I'm not afraid to ask the hard questions

How much of what we like is because of its relativity? For example, if we are surprised by how good something tastes, does that make it the "best ever"? Is this truly the "best ever" cupcake (please no more cupcakes i beg you) was the "best ever" butter chicken we had really in a railway hotel in Jhansi? Or does surprise and the fun of discovery add like five delicious points to everything.

Context:

Delicious Manipuri vegetable pakoras, at a roadside stall near Imphal; the best fritters ever: pic.twitter.com/WDfEFvDOwc
— Amitav Ghosh (@GhoshAmitav) February 5, 2015

Surprise. Shimla Biryani on the EM Bypass serves really good biryani AND the best firni in town. #KolkataFoodTrail
— J. Alfred Prufrock (@Alfred_Prufrock) February 5, 2015

Had the best chaat ever at Evergreen sweets in Delhi. One of the highlights of my trip so far. pic.twitter.com/mBO6VkFU3i
— Sonia Shenoy (@sonias24) January 26, 2015

That chicken tikka pizza was the best thing of my life 😍😍😍😍
— kelssss (@KelseyHall9) February 1, 2015

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot

I yearn, as the weather gets increasingly arid, for the perfect glass of chilled water. Chilled as oppossed to cold. Chilled, so that the glass stays frosty with no condensation droplets. So that as you drink it, there's a sharp cold headache reaching your head, so it's almost painful to keep drinking, but you do anyway, because the coldness extends its tendrils throughout your veins and your thirst is quenched for a while.

No one does chilled water anymore. At restaurants, I have learned to ask for 'ice water', but instead of being what I had imagined, water from melted ice cubes, so cold, so perfectly cold and exquisite in your throat, it's water a little cooler than room temperature with a few ice cubes in it, that look sad and sorry, and explode on your tongue when you encounter them, chilling your molars briefly, but not your drink.

It's surprising to me that no one drinks chilled water anymore. Freezing cold Coke you get, or beer or whatever, but they have a taste and though they'll quench your thirst, they don't have the flavour that water does, the H20ness that whooshes over your palate, sprinkles itself around the corners of your mouth, makes you wipe your face and say, "Ah." When was the last time you said 'ah' with a glass of water? For me, it was at TC, as I entered, straight from breathing the humid, un-windy night air to breathing smoke, and I asked for a glass of water, which the bartender poured me--lukewarm, but with a little ice in it--but I downed it, in three gulps, my throat aching and I felt so much better. No sticky residue, no sweetness. Just.. there.

At home, I've learned to get chilled water by sticking the bottle in my room in the freezer when I get home. But the problem is, in the middle of the night, when I roll over, t-shirt sticking to my body, sheet half off the bed from where I've kicked it, and reach for the bottle of water, it's warm by then, so not chilled, and I drink a little, and it tastes like spit and I go back to tossing and turning and dreaming about coldness and icicles and rain and algid, arctic, below freezing, below zero, benumbed, biting, bitter, blasting, bleak, boreal, brisk, brumal, chill, chilled, cool, crisp, cutting, freezing, frigid, frore, frosty, frozen, gelid, glacial, hiemal, hyperborean, icebox, iced, icy, inclement, intense, keen, nipping, nippy, numbed, numbing, one-dog night, penetrating, piercing, polar, raw, rimy, severe, sharp, shivery, sleety, snappy, snowy, stinging, wintry water.

Lunch, munch, brunch, hunch

I have discovered my new favourite website. And because it's my new favourite website, I'm going to quote from it and you can't stop me.



Aside from sounding wonderful, I like the word because saying amoeba at random is a good way to throw my friends. I'll be talking about the latest bestsellers, and I'll pause to gather my thoughts. And then, out of nowhere. I very carefully pronounce "Amoeba", just for the joy of saying the words. My friends will stare at me, wondering if they really heard me say amoeba out of nowhere or they were just hallucinating, as I finish thinking and start talking again.





