Resurrection

The problem with being in the shell is that you’re safe, but it’s bloody boring!

So after not showing up at B’s Saturday night party, and brushing off the boyz who wanted to come over and watch a film today, I think it’s time to face the world again.
_____________________________________________________

Had a great time with my six year old niece, A, yesterday evening. She was ‘teaching’ me how to draw. I had to copy her drawings. She is amazingly good – I was really impressed with the detail she put in. “Okay, now I have to draw the small house.” “That’s not a house, that’s the dog’s kennel outside the house!” One of the trees she had drawn had lots of fruit and then something that looked like a kite. I asked her if it was a kite that had got in the branches and she said no, it’s a diamond and if you get it you can go to the next level! I think this kid has been playing too many computer games!
_____________________________________________________

Went to Dilli Haat this evening. The wonderful Weaves thingy that everyone’s been raving about. It was bloody boring. Just tons of sarees – I really do not understand about sarees and cannot go gaga over metres of fabric. Did buy the great dried cherry apple from the Nagaland place, and a great little notebook from the Navdanya stall. It’s quite crazy, has Kali on the cover, cheap gota as a border, a gold thread holding it together, and then inside this really good quality handmade paper. I’m very pleased with it – it’s just so odd!
______________________________________________________

Got a long mail from X explaining his pov. Was valid of course, but I still can’t understand how he could just block me out without even giving me a chance to explain my side of it. I don’t think I deserved that. No matter how upset he was, he owed me that much.

Pink

The thing that hit me the hardest in 'The Wall' was when Pink curls up and rocks himself in a foetal position.

I used to do that. Not rock myself, but stroke my hair with my hand and say things to myself like 'Don't worry. It's alright. You're fine.' Like my hand was another person.

I don't do that anymore. I seem to be stronger. But I do still do the oversleeping, escaping the world by hiding under the covers for prolonged periods.

Looks like this blog is going to go the diary way after all.

My Father

Was going through an old personal diary last night. Found two entries centred around my father and his death. I was twenty two when I wrote them and I am reproducing them here as they were written then, unmodified by any fresh perspectives.

Dear Dad,

When A Auntie showed me that framed picture of you it felt strange.

On one hand, I felt proud and fond of you, and on the other I know that when you were alive I didn’t really care about you. As far as I can remember we never really had a strong relationship.

You led a very confused and complicated life – full of sex and illegitimate children. But I know you must have been lonely and unhappy.

I don’t really know how much you cared about me. You sent weird signals like advising S to have sex with as many people as possible. And biting me on my back and saying – ‘That’s what it feels like’.

Staying over at your place was not something I particularly liked doing. In fact, I usually did it because grown-ups told me that you would be pleased.

I know you were disappointed that I was not a boy and didn’t play cricket.

I was surprised to find myself so upset when you died and even now at times when I think of you. Is it just base sentimentality or is there some truth behind such feelings?

I know now that you were a man of humour, intelligence and compassion – as in when you were going to wring that poor dying dog’s neck.

Perhaps now that I’m older, if you had been alive we could have been closer. Or maybe it would have been worse. Perhaps it’s better that you’re no more.

Another good thing about you was that you were very genuine.

But the thing that hurts me the most about your death has got nothing to do with you. It’s the fact that the family, especially Mom, have never visited your grave. I feel that if I were to die tomorrow everyone would forget about me in no time as well.

Anyway, overall I guess you were a good person as you let your intuition guide you and were true to yourself.

Rest in Peace.
____________________________________________________

C watched through the blur of her tears her family throw clods of earth and red rose petals on her father’s coffin which would soon be six feet below the ground.

When her mother had picked her up from her school bus-stop in her office car, C had been pleasantly surprised. Her mother had never done such a thing. She usually walked drearily to her aunt’s, had lunch, did her homework, read and hung about till it was 6 o’clock and time to go home. That was when her Mom would come back home and she looked forward to the evenings when she was in her own home. She did not like being at her aunt’s where she felt like a poor relative.

