Kerala Bliss

Too content to write ... :)

Stingy

Now I am genuinely excited about going to Goa – not just something I’m saying to convince myself! Even if the aunt and the cousin and the cousin’s boyfriend will be there – so will be the BEACH, the SAND, the SEA, the lil shacks, the beer and the port wine!

Got a huge jhaad from B today. He made me realize that I’ve been spending way too much money – both his and mine (all those trips to tbe bank!). He’s right. I don’t know how I manage to spend so much money and have nothing to show for it at the end of the day – except some blue hair.

I sent him a message saying I was sorry and would try to return the money and he sent back this real sweet message – ‘This is not about paying back. You never get it. This is not just my money we are spending this is OUR money and I’m just trying to save some for US!’ :)

So now I’m going to be extremely stingy on this trip. Will not go overboard, will not buy things on a whim, will not have lots of fancy seafood meals, will limit myself to inexpensive presents – Kraz says he just wants sand anyway so that one’s easy! On the other hand the Englishman wants me to get him back a big sandy beach and the sea…uh oh!

In other news:

1. I cannot buy underwear from a man – I’m sorry but I just can’t.

2. I hope the Film Directorate doesn’t decide to send ‘Black’ to the Oscars – it would be so embarrassing. Actually, come to think of it, if they did send it, it would probably win – bah.

Goa

I don’t want to go to Goa!!! Please someone save me.

Please hack into the airport computer and cancel all the flights. Then it will be only mom, sis, the niece and me in the posh hotel since we are ‘too poor’ to fly!

But seriously this is becoming ridiculous. I’ve been over-sleeping and avoiding phone calls. I have to snap out of it. I have to be careful cos I’m going to have two lovely days to brood about it on the train as well.

But really. I’ve never packed a swimsuit with so much unenthusiasm. Word tells me that ‘unenthusiasm’ isn’t even a word. Disenthusiasm? No doesn’t work either.

But anyway. It’s quite silly. Why should I feel that I have to compete. I’m me – bad hair and all – that’s all there is to it.

Here I go again

I got my hair dyed blue. It turned out to be a rather witchy dark blue and I was really upset. But on coming home and checking it out I’ve decided I rather like it. It’s subtle – a metallic blue black. Plus I had her colour the inside of the hair and just two streaks so I think it should be fine even in the daylight.

My nails are now angel wing white! (or white-out white if you prefer the truth!)

Paid for the distance learning counselling diploma and received my course books today as well. Plus got to know that after a year I can choose to do the second year and attain an MS degree in psychotherapy. Quite excited!

Though I have to say that this Institute is quite irresponsible. The lady said that after one completes the diploma course one can open a private practice as a counsellor as long as the board says counsellor and not psychotherapist. But the course has absolutely no practical application. Scary to have counsellors out there who have never handled a case, only read books. But I know why I’m doing it so it’s okay.

Called FTII today about the short term course I had been selected for but couldn’t go to because of the darn Goa trip. The guy was really nice and said that my application would be valid for when the course next took place and I would not have to re-apply. He even said that I would be informed about the next course and needn’t worry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Jokester's back - he'd never gone away. :)

Yet another bank story!

Went to my bank this evening – the snazzy MNC.

I wasn’t quite myself, so when the woman said that the systems were down and I wanted to ask her what time the bank opens in the morning I ended up saying:


What time do you wake up?


I went out for a chai and when I came back to find out whether the system was now functioning I said:


Are your sisters up?


And both times, she gave me this really glassy look – with her hair and clothes oh so immaculate.


Gimme Mrs. Mehta any day!

Fuck you - fuck all of you

Did want my Mom always made me do when I was in a foul mood – cleaned my cupboard. Put all the winter clothes away. Feeling better for it.

I shall amputate the Ducati Dreamer from my life for he is but a gangrenous limb.

I shall go out to see Meet the Fockers alone tonight for everyone is busy with everyone else. I shall come home alone in public transport on the dark Delhi roads cos no one gives a damn anyway.

Good Friends

- The Jokester hasn’t returned my call. I guess he’s finally had enough of me.

- The Ducati Dreamer has been treating me like a slut because I confided that I was confused about a lust relationship.

- And you, I’ve desecrated our friendship by fantasizing about being married to you.

