Why?

What is wrong with the world? What's wrong with a little platonic friendship between the sexes? Why don't people accept it for what it is? Why do people keep digging for more? If I'm friends with a guy, it HAS to be more than what meets the eye, does it? I'm tired of explaining my friendships now.

I met a group of friends yesterday (grad friends, all female). One friend (male) called up while I was with them. First, they kept staring at me all the time I was on the phone with him. Chins cupped in their hands and unblinking eyes on my face. I hung up in about 5 minutes max, and the conversation which happened immediately afterwards goes like this:

Friends' Question - Who is he?
My answer - (Name), a friend
Q - Where'd u meet him?
A - On the net
Q - How long back?
A - A year maybe.
explanation related to answer - Remember that guy who met me on my b'day while I was with you? That fellow.
Friends - ohhhhhhhh
Me - Yes, that one
Q - So what's going on with him?
A - Nothing.
Q - Oh come on. Seriously.
A - Arey! Seriously. Nothing, just friends.
Q - Then why are you talking to him for a year?
Me, incredulous, - Why cant I?
Q - Well, then take it farther if you like him so much.
A - What the heck????!!
Q - Why not?
A - I don't like him that way.
Q - Ohh come on!
A, desperately trying to finish this, - Well, he's married. (he really is, I wasn't lying)
*dead silence and wild stares all around*

Apparently I should have told them this earlier. This bit of imformation comes in the post mortem, later. I really fail to understand what the big deal is.

Ok, then you'd think it stops. But no. There's nore. Then they just think I am crazy because the information just doesn't fit, and following the questions are not so... serious, but they're there. They're more easy... like how is he, what does he do, u like him n all. Then they continue:

tentatively, Q - Why are you friends with him if he is married?
A - Cos I like him, like talking to him and all.
*uncomprehending stares*
Q - Isn't it weird?
A - No
*wondering what to ask next, the topic cannot be allowed to die down like this. such an anti-climax*
Q - You know his wife?
A - WHAT does it matter?
*pause*
Me - No, I don't.
Friends - Hmmm...
*thinking*
Q - So what did you talk about?

I told them and I am not getting into that right now. It's pretty complicated and well, I'm just not, okay? Then the subject was dropped for a while, we talked about other things. Then they started going over the conversation again.

Q - Why didn't you tell us he was married, earlier, when we started asking you about him?

Gaaawwwddddd!!! How does it matter? I am not his friend because of his marital status. I'm friends with him 'cos I like HIM. And like, as in, LIKE - "friend like" not "romantic like". What is so hard to understand about something as simple as that? I'm friends with girls, am I not? And I'm not going all lezzy about you, so why would I go romantic about a guy, ANY guy, who happens to be my friend?

That is what I wanted to say, but didn't. I tackled it coolly. The subject was dropped. I'm proud of myself. *delivering one pat on back* I'm tired of brains which are wired that way. Every time a gal talks about a guy, the lights begin flashing. *grumble, grumble, grumble...* I think I'll keep grumbling about this for the rest of the day.

ps. A new thought just crossed my mind. What if he hadn't been married? Looking back, that was the ONE thing which shell-shocked, stopped them. What would it have taken to tell them that there was nothing without that bit of info? Any ideas?

Blind faith

There was a great show on in my house yesterday. It all started when my grandfather's 2000 bucks went missing. They were kept in a folder which he uses for his stuff and according to him, he kept them there and then about two hours later, they weren't there.

So, someone knew about this female who does a seance-type-thing and tells you who the thief is. And this someone decided to tell that to my grandmother and she decided to let the fem come and do it.

The procedure is like this. The seance lady (SL) washes the floor first. Apparently this is very important. Otherwise the dead soul won't talk to you. Dead people are very hygienic, I suppose. Well, anyway, after that, she lights two incense sticks and readies her brass "lotha". For those of you who don't know what a lotha is, sheesh, you're missing a lot of sick jokes in life related to the thing. (It's a kind of a tumbler. That's the best I can do.) So she fills the lotha with water, and, damn, that thing is heavy!

Three people perform ablutions (this is important too, dead people and cleanliness remember?) and sit cross-legged on the floor. Two of these people have their thumbs out (like in a thumbs up sign) and they keep these four thumbs on the floor, on bunched fists, in a sort of a square on top of which the lotha rests. Then the real fun starts.