She looked at the other graves – some black and cold, others friendly with flower-beds. There were also tiny ones with ‘Baby so-and-so’ on them.

She remembered trying to joke to herself about her father’s wobbling stomach as his body was being carried out. But try as she might she couldn’t keep her tears at bay.

Her sister was freaking out and crying without holding back so her mother was busy comforting her. She sat alone at the back, controlling her tears, listening to women gossip about her father’s affairs.

She had stood that morning in front of the mirror, wearing a white salwar kameez, gazing coquettishly out of the white chiffon chunni on her head, playing the beautiful bereaved daughter. Then she had felt guilty and had taken off her earrings.

She stood there watching them burying her father and wondered how they could be so calm and resigned.

Get Over It

I'm over this. From this moment, I'm over this.

Shell Safe

This is the third time this year that someone I truly liked has let me down and made me feel an inch tall.

Talk about a lesson being served to you again and again till you learn it.

Time to crawl back into my shell again. I hate people. All they ever do is hurt you.

and then there are people like this...

If, after all that you know of me, you think that I had written that to insult you, I’m really hurt.

I’m too hurt by your cutting me off like you have to be able to write this clear-headedly.

I am deeply sorry, though I know this will not mean anything to you.

Actually I’m just shaken. I can’t believe you wouldn’t even give me a chance to reply.

I have been aware of the wall that you had between us, it was frustrating, but I liked you enough to be content with whatever you chose to share.

Was what I did really that bad? Does it totally negate everything else?

Maybe you were just being kind all along.

Were you waiting for me to trip up so that you’d have an excuse to get rid of me?

Feudal Pakistan

I do not like Pakistanis. No, let me change that. I do not like upper-class Pakistanis.

They have this certain feudal demeanour – as though everyone around them is just there to serve them.

It comes across in very direct ways – for example, the way they deal with servants; and in subtle ways as well, for example, just in the way they ask to borrow a pen. Not as a favour, but as if it is their right to demand your pen.

They seem to think that by screaming and throwing their weight around they can sidestep regulations and procedures and get their way. And the sad part is, that in third world countries like mine, they generally do.

So much for their liberal American educations.

Also, two of the three manic depressives I know are Pakistani. I think it’s because they keep marrying their sisters and brothers.

I’m sorry if I sound terribly prejudiced, but these are observed facts.
_________________________________________________

Yesterday when I told boss woman I had seen ‘Bride and Prejudice’ and liked it but didn’t think it was ground-breaking etc., she hemmed and hawed and said she would discuss it with me tomorrow. I was really looking forward to a stimulating, mind-opening discussion today but all she could give me was “The film achieved what the director set out to do. There’s not much more that a film can do.” Disappointing.

Pakistani Passports / New Friends

The Pakistani passport application form contains the following:


Declaration in case of Muslims

I, ____________________ s/o ______________________ Age ______________ Years, adult Muslim, Resident of ____________________________________

hereby solemnly declare that:

(1) I am Muslim and believe in the absolute and unqualified finality of the prophethood of Muhammad (peace be upon him) the last of the prophets.

(2) I do not recognize any person who claims to be a prophet in any sense of the word or any description whatsoever after Muhammad (peace be upon him) or recognize such claimant as prophet or religious reformer as a Muslim.

(3) I consider Mirza Ghulam Ahmad Quadiani to be an impostor Nabi and also consider his followers whether belonging to the Lahori or Quadiani group to be Non-Muslim.


Ya Allah! Thank goodness this is secular India, even if the secularism is being reduced to a mask. Notice the s/o but no d/o. Observe the fact that no religious reformer is ever going to have a chance to change the system cos he or she will immediately be branded kafir.

God Bless Pakistan.
____________________________________________________

I have been making lots of small mistakes at work recently – like sending off an important mail and forgetting the attachment.

