Former Party Girl

I used to like going out. No, cross that - I used to love going out.

I loved parties and large gatherings and people din't scare me. I don't think they scare me now as much as they annoy me. It takes too much effort to fake interest in their small talk anymore and I'm not naturally drawn to the "broken" ones who nurse their drink in the corner of the room anymore. About two years ago I'd walk into a room full of strangers and do a stand-up bit of sorts. Everyone would fall in love with me and I'd thank Mrs. Liquid Courage for my star-like quality.My Instagram would flood with #aboutlastnight photos and strangers from the night would hit me up on Facebook the morning after.

I don't know when I got over the whole thing. I don't know when I realized that it doesn't really do anything more me. But as I type this I can't help but wonder if the realization came to me, or did the parties stop happening.

I've always known a lot of people in varying capacities of intimacy. Some probably got busy, some probably I lost on the way, some probably just didn't do it for me anymore, some probably started exploring ewer interests that didn't excite me and some probably started hating me. Maybe it was the lack of parties that forced me to prefer staying in.

I'm sitting here on a Saturday night with a glass of whisky by my side while my roommates are out for a Diwali party, trying to resume this blog, And I actually don't mind that.

When did we get here?

Old-age, is that you?

One of my closest friends was in town and she asked this girl if she got along with this other guy she wanted to have lunch with, so that all three of them could hang out. The girl said most nonchalantly "It's not about getting along, everyone can get along... but what's the point if I don't have fun?"

That's that, I guess. I stopped having fun.

And what a tragedy that is.

I Remember My Dream! aka TOW Too Many Parenthesis!

Oh my god! This has literally never happened before - I actually remember a dream I had last night with fair clarity.

It was midnight and I was outside the house I grew up in.

Wow! "...the house I grew up in" Who would've thought this is something I'd ever get to say. It's funny how things turn out; I actually have a house I grew up in. How old am I? 80?

I was walking in search of fairly lights. That's right! For some reason, I was walking on an empty road in Delhi, outside the house I grew up in, to buy lights.

Fairy lights are awesome. We need fairly lights.

I crossed the spot I spent years of my adolescence at.

Looking back, that spot is 'the spot' in my growing up chapters. Such monumental discussions, controversies, gossips and moments have happened in that spot that I'm actually smiling as I type this. Like, the time I kissed him on his cheek and it became the fodder for the aunties for weeks after or the time my mum caught me chilling with my friends there when I was supposed to be at the gym. Good times... 

There was no one on the streets; no one important, anyway. I don't know if I was home for a break or for good,

I hope it was a break. I don't think I can do Delhi anymore.

but I called him. True to character, he promptly picked up. I asked him who he was with and he just refused to tell me. I told him I'm in grave need of some fairly lights and I must have them asap. He laughed at me saying how amazing it is for me to believe that I'd get that anywhere at this hour of the night. I told him very confidently that I know a place in Santa Cruz that sells them and I'm sure they're open at the moment. "Will you take me there?" "Ummm... chal aataa hoon! Meet me at the spot"

Catch: Santa Cruz is in Bombay.

The dream changed plot after that, so I'm not sure how this one concluded.

When I texted him about the dream today, this is what he replied:

Do I believe he dropped everything (including who he was with) to drive me from Delhi to Santa Cruz, Mumbai for fairy lights? 

I mean, I want to!

What a fun story that'd make!

GOING Going gone...

Best Friend : How come your blog doesn't have a post of your homecoming? Is it now only reserved for men and alcohol?

___________________________________________________________

HaHaHa... that. Also, I didn't have internet access on my last day in Bombay and this week in Delhi has been beautifully busy. I'm leaving tomorrow morning after a very very eventful and an extremely fulfilling week in Delhi. To add to the drama  in my life that has notched up since the time I set foot in the Mumbai Airport last Saturday, Balasaheb Thackray passed away yesterday. My neighborhood in Bombay is apparently not at its peaceful best. However, my very posh South Bombay college isn't the most lenient with attendance. So tomorrow I'm going to land in the 'dream city' and hope that I'm not stoned by strange men.
I also hope that I get stoned tomorrow.. but that's another story.

