Silent Night - II

Part 1

25th December, 2012

Twenty hours that came very close to being the worst of my life.

After the initial shock, the survivor in me put herself back in control – I cancelled the church bookings, divided the food between a couple of orphanages, applied for refunds on all the travel bookings that we’d made for both the guests and for our honeymoon, talked to the realtor about the down payment we’d put down on the duplex we were going to live in – I took care of all the details pat down to the last ‘T’ because ‘organized’ is my middle name... it was easy. Or rather, mechanical.

But that feeling. That feeling of having to explain to everyone why they weren’t going to be dancing at my wedding, why they weren’t going to see I and he become man and wife had me at a loss for words, loss for reasons to explain why it ended before I became his in their eyes.

I allowed myself to hate him for one thing and one thing only – that he threw me at the mercy of all at sundry to be pitied upon. He knew how much I loathed that and yet.

I needed no one’s pity, no one’s support. I didn’t get this far in life with expectations of someone else coming through for me.
I knew that the rock solid calm that was now awash over me was just a farcical element that would recede once the crisis is sorted out and life goes back to normal. I knew that it would take everything I had and then some to not break this time. But I swore to myself every time I caught myself teetering to the edge that I was better than this.

That this was what I had been expecting to happen in my heart of hearts and that I shouldn’t be surprised that it had come to a pass.

As I cut the call on the last of the guests who had insisted upon knowing where he was, I let my shoulders sag – with relief that the ordeal was finally over? Or surrender to the forces that were trying their best to get me down on my knees? I know not.

It would just be a matter of time, anyway.

I slipped into the car and gunned the engine, stepping down hard on the accelerator and my beautiful baby, my Audi, took off at speeds normal people would cringe at – this was my poison, the only luxury I had granted myself over the years.

I made my way back to my nest thanking myself, once again, for having enough sense not to let him take over my life - my house was still mine, my haven.... untouched by the clutches of the relationship.

No memories to block out whatsoever.

Making a couple of calculations, I decided to afford myself five days to grieve... five days till the new year came around after which I would barricade the past and move forward.

Like I always do.

I kicked off my pumps and stepped onto the plush carpet, divesting myself of every article of clothing on the way to my bed. I reached for mom’s old tee and a favorite pair of shorts that I had bought with my first salary and made my way into the kitchen feeling instinctively for the Nutella bottle and a spoon. 

Familiar actions. Comforting ones.

When the house was being constructed, I’d made sure that the picture window that I had always dreamed of as a child became reality. Now, I climbed onto that cozy nook with a rug, nibbled on the peanuts that my Nutella was peppered with and looked out of the window, finally allowing the dams of thought, feeling, question and most of all hurt to break and flood my person – a deep sigh escaped out of my lips as I felt pain coursing through my veins.

Not even fairylights by the Christmas tree could distract me as my blurred eyes stared unseeingly at the beautiful lights that became bokeh in the cold winter night.

As I put the bottle down, I saw a bit of paper flutter under one of the cushions and I reached for it, more out of habit than curiosity. The familiar handwriting finally caught my attention as I opened it up.

My Bebe,
 
I fell in love with you. I don’t know when the exact moment was but I did. It feels nothing like anything I have ever known before – I questioned myself as to my motives and came up with nothing and I can only assume that this is what the real thing feels like.
 
It’s Christmas and you think I broke your heart. I would say sorry if I really did believe it but I don’t. Coz I know you would never let anyone close enough to actually break anything of yours. Not even me.
 
And that is why I left this morning – before I forced you into something you are not ready for.
 
My dearest bebe, you are such a strong woman, so independent, so intelligent…. But in love, you have to be ready to lose yourself, give up control. And you never let us get there. You always thought about how it would not work out and how you should protect yourself from me. Plotting solutions to when I would fail your expectations.
 
Even now I'm sure you are congratulating yourself on predicting that I would walk out on you. 

I’m sure you have refused help with everything from everyone and didn’t ask Mark where I am. Did you? I’d be very surprised if you have. What will happen now is that you will give yourself a few days to grieve over the lost companionship and then block everything related to me to relegate it to a past that you will never think about again.
 
Therein, again, lies the problem. I don’t want ‘companionship’. I want love that is as tangible and fiery as your lust is. I want love that drives you crazy and me, with you. I want to be your everything, I want to be that one rock that you want to lean on at the end of the day and on stormy nights.
 
I want you to realize that I’m not going to hurt you and let me in completely.
 
You know my darkest secret, you know my deepest fear and I don’t even know whether you prefer Coke to Pepsi. I expected that with time, you’d thaw, with time, we’d grow closer and with time, you’d let me know the scared child who went through hell, a price she paid for being the strong, successful woman she is today.
 
Because the scared child is the real you. And its glimpses of the child that I fell for. I can’t live the rest of my life with this woman who treats me and the rest of the world the very same – with respect, care and admiration.
 
I want you to love me. Love me like your life depended on it. I want you to give me your hundred per cent and then hope to God that I won’t break your heart. I’d cherish that vulnerability for all the lifetimes to come and then some more. 
 
I know you are capable of it. But the question is, will you let yourself love me like that?
 
