Saturday, September 25

Babies. Saturday night and I'm home instead of being in Noida, partying, wearing something shiny. Not only am I home, I'm also:

- sleepy at 11:30
- catering to insane Bink who insists on going all cape fear on me every night because of her debilitating addiction to cheese and preferential treatment
- allowing whiny Tenzing to harsh my mellow
- too lazy to get up and shut my window from where both the awesome cold breeze and dengue causing mosquitoes are wafting in.

Last few weeks have also been similarly super glamorous, so I haven't really been updating my blog. So I'm just going to hit the ground running and pretend we're all BFFs and you don't need updates <3 The CWG have resulted in a temporary change in work timings. I'm getting up at 0615 every morning and I don't have the energy to be scintillating (or coherent) any more at 2345 on a Saturday. The games have made a respectable woman out of me, early to bed and early to rise, no time for mooning about at night, spend most of the day in sleepy haze so no time left to actually think of things. And since this paragraph is also beginning to hurt my head as its become too long-winded and unwieldy for me to focus on, here's some bullet points for you:

- my boobs can tell the time. They know when it's post 10 PM and they'll be damned if they'll be forced to stay in a bra.
- I have a new system of dealing with unpleasant situations and requests. When asked to do things like clean the cats' milk bowls (yuck) all I have to do is lie down on the floor and stay there. It's called civil disobedience and it's a respected form of expression of political dissent. Thanks Bapu. Now only have to try it at work, will lie down in front of printers when asked to do stupid things that are disrespectful to my intellectual heft. Will be dragged away in dignified manner.
- women really handle break-up type situations very poorly. Ladies, I'm ashamed to be associated with this sociopathic obsessiveness and tendency towards hysteria. It's just a dude, behave yourselves. (and just like that earn title of World's Worst Friend and Surprisingly Misogynistic Uterus-bearer)
- I love my cats. They drive me insane but my day would be notably poorer without all the baby talk and obsessive following them around that ensues. My cats rule.
- September is sort of lingering no? For fuck's sake, get a move on already.
- New seasons of everything are out! Gossip Girl, Grey's Anatomy, Big Bang Theory, HIMYM and Glee! And soon 30 Rock. And the Mad Men season is still going on. Got lots of buffering done this week.
- I need to study. It's that time of the year again. AGAIN.


Friday, September 17

Or as Prince Humperdinck put it, 'I always think everything could be a trap, that is why I'm still alive.'

I put off writing for days and weeks and now I'm finally here, having just fought with my dad about what is a suitable time for me to make my grand arrival back home. I'm going home tomorrow :) I can't wait to forget what this strange isolated time was like (which will happen within a day of being back) and in typical about-to-go-home fashion am reveling in the last bits of my solitude. Much like my cats who mostly pretend to be dainty and clean, and then roll around on their backs in sunny patches of dust or sand like there's no tomorrow.

I'm also really thoroughly enjoying the dregs of tobacco left with me. Nicotine, to me, appears to be friend, philosopher, mentor, lover and guide, a la nature to Wordsworth. I suspect when the trappings of youth disappear, when my skin isn't quite as soft, my tits not as fantastic, my body no longer 'curvy' but plain old fat and gross the one thing that will remain steadfastly by my side is nicotine and my secretly flourishing tumours. And I will love them and coo at them. (see how long I've been alone? I say things like that now. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom.)

How's everyone been? Not too great I assume, for the internet deteriorates everyday. I could break up with it you know, delete my facebook and twitter account and delete all entries off my blog and leave it with a very lame and cryptic solitary 'so long and thanks for all the fish' type post to hint at past greatness, but my usage is changing with age. It's all trade journals, magazines & newspapers, catalogues, lolcats and the style rookie and the sartorialist now. I guess the time has come when I stop snickering to myself at the bleating of online artistes and poets, who sound all ~deep~ and ~inspirational~ and actually ignore them and stop noticing every new strand of white hair.

What else? I've been fairly morbid of late and didn't want to ramble on here, pointlessly AND humourlessly. And I can't pull off ~deep~ or ~inspirational~ :| It all eventually becomes a question of time, internet. Given enough time, we can really do anything. Learn how to be trusting, nice human beings also. Which is the exact luxury we can't afford. I tried watching stupid Ishqiya today and couldn't make it past 15 minutes. And I promised myself I will not watch A Single Man again this week.

In summary, a photo more illustrative of my mood than the drivel above:

Wednesday, September 8


and a deeper silence

when the crickets