In 2010 I Resolve To...

... Hit the gym everyday. Or at least thrice a week. Or at least enough to shed the sackful of blubber I managed to put on during my recent B'bay trip.

... Finally start on a damn Masters' Degree. GMAT - Check. IELTS - Check. So, London here I come...if you'll have me.

... Stay away from the drama. My little corner of the Middle East seems to be aspiring to be the next "One Tree Hill" or "The Bold and The Beautiful". Or, as one of my friends so succinctly put it - "It's The Hills, with ugly people." Heh. So, steer FAR away from arguing couples, couples-in-secret, cheating couples, airheaded women, psychotic women and chronic pull-a-move-but-then-blame-it-on-the-alcohol drunkards. That leaves me with about 3 friends.

... Attend as many friends' weddings as I can. After missing out on ohhhh 30-odd weddings in 2009, I'm pretty sure my friends will shift from mere verbal abuse to proper shoe-throwing if I miss anymore of their nuptials.

... And not grit my teeth when asked about my marriage plans. Which are, and always will be non-existent. It's here in writing!

... Call my B'bay friends more often. Because my recent trip just made me realize that not having them around everyday is a severe detriment to my sanity. And, as NM says, my waistline too. Yeah, I love the bastard.

... Blog more. Because there's always so much to say.

... Bitch less. But then that sort of negates the resolution to blog more.

... Hit the gym. I'm so serious about this, I'm writing it twice. I WILL STICK TO THIS ONE. I hope.

...Get my life in order. How's that for ambitious?

Happy New Year in advance, everyone! Happy partying, and I'll see you on the flipside :)

Yeah, Who's The Terrorist?

Thesaurus.com states that one of the synonyms for the word "terrorist" is "thug." Although far too mild for my normally profane vocabulary, I can't think of a more apt word for, well, several Indian politicians when one sees what's been happening there:

- MNS goons slapping a member of the Maharashtra Assembly for taking the oath in Hindi instead of Marathi

Raj Thackeray seems to be delighting in the crop of moronic Frankenstein monsters his 'Maratha Pride' tirades are generating, since he's positively cackling with glee that his political party (which will soon be along the lines of the SS, if it isn't already) is getting away with slapping a respected member of the legislative assembly for swearing in in a language other than Marathi. Why not just convert all schools to Marathi medium, have the banks conduct business in Marathi, do away with Bollywood and focus only on Marathi cinema?? (Does that have a name? Mollywood?) Let's see how well Bombay's economy does then.

- MNS warns of violence if non-Maharashtrians sit for SBI clerical exam

No, really. The State Bank of India, the largest bank in India with almost 12,000 branches, is going to take orders from a trumped-up, obviously bored, probably-never-been-laid jobless little nobody on whom they should permit to sit for their own internal recruitment exams? Really? Hell, why not say that no non-Maharashtrians can sit for the CAT exam in Bombay? Why not tell IIT-Powaii that they can only admit Maharashtrians into their hallowed halls? Because that WILL be next.

The same threat was issued in to candidates appearing for the Railway Recruitment Board exams in Bombay, and this time it was carried out...non-Maharashtrian candidates were dragged out of the centres and assaulted. Please, let's just start installing gas chambers in convenient locations around Bombay. That might be easier.

- MNS objects to Karan Johar's use of the word "Bombay" in his film

Shock, horror, dismay! An actor used the dreaded B-word (which will soon be as feared as the name Voldemort in the Harry Potter books) instead of the MNS-approved (more like enforced) Mumbai, and the director is threatened with "remedial action" (which, let's face it folks, is their delightful euphemism for violence) if it isn't rectified in 2 days. Obviously these are people with way too much testosterone, way too little brains and no gainful employment, if THAT'S what they choose to nitpick over.

- Shiv Sena objects to Kareena Kapoor's bare back in "Kurbaan" poster

Raj Thackeray's uncle's political party, the Shiv Sena, threatened (see a pattern here) to stall screenings of the much-anticipated movie as they deemed the poster "vulgar" and "un-Indian". Protesters actually marched to the actress' house to present her with a sari to cover up. Hypocrisy at it's best...let's cover up anything remotely sensual or connected to sex...hmmm, a country with a population of over 1 billion, and they'd like us to think ALL of that was achieved via immaculate conception??

- Bal Thackeray's objection to Sachin Tendulkar's "cheeky" comment

So the great batsman of India, on completing 20 years in the game, states that he's "an Indian first and a Maharashtrian second" and all hell breaks loose. Shiv Sena head honcho Bal Thackeray is all over him like slime on a slug about his comment. Mercifully, it appears the old dingbat has bitten off more than he can chew this time, and he's had to lie low to avoid the backlash from several groups and individuals (both Maharashtrian and non-Maharashtrian) following his bizarre combative statements to one of the nation's most beloved sportsmen.

- Jessica Lall's murderer gets parole, is seen in nightclub

Manu Sharma, for those not in the know, had been awarded a life sentence for murdering model/waitress Jessica Lall in a New Delhi nightclub in 1999 (shot her at point blank because she refused to serve him a drink after the bar had closed), and his parole plea was supposedly rejected by the Supreme Court in 2008. However, Chief Minister Sheila Dixit is defending his parole, although keeping suspiciously mum on the circumstances surrounding its apparent approval. Some politicians may like to say "well, he was caught and he's back in jail now, so the argument is moot" but I'll say it bloody well isn't when murderous rich kids can buy day passes out of prison to slurp down a few drinks with buddies.

R and I have several conversations (he calls them discussions, I call them arguments) where he slags off on various things in India, and I jump to its defence (especially if it concerns Bombay) because, whatever it is, it's home. But instances like the ones above make me lose all hope for any future India might have.

Ah, Screw It

So I'm abandoning any grandiose plans I had to blog a rant about Raj Thackeray and his MNS goons and how they're going about systematically trying to ruin B'bay. Partly because honestly, I'm not the most political-minded person around, and I'd hate to get a lot of facts wrong. And mostly because I can't work up enough of a rage right now. Perhaps if I come across another arrogant-as-shit interview of his, the ire will rise and I'll quickly jot down every slow, painful way in which I'd like to see him tortured :) Oh, did you know his website proclaims him the 'King of Mumbai'? I kid you not, that's actually the slogan there. I'll pause for a moment to allow you to laugh derisively at the sheer wrongness of that.

Meanwhile, mid-unemployment laziness is getting to me. It's all very well to go for interviews and doctor's appointments, but at the end of the day, I'm left feeling like I haven't really accomplished anything. The boredom is crippling, CRIPPLING I tell you. I've become addicted to Facebook Scramble (sort of like Boggle) and apparently I'm 3rd amongst my friends, which is unacceptable, so of course I'll be playing till I'm top dog! Not to mention I've severely depleted my savings by nearly cleaning out the bookshelves of the local Borders...but I'm quite pleased with my finds:

1. Rosemary Clement-Moore

Author of the Maggie Quinn: Girl vs Evil books. Very YA, of course, and something I should've been reading when I was 16, but I've never let that stop me! Kick-ass female protagonist - something I love in any genre, fast paced witty dialogue, great supporting characters, and demons! What's not to love?

I picked up the first of her novels - Prom Dates from Hell (yes, yes, it does sound a little too young for me) and was thoroughly entertained from start to finish..so much so that I practically pitched a fit when I found out Borders didn't stock the follow-up, Hell Week. But I found a very helpful site to download it from, so all is right with the world again :)

2. Kelley Armstrong

She writes the extremely popular 'Otherworld' series, dealing with everything that I love in fiction - ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches and sorcerers. It's amazing that I haven't discovered her work before now, but I rectified that by picking up the entire lot of her books, from 'Bitten' to the most recent one that I could find, 'Living With The Dead'. Unfortunately, her latest work, 'Frostbitten', isn't on the stands here yet.

