Apparently I Repel The Undead Too...

How a conversation would go between my best friend and me if he was a vampire:

Me (terrified): “AAAAAAAaaaaaa……”

Him (holding head in pain): “Stop that screaming! I have super-sensitive hearing as a result of being an undead sex god.”

Me (terror subsiding, replaced by curiosity): “….aaahhhh!!!!....Wait. What does the hearing have to do with being a sex god?”

Him (trying to look superior, but a little uncertain): “UNDEAD sex god. And it’s one of the perks.”

Me (in full-fledged nerd-mode): “How would you even know you’re a sex god? You just came back from the dead an hour ago. Scaring the crap out of me, I might add, since I was mourning your supposed death and whatnot.”

Him (annoyed): “Gee. Thanks. That’s touching. And it’s a given. Vampires have undead sexual magnetism. We HAVE to be sex gods.”

Me (logically): “Uh-huh. Or vampires could just use their hypno-crap to CONVINCE people that they’re sex gods.”

Him (completely abandoning all pretence at logic): “Oh for…! I FEEL sexier!”

Me (moving into super-geek mode): “That’s another thing. Vampires don’t cry. Don’t pee. Don’t poop. Don’t bleed. No bodily functions, basically. So how can they …you know, get it up? To do stuff?”

Him (looking heavenward for patience): “We just can! We don’t ask questions about it!”

Me (skeptical): “Riiiiiight. Oh, wait, so if you do it with a live person, then would that person be a necrophiliac?”

Him (rolling eyes): “That’s not very original, I’m sure others have asked that question.”

Me (not giving up): “Yes, but have they gotten an answer?”

Him (grinning hopefully): “Probably not a verbal one. Maybe a practical demonstration.”

Me (rolling MY eyes): “Hmm. Yeah, that’s not going to work.”

Him (whining): “Not even with the hypno-crap?”

Me (my turn to be annoyed): “I can’t believe you’re dead and still trying get in my pants!”

Him (aggrieved): “It’s UNdead!”

Me (curious again): “And that’s another thing. How come you’re not decomposing? Why aren’t your bits and pieces rotting and falling off?”

Him (horrified): “You keep my bits and pieces out of this! Of course I’m not decomposing, I’m not some common zombie!”

Me (even more curious): “So how come zombies decompose but vampires don’t?”

Him (almost crying with annoyance): “ I DON’T KNOW!! I’ve only been back from the dead for an hour!”

Me (oblivious to his mental anguish): “If a vampire and a zombie had to, you know, do it…would something rot and fall off?”

Him (with a mixture of awe and horror): “It’s amazing that you are even more disgusting than the prospect of drinking human blood.”

Me (blushing): “Awww, you’re sweet.”


So in a fit of boredom, my friend and I were talking about my vampire fixation, and went through this hypothetical scenario. The above conversation is actually ours.

End result, he decided that if he DID come back from the dead as a vampire, he’d kill me just to shut me up. And wouldn’t drink my blood, because he’s pretty sure there’s something seriously wrong with me.

Hmph.

The results of boredom at work

Oh the pain, oh the woe!
Oh the sprain in my little big toe!
Oh that I must wear such heels!
Oh that style matters more than how it feels!

But truth be told it is my choice:
For sensible shoes are not so nice;
So my shoes are pretty and dainty and jewel laden -
And stab me more than an iron maiden!

Oh that I choose to eschew
Ugly, but comfortable, flat-heeled shoes;
Ah, that beauteous straps and laces adorn
Shoes that are leaving me bleeding and torn.

So my beautiful and deadly stilettos
Are forcing me to walk on my tippy-toes,
And adding to my strained arch’s woes:
So the price of beauty goes.

Alright, so I'll never be Dr. Seuss, but it helped pass the time...well, the 5 minutes it took me to come up with that.

Now I'm bored again!

Today's Morning Routine

(Slightly, but only slightly, different from most mornings)

Cellphone alarm goes off. Groan. Activate snooze settings for 15 minutes. Bury head under covers.

Alarm goes off. Groan. Snooze for another 15 minutes.

Alarm goes off. Glance at time, shriek at how late it is, scramble out of bed, get tangled in covers and thud to the floor. Every. Damn. Day.

Brush, shower, shampoo, condition. It’s been 3 weeks, so pull out lawn-mower style razor to shave legs and curse hairy South Indian genes inherited from father.

Scramble out of shower, slip on tile floor (at least once a week), unfortunately get glance at self in mirror and further curse South Indian genes for unwanted curves (also known as flab, fat, jelly, blubber) in unattractive places.

Glance at time, shriek again, throw on clothes, forego drying hair, jam on shoes and race down stairs.

