Fatted and feted

I never do blog much when I'm on holiday, do I? But never mind. I'm whisking through Bombay for all of two days (I'm a little globetrotter, well, countrytrotter at any rate) and already have nice hectic weekend plans. Ahhhhhh, I'm going to be so BORED when this month is over and I have to go back to domesticity.

The train back was better than the train there (the train THERE had a) a snoring man who I had to POKE to get to turn over and he still kept snoring and I wanted to smother him b) MANY noisy children--seriously, parents? This is not cute. and c) one little girl who was sitting opposite me and asked me several times why I was reading so much. Gah) The train back had only one baby (not noisy, rather sweet actually) and two hell-monster kids who yelled till what felt like four am--train time being five hours ahead. And after being late with my period in Delhi (I was only comforted with the fact that I could not possibly be pregnant unless it was the immaculate conception or something, which was also unlikely coz I'm an atheist) I got it in one ENORMOUS torrent last night, trying to sleep in my very uncomfortable berth, my laptop bag tucked for safety underneath my pillow. I even woke up out of a sound sleep because I felt it descend. I guess my ovaries were waiting for me to be back on Maharastrian soil. Anyhoo, that meant unpacking my suitcase and pulling out a change of clothes and trying not to look embarrassed and having to manage on minimal sleep and a very chatty cabbie on my way home. Why do people keep trying to talk to me when really all I want is to have minimal human contact when I'm commuting? It's true--if I can't pick the company, I don't want ANY company. Hmph.

tc, my little Motu Singh, is delighted to have me back. Oh who am I kidding? I don't think he cares really. He rubbed himself against my legs for a bit and then went off to stare out of the window despite me going, "Hi baby! Mummy's home! Did you miss me? I missed you!" I even picked him up and squeezed him just for looking so adorable (and so FAT, that makes two of us, I guess, because I look like someone's inflated me) but he rolled his eyes at me and went away to lick himself furiously. I like to think I'm more than just a giant pair of legs that feeds him, but you know, you can't tell. (Awww.. and just as I wrote that, I heard a little miaow and tc came in my room to say hello. My Turqinder. I'm so full of sappy parenting feelings right now.)

Delhi this time was mainly house parties, which I love, including one mini-thing at my house. Bani and Maya had a wine and cheese thing at their (yes, yes, VERY CLEAN BRAND NEW ABSOBLOODYLUTELY SPOTLESS) house (they have a thing for housework right now, in case you can't tell) which concluded with butter chicken. And because I was so reminded of Leela, I had to call her and we had a lovely long chat. Only I mistook Camembert for Emmental, so we finished all the Camembert and Bani was like, "Dude! Emmental! Just for you!" and so I had to eat it all. by. myself. No wonder I'm fat.

Oh, and such fabulous shopping! I did Sarojini Nagar twice and I must tell you about all my clothes. (But I'll make it easy to skip by adding asterisks at the beginning and end of the shopping descriptors, THAT'S how much I love you.)

*****BEGIN CLOTHES DESCRIPTION**********************

One sleeveless pink tunic thing with pockets and button straps. (Ooh and I saw the IDENTICAL tunic at Pepe for like LOTS of money and I was all hah!)

One very pretty brown fitted dress with spaghetti straps and a flary skirt that reaches my knees. It's more khaki brown than BROWN brown and it has these strings you tie up at the neckline and I wear it with a red tie-die dupatta for a very Spanish effect. Teamed with...

.. silver kolhapuris, where the sole is so thin that it gets bent out of shape pretty soon. But I had a pedicure to match them.

A balloon skirt dress with a large sash and stars all over it, soooooooo pretty.

A blue belted tunic, a little bit too large for me, but very nice thin material so I won't die of the sweat.

New Converse sneakers in khaki which I have been coveting.

A long yellow t-shirt also of this incredibly thin, incredibly clingy cotton, the kind that looks like it'll fall apart if you look at it roughly with a picture of a cat driving a car on it and it says Le Chat Noir. See, see, why I bought it?