Branching off from the Otherworld, but still in keeping with the supernatural theme, is her 'Darkest Powers' trilogy, which is again more YA but as usual with the very relatable (um, unless you count being able to raise the dead), very strong female lead. Only two of the three books have been released thus far, but I'm looking forward to the third one with an eagerness that all too clearly shows I have no life!

3. Kim Harrison

Famous for the Rachel Morgan series, which, most lamentably, is not available here. I did however manage to pick up her first foray into YA literature, 'Once Dead, Twice Shy' and found it delved into the world of a supernatural race previously unexplored by me - the Nephilim, or angels. So we start with the premise that all angels actually act as reapers (or soul-gatherers) for their respective bosses (either the Lord or the Devil) and throw in one very human girl caught in the middle - it makes for a very different, very enjoyable read.

4. Buffy and Angel books!

Look what I found!

....any many many more! These should be enough to tide me over until the next bout of reruns! Excuse me while I do a little happy dance!

...Actually, with all this available to me, why the hell am I bored?

Apparently I'm A Shameless Praise-Whore...

...since all it took was a few complimentary words from Abby to get me back to my neglected blog after almost a month. Shallowness, thy name is Namrata.

This recuperation business is for the birds, I can vouch for that...sitting at home twiddling my thumbs and going "la la la la la-di-da" is most definitely not for me. And now that I'm unemployed, there's even less to do! About the unemployment - the governing bank authority here has deemed that the banks in this country have not been giving enough opportunities to the local population, so to build up the levels of local people (the ratio has to be 90% locals, 10% expats), the banks have had to cut short the contracts of expatriate employees. Guess who that means? (Here, envision me taking a bow and then shooting myself in the head). However, the monetary compensation was well worth it, the recommendation letters are superb (they should be, since I supplied all the complimentary adjectives myself...refer to title of blog-post), and I have a slew of interviews lined up for the coming week. So really, I'm complaining for the sake of complaining. Good at it, aren't I?

Honestly, though, it's REALLY boring being at home when everyone else is at work! My mom's always said I had too much energy and too little sense to enjoy a well-deserved holiday (and I would take offence to that, but sadly it's true)...so of course I've been driving her nuts everyday by waking up and saying "What are we doing today? Huh huh huh? Where do we go? What do we do? Tell me tell me tell me!" It's only a matter of time before the poor woman cracks and murders me. She staged an act of mini-vengeance today, though, by taking me to the fish market. May I just say, ugh? Smart lady, that.

Until something exciting happens, I guess I'm just going to have to be content with watching TV and hurling shoes at it when Raj Thackeray's interviews come on. More on that turd and how he's ruining my beloved Bombay in the next post.

Whew!

Final check-up with the doctor today, whereupon it was deemed that I've made a full and final, if miraculously quick, recovery. He pronounced himself reasonably baffled by the fact that it's taken my lungs 2 weeks to clear, when it takes healthier people about 6 weeks, apparently. Me? I'm not questioning why or how, I'm just grateful that I can get back to normal life! Bring on the parties! Well, okay, after Ramadan, since all the clubs will open only post-Eid.

Although I have to admit, it's just a little bone-chillingly terrifying to have an esteemed doctor tell you, and I quote: "I was worried about you when we first admitted you...we didn't think you were going to make it. We rated your survival chances quite low, actually." Yeah, this basically echoed what the head nurse told me when I was leaving the hospital (to which my response was stupefied, silent blinking), but still - it isn't less scary the second time around.

Typical me, though. Figures I'd have a near-death experience and be too spaced out to realize it.

But! I can drink Coke again! Not 6 cans a day, as per the norm, but still! Coke!

In the immortal words of Ren and Stimpy: Happy, happy, joy, joy!

Home Again

There's something about being in your 20s that makes you think you're invincible. Long illnesses, long hospital stays, even longer recovery periods? That's something that happens to other people, the poor souls. Not to you. Just three weekends ago you were dancing till 4 a.m. with your friends, what could possibly happen to you now?

Quite a lot, it turns out. So it started out as a simple fever and cough (and tonnes of swine flu jokes, haha) which should have been my usual once-a-year brush with illness that lasted 2 days, as per the norm. But 2 days turned into 4, and the doctors amended their diagnosis to tonsilitis...then after 6 days that changed to the flu...and after 8 days they stood behind their desks with their masks firmly in place (I kid you not), recommending I go to the Ministry of Health and get tested for the H1N1 virus that seems to be rampant over here. So off I trotted (well, not really trotted - after 8 days of 103 degree temperature, I could just about manage a crawl) to the Ministry, where I was perplexingly told that I didn't meet all the criteria for swine flu, but to be on the safe side they were prescribing Tamiflu for 10 days anyway. Oooookay. Still no clue what I had. Then one merciful doctor took pity on me and suggested I go to a private hospital and get a chest x-ray done.

Hallelujah! Result! Severe bilateral pneumonia (in English = one entire lung filled with fluid and the the other one about 30% affected = I'm screwed = that prolonged hospital stay I mentioned above). So, I faced my first ever hospital stay (as I said, I've always been reasonably healthy, and reasonably smug about it too) with mild curiosity (too damn tired to muster up anything else) and a strong determination that I WOULD NOT USE A BEDPAN. Oh, they tried, believe me, they tried. But I stood firm. As long as I could walk (barely) and there was breath in my body (from 70% of one lung) I would go to the bathroom on my own, damnit! I won. But they got their revenge - intraveinous antibiotics and saline drips and my apparently "feeble" veins that required a new hole to be poked in my arms every day - I swear, it's cured me of ever wanting a tattoo. In fact, I think I'll be happy if I never even see another sewing needle again.

All jokes aside, it was scary. But 8 days in there, and I'm back home (and NEVER have I appreciated my own bed and home food so much!) and eternally grateful to all the nurses who checked up on me every hour and came to trade jokes and life stories and show me pictures of their kids back home and complain about various husbands and boyfriends (how? How do I end up being Agony Aunt even in the hospital when I can barely talk?). And my GOD I'm grateful for my folks, who stood by me on the critical bedpan issue and hauled me out of bed to the bathroom, saline drip and all, when I needed to go. Not to mention played endless rounds of cards with me.

On the plus side - the hospital food was surprisingly awesome. And I taught mom and dad how to play poker!

Downside - I have to give up on Coke. Or at least scale back. Sigh.

But I'm home!! And recovering!!

Go Joe!

I'm in love:



That would be one of the stars of G.I. Joe - Channing Tatum. Sorta rhymes with "the man is yum." Definitely going on my list of favourites...in fact, is in serious danger of overthrowing my beloved Spike. But that just might be because I like the way he holds his gun. Heh.

So I've actually seen the movie twice, and it's undoubtedly awesome in the leave-your-brain-behind-oooh-look-at-the-pretty-pictures-and-hey-car-go-boom way, and MY GOD the special effects are mind-blowing; but as someone who religiously watched the Saturday morning line-up way back when (G.I. Joe was sandwiched between Small Wonder and Biker Mice from Mars, remember?), I was a little disappointed at the changes in the story. I mean, Duke and Baronness? Really? 'Cuz to me that's sacrilegous! And Scarlett and Ripcord, when Duke was right there?? Nonononono unacceptable! And they killed off Cover Girl! And WHERE are Lady Jaye and Flint? And I dunno...I'm a little on the fence about Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Cobra Commander:

Yeah, I'm not really seeing it...he did a good job, but for me he's always going to be the horny, lovable doof in "3rd Rock From The Sun."

I swear, there better be some MAJOR follow-through on the sequel.

Actually, as long at they have more of gun-toting Channing Tatum/Duke (and a couple more shirtless scenes thrown in), I'll just stop grumbling and drool in peace.

