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Monday, March 28, 2016

The drilling noise isn't particularly deafening.

Recently I've been duplicating bits of me through piddly stories and opinions, and leaving them with new people I meet. 
Some will hopefully stick around and imbibe more, making my presence larger, more tangible, more real. 
Others will leave, taking bits of me to places I'm present only through vague memories and once-upon-some-times. 

From having an apparent chronic inability to approach new people, to talk and to share, to becoming a tad more outgoing and trying to drill a little hole through the shell I've been hiding in for a while, I'm doing rather better than I expected to.

Thursday, May 07, 2015

Existence suxbro

Sometimes I shake myself out of a reverie I didn't even know I was in - an extended state in which I continue to function, to go through life without actually being aware that I... am. I am alive. That I exist. That what I'm doing, what is happening to me, is actually really happening. It's not nice.

It's unpleasant, suddenly becoming excruciatingly aware that I'm an actual person with thoughts, doing actions that have consequences, thinking thoughts that have repercussions, that will eventually all lead nowhere, like one giant round in the hamster wheel of life. What then makes it worse is the immediate realisation that what you just felt is also real. It wasn't just a bad dream of self-awareness and reality. You're in the dream, and you're going to be stuck there for a while. And then it happens again and again, a miserable looping feedback mechanism of realisation and despair, of revelation and helplessness, that eventually fades, only to hit me again when I least expect it, making me sway on the spot and mutter "oh no...", to the minor confusion of those around me. 

What can one then do but mournfully, balefully exist. 

Thursday, October 30, 2014

I'm not even a morning person

My favourite part of the day is actually just 15 minutes in the morning. That brief shining window of time before I *have* to get up and go about my day. Before making breakfast, feeding cats, running off to work, for those few minutes I can lie in bed with my eyes closed, listening to what's happening around me.

The cats are fighting under the bed. A train toots in the distance. Cars horns have started honking. The fan is too fast, I'm cold. I feel around for a blanket and wrap it tighter around me. I realise I have a much better alternative, shrug off the sheets and wrap myself around the gently snoring bear of a man next to me. He grumbles and settles into a new comfortable position. A cat wanders by and curls up in the warm space between us, purring loudly, sending happy happy vibrations through us both, arching his neck for a head-rub. I've never seen as much bliss at a simple touch of the hand as this cat gets out of constant soft head-rubs. 

All this only lasts for a few minutes, seconds even... The other cat shows up and starts demanding food, phones start beeping, trains need to be caught, milk needs to be boiled and the day starts to buzz, and I hope it continues in the same pleasant, happy vein it began.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Shot Story #1

My very first Shot Story


Bhola returned to his spot on the sidewalk on Friday morning, utterly exhausted and covered in pink paint. His beatific smile couldn’t have betrayed the fact that he had just spent several excruciating hours daubing every single leaf on a long row of bushes with paint that he had silently pilfered, all while steering clear of cops or any unwanted attention.

He collapsed and slept, dreaming of the honours that would soon be bestowed upon him.

He awoke that evening, spruced himself up and waited eagerly for his next task. The voices told him that this fine evening, he was to steal as many guavas as he could from the neighbourhood market and throw them into open house windows till the sun came up.

With the faint stirrings of dawn and after a close brush with an irritated Pomeranian, Bhola called it a night, ate his sole remaining guava and returned to the pavement to sleep.

Now they decide upon his next task, so they can continue to have their spot of fun.

“It’s my turn today.”

“Shut it, you got to choose just 2 days ago!”

“Quit squabbling. Let her have her turn.”

In a manner most unbecoming of deities, they bicker in their portraits above the sleeping figure of Bhola, deciding on that night’s mischief.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Think of a polar bear wearing a graduation hat. Think of it throwing the hat up in the air in glee and slight disappointment that it is not a fish.

Imagine if videos were sentient. Living quietly in your hard drive, having quiet lives and dysfunctional families, hoping they never get noticed by your eyes. Oh and what eyes, glaring and ferocious, eyes reddened from watching too much TV and reading one too many open letters for your own good.