I know why. It’s so boring that my mind is constantly keeping itself occupied by thinking of other things – books, people, films, what have you…everything but the task at hand. I haven’t used my brain at work for months now. The docu shoot should start in March so things will pick up then. But this waiting around for funders to respond is killing.

Need to talk to boss woman about this. Hopefully we can work something out or else I will go mad.
________________________________________________________

The winter seems to be bringing with it new friends.

The Englishman has been messaging me throughout the week after we met up during the weekend. He’s 35 and has a great Irish accent since he grew up there. Even regular things that he says sound humorous cos of the rhythm of his accent. I quite like him. “My last girlfriend, she left me, cos she said I was too nice.” :) Wish text could convey the accent when he said that!

Then there’s this young girl, a neighbour at my in-laws. Bumped into her at the Pujas and we chatted for a while. She seems to have developed some sort of an infatuation – she sends me these cutesy pie messages - the ones with graphics made of punctuation, and then one really long one about how she was thinking of me and loved chatting to me that day etc. Hmmm. Not too sure how to handle this one. She is South Indian, 5’9”, slim figure, with sharp features. I told her she should think of modelling and she groaned because apparently everyone says that!

Then there’s G, 22, F’s friend who he brought along to Shimla. Really like her. She’s extremely quiet, but once she gets talking you realize that she’s intelligent and sensitive. Nice person. Plan to meet up with her this Saturday.
____________________________________________________

For some days now, I have wanted to give someone (in the most ambiguous meaning of ‘someone’) a red rose. Go figure.

Cactus Jump's Day Off

Called in sick today. I have an upset stomach, feeling exhausted and my eye is all swollen and watery. Have promised myself that I will rest, laze around and watch TV and not think of anything stressful. Will maybe make a relaxed trip to the market in the evening to buy cat food.
­­­­­­­­_________________________________________________

Bride and Prejudice

So I finally did see ‘Bride and Prejudice’ last night.

I hate it when a movie has been all built up and you are unable to see it before you hear everyone’s opinion on it and have seen all the reviews. It is difficult to see the movie for what it is then, and while watching it, you are under the pressure of knowing that you are going to be milked for your opinion later.

Sigh. Anyway, I wasn’t blown by the film. I didn’t hate it either as everyone has.

I don’t quite agree with boss woman that it is ground-breaking and achieves a poetic balance. She has achieved quite a balance between the western and Bollywood styles of film making but at times the balance tips and makes the film look like a bad spoof – like when the lifeguards run down on to the beach singing an alaap. The songs were terrible, the music was awful and the lyrics were totally bland. I kind of liked the Grease-like number with the girls in their pj’s. I would have thought Farhan Akhtar would have done a better job of the lyrics, I was so in awe of him after Dil Chahta Hai. And then so let down with the unintelligent Paki-bashing Lakshya, and now these terrible lyrics.

I don’t see what the big fuss is about Santosh Sivan’s camera work either. His cinematography was much more interesting in Dil Se and Fiza. Boss woman’s says he must have studied Sense and Sensibility very carefully because he has matched the framing of that film. But I don’t see why that is a big deal either.

I didn’t think Aishwarya Rai was as bad as everyone has been making out. True, she couldn’t infuse much warmth into her character, but she wasn’t all that plasticy either.

In fact I’m getting pretty bored with this whole Aishwarya-bashing that everyone is so into these days. Someone even said that the only thing they liked about the film was that she saw Aishwarya’s fat arms and double chin. That is so malicious to my mind. She isn’t fabulously talented, but thanks to her looks if she is getting a chance, and is doing the best that she can, what’s so wrong with that?
____________________________________________________

Dogville

Now this film is pure poetry! Watched it over the weekend on DVD.

The weird map-like set with no buildings irks at first, but it soon grows on you and you no longer even notice it. The starkness of it adds to the grim tale of morality that he tells. Very different from Dancer in the Dark. Von Trier is a true experimenter. Wish I could get hold of one of his Dogma films.