Continuing Work In Progress

Unfortunately, D.S. and I didn't get to go to B'bay and work on our masterpiece together, and now she's in Paris (and man, I miss having her on the same continent), so the rest of this is continued with inputs from R. He read the first post here, and shook his head sorrowfully till I was afraid it would fall off. "I can't believe you've got so much negative stuff to say about men when ALL your friends are men! Surely you've met a few good ones along the way!" Cue much silence from me and glaring from him. So, at his behest, I'm updating on the different types of men found in nature (and in shady clubs), and I'm including a couple more nice guys (endangered species must always be publicized to highlight their plight, after all).

9. The Innocent Good Guy

This sub-category of male is utterly unaware of the devastating effect he has on the female of the species, and that makes him all the more attractive. He's charming without trying, sweet without being saccharine, genuinely interested in what a woman has to say without resorting to picturing her naked, and is patient without the aid of heavy-duty drugs.

Unfortunately, I rather suspect he may be a figment of my imagination. Or gay.

10. The Decent Guy

This is the guy who's mindful of what he says and how he acts around women: he won't use profanity around her, stands when she enters a room, opens restaurant and car doors for her, makes sure she's always home at an appropriate hour and is very very polite.

But, twisted as both D.S. and I are, this generally adds up to: "Yawn. Blah. Yawwwn" for us. Years of being around beer-guzzling, alphabet-belching, ball-scratching cavemen has obviously had a slightly detrimental effect on us.

11. The Knight In Shining Armour

I'm a little on the fence about this type of male: yes, he specializes in helping klutzy damsels in distress out (and God knows, klutzy is my middle name), but the basic sexist overtones always make my hackles rise. I honestly think in this day and age we don’t need a man to change a punctured tyre or tell a sleazeball in a club to take a hike. Okay, I’ll concede that when it comes to physical prowess, it may make sense to have one of these around (should a situation get ugly), but otherwise I just can’t abide by the type of man who feels a need to protect and shelter and coddle the "little woman" and treat her like fine china.

12. The Manipulative Asswipe

Extremely dangerous, this sub-species; to be avoided at all cost, and if one is too late in recognizing him, badness may ensue. Here is a man who will wheedle his way into your time, your life and your heart - and pretty much end up ruining them all. Here is a man who will cheat on you, but make you feel like dirt for doubting him (before he's caught. After he's caught, he'll find a way to blame it on you). Here is a man who'll slowly, subtly, slyly make sure you've alienated all your friends and fought with your family and you don't even realize (till it's too late) that all you've got left is him. And he turns out not to be worth it.

D.S. and I are well acquainted with this type. We hold them personally responsible for turning us into the cynics we are now. And sort of grudgingly thank them for opening our eyes.

13. The Sulker

Can also be known as The Spoiled Brat. Was obviously Momma's Little Precious who got his own way all the time, and thinks this molly-coddling is going to carry over into his adult life with all his relationships. Wake up, boy: we're not your mama, we're NOT going to pick up your socks, cook you french toast, make your bed and wash your underwear. You're obviously looking for a maid, not a girlfriend. We're NOT going to be co-erced into sex, blowjobs and handjobs when we don't want to; and we're not going to wear a trashy dress and let your boss/rich uncle/prosepctive client ogle and grope us. You’re obviously looking for a hooker, not the love of your life.

And look at us: do we look impressed by that pout you've got going on? No. That's right, you just go ahead and look sullen and surly and turn your back on us. That'll make us change our minds. Suuuure.

14. The Confused Idiot

This type of man is as much a danger to himself as he is to women - he doesn’t know WHAT he wants. He wants a fling - oh no, wait, he wants a girlfriend - no wait, a wife - no, wait, he's not ready for that commitment and he may be developing feelings for your best friend who smiled at him the other day - actually he may want to switch jobs and that's got his head in a muddle and OF COURSE he loves you; but, wait, that chick in the copy room sort of brushed up against him and while he would NEVER cheat on you, the temptation was there so maybe he's not ready…

Bah. Who needs all that? Just leave him alone, he'll end up killing himself. At least if you're not dating him, you won't have to clean up the mess.

15. The Possessive Jerk

He hates that you hang around with boys all the time; is suspicious of every friendly hug and innocent peck on the cheek; starts fights everytime you want to hang out with the guys and calls/messages approximately every 3 minutes when you’re out with them. Is also capable of being a hypocrite, as he will see nothing wrong in spending quality time with his female friends. Confront him on this, and he'll offer such excuses as: "It's a man thing" or "It's the caveman in me" or, the lowest blow of all: "I just love you so much, I can't bear to think of losing you." Don’t fall for it. He's just a Manipulative Asswipe in the making.

16. The Stoner

With this type of spaced-out man, you will always be ignored for the joint or the bong or the syringe; and the person he will be happiest to see is his dealer. Never date a guy who's more into the wacky tobacky or the happy pill than he is into you. Your ego will NOT be able to handle being second fiddle to crushed, dried leaves.

Off the top of my head I could come up with a dozen more categories, but in all fairness I would like to get out there and see if there more nice guys I could include in the line-up :)

Warning: Sappy Post Ahead

I've never really celebrated Raksha Bandhan (for the uninformed and the non-Indians: a Hindu festival celebrating the bond between brothers and sisters) with my brother Mahesh… my family isn't given to really celebrating a lot of religious/symbolic occassions, which has always suited me just fine! But every year, I like to take stock of my memories relating to my baby brother, and as much as I know he rolls his eyes and sighs and huffs, he enjoys it too :)

- I remember being 8 years old and having my parents tell me that we were going to have a baby in the house soon. I also remember asking if I could have a terrier puppy instead.

- I remember telling my friends about it, and saying I wanted a little brother. I also remember their sage advice at the age of 8: God works in mysterious ways, so ask for a sister, and He'll give you a brother.

- I remember Dad collecting me from Smallie's house after school and taking me to hospital to see Mom and then you: scrawny, yet bigger than all the other babies; squinting in the glare of the hospital lights and so impossibly adorable that it hurt my chest to look at you.

- I remember sneaking into Mom and Dad's room every night to look in at you and make sure you were still breathing. Of course, this turned out not to be such a good idea when I had chicken pox and passed it on to you at the tender age of 2 months!

- I remember how you'd only crawl backwards; run full tilt but never walk; eat only chicken-stew and rice till you were 6; fight with me only about what to watch on TV and who got the last can of Coke (the parents got us our own TVs, but there's STILL never enough Coke!); come to me with your homework and report cards before going to Mom; ask me about friends and boyfriends but remain unfazed when I teased you…the good, calm, quiet boy as opposed to me: often loud, occassionally obnoxious, rare but explosive temper.

- I remember you just waiting to grow…first to be taller than Mom (easily achieved at age 11), and then me (age 14) and finally Dad (you're 17 and 6'4" now, a good 4 inches taller than him. Happy?).

- Now every day there are new things to file away in my brain's memory box labeled "Mahesh" : you being so excited (but playing it cool) about being on the basketball team; your first kiss; the first time I took you out with my friends (who were dating and VERY affectionate….oh, your scandalized expression!). You're the sort of baby brother who asks "Who are you going out with?" and "When will you be back?" and "Is THAT what you're wearing?" - something even Dad never did! And then you quietly open the door for me at 3 in the morning when I forget my keys.

- I saw you browsing through college admissions sites the other day, and I ruffled your hair and just walked past…then went and sat in my room and pulled out old photo albums: the embarassing ones, with you as a baby with your head sticking out of the bucket you had climbed into; the time I put a whole bunch of flowered clips in your hair; the time we went to Jaipur and you and I were squinting into the sun, pulling funny faces at the camera. There's pictures of me carrying you, and making faces at your smelly diaper, and us jumping into bed to watch Jonny Quest together. There's you with the cast on your arm when you broke it: how you enjoyed bashing me over the head with that plaster! There's pictures of you sitting on my lap when you were tiny enough to carry, and there's ones of me sitting on yours because now I'm the tiny one.

I must be PMSing. I'm actually crying as I write this. Bah.

I love you, you doofus.

