"Not tonight, honey.."

This advert was created for the French equivalent of KY jelly. Seems perfectly innocuous until you look a little closer... .Geddit?
Heehee..made me laugh gleefully. I love cleverness.

Blerve, perhaps? Maybe even pervog

Okay, okay I confess - I am a blogperv. I have become completely consumed with reading other people's blogs. In fact, I am so obsessed with it, that J at work is beginning to fear for my sanity. I stalk blogs every free minute I get at work, and sometimes, even when I'm at home. So Leddies and Gents, please to applaud as I take a bow for being the biggest loser on the planet. Thank you, Thank you.
Seriously though, during a moment of respite from my newest addiction, I started thinking - what is it about reading other people's tragedies, trials and tribulations (people seem to blog more often when they're sad) that interests us so much? Why am I willing to spend hours trawling through cyber-reams of random ramblings, especially when they're written by people I don't even know? Why do I care about what eM did with her weekend, even when I'm sometimes too exhausted to string together a coherent thought?
And then over the weekend, I found some people who were blogging about all the same shit that I was going through. And that's when it hit me (and this may not seem like a particular startling revelation to most of you, but it just kinda struck me and I was amazed at my intelligence, so shush) - that without realising it, I had been searching for validity all along. Despite all the modern tools of communication, I'd been feeling essentially alone. And while I partied and drank my self silly every night, few of my friends really knew what was going on with me, and I was too scared that they wouldn't understand even if they did know. And so, I took to blogging, and compulsively reading other people's blogs. And honestly, I've been feeling a little better. It helps to know that I'm not the only freak.

Anyway, in other news - I felt very hip and cool all weekend. Friday night I went to newest lounge bar in the city, and it's fabulous. For all you non-Mumbai people reading this, when you come to this city, you must go to Shiro. It's beauuuutiful, and very trendy. I met at least half the people I know in the city. I kid you not. All the Cathedralites were there, so was some of the Campion gang (including the incredibly hot ND. We chatted; he's totally drool-worthy, but a little daft), plus a lot of girls from my school. So I schmoozed and air-kissed and got home suitably tipsy. And then on Saturday night, I went to a friend's art show. It wasn't until I got there that I realised just how important the said friend is. I must confess, I felt super-cool and I-know-everyone-that-matters-in-this-city esque. Just for the record, if anyone reading this is planning to buy some art - Indraneil Kamath is the Next Big Thing. Honestly.
And then onwards to Indigo Deli for dinner, Poison for some hard-core boogeying and finally ended the night at Lobby Bar. Lobby Bar is a happy new discovery of mine - it's by the sea, stays open late and plays decent house music. Another must-visit.

Arreh wah, pretty long post, no? Besides for all of the above, work still sucks - Megalomaniac Boss keeps blowing hot and cold, and I'm currently working on a bunch of really shitty stories. If anyone has a job to offer me in journalism (anywhere in the world, really, I'm not picky), please feel free to leave comments below.

Wee hours of the morning rant

Who the fuck am I? what do I want? How did I get here? I used to know who I was, and where I wanted to be. I had priorities. Why don’t I have them anymore? Why does nothing seem worth it anymore? And I don’t mean this in an I’m-suicidal-and-I-want-to-kill-myself kind of way. I’m actually quite enjoying life- I’ve ended up meeting new people, and I love the company of most of my old friends. I like reacquainting myself with Mumbai, and like observing the way it’s changing. Once I get a new job, I know I’ll also be more stimulated, but that’s all superficial. I don’t know what I’m living for anymore. I used to live for my ideals, and I also (as much as I hate to say this) used to live for my relationship with the Ex-Boyfriend. But both of those (even if I were in a relationship) seem pointless right now. So now what? And where? And who? Who would be crazy enough to understand the nonsense in my head? When did life stop being simple? Why don’t I want what everyone around me wants? Why am I not happy with the idea of a husband and two kids? And you know what the worst part is? That I don’t have an alternative to the husband-and-two-kids scenario. I don’t see myself being satisfied with a great job as the editor of a Sunday newspaper either. Fuck. I scare me.