And the beautiful and talented Ms. Kidman is brilliant as usual. It’s strange how not only can she perform different characters with ease, but how her face changes to suit each character. Sure she had the help of a prosthetic nose in The Hours, but if you notice her eyes – in The Hours her eyes shine with intellect, in Dogville there is hurt and confusion at the bestiality of the human race, and in that B-grade movie, the one where she orchestrates a murder to get a TV job, they are chillingly cold. But besides the eyes, her entire face can look so different. Yeah sure makeup helps, but it seems tome that she has a paranormal ability to actually rearrange her facial features!
_____________________________________________________

The Hours

Another great passage from The Hours:

This particular novel concerns a serene, intelligent woman of painfully susceptible sensibilities who once was ill but has now recovered; who is preparing for the season in London, where she will give and attend parties, write in the mornings and read in the afternoons, lunch with friends, dress perfectly. There is true art in it, this command of tea and dinner tables; this animating correctness. Men may congratulate themselves for writing truly and passionately about the movements of nations; they may consider war and the search for God to be great literature’s only subjects; but if men’s standing in the world could be toppled by an ill-advised choice of hat, English literature would be dramatically changed.

---- The Hours, Michael Cunningham

Aaah, yes!

Bangalore

Something a friend said has got me thinking about Bangalore…

I lived in Bangalore till I was five with my sister and mother.

At first we lived in a flat and I went to kindergarten at the International School with lots of white kids as classmates.

Then we shifted to my mom’s friend M’s place. This was a great time in my life and I have lots of fond memories of my then best friend, Ansari Banu. I didn’t go to school anymore for some reason. My mom taught me to read and count at home. So I’d wake up in the morning, she’d teach me for a couple of hours, and then I’d wait for Ansari to come home from school.

She was a year older than me and went to a regular school. She had a large family – a big mommy who was an absolute sweetheart, a quiet dad who went to work on his cycle in the morning and came back cycling in the evening, and SEVEN brothers and sisters! One sister, about 14, had something physically wrong with her. She was very skinny and would sit on a bench in the sun all day and did not go to school. She had trouble walking, but she was not mentally underdeveloped or anything.

Her eldest sister, I wish I remembered her name, was the kind of didi that little girls looked up to naturally. She was studying to be a teacher, and would practice on us little kids in the evening. She held classes for us and some of the other neigbourhood kids in their garage in the evenings. I remember how I argued with my mom when my mom said forty was spelt ‘F-O-U-R-T-Y’ and I said no, because didi said it was ‘F-O-R-T-Y’! And of course didi was right!

She had a younger brother, the youngest child, about two, another brother who I think was her twin, or maybe a year older, and then the oldest brother who was an auto rickshaw driver! Once on a holiday, he took all of us kids for a ride in his auto! He did not live in the same house however, he was married and lived with his wife in the village. I think there must have been some kind of misunderstanding between his wife and his parents or something cos Ansari once said something nasty about his wife.

Oh and I had all these nice fairytale books – The Firebird and other Russian folk tales, Stories from the Bible etc. and the didi would borrow them from me and read them and encourage the physically weak sister to read them. She was so keen to learn somehow and polish her English. I don’t remember what they spoke at home, probably some South Indian language.

Their house also had a swing which their dad had built! And once in a while on Sundays, because they had a TV, they would take it out in the courtyard, put down durries and invite the neighbourhood to watch the Sunday flick. Great fun!

I remember Id when the parents gave all the kids two rupees as Idi, and I got one rupee too! We would go to the village nearby and spend our money on churan, green mango, imli, sweets, kites, little toys! We played hopscotch and ‘Crocodile Crocodile’. We made up little skits and ballets! Other occasional people in our gang were two 10 or 12 year old Christian girls who were very good and studied at a convent and who taught us to steal handfuls of sugar from their mom’s kitchen! Two richer kids whose mom we were all terrified of. She didn’t like us ruffians and would tell us she would throw chilli powder in our eyes for some imagined wrong that we had done to her house or kids. We NEVER went in her house though.