In other news, I've planned to cook tomorrow night. For Him.

I've said this once and I'm saying this again... Only this time with much more authority;

Bambai Meri Jaan, Be Nice!

Rendezvous.

So you go to your terrace
For your post dinner smoke
And you're startled to see there
Not one, but two blokes
Then one things leads to another
Somehow you all end up drunk
Some laughs, flirting, stupidities
But no one's touching your junk
You go back home so happy
Smiling like a fucking fool
Thinking, for only a second,
That not each man is a tool
You  remember their names
You vaguely remember their faces too
But what a fun night it was
What a great rendezvous
How are there so many 'stories', you wonder
In a life so mundanely bourgeois
Anyway, you're just happy about one thing
That unlike other nights, you were wearing a bra.

"Chest"

I met this guy on my second day in Mumbai. Such a beautiful boy he is. An extremely good-looking North Indian boy. I stress on North Indian because you knew it as soon as you laid eyes on him.. Punjabi boy, joint family, chest out when he walks, fairer than milk, redundant tattoo.. the works! Let's call him chest.

I took chest to a bar. Chest told me of his family. The mother who loves chest, the father who is seemingly very strict, the overprotective brother, the grandfather whose death crushed chest. The doting grandfather whom chest still can't imagine life without. The only one in the family who ever expected good things out of chest. The man who wanted his lovely grandson to become the next Sachin Tendulkar. Chest obliged. Went for practice. Chest started off as wanting to prove the world wrong and keep chest's grandfather's word. Chest needed everyone to know that he was capable of much much more.

Chest told me all that over one drink too many.

So after a week of 'rigorous' practice, chest quit.

Chest told his grandfather that chest can't because chest doesn't want to get tanned.

Chest's grandfather died a month later.

I choked on my drink too.
We made out later that night.
We don't talk anymore for obscure reasons.

I think chest killed his grandfather.

Cool Thoughts.

I had all these cool thoughts in my head about 8 odd minutes back. Thoughts that were cool enough to make me get out of bed, take my fucking laptop out of my fucking bag, insert the fucking inapprriaate looking (and soundingg!!) dongle and go onto blogger. Only, Facebook was the furst tab I opened. And Facebook does that... takes away your thoughts. All of them.

So the few thoughts that I hd some time ago I must put down. Because it's my blog! and I can do the fuck I want to!!! Not use pucntuation! Noo.. I like punctuation. Anyway, for my putting down purposes, im gonaa use that cool bullet thng. Yay

•  I love sSalman Khan. Soo hot. The one time I tried to get onto a fucking moving local train here, I got hurt so bad it still pains. And here is Mr.Khan.. fucking getting onto a flying plane. Oh Swooooooooon.
• For the above to make sense you must watch Ek Tha Tiger/ And wait till the end of the credit roll because that's when Mahshallllah happens. And the Universe knows how much I love that song.
• I can't sleep! It's 6:48 A-fuckin-M right now! And it's the 20th of Augst! Ive been up since 10am 19th August. There's been intoxication and bad food and lots of conversation. LOTS! But now I cant sleep. Im suddenly typing with such efficientcy/ Efficiency is a fuckin tough word. 
• Pangs of hunger have hit at the beginning of this point.
• eid mubarak 
• i really must sleep
• i fucking facebook wall-ed sanam khanna today. RIGHT NOW! this moent needs to go down history. it has for me.
• ugly people should go fuck themselves. 
• thats not politically correct. 
• but it's true. mean, yes. but true. people should look nice all the time. most of the time. or be realllllllllyyyyy interesting... you know/.? the type that's all dark deep and upto cool shit that u dont understand. 
• oh my god. im bloggin like trishi. she blogs sporadically when shes drunk. i like it. she should blog more often.
• nihaaaaaariiikaa! if you're reading this, bastard woman calll meeee!!!
• SO many zigzag red lines under so mnay words. 
• Pawai Lake kicks Marine Drive's ASS! Seaface at Warli does too. Basically, Marine Drive is like CLubbing. YOU're really excited till you get there. When u gt there, it's too crowded for you to dance like a slut. Sigh.
• it's SEVEN! 
• SEVENNNNNNN !!!
  I just smoked a menthol. Who the fuck smokes Menthol? Icky peopem smke menthol. The kinds that like to hold your hand. ICKY.
• I curse so much here. and abuse. not even fucking funny. and in my mouth, Hindi and marathi have a fucking abusive baby. baby's not ugly though. we know how we feel about ugly people.