If you think you will, if you think you can, come find me.
 
I love you.
And I suspect I will love you for a very long time to come regardless of which way you decide to go.
 
Yours,
Justin.

I read the letter three times. And then once more till I couldn’t cry any more.
Am I really that cold? Did I really not love him?

(To be continued...)

Silent Night

24th December, 2012

I sat on the floor heaving - my breath came out in gasps like I was stuck under water and the corset that I’d struggled to lose weight to fit into, felt like it was growing tighter by the minute. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I thanked the stars that I’d had the sense not to gorge down all those pancakes for breakfast like I usually do, for I was sure I’d have brought every last morsel out now.

I caught my reflection in a large shard of glass, a remnant of the mirror I had knocked over just a few seconds ago – a wild nymph stared back at me, an imperfect beauty wrapped in yards and yards of lace and silk, a wedding dress made for an angel by angels. A pretty rose bud mouth, the lower lip bled a little from having been bitten too hard, a tiny droplet of blood marring the pristine white of the dress. The makeup was starting to wear off, I vaguely registered that the lady from the parlor had probably scammed me with cheap products. Or it could be that I was sweating bullets.

I stared some more at the reflection. She had made imperfect features, perfect – small but expressive eyes, ones which always held a twinkle, now brimmed with panic and realization. A small button nose, the only thing I had from my father and no amount of hating it would stop people from calling it cute. My short, fluffy tresses which I kept short with a vengeance had been teased into soft waves to frame my long face. The small tiara which I had sullenly agreed to wear glittered in the evening sun light while my veil fluttered; the slight breeze whipping through the large tear right in the middle. Its fault had been to flutter into my eyes gently right when I was going into an emotional shutdown.

What I saw was a mask that was slowly breaking apart. Just like the unexpected fairytale that I had thought my life to be. This was reality. The kind of reality that I was used to. It was almost like I was waiting for it to happen.

What struck me suddenly was that he had let me get completely ready, fully dressed before walking out – he could have saved me all those hours of torture if only he had had his grand realization earlier in the day. I laughed out loud, the voice that came out didn’t sound anything like mine, the one with rough edges, and then I choked on my own laugh.

He was the one who talked me into it, in the first place. 

After a father who professed undying affection and never bothered showing up ever, a step-father who was borderline sex maniac, a first love who abused me enough to plummet my self-esteem levels right into the ground and yet another relationship which almost brought me to my knees, I had pretty much given up on men – I wasn’t the raging feminist, I just wanted nothing to do with them for I had let enough men treat me like a doormat to make the same mistake again.

And yet, yet, I had let him talk me into it.

I found comfort in him, I found peace. I wanted nothing else but companionship so it was a bonus that the chemistry between us was off the charts, enough to steam up cars. And we did.

Then I said I wasn’t ready for marriage. I asked him to guarantee that our relationship will never fall apart – an assurance that I knew wasn’t giveable but I asked him for it anyway because I knew I didn’t want to wake up next to someone I hated in ten years. I didn’t want to add to the number of broken, messed up families and children, there already are in the world.

And yet, yet, I had let him talk me into it.

He had patiently chipped away at my armor and eaten into my solid reasoning ultimately leading me to believe that love just might conquer all. He did the whole will-you-marry-me hoopla too. I had stopped being cheesy after my first relationship, yet I felt like a girl, like a teenager seeing stars and wanting the moon, when he sank down onto a knee in front of the whole restaurant and asked me to walk down the aisle with him.

Everyone cheered when I said yes and completely ignored the hiccup moment I had right in the middle of it, dork that I am. While I was questioning all sorts of motives, futures and possibilities, I watched him smile into the night with unrepressed glee and happiness that I’d previously seen only in a three year-old who found his favorite RC car under his Christmas tree.

And now, I was sitting on the marble floor of my ridiculously expensive bridal suite which I’d sunken onto while still wrapped up uncomfortably tight in a ridiculously expensive white dress from an amazingly famous and equally shallow designer; this was right after he came into the room and told me that he couldn’t do it and that he was really very sorry. He also said that I deserved better and then walked out. 

Not once did he meet my eye.

(to be continued....) 

Sparkling Waters

It was as simple as that.

To read the texts that flowed in, one after the other, like a leaky faucet trying to fill a broken bucket and realize that the bucket is just that. Broken. There is no glue, no tape in the world to fix the bucket to make it go back in time and be what it used to be.

Of course, here, you have to realize I’m talking metaphors. If you haven’t already.  I really wouldn’t be writing about a real broken bucket, would I? Not that interesting.

In those few moments that it took to send about fifty messages, the past slipped out of my fingers that I have been clutching so tightly and the best part was, I realized that all I needed to do to get rid of the animosity and hatred - basically all the negativity that was getting me down into the depths of darkness - was to just open my palm, just open my heart and let it all recede like the ebbing tide on a beautiful summer’s day.

With clear waters in sight, the world seemed a little more cheery, the horizon seemed a little brighter, the very people who had brought out the worst in me seemed a little nicer. And with a jolt I realized, it is all in the head…. it is all about who and what I choose to give control to. Control of my life, that is.

