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One of my greatest fears would be turning into a person I'd feel pity for.

(I accidentally typed out 'features' instead of 'fears' initially. Hmm.)

Learning #102659073

So, what has been my greatest learning after that BBC scene?

To be dressed well at any given point in time.

For if I wasn’t wearing my purple shorts from Goa and a tshirt that supported the Indian Beedi Association, I would be at the ceremony, finding out about what my real ‘are-you-ferking-kidding-me’ face is, and hopefully, meeting some very interesting people. Not to mention stuffing my mouth with tons of dessert.

Obviously, the photo alongside was taken a day after the event. That day turned out to be rather boring and I came home feeling like I had wasted my limited units of 'effort' allotted to morning dressing.

Holy Perspective Aravani!

A year (and a little more) of travelling to Versova every day has meant that I exchange pleasantries, small talk and big, fat grins with a lot of people en route. Like the take out guys at Mc Donalds who watch sympathetically as I cuss at auto wallahs refusing to give me a ride or the watchman at the UTI ATM who looks like he might kick the bucket any minute or the TC who fits the image of a 'Khurana Uncle' with his neatly oiled hair, crisp white shirt and gutkha stained teeth.

And finally, the pretty eunuch at the signal who greets me with a 'Haay, haav aar you?' and follows it up with a, 'Naashta kiya?' almost every day.

The other morning as my auto halted a little longer than usual, I was allowed a few more minutes of conversation with her. (I say ‘her’, because I once watched a documentary about the Aravanis from Andhra and how they prefer to be referred to as female, so I applied the same logic here.)

She: (sticks her head into the auto and places her hand on my bag) Naashta kiya?Haay!
Me: (as I handed her loose change) Haan kiya
She: Kahaan jaa rahey ho?
Me: Offiss!
She: Offiss jaa rahe ho aap?
Me: Aap kahaan rehtey ho?(Pointing in the direction of the station) Yahan?
She: No! Hum Sion koliwada.
Me: Haan? Itnee door?
She: Kya karein? Karna padta hai.
Just then our conversation was interrupted by crazy bellowing horns, which in Bombay terms means the green light is on and traffic is finally moving.
She: Okseeyou Madam!
Me: Bye!

Consequently, my rickshah driver got back to navigating through traffic, my Aravani got back to standing under the traffic signal waiting for it to turn red, and I started feeling like a total uptown retard for complaining relentlessly about traveling for an hour everyday to get to work* irrespective of the fact that I would be greeted by nice people, smashing ideas, an air conditioner, several lunch boxes and a wide, open terrace.

And so, once again, I decided to stop complaining**.

Because c'mon, it hardly gets any worse than living at Sion Koliwada. In a colony of eunuchs. Travelling by the Central line. Then coming to work. To beg. For a livelihood. Raised to infinity.

*In 3 different modes of transport, mind you! ... Whaaa? I had to mention it because I'm still very accepting of pity looks and points.

**Let's see how long this lasts. I'm working with a 40 day time frame.

All Tool'ed Out

Woke up yesterday with Tool's 'The Pot' playing in my head.
Spent the next three hours singing the first two lines out loud; in the corridor, in the shower, in my mom's face.

'Who are you to wave your finger?
Ya' must have been out your head.'

Woke up this morning, looked at the digital clock on my phone read 6:40.
The first thing that came to mind was Tool's 'Forty Six & 2'

This may have something to do with me stealing that mindbending 10,000 Days album cover (not the album, mind you) from a dear friend when he was fully wasted and focusing his energies on pretending like he wasn't.
Or, it might have something to do with the absence of the badass bassist who taught me all about odd time signatures as we spent a thousand billion afternoons counting 9/8 in 'Jambi' till I got the fundamentals of the compound meter right.
And started tapping my feet and the table in congruence with ALL of Tool's music.
All of it.

Dear Guys

When you tell us women that a lot of gay men hit on you, are you slyly implying that we should think you’re attractive too?
I really hope not.
Because the minute you say that, in our heads, we’re running through lists of our gay friends we wouldn’t mind hooking you up with.