A clingy white top with lots of cleavage and the kind of material designed to show even a mole on your stomach.

A dotted black and white tunic, with tiny cap sleeves and a sweet little belt.

Another yellow top, but this time made of cheesecloth, with smocking and peasant girl sleeves.

A black and white striped shirt, also slightly large for me, but looks good with jeans on.

And, not from Sarojini, but Pepe Jeans, I bought another long-sleeved shirt, with frayed edges and a paisley design.

K, I'm done.

*******************END DESCRIPTION****************************

I met K again, which was nice and after a VERY long time too. We're kinda, sorta, friends now, which is lovely. No lingering looks, no snide remarks, just everything on the table. I'm happy, he's happy and I guess we wish each other well and all that. There were some pockets of weirdness, but I don't think those are EVER going to go away, even if we're both married happily and have five hundred children. But we hung out like civilised adults even though I kept getting surprised looks from mutual friends. ("Uh.. you guys are hanging out now?" "So, you and K are like friends again?" To which I said, "Phssssssssh. Whatever. The past is the past.") Oh, and also I changed outfits a hundred million times each time there was a meeting. Yeah. Most mature.

Ya know, back in the day, when my move to Bombay was only six months old, I faced a classic immigrant problem. Bombay wasn't yet my home and Delhi had ceased to be my home. And now, I looked out from the Rajdhani at Delhi AND at Bombay and said happily to myself, "Home!" Isn't that awesome?

Delhi, Open Letters To,

To The New Fancy Busstops:

Dear New Fancy Busstops,
You are indeed very new and very fancy. But you are also clogging up traffic. And you are distractingly shiny. I also suspect you are related in a distant cousin way to the Metro digging happening everywhere, especially the one which has transformed the landscape of Saket, where I used to live very happily only a little more than a year ago. So, while I have nothing against you, could you take your new shininess to less busy roads than the Chirag Delhi flyover intersection?


To People I Have Met In The Last Four Days:

STOP TELLING ME I'VE PUT ON WEIGHT!!!

(*ahem* sorry for yelling.)

To The Very Rude Bouncer Lady At Urban Pind:

Asking for a plastic glass to take my drink away in does not equate to the response: "This is not a Fountain Pepsi place" in a very snotty tone. You've lost yourself one customer. And I hope people who read this online will desist from patronising Urban Pind where CLEARLY they don't even ask for the basics in customer relations, ie, politeness.

To My Friends:

Thank you for making me feel like I never left. It's been so, so awesome. Parties abound, socialising abounds and I wonder like I always do when I'm here, why I ever bother to leave.

To My City:

Thank you for having excellent weather, and raining and being so different and yet exactly the same.


Sigh.. Only nine days left.

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

So, the big news for this month is that I've quit my job. And not to go to another job either. I'm going to be freelancing full-time for the next year, taking a sabbatical as it were, writing my next book and so on. So far though, it doesn't feel like much of a sabbatical as I foresee I will be working much MUCH harder at holding a freelance career together than I ever have with just one job. I have three columns in three newspapers and a part-time job teaching with an NGO, which I'm really REALLY looking forward to.

But the nice thing is I wake up every morning feeling happy and joyful and less with a cold knot of dread in my stomach. I was done with working for someone else, I guess and it's nice to know that I am my own boss. (Of course *ahem* if this blog post is to catch anyone looking for a freelance writer's eye then you know where the email address is. What? Have blog, will pimp self!)

Anyway, I'm off to Delhi on Thursday for two whole weeks, making it the longest vacation I have taken for, oh about two years now. And then when I return, I'm going on a training programme with the same NGO, again out of town, so I'm not likely to be in Bombay for most of May. That's another thing I'm looking forward to. I'm getting my usual summer/city ennui and itchy feet and I need to be out of familiarity. I love having a home base and yes, I will want to come home by the end of it all and cuddle my cat and sit at my desk and go to Zenzi and stop living out of a suitcase and so on, but it WILL be nice to get away.