Demons are always going to be around, both ones that I can battle and ones that I need someone to help me battle. But for now, I will still munch on cookies, download Grey’s Anatomy, file 130% productivity at work each day, go for long walks, read more Greg Iles, laugh a lot at the most pointless of things and learn to make the perfect cup of hot chocolate. 

***

I wrote this for myself a while ago. And guess what, I have almost perfected the hot chocolate :)

***
P.S: Lioness, Wings of Harmony and Blasphemous Atheste asked me why I disabled comments. I have been doing that for the past few posts because 1) I felt really bad about not replying to previous comments for a really long time - it was my way of atoning for it? By giving up precious comments and 2) I wanted to write for myself, just myself... because that's where I started from.

Fragility

In the time it took for the sparkling rivulet to make its way down from the rim to the stem of the bubbling champagne glass, fluid leaked, brakes disengaged, his car went over the edge and the sparkle went out of her life.

Unsent Texts

You can either choose to take perfection as a state of mind and revel in the perfect present and the awesomesauceness of everything that is happening in the now. 

Or you can take perfection to be a confluence of factors at a place in time and keep waiting for it. 

Either way, it is your choice to make.

Our Trysts w/h The Dark Passenger

Never ask a question you don't want to hear the answer to because most likely, the messenger will bear the brunt of the storm that usually accompanies the truth and you'll end up worse for the knowledge.

This applies not only to the literal asking of any question (like the eternal favorite with the ladies, "Do I look fat?" that will make any man cringe with helplessness) but also to the doing of things that will give you information that you don't necessarily need. Like snooping around your better half's phone/inbox - you might stumble across things that you don't want to know, that you wish you'd never started off on the quest in the first place.

Once you end up with the information/result, thanks to your annoying little feline alter ego with its annoying little curiosity that will get something killed, you will see another side of that person, one that you might not necessarily like. One that might put an end to whatever good thing you have going, for no good reason. Sometimes you get over it and move on, sometimes the scar never really fades away. 

What I'm trying to say is once you get to know something, there is no way of un-knowing it. So pick and choose what you want to find out, especially if it is someone you care about.

Also, everybody has a dark side, a side that they are not proud of but they have it anyway because that is what makes them human and whoever it is, however close you are, you do not have the right to pry into their cupboard of skeletons, unless you have been specifically invited to. While this applies to everyone you know, it specifically applies to people you love and care about the most.

In a lot of places, at a lot of times, ignorance is bliss.

P.S: R.I.P Paul Walker.

Superfluous

Derive:

To obtain from a source -

Nothing like child from mother

Everything like numbers from machine

Something like me from you.

One is love, the other is indifference,

We are the third;

So where does that leave us?

A La Derive by Dorothea Tanning

Of One-Liners That Make You Happy

Today is a bad day. A bad, bad day.  A bad day in the middle of a bad week stuck in the middle of a bad month. You get the idea.

From a surprise interview that did not go as well as expected to the usual tussle with the parent that always drains the senses, nothing really goes right.

A sudden burst of energy at 9.30 p.m brought with it a hyper smile.

He said, "I like it when you smile like this, without any barriers, borders, worries..."

Instantly, the reminder brought with it the weight of the world and the smile wore thin.

"Tell the Universe to give me a reason to smile", I said wearily.

He extended the box of donuts and said, "I can give you six."

YAY. M.O.D.

P.S: I'm the douche that hasn't been replying to comments lately and hence, I didn't publish the ones in my last post till now. Thank you for taking the time out to type out a comment despite my assholery, but I really really really do appreciate it and I'm so very sorry for not replying, I'm in that phase where I think I have lost my juju and I'm questioning my skills as a writer. I might get over it. I'm trying to. My best to. Thank you for understanding, those few who have come back here despite aforementioned assholery. Just. Thanks.

Silence = Solitude?

Think about it…
Being cut off from the world and its noise.

Being cut off from human contact.
Being cut off from ego, anger, denial.

Being cut off from the annoying neighbour with the loud TV at three in the morning.
Being cut off from the warmth of hot masala chai made for you.
Being cut off from the constant phone calls that you are loathe to attend.
Being cut off from explanations, excuses.
Being cut off from heart-break and heartburn.
Being cut off from soul mates and fairweather friends.
Being cut off from diseased body and soul.
Being cut off from chocolate.
Being cut off books and food.
Being cut off from family.

Being cut off from a billion, trillion, gajillion other things that, pieced together, comprise of normal human life.

Could you live like that?
In complete silence?

Doing what you want to, when you want to, how you want to?

Being Lord and Master of your own little Universe with no one, NO ONE to question your motives, confuse you, hurt you, piss you off?
With no one to hug, cuddle, whisper, hold hands and look up to?
No one to make you doubt yourself, lower your self-worth, destroy your confidence?
With no one to fall back on with blind faith, give you sound advice, reinstate your faith in yourself?

No one. But the deep, dark silence weighing in on you as you go about daily life, brushing your teeth, lounging in your night clothes, working when you feel like until you push the laptop away and curl up with Jane Eyre.