The SL parks her nose about three inches from the lotha and staring at it intensely, starts murmuring stuff. Then after a bit she starts asking the lotha who took the money. I can't help wondering if the dead soul who speaks isn't pressurised from so much of the attention. I mean, there were about 15 of the people there to see the 'show' and then the SL staring at the lotha so intently, placing all her faith on it and all. Anyone would be nervous and trembling. But maybe dead ones are above all this, huh?

So the result of all this - the lotha is supposed to rotate when the name of the thief is pronounced. And the SL, while talking of who she thought the thief was, was almost shouting at the lotha, compelling the damn thing to move. But it didn't. The show was a dud.

Then SL decided one of the two people thumbing the lotha weren't supporting it properly and she moved them and sat down herself to do it. This time, of course, once the name was uttered, the lotha 'spontaneously' started to move. Surprise! It moved slowly, all of one inch and then started toppling off and had to be removed from the thumb throne. I was thinking maybe it would do a full rotation or something, but you know, it's kind of difficult to move your thumb so much, that too inconspicuously. To those of us who were looking at this as a sort of enjoyment, with absolutely no belief that these things work, it was clearly apparent that SL was moving the thing with her thumbs. To those who were blinded by the stupidity, the thief was found out and chai was passed around and all of them were happy, satisfied, relieved.

Is there no end to stupidity?

I must say though, that I was kinda disappointed. I would so have liked this thing to work. I mean, it would have been an opportunity to know of all the answers which have plagued my conscience!
Did that snotty nosed boy in 2nd S really take my glitter pencil?
Is 5th July really the day I'm going to get lucky?
If it's not, am I ever going to get lucky?
Can I ever have a baby monkey as a pet?
Will I ever land a dream job? (def: Where I don't have to work and I get paid lots.)
Can I persuade my parents to paint my room a hair-raising, blinding shade of orange?
When will Thackeray die?
Will I ever learn to fly a helicopter?
Will I prove them all wrong?
Is there life on other planets/space/inside my fridge?
Why can't they get better looking heros for telugu movies?
Do I have a birthmark in... *someplace*? (this one is for checking :))
What's Sujal's telephone number? address? likes? dislikes? (okay, okay)
What's Milind Soman's ... *droooooool, dissolves in a puddle just at the thought*
When will I be famous?
When will I be infamous? ;)
World peace? (dumb question)
Will I have to change my cellphone number because of the sick crank calls I'm getting?
Did HE go watch 'Girlfriend'?
Why yellow?
Ten inches??!!!!

Sigh. I could go on and on...

Whats so "cure" about a pedicure?

Yesterday, at about 6 in the evening, the power Gods - aka the new government - decided to switch off the electricity in our neighbourhood. I was feeling a bit depressed and so decided to go have a pedicure for the first time in my life. A friend swore by the feelings which ran through her whole body as supple hands played with her feet. (Err... that sentence is not meant the way it sounds.) She said it would cure my depression and make me feel good.

The idea to go was not a very good one because you should never... I repeat, NEVER go have your first pedicure alone. It can ruin your self-confidence and leave you feeling like a nervous wreck who can just say "Huh" in various tones and differing stupid expressions to go with the sound.

So there I was, in a posh place at bjr hills, and I get into the black shiny door into a glittering place which is just bustling with white aproned smiling busybodies. One of them pounces on me when I'm half inside and leads me to a chair. Now this chair is anything but comfortable, but still, I'm willing to suffer a little discomfort for the feeling sold to me by the aforementioned friend.

The smiling attendant lines up about 15 bottles and a big wad of cotton next to her on the floor and sweetly looks up at me. "Non-acetone or regular?" The first missile is launched.

Me: "Huh?"

She looks at me. The smile is still there. "Do you want non-acetone remover or the regular one."

My expression remains frozen into a confused mask.

"Nail polish remover?" she prompts.

Ahhhh... I see. "What's the difference?" I ask her.

She looks at me with something resembling pity. "The non-acetone is less dry and better for the cuticles."

I nod and wonder if it makes a difference. After all, my cuticles have done fine in the 23 years of their non-pedicure existence. I mumble something. The smiling girl at my feet nods and picks up one bottle, presumably at random, and begins rubbing something weird-smelling on my nails.

Then I realize that I didn't have nail polish on my nails in the first place. Oh, well!

After the little cotton rubbing, my feet are put into a tub which presumably has only warm water, judging by the colour, but then there's a different sort of a smell wafting up from it – a bit like the sharpness of lemons mixed with something rotten. It's kind of hard to explain smells… so forget it. I ask her what's in the water. Big mistake. (Why do I need to know?)

