Bye Bye Baby...

Moving into a new apartment...

I'm excited. Its a lovely space that I look forward to calling my own. It's also odd, the way my second flat was, with nooks and crannies that seem inexplicable and fun and the result of an architect's stab at having a good time induging the random quirk in an city that cant breathe. It's also...large. Not large. But feels large. A thousand square feet that will set me free and allow me to have the luxury of us wandering from one room to the other.(Us meaning Jam and I) I cant explain the miracle that is space for me.To have the freedom of defining one corner as my writing desk and the other for my afternoon attempts at yogic fitness. To have a hat stand, with all the hats I've collected...to have a favourite chair where I can breathe in my chai and cigarette...It's going to be the 4th flat I call my own, since I moved out...one for every year of independence...2 cities, four homes...and a truckload of memories...and maybe, I'll stay longer this time...

Goodbye old flat. I probably wont miss you because I'm not that kind of girl. But it was great. I'll always remember you. I've had some incredibly special moments with you. And some pretty extra special, crazy ones we wont tell anyone about. And I learnt how to be alone and not lonely in this city, with you. You're very good looking, and it felt right. Till last month.
It's not you, it's me.
I just need a little more room.

It's lovely, this bit. It makes me want (want) to get up early.

Earlier.
This bit is meant for me to write...but...


There's an orange cat downstairs and they sort of eyeball each other....
No, she never goes out/down.


My cluttered kingdom...


For J, who thinks I'm endearingly psychotic. And who immortalized the couch. Futon. Whatever.


It's very strange, this is the only picture I realize I took in my bedroom...



Ta...



Update : Please read this.

Flashing in my pan...

People interest me. Watching them has been a hobby for the longest time. I meet so many that while it may not have the extreme and evocative consequences that a new, wonderful meal is almost certain to have on me, it gives me great pleasure to discover new, wonderful personalities all the time. Sometimes they’re ones I would never have the chance to gravitate toward in a crowd. If you work in a very cold building with great coffee and large plaques celebrating the single handed inception of the first automated sliding door, chances are, even if we have some bizarrely mutual friend and end up in the same room somehow, we wont head straight for each other to have a fun chat on why I like Indian stir fry on my fusilli. However, if by some second bizarre chance card in my pack or yours, we end up faced with the prospect of small talk and opening lines, I may just discover that you’re the first woman I’ve met who strangely loves absolutely anything made of wax as much as I do. And we may talk for a while and then a lot longer, and realize we speak the same language. Often it’s not about what you do have in common.
Some of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met aren’t nice, just very interesting. Some are friends, dear and distant, some are family. A couple of boyfriends, colleagues, senior professionals, an old teacher, old flame….

I met A a long time ago. A’s ability to get things done is immense. He motivates and manages and manipulates, all with the ease of the performer that knows he is too good to slip for even a second and break that perfect illusion created in that moment. A is a tiny man, and under ordinary circumstances, might have been nondescript. But under no circumstances, is A ordinary. His eyes glitter; his small, imperfect body is so alive it could catch fire. In fact, A is on fire. He loves success and he knows he is the glorious one, adored for all the wrong reasons. There are those around him that see the shrewd, cunning man he intrinsically is and the many masks he has perfected over the years. And they, like me, would work with him (under certain conditional terms born from the wisdom of experience), in a heartbeat. Because A can extract from a performer like no other. Because A knows exactly what you are capable of, as an actor, and I have realized, as a human being. Some strange power dancing in those amused eyes sees through you and knows if you are lying about your lover, your lines or your linen. A just knows. And the way to handle that is to simply let him know and not waste your time and his fabulous energy in confirmations, denials or anything but what he can give and take from you. I hate to admit how devilishly attractive A is. And so is the devil I’m sure.

Pablo's 'Three'...

Somebody explain to me why it takes a swift kick on one’s metaphorical butt to realize that one is worthy of better things? Better everythings. Better music, better hair, better bottomlines, better sex, better life. Even better jokes. Better boundaries. Better definitions. A better body. More logic. Better heart. Better head. Better butt. Hm.