Insert title here later

So I've been told that my previous post has gone down in the annals of blog-crappiness. In an attempt to spice things up (and because I've been dying to blog about this and have finally thrown the customary caution to the wind), I shall now give my readers (all five of them) some dirt on my London reunion with the sexy Palestinian.

First, the backgrounder: The Palestinian and I had a super-sexy 8-month fling, soon after my break up with the Ex-boyfriend. Despite the length of the alliance, I was always under the impression that it meant little to either party and came with an expiry date of 1st Jan 2006, which is when I was due to return home. But there remained a running joke: that he and I would rekindle the fires of our passion when I went back for the graduation.

Anyway, so off I went to London, filled with hopes of much fun and frolick-ment. I admit that the Palestinian was (and still is) having major issues, and is emotionally vulnerable. Yet, he is a 28-year-old with a colourful relationship history, checkered with many a one-night-stand. Hardly a recipe for emotional neediness, right? Wrong. Shortly after we met with each other, things started heating up. Just when I thought I was about to strike gold, he stopped abruptly: "You make me feel like a cheap male slut."
Me: Whaaa..?
Him: You don't care about my feelings, or my problems. You want to use me and leave me.
Me (still recovering from the shock, and trying to muster as much sincerity as is possible): No, I do care about you..really..
Him: This is the problem with you 21st century women, you don't think we have feelings.
Me: But..but..don't guys like girls who don't get attached?
Him: Don't you understand..we were in a relationship!
Me: We were...?

And so on and so forth. The conversation went on for three hours, and no I did not get lucky. He asked me if I ever loved him, what the relationship meant to me, and accused me of abandoning him. I kid you not.

I have heard several such stories, where men have suddenly, and inexplicably, started behaving like women. So I have a theory: that as we hurtle into the next century, gender roles are undergoing a complete transformation. As women become independent, sexually assertive and emotionally unattached, men are beginning to feel threatened. They don't quite know how to deal with this new woman who asks for little commitment, is happy to hook-up and basically behaves like the female equivalent of the alpha male. Male egos bruise easily, and nothing can do the job quicker than a woman who walks out the morning after without a second look or a phone call. The end result being that men start asking for an emotional commitment.

Any takers? It's either that or that I'm a mega-bitch.

I love lists!

Just thought that I'd keep up with the intensely dramatic nature of the previous post. In case you haven't noticed, I've been feeling most drama-queen like and my-life-sucks esque. So below is a list of the top 5 thoughts in my head right now:
1. The fact that my ex-best friend is married, another friend is getting engaged in December and another one has (in her head) decided to marry someone after an exchange of two emails. Yes, two emails.
2. In light of the above, I'm wondering if I should also want to settle down in the next few years. Yes. No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No. Sigh.
3. That I have lost an amazing amount of weight, and my stomach looks beautifully surfboard-ish.
4. That I am now the proud owner of an amazingly tiny, shiny and black Ipod nano. Yayy.

PS: Blogging is wonderful!

In transit

I'm finally back in Mumbai. I'd started writing a post from Heathrow yesterday - about airports, and how they're one of the best places to observe humanity - but never got around to finishing it. So I'm posting the unfinished one here:

On my way back to Mumbai, stopped over at London Heathrow. I hate planes but I love airports. Actually, I don't hate planes, I just hate the ride - the ridiculously narrow seats (yes, even for me), the vomit-worthy plastic that is supposed to pass off as food, the ageing stewardesses with their lipstick-stained teeth, and the smell - a cross between industrial fuel, frozen piss and cheap air-freshener. Anyway, going back to my original point - I love airports. They are such strange, surreal places, and the absolute best for people watching. I love that they are a collection point for the vastly divergent dreams, hopes and aspirations of an ever-changing mass of humanity. While I would never know the whole story of the thousands of people that I see, I can always figure some of it out. And at any given airport in any given part of the world, there will always be some of the usual suspects:

