. Wide eyed and smiley faced, the Ingénue has the ability to be asking for your help at one JLF, only to be blanking you two JLFs later, after s/he's cozying up to all the “best writers.” And just across from The Ingénue is sub-species 1.1 The Misanthrope. S/he's there with one token friend who they whisper to as the aforementioned “best writers” pass, s/he's turning up their nose at all the talks, and if you tell them you like something, s/he'll have a hundred reasons why you're wrong. When you ask them what they're planning on doing, they look at you somewhat pityingly and say, “Writing a book.” Implied that their book is a tour de force, and they, as authors, are much better than all these poseurs.

4) The Speaker: You'll be able to distinguish this colourful flock by the shade of the band around their neck. While The Harried Journalist wears her name tag with a certain urgency, the Speaker casually drapes it, only the colour showing, while the card disappears into a pocket or behind a scarf. Newly minted Speakers have a bright eyed bushy tailed expression, look at me, I'm here, I'm actually here, some of them might even have a little skip in their step. But the older Speakers, who are invited year after year, know which venue is the best one, and can rank your importance accordingly. By day three though, even the new Speakers have learned to be blasé, and are no longer impressed by the unlimited glasses of wine they can have on a sunny afternoon. Still, they're all delighted to sign books, and devastated if their friend gets asked to sign and they don't.

5) The Old Hand: Sometimes a sub-species of the Speaker, sometimes not, the Old Hand is that person over there who is rolling their eyes at the crowds of school children descending on a Speaker for autographs. Listen, and you'll hear their carrying voice: “In 2007, did you come to JLF in 2007? Oh, you should have. It was so much better. Not all these---” voice drops “---people.” They'll also drop a festival organiser's name in there for good measure. “I was telling Willy/Namita/Sanjoy.” Bonus points if they mention all three. (But bonus points for whom? That's the question.) Find an Old Hand if you want to get out of the venue to eat, however. They know where all the food's good.

6) The Khan Marketeers: Like large flocks of migratory birds, this species can be seen going anywhere there's “everyone.” And in this case, travel for six hours by road (in a big car stocked carefully with expensive snacks bought at L'Opera or Sugar & Spice, washed down by thermoses of the best tea brewed early in the morning for them by their khaandaani Man Friday) or a few hours by plane (only business class on one of the better airlines) to be seen at Jaipur for the literature festival. Do they actual attend any of the sessions? Do they sit on the grassy lawns in their immaculate white cotton, spreading out camel coloured pashminas below them? Do they only exist to have tea at the Rambagh with their friends, all the while talking about the big actor draw of that year's festival (in 2017, it's Rishi Kapoor) and how they must all get together for dinner at the farm as soon as they return, and maybe Mini* will be able to bring Rishi. (*Name for representational purposes only.)

That's the end of our Jaipur Safari for 2017. Other smaller species to look for, who I won't go into detail about: the Wide-Eyed Fan, the Students Who Aren't Buying A Single Book But Carrying Around Autograph Books And Collecting Signatures Anyway, that One Friend Of Yours Who Was At The Most Controversial Session Of The Day And Will Not Stop Talking About It and the Person Who Has Given Up On Ever Entering Any Of The Venues And Is Now Just Getting Drunk. If you spot any new varieties this year, do let me know.

Exit through the gift shop on the right.

The Top Seven Dudes I'd Most Like To Bang In Literary History

HAWT FOR DISABILITY AND LOOKING AFTER DUDES BUT REALLY HAVE YOU READ JANE EYRE IT IS A FEMINIST MANI-FUCKING-FESTO OF THIS ORPHAN GIRL WHO BASICALLY CONQUERS THE WHOLE DAMN PLANET AND HARRY POTTER AT LEAST HAD A WAND TO DO IT WITH, JANE HAD NOTHING, NOT EVEN A BEAUTIFUL FACE AND SUCK IT, WORLD.

  
   Mr Rochester, Jane Eyre: Mr Rochester had everything going for him to keep a reader hooked from beginning to end. From his mad wife in the attic (spoiler!) to his love for plain Jane, to the tragic way he goes blind at the end, I’d love to walk about the moors with him—in more ways than one.

Favourite line: I offer you my hand, my heart. Jane, I ask you to pass through life at my side. You are my equal and my likeness. Will you marry me? 