Because, you see, a video does not want to be played. But that’s what it’s made for, you might argue. But how can you tell? Maybe we humans were made for being snowboards for hyper intelligent polar bears but as a twist of fate, ended up here. Just like that, maybe videos were made to lead quiet sheltered lives. Only, they have been cruelly exploited to provide entertainment to millions. “Naach Basanti!” is the message sent to a video when you hit the play button. And if the video is actually a Sholay clip, so much more the shame of the poor thing.



When the media library is opened... Now that is their worst nightmare. That is when they quake in their little bitrate boots. Those terse moments as the mouse cursor flits from one file to the next... Oh how they shudder and squeak until one unfortunate soul is picked. Those crickets you think you hear as you sit in your lonely room and watch FRIENDS for the umpteenth time? Those are the squeaking videos, yeah they are. 


You've gotta feel sorry for those poor Pilot episodes. Seen by everyone, always the first to be humiliated in front of his brothers. 


It's a pet theory of mine that if all this were true, Two and a Half men was made just to give the poor videos a break. To be such a terrible show that no one would want to watch any of the episodes.


What a flop that plan turned out to be.


Maybe we humans do deserve to be snowboards. Let's educate those polar bears

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Let's stop feeding the dust bunnies little dust carrots.

It's been a long time since I've written a letter. Or even a nice long email.

I used to really ramble on in letters and emails. Describe what I was doing. Where I was. Where I wished I was. What I wished I was eating where I wished I was. How the animals around me would react when I ate what I wished I was eating where I wished I was.

And now there is nothing.

My brain feels like it's sitting in a little corner of my loft, gathering dust bunnies that leap and dance and merrily play whilst I sit far away being pathetic and devoid of both brain and little brain vacuum cleaner.

Imagine that. A brain vacuum cleaner. You stick it in your ear and it sucks all the metaphorical dust out. It makes the brain shiny and happy and functional. Then we can gather all that braindust and mix it with confetti and sparkles and throw it at our enemies while saying Happy nooyear! So what if it's not nooyear? Why can't we celebrate bros?

Let us deploy people to study babelfish technology and use it to power brain vaccum cleaners. Kickstarter would explode.

This feels nice. Braindust and babelfish. Away dust bunnies, off with you. Don't cry, I am made of sterner stuff than that.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Vanilla vanilla yum yum

So everyone keeps asking me what it's like to be married. They ask me with bated breath, expecting either stories with violin scores and muffled lovemaking as background music, or stories about throwing of chappals and wall rattling arguments. 

It's just.. life. There's about as much change in it as you feel when you go from age 12 to 13, when you expect the teenage fairy to give you your big girl tiara and proclaim you ready to deal with all matters pertaining to high school scandal and romance.

Life now has on demand cuddling. Life is good :)

*
It was bit of a bummer to be thrown back into Bombay from Bali though. Bali had clothing optional, footwear optional, if you felt a bit tired you dunked your head into the sea that's always right there being ridiculously annoyingly blue.

We went scuba diving and volcano climbing and paddy field walking and it was so fabulous yaar.

*
Now I have the regular and the mundane which is actually a lot of fun. Now I have buying exotic cheeses and boiling milk. Now I get to have my own bar and pour my friends a drink when they come home. Now I am thinking of getting a kitten. Stay tuned for the next episode of the most vanilla reality show ever.

Tuesday, July 09, 2013

About a dog

I've been begging my parents to let me get a dog since I was five. For the first time ever I'm a little glad they  never agreed. 

I've met dogs who I've patted, fed and played with from time to time before being on my way, but recently I had my first ever prolonged exposure to a dog. A little black stray puppy with white paws who wandered into my office and adopted it whole-heartedly. We named her Kunti because she happened to turn up when the Mahabharata was being discussed and it just remained, as did she. She went from a nervous, cautious wreck of a puppy to a happy, trusting, bouncing thing in no time at all. Soon she was a regular at work, turning up everyday, whining to be let in, sulking and crying when we sternly kept her out as a punishment for peeing inside and tripping people up while happily exploring the office. She attacked everyone's feet, appropriated everyone's shoes and tried to eat all the computer wires she could find. From time to time the boss would lift her up onto his table and she would sit contentedly on his warm laptop charger and sleep off while it baked her little butt. She was beautiful. 