Like living in a black hole, suspended somewhere in the time-space continuum until the Maker calls you back. (I realize that the last phrase kinda causes the volatile worlds of religion and science to collide(?), but eh.) 

Would you do it? Out of choice?

What scares me is that it sounds almost… appealing. Almost.

P.S: I really don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Somethings are better off not analyzed?
P.P.S: Inspired by Gravity, the movie.

[puhl-kri-tyood]

How did I get so lucky?

That was the constant whisper that kept clanging around in the vast expanse of my mind as I watched her nimble fingers work the Colossal Kajal stick. She then turned around to ask if the line was right, as she always does. And, as always, my breath caught at how much I saw in her expressive eyes.... I managed to choke out a coherent enough ‘yes’. And, as always, the perfectionist took my word for it, with implicit trust in my opinion, and put her makeup away.

I wonder what I’d done to deserve such trust from this one, a woman who had trained herself not to trust the world.

She whipped around the room in the flurry that she’s always in when she is getting ready as I sat back, I’m used to this routine. Her hair, blown around by the fan’s cool air, framed that face that has been making me stop in my tracks for a while now as she puckered up her lips and dabbed on something chocolatey. Yet again she turned around and tilted her head at me, questioningly. My gaze lingered on her lips for a second too long; maybe my eyes darkened a shade, giving away my less-than-decent thoughts for a faint red stained her pale cheeks and she said ‘mch’, turning away with that slight smile.  

She pulled on her top, straightened the straps and turned a critical eye towards the mirror. Sighs of dissatisfaction emanated from pouty lips as nostrils flared and she pulled it off before rummaging in the wardrobe for another one. The next one stayed on for a nanosecond longer than the last one and it wasn’t long before a third one joined a growing pile on the carpet.

I stood up, picked up one of the delicate pieces and handed it back to her - you are perfect. She ‘hmph’-ed again in dissatisfaction - you’re only saying that coz you want to leave soon.

It was my turn to let out a sigh... we’d fallen into this routine and she never believed one of the most truthful statements that have ever come out of my mouth.

And as always, I wished she could see herself the way I do.

***

The men in our life, the ones who are here to stay, think we are perfect.
It is high time we do too.

P.S: I'm just preaching here. Gotta long way to go before I get there myself.

FMS Prompts: # 3...

Quick note: I won't be posting on weekends until I get my internet fixed. 

 Your favorite recipe, even if you are the worst cook in the world...

***

Okay, so there is this thing I do when I’m down or when I need a quick pick-up or mostly when I settle down with a book. It’s not so much a recipe, its not even solid food but to me its tradition, it’s one of those things that tell me that all WILL be right with the world. 

So, next time you go to the supermarket, pick up five-six 5-buck packets of a regular chocolate drink - I prefer Bournvita but you can get Boost as well, I suppose. Take a big white (because white brings out the richness chocolaty color of the chocolate) mug, empty three packets into it, add one mountainously heaped spoon of milk powder and mix up the powders until its speckled chocolaty-types.

The next part is tricky. If you like a smooth consistency, add a bit of hot water and mix it up. If you’re like me and like it lumpy, go with cold water. BUT add VERY little water because the idea is to get a pasty, thick consistency and it is very easy for it to get runny, if you don’t pay attention. So once you get the right consistency, stick a spoon in it and take it with you to your reading nook or under the comforter.

I wish I could give you my own pictures of it but I instinctively dive in every time I put it together that I forget photography till I’ve licked it clean, so sorry.

Possible additions/garnish: crumbled English Marie, raisins, almonds, a small dollop of marmalade, a pinch of coconut shavings… well, go crazy. 

Warnings: Don’t let your mother catch you at it; if yours is anything like mine, you’ll get a good solid yelling for stealing the chocolate powder. Also, don’t try this with cocoa powder, not even the sweetened kind. Unless you want to walk around with a ‘yegh’ face for an hour or two.

*** 

P.S: What is your food tradition/quick-fix for blues?

FMS Prompts: # 2...

...the worst movie you ever did see, and why.

***
Damn, I have to relive it again?

Okay so, three days ago this friend suggested that we watch a Malayalam movie on the laptop instead of our usual Die Hard and Fast and Furious types. Why? Because it would be a ‘refreshing’ change. *insert the hindi G word in full capitals here which I don’t want to type out because I have a strong feeling one of my uncles reads my posts secretly* I don’t usually agree but it has Fahadh Fazal in it, who I think is one of the best actors in Indian cinema (courtesy 22, Female, Kottayam which, incidentally, all of you should watch, get subtitles) AND its a Lal Jose movie (all non-Malayalees, he is one of those we-expect-good-cinema-from-you types).

Turns out, WORST. IDEA. EVER.

We finished the movie only and only because we really wanted to know how the director would manage to wrap up the mess that was Diamond Necklace. Ah, even saying the name out loud is painful. 

Characters just appeared and disappered at will and the story meandered around all over the place (if you could call it a story). NOTHING made sense. I won’t elaborate on the plot and waste both of our times. Should suffice to say I’m cinematically traumatized, even more so than when I watched the Golmaal series, which is saying something. Pointless, pointless, POINTLESS waste of resources the movie was.