And before I go, I thought I'd address issues raised in the last post comments. Why don't I write about sex I'm having anymore? Well, a) I don't think I wrote THAT much about sex I was having in the first place and b) at 26, I don't know, it feels a little dated to be talking constantly of my conquests. Feelings will be hurt also, because a lot of people I know read this blog. I'm sorry, but if that's what you've come here expecting then you might have to go elsewhere. But if you're sticking around to follow me to this new, very challenging stage in my life, then welcome. I will have many new stories for you.

eM (and scout's) excellent adventure-II

Previously on The Compulsive Confessor:

eM goes to Singapore and is rather jet lagged. She meets scout and of course, they begin drinking immediately. They are at Clarke Quay and Aurora and scout are being rather patient and posing for many photographs.

Clarke Quay reminded me a little bit of the India Habitat Centre, if the IHC had bars everywhere you looked. And no red brick. Okay, so it wasn't so much the IHC, but it had all these metal things in the middle that could be at the IHC. We went to a barccalled The Highlander (Scottish theme, waiters in kilts, huge stag horns as decoration--hey, do they welcome stags out of curiousity?) where their friends were playing, one of whom commented on my last post, let's see if I can find his URL. Ah, here we go. Anyway, the music was good, and there was vodka-Red Bull and I was beginning to get my second wind at this point anyhow. (Deepti and I have timed to an art my bursts of energy. My second wind usually appears around 10.30-11ish, only to vanish around 1 am. My third wind appears at around two and that lasts till five in the morning, mostly. But since I was in a different time zone I think that got slightly messed up.)

Post Highlander we moved to the Singapore TC (I love discovering TC equivalents all over the world) called China One (which brings me to another digression, sorry, I'm full of them tonight. It occured to me that almost all cities have a China something. Bombay has China House, Delhi has Indo Chine, London has a China One again, I think. New York, as far as I know, doesn't.) It wasn't exactly TC, because they played mostly hip-hop, but every now and then the band would break into something like Take On Me (take on me! take me uppppppppp!). And it was there that I was introduced to the Jaegerbomb--a jaegermeister shot in a glass of Red Bull, and yeah, about as deadly as it sounds. Given that I had devoured two vodka Red Bulls at this point and was working on my third, I think my heart just skipped several beats. Third wind? I was on my hundred and twenty fifth.

FINALLY, around two in the morning, my body decided to give up and go home without me. Sadly, I said goodbye to the girls who were still going strong and went back to the hotel where I slept for twelve solid hours, only waking up when scout called me the next day and realised that I was starving. I had barely had any dinner the night before and obviously, missed breakfast so at this point I could have eaten a cow if it was unfortunate enough to wander into my path. (Mmmmmmmm, cow.)

We went to Orchard Street (or was it road?) and went to a Burger King. Don't laugh, I go to a Burger King each time I'm abroad, just for the bacon cheeseburger. Chicken burgers here just aren't the same, and I've had the beefburger at Crepe Station and stuff, but it still doesn't taste like Burger King! It was turkey bacon though, but I was so hungry, I didn't care. scout and I made zero conversation during the entire meal, until finally, full and replete, we went scouting (scouting. hee.) for a smoking spot where we just vegged for a bit and people watched.

And then it was shopping time! Well, more for her than for me, because I just wandered around Zara and Top Shop and things and made admiring noises while she tried things on, and coveted a set of fridge magnets in the shape of cat bottoms. Sigh. Those were nice fridge magnets.

And then, amidst shoe shopping, scout had to go and do this. So Aurora and I went to Starbucks and I people watched some more and when she got back, I gave her my 'boys lie and sometimes stink' pep talk (excellent pep talk by the way, I've used it on myself many times) and we collared her and went to the nearest bar, the name of which I've forgotten but it was very TGIF.

