WTF?

Can team India PLEASE bloody refund the £25 I spent this afternoon getting an upgrade on my Sky subscription - against my better judgment - to watch the freakin' World Cup?

Now I have to listen to Bangladeshi colleague at work, gloat. Thank Heavens I'm changing jobs.

And all you Sachin lovers out there - he sucks. He is a HAS BEEN. And don't wave some stupid statistics at my face. Because - he's only great on paper. As a super hero cartoon.

ME - I feel your pain.

The spontaneous Sunflower

BFF has had a tattoo for a long time & knew I've always wanted one, so when I went visiting this time she said I should go for it.
When I asked her if it hurts she lied with a straight face & pretended like getting a tattoo was like being kissed by an angel and feeling the first gentle drops of rain on your face.
I totally bought into her BS & naively booked an appointment. After BFF double checked that the needles were sterile etc I sat down on the chair - totally delusional about how it was going to be just "mildly irritating".
When the tattooist began his work I looked at BFF in sheer terror & said "You LIED!". She grinned back at me and said, "You'd have never done it if I hadn't." And then mumbled something about how after having been through child-birth, tattoos didn't really hurt. Blah!

After what seemed like an eternity of pain and torture my little pretty sunflower was ready to take home.
To be honest, even though it was painful - the end result was so good that I readily forgave BFF for being such a trickster.

Taking in a deep breath

Akkare, one of my favorite bloggers, wrote a post inspired by me and ME. (that's confusing!) And ME wrote a follow-up post that made me feel like I needed to realize that my life was mine to live. My mistakes, mine to correct. My joys, mine to savor. My sorrows, mine to rue.
Yes I love my parents. And that will never change. But it's like we're from different planets sometimes. Separated by more than just a continent. A fundamental divide in our way of thinking.

So... I am going to say something on this blog, about me, that they don't know yet. Some of you left comments saying that I should get it off my chest and tell them sooner rather than later. But, I'm going to tell you first, my dear fellow-bloggers. Not in this post. Because I need a LOT of deep breaths and calming down, before I share this with you. (besides it keeps the suspense alive!)

Call it a "testing-the-waters" exercise.

All of you that left me encouraging comments on my "Square One" post - thank you. It means so much more than you'll ever know.

Happiness is...

- Seeing your friends after months and knowing that nothing has changed.
- Drinking Oyster Bay and making fun of Rakhi in Basera, with BFF.
- Having beautiful warm sunshiny days in the peak of winter.
- Having BFF curl your hair and dressing up all posh-like to go to the mall.
- Getting an unplanned but always desired tattoo
- Buying more handbags than I'll ever need.
- Seeing that BFF has dropped a few dress sizes and realizing that you're not jealous but thrilled!
- Going to Borders and Barnes & Noble and soaking in the joy of being around so many books.
- Watching R.D. Burman songs from Saagar, Yeh Waada Raha and singing along.
- Recording songs with MBF [male-best-friend]
- Drinking Dunkin Donuts Coffee Coolatta.
- Being woken up by BFF's 6 year old with a hug every morning. Yes, every jet-lagged morning.
- BFF, IBF [instant Best Friend, yeah A - that's you.] and me giggling like little children even though we're in a very grown up Irish bar.
- CBF [childhood best friend] making a long trek from Virginia just so she can spend a day with me.
- Making peace with close friend that you thought you'd lost.
- Looking across a table loaded with pancakes, waffles and other heart-attack inducing goodies and seeing the faces of people that must have been related to me in a past life and knowing that they all love me. And that I'm blessed to have them in my life.

Frisky Guards

This is a quick jet-lagged post. I was searched at every damn security check point at Gatwick. I was felt up by so many security guards that I was wondering if I looked particularly attractive yesterday.
At one point I was really pissed off, but I don't know whether it was just me being overly sensitive or something else.

Oh well! I'm with friends & I'm happy - so I don't care.

PS. I HATE FLYING.

Uss thappad ki goonj...

