Now I remember why I used to use song lyrics as post titles, headlines are tough. Therefore, this post title is: Life Goes Easy On Me

> Can you believe it's October already? Today is Puja's birthday, 26 this year, but for us, always twenty. If I were in Delhi, I'd be at her house, for the chanting and the meal and the chatting with her mother and assorted friends who gather twice a year--sometimes more--to celebrate her memory. Grief gets easier with time, it's simple now for me to focus on the happy stuff. To lose two friends in five years is hard, but then at the same time it reminds you of how transient life is, how it could all vanish in an instant. Thanks to Puja, thanks to Shakti, I love harder now, and I say what I feel always. I know my other friends feel this way too, or maybe it's just us mellowing over the years, we don't squabble and if we do it's brief and fleeting. We, most of us, think of our friends as part of our extended family, I know I do, but not in the taking-for-granted way, in the I'm-so-glad-you're-in-my-life way. I'm so glad you're in my life.

> October also means it's Leela's wedding in about three weeks which is terribly exciting, and also for me, the first friend's wedding that I've attended. Knowing someone from when they were two and half to now, at 26, means that there should be at least three extremely sentimental moments. Bring on the tears! I've been planning the bachelorette party, which really shouldn't be called that because there are *gasp* BOYS attending. I threw a huge internet hissy fit, to which Leela responded by email saying, "Boys are (mostly) not the enemy." Hmph. I wanted the Jat stripper! And the blown up condoms! And the penis shaped cake! If you're a girl friend planning on getting married soon and planning on asking me to help organise the bachelorette party; let me warn you, I will use all these things. I'm not going to be cheated out of a Jat stripper TWICE. (Yes, apparently there are male strippers in Delhi, this one was on Pieces' reccomendation, and apparently he's quite dishy.)

> Being in a relationship for me always means I'm writing reams and reams of bad poetry. Don't worry--it's SO bad, I'm not going to inflict any on you, but it's sorta fun to indulge myself in the whole our tangled limbs lie across your bed thing. You know, when you were a preteen and in the throes of your first crush and you doodled their initials over and over again? Similar. Incidentally, my first crush's initial was A, and to this day when I'm doodling I make fancy As and tiny as and As with shading in them and then write M, m, M, m everywhere. That and snails. I do a good snail.

> The Bagel Shop now stocks Goan Pork Sausage bagels, which is dreadful because they are so good. And so full of calories. I'm not normally a calorie counting person, but in the last week, two people have watched my eating habits and shaken their heads. "You'll be fat someday," they both warned, and I can see the day when I'm all large assed and bloated, grease running down my chin but still it only makes me eat more while I'm still skinny.

> And because I haven't done a party round up in a while, here's what my last week has been like: Sunday, a heritage walk around Crawford Market with Deepti and another friend, Himanshu, and then, because Himanshu's cool like that, we toddled over to the Press Club and the rest of the evening was spent in general debauchery. I woke up the next morning with a stamp on my wrist and no idea where it had come from, which made me puzzle for a while till I remembered us briefly staggering giggling into Polly Esther's and dancing. Yeah, it was one of those evenings. Monday, I went with Sameer, Chrisann, KVA and a bunch of other people to Soul Fry to sing karaoke. I volunteered to sing Fever, but what I didn't realise was that one of the people with us, an old friend I haven't seen in ten years, Ostrich, in whose honour the evening was organised, was actually a rock star. No, I mean it. I forget what she sang first, but she did this version of It's Raining Men that made people actually dance to her singing. And yell out "Encore!" So, yeah, when it was my turn I declined, but Chrisann made me. But thankfully, she sang too. We did a nice job. Or, it just helps that we have boobs. No one boos you if you have boobs. Tuesday, I went to spend some time with Volt, after watching Loins Of Punjab Present with Chrisann and KVA (sweet movie, you should watch it). He has a flu and is like most of his gender, rather grouchy during it all, but we watched yet another movie (The Princess Bride) and did other fun couple things. (Although, I think I caught his cold). Wednesday, I went out with Sameer and Ostrich to Zenzi, where they most unsmartly chose the outside non-AC section (which to be fair is where I normally sit, but yesterday was like a tropical rainforest). "Air conditioning," Ostrich got out before she collapsed across the table, so we took her to *ahem* Janata, where there WAS air conditioning and where we drank much cheap alcohol and speculated about the table next to us which had two oldish men and one blonde child, who looked about 12. (We came up with: toy boy, business partner, albino, really, really young looking 25 year old). Whatever is the world coming to?