Oh but before that we went and bought me a New! Red! Bag! So shiny! So red! So patent leather! I love it. I want to rub my face against it and yes, yes, make babies with it, shiny red clutches. Everyone feels better with a little retail therapy. I don't know why I needed to feel better, but you know, empathy and all.

Anyhoo, we bitched about the men we knew and I, of course, made inappropriate joke type comments (but, hey, in my defense: a) I'm not good with crisis situations and b) she LAUGHED. Ask her!) and then we went back to theirs so everyone could get dressed and we could go on our Grand Girls Night Out.

I looked alarmed at the time but I was told to "Relax, dah-link, this is Singapore and we only go out at one am." Fine. I read Aurora's Archie comics and drank my drink quietly and waited for other people to make leaving noises (which HAH they totally did at like 11 even though we were in Singapore and people only go out at one. Pffft.) Finally everyone departed and scout and I went back to the hotel so I could shower and change and then once more to Clarke Quay. I love going to the same place twice on holiday. It's sorta nice to see something familiar, to be acquainted with it already, to stop gaping at things, you know? And we went to China One again, which was also nice, because I already knew where the smoking area was and where the loo was and I didn't have to ask anybody.

Ooh and I met many people. Besides scout's friends, I also met a friend of a friend in Bombay and someone who reads my blog! Hello! We were ALL so drunk though (and by 'we', I totally mean 'me') that there was much backslapping and confession making and tequila shotting.

After three drinks I was ushered out of there and to a place called Attica, which was more nightclubby, with smoke lights everywhere and a dance floor. Surprisingly cheaper than the other place though. There were so many of us in this enclosure (VIP, ahem) that it didn't matter what the rest of the crowd was like (only, it did later, as you will soon find out). I danced, drank part of a pitcher of LIIT, took many pictures (but you have to be on my Facebook list to see them, sorry!).

And then we needed a cigarette, so scout and I excused ourselves and went outside and met many of her friends, one of whom was a cutie and at whom I batted my eyelashes. Soon, the rest of the party left (at three am, wusses) and it was only me and scout and Aurora and the Cute Boy, and scout and Aurora disappeared (sorry, were perfect wingwomen) leaving me alone with Cute Boy.

Cute Boy wasn't Indian and so he had a lot of India Questions which I was happy to answer including, "Are you a good Indian girl?"

"Why, of course," I said, demurely, "But then that totally depends on what your definition of a Good Indian Girl is."

He leaned forward and whispered it into my ear and I smiled.

"In that case," I said, "I'm definitely a good Indian girl."

But since I don't kiss and tell (oh all right, don't kiss and blog anyway) suffice to say that as the evening proceeded he knew a lot more about India than he had before.

And the next day, after a sushi lunch, I went home.

Sigh. Great holiday. Thank you to everyone who met me and most especially to my blogging BFF (heh) scout, without whom it wouldn't have been even half as much fun.

eM (and scout's) excellent adventure

(This will be a very long post. You stand warned.)


First, from the travel journal.

17th April, 2008, International Airport, Mumbai

I love looking for omens before a trip. This time there have been two--a good one and a bad one. Do they cancel each other out? The good one is that the Singapore airport code is SIN, which pretty much is a message for me from the universe. I've decided if GOD wants it, how can it be wrong?

The bad one is that this airport has not a single bookshop past immigration. I can buy a hundred different cups of coffee but not a single book. Damn. I'm sticking to flying out of Delhi.

Since there are no bookshops, I'm journalling furiously and equally furiously (well, not ANGRY, but you know, rapid) sending text messages to everyone I can think of.