She gives me a long, rambling answer which has stuff which is mentioned in percentages. The only thing I understand is that the water content in that… muck… is only 23%. I decide not to think about what else could be in there in spite of it looking so innocent. Innocently dangerous. Like Loch Ness monsters lying in the depths of serene lake surfaces. Of course I am exaggerating, but well, it's not really a good thing popping your feet into something which has 100-minus-23% of chemical content, right?

Anyway, the next thing I know is that she's rubbing my foot in small, delicate, circular movements with something like sandpaper. Now if she had rubbed it a bit harder, with more pressure, it would have been okay. But the way she was doing it, with small, feathery movements, it tickled! And I squirmed and pulled my foot out of her hand reflexively. Apparently, that is just not done while having a pedicure. I learned that bit when she looked at me like I'd done something really unpardonable.

"Sorry", I mumbled and she deigned to forgive me and went back to her sand-papering.

Next, massage creams. That part which the friend had talked about, supple hands on foot, which would make me feel good. Except that it didn't. It started with "Regular or Lavender?"

Me: "Huh?" part II

Pedicure Lady, with barely concealed patience, "Do you want the regular massage cream or the Lavender?"

Me, in a small voice, "What's the difference?"

"The lavender smells of lavender."

Wow! How truly amazing! I opted for lavender. Why not?

The next few minutes were good. Really they were. When she wasn't massaging very hard and when my feet didn't feel like Dara Singh trying to crush them, and when the cream didn't feel slimy and sick, it was good. At least my feet smelled of lavender. That has to be good.

Now, next, a heartfelt warning here. Do NOT let other people clip your nails after you have passed the first 5 years of your life. Because it hurts. Physical pain, I mean. And I'm very serious about this. They can't feel your pain and they do not know what they're cutting off. It's supposed to be just the dead part of the nail and not your skin. Even remembering about it… *shudder* I let out a big shriek right in her posh parlour… enough. You know what I'm talking about here. After people staring at me and making me feel like some weird freak, the pedicure went on.

After things like stupid cotton balls between my toes, and getting them painted with a transparent nail polish (I forgot what fancy name she called it), after about an hour, I emerged into the gently fading light and was walking back to my car when the locality's power was cut off. It wasn't so dark that I couldn't see my car so I started towards it and the next step landed in a puddle of water which had accumulated on the road after the last shower. My sandal, the lower part of my churidaar and my newly pedicured foot sank into the murky depths of the roadside, dirty puddle and… was totally ruined. It didn't smell of lavender anymore. :(

Perhaps pedicures are just not for me. And as for the friend… well, I'll meet her sooner or later, won't I?

Ohh, and to cure depression, eat chocolate. Lots of it.

She Hugs

I've just been through a visit from an aunt. She's about 60 and 5 feet tall (or short?). She's a doctor. And she hugs. Me. (WHY? Why me?) Shouldn't there be a law against unwanted hugs?

I have no idea what all this is about. I really don't show any interest in her or the never ending tales of her grandson (he's almost 2 yrs old and very cute). I almost always answer her with a fake smile and a murmured 'mmhmm' - you know, that uncommunicative noise which says you're listening but are not interested? That one. But it doesn't seem to work.

She turns up at my house every two weeks and is so interested in my life. She tells me about job offers at places I would never consider working for. She asks about my correspondence course. (I regret telling her about that now). She asks me what I've read recently.

And she hugs me three times during the entire meeting. Once when we meet, once when she leaves and once in between. What is it about the hugs? I mean, doesn't she notice the way I try to fight out of the embrace? Should I try harder?

This is not about her, it's about me. I am not a people person. I am a loner and I like it that way. I just want the pc and a good book, occassionally tv. I don't like to make small talk with people. I hate to talk about inconsequential things. In fact, I hate parties and those sort of social gatherings.

How do I get the message across? The aunt just threate... er... told me that she'll invite me over to her house for a chaat party. And I'm so confused. I like chaat. Sigh. What should I do?

Weird and Special

I've been feeling weird lately. 'Things' have been happening to me. Weird things. No, it's not like "I see dead people" kind of things (Thank God!), but it's still weird in the unweird life I've lead till now.

My father's been calling me up from his office and talking to me about everything and nothing (How's my day been, what am I doing...). My mother's been calling up in the middle of the day and asking me if I've had lunch. Don't get me wrong... I'm not saying it's bad... it's just that it's a teeny bit unusual. Like how'd one feel if it snowed in Hyd tomorrow? Good, but weird, right? So that's how it is. And these weird new ... er... developments have been making me feel really (guess what?!) weird.