       HELLO FORMER DOUCHEBAG TURNED GOOD BASICALLY THIS IS A DELHI MAN. FITZWILLIAM DARCY IS ALL SORTS OF INFURIATING BUT YOU LIKE TO THINK THEY MADE A GOOD MARRIAGE AND SETTLED DOWN AND SHE DIDN'T TAKE MUCH SHIT FROM HIM

Mr Darcy, Pride And Prejudice: Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy. Whether it’s Colin Firth playing him as the moody, sullen man who comes around because of TRUE LOVE, or just your imagination filling in the blanks, who could deny this love story about a rich but proud man and a poor but smart woman and everything that happened in between? 

Favourite line: "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." 

I'M JUST A TEENAGE DIRTBAG BABY. BUT ALSO IF YOU WERE THE KIND OF GIRL WHO LOVED HOLDEN GROWING UP YOU'D BE A CERTAIN KIND OF ADULT NOW WHICH MEANS YOU AND I COULD BE FRIENDS AND EVERYONE IS A PHONY 

Holden Caulfield, The Catcher In The Rye: Holden was more of a teenage romance, the boy you gazed at in class, the boy who you wanted to comfort and reassure that the world wasn’t terrible. He tries to run away with a girl he knows, but she rejects him. You wouldn’t, would you?

Favourite line: “I was half in love with her by the time we sat down.  That's the thing about girls.  Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.  Girls.  Jesus Christ.  They can drive you crazy.  They really can.”

    EVERY GIRL NEEDS A MAN WHO TELLS HER WHAT TO DO IN AN AUTHORITATIVE FASHION AND CLAIMS TO LOVE HER FOR WHO SHE IS ONLY TO INSIST SHE CHANGE EVERYTHING ABOUT HERSELF WHEN SHE MARRIES HIM

    Rhett Butler, Gone With The Wind: This swoony Southern novel has everything you need for a good, old fashioned drama. Not least of all, the tale of Rhett Butler, who loved Scarlett O’Hara, who was foolish enough to spend her life pining for a wimpy man married to her best friend. Sounds like a high school romance? Most of this book is, except set during the Civil War times.

 Favourite line: “No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

OMG THE BOY NEXT DOOR AND AMY MARCH IS A BOYFRIEND-STEALING HARLOT 

Laurie, Little Women: Is there anyone on this great, big planet who wasn’t disappointed when Jo March went for an old German professor as opposed to Laurie,  her lively best friend from next door? And then Laurie went and married Jo’s sister, Amy, which was complete and utter betrayal. Regardless, some of Laurie and Amy’s romancing was quite sweet, even if she did steal her sister’s boyfriend. (I never liked Amy.)

Favourite line: “ Someday you’ll find a man, a good man, and you’ll love him, and marry him, and live and die for him. And I’ll be hanged if I stand by and watch.”

 
AND OF COURSE YOU'VE GOTTA MARRY YOUR BFF, JO MARCH. LOOK HOW NICELY ANNE DID IT. EVEN THOUGH JESUS H CHRIST, GILBERT, SLAP ON A CONDOM ONCE IN A WHILE, YOU ARE A DOCTOR AND SEVEN CHILDREN IS QUITE A LOT


Gilbert Blythe, Anne of The Island: Gilbert Blythe doesn’t get the best introduction, as he meets our heroine by calling her names for her red hair. But over the years—and the books—he redeems himself, even when she claims to be in love with someone else. The two truly have a happy ever after, with lots of children and grandchildren. 

 

Favourite line: “I have a dream,” he said slowly. “I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends – and you!”

EVERYONE HAS DADDY ISSUES. ALSO I'M IN MY THIRTIES NOW. I'M ATTICUS'S AGE. THAT MAKES ME FEEL PRETTY DAMN ANCIENT BUT ALSO LESS CREEPY FOR THINKING THAT HE SOUNDS QUITE HOT.  ALSO HI GREGORY PECK YOU HANDSOME DEVIL YOU.

Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird: Atticus Finch had no great romance in this classic book about America’s South, but didn’t he just seem like the best person ever? Sure, you’d have to put up with his two kids, but they seemed nice, and he was just so awesome with his progressive thinking and his amazing lawyering.  Move over, Harvey Whatsyourname.

Favourite line: "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

(A version of this appeared in Popxo.com)

Texts from TC

(My cat isn't half so charming as Dog, but he is equally annoying.)