Thank God my mom allowed me to run amuck with that lot!

When I look back I realize what a cool family they were. So broadminded. They never made me feel like an outsider or looked at me as ‘exotic’, despite the fact that I was not from their social, economic or religious background .

I hope they are all well. And I hope my Ansari Banu, wherever she is, is happy. Mashallah!

Self Pity / The Hours

One of those nights again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No, I do know, but that doesn’t help.

I do know where this unsociable character comes from, I can trace its roots. But how does that help?

I thought I was doing so well. Chatting up everyone on the trip. And then tonight.

Am I being hard on myself? Does it really matter? If it doesn’t then why does it feel so strongly that it does.

There is no one right now that I feel like being with. Not my best friend, not my husband. Not even the unknown perfect stranger. Just want to be with me.

I feel so inadequate. Why does the world place such a high premium on talk?

And it’s not just the superficial who do. Some deep thinker said ‘Speak so I can see you.’.

Damn. I should be way over this by now. I’m 27 for Chrissake.

It should be simple. Why is it such a big deal?

Anyway no point dwelling.
______________________________________________________________

My favourite bit from ‘The Hours’:

She and Sally bought all these things, she can remember every transaction, but she feels now that they are arbitrary, the spigot and the counter and the pots, the white dishes. They are only choices, one thing and then another, yes or no, and she sees how easily she could slip out of this life – these empty and arbitrary comforts. She could simply leave it and return to her other home, where neither Sally nor Richard exist: where there is only the essence of Clarissa, a girl grown into a woman, still full of hope, still capable of anything. It is revealed to her that all her sorrow and loneliness, the whole creaking scaffold of it, stems simply from pretending to live in this apartment among these objects, with kind, nervous Sally, and that if she leaves she’ll be happy, or better than happy. She’ll be herself. She feels briefly, wonderfully alone, with everything ahead of her.

-------- The Hours, Michael Cunningham

Being 22 / The Niece

Being 22

The Niece A, our friend who she has the hots for D, husband B and I went out last night. Basically A wanted to meet up with D but insisted that I should come along, so I tagged along B.

It was a strange experience. Both these 22 year olds had their hormones raging all over the place. B and I felt really old watching the coochie-cooing getting more intense as the evening progressed and the liquor flowed.

It was really funny – D would go downstairs to smoke a joint with his friends and A would say to the both of us how worried she was that she may have lost her chance with him cos she mentioned her boyfriend back home by mistake. And she’d fill us in on all the little details of the conversation between them in the car. And then she would go down and D would tell us how awesomely hot he thought she was. And he’d fill us in on all the little details of the conversation between them in the car. Then A would come back up and say she wanted D to drop her home but how should she breach the subject. And then D would tell us that he really wanted to drop her home but how should he wangle it since we were going her way and his home was in the opposite direction.

And B and I just sat there like wise ringmasters orchestrating this little lust charade.

At one point B was giving A intense gyan on life, marriage, freedom etc. and she seemed to be listening to him really carefully and then suddenly she went into ‘Are you sure it’s okay that I mentioned my boyfriend to D?’ B and I just burst out laughing cos it was so obvious that she hadn’t heard a word he was saying and was thinking of him the whole time!

Anyway, he did drop her home. And they’re on a dinner date right now. God bless!


The Niece

The Niece, who is in fact boss woman’s niece, is a wonderful person. She is very open and full of life. She tries to juggle the restrictions imposed on her by her conservative Muslim parents with what she wants to do, and seems to get away with most of it. She is here on vacation with her mom, and with dad out of the picture is having a ball wearing spaghetti strap tops and meeting boys.