And they've made me wonder if I'm about to die or something.

I mean, when people are about to die, they get all these little kindnesses done to them. Like I've been informed that I am special. About two days ago. I'm wondering how they found out about the speciality suddenly after 23 years of my being special. And they don't even know about the blog. So it's not as if they think I'm going insane. (Is insane the same as special?)

It's making me paranoid. I mean, what's changed in me now? A few spontaneous bumps appearing around the head overnight or bloodshot eyes and the general belief that I'm about to keel over and die soon? It's making me look into a mirror, and after I get over the initial fright and when my heartbeat gets back to normal, I don't see anything abnormal staring back at me. Well, at least nothing that's not been there before.

It's making me nervous. I'm peering around corners and staring into nothingness for hours at a time, then waking up and realising I'm looking at late night TV in the dark. The kind where they try to sell you cheap looking pearls or the sharpest knife in the world on TVC or some such thing. So, I mean, this is cause for concern, isn't it? Would someone readily admit to watching Jackie Shroff (with bags under his eyes) sell pearls? No!! Of course not. And when I am admitting it, it has to be because of something really serious. 'Cos I'm trying to seek help here.

I'm trying introspection. I'm trying to turn around and look at myself inside. (There's something wrong with that sentence but for the life of me I can't figure out what.) I'm trying to search for answers in this big, black (at least I think it's black), uno and cipher world of the world wide web. I'm questioning the mortality of my life.
And am I getting an answer? Oh yes... of course. There's an answer for everything on the net. And it threw the death clock at me. I think it's supposed to make me feel good... oh, well...

True Love (without quotes)

Hokay! So I realised that in my last post, I talked about how quoted "True Love" is not very true. I didn't exactly finish all I had to say on the topic and I realised this after reading aloque's comment to that one (ty, guy). Now I'll go on about what true love without quotes is (to me).

Roses, notes, candlelight dinners, necklace road walks (huh? What? Did I say that?) are all fine, but that cannot go on and on. And that is basically courtship, not love. It's just a honeymoon, not the whole of the marriage. It cannot go on when you are 45. Not all of the time. Well, some people do it, but if someone did that to me, I'd ask him what's wrong. I mean, necklace road walks at 45??!!! Get a grip! Bye bye neclace road walks, hello arthritis is more like it.

Love is when you get up at 6 in the morning to take HIS dog out for a umm... call of nature thing, when he's laid up, even though you hate the mutt because it hogs all of his attention so much of the time. (He never pets you like the way he pats the mutt when it gets his newspaper first thing in the morning. I mean you don't exactly expect him to pat you, but here we're talking about the bonding, you know? If YOU give him the newspaper, he just grunts. The bloody dog knows how to get into his good books, huh? (Well, some people ARE jealous of dogs, ok?! It's allowed. And it is NOT abnormal. And it's definitely not pathetic. It's not funny either. STOP LAUGHING. It hurts. Wait till it happens to you... Humph!) Anyway, the dog's vet bills are more than your beauty parlour bills and everytime the hair shedding season happens, YOU are the one who gets down on your hands and knees brushing the carpet. You wish you could gladly mix some deadly poison in the dog food which that mutt has every morning and evening in the monogrammed dish... Sigh. I could go on and on about the dog, but that's not exactly what we're talking about here.) So, what I am saying is, love is when you take the bloody mutt (translated - sworn enemy, other camp), out for its poop walk in the morning when he is sick. ('He' is the loved man, not dog. Dog is referred to as 'it' here. Stupid inanimate thing. It's not like it's human. Why should it be afforded respect?) So, ahem, back to topic. That is love.

Love should be comfortable. It should not be a show-off. It should not be doing something just because you are expected to do it. It should be something you are doing for the other person because you want to. Small things. (No, small things does not mean buying her skimpy lingerie). Regular things. (Yeah, think 'flannel nightgown'. Why? Because it's soft. And it's not for you, it's for her.)

Love is telling her that you do not feel like shaving (and "would you do it for me honey? Please?" Woohoooo! *shakes head to get THAT image out* End of dream... ahem... *blush*) ...*blinks* where were we? Ahhh yes, so love is telling her that you feel too bloody lazy to shave and to expect her to understand. Love is telling him "Sweetie, it's one of those headache times" in bed and not having him go mean on you a whole week afterwards 'cos you hurt his ego.