Wolf down breakfast (something that used to be skipped earlier, but is now mandatory. Sad…used to save at least 10 minutes before). Notice that long hair has created uncomfortable wet and see-through patches on white shirt. Curse.

Race out of house, hop in car, get stuck in traffic for 20 minutes (despite work being only 10 minutes away), and stop-drop-and-roll out of car when it pulls up in front of office. Very commando-style, kinda cool. Or would be, if my heels didn’t get stuck in my trousers and send me tumbling head-over-ass.

Jam at lift button for few minutes, curse at sloth-like elevator and generally terrify the mild-mannered natives, abandon the foyer area and race up the back stairs.

Clock in with 17 seconds to spare.

Collapse at desk. Only to find computer won’t start. And when it does, the screen’s wonky. And when that’s fixed, the internet won’t work.

What’s the point of waking up everyday??

Bah.

Near-death accidents: 2. Words that would make sailors and truck drivers blush: 8. Bruises on body: 5. Colleagues/clients/IT People/other innocents scared: countless.

And it’s only 10 in the morning.

Material Girl

I am currently on the ecstatic side of the mood spectrum (which generally means that either my wallet, or someone else's, is now CONSIDERABLY lighter).

That would be due to these gifts/purchases/sheer indulgences:

Strappy silver sinfully sexy 4-inch stiletto heels. Pretty, yes?

Also strappy pink-and-burgundy (they look a LOT better than they sound) stilettos (TRUST me when I say they’re worth the future varicose veins!)

The box set of Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris (the books on which the True Blood series is based…I can’t WAIT to read them all cover to cover)

The Vampyre and Other Tales of the Macabre by John Polidori (the first vampire story ever written! Eeee! Also, bit of trivia: did you know John Polidori was Lord Byron’s personal physician, and based his story on his travels with Byron?)

City of Glass by Cassandra Clare (the final installment of her Mortal Instruments trilogy about the Nephilim…I have actually read this before, in PDF format, but that can’t ever compare to the sheer joy of curling up in bed with a little Three Doors Down playing in the background, chugging Coke and poring over the angsty angelic-demonic goodness that is Jace Wayland, page by page).

Also, a friend (who is now my very best friend in the universe for all eternity, sorry N.M.) got me a six-pack of Thums Up! For the uninitiated, Thums Up is the Indian offshoot of Coke, but slightly less sweet and MUCH fizzier. Also, when I burp, it comes out my nose!

Oh happy happy joy joy! I feel like jumping up and kicking my heels in the air! But my stilettos don’t permit that…

For Those of You Out There

... who need inspiration. Or a wake-up call.

In my circle of acquaintances, there is:

- A woman frustrated with her dead-end job in a male-dominated office in a male-dominated country.

- A woman steadily climbing the corporate ladder, respected and liked, and grateful to the predecessors who have paved the way for her.

- A woman whose husband has cheated on her. They're trying, everyday, to rebuild what once was, but it's a steep uphill climb.

- A woman whose husband cheated on her after 30 years of marriage. She unceremoniously threw him out, took hold of the reins of her family and her life, and is the happiest she's been in the past 3 decades.

- A woman who was accosted by a man in broad daylight on a busy street in a big city. People came to her aid as he tried to stuff her into a waiting van, but she still fears for the day when there will be no one around to hear her scream.

- A woman who has to ask her husband before spending a single cent of the money he earns. Resentful, she wishes she had gone back to work after the baby, had studied further, had chosen another life for herself.

- A woman who did choose another life for herself. And who glories in every pair of shoes or piece of jewellery she buys with her own hard-earned money.

- A woman who was forced to have an abortion 3 years ago. She still thinks about the baby, and what she would have named her, and what dress she would have worn on her 3rd birthday.

- A woman who wants a baby so badly, she's beginning to resent the woman who had the abortion, for abandoning something so precious, so desired.

- A woman who is in love.

- A woman who thinks she might have given up on love.

- A woman whose husband has never raised a hand to her, but beats her down every day with words, with gestures, with eye-rolls, with blatant disregard.

- A woman whose boyfriend adores her, wants to marry her, and can actually picture no greater bliss than spending the rest of his life with her.

- A woman who is happy and content.

- A woman who cannot remember the last time the word 'happy' crossed her mind, let alone her lips.

But every single one of them hopes. For more, for better, for themselves and for those around them.

When I read about this:

... I couldn't help but take the opportunity to tell (however briefly and however anonymously) the stories of these amazing women's lives.

Because, with everything they go through and everything they face, they ARE amazing, simply for getting up in the morning and putting on a smile for the world.