She is here to be shopping for her supposed wedding with her boyfriend. She said something to me when she first got here that I found really strange. She said she couldn’t wait to get married cos then she would have so much freedom. I told this to boss woman cos I found it incredulous. And then boss woman explained the sad story to me. Her boyfriend is right now of course madly in love with her and agrees with whatever she wants to do. Her father is extremely patriarchal and she thinks that the only way she can gain her freedom is to get married to this guy. Boss woman has met this guy and says that he is extremely weak and is the kind of person who would give in to his parents and expect her to conform once she is married to him. Which means that she will be in a worse trap. She even admitted to boss woman that she would feel guilty to leave him even if she wanted to, since she has been in a relationship with him for so long. I felt so terrible. Not A, who is so full of life, so talented, who can do so much.

Boss woman is in fact more thrilled than A about D! Today when she came up and told us that she’d got an SMS from him asking if he could take her out to dinner (“Oh no – I’m so bad at restaurants. I have no table manners!” How I love this girl!) boss woman was all rah-rah telling her how she must meet other boys and not think that her boyfriend is the best etc. “Yes aunty, you’ve given me that lecture hundreds of times”.

I really do hope it works out for her. She is so aware of her limitations, and it does not occur to her that she just needs to take a stand and break free. Actually I’m sure it does occur to her, but it must be so scary to take on such an authoritative dad whom she loves deeply.

Today when she told me that the official story is that she is going out with me since she can’t tell her mom she is going out with D, boss woman said something very poignant. She said, you know A, I think your mom knows exactly what’s going on. Mothers always know. She wants you to hide and get away with it. Because if you were to tell her or she were to get to know, it would be her duty to stop you. But she doesn’t want to stop you. She wants you to do all this cos she knows she didn’t, and doesn’t want your life to end up like hers.

C’mon A – you can do it.

Blog bugs

The Profile etc. on this blog has been pushed to the bottom of the page because I cleverly wrote the previous post in Word and then pasted it into the blog, and it's too wide. I just can't fix it - have even tried deleting the darn post. It's deleted from the 'Posting' section but still appears on the blog for some reason. The date and time stamp is wrong too. Will work on this to get it right.
_____________________________________________________________________

The weather in Delhi is absolutely gorgeous today - it's been raining and feels like it's Shimla or Ranikhet. Dashed to Priya with Mom and B in the rain to see 'Bride and Prejudice' but of course didn't get tickets. The drive was lovely though.

Everyday Blah

Husband B has just set up my computer. About time, it’s been nine months since we moved to this place! This means that I can write my blog here at home and then put it online when I reach work..
______________________________________________________

Have been invited to a terrace party by the English chappie on the 16th. Not sure if I’ll go. The dinner I went to at his place a few months ago was strange – interesting but strange. There definitely is a nationality disconnect! And of course I don’t know any of his friends. Except for Jo – wish I knew her enough to just hang out with her. I really like her. She’s 40 and the only person I know who is completely happy just being herself and doesn’t need anyone to validate her. She’s so full of life and cheerful all the time. In fact, her energy and enthusiasm make me feel old! I remember how she was running up and down the mountain trails in Shimla while L and I struggled behind panting. Very sad – need to build strength and endurance, got to join the dance class again.
______________________________________________________

Met N from my ex-office last evening after work. It was strange, we usually have such a good time catching up. But not so yesterday, maybe we’re both just too bored. Hope next time is better cos she is the nicest person I know. Amazing how she would look out for people in the team without them even knowing. Most people would take the credit and brag about how they got someone more interesting work or a promotion. But she just does it in her quiet, unassuming way. I wish she was more assertive, she deserves much better in that organization.
______________________________________________________