Fictionally Speaking...

… I get around a lot. I have a male harem. Young, old, in-between. Hot, fugly, in-between. American, British, Cuban, who cares? Age, religion, country of origin and sexual preference are no concern…that's the nice thing about fantasizing about movie stars/literary characters/TV vampires…you don't let little things like their boyfriends get in the way…unless you decide to lust after the boyfriend too (but so far I'm a little too tame for that).

Top 10 Men For Whom I Would Most Definitely Give Up Being A Nun (which, let's face it, I practically am right now. Except for poker. And Coke.)

1. Spike

Mmmm, how do I lust thee, let me count the ways…Spike has definitely been the most enduring of my crushes. Something about the platinum hair, British accent ("Bollocks!" sigh), six pack, black-painted nails and leather duster, snarky-exterior-with-soft-centre just called out to me. Oh, and the whole being-a-vampire-and-loving-the-slayer-even-without-a-soul-and-then-getting-a-soul-for-her thing. Not even finding out that James Marsters (the actor who portrayed him) was American, brunette and (sadly) human could temper my adoration. And don't even get me started on the epic line "I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it". Pure yum.

And did I mention the six pack?

2. Mr. Darcy

EVERY woman who's ever read 'Pride and Prejudice' has put the book down and squealed "He loves her! He loved her all along! Eeee!" Or, okay, maybe that was just me. But really…stiff-upper-lip, stern, reserved Fitzwilliam Darcy's verbal sparring with Elizabeth, his "rescue" of Lydia (can't say I agreed with everything, but I suppose it was the times)….how could anyone not love this man? And no, R, he isn’t a pansy.

I preferred him to Edward Rochester in 'Jane Eyre'….very broody and dashing, yes, but the mad wife locked in the attic just got minus marks from me.

3. Michael Moscovitz…

…from 'The Princess Diaries', or Jesse from the 'Mediator' series, or Rob from the '1-800 Where Are You' series, or Will from the 'Avalon High' series, or Cooper from the 'Size 12' series …all of Meg Cabot's heroes seem to have that Byronic, Darcy-ish quality that is so damn appealing. Most of all Michael Moscovitz, though…the way he puts up with Mia's various neuroses, the lop-sided smile, the lingering scent on his neck that sends Mia's senses reeling….no matter that I'm well into my 20s, I still love reading these books purely for Michael's no-nonsense, pragmatic approach to romance and Mia's sensory-overload reaction to him. And all the neuroses, most of which I sadly manage to identify with. It's like Ally McBeal all over again.

As for Jesse…who cared that he was a ghost? One 'Querida' from him and I think my spine tingled as much as Suze's did. Rob may have been a felon, but his intensity and regard for Jess always appealed to me, even when he was just ruffling her hair or putting his motorcycle helmet on her. And Will …okay, granted, the whole reincarnation-of-King-Arthur thing is more of a stretch than usual, but just the description of the timbre of his voice, the blue of his eyes..and the book interspersed with lines from 'The Lady of Shallot'...mmm. Oh, and Cooper Cartwright, with his ever-present stubble, and constantly rescuing Heather, and eschewing a boy-band career to be a private detective and live in his gay grandfather's New York brownstone, and always bringing Heather fried chicken and cheese and milkshakes…

Whatever world Meg Cabot was inhabiting, where she found these men? I want a one-way ticket there.

4. Angel

The original broody vampire-with-a-soul, skulking in the shadows and looking all tortured. Can't say I much fancied him in the 'Buffy' realm (except when he turned evil as Angelus…mmmm boy, there was just something about him that oozed sex appeal then. On a side note, I should probably get my head examined). But in his series set in L.A., he really came into his own with the shades-of-grey universe he constantly seemed to tightrope through. And he actually developed a sense of humour! So important when battling the denizens of hell on a daily basis, while also dealing with psychotic sires/exes, potentially demonic babies and your own sordid past over 253 years. Of course, as Angel, he does face that pesky curse that has him living virtually like a monk…

But hey, at least he isn't a 117-year-old virgin vampire. I swear I can't think of anything more lame than that.

5. Morelli

I would lump both of Janet Evanovich's sex-god characters in one paragraph, but that would be doing them a grievous disservice. I give you (actually no, I don't, I want him all to myself) Joseph Morelli, precocious kid - turned horny rebellious teen - turned horny dangerous felon - turned New Jersey Cop who has eyes only for Stephanie Plum (the protagonist in the Numbers series). Ladies and gentlemen (if you're interested), Janet Evanovich paints a mind-numbingly sexy picture of Morelli as 6 feet of hard muscle with a gun strapped to his side, genuine Italian temper mixed with bedroom eyes that sound yummier than tiramisu… and he loves dogs. And he doesn't shy away from the L-word! How perfect is that?

6. Ranger

A.k.a. Carlos Manoso, a.k.a. Super Bounty Hunter, a.k.a. the other man in Stephanie Plum's life (and just HOW lucky can one woman get? I know she doesn't actually exist, but I'm still insanely jealous of her!). A strong, silent, black-clothed "whisper on the wind", he's ex-Navy and possibly still-mercenary, and has his own moral code that may or may not mesh with the current legal system; but he does what it takes to keep Stephanie safe, even if is means assassinating the various psychos who find their way to her apartment. Very prone to planting tracking devices on her, replacing the dozens of cars she manages to get blown up and occassionally backing her against a wall to kiss her senseless. Cuban-American with mocha-tinted skin, black hair and unreadable black eyes. Again with the muscles and the guns, but he's a man of few words and gestures, and, according to Stephanie, the only time she knows what he's thinking is when his tongue is in her mouth.

I could live with that.

7. Diesel

I WISH Evanovich would feature him regularly in the Numbers series instead of limiting him to the Between-the-Numbers novels, but I guess Stephanie's love life is complicated enough without the constant presence of a knee-tremblingly seductive uber-bounty hunter who's alternately boyish, persuasive, playful and dangerous.

And he has dimples!

8. Jace Wayland

What is it with me and tortured, lost boys (I foresee years of therapy ahead)? Cassandra Clare's character from her 'Mortal Instruments' trilogy bears striking resemblances to her characterization of Draco Malfoy in the Draco trilogy she used to write way back in her pre-published-author fanfiction days. And I love them both. Both fighting the nature-versus-nurture battle against evil fathers, both battling their own demonic blood, both flippant and angry and cat-like and adept with swords and words alike.

The platinum hair, steely eyes and insolent smirks don't hurt either.

9. Eric Sinclair

MaryJanice Davidson is another one to give the chick-lit world a monster to drool over: Eric Sinclair, Armani-clad King of the Vampires. He's 80-odd years old, cool, suave, detached, loyal and savage when it counts; but still human enough to weep over his Queen's body when he fears she's dead. Also have to admit that the fact that he buys her Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks is a big BIG selling point. And he's not gay!

10. Eric Northman

I just realized there's a disturbing number of vampires on this list…but I can’t help it. Charlaine Harris's character in the Southern Vampire Mysteries is pure sin personified, and he knows it. While his arrogance and cock-sureness (in every way possible) could be a potential turn-off, his bafflement over his purely "human" attachment to mortal waitress Sookie Stackhouse, however, makes him just that little bit more adorable.

And he looks like a Norse God, but that doesn't matter much, right?

The nice thing about me is, I may be certifiably insane, but I don't mind sharing :)

I Wish...

... I could write like this...but I think that prodigious talent and honour lies only with Maya Angelou.

One of my favourite poems by her: In And Out Of Time. Enjoy.

The sun has come,
The mist has gone:
We see in the distance...our long way home.
I was always yours to have,
You were always mine...
We have loved each other in and out of time.

When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor...
I had always loved you more.

You freed your braids...gave your hair to the breeze;
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.

You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance;
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares to dreams...

The sun has come,
The mist has gone:
We see in the distance... our long way home.
I was always yours to have,
You were always mine...
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time.