Here’s today's crossword.

A met B. Thought B was just fine. Better than any before B. Best therefore. Without a sell by date. A and B became AB. B was thrilled.

Cut to first 5 years. A and B are at each others throats a lot. A lot. But had forgotten life outside AB. Sailed along. Mostly without much talking to each other.

Cut to 5 years later. AB going strong. A is fatter, angrier, a little brash. B is fatter, angrier, and more than a little silent. Seething too.

AB acknowledges The Boat isn’t doing its smoothest sailing. One conversation occurs. Things are better for a day. Then AB go back to their usual. Squabbles, silence and sporadic sex.


Cut to 2 years later. AB has AB Baby. They’ve also stopped talking, stopped smiling, and stopped doing it. Well, they do smile and talk a little, but both are really angry inside. The other has no idea. They love Baby AB though and coo a lot at the crib.

Cut to six months. A meets C. They discover they fit. Like. Never. Before.

Ct to six more months. The fat is in the fire.

You’d think that it would be a simple life eh? A simple logical set of proceedings?

Nope.

A has had 12 years with B. A has had 6 crazy, kick ass amazing months with C. A discovers life and love, aren’t easy like Sunday morning. A discovers he loves B. More than he thought. More than ever before, when faced with the prospect of A-B. A also discovers he loves C. Like. Never. Before. And now, there’s Junior.

B and C are no wilting asparagus. Just in love. An inconvenient truth. Mean merry go triangle. And A's no macho villain. Just a sad person.

And I thought I was sad.

T s k.

All pals. All good people. Que sera sera guys. Maybe not.

Lola undercover...

I’m on a long-ish flight. The kind I’m usually bored intensely by, and the kind that usually has a very victimized Mother and her indignant Baby on board. The kind I’m constantly looking for anything to entertain my self with. Today, however, is behaving itself. On the way to the airport, I kept thinking highly focused thoughts, all of which I hope to swing speedily into action as soon as I land. I was booked on one of the only 2.5 decent airlines in the country (I have turned into validly bitter snob refusing anything else after much misery aboard the rest, I assure you). No rush at the airport, the latte guy didn’t screw up, boarding happened pretty much on time. Then we hung around the tarmac for an hour politely indulging all aircraft traffic ahead but I still managed to amuse myself with my extra special James Brown and usual fantasies of a yogic bodied self performing to his tunes. It’s still reasonably early in the morning, we’ve taken off, and breakfast was a pretty good bite. I have yet to fulfill my fantasy of meeting someone really interesting next to me on a flight (Not 3 aisles down, thanks very much) and having a fabulous resulting time. However, centre seat is empty and gentleman in aisle seat is not earnestly striking up conversation or reading my screen over my shoulder. Instead he is wearing fancy headgear obviously designed to facilitate some serious shut eye. Also, on my way back from the loo, nice steward (or is it air host?) with charming smile and twinkling manner, asked if I wanted to help him in the kitchen. A little sunshine with that coffee and I think it’s going to be a good day.

These days, a good day is a great day. Baby steps. Kid gloves.

I’m going to be blogging a lot more regularly. And I think everyone should. Especially those of you that I read often. Now that I’ve told you what to do, Zen, Rae, Sourapple, Hari etc etc, tell me to go take a hike. Which I’m doing soon by the way. A real one. With fellow adventurers, all highly superior in their survival abilities.

Sunshine is back, offering me candies before landing. Pity I’m picky. About sweet things. Sigh.

Jam was catching up on some reading. I don’t blame her, my Vogue covers are delicious. As for the snazzy Santa shot above, I was being forced into ho hoing for the birdy, in one of Bombay’s disco autos.

Soon I will be buying my first, probably tiny car. And praying while I relearn the math of driving. Driving in Bombay city. Stop laughing. Now.