 

 So. Anyone willing to give it a try? I'll send the BR copy across :P

***
P.S: What’s your worst movie mistake?

FMS Prompts: # 1...

...that thing that happened in high school that pretty much changed your life forever.

***

I lost a friend.

In Grade 10, she sat next to me. She was a nice person, always smiling, always ready to help. But you know how high school kids can get, I was snooty about how much she talked to boys (trust me, I want to go back and slap myself too). But we still were good friends, we got through our first hurdle in the academic world, board exams, together. And in Grade 11, she shifted to another section but we still had lunch together, all of us. I loved the alu sabzi that her mom used to send with her lunch and she always put a little extra in my dabba while it was being passed around.

I think she had always liked me more than I liked her.

I remember the day clearly,  classes had been cancelled and three of us were sitting there in the last bench and laughing our heads off without any reason. You know, one of those times when you start laughing at ANYTHING and you can’t stop even though your stomach hurts - two straight hours at the end of the day we laughed.

That’s when three other friends came and said that this girl had passed away, nobody knew what happened and why. I sobered up like someone doused me with cold water but I didn’t believe it. I thought someone was playing a big, fat, sick prank. Then her Class In-Charge confirmed the news.

I won’t go into any more detail but to this day none of us know what happened to her, all we know was that she had asthma. I just never saw her after that, like she never existed except in my mind and memories.

The absolute worst part is that I didn’t remember the last time I spoke to her, the last conversation, exchange we had. I still can’t remember.

Her mom came to see us when we passed out of school and it was all I could do not to run away because I kept thinking how she would feel seeing all of us decked up and happy when her daughter wasn’t around.

I remember feeling incredibly guilty for being alive when she wasn’t.

And it subtly changed a 16 year old forever. From then on I have always kept a certain distance from people. I have made but one friend who is super close, everyone else was and is dispensable. I know it doesn’t say much for me as a friend but when I love, I love wholly without restraint, without any kind of self-preservation and if I lose that person, I know I won’t be strong enough to handle the devastation.

It took me a long time to work out why I never made the first move to make friends (because otherwise I am not antisocial and I love to horse around with everyone), I never keep in touch completely, I never put my all into keeping my friends together like everyone my age does. It might not be the lesson I should have learnt but yeah.

Dharani, I will always remember you for that million-watt genuinely happy smile that you were so ready with.

***

P.S: Sorry about kicking off on a sad note.

P.P.S: Leave your prompt challenge post links in the comments, please.

I really, really...

...want to do this. I have long admired Fat Mum Slim and her innovative ideas, tried the #fmsphotoaday a couple of times (and crashed and burned big time before the week was up) and have been secretly stalking her virtually all over the place.

I am (in)famous for leaving things incomplete - a dozen drafts, short stories, unpenned abstracts, laundry, sentences, ideas, messages, conversations... all hanging in the air like a menacing cloud as proof. This will be my one last shot to get myself to complete something, anything on the blog. I can be a little proud of myself for having the discipline, this way.

So, I'm thinking I'll do one topic a day for however long I can (and hopefully complete all 50 by mid-October-ish). And any of y'all want to do the challenge with me, leave your links below each post and I'll link back up in each post. Starting tomorrow? (This is me giving my OCD for starting things on a Monday or on a 1st a shove in the face.) 

Blogger discipline, here I come.
I think.

Iris

I lay crying for a long time. A long, long time. For the first time in years, I felt like a failure. His shirt was drenched through and yet my tears didn’t cease. 

And he spoke not a word.

Amidst my gut-wrenching sobs, I wished he wouldn’t give me any space now, I wished he would do something to cheer me up, to say that I am wrong to think such things, that I ain’t no failure. 

But he spoke not a word.

His comforting presence and the aroma of his woody soap reminded me of all that I had, all that I am. I finally found solace in the fact that even if I had nothing else, I had him. I might be a failure but for now I had him.

And that made up for a lot of things. 

He still spoke not a word. 

My sniffles died down and I cracked a reluctant smile... I’d always been this mercurial in my moods swings. One good cry and I could always put it behind and try to get back on the figurative horse. The darkness ebbed as I found courage in the flimsiness of the proof that showed I was a failure. 

He finally pulled my face to his and forced me to look at him. 

Fresh tears threatened to brim out at the weight of his unrelenting, almost harsh, gaze when he firmly said…

“That is enough. You’re perfect. And you’re mine.”

The problems weren’t solved, the darkness still remained, I was still afraid of the ghosts that haunted me but I knew I was not alone. That someone had faith in me. 

“When everything is made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am”

Lucky are those who have someone that has such unshakeable faith in you, especially in those moments when you doubt yourself.  

P.S: Fiction after a long, long time. Not perfect, not even close. But I’m glad I tried. 
What can I say, the Goo Goo Dolls are inspirational.

Ghosts Of Roommates Past

Ah, a topic I could write a book upon.

Caution: VERY long post ahead. ALL rant. At your own risk.
 
When I joined college 4 long years ago, I got the best of roommates (though I wouldn't have agreed then), so when I came to Bangalore first, I hoped really hard that I would find roommates who I could be friends with.