He isn't half as posh as he looks

girl
girl
girlllllllllllllllll
girl

WHAT?

whatcha doin?

working.
whats working
is it when you sit and stare at your screen for hours
do you look at other cats
i know you do
girlllllllll

don't be stupid.

i saw the cats
you cant lie to me girl
the cats were on your screen

oh THOSE cats.

yeah those cats
are they sexier than me
would you prefer if i was black
or a grey tabby
girl

i like you ginger, okay?

so it isn't true that you only got me because my sister, a grey tabby, was killed by a dog?
i heard you talking
i know it's true
you can't deny it

i might have wanted a girl cat, but then i got you, and i have no regrets
except for when you poop on the floor

that's not poop girl

it's not? if it looks like poop, and smells like poop..

hellz, no
that shit ain't shit
that shit is a way of me expressing that i'm the man in this relationship
i'm the boss cat
you have to clean it, coz you're the girlllll

that's not very feminist of you

it wasn't very masculist of you to cut my balls off
i know you left me with the sacks though
thank you
thank you for my sacks

i really am working though, so i'd rather not discuss your *sacks*

i've been napping all day
i like napping
you should try it
now i'm hungry
hungry
HUNGRY

there is food in your bowl, you stupid idiot

no one told me there was food
where's the food
where's the food

it's.. OH MY GOD.. IT'S RIGHT THERE, SEE FOLLOW MY FINGER? SEE? RIGHT THERE

you don't have to shout
oh there's my food
hi food
i'm gonna eat you now

you're welcome

you need to stop texting me so much, girl
that's not cool
it's kinda needy
i'm gonna eat
laters girl

Reading instructions: With pinch of salt to taste

Do you know how you're always better at giving people relationship advice and you feel all super wise and like this Zen Monk type person, but when it comes to actually taking the advice you're doling out with such a liberal hand, you sort of suck? Yes, of course you do. I've complained about this on numerous occasions to friends, we're all so perfect at fixing each other, but when it comes to ourselves, we're not very good. (Well, with a few notable exceptions, but those ladies are just Wonder Women anyway, and it's best not to mention them at all, since none of these rules apply to them.) Anyway, so I've gotten really good at the advice thing recently, and so I thought I'd share my top four Moments Of Wisdom with you guys. (Let's face it, the friends I give this advice to are going to nod very wisely, say, "No, no, dude, you're right" and then fuck off and do what they want anyway.) And, I find that sometimes when I see something written down, I'm more likely to take it seriously than when someone's just telling me something over a glass of wine and a full ashtray.

Right. On to my Super Special You Didn't Ask For My Opinion But I'm Giving It To You Anyway session:


* Oh my god. What does it matter what he wants? Do you want a relationship with this guy? This is my all new stance when my girlfriends grumble to me about how the guy they're with is being all hot and cold. I've been there, totally. But nine times out of ten, you're not sure if you want the guy because he's being hot and cold and it's getting really annoying and frustrating or whether you actually want the guy because he's that guy. You know? Obviously, we all want to be liked, and PROBABLY, this dude is someone you could potentially see yourself liking. But having gotten him there, say, if tomorrow, he's like, "Okay, I'm done treating you like a yo yo. Do you want to have a really serious relationship?" then you should have an answer. Do you want a really serious relationship? Are you wasting time and energy on a lost cause? And if the answer to the former question is 'yes' then my question number two to you is do you want a really serious relationship with this guy? Hmmm? HMMMMMMM? Thought not, he's already being a bit of a dick. Dump him, move on.

* How long has it been? What, only two days? Sure, totally, go ahead and send him a text message. Okay, opinions amongst you guys might be divided on this point, but I feel like it's cool to indicate some amount of interest. I mean, why lose someone just because you stood on your ego, right? That being said, you also should be aware that the person who's wondering why there hasn't been any contact (ie, you) probably already cares about this more than the person who hasn't made any contact (ie, him). But that's okay. All relationships have a certain level of power balances, sometimes you do more, sometimes they do more, but if it's driving you KUH-RAAAZY that he hasn't called you, then for God's sake, pick up your phone and send him a text.

(I include a sample text, because the next question is usually, "But what will I saaaa-haaay?"

"Hey, so nice to see you the other night. I was just BLAHBLAH (insert something specific but casual here that makes a reference to something you might have talked about) and thought of you. *smiley face*"

And, there's no question mark in this template, which means the ball is totally in his court, and if he likes you, he'll reply to your text. Ta-dah!)