I don’t know what to say in conclusion.

Niece's Story :)

Wan day ther wos a ant. His gardn wos fild with flawas. He loves his gardn. So evree day he yoostoo .go aoot. but wan day wen he went auot he so that ther wore no flawares.he was sad so he went for a trale. For faeending his flavrs.
For faeeding his flavs he had to go in
The jungal. [flaws he shaouts]
But ther was no ansre so
He wocte along
Sudnly he hrd a hapy saoud and a silwe trel !he flod the trel. Ther bihiynde a bous
Ther stoud a bunch of flawrs the ant took them away and lived happily ever after.

The End


Now how can I compete with that? :)

Today

- I have the worst cramps ever. Damn Eve for biting into the darn apple.

- It’s blazing hot. The title of this blog has to go.

- Turning blog friendships into real friendships is complicated work.

- Had to get DD’s made – only from the State Bank of India for some stupid reason. Walked there with the cramps in the blazing heat. The woman wanted to know what I do and I was in no mood for a chat so gave her a vague answer which led to more questions and vaguer answers. She concluded that what I do is illegal. Can’t understand why. Maybe she thought I make porn films. What is it with me and Punjabi women bank officers?

- Why Million Dollar Baby? Why why why why why why why?

Clara's Story

The Ducati Dreamer said that this piece was proof that I have no talent – but what the heck, it was written with little thought and I enjoyed writing it!

Clara’s Story

Once upon a time, in a land not far from ours, there lived a girl called Clara. Now Clara was not the typical heroine of a fairy story – she was rather plain looking and had lank, limp hair. Clara was plump, most people were rude enough to call her ‘fat’. She also had lots of zits – especially in her oily T-zone area.

Now Clara had the most beautiful sister – Cinderella. Not only was Cinderella fair of face with cascading golden curls, she was also sweet of nature and had a kind heart.

Clara’s heart would fill with jealousy as she saw sweet Cinderella, looking ethereally beautiful in her plain clothes, go about cleaning the floors and the toilet bowls with a sweet song on her smiling lips and a dreamy look in her eyes. For Cinderella always dreamt of her Prince Charming.

At times Clara could not stand it. She would kick Cinderella meanly while she was moping and make her fall down and graze her chin. She would hurry away before Cinderella got up, but would grin nastily at her yelp of pain. Fortunately for Clara, Cinderella was not her real sister but her step-sister, so her behaviour was not only condoned, but encouraged. Her mother and other sister treated Cinderella like a servant – pushing her around, screaming at her, not giving her enough to eat. And Clara joined in – she would abuse Cinderella and pull her hair and box her till her teeth were bloody. But surprisingly, Clara noticed that the more she abused Cinderella, the prettier and more fragile she seemed to become. Whereas, her own face in the mirror began to harden, her mouth looked mean, and her eyes looked smaller, the wrinkles seemed more deeply etched than yesterday.

One day there was a GRANDE ANNOUNCEMENT in the town hall. The Prince was throwing a ball – and all young ladies of the kingdom – whether skinny or fat were invited. Of course this caused a lot of excitement in the young girls’ household – sashes were bought and lace sewed on to silk dresses. Clara was terribly nervous – she had never been to a ‘ball’ before. She looked enviously at Cinderella’s thin waist and ordered her to pull her corset tighter. She felt quite out of breath, and when she looked at herself in the mirror she didn’t quite recognize herself – who was this creature all dolled and made up? It didn’t look like her. It didn’t feel like her. She longed to slip out of the high-heels into her comfy loafers but her sister and her mother were already pushing her out of the door.

At the ball Clara couldn’t stop fidgeting. She half upset her rum punch out of nervousness and constantly stared at her red toes. Suddenly she saw a pair of black shoes stop in front of her. ‘Hello’ someone said. She looked up to see the face of a bored young gent offering her his hand for a dance – it was obvious that he had only asked her because all the other ladies had been taken.