And I want to tag Nusy, Standy and JSO: so they can tell their own stories.

I Get By With A Lil' Help From My Friends...

There was a time in my life (mid-teens) when lines were clearly drawn, boundaries devoutly demarcated: friends are friends, best friends are best friends, potential love interests are fleeting, and NEVER the twain shall meet. These distinctions were important back then, because all my best friends were hormonal teenage boys who had an alarming propensity to suddenly develop this mysterious thing called “feelings” for me. I eventually worked out that these “feelings” coincided with me hitting puberty and developing a decent-sized rack, so I managed to maintain a healthy sense of skepticism and didn’t let the attention go to my head (much).

Around the time I hit 20, I had a stellar group of friends and we were all quite grounded in our love for each other – it was there, it was solid, it was non-negotiable (much to the chagrin of several over-possessive girlfriends and boyfriends who came and went). If there was a time when any of us within the group suspected we might be developing feelings for each other (and you throw a group of 20-somethings together, it’s kinda inevitable), we dealt with it with a minimum of fuss and drama – things NEVER worked out (sad, but true), so we quietly went back to being best friends and promptly resumed the ridiculously comfortable camaraderie we had always shared. I don’t know whether this was a sign of the maturity we possessed (I SERIOUSLY doubt it) or simply the fact that it was ingrained in our psyches that no relationship (or lack thereof) could ever possibly be as satisfying as the friendship we shared.

I often wonder why things didn’t go better. There have been several men and women in the group who have, on occasion, suddenly seemed to wake up to the fact that maybe they felt more than just friendship. But despite knowing each other for eons, knowing every thought and feeling and PMS-induced moodswing, things would invariably go awry. When you’ve known someone for years and years, does that make it easier or more difficult to fall in love with them? I wonder if getting into a relationship when you’ve already seen the frog’s warts is a bad idea…those relationships where you keep discovering things about each other seem to work out better than the ones where you’ve seen each other in tattered boxers, or without make-up, or witnessed each others’ severe morning breath on overnight trips to Pune and Goa.

It’s been about a decade now, and all of us are in our mid-to-late 20s, scattered across the globe; some dating, some engaged, some blissfully single and some scarred by past relationships. Distance and jobs and different time zones make it difficult for us to talk everyday, but we’re all so secure in the knowledge that we love each other, it doesn’t matter. Boyfriends and girlfriends will come and go, but we’ve all stood the test of time, and bad hair days, and acne, and psychotic significant others. The days of wondering ‘what if’ about each other are over, because we’ve settled into our comfortable grooves…furniture, if you will…I’m the bean bag in front of the tv, N.M. is the sofa in the corner, D.S. is the recliner over there…etc. We’ve confidently declared that we’re all pooling in our money to buy a huge house so we can all move in together – something big enough to give each of us our own space, but small enough to keep us close together. And, of course, we’ll all be going into the same retirement home in our 80s, where we’ll terrorize the staff by having wheelchair races in the corridors.

Childish fantasy? Sure. Unrealistic? Maybe. Naïve? Definitely.

But it keeps us going. It’s our version of happily ever after.

Another V-Day Goes By...

…And it’s celebrated, if not quite in B’bay style, then similarly enough: surrounded by good friends, with good conversation and most importantly, good food (sadly, terrible music, though)! The 14th saw my friends here (most of whom are either in long-distance relationships, like Abby, or away from significant others on the day, like NV and RV) get together at first a coffee shop and then a local sheesha joint to band together for a good ol’ gossip session over kebabs, burgers, pasta and sinfully gooey chocolate cake.

We’re hardly the most cerebral or sentimental bunch of 20-somethings, so I wonder if it’s the day itself that got us talking about relationships: past, present and yet-to-be-explored; marriage: NV just got engaged and the rest of us solemnly swore not to think about it for another decade; children: how many we want, whether we’ll adopt, where we’d like to bring them up. So different from the normal who-got-drunk-and-did-what-with-whom-last-weekend boredom. Not that I’m saying this should become a staple fixture in our conversations, but it made for a great change of pace.

Sometimes I look around and wonder if we’re waking up to the world more as we move further into our 20s, or actually becoming more and more self-involved. Is it the place we live in and the people we surround ourselves with that shape us (however temporarily), or is it our efforts to break away from these norms and establish some sense of individuality? Because to be honest, individuality seems to be in short supply around here.. And if we’re just sheep following the rest of the herd, what does that say about us and who we’re becoming? And what if the shepherd’s incompetent or misguided or just leading the herd to slaughter?

Argh, nevermind. I think this is just my brain’s way of telling me that relationships and personality traits are best not contemplated when I’m sleep-and-Coke-deprived.