Small things. (Geez! You're still in Bikiniville? Get a life! *rolling eyes*) Everyday life. It gets real. It gets dreary. Day after day living with a person. It's so easy to forget what you loved in the other person in the first place. Love is NOT forgetting those things. It's appreciating your partner for all of the stupid quirks (s)he has, and enjoying those.

It's not swooning everytime you see her (well, might happen if she is wearing those skimpy things you insist on giving her, and all your blood rushes from your head to your nether regions), but well, you know what I am getting at? No, you're not? You mean I'll have to write more on this? Sigh. Well, ok. Love is not a 100 bucks worth of roses or even a 1000 bucks dinner at a posh place, love is more like helping her wash the dishes or kneading his shoulders when he has had a bad day.

The rosy, mushy, goody-goody picture is what I am against. Sure, it might be there (M&B get their material from SOMEWHERE, so somewhere there must be some people who are the red roses, staring into eyes for hours type). But all of those movies and romance novels are misleading. Love is more low-key, more real, AND more powerful, more lasting than all that amateur fluff. It might start that way, but it settles into something more usual, something which is more comforting rather than a take-your-breath-away feeling.

Well, I am at the end of this post now 'cos I'm tired of typing, and I'm wondering if I said all I had to say on the subject, and if I said it the way I want to, whether it means what I want it to mean. Well, hell. I don't know. If I haven't, I'll just have to say it again, won't I? :D

"True Love"

This is not one of those mushy mushy posts. It is about "true love". In quotes.

Recently, I was caught up in a situation where I was explained the true meaning of "true love" - in quotes. (The person actually stressed on the words, and if he had been writing them in MS Word, he'd have changed the font size and emboldened them and maybe even have underlined them. Italics too perhaps. Whereas I am just using quotes. So thank your lucky stars.)

The main crux of the gentleman's discourse was that "true love" (in quotes) is supposed to be self-sacrificing, it's above everything in life, live to experience it, meaning of existence, love everything about mate, holding hands and staring into each others eyes in public, (annoy the hell out of people watching you), flowers, chocolates, notes, phone calls two times per day, sighs, sleepless nights... you get the point.

Excuse me; and as ar would say, call him uncle and smack him on his um... tushi, but that is not how "true love" (notice the quotes) works. Well, it might, for about two years max, if you're that guy who was telling me about it, but then either you or the mate will get so sick of it that they will probably shoot you the next time you bring them flowers and call them with the special name you have for them. What is it about special names between couples anyway? What's so special about Baby-boo or Ikky-Bikky or even Coochie-coo?

Anyway, what I was saying was that "true love" (ahem... quotes) is not so rosy. It's not all good. It's not everything in life. It's not perfect. Okay, I'm not saying it doesn't exist. It might exist between some people. It might even last a whole lifetime; BUT (yes, there is a but) it's rare. Very, very rare. Like 'not seeing buffalos on hyderabad streets' rare.

When men and women are together, there will be fights, disagreements, tears, ruffled feathers; not just chocolates and candlelit dinners and flowers and mush. It's just the way we are. That Mars and Venus thing. I mean, how can you be goody-goody devoted like that to somebody all your life? There have to be days when you'll feel grumpy and when she asks you to shave two times a day cos the stubble... um... is not good at certain times, you'll glare at her, maybe even give her a sharp retort. It's bound to happen.

Most of this stupid naive romanticism is among the young stars-in-eyes generation. I wonder what causes it. Yash Chopra type movies? Mills and Boon? Oh, and while we are on the topic of Mills and Boon (we're not exactly on topic here, but I take the creative license of being the writer of this blog and force it down the throat of anyone who is reading), those novels really do the young women in with a black haired muscle-showing guy encircling his arms around a half-naked girl, (well, it's lacy lingerie actually,) who's just waiting to be taken. Filled with words like "unsheathed his manhood" and "deflowered" and "she melted against his hardness", these novels are just fillers for those waiting in the dentist's office times. Not to be taken so seriously so as to believe in "true love" (in quotes).

Wake up people. That's not "true love", with or without quotes. Life is not a Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. Life starts after the girl hops on to the train after clutching the outstretched hand and then she chastises Mr. Baadshaah of Bollywood for not having the effing presence of mind to pull the chain to stop the train. Happily ever after are not the words which will be written in your life story. Your happily ever after will happen one day at a time and -- wait, take a deep breath -- the ever after MIGHT NOT EVEN BE HAPPY!

End of Grumpy morning rant. Have a nice day. Smile and the world smiles at you and all that too.