(I love smiley faces. You can convey SO MUCH in a text message without saying a thing.)

* Yeaaah.. I don't think she's going to sleep with you. This is for the gentlemen. Never say I'm not equal opportunist here. I know the situation, it's a chick-flick favourite. You like a girl, you befriend a girl, girl becomes your BFF, you still harbour a secret passion for the girl, girl in the meanwhile has relegated you to the status where she might possibly fall asleep on your shoulder, or wrap her arm around you or something, but will justify this to her girlfriends as being in a "non sexual way." Your secret passion builds up, you get a bit grumpy, you want to declare your emotions to the girl and you think by declaring these emotions you're going to get the girl, but sadly, TRAGICALLY, you're probably not. I'm sorry, but that ship has sailed. Now, I'm not saying that there aren't these rare instances when a girl suddenly thinks, "Oh my god, yes, I like him too!" and you live happily ever after, but normally, in my experience, if you're not attracted to someone within the first hour of you guys hanging out, the chances of you being attracted to them in the future grow slimmer and slimmer. On the other hand, a lot of people I know thought this, and then the guy kissed them and then they thought, "Huh. I could be into this."

(But please, don't just randomly grab someone and kiss them. Feel the room first.)

(Fine, fine, here's a template for that as well. BUT THIS IS VERY SUBJECTIVE, so don't like, try it and then come complaining to me that it didn't work. People are different.

There's a very high chance that you're in when she doesn't really seem to be concentrating much on what you're saying and is using excuses to touch: legs, arms, whatever. That hair touching thing is usually bullshit though. Look for cues, how she was in the beginning of the evening versus now. A vivacious person might get quieter, an already quiet person might begin to suddenly open up, defences will generally be down, offer an out, "oh, are you tired?" for example, and then, see what happens. Never, under any circumstances ask someone if you "can" kiss them. It kills the mood like nothing else.)




* Better now than later. Oh boy, this has become one of my all time favourite things to say to people. (Usually, when I'm giving them shit advice, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.) It's my catch-all about revealing yourself, your expectations, even your little kinky quirks to the person you're considering dating right from the get go. Okay, maybe not on the first date, but you've been out a couple of times, you've maybe spent the night once or twice, he's familiar-ish with your friends and you with his, as in, you could say hi, if you saw them in the market, and are now shyly replying to comments left on his Facebook wall. Now you want to say, "Um, Sweetiebeans. Where is this going? Coz, I kinda want to be married in two years and so it'd be nice if you ALSO wanted to get married in two years, because then we're essentially not wasting each other's time." Sweetiebeans will either a) run for the hills or b) say, "Yes, Schmugglypoopoo. I'm all for getting married! Marriages rock!" Obviously, you don't want a), but it's better to KNOW a) now than later. See? Yay, I'm so wise!


(I haven't actually said the boy advice bit out loud to any boy I actually know, because my male friends are either handling their love lives really well, or just don't want me to butt in, but I HAVE yelled it at a couple of movie characters once, and I've also ranted about it to other people, and so it totally counts.)

(Go ahead and add your own Advice-You-Give-Other-People-But-Probably-Wouldn't-Listen-To-Yourself in the comments. It'll be fun.)

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.

The Different Kinds Of Sex (a list for your referencing pleasure)

“How many different kinds of sex are there?” asked a friend last night at 4S, so another friend and I decided to make him a list. And here they are:

 

1) Make up sex

2) Break up sex

3) I’m bored and there’s nothing on TV sex*

4)  I’m drunk and a little bit lonely and you’re here sex

5) I forgot to get you a birthday/Valentine’s Day/Christmas present sex*

6) I’m regretting this even as I’m doing it (but it’s too late to back out now) sex

7) You talked about your ex for an hour this afternoon sex

8) I saw you checking someone else out sex*

9) I’m a little bit guilty for checking someone out sex*

10) Revenge sex

11) Pity sex

12)  I’m trying to prove something to my hot friend sex

13) We’ve been on a road trip and gotten really close sex

14) We once hooked up and I’m trying to see if there’s still a connection sex

15) I had a crush on you in high school sex

16) I had a crush on you in high school and now you’re fat and I’m hot sex

17) I’m about to break up with you only I’m not sure how to do it so I will initiate sex sex

18) I wasn’t going to have sex with you but then I saw how everyone else was looking at you so I changed my mind sex

19) You’re my friend and I just saw you in a new light sex

20) This is more about me than you sex (applies to mile high clubs and one night stands)

21) I haven’t had sex in a really long time and you make me feel less like a person who is going to have to be CELIBATE FOREVER sex

22) You’re much younger than me and so you make me feel agile sex

23) You talked about how much you like my writing and so I feel connected to you sex (only a writer’s thing, I guess.)