byebye

or as trishi ends it,

que sera sera

i hope i spelled it right. i misss you trishi. but most imprtantly, your fucking showerrr!
Kiss.

I sit down to write most nights. 

But I can't seem to. 

No thought is relevant enough.

No idea is sustained for too long.

But there's something different about tonight I guess. Because I have managed to type a few redundant sentences. And it's been some hours since my alcohol consumption hence I know this isn't drunk writing. Yet, it's equally scattered. 

So much has changed suddenly that it doesn't even affect me as much anymore. Best Friend had once told me a long time back that as much as I crib and bitch about them and claim to hate them, men would always be a part of my life. And a major part, at that. Best Friends have this annoying habit of knowing things about you before you're ready to acknowledge them for yourselves.
Anyhow, I've met some very interesting men here. Men that have seen the forbidden corners of my Paying Guest room, ever so sneakily; men who have sent me hot pictures of me; men who have paid some rather hefty alcohol bills; men who have stayed up with me all night talking about how communication in this world is shallow now; men who've sipped red wine with me as we smoked joints in the rain at a certain Pune balcony; men who have taken me for looong drives to the end of the Mumbai city only to be walked in on by cops... I hope I'm not leaving too many out. But basically, men who have been nice. And interesting.

And the ones who haven't been, I don't think too much of them.
I'm too young to.
I'm old enough to not.

I have no thoughts here. But I need to quit blaming the city. I don't even think I'm completely homesick just yet. Of course, I miss the food back home. But that's only because people here apparently don't hold taste in  very high regard. They eat for the sake of eating. Even I would I guess, if I had to get on top of other people in the locals every day on my way  to work and back and sweat on one another. Good food becomes an obstacle then. So they just make every thing smell the same here - of Garam Masala! - and eat it as they pretend to know the difference. Also, people don't hug here. They're all side hug-ey and fist bump-ey and well, generally sweaty. So I can't blame them for that too. Bomblasts and Malaria are to Mumbai what Rapes and Money are to Delhi... redundant and perfunctory. So okay, Delhi has counterparts. I parallel Malaria with Money not only for the common letter but for the fact that Delhi has money. Yes, I rub it in at every chance I get.
I'm popular here. But I was back home too. As I would be wherever I go. I'm sufficiently funny, averagely smart, pretty slutty, compulsively chatty, regular smoker and an alcoholic... like, why won't I make friends? I missed two days of college because I almost had Malaria (or so I thought!), and my bastard phone wouldn't stop buzzing about how bored everyone was getting without me. Yes! I'm a glorified class jester! Sue me! But the class jester gets in on the secret parties, so Screw You!


Speaking of Malaria, Mumbai has made my path collide with a very very cute Doctor; whom I'd totally go to visit again if it wasn't for the bloody long waiting line. We were totally flirting too in my big tshirt and pyajamas. Or was it just me? Or was it just that I was under medication? Whatever the case, cute doc. Notice how I don't throw around 'Bombay' anymore. I call it Mumbai now. For political reasons, of course. I'm not sure what they are but. Enlighten me, someone?


Oh! and the work I have here! The overdose of assignments is going to be the end of me, you'd think. I did too. But then came my fifty million household chores. Home here is where the household chores are, apparently. The heart thing is clearly a lie!

I HAVE NO THOUGHTS HERE.

Wadupp?

Apologies for the drunken stupor
But my hair looks nice right now
And I seem to have had one too many
And Ive released most of what was to be released
Alcohol hardly seems sinful now...