How difficult could that be, considering Bangalore is FULL of girls of all shapes, sizes, orientations, ideas, dress sizes and whatnot. Apparently, very difficult.

I shall elucidate (whether you like it or not):

Number 1 was sweet. She is what I am now, friendly and full of helpful advice but prefers to keep her life completely and entirely separate from mine. Not that it is a problem now but when you are a green, green girl fresh out of college, a kind word and a shopping trip would have helped my case. But she was nice and that's all that matters now. And I shall be forever thankful to her for my first Corner House icecream.
Duration: 1 month.

Number 2, I'd rather not talk about her. She was three times my size, from Hyderabad, had very loud opinions about 'mallus' and their 'chaluness', hated fresh air from open windows, liked the television on at high volume at all times of the day including midnight and threatened to crush me under her weight. Oh and she doesn't flush the toilet or throw away her toiler paper.
Duration: 48 hours.

Number 3 was okay. I always thought that she was a bit of cuckoo because she never used to understand what I was trying to tell her, which is surprising considering I speak her language and well, and also because she spends the entire day on Saturday AND Sundays making rice and steaming capsicum in the microwave. She kept to herself and was nice enough to offer me her rice and capsicum. She always told me that I could take anything from her food ration and cosmetics (including a heavenly bubble bath from the UK) as long as I didn't touch her clothes or shoes. I was A-OK with this and offered her the same liberties.
Duration: 2 months.

Number 4 was a mistake me and my big mouth made. I'd rather not say anything here for I fear lurkers. I think my back did hurt her poor, helpless knife though. Tch, tch.
Duration: 1 month.

Number 5 was a local and got me into a hell of a lot of trouble with the landlady, complaining about me in Kannada. This was happening right in front of me and I nodded along thinking she was saying something constructive about something else and she knew full well I didn't follow. At all. I wouldn't have minded if it were not for the fact that all the complaints were made with the intention of taking over my room which was the best in the PG (in terms of space and ventilation).
Duration: 1 week.

And finally, Number 6. Ah, she is a work of art, a piece that belongs in a museum, nonetheless. My biggest error of judgment and I paid for it with 9 months of sheer misery. Right from bullying me into getting a house with her despite not having the finances and having known each other for less than 10 days, she trampled her way through my life in ways I shudder to think of. The sucker that I am, she fed me a story of missing her parents and I fell for it immediately.

Shopping for the perfect kadhai for her to cook paneer in took precedence to my broken heart right in the middle of a messy, drawn out, painful break up. Between this crazie and my 'extremely understanding' ex, my life was truly hell in a cell those days and I shall forgive neither of them that easily, if at all. I remember sitting outside the room, tears flowing down my cheeks in a never ending torrent, heart breaking into a million pieces and throat clogged in the middle of an international call, when she came out of the room and yelled at me for not giving her company for dinner. I also remember being in the middle of a HUGE blowout that involved me, my mother, my ex and a colleague (you don't want to know) and she wanting me to get the internet guys to buy extra wire right then and there. Gave me days when all I wanted was to jump off the terrace parapet.

A few highlights....

1) She insisted that I eat the food that she cooked regardless of whether I wanted to or not. And if I, by chance, eat out with my friends one in a way or skipped food, she used to throw a hissy fit and not a pretty, I-care-about-you one.

2) She never 'let me' go for nightouts with my friends. I tell her I'm going, she says no, you can't, I'm scared to be here by myself.

3) She sits and looks at herself in the mirror for hours on end. After a couple of minutes, it is just plain creepy.

4) She played the most tacky of songs on infinite loop loudly on her laptop all the time. This includes midnight, weekends and any other time I choose to be home.

5) She has about 6 guys salivating after her, each convinced that she is going to marry him. They probably spend all the time, energy and money on ensuring that their princess is happy. I admire her ability to ensure that none of them know about any of the others. This is apart from flirty texts at midnight to the house owner who she has wrapped around her finger.

6) Every chance she gets she makes me take pictures of her, in different poses and clothes. This is every second minute and regardless of what else I am doing. 

7) She is so dirty. The kitchen hasn't been cleaning in atleast six months, the washroom has stains of i-don't-want-to-think-about-it, she doesn't flush properly, she sheds hair like snakes shed skin and every single square inch of the house is covered in it, she hasn't done laundry in the past three months and the laundry bag smells like no girl's clothes should ever smell. The kitchen clothes that she soaked last month, were still floating around in water when I vacated. The house reeks of the five day old bhaaji that she cooked for her puri and left behind. Open. In the cooker.

8) Creme de la creme. She hits people. Including me. And when I tried staving her off, she hit her own head against the wall and the door and threatened to call the police on me for hurting her.

And all this is only tip of the ice berg and I'm not even exagerrating.

The last couple of months, I have been afraid of going home, I leave for office by 8 30 am and get back home by 10 30 pm, spending more than ten hours in the office. I stayed away during the weekends as well, after a point just sitting at The Forum mall for lack of anything better to do. And when I go back, she still makes a face, makes derogatory comments and makes me out to be evil and uncaring.

She makes me wish the last eight months never happened. 