Sigh. I want.

Cupid's Helpers

So I was sitting around with D, A and Abby at A's place last night, catching up after A's fortnight-long vacay in the UK. As was usual, the subject turned to R and me, and why it is we've been "dancing around each other for the past 2 years without doing anything. It's frustrating!" Direct quote there. Now, A and Abby have girlfriends, and were offering long-winded, experience-backed reasoning of why it is that at the age of 26, I should be in a relationship, or at least "enjoy being young and fool around a bit!" D was more succinct: "Just get on with it already, Zulu!"

Against my better judgement, I decided to indulge them and went about collecting pearls of wisdom on how and why they thought R and I should get together. And all I have to say is "Oy vey!"

- According to D: "Well, it's pretty obvious you belong together..I mean, he discusses poetry and shit with you! I never discussed poetry with anyone except my English teacher…although, okay, I didn’t want to date him…hmm…nevermind."

- A and Abby: "Neither you nor R are the type to have flings, and you guys, you know, gel…I mean, he's a liiiittle less dark and broody with you…so why not?" Can't argue with logic like that!

- All of them: "What's the harm in trying? It doesn't work out, c'est la vie…nothing ventured, nothing gained…carpe bloody diem, sieze the day (or something else)…jump on him already," and other assorted cliches, delivered in true, inimitable boy-style.

Now, how to go about it:

- D and A: "R's a little reserved, no? So you have to send out hints, but be subtle."

- Abby: "Flash a little cleavage!"

- D and A: "No! No bazookas. You'll scare him off!" Bazookas. Hah. I haven't heard that since I was in 10th grade.

- Me (playing devil's advocate and inadvertently screwing myself): "But R likes…you know…voluptuous women."

- All of them: "Oh, okay, then you fit the profile." Boys! Bah. "Anyway, nevermind all that. You have to be a bit more out there. Flirt a bit. Laugh at what he says. Sort of casually rest your hand on his arm." I wonder what chick flicks they've been watching. "Call him and tell him you're in the mood to go out for drinks, just the two of you. Badmouth the rest of us if you have to, but make sure it's just the two of you!"

- Me: "Uhhh..how?"

- Them: "SUBTLY!" That didn't really help.

This went on for a couple more hours, with positive re-inforcement via long-distance phone call from A's utterly sweet girlfriend as well. And several more tips along the lines of "Bat your eyelashes…but try not to look retarded" and "Laugh more…but can you do something about those teeth??" until eventually it was decided that if I didn't comply with their wishes, I would (sometime in the near future) find R and myself locked in a convenient room in V's place after being sneakily presented with Viagra-laced drinks.

But, they sweetly stressed, that was a last resort.

I love my friends, but they scare the bejeezus out of me.

Because I'm Bored...

…and trying to avoid the most yawnariffic work in existence (i.e. cleaning up the negligent messes of past RMs and actually creating records of old customers), I'm going to put together a short catalogue of song lyrics that I love.

Why? As they say in South Indian parlance: "Simbly." (R, that's for you. Be good and I might spell 'Mississippi' next).

1. "And it's been a while since I could look at myself straight,
And it's been a while since I said I'm sorry.
And it's been a while since I've seen the way the candles light your face
And it's been a while…but I can still remember just the way you taste…"

No prizes for guessing: "It's Been A While" by Staind. I love that this is one of the most evocative songs I've heard - deals out a good dose of profanity and still conveys a lot of the helplessness and frustration of love.

2. "On the streets where you live, girls talk about their social lives -
They're made of lipstick, plastic and paint;
A touch of sable in their eyes."

I don't actually know why I like the opening lines to Bon Jovi's "Runaway". I think as a kid, the words made me think of Barbie (who used to freak me out), but even though the words are supposed to be more bleak, I always ended up picturing a gaggle of happy, giggling girls. Bah, brain.

3. "The dawn is breaking;
A light shining through…
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you."

Come on, how can anyone not love Howie Day's "Collide"? I think there's something in me that responds to lyrics that refer to the simple sensuality in relationships, anything mentioning touch, smell, taste…or, you know, could be I'm a total sap (but ssshhh, that's supposed to be a secret!). And seriously, the part where he sings "I somehow find you and I collide"….sigh.

4. "She is everything and more:
The solemn hypnotic.
My Dahlia, bathed in possession
She is home to me."

What is it about rock/metal bands that are capable of penning the most vivid love songs? Slipknot's "Vermilion" is, in R's opinion, one of the most perfect break-up songs (no doubt due to the plaintive refrain "I won't let this build up inside of me"), but I think it's the perfect I-love-her-with-such-intensity-I've-been-locked-up-a-rubber-room-with-a-straitjacket song.

5. "The miles just keep rolling as the people leave their way to say hello.
I've heard this life is overrated, but I hope that it gets better as we go."

Okay, 3 Doors Down is always solid gold, but "Here Without You" is unarguably one of their best songs. Sweet, simple, sad = perfect. If I had time, I’d put down the lyrics for "Landing in London", "When I'm Gone", "Let Me Go" and "Kryptonite" too.

6. "Take me to your heart, feel me in your bones;
Just one more night and I'm coming off this long and winding road."

The Limp Bizkit medley of "Home Sweet Home/Bittersweet Symphony" is one of the most relaxing songs I can think of, mainly because I doubt Fred Durst's voice has ever sounded more mellow or hypnotic. And boy, can I relate when he sings "My heart's like an open book for the whole world to read; sometimes it's nothing that keeps me together at the seams."

7. "I feel just like I'm sinking, and I claw for solid ground;
Pulled down by the undertow: never thought I could feel so low."

Sarah McLachlan's "Full of Grace" has the inexplicable ability to reduce me to tears when I'm in my PMS-induced emo stage. But, to be fair, that's when I listen to all her songs: "Angel", "Adia", "Fear", "Building a Mystery" and "Silence" have been time-of-the-month favourites since I hit puberty. No, I don't know why; but I will admit that's when I also listen to Tori Amos, Fiona Apple and Jewel.

8. "Baby I've been here before; I've seen this room and I've walked this floor -
I used to live alone before I knew ya.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch, but love is not a victory march -
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."

It may seem blasphemous to most, but I prefer Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah" to Leonard Cohen's. I don't know whether that's because Buckley's voice sounds more tortured or because the video I saw was picturised on the season 1 finale of The O.C. (yes, yes, I'm a hopeless child), but either way - the words to this song never fail to send a shiver down my spine.

Lord, there are so many more that should be on this list. Alanis Morisette's "Forgive Me, Love" and "Ironic", Tori Amos's "Love Song" and "Winter", everything by Metallica, Aerosmith, Matchbox 20, Creed, Sade, Guns N' Roses, newer stuff like "Hey There, Delilah" by the Plain White T's and older stuff like "Unforgettable" by Dean Martin….way, way too many. I'd have to devote an entire blog to that!

What are your favourites?

Work In Progress

A long time ago, when we were still in college, D.S. and I had been spending a lazy afternoon at the CCI poolside restaurant when we decided to put together a book. A most useful book, we agreed delightedly, pooling our vast knowledge of our male friends and our limited (but still horrific) dating experience. A book that would teach women to identify the different types of men (cue the light shining from Heaven; the beatific, self-righteous expressions on our faces; the calls for our canonization…). Imagine the good we could do, educating the poor unfortunate women of the world on the various categories of dickheads out there!

Unfortunately, we never really got past scribbling a few titles and pages in the art book that used to be my ever-present companion back then. I must've chucked it somewhere in the series of moves that occurred thereafter, but I think I might be able to recall a few of the jewels we penned:

1. The Arrogant Bastard
This type of male is surprisingly common (one would expect the advent of the Empowered Woman would have squashed them into extinction, but no such luck). Good for a laugh, or the satisfaction of deflating his outsize ego, but no good for anything long-term. Unless, of course, you want to end the relationship by knocking him down with your car (I can swear this has almost never happened).