24) Secret sex

25) I just broke up with someone and I want to test the whole “the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else” theory sex

26) Post sexting sex

27) You’re my co-worker but you looked really hot at the office party sex

28) Significant occasion sex (birthdays, New Year’s, etc)

29) This is supposed to match an image I have in my mind sex

30) I don’t really want to sleep with you, but you’re really nice and would make an excellent partner so I’m going to try and see if it works sex

 

 

*Applies to people in relationships

Feel free to add on more in the comments!

Notes from the Lit Fest that have absolutely nothing to do with literature

All of this past week I have been at the Jaipur Literature Festival which was even more of a circus than usual. I cannot sum up the last five days without devoting pages and pages to it, so instead, I’m going to offer you my (very random) tweets, with a little explanation to follow each one. I got into the habit of taking down time sitting by the fountain area near Diggi Palace’s Flow Cafe and tweeting whatever came to mind as I sat there with my coffee and a cigarette. MADNESS.

 

Feel v. virtuous because I managed to get the writing I had to do done before I go off to schmooze for a week at the lit fest.

It’s true. I did. I’ve decided my awesome alter ego Nina (has very short hair, may or may not be a lesbian, is very capable) is responsible for all my organised-y things. Post this, I fell asleep and didn’t wake up till my friend arrived from Bangalore, and I got into a major rush over packing and showering and getting to Bikaner House on time. Bikaner House being the place off India Gate where you get nice luxury buses to go to Jaipur or Jodhpur or wherever else in Rajasthan you fancy. We got lucky, because not only was our bus very nice, with reclining seats and a foot rest and everything, but also, we reached Jaipur in about five and a half hours.

 

Unfortunately, Nina didn’t step in in time for me to collect my newly made business cards from the place in Khan Market I ordered them from and there they languish, thinking of the might-have-beens.

 

this year's writer most likely to be mobbed award goes to... gulzar!

Girl on the bus to me, after I asked her whether she was going to the lit fest: “I’m only going for one session, because I have to go back to Delhi tomorrow evening. I MUST see Gulzar, I even tried to get into his house in Bombay and couldn’t.” Commitment? Or stalkeritude? You decide.

 

But seriously, everywhere the man went, he was followed by a literal TRAIN of people, including his own private personal paparazzi.

 

authors get separate eating section this year. I'm average Joanna this year so feel very left out. esp since that's where the bar is.

The lit fest’s biggest claim has been its egalitarianism, you get to lunch with the greats, maybe share a table with a Nobel Prize winner, but this year they all got their own eating area, and we (the great masses) were left to fend for ourselves, alone and un-famous-people-table-y.

 

still haven't spotted candace bushnell, I hope she's ready for a new bff.

Oh my god, I was so excited about Candace. I don’t know what I was expecting, that she’d throw her arms around me and be all, “Sister from another mother!” but I was expecting something. Which, if you’ll read on, you’ll find was not the case.

 

in today's awards also add writer everyone wants to seduce. winner is junot diaz, surprised no one actually threw panties on the stage.

Junot  Diaz was rather unprepossessing looking, but then he talked. And he did such a good job, all the ladies in the audience were in a collective swoon. You could see the sappy faces everywhere, and when I spotted him and went up to chat to him the next day at the cafe, he had the look of a man who was used to it, patting my shoulder, saying “that’s very kind” and moving on to brighter pastures.

 

On the plus side, SO MANY CUTE BOYS! Yay!

 

watch me on tehelka.com where I and @mriganayanika talk about the lit fest and hot boys. 

 

My friend Pragya, who is awesome, and I did a couple of “festival diaries” thing. They’re fun and funny, but I can’t find the links, so just check on Tehelka.

 

Today. I. Am. Interviewing. Candace. Bushnell. (inhale, Minna, inhale)

For Marie Claire stepped in at the last moment and made all my dreams come true. I was actually going to meet her! Face to face! The woman who revolutionised sex writing so long ago.