Your Ipod's on the Floor.

I was charging my ipod at work when it fell from the top of the CPU and landed face upwards on the floor.
I was very tempted to pick it up and put it back on top, but instead I just let it lie there.

This is my brain during those three seconds:
My ipod is on the floor.
Should I pick it up?
Would letting it lie on the floor mean I'm disrespecting it?
(My mother always told me letting things lie on the floor had something to do with disrespect. I cannot quite fathom what but that connection was made when I was a child and it stuck.)

Maybe I should let it lie there.
Su loved putting things on the floor.
In our hostel room there'd always be books lying on the floor near the head of the bed.
(This had something to do with them being withing arm's reach and when I saw it happening around me so much I thought it to be extremely practical, provided you had a clean floor. Also, it didn't imply disrespect at all.)

So after staring at the ipod for a while and clouding my mind with these multi layered contradictions, I decided to let it lie there, on a firm floor, with the cable resting easy on the side, glancing at it every now and then as it stared at my legs.

Too Long for Twitter

Accidentally tripping over pictures of an ex looking eugh while you're still trying to get over them is a feeling very similar to finding money in your pocket.

-

P.S.: I’m not trying to get over anyone. I wish I was though. Because that would mean that at some point I'd dated someone that amazing. But alas.

Sweet Relief!

Let me overdo this while I can. Because a few hours from now, I might not feel the same way about sharing it.
Also, this Twitter screen shot is brought to you by Robin Sloan's Blackbird Pie, introduced to me by dramaqueen

Telling someone they make your stomach flip, in a cute butterfly in your tummy way, is one of the most awesomely relieving feelings ever!less than a minute ago via Twitter for BlackBerry®Girija Naiksatam
giddyja

On Taking Criticism Well

I have been told more than five times that I take criticism really well.
On a rough estimate, three out of those five times, it's come from the same people who criticized me, or provided me with feedback, as I'd like to put it.

While all of it doesn't make me feel too bad about myself, I just wish I had the heart to tell most of them that the only reason I listened to them so patiently was because I didn't really give a damn about what they were saying or think that their opinion counted at all.

Because, we can't control people wanting to throw shit at us, but we can be selective about making a noise about it in case it hits us in the face or leaves a stain on our beautiful beige jackets.

ASAP

There's a huge demographic of bored, dissatisfied 24-30 year olds wanting to 'quit their job' and 'do something else' that some brand of wine needs to tap into. Soon.

Monsoon Depression

The monsoons depress me so much that if I allowed myself, I’d cry tears that were bigger than raindrops.

And I Mean This in a Good Way

The Fact That...

The fact that a lesbian might have lived in my hostel and that I never even tried to verify it (in the presence of so much bait) saddens me to no end!

I am so hungry that...

I am so hungry that I want to cover the whole planet with gooey evil dark cocoa, pack it in a sweet bun and eat it! But then again, it’s full of human worms and filthy oil spills so maybe not.

Who...

Ate my chi?
Invaded my aura?
Leaked my karma?
And stole my cosmic manipulator?

'Coz You Got Fat

It’s so tiring making up excuses and giving explanations.
Can’t I just say, ‘coz you got fat’ and hang up?
Or if this were reality, say, ‘coz you got a beer belly and you don’t even drink!’ and hang up?

The Good Thing

The good thing about religiously practicing yoga for four years or more is that, over time, a not-so-pleasant memory remains but the unpleasantness associated with it fades away.
The bad thing about religiously practicing yoga is that it leaves you with the concoction of a forgetful heart that's as reckless as ever and an experienced mind trying hard to drill better sense into it.

Boring = Death

The Thing With

I started this post with...
The thing with dating someone who doesn't read or have a preference for music is that you never know what to give them for their birthday.

But then realized that it should ideally be...
The thing with dating someone who doesn't read or have a preference for music is that you shouldn’t be dating them.

No Chewing

I assume that right at this moment, the Universe is having a really good time in bed, when all I want is for it to swallow me up. Whole. Minus any chewing.