Clara blushed and put her hand in his. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, she had always refused invitations to dance before. Clara stepped on to the dance floor, and as she did, she felt her frustration and antagonism rise like a ball inside her. But all of a sudden she was dancing. Miracle of miracles – she was dancing! She felt light-footed as the boy swung her around. She felt her corset snap and the tightly wound ball inside her began to dissipate. She smiled, and as she did, she felt the hardness leave her face. She heard the clock strike twelve, and from the corner of her eye saw the beautiful Cinderella scurry up the staircase with the Prince behind her – and she was twirling again and noticed that all the other dancers were standing to the sides of the room looking at her and her partner, smiling appreciatively.

A week later, as Clara was discussing the plans for opening her dance school with the loan officer, she heard a squeal of delight from the next room. She went in and saw two of the Prince’s men, one kneeling down as he had just fitted a glass slipper on Cinderella’s foot. And as Cinderella sat there, pointing her glass-slippered foot daintily, Clara found herself squeezing her step-sister’s shoulders and kissing her cheek. And to her surprise, there was a gladdening in her heart.

~ The End ~

Sufi Goosebumps!

Came across these bits of Sufi poetry today…they’re so beautiful, they make me feel like dying…have to share:

I become you,
you become me.
I become the soul,
you the heart.
How can they now claim
I am apart, you are apart?

- Aamir Khusrau


By day I praised you
and never knew it.
By night I stayed with you
and never knew it.
I always thought that
I was me — but no,
I was you
and never knew it!

- Rumi


Aaar!! How come something be so beautiful??

Family >blech<

A Auntie arrived last night.

I have been dreading this visit ever since I heard of it.

I am going to write now, of every single negative thing I have ever felt about her, my cousin and my uncle. I want it all to be in one place, all the negativity. It all dates back to when I was very young, so it may sound selfish or even ungrateful. You are forewarned, skip this post if you hate personal vent sessions!

Background: A Auntie is my father’s elder sister. The only family I have from his side, besides his two other children. She went to a snooty convent boarding school when she was young and then went to London when she was about 18, got married to a Canadian and has lived in Vancouver ever since.

1. When I was ten, I made a one month trip to Vancouver, alone, to visit my aunt and her family. It was traumatic. The first thing she did was open my suitcase and was barely able to disguise her revulsion at seeing my clothes, which I guess were sub-standard according to her. I suppose she felt that she would be embarrassed if I was to wear those clothes in front of her friends cos she immediately went out and bought me a complete change of wardrobe – down to underwear. I never once wore the clothes I brought with me from India while I was there. Needless to say, it made me feel poor.

2. It was Christmas time and she encouraged me and my cousin to write our lists to Santa. In my home, these lists were always very long. It didn’t mean that we expected to get all that was on the list. It was more like we (my sister and I) would give a huge selection so that Santa could choose what he wanted to get us from these lists. She and my uncle took me aside and said that my list was rather long. I remember her husband saying that they were not as rich as I might think and that they could not get me all the things on the list. This, of course embarrassed me no end. They saw me as taking advantage of them.

3. My sister was then studying in the US. They placed a call to her so that I could speak with her, but before I even took the phone told me not to talk too long cos it was expensive.

4. My cousin was always painted as this wonderfully talented, intelligent person. I found her to be rude and spoilt. When she came to India later she turned up her nose at everything.

5. Whenever my aunt came to India (including this time), she always makes comments on India that really irk me. Like ‘oh, the indicator lights on the cars actually work – ha ha’. Or today ‘I never get my nice clothes to India cos if the grime sets in then there’s nothing you can do to get it out. Your clothes are just ruined then’.

6. I remember, again when I was in Canada, my uncle telling us how baths wasted water and showers didn’t. I said that that must be why in India we don’t have bath tubs and he said no that’s because Indians are poor.

7. My aunt is always poking her nose into the way we live, trying to ‘make things right’. I remember how she would try to make me visit my father more often by painting a sorry picture of him and trying to make me feel guilty. It didn’t work.

8. When she would bring us presents, I always got the feeling that it wasn’t because she wanted to genuinely give us something. There would always be this undertone of ‘you are less fortunate’. So she would get me a dress and tell me how my cousin has the same one, and I guess I was supposed to feel privileged that I was getting to wear the same thing as my better cousin. Or she would give us cosmetics which were obviously free samples that she had got when she purchased her regular supply.


Gosh now I feel really mean. She can be quite sweet and nice. And I’m sure in her heart she felt she was doing the right thing.

Maybe writing all this down will help me deal with her better.