On 15th August 2013, I moved, extremely happily, into a handkerchief sized place with a clean, beautiful washroom (yeah, another OCD), cheerful in the knowledge of not having to go through the trauma of another roommate. I finally get to put out my books without fear of someone tearing them out, put up my fairylights to satisfy a life's ambition and keep the place squeaky clean and smelling of rose incense.

AHHHHHHHHHH. The Sweet Smell of Peace Indeed.


But, after 7 moves in less than 17 months, all these buggers have left me questioning myself, asking myself if I am that difficult to live with.

Ugh.

P.S: I know this is too long a post but it is catharsis, please bear with me.

Jusht.

We all have such collosal egos that need to be stroked and coddled every once in a while.

From gazillion likes on a strategically clicked and masterfully edited Facebook profile picture to carefully crafted tweets that make us and our lives look and sound so much cooler than it actually is to updates and chitchat about how happening we and our lives are - we are so bothered about putting out a good image of ourselves that the lines between what we really are and what we choose to project become blurred.

Making memories have taken backseat to snapping at anyone who questions our cool factor. Saying inappropriate things will get you retweets, cussing out the opposition will let people know you are not to be messed with. Fight with your friends to upload the pictures of the trip to the beach you spent taking pictures to upload, instead of digging your feet in the sand and giving yourself up to the waves.

I have been guilty too, I am not excluding myself out of anything. Varying degrees.
But once in a while, I look at my pictures I took from ten years ago, think back to the person I was then, the things that used to run in my head then and the kind of genuineness that colored every one of my actions. Simple, happy-go-lucky, restless to learn and experiment and with an undying love for books - I was what I want me to be now.

And I wonder where this current version, who judges and classifies people based on their language skills and the amount of books they read, came from.

My compliments are still genuine, my projection of myself is not so much.
But.... what if I let someone in and give them the power to break me with their critical gaze? With their toxic comments?
What if they judge me for my tastes, the way I live, the friends I have, the music I listen to? What if they judge me for being me and I don't match up to the standards they set?

Isn't that what we all are afraid of when we carefully cover reality with Photoshop, sarcasm and well-done make-up. And maybe that's where the 'ego' stems from.

I remember...

...the time when I used to be famous for filling up scrapbooks with the coolest things around. I miss that me, I miss being confident of the abilities I had, I miss saying 'DON'TSMOKE' with unsurpassed conviction, I miss being able to laugh easily, cry even more easily, I miss not being so quick to judge.

I miss that time when I didn't have so much crap in my head, so much luggage in my past and a life that was a clean, innocent slate. 

Since I can't really go back in time and make things simpler, I jumped at the chance to take the tag when Visha came up with it.   

Favourite colour : Black. No its not a rebel phase.
Favourite actor : Changes quicker than I can say 'action'. Right now, Charlie Hunnam and not necessarily for his acting skills. Yeah, I'm fickle like that :P
The websites you visit without fail : Blogger, Flipkart, 4shared, Facebook, Twitter, Yahoo! Mail and Pinterest.
Your ‘pep-up’ food : Pizza with a cheese crust specifically from Dominos. Explains my size, no?

THIS is what I'm talking about.

Where would you prefer to live – mountain, beach, plains or valley : Definitely a beach, only place I can put up with heat and humidity because the water makes up for it all.

The latest dream you can recollect : My ex falling off a building and pulling me down along with him.

Items which are always in your wallet : Bank cards, change, a billion old bills, driving license, ATM receipts for the last century and a pouch of some religious souvenir that I keep because Mom told me to. Almost never any cash. 

Five years ago, at this time what were you doing : Finished my 12th boards, disappointed with my useless 88 per cent, trying to decide between Frankfinn and regular graduation. Completely clueless, head over heels in love, getting entangled in everything unnecessary and headstrong as always. 

Your quote of the day : This...

I dare you to say something about my handwriting... Go on.. :P

P.S: Both pictures are from my own Instagram. For once.
 

The One With The Makeover

So I finally found the inspiration to give ze pore ole blog a makeover, as best as I can. Updated the pages, found my long-lost awards page and showcased all my puranewale banners. The social media icons actually work this time and I am so proud that I did it myself AND got it right :P

But the creme de la creme is the banner; I realized, after my very first one, I never had a banner with chocolate in it, so I went overboard with this one. Two whole days of obsessive not-working-in-the-office and staying late (for the fast Wi-Fi) has payed off with the results you see. 

That's before and after, right there.

Anyhoo, the thing is, I never promote my blog in the real world, I don't share it on my personal Facebook. I never told my colleagues I had a blog even and when people ask me to give them the link, I brush it off and change the topic. Not that it is difficult to find if you know my real name, but still. I always thought it's because I write a lot of personal stuff on the blog, details, that I am more myself here than I can ever be in real life (because I find it difficult to open up in real life, as it turns out), but I realised yesterday that it's because I simply care too much.

The blog has become a very big part of me, it's highs and lows reflecting the highs and lows of my own life. I am immensely proud of everything that I have put in here (blonde, shrill, stupid posts included) and I am immensely proud of what the blog has given me. So when someone reads the blog for the first time, I get real nervous about what they will have to say. And I'd rather not show them, than hear something negative. Sensitive like that, I suppose. Not healthy, I know.