2. The Sneaky Bastard
From the same family tree as #1. However, while it's possible to ignore #1 with a roll of the eyes or dismissive snort, #2 has practically made a career out of telling women what they want to hear, and, most importantly, not getting caught. He will wine, dine, lie and cheat all with the same effortless panache (and boyish grin) that got you to fall for him in the first place. Good if you follow the "What I don't know can't hurt me" school of thought (also known as the Ostrich "bury your head in the sand" policy), but honestly, we'd hate to see you give Sneaky Bastard the satisfaction of falling for his honey-coated words. Especially when he's going to recycle the same crap with 10 other women (at least he's doing his part for the environment). This sub-species is also known as the "Will-say-anything-to-get-into-a-girl's-pants" man.

3. The Idiot
This type of male emulates #2 and thinks he's smart. Unfortunately, he misses the mark by a couple of miles. He'll try to pull the same sort of scams as the Sneaky Bastard, but screw up by trying it on two sisters. Or worse, two best friends. Honestly, don't men know that women talk? All women? About everything? Boy, if we can meet a woman for the first time in the ladies' room of a club, ask for a tampon and then go on to discuss cramps, blood flow and clotting, what makes you think we're not going to talk to our best friends about the shady moves you're trying to pull?? Idiot.

4. The Bore
Not a bad soul, this kind of boy, but is incapable of inducing anything but giganctic yawns. We don't like to pander to stereotypes, but he will most probably be a rich boy who likes talking about how fast his Ferrari goes and how much money he made on some random trade. Yes, yes, the sound of vrrooom and cha-ching may be an aphrodisiac for some women, but we prefer to think that good conversation doesn't need to include mentions of his stock portfolio or constant name-dropping of which CEO he jet-skis with on weekends.
On the other hand, give us a good old-fashioned nerd any day. They're fascinating, the little geeks, and the way their words just stumble over one another in a rushed garble? Adorable.

5. The Hunter
A slicker, more badass version of #1 and #2 and has the ability to be oh-so-appealing. He will tell a woman what she wants to hear and actually mean it (for the moment) and give her what she wants : the flattery, the meaningful looks, the witty conversation, the comfort, the spark. At least, until he gets what he wants. Then it's hasta la vista, baby. He got bored once the chase ended. Sadly, this type of man is rampant across the globe, luring in unsuspecting women. The only way to protect yourself is if you're just in it for the chase too (not something we'd recommend. We have souls; that's what differentiates us from the sex-crazed animals otherwise known as men).

6. The Best Friend
He knows your moodswings, has seen you without make-up, has coaxed you out of post-break-up trauma and he puts up with your insanity with a smile on his face. He'd be perfect boyfriend material, if you could just get past the ick-factor when it comes to kissing him. Do that, and you're golden.

7. The Good Guy
A dying breed, being hunted to extinction by marriage-minded madames who snap up the darlings in the embryonic stage. Or, they're being corrupted through the all-pervasive evil of the Arrogant Bastards, Sneaky Bastards, Idiots and Hunters. If you manage to find one, treat him well - he may just be the last of his kind.

8. The Perfect Man
Exists in theory; let us know if any of you actually stumble across this specimen. We suspect he might be a myth, or a rumour put out by the men of the world to keep us women interested: you know the whole saying about kissing a lot of frogs before you find your prince? The promise of a perfect man (who may or may not exist) ensures that a LOT of frogs get kissed….

I can't remember the rest, but I think D.S. and I might be meeting up in B'bay next week (and possibly staying at the CCI). No doubt we'll be able to pool together a few more years of (bad) experiences and come up with more chapters for the book.

My "Get-Up-And-Go"....

....got up and went. For a hike. Over the edge of a cliff.

Meaning, "writer's block".

Plus, I'm up to my eyeballs in proposals (of the banking variety) and it's not rare for me to wake up from a less-than-sound sleep spouting off names and account numbers of overdue customers and classified loans.

God, even my nightmares are boring. No wonder I have nothing to write about.

Baby Steps

So, we still have a long way to go. And there's bound to be a lot of crap that's going to be heaped on the Delhi High Court by various moral police/religious leaders/major hypocrites. If my pessimism radar is right, there'll be a lot of gay bashings, probably even murders, masquerading as "protests" and "preservers of the Indian way". God knows in the past there have been enough horrific incidents like this.

But still, I can't help feeling proud that the Delhi High Court has legalized consensual gay sex. It's a minuscule step coming after decades of hypocrisy, conformity, ignorance and misrepresentation of homosexuality. I, for one, have never understood why people made such a hullabaloo about bedroom matters anyway...it gives me the heebie-jeebies thinking that the Government has a say in the manner that citizens conduct their sex lives.

Yeah, it's a tiny step. But it's there nonetheless.

Although I have to say, I'm a little disappointed that B'bay hasn't come out of the closet yet. At least legally.

The Bloody Life Lessons Just Keep Coming

What I learnt from this weekend's debauchery:

1. Substitute beer pong for vodka-and-mango-juice pong, and I'm not half bad!

2. Never dance with D when he's had too much to drink...he'll try to kiss anything: me, a grandmother, a man in a dress...as long as it's vaguely female-shaped, it'll do. Blearghhh.

3. Boys are idiots (this is, of course, in direct correlation to Point 2).

4. Tattooed men are yummy (well, I always knew this. But this one I met reminded me of the fact. Kinda Dave Navarro-ish, but less grrr).

5. Apparently, pour enough alcohol in me, and I am capable of doing something I don't normally do...like giving a guy my number when he asks for it. I never do that...bah. No, really, in my world, that's a bad.

6. No amount of alcohol can get me to overcome my inherent and intrinsic grandmotherly traits. So, while I am sloshed, I will be looking after the equally (if not more) sozzled boys: making sure they don't get involved in brawls with white chicks, short guys and bouncers; listening to romantic woes and dispensing advice; pulling up guys' pants when too much underwear (and a bit of butt) is flashing; playing wingman (wing woman? wing person?) when one of the guys finds a hot chick, and in general just being as close to 65 as I can get. Bah again.

7. I am shockingly ignorant when it comes to slang words for male/female genitalia. And also that I'm the only one my age who uses the word 'genitalia'.

8. Jägerbombs basically ensure that I get no sleep for 36 hours.

9. I'm making up for my teetotaling college years by ruining my liver now. Well, no more...detox detox DETOX.

10. And, as you can tell by the last couple of posts, I pretty much swear by Wikipedia.

Jumping On The Bandwagon

It seems every networking site, every blog and, of course, every news site, has fans bidding their own personal farewells to Michael Jackson. I can't say I was a fan of his later work, but I adored every album from "Off The Wall" to "Blood On The Dance Floor:HIStory in the Remix", and the album "Dangerous" was played on constant repeat when I was 11. Don't even get me started on how I'd drive D.S. mad by playing "Give In To Me" a million times over when I was 18 and rediscovered a passion for Michael Jackson/Slash collaboration songs...

Goodbye M.J. May your death be more peaceful than your life. It's been a priviledge and a pleasure rockin' with you all these years.

In other news, Farrah Fawcett finally succumbed to cancer. Poor, beautiful girl...she wasn't my favourite of the original Charlie's Angels...that was always Kelly, who seemed more kick-ass to me. Man, it sucks to wake up from a night of debauchery and read of all these known names dying.

Although, as my friend pointed out with a shrug...why write about this? We're not consciously mourning the other hundreds of thousands dying every day in the world, are we.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm more of a hypocrite than I like to think about...or just disgustingly shallow.

In The Past 24 Hours, I Have...