Have had quite a nice evening. B picked me up from work, I drove – quite well I may add! I think this is the first time in…feels like two years that he has had the evening free to spend with me. Went and had golguppas and then just talked and played with the cat. Am listening to Portishead – it’s beautiful. I always thought they were something like Prodigy – loud and in-your-face. But their music is really quite lovely – the woman is an amazing vocalist. Wonder when I’ll have the money to get the music system for my car. Am majorly in debt. Hope he gets work soon and pays me back!
______________________________________________________

The driving has been going quite badly – will not make my goal of going for my test on the 11th. Don’t know what happened just suddenly lost my confidence and didn’t feel like practicing anymore. Doesn’t help that B shouts at me all the time, or that Mom specially called to tell me that I shouldn’t practice in the new car cos I’m really bad! Shove it, I know I can do it – have to shut them out and just continue. Need a new goal date. Will make a point of driving for the next few days and then set it cos I want it to be realistic.
______________________________________________________

Moving the office tomorrow. Packed up everything today and arranged for the tempo for tomorrow. Will really need to learn to drive cos the new place is pretty far. Sigh – this was such a great location, right in the middle of things.
______________________________________________________

Saw ‘Yuva’ yesterday. B said I should since it has three characters – like my story idea. Loved the camera work – some guy called K Ravi Chandran. Also has a great fight sequence in the middle of heavy traffic on Howrah bridge.

‘Bride and Prejudice’ opens on Oct 8 – am dying to see after all I’ve read about it. Wonder how Aishwarya Rai will be! Seems like a strange casting choice but she (Gurinder Chadha) may have been pressurized by the producers. Except that she is also casting her in her next film – hmmm. Have been reading quite a few interviews of GC in the press recently – she is really interesting and has very different things to say. Wish I could work with her.

Boss woman, I have decided is not a great talent, but has the intelligence to make a narrative work. Plus she uses her education in Political Science for great story ideas. But, she and her husband have absolutely no sense of humour. Usually when I crack a joke I have to explain it to them, so I generally refrain.

I do miss being part of an office set-up – the chai and sutta breaks, the grape vine…it’s tough being the only employee when both of them are so dull.

In fact there is something very strange about boss woman, can’t place my finger on it. Consider this – she has been in Delhi for five years now and despite being a film maker who should be interested in people and situations, she has hardly made any attempt to know the city, she doesn’t show any interest at all. Apart from complaining about the bureaucracy, the servants etc. Her husband, S, can hardly even speak Hindi – after five years!

And there is a strange sense of distance with her. She hardly has made any friends here. Even though I’ve been working with her for a year, I feel absolutely no bond. Unlike my other bosses with whom I always shared a deep bond and continue to call on the phone.

Heck she doesn’t even seem to have much of a bond with her own daughter – it’s sort of put on, can’t explain it.
______________________________________________________

Winter is coming – can smell it in the evenings, legs are getting dry and scaly and did not have the AC on last night. Thank God.

Thanks to global warming the winters in Delhi now only last from about Nov to Jan.
______________________________________________________

Am reading ‘The Hours’. Have read ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ already and will read the screenplay of ‘The Hours’ when I finish the novel. Gawd I loved Nicole Kidman in that film. She’s such a fucking versatile actor. And of course Julianne Moore – loved that scene in the kitchen – minimal dialogue, but you know exactly what her state of mind is from her and her son’s body language and interactions with her husband and son – fucking brilliant film. Made Mom see it and she said ‘What rubbish – they’re all lesbians that’s all!’ Oh well!
______________________________________________________

Gawrsh – could go on writing but then I won’t have anything left for my other entries! Must go bathe now and rub lotion into the flaking calves!

Page 3

My mug on page three again – that makes it thrice!

Strange phenomenon – page three, and the photographers as well. I wonder what kind of brief they get. From what one sees on page 3 – ‘Get shots of women, preferably white. Do not miss a kiss, especially if it’s between members of the same sex. Anyone dressed outrageously’. Poor people on whom the event is centred, either their pictures don’t figure at all or they are much smaller than the one of the blonde woman in the handkerchief top.