I'll stop with the Oscar speech now. Temme how you like the new stuff. And if anything doesn't work the way its supposed to. And if its taking too long to load.

And most importantly, thank YOU people, you know who you are. The ones who have stuck by through all the disappearing acts and still come back to check if there is a new post. Still say that you look forward to new posts. The fact that I still have comments despite not having been active around here in forever has been the biggest motivator to get going again.

Thanks a ton.

119 Seconds

My laundry for the week is done. Oh wait, I still have that bedsheet to deal with. Ah well, I'll give it to Sancy. Damn, they charge a lot. Oh, I have to stop at the ATM. Screw it, I'm too tired to stop anywhere, go straight home and into bed. Erm, dinner. What should I eat? Those sattu parathas from Food Junction are brilliant. But I don't want to go alone. Too many guys at this time. Ergh. Grow up. You're not in a small town anymore. And those guys are cute too. Ah well. Dammit, forgot to call Mom again. She's going to be upset. I have to book tickets too! How long is it to salary day? Damn that's too long. And the office trip is this weekend. Shit, I have nothing to wear. Shut up, Conscience, I DO NOT have anything to wear and that's true. Reminds me, where is that shrug I got last week. I hope she didn't flick it like she flicked the last one. I have to talk to her about moving out. Better still, I hope she moves out. God, why does she have a problem with how late I get home! Just because her boyfriend is too busy to entertain her. Ugh. Why do I get stuck with such people. And I cribbed about my college roommates. I miss them. Okay, now I feel guilty, I suck at keeping in touch and I still crib about missing them. I'll set reminders to call Indu this weekend. I should go down and visit her sometime. Been too long since I even talked to Aunty. Oooh, that be a sexy bike. I wish I had legs long enough to ride one of those. Damn. What and all God chooses not to give us. I should ressurect my Twitter. Well, fine, I'm hopeless at fitting things into 140 characters but still, I like the new app. And I need to check my inbox, too many messages unreplied. Why is that guy revving his stupid scooter? 19 seconds more to go and he's already in a hurry. The last straw will be if he honks at me. There he goes, asshole. I'm not budging until it's green, moron, go over me if you want to. Ah, here come the pedestrians, one day I'm going to take the time to stop and tell you how fucking awesome you are, not. I should get pizza and watch the rest of Magic Mike. No pizza, no money. Tickets. Tatum, I love you, how could you marry Dewan. The Duchess is having a baby! No shit. Please start. NOW. Ah, thank God.

P.S: In case you didn't guess, this is a depiction of what goes on in my head when I'm waiting for the traffic light to turn green. Yes, I'm entirely, hopelessly random like that.

 

Gipsy Danger

I always felt that us, human beings, are the puniest of all of God’s creations, mostly because we are the least armed, so to speak. You know how even a tiny ant can bite the living shit out of you? We don’t have horns or stingers or even wings to fly away from danger, if need be.

Well, yes, He did give us the sixth sense, but let’s face it, how helpful is it when there is a rabid dog (forget a lion or a snake or other such scary shit) growling its face off at you, ready to attack at the slightest movement and your senses are paralyzed with fear? How useful is the sixth sense then? What are we going to do, talk the dog into getting a logical perspective of the attack? No, right? Thought so.

Also, I have very less respect for our race as well. I have my reasons, the one on the top of the list being that we are incapable of coexisting peacefully, not with our own kind OR with other kinds. You know, there are jungles full of animals of a billion different species that exist without causing destruction to everything surrounding them and we can’t keep an office pantry clean without assigning five extra people to do the cleaning at regular one hour intervals and STILL manage to leave it looking like a pigsty at the end of the day. Which is why I say, we are pathetic.

But let’s not go there, crux of the matter being that I don’t think too awesomely of us humans.  

What changed my perception, a tiny bit, but nevertheless, is Pacific Rim.

If we, some day, become capable of building those Jaegers and get two people to share minds strongly enough to be able to operate those ginormous, drool-worthy, mindfucking robotdaddies (I find normal, meaningful adjectives incapable of doing justice to Jaegers) effectively, I think we really ought to get a pat on the back.

And let’s not forget the background scores by that godawesome composer.

If you don’t watch Pacific Rim in the best theatre in town as soon as possible, you really are missing out on one of the prime examples of cinematic brilliance.

Here's the IMDB link and the Rotten Tomatoes link for those who check obsessively.

Here's the YouTube link to the OST playlist.

Here's a link to PVRCinemas for you to book your ticket. 

Here's one more picture in case the other two didn't pique your interest at the very least. 

My faith in humanity and its future has been restored to a small extent. We still have hope.

P.S: Please to note, I have never recommended a movie on the blog ever before.

P.P.S: Go with friends, I’d never have to able to scream my lungs out to my heart’s content if it weren’t for the six other screaming enthusiasts I went with.

P.P.S.S: And the screaming is not about not being classy, the movie just makes you wanna go AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmymindisblown!

P.P.P.S.S: Yeah, I’m done.