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.