....Fought with my Risk Manager;

....Skipped the gym (but I went the day before!);

....Eaten the best pizza EVER, loaded with extra cheese and eggplant and zucchini and roasted chicken and sundried tomatoes, sprinkled with chilli flakes and chilli oil, each mouthful the PERFECT bite...mmmm;

....Witnessed an Indian boy at Karaoke Night, thinking he was black and rapping like Pee Wee Herman just learned to talk street. No...just...NO;

....Lost my temper;

....Been confused;

....Been comforted;

....Had the most inane, insane, evil, chaotic, flat-out-crazy-fun conversations imaginable;

....Received impromptu sex-ed lectures from at least 4 different friends (for no reason whatsoever);

....Hung out with NV and RV, whom I will miss HORRIBLY while they are away;

....Crept into not one, but two shady, seedy, utterly disreputable dance-bar type places and been both scandalized and saddened at human nature;

....Realized that I'm most definitely not cut out for that much-talked-about planned visit to a Vegas strip club;

....Stumbled into bed and stumbled out again after what felt like only 10 seconds but was actually 4 hours (I think I might be getting old. 4 hours of sleep used to tide me over for a WEEK when I was in college);

....Been an unreasonable grouch all day because the restaurant screwed up my order for 6 Cokes by bringing me..erm..NOTHING, so I've had NO sugar and NO caffeine and NO sweet Coke-y goodness and I swear I'm dying....

....Goofed off at work by writing this blog;

....Fought with my Risk Manager.

Don't you love it when life comes full circle?

Staying Out Till 3 a.m....

...when you have to be in at work at 7:45 is NOT a good idea. ARGH with the headache and the bleary eyes and the NO COKE IN MY BAG. Double argh.

I don't even have the energy for exclamation points.

More complaining later.

Father, Forgive Me For I Have Sinned...

....Obviously, by the way my weekends are going, it's not too far a logical leap to say I'm turning into an alcoholic and a compulsive gambler. But, can I just say that kamikazes are the yummiest, most diabolocial things ever invented? Taste like lemonade, but 7 or 8 of them and I'm rendered insensible for the rest of the night...fun! As for the poker...I think I may want to take up permanent residence at A's dining table...won 41 rials (a little over Rs. 5000) and won a hand with 4 Aces...oy, what a rush! Pity the other guy, though, he lost on a full house with Aces and Jacks.

....Got a facebook message from I.P. asking me what's been up, seeing as how he hasn't heard from me in ages. Is it ridiculous to feel a little guilty? I've always been manic about keeping in touch with my B'bay friends, and I just counted back and realized I haven't spoken to him for over 2 months...that's not long in the normal world...but in the cozy, crazy little world I inhabit in B'bay, it's an eternity. Right, making phonecall pronto.

....Crap, just realized I haven't spoken to N.M. in ages either. Crap, crap, crap...feel guilt trip coming on, considering I've been either playing poker, table tennis or just been, you know, flat-out-incoherently-sloshed the last few times he's called.

....Despite the best of intentions, went to the gym only twice in the past week...but it wasn't my fault! The trainer sent out an SMS saying he was sick!! Nevermind that I saw him at a movie on Tuesday night and at the same party I was at on Thursday....

....Will probably end up going only twice this week too, since Mother Nature has seen fit to curse me and actually have my period show up on time for a change. This makes it 2 consecutive months...I don't think that's EVER happened to me. See, this is why my uterus is christened Dorothy....somewhere over the rainbow, indeed.

....I've had Kelly Osbourne's version of "Papa Don't Preach" stuck in my head since morning, and I'm driving my colleagues MAD by belting it out in my can't-carry-a-tune-in-a-bucket voice. God, that's FUN!

Welcome to Hell, Circa 1815

So, having read about this on several blogs recently, I felt I had to spread the word (to all of 2 people who read my blog. But hey, even if those 2 people tell 2 people who tell 2 people...you get the idea). But something has to be done...it's one (horrible) thing to have men hold us down...but a woman aiding and abetting in the suppression of other women? Won't stand for it, just won't.

For anyone who's confused: The Principal of Dayanand Girl's College in Kanpur, India, says this: "Girls who choose to wear jeans will be expelled from the college. This is the only way to stop crime against women."

Might I offer my congratulations to her on the as yet unheard of and unseen levels of idiocy that she has achieved. I would have thought it impossible for anyone to be as obviously blinded by ignorance as she is; but of course she is a living, breathing example of how intelligence can suffer the consequences of too much inbreeding.

And let's just ignore that crime against women occurs in many ways, shapes and forms - all equally insidious and all meant to break a woman's spirit...but then, she should know about breaking spirit; she's undoubtedly one of those people who would say "You got what you deserved" if a molested woman came to her for help.

There's an e-mail address for people to send feedback: contact@dayanandgirlspgcollege.org

Drop the dear lady a few lines and let her know what you think of her edict. I did:

Dear Principal Meeta Jamal,

How can you call yourself a woman and still openly state that the only way to stop crime against women is to suspend the girls who choose to wear jeans to college? Are you honestly telling us - us women who comprise at least half the world's population; who number at least 3 billion; ALL of us who've faced eve-teasing, catcalls, harrassment, lechery and abuse - that we ASKED FOR IT BECAUSE WE WERE WEARING JEANS? I recommend you take a long, hard look at the newspapers. Most of the rape victims in India are actually villagers in saris. Perhaps you feel they would have been "more raped" , if possible, in different attire?

Perhaps you might want to concede to oversimplification of a huge problem, madam. The problem isn't girls who choose to wear jeans or shorts skirts or halter tops - it's the perverted men who have women (!) like you giving them an excuse. Because that's exactly what you've done: given them an opportunity to say "But she was asking for it because of the way she was dressed…even other women admit it." It will undoubtedly boggle my mind until the day I die (and most likely on that day I will be clad in a pair of low-slung jeans) how you got to be principal of a woman's college when that very statement you uttered places you, mentally, nowhere above my uneducated kaamwali-bai who thrashes her daughter for wanting to wear a sleeveless top. You've quite effectively spat on your own gender by making them feel ashamed of something that is no fault of theirs…and here I'm not talking about dressing provocatively or even "going around" with boys (no doubt you also feel that a woman who dates is just a cheap harlot asking to be raped). I'm talking about men's attitudes and disrepect towards women and the suppression of our gender being nurtured for millennia by people too ignorant, too uneducated or too scared to know better. The Women's Lib movement was supposed to take care of that. Congratulations on single-handedly setting it back a few centuries.

I've included my name and very sweetly decided to forego a few choice epithets.

Honestly, she should resign. And have a sex-change operation. She's a disgrace.

Things I Realized In The Past Week

So the last week has been an eye-opener for me. The earth-shattering (okay, I'm prone to exaggeration) revelations just kept coming:

- I went to the gym precisely once during the week. Now, I never worked out when I was younger; didn't start, in fact, till about 2 months ago when A and V practically dragged me kicking and screaming to a circuit training session (and the fact that I had put on 12 kgs had very little to do with it). And now, shock-horror-dismay - I actually like it. And feel guilty when I don't go. I've turned into one of those people. The next thing you know, I'm going to start obsessively worrying after my 4th can of Coke. And laying off the Lindt Hazelnut. Bah.

- I attended a friend's birthday celebration. Queen's cousins and friends planned a surprise gathering at her place; and man was it loud, fun and crazy. I've never hung out with the women of this country very much, but I have got to do it more often... can't think of the last time I had that much fun. Oh yeah, the revelation: nothing really new, but - I miss female company. Good female company, of the non-bitchy-non-whiny-non-complicated variety.

- I met the coolest woman ever. Hello, Standy!

- I suck at beer pong. Like, pathetic does not even begin to cover it.

- I have led a very sheltered life. Okay, not really a revelation there, I kinda knew this. But I was at A's place on Friday and we were winding down post-poker with drinks (and the yummiest, cheesiest, most satisfying food at 3 in the morning - Doon School Maggi noodles...mmm). Listening to A, V and D discuss various drink-and-hormone-fueled escapades made me realize 2 things: I canNOT down vodka and wake up hangover-free; and I have not yet begun to live. Cheers guys, here's to getting out a bit more and being able to contribute to the crazy stories.