I read a story in The New Yorker about Ricky Jay, a magician, who mentioned that he was sometimes perturbed by the "magic lumpen." I was mystified by this word. What did it mean? Was it some sort of magic wand? My own dictionaries did not contain this word but I finally discovered the meaning in an unabridged dictionary. I have since used the word lumpen to determine the completeness of a dictionary which might boast of hundreds of thousands of words. If lumpen isn't contained within the dictionary pages, I'm not interested.



The word makes me giggle. What a funny name for a rather unattractive piece of anatomy. The more I vocalize elbow the funnier it seems.



Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango
Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening..."
I named my cat Scaramouche, it's just fun to stand at the back door calling her.



The site is My Favorite Word and it is brilliant. Only I am faced with a small dilemma. I have so many favourite words, I don't know which one I'd pick.



There are some that I'd pick because of what they mean. Like 'pulchritude', which I met for the first time in Zadie Smith's White Teeth. Great physical beauty or appeal hidden in an ugly, long, hunchbacked word.




Then there'd be 'elan' and 'verve', because I love saying them. I love the way elan runs off my tongue. And even though Blogger doesn't let me put the accent over the 'e' I imagine it that way anyway. I love words with accents or umlauts. (Hell, I love the word umlaut. It's such a nice, German-sounding word). Uber, if you say it like the 'u' is a 'Oooh' with a little 'y' sound. 'Naive', 'cafe' all those words. Incidentally, the little 'i' with the two dots? What's that called?




I like animal words as well. Like 'gargoyle' that sounds like you're mispronouncing 'gargle'. Or wildebeast. Wildebeast, wildebeast, wildebeast. Or pheasant, when you're thinking 'ph' but you're doing fffff with your teeth over your lower lip like a screen.




I like words that remind me of other things. Like 'moot'.
(Cross reference Friends episode:
Joey: It's a moo point.
Monica: It's a what point?
Joey: Moo. Like you know, a point a cow would make? It's moo.)
Or like 'unanimous' or 'privelege', the first big words I ever used which I actually knew the meaning of.




I like words with concious images. Like 'float' which reminds me of a pink, nylon nightie. Or 'twilight' which is all cricket-y and blue-y. And 'slender' and 'damask' and 'powder-puff' and 'scent' and 'liquid' and 'pirouette'.


Pink. Little. Tip-toe. Drama. Feather. Melting. Exquisite. Salute. Thistledown. Forgo. Delicate. Sandwich. Thesaurus. Rendezvous.


Have a wildebeast evening, y'all.

I should be much too smart for this, you know it gets the better of me, sometimes when you and I collide, I fall into an ocean of you

Happy Reader Appreciation Week! This is all about you, since nothing happens to me anymore, I'm taking requests on stuff to write about this entire week. So post comments or email me already! (Nope, not selling out before I get twenty thousand gazillion comments on that, because d-uh, this blog is FREE baby, free. Which means I can do as I please)


Chamique said Really? Okay eM, write something about a Harley Davidson, pink fluffy marshmallows and a drunken brawl.=)

Um... okay. Story time, clearly, since this has never happened to me.

Once upon a time there was a girl called Isha who lived in a tiny flat with a huge balcony with her sister and her sister's husband and their two kids Brat One and Brat Two. Isha lived in one bedroom, her sister and brother-in-law lived in the other and the kids lived all over the house.

Isha had a boyfriend who she didn't know whether she wanted to marry. His name was Vikram. They had been dating on and off for two years. Vikram drove a Harley Davidson, which his dad had had imported especially for his eighteenth birthday all the way from Illinois. Sometimes Isha drove the Harley too, but Vikram told her it was too heavy for her body.

Isha wanted to go away from the small flat and the kids and the noises of her sister having sex. She couldn't afford to live alone just then, and her sister couldn't afford rent without her. The bed went squeak squeak squeak in the night. Isha wanted Vikram to be with her. But Vikram just bought her pink marshamallows from the Noida mall and pretended it was all okay.

The pink marshmallows were fluffy. But Isha felt their sticky sadness around her mouth.