Today, on International Womens Day, the Blank Noise Project has an interesting task for us:

"Being a 'HERO' is relative . We are interested in knowing how you challenged yourself or didint feel victimised?
This is an attempt to understand how different women ( across age groups/ cultures/ communities) have dealt with street sexual harassment in their everyday lives. Male bloggers are encouraged to share stories of women in their lives and how they have dealt with street sexual harassment."


So here's my story. My tale of the one day that I look back on with more glee than I should. It happened when I was about 21. I was at Water Kingdom in Bombay, with a group of other friends - all women. Even though I was soaking wet - this was a water park duh - I was no Mandakini from "Ram Teri Ganga Maili". Unlike her I was clad in a very decent swimming costume that covered my thighs. (And other necessary body parts too, you pervs!) Not that if I had worn something skimpier it justified being ogled at or groped.
There was a dude who kept following me and my friends all around the water park and I wasn't really bothered because I wasn't alone and it was broad daylight.
Some of us decided to go on the huge pipe-like ride called the Giant Snake or something silly like that. Basically, it was this huge long and twisted pipe which had water flowing through it. You enter the pipe and slide down and fall into a pool. Being the adrenaline junkie that I am I had to get on it. The rule was that you went one at a time and waited about 20 seconds after the person ahead of you went in. Shady dude who had followed us around somehow managed to get right behind me in the queue. I don't know whether he bribed the staff who worked there, but he somehow managed to by-pass the mandatory 20 second waiting period and got in about 5 seconds after I did.
When the thrilling ride was over I slid into a small pool and barely had time to mentally collect myself when I sensed someone coming out of the slide right behind me. Before I could get up and move out of their way I felt a pair of hands around me - grabbing my breasts from the back. The next 2 seconds are a blur because all I remember is this fury engulfing me and I turned around and slapped him so hard that he was also stunned. He muttered with very feeble protesting "What happened? Why did you slap me?" Because, dude, I don't get a thrill out of you squeezing my tits. That's why.
Rest assured he didn't follow me or my friends around any more.
When I think back about that incident, I feel nothing but glee that I literally hit back. I don't feel victimized or sad or violated. Because I struck back. And I'd do it again.
As a 5 year old, I was molested by our neighbors servant. And I have a vague memory of me as a 3 or 4 year old being cajoled along with a couple of other little kids into performing oral sex on some slightly older boys. I have no idea whether this is an imagined memory or a memory of something that really happened.
When I started to type put this post I was not sure whether I should mention the bit about the oral sex. And when I did I felt relief - that I finally am telling the world what I've told only one person so far. I doubt that it was an imagined memory. Which 3 year old imagines oral sex?!
What matters is that I never ever EVER feel any guilt about it. Why should I? I was abused. I didn't ask for it. Why should I suffer for what some asshole did to me? I am only a victim if I don't move on and brood about it and curse my fate.
I am a hero for the simple act of leading my normal life.

ps the title for this post is borrowed from that classic scene in Karma where Anupam Kher - Dr. Dang - is slapped by Dilip Kumar.

Des Rangila

I'm at work, listening to music on shuffle and "Piano Man" ended only to be followed by the annoying "Des Rangila" song from Fanaa, sung by Kavita Krishnamurthy in true shrill form. As she goes on about how our des is so wonderful & colourful and blah blah blah... I roll my eyes and crib internally about how the lyrics completely gloss over all the umpteen problems that India faces. I continue with my work only vaguely aware of the song going on in the background.
Then, towards the end of the song there is an instrumental segue into the "Jaya He" part of the Indian national anthem and out of nowhere my heart wells up and I feel all nostalgic and terribly home sick and want to rush back home on the first available flight. To that beautiful multi-hued, blue skied land with lush green fields and deep red shades of love. That orange sunshiny colorful country that I will always call "home".


 

Copyright 2006| Blogger Templates by GeckoandFly modified and converted to Blogger Beta by Blogcrowds.
No part of the content or the blog may be reproduced without prior written permission.