- I miss my previous colleagues way more than I thought possible. Dropped in at the old office to wish Queen and met a few of the old work buddies and the old boss for a bit. Felt all warm and fuzzy, in a way I just don't at the new place. Then bumped into S.B. from the old office at Rock Bottom on Thursday night and shared a laugh over Kamikazes. Yeah, there's no one to do that with here.

- I actually miss R, who's away for a while. Was semi-lucidly expostulating to A on Friday that there actually is a biiiig difference between a potential love interest and a best friend (in my books, anyway). R is very firmly in the latter, but that doesn't stop me from missing nice long chats about the Watchmen and Alan Moore and Arthur C. Clarke (and he puts up with my vampire fixation too!)

Let's see what this week brings. With V in town for a fortnight, and NV and RV here for a while, it's bound to involve copious amounts of alcohol, at the very least. Better hit the gym again...

...My morning Coke can looks like it's frowning disapprovingly at me. Sigh.

Ego Trippin'

Do you ever wonder how you have the courage/will/patience (insert as applicable)

… to fall in love again after being so badly burned?
… to send that MBA application in one more time after being rejected for the last 2 years?
… to trust a new friend, when the last person you trusted blabbed everything?
… to wake up thinking that today will be better than yesterday, and tomorrow better still (because it can't be any worse)?
… to allow yourself to look forward to that phone call that always seems to come a little too late?
… to be coldly sarcastic with your Risk Manager, rather than slamming the stack of proposals down on his oily head?

Sometimes I think I'm going to let my ego get the better of me and buy one of those 'Supergirl' coffee mugs.

I don't drink coffee, but that's not the point :)

The Beauty and The Prick

One of my best friends, D.S., is this beautiful, amazing, kick-ass, intelligent and fascinating woman (and if I sound like a girl with a crush here, bear with me, I love the chick) and yet she still manages to get dicked over by a guy who's so blatantly not worth it that it boggles the mind.

What pisses me (and our other friends back in B'bay) off is that we should've SEEN it somehow…instinctively just known that he was an idiot. Where was my cynicism? Where was N.M.'s go-slow-approach? Where was A.H.'s caution and sixth sense? But no, when we met him, we were ALL taken in by the niceness, the goofy sense of humour, the effort (endearing) to get on our good side because D.S. is important to us, and we're important to her, no negotiations there. One of our own had found love, found someone who could be an extenstion to our group, instead of taking her away from us. So we tried, and he tried, and we all got along and cue the Disney happy-ever-after music, yes? No. After 3 years of togetherness and overcoming parental objections and age differences and insurmountable odds and discussions of marriage, it goes like this: The Prick ends it with a phone call, announces his engagement to someone else on facebook, and D.S. is…actually, D.S. is being stronger than I would ever have thought possible.

I think this post is going to be in honour of D.S. actually - I don’t think I talk enough about my friends, just blather on about myself. But I love showing off about D.S. When she got a 730 on her GMAT and got into one of the best B-Schools in the world, I couldn’t wait to tell EVERYONE…I'm so proud of her! She's lost over 20 kgs of weight over the past few years through sheer determination and (in my lazy-ass opinion) an unhealthy commitment to the gym; as a result she looks sensational in the black wrap dress I saw her in last weekend. She's topped most of the exams she's ever written, or at least cleared them with flying colours (and I always wondered what that meant. What do colours flying have to do with exam marks?). She's witty and incisive and funny and snarky and has men drooling like puppy dogs at her stiletto-heeled feet. And, as I said before, she's incredibly, unbelievably strong.

This is a woman who was there for me when I went through a hideously bad break-up. She cried for me because I couldn't (or didn't know how to, or wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction of seeing me) cry. She went out partying with me pretty much every night of the week if I wanted to (because loud music meant neither she nor I would think about how me breaking up with my boyfriend irrationally led to her losing one of her good friends too). She let me hold her hand in a death-grip when I saw my ex with another woman, basically confirming everything I'd worried/feared/grown paranoid about for 3 years (makes me wonder if 3 is some sort of ill omen…I know of waaaaaay too many relationships going kaput at the 3-year mark. Actually, thanks to her, H.T., N.M. and A.H., I think I managed to get through the whole post-break-up period relatively unscathed and have turned out as normal as I am right now (which most people will testify isn’t much!) Coincidentally, H.T., N.M. and A.H. were there for her too after The Prick ended things with her. We love you guys, have we ever said that?) This is a woman who polished off an entire saucepan of rasperry-jello-and-apple-vodka (we were trying to make jello shots, but there were no ice trays) with me while we watched 'The Grudge' at A.H.'s place in Pune, and then fell about laughing with me 'cuz I wouldn't go to the bathroom alone. Hell, she's put up with my vampire and Coke addiction for 8 years now, and that drives most people insane!

I'm rambling….I tend to do that when I feel strongly about something. What I'm trying to say is this: I need her to read this and know, know with absolute certainty, that there are people who love her, and there will be people who will see her for how truly sensational she is. People so far better than The Prick that it will boggle her mind, because she will wonder at the 3 years she absolutely wasted on him when there was something so much better out there. And until then, if she insists on being too big a person to hate The Prick....

...I'll do it for her.

Murphy's Law

Why is it that…


…I'll be dying of boredom the entire week, when I'm raring to go…and a pile of work drops into my lap an hour before the weekend begins.

…I make the best friends in the world…2 weeks before either they or I leave the city/country/continent.

…The guy I crushed on for a year realises he feels the same way…7 years after I've gotten over him.

…I can dance like seduction personified when no one's watching, but the moment even one eye swivels towards me - I spill my drink, step on someone's toe, trip over another someone's leg and end up with a bruise the size and shape of Texas on my butt.

…For lack of anything better to do, and tired of channel surfing, I'll watch some crappy movie through till the end. Only to flip the channel and realise I missed my favourite Buffy episode on rerun (mostly anything where Spike is shirtless. Or says "bloody hell". Or blinks.)

…I can down a six-pack of Coke and function just fine…but the guy I'm crushing on steps into the room and I let out the most almighty, unladylike, Homer-Simpson-esque, ear-shattering burp.

…My period may be delayed for 6 months sometimes, but it'll come without fail the day I'm wearing white capris. With white lace underwear underneath that. My uterus hates me.

Played more poker….

And the run of luck is over…went from 15 rials down (which is about Rs. 1,950/-) to barely recovering my 5 rial buy-in. MUST NOT PUSH LUCK.

Oh, who am I kidding. I don't listen to myself any more than I listen to anyone else!

Sitting at work and CRAVING Coke. I'm trying to go a day without one. It's not working out well…have pulled out a tuft of hair and my desk now looks as though the creature from 'The Grudge' has been shedding all over it. Great, a bald spot to add to all my other woes.

On the plus side, going to Dubai this weekend!! Will meet D.S.! Some best friend I am, haven't even met her since October '07….Looking forward to the general insanity that ensues when we meet up. Plus whole bunch of college friends there to catch up with…including Married Ex. One would think it would be weird, but the simple fact is his wife is such a sweetheart (and a genuine one, as opposed to the keep-your-friends-close-and-your-enemies-closer-I-secretly-hate-you-you-utter-bitch-who-had-my-husband-first variety) that meeting the both of them is an unparalleled pleasure…it's amazing hanging out with a couple who's happy and in love and secure and just so fun!

Need a little change in life. I love this place with its quiet, sleepy life and 99% friendly people…but I swear I'm in a rut. Sunday to Thursday it's work and the gym and the occassional meeting up with the guys to play pool or poker. Weekends it's clubbing (at the 3-4 good clubs there are here!) and getting drunk and discussing who did what with whom while drunk. And more poker.

To quote a terrible old pop song: There's gotta be more to life….