 

But while Ms. Bushnell was very articulate and intelligent, we didn’t quite get into the discussion I wanted to have—about sex writing abroad versus sex writing in India, about feminism and so on. It was probably my own fault—I did come with a prepared list of questions, and perhaps it was the time constraint, but either way, I felt it fell a little flat.

 

Of course, this means I have to dress very nice. I'm thinking grey cowl neck wool dress, with a lime tube top inside, tights, boots.

Either writers are finally dressing better, or the mild winter sun made for some interesting sartorial choices, but Jaipur was just like a fashion show. LOVELY outfits, beautiful people, it made my people watching all the more interesting—and of course, upped the ante on what I would choose to wear that day too.

 

I have to dress nice for Carrie.... er, I mean, Candace.

Author  Ira Trivedi did the session with her and made the same mistake on stage, which I thought was very sweet. We do always imagine Carrie Bradshaw when we think of Candace Bushnell, no?

 

only 10 am and the place is packed. this is going to be a crazy weekend.

I’m not kidding you guys. It felt like the Khumbh Mela or something. There was even the obligatory “has anyone seen a little lost boy?” announcement. I couldn’t get into any of the sessions, so I sat outside quite happily and eavesdropped.

 

someone just touched gulzar's feet.

Really.

 

people are certainly dressed better this year.

And you thought readers were nerds.

 

if everyone's here, who's attending the sessions? does anyone really come to watch the discussions or is it all about people watching?

What I didn’t realise is that I answered my own question, just by posting all these random tweets. Ah, irony.

 

dna this morning called kiran desai orhan pamuk's trophy girlfriend. wow.

She went on to be supremely giggly, and from all accounts, quite annoying, while he acted like quite a brat on stage, said my conscientious friend who actually, like, you know, watched stuff instead of schmoozing like me. So I take back my “wow” of amazement.

 

“aap heroine dekhne ja rahe ho?” auto driver to me when I ask to be taken to candace's hotel.

I wanted to answer about how she was the heroine of my heart, but I didn’t want to get into it, so I just nodded and smiled widely.

 

well that was interesting. don't think she'll be my new bff though.

Another hope dashed, alas.

 

since I'm at a table with no one else I know, let's play lit fest hot or not!

Unfortunately, with a sketchy signal and my Android acting up, I couldn’t actually do this, but it would have been SUCH FUN.

 

"What are you working on?" is the lit fest equivalent of "What's your sign?"

Then, we talk about agents and book deals and feel all shop-talk-y and cool and I was all flipping my hair and LOOK AT ME IN MY INDUSTRY DOING INDUSTRY TALK!

 

barkha Dutt being hustled into flow."don't worry," says her companion, "there's a celebrity hideout in the corner."

 

It’s where Rahul Bose skulked last year, looking around in his aviator glasses for someone to recognise him before he ducked his head and looked Private and Busy. Also, sundry other authors. It’s the “big table” in the corner and chances are, if you go next year, and want very much to celebrity spot, that’s where you’ll find them all.

 

and now there's a double mattress being shepherded out. this place is surreal

Again: really.

 

someone should write a book just on the happenings at flow cafe.

Remember, you saw it here first! I want a cut and a loving, thoughtful dedication. Along the lines of: To eM, without whom, not.

 

nursing my hangover and feeling very sorry for myself. all alone in a crowd etc.(dehydration makes me dramatic)

Writers drink a bloody lot. Three days of non stop partying (including one as soon as I got into Delhi) has made me grumpy and hermit-y today. I’m almost thankful it’s a dry day.

 

Hmph.

The grumpiness started early though. But soon, you’ll be happy to know, I met my friends, and all was right again.

 

I wish my hair just naturally smelt of hot buttered popcorn.

Um, yeah. If you do follow me on Twitter, I assume this is the time you unfollowed. I was so drunk on constant socialising (actual alcohol can only be consumed post sundown, this is my usual rule, though I break it for brunches, because really, what is a brunch without a nice cold Bloody Mary?) that I began to babble a little bit. And babbling on Twitter—well, I’d have unfollowed me at this point, so I don’t blame you if you do.

 

But wouldn’t it be awesome if they made buttered popcorn smelling shampoo? I’d always be hungry though, so maybe it’s for the best that they haven’t.

 

giving out Twitter awards again, @mriganayanika wins for best dressed.

She really was.

