My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.

"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times

"Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine

"A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll

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17 November 2004

Hey sister, go sister, soul sister

Wow, what a whirl of socialising I've been doing! I haven't been home for dinner in... oh, a week...I crawl into bed at around 11.30 or 12 every night, wake up at 7.30 and rush-rush through brekker and coffee, brave the jams, get into work, do a couple of assignments, meet my buddies and rinse, repeat.
Why? Well, because, because Pieces has been in town and because I was feeling a little down and needed to be out, because there's nothing that makes you feel better about yourself than the fact that your friends are laughing at a joke you cracked, are listening to your bad day stories with sympathy on their faces, are making bitchy comments about your ex-boyfriend and (that equivalent to locker room talk) are swapping sex stories which make you laugh till you have tears in your eyes.
Remember I said exciting things were happening? Well, if all goes well, I might just be switching jobs, to a bigger national newspaper. The pay will be good, the work will be about the same as what I'm doing here and I felt it was time for a change. Keep your fingers crossed!
Still no men on the horizon. It seems as if all of Delhi's single male population has gone into hibernation or is the creepy fat guy sitting at the table next to us last night.
"Excuse me, could I have a cigarette?"
Kirti, P's pal, passes him one of our precious smokes. Precious coz none of us have the energy to walk out into the market and get some more.
Two seconds later: "And a light?"
Kirti passes him a light, but it seems as if the light is the right of a man bumming ciggies off women young enough to be his daughters and probably earning a lot less so he doesn't say thank you.
He then wipes the lighter off with a napkin and uses it, all of which I relate to my buddies in a scandalous whisper. When he passes it back to Kirti, just for revenge, she swipes at it with her sweatshirt sleeve and we all fall apart laughing.
Okay, so you had to be there.
Anyway, so these are the men in Delhi. No intellectual men who carry around copies of The Bell Jar and who murmur 'Tiger, tiger burning bright' to you when you're making out. No men who are not "handsome" in the technical sense but have moments of beauty that bring tears to your eyes. No men who say, "You know, that song by John Mayer about how your body is a wonderland always reminds me of you."
And worst of all, no men to give me a back massage. :(

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