After a drink at the airport bar, I feel a lot more optimistic. It's 11.25 pm and I left my drink to come and board. And the gate's still closed. Sigh. Who are all these people? What are their stories? In front of me, two couples, one with a really ugly but kinda cute in a troll like way baby, single male passengers, six, no, eight, three old ladies, FOUR old ladies, one "mixed" couple--blonde boy and Asian girl. Woman in burqah (ooh, gate's opening!) two little girls and their mother (there'll be kids on this flight. Please keep them far far FAR away from me.) one woman in hijab, unfortunate looking sister and brother, their mother's better looking, so clearly the dad had more to do with their genetic coding, woman in bright pink pinstriped shirt carrying a briefcase, MORE old women, maybe it's like a holiday for them, troll baby's crying now, two burqahs, tall blonde couple, tall old man, ooh, cute boy! (Let me be near a cute boy, no, wait, quite tired. Let me be near a cute boy on my way back) more blonde couples, sheikh type dudes, another cute boy, no, I think it's the same one, boring, boring, boring, kid with spiky hair, REALLY ugly woman, man, there are unattractive people here today, boring, okay, time to board.


Why we were there in the first place

My hotel was most fancy, you can check it out here. Sadly, I didn't manage to take advantage of any of the facilities and only had ONE of their excellent buffet breakfasts, a fact that now at 12.14 in my hot little room with my stomach grumbling, I'm beginning to regret. I landed at around 7 am (5 am India time) and proceeded to stay up for the next, oh, fourteen to sixteen hours. (How DOES she do it, I hear you asking. COFFEE. RED BULL. MINIMAL FOOD. Coz food makes you sleepy.) All the same, I had to make sure I wasn't sitting down for more than fifteen minutes because then it was just la-la land.

I met the other bloggers on the panel--Daryl and Victor and Kenny. Et moi, representing Indian Womanhood and India In General and Young Adults and People Who Like To Pah-tay. That's quite a few labels. It was quite a hardcore IT conference, and I was actually rather surprised that they asked me at all. I mean, I'm fun and all, but I didn't think my blog was exactly... topical. Oh well. Another nice thing was that no one in the audience had read my blog so I was able to be completely myself without any odd, tripping up questions. I got quite a few laughs and people came up to me afterwards saying they'd like to read it, so I wrote down the URL on several pieces of paper. I really need to get business cards made.

Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm finally getting the hand of this panel discussion stuff.

It's the scout!

Tearful reunion happened. In the midst of a room full of IT people, we squealed and giggled and talked very rudely in Hindi to each other (rudely, because it excluded everyone else, not because we were saying mean things. That happened later.) I chugged down my last glass of wine, got a refill and together we skippety-hopped up to my (smoking) room on the 27th floor, where we did a general gab fest and catch up and then I got dressed so we could get out of there.

Dipso meets dipso

Really, did you think it WOULDN'T be a drunken weekend? This is me. And scout. Possibly the two bloggers whose content is MOSTLY "So, I was out last night and got very drunk.."

After we left the hotel we went down to the business district which was pretty close by and to this place called Barrio (China, was it?) to meet two of scout's friends, one, the very famous and fabulous Aurora (ooh and we got to do the "oh my god, it's such a small world!" conversation which it seems I shall never escape, even in foreign countries) and another friend, whose name on scout's blog I have forgotten, so I'll just call her Katy.

We had some more drinks and it was my first experience with the whole not-smoking-at-bars thing, which in theory, I guess sounds like a great idea. I mean, you smoke less and all. But in practice, you're smoking just as much as you would, only there's a new annoyance factor involved in getting up and leaving the table. Man, smokers are like lepers these days. Good ol' polluted India. This is why I'm never moving.

After mini-pizzas at Barrio, we moved to the girls house, which is HUGE by Bombay or even Delhi standards and also on the ground floor. Most young people who live alone, in India at any rate, get the nosebleed floor, so that was surprising.

I almost passed out at their house despite vodka and TV, and so there had to be a practical arm lift to get me out of there. We went to Clarke Quay, a name I love because I love the word 'quay' and I kept rolling it around in my mouth. Quay, quay, quay. I wish we had a quay. I'd totally go every day just so I could tell the rickshaw guy 'Quay'.

Okay, now I'm actually tired and I have other stuff to do. More in the next post!

As I was saying the other day: one third psychologist, one third drinking buddy and one third sex goddess. What more do you need?