It's beautiiiful
With every bottle you open, you open up a little with it too
And what a joy that is
As you mistress around with friends or foes
And chat up everyone you come across
It's happiness
It's the closest you come to happiness in days...


You speak to lovers back in Delhi
Oh! My beautiful beautiful city of love.. where art thou?
And you moan to them
And breathe heavy
You wonder if this is what doing it over the phone feels like
You're sure not...


You wonder about the guy on your to-do list
You wonder why he manhandles you
Not that you mind
But you know  it's because for him, you're his 'bro'
SO for you, it'd be hot passion
For him, incest...


I need to think of more things! Or receive an education! Or smoke a cigarette on my terrace and sleep as I try not to throw up!
yeah.. the last one sounds just about right...


Apologies for the drunken stupor...

Meanwhile in Bombay...

It's been okay here. So far so good I guess. Travelling is a bitch though. And hence I was taking cabs to college these past couple of days. I think that's one of the reasons no one in my class accepted me with open arm- because I was that girl from Delhi who cabbed it between Dadar and CST everyday because she was too cool for a local. But I am too cool for it! I don't see how having men sweating all over you is exciting. Well, it is... but not in the Bombay Local way. However, I take the trains now. I pick up new boys every night who drop me back home. True Story.
Not random boys. Boys staying close to my house as to walk me back and get me out of the traumas of the feeling of being touched by sweating men. But speaking of men sweating all over you, Bombay is winning in the 'action' department. I would  like to believe it's because of my drop dead gorgeous looks, but it could have a little to do with how frustrating it is to live here for everyone. Not sexually frustrating; survival-frustrating. 

I'm cooking, cleaning, washing, the works! None of that I mind. My flatmates are really the nicest people. I have people in Bombay that I love. I have made some cool friends too who seem to be fond of me. None in my class though. I'm meeting so many people each day- old and new. But it gets lonely here. And no amount of smoking on my beautiful beautiful terrace (very la 'Wake Up Sid') makes it any better. I miss my mom. Home is where mom is, I feel. And my people. I feel shy reading emails from the girl I love. I get conceited when lovers from Delhi claim they miss me, almost perfunctorily. I don't think I'm really missing anyone yet. But I think about them a lot. I think about Delhi a lot. Delhi- the land of delicious food, cheap alcohol and easier commuting. Everyone walks here! To everywhere! They're going to fucking walk to the moon one day! I don't do walks. I'm from Delhi, remember?

In other news, I've already been to the Police Station once in the middle of a night of drunken debauchery and have had one happy accidents too many around my under-wired brasserie- but I'd just put it under 'beginner's luck'; the latter, I mean. The alcohol intake has been more than the food. And with my cab rides and regular alcohol, I would soon zero down to no food at all it seems.
It's been a little more than a week   since I've been here. A few days ago had I gotten to write this, it would've been filled with frustrations pouring all over it. From everything to the names of this place (Kandivalli, Warli (pronouced Varli!), Borivali, Bandra, Bandstand, Banchod...!), to the lack of basic culinary experience to the surprise rains that make you think twice about wearing coloured bras... but now I think I've already made peace with it. And if not, I know I'm on a quick way to it...

The terrace makes it better.

iWrite. Part Deux.

Leaving the city you've lived in for two decades is weird. Leaving it for slum city is strange. 

It's not easy anyway; specially when everyone around you is behaving like you're some celebrity who is getting married off and moving to the States (read: random madhuri Dixit reference). I have to to leave behind all these friends who won't be there physically to deal with my regular drama. I'd probably even lose touch with most. I'd have to live in a non-ac room. And have to share it with an unknown soul. Who, probably won't be from Delhi either. I'd walk out of my house and no man would be staring at my boobs like they were his friends. I'd never be certain that I'd get my work done with cleavage flashing and a little extra cash.  No chance encounter with a familiar 'autowallah' who'd take me to my destination. And no autos altogether because of the skyrocketing prices and general discourse of maniacal traffic. What would I do without all this botanical beauty that I'm so used to? And my parlour lady! Sigh. How I'd miss her! The quickest, most efficient (and also painless, might I add) lady on the planet. Sigh sigh sigh. And to live sans any parks? The horror!! No park facilities for play, work, pleasure, joint rolling etc. Nobody showing off because they don't even have a corridor in their matchbox sized homes is going to claustrophobic. And what is this shit I hear about alcohol permits in Bombay???  And top it all, Bombay has no winters. So there is no mist that hides all its ugliness. Hardly anyone would give a tiny rat's ass when (and if) we reach a club (in time) and dance slutty through the night. 