One day Vikram got into a drunken brawl. He was that sort of guy. The type that got into brawls. Isha watched him fighting. She thought of the squeaking beds. She thought of her father and how he used to buy her sharpened pencils. She thought of skipping in the winter sunshine. And she closed her eyes and turned away.

Finis.

Two at a time, I think. J.A.P writes Rant. Memories. Food (other than Dyna Bites which I did try at MB's and they ARE rather good but it's time to move on).

Harley Davidsons, oh yes very much.

But not sex. No sex, we are good devout Indians and we all came into this world by parthenogenesis.

And oh yes, how about tikas and dhotis? On women, as demonstrated in one of your watering holes recently.

J.A.P.

(Also stoopid-ass mile-long verification codes on comments pages)

I'm not really much of a foodie. If you gave me a choice, I was telling a friend the other day, between cigarettes and eating food pills and no smokes and eating three course meals, I'd pick the cigarettes.

That said, I do have my favourites. Biryani from Karims. Nowhere else. Maccer's french fries. Pepperoni pizza with jalapeno and olives. I could live on those.

I used to have this thing where I couldn't eat in front of a boy. Especially not a boy I liked. When Golfer Ex and I were dating, we'd spend whole days together and I would demurely sip a coke and he would eat butter chicken and all. "Are you sure you don't want some?" he'd ask. "No-o-o," I'd answer weakly, all the time feeling my stomach rumble loudly. Then my braces came off and I was free to eat outside my home. Ah liberation.

I love bhutta and Fun Flips. I love the rasam vada at Sagar. I love the Def. Col. momos at the Rara Momo Stand. I love tandoori chicken at Hari Chutney in Saket. I love my mom's curd rice with my grandmom's tamarind pickle. I love my dad's prawn curry with the delectable smelling basmati rice and the sardines fried to a crisp. I love the macaroni I make with olive oil and garlic and dry red chillis. I love bhindi and baingan and vindaloo.

Fuck, now I'm hungry.

Random things that make me happy (subtitled: Wake me up, before you go-go)

> It's been a good couple of days. First of all, not to blow my own trumpet too much (oooh, I so wish I had a trumpet. I'd love to have a trumpet. Sounds a little like a promiscous woman, doesn't it? "Oh her, she's such a trumpet". Does anyone have a trumpet? I have a tabla, but I don't think that counts) Guess who was photographed for the paper the other day? Me, baby, zats who. Only, I didn't want my face to be shown, seeing as we're anonymous and all that, so you can probably just see like a little bit of my profile (Which sucks, because my nose totally looks like a ducks. I'm telling you). Still it's most exciting, and I'm all kicked that I finally got to give that ultimate p3p line, "No pictures please".



> And ooh, I've discovered that I can now totally show you my superhot Yahoo avatar that I spent so long working on. I love her. No, we don't look alike, but dude. She's so hot and so supercool that I want to be her. I want to be my Yahoo avatar. Say that a couple more times and you're close to being the second saddest person in the world. The saddest is me, of course, but everyone here already knows I'm an internet nerd.







> Some PR releases make me so happy, I want to cry. This one, especially that I begged my colleague to forward to me so I could share it with you. Observe: August 7th is Friendship Day! What better way to reinforce the bond you enjoy with your friends than giving them an assurance through gifting flowers - which are around, almost forever... That's the thought and gift option The Next Shop gives you for this occasion. Add that extra bit of delicacy to your living room or an office ambience and the best part is they won't whither away like real flowers. So, you can relish their presence and enhance the sensual relaxation, with the addition of a favourite perfume. Also a wonderful gift option, touch the sweet chord of friendship this August 7th on Friendship Day.
Oh the joy of giving my friends flowers that last forever. Oh, the happiness! And sensual relaxation too! Dude, this isn't just a Friendship Day prezzie, this is the Anthem For People Who Have Not Had Any Sex In Many Months. I'm sure my friends will appreciate it waaaay more than a drink. In fact that's exactly what I'm going to do--give them dry flowers so they can "relish their presence". Right along with those fake Livestrong bands that you get in Saket, in bright pink with Best Friends Forever on them. I've been threatening Priya with one of those for years now. I'm totally going to touch the sweet chord of friendship.