(updated: I will be in Singapore this weekend to be on a panel on blogging and user-generated content and so on. Wheeeeeeeeeeee! I'm so excited! I've never been to Singapore! The live feed is here and you can actually log in and ask questions to the panelists real time. Super fancy! See ya'll Monday.)


I Need Help! (Installment the first)


Hi eM

Straight away coming to the topic; I need a help from you….to fulfill my love.
I'm an HR executive, working in a s/w company in Bangalore. 7 months back I came across with a girls profile with photograph, she is also a Keralite like me, and now staying in UAE. The face fascinated me unbelievably, as somebody I was waiting for long. Yes…. I fell in Love, as never before, and now im spending a lot of time thinking of her.

But I really had no idea how to proceed. At last I sent her a mail (few months back), without revealing anything, I requested her friendship (I can hear you calling me ‘stupid’). She didn’t even reply.

Then I decided to wait till my parents start searching girls for me, but it will be tooo late, im sure.

Now Im thinking of sending a mail straight away, by revealing everything, but again Im afraid. I don’t know what she will think of me while getting such a mail. If I lost this chance too, I cannot approach her one more time.

Before finishing- myself; too poor in girls’ psychology, in school and college, I haven’t mingled much with girls, i don’t even have sisters.

I haven’t discussed this issue with my friends or room mates. First time I am telling it to somebody. I see you as a person who can help me. Please pleeeeese advice me, don’t ignore. Im waiting.

Hopefully
Sleepless In Bangalore

Dear Sleepless,

First, sorry for making you wait for so long, but you know, real life type things have been keeping me quite occupied (major news for you guys in the next post). But, see, see, I got around to it!

Okay, so you're in a bit of a pickle. You like this girl, but she never responded to your emails or anything and now you're in a quandry. Might I point out though that you've never met her? And to fixate on a photograph (really, because how much of this is based on her 'about me' section?) might be setting yourself up for disappointment, no?

Sleepless, dude, I see men like you all the time. I see them on my Facebook and Orkut friends request pages. I see them in my inbox and in my comment section. And, I'm sorry to say, I usually reject them. Because, hear me out before you get all mad and close this page, girls like to know they're more than just pretty faces. They go for good opening lines, for something that reveals that you've been paying attention. You might be in love with her, sure, but how does she know you don't want to just get into her pants?

Here's my advice, Sleepless. Forget this girl. Meet someone real, in REAL LIFE, perhaps at your job or through a friend. Spend some time knowing what makes her tick, what her favourite colour is and whether you like the same music and how many children you want and so on. Also, if the Object Of Your Affections (OOYA) is in the UAE, how do you expect it to work? Long distance relationships RARELY work, and only when the couple has a strong past, take it from a pro. If you continue to pursue her she could either a) ignore your emails; b) block you from sending any more or worst case scenario c) report you for harrassement. Do you want that? I think not.

Go get a drink tonight, Sleepless. Bangalore's a great city, I've heard and you won't meet anyone sitting at home surfing the internet.

xoxoxox

eM

(For advice, a bitchslap or a backpat email me: thecompulsiveconfessorATgmailDOTcom)

You know summer's here when...

.. you write poetry bemoaning your lack of a love life to a mythical person who may not even exist. But still, I quite like this. Not quite poetry, not quite prose.

Love me wordlessly.

Love me with hot moistness under a noisy fan.

Love me so that I am without language, without communicating.

Love me so I am silent.

Love me so I am loud.

Love me at the pit of my belly and the dent of my back.

Love me into knots.

Love me into a straight line, toes unfurled.

Love me with Blake and Eliot and cummings.

Love me especially with cummings.

Love me so that I forget.

Love me so that I remember.

Love me into you, crawled into the space between your lungs, beating.

Love me into smoke, vapours, thin air.

Love me into thick air and fire, so I explode into flames.

Love me.


(And a little later today, the first (and perhaps the only!) installment of I Can Give People Advice. Stay tuned.)