The one who notices would probably be from Delhi. And him and I are getting it on then.

That's the plan.

Ugh. I think the above however dramatic was a little therapeutic. 

Yes, I'm moving to Bombay for my post grad. And yes, I'm not going to eliminate the possibilities of all the fun I'm going to have. 

I leave on the 30th of this month.

Bombay, be nice.

And if the post offended/bored you , too bad.

Anyway, watch this and enjoy.

Bitten.

I discovered their existence rather early in my life. I've been an ardent fan. 'Love Bites' we called them back in the day. We weren't cool enough to give 'Hickeys' yet.

Love Bites. Love sure does.

Hickeys brand you.

Hickeys are memorabilia.

Hickeys remind you of 'what had been'.

Hickeys keep  record for some hours.

Hickeys keep record for some days even.

Hickeys make people know of your whereabouts.

Hickeys remind you  of your whereabouts.

Hickeys may disappoint parents.

Hickeys may be credited to insect bites for some.

Hickeys are good for you.

Hickeys are proof that you've been loved well;

Even where no love existed at all...

In memory of Bombay, Part Deux.

iWrite.

I'm still left with a major portion of my toughest exam this year. When's the exam, you ask? Tomorrow morning at 9. At 23:11, I wonder how much five minutes of blogging will take away from my anyway redundant studying plan.

I went to Bombay for a a Post Grad interview immediately after my last exam and returned yesterday. The interview sucked, by the way. Anyway, the trip was really like a loong sleepover of sorts. I met people and had seemingly a really great day. I have grown up fancying Bombay. I knew I'd love it without any introduction even. However, I don't. I hate that place!

Bombay is ugly, overcrowded, dirty and so fuckin' poor. And the traffic! The motherfuckin' traaafffiiccc!! On my way back from the airport, I was actually going to tell my cab driver to stop the cab somewhere so that I could lie down on the Delhi roads and make some sweet love to it. Bombay made me cry. For no good reason. It can't be the traffic alone. After really long did I cry with such intensity. The worst part however iss, that the water taps haven't completely stopped in Delhi either. This better be PMS or I'm blaming my parents for all my miseries.

We live like kings in Delhi even in our poverty, someone once said to me. Delhi serves everything on a platter to everyone. Of course, there's familiarity of all these years and personal connections. But apart from that, Delhi is easy. If you don't want to rush, you can be laid back as fuck. You can always get someone else to do the work for you. Bus, Metro, Auto, Car- you'd find your footing somewhere and not be bogged down by the weight and sweat of 800 passengers in one square inch. If you don't wanna go clubbing, you go karaoke. If you can't afford the cool bar in Saket, there'll always be a cheaper alternative in a humble abode near your place. Which will also have ac, might I add. Unlike Bombay.

Of course nightlife rocks in Bombay apparently because the entire evening goes in commuting. I would need all pubs open till early morning too if I needed 3 hours to get from any point to any point. Of course, the city never sleeps because it's always stuck in traffic! 

It may be because perhaps I am too much of a Delhiite apparently to survive a Bombay. And to think I had never thought ot myself that way before. Delhi tends to spoil you. Bombay doesn't give scope for your way of life; it's the city's way. You either embody the ''spirit'' of Bombay and be it or well, just never fit in.

Sigh.

Oh. It's 23:21.

This was going to be a distraction post from all the studying that I don't understand. Why is it a Bombay v/s Dehi debate, I have no idea.
Needs.Happiness.And.Drugs.