> Have I ever mentioned that I heart drinking games? I rule at drinking games, you should know this. At any party, if someone was to say, "Who knows any drinking games?" I would be the one person to lead them from being bored and drunk to being happy and knowing random facts about strangers. There's this one game that I'm particularly good at. It's called "I have never" and basically there's one person toasting and they go, for instance, "I have never kissed someone and fantasised about Govinda" Now anyone who has kissed someone and fantasised about Govinda (ewwwwwwww... please don't!) has to drink. I'm super good at this game primarily because I don't get drunk very easily, so most of my deepest, darkest secrets stay hidden deep within me while others say stuff like, "I've never flirted with my father." (This actually happened to me on Saturday and I was all like, "Toooooooo much information, baby. Waaaay too much.") There's this other very cool drinking game called Think While You Drink, where one person says, oh. let's say, Simon Cowell and the other has to say something with 'C' like Cameron Diaz. But if you can't think of anyone, you have to keep chugging your drink till you do. You get completely blasted with this game, by the way, so it's great fun especially if you want to make out with someone but are too chicken to make a move while they're still sober. Oh and postscript, you can't say people with no last name like Madonna or Cher or Kajol.





> I went to Olive tonight to meet with young filmmaker Ashvin Kumar, who I thought was goign to be totally hot, considering he's Ritu Kumar's son and all and he went to the Oscars and he met Johnny Depp, who is yummy. But sadly, no. He wore thick spectacles and was short and stocky and reminded me kinda of Drew Carey, except he was thinner, slightly. Only the cool part was that at one point he sang, yes actually sang and the song he picked was La Bamba one of my absolute, favourite get-naked-in-front-of-the-mirror-and-stick-out-your-pelvic-girdle type songs. (The others are I'm Too Sexy by Right Said Fred, You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate and Superstar by Jamelia)




> One thing I totally adore about my job is that I can call people and say, "Hello, I'm eM from so-and-so publication" and then they have to give me whatever information I want. It's so easy! I wonder whether people who are not from the press do that too--get secret information I mean. But I guess it's not that secret if they're telling journalists about it. I mean, hello, it is going to get printed. So I suppose the secret is just in knowing what kind of questions to ask.



> Also what struck me today, thanks to a friend telling me is how different everyone's interviewing styles are. Some people do it surreptitiously, "Do you have any *whisper* suicidal thoughts?" Others do it with informed flair, "So tell me more about your collection, due out in August, with the sequined work." And still others, like me, do it with a personal touch. Like today meeting this filmmaker chappie, I was like, "Oooh, Johnny Depp! You're so lucky!" And you know what? It worked. He smiled at me and then started talking about it and got more and more friendly, to me. And I can bet you anything that the next time I see him, at a party or wherever, he will remember me and say hello. Some of my closest friends are people I've interviewed, so I must be doing something right.

The soundtrack of my day

Clickety clickety.

Ph-ooooooooooooooo-one!

Hey, good story!

Does anyone have Satya Paul's number?

Does anyone have a Nokia charger?

Madam, chai.

Have you filed your story yet? The whole page is hanging just because of you!

Clickety clickety clicke-- oh fuck!

Okay, my story's not working out, I'm sorry.

Bringgggggggg, briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing, briiiiiii--- hey, I said phooooooooooo-ooooooone! Where were you?

What stories are you working on for next week?

Rustle, rustle, clink, rustle, rustle.

I'm going for my assignment, call me if you need anything else for my story.

I need those pictures. Right now.

Has he given you the layout?

Does anyone know how to spell the French attache's name?

Guys, Google's down!

Shit, I'm late!

Clickety clickety clickety click.

Okay, my story's done.






Ah, the music that is a newspaper office at six pm.