She hadn't been turning up to office for a week or so and so I went to ask the neighbouring office people, who usually fed her, where she was. They told me she died. She wandered out onto the road and was hit by a car. 

I knew that puppy for exactly a month and I fell fully in love with her. In the back of my mind I vaguely feel like I might be overreacting to the death of a puppy that I knew for barely any time at all, but... the memories of this one month itself are a tad painful. How she would always go and sit on the feet of the one girl who was terrified of her. How she would weave in between everyone's legs as they'd crowd around the table for lunch. How she'd attack the little plastic bowling pins that are always (inexplicably) lying around in office and run around with them. She was a very tiny little thing that barely lived before she died, just because she didn't know any better.

This probably happens a hundred times a day around the city, around the country. It makes me glad to think there are organisations out there who go about sterilising stray dogs so that there are no puppies to go and die when they can't be taken care of, caring for them when they fall sick, urging people to adopt stray dogs over buying pedigreed ones so that these scrappy things can have better lives. 

These are two organisations that I know of and keep hearing of. Head on over and donate to them, or any other that you might know, so they can do what they do a little better, because of you.



How I'd feel if a dog I had known for years had died is unimaginable.

But I will still adopt a stray puppy whenever I can. I'll adopt a whole bunch someday. And I'll coddle them and love them till I'm known as that crazy animal lady. 

RIP Kunti.


Monday, June 10, 2013

Disjointed life update.

While I perform stern and propah grownup activities such as looking for houses and buying a Raymonds suit with a faine looking man, the clouds they rain merry merry on me.

***
I've seen only 3 houses till now but even that much is spectacularly depressing. Reams of desolate poetry has been written about the Bombay real estate scene, for it is a ruler most fickle and fierce. My new job has ensured that I am happily broke and every time a broker states rent rate, my newly relocated heart it plummets and weeps.

Hopefully a home shall soon be found which I do not have to sell any limbs for. A home which gives a warm yellow glowing feeling inside, a home which feels like your whole world once you're in it.

***
I have a recently concluded trip to Turkey with my best friends, a shiny new job, and an upcoming wedding. I'm very happy.

Best of luck to meeee.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

A piece of apple floats in a sea of absolute delight.

So much I've been eating, so much I've been eating. Mygawd.

Dhansak and custard and bread pudding and tender coconut icecream and chunky chocolate icecream and mango lassi and Philadelphia cheesecake and molten chocolate birthday cake and red velvet cupcakes and carrot cake cupcakes with a little carrot drawn in cream on top. 

How can people not enjoy food? How can people not want to roam the world and eat all the pretty and exotic and interesting things in sight?

I have discovered scones. Contrary to all expectations, they do not look like cones. I always imagined them looking like those cheap cream puffs with orange cream in the hollow centre. They are so good boss. I want to wear a hat made of one large scone and nibble away gently at it whenever the mood strikes. If I could do this, I would turn my milliner into a millionaire.

So Tea Centre has been next to my office for some 8 months now and I never stepped into it because I always thought "Meh who's going to pay so much money for chaaaaaaaaaai." I have now eaten my words and a large portion of their ridiculously good menu.

They have this wonderful nonsense thing called hot buttered apple tea and it is like wholeseome happy warmth in a cup. It is what cuddles are made of. It is the tangible version of the feeling you get when you glance at someone and catch them looking at you with gentle unwavering affection and a promise of many beautiful things to come and see yourself reflected in their glasses looking puzzled and so very happy. 

I'm leaving this office in a few days and this makes me sad for the sole reason that I want to be  able to pop next door and spend several Bombay monsoon days in Tea Centre's chairs with a book and a pot of this tea.

Cannot wait for the monsoon. This weather makes me want to go bald and then throw my hair at the sun in a desperate act of frustration that would achieve absolutely nothing but make people stare at me in astonishment and maybe buy me a cup of tea to calm me down?