• The abandoned grandparents off to visit their children in some far-flung land. I once met an incredibly tiny old lady from the remotest bit of rural Gujarat, having arrived in London to meet her now-successful son in Sussex or wherever. She didn't understand a single syllable of English, and just smiled beningly as the immigration officer at the airport fired the fuck out of her. And when I finally escorted her outside, her son hadn't shown up. It broke my heart.
• The weary business traveller with his little duffel bag and laptop, picking up meaningless gifts for his kids back home, trying to make up for the his constant absentia.
• The college crowd: cleavage blondes and brain-dead jocks on their way to an alcohol-fueled orgy during spring break. They're rowdy, stupid and inevitably dead drunk.
• The families - always the best: exhausted mothers attempting to control caffeinated kids, often annoyed with their rich and vacuous husbands who won't pitch in with the kid-care.
• And then you have the single, non-business travellers - always the hardest to figure out. There might be the heartbroken lover, returning single from a trip that wasn't supposed to end like that, or the fresh graduate, attempting his first solo I'm-going-to-discover-myself trip to India or Thailand or wherever. Or there might be a me - a girl sick of her job, the city and her life, trying to go on a holiday alone to find answers to some vague, undefined questions. She'd be sitting all curled up on a cold grey airport lounger, desperately trying to figure out what she'd managed to achieve.

Wow, that ended more depressingly than I remember. I actually do think that the holiday has done me a world of good. I don't want to quit my job just yet, and have realised that being confused at 23 is okay. It's okay to not know what you want professionally or personally. And that it's okay to not have a plan. Isn't it?

How Lakshmi Mittal Made His Millions and Other Stories

Saw this on a drunken night in NYC. Apparently India is the largest producer of manhole covers in the world.

Wonder if good ol' LN has something to do with that. Anyway, incredibly ironic when you read this poor kid's plight.

On another note, blogging has gotten me into some serious trouble and thrown up several questions about how I might be invading someone else's privacy. I've henceforth decided to only blog about someone after taking their permission. (I'm thinking that a signed release form might be the best option.) I'm half kidding, but with the way blogs are proliferating, I wouldn't be surprised if someone is soon dragged to court.

I've hopped across the pond

A wannabe New Yorker: New York is very different from London. The vibe is much younger, and despite it being the most liberal and diverse city in the US, it's still very wholesome and all-American. I've only been in the city for a couple of days now, but right of the bat, I seem to prefer London's slight staid-ness. That said, if I move from home again, it would definitely be to live here. There seems to be something so glamourous about living in Manhattan, amongst almost-mythical buildings, events and people. Go on, make fun of me for being so easily impressed.

London Recap: London was very interesting, to say the least. What with banks attempting to steal my money, accusations of being a 'twenty-first century woman' who doesn't care enough about the emotions of the men and makes them feel like cheap sluts (a role-reversal, finally), and my very first black-robed graduation ceremony (yayy!). Unfortunately, the holiday fling did not materialise although I did go to a roller-disco. I danced on roller skates for several hours, repeatedly collapsed into a heap and now bear proud bruises on my knees to show that I survived.

PS I could apologise for posting so belatedly and for this slightly shitty update, but you and I both know it would be insincere.

Back on the island

I'm back in London - if only for a week. But it feels weird - everything is so familiar, it's like I never left: the suit on the tube with his posh suburban accent, the Polish lady in her tacky white jumpsuit and gold jewellery, the Filipinos at Earl's Court, the sorry excuse for a summer. I miss this - I miss the diversity, the people spilling on to the streets drinking themselves silly on a summery Saturday, the touristy red buses, the sense of humour and even the shitty food.

Anyway, before I get all teary-eyed, I've found more humourous additions to the 'Overheard in..' series:
www.overheardintheoffice.com
www.overheardatthebeach.com

I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a sexy holiday fling. Will keep you posted. I'm headed off to New York from here on Saturday, which I'm really looking forward to. Although if