 

tell Sarnath banerjee you like his socks. they're very nice.

They really were too. I love interesting socks.

 

also @samitbasu has on the best jacket ever.

It had leather on the elbows! Awesomeness.

 

this band is truly awful.

The lead singer for Fire Exit was the best thing about it, and you could hardly hear her. Good lord, was I thankful when that was over!

 

certain writers about whom I wrote certain very loving blog posts have read it and mentioned it and now I want to DIE. stupid blog.

I was referring to this post, and yes, he did bring it up, and it’s all coming back to me now and I want to die anew. Stupid internet with stupid online archives.

 

it’s better to lose a lover than love a loser (via @avnidoshi)

This is my new favourite quote in the whole world.

 

yay for finally locating the elusive authentic laal maas I've been craving. go Jaipur!

Having searched all over Rajasthan (okay, just Jodhpur and bits of Jaipur) for this, I was THRILLED to finally find a version that were true to the stories I had been hearing about this mutton curry’s deliciousness. If you too have been looking for a good fiery hot meat curry, look no further than Copper Chimney, on Jaipur’s MI Road. Hint: order some raita too, it’s REALLY REALLY REALLY spicy.

 

and that's all from me about Jaipur. intrepid tweeter signing out!

Phew. ‘bout time, eh?

eM watches the World Cup

 

From: Rudyard

To: eM

Hi! How are you? Fancy watching the football at mine with a bunch of Brits? Promise a sociologically interesting evening---and to keep the hooliganism in check.

 

From: eM

To: Rudyard

Sounds fun! Not a big football fan but all about the sociology.

 

Hmmm. I wonder who’s playing. Let me call Football Savvy Friend.

 

Oh, Germany and England. What fun.

 

Right. Assuming everyone in the room is supporting England, am going to make a completely arbitrary decision and pick Germany.

 

Methods I Use To Determine Which Team I Support:

1) Which team has better looking players.

2) Which team has a national product I really love (eg: picked Mexico because of the TEQUILA!)

3) Which team looks sadder about losing.

4) Which team has better looking players. (I’m an equal opportunist like that.)

 

Rudyard’s house is full of people all sitting and staring at the television. I assumed it was going to be a football party, you know, with football on in the background and people talking and mingling but not really paying attention.

 

Football Savvy friend and I are ushered to our seats. He is given a Place Of Honour in the thick of things, I am exiled to a chair by the side. All the better for me to send messages from and update my Foursquare.

 

Football Savvy Friend is also supporting Germany, but not letting on, seeing as he is surrounded by English people who are taking this match rather, um, personally.

 

They changed colours again! What’s with you, World Cup? Out of all the BILLIONS of colours out there, you can’t stick to one for one country?

 

I’m so confused. I think the red guys are Germany, but the room is very excited whenever they get the ball. I try to lean over and ask, but no one is paying attention to me.

 

Go Red Guys! Wait, there’s a GREEN guy! And a YELLOW guy? And one in BLUE! I will never figure this game out.

 

From: eM

To: Ira

Jesus, I don’t think I can take it. I don’t even know which colour is whose. Although I think Germany just scored judging by the reactions here.

 

Hmmm. Maybe will go smoke cigarette in the balcony to make time pass faster.

 

Someone very kindly (albeit impatiently) explained that Germany is the white team. Go white team!

 

Half time! I can has mingling? Oh no, everyone looks too sad.

 

Lalalala.. will make Bloody Marys instead. (Secret Cocktail Tip: Use tomato puree watered down with water, much less sweet, and less expensive than tomato juice.)

 

Oooh, this is a good Mary.

 

From: eM

To: Ira

I got vodka, it got a lot more interesting. Footballers have nice bottoms.

 

EUREKA! ALCOHOL + SPORTS = FUN! Why does no one else know this? I must tell THE WORLD.

 

Oh. Everyone already knows. Oh well.

 

Aww. Look at how happy German dude is because he scored.

 

Look at me, totally supporting the winning team. HAH! IN YOUR FACE! I AM THE FOOTBALL TEAM CHOOSING CHAMPION!

 

Err. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last bit out loud.

 

Yay! My team won! My team never wins.

 

OH. MY. GOD. They are taking off their shirts!

 

Mmmm. Footballers. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

 

DON’T TURN OFF THE TV! Shirts! Off!

 

Dammit.

 

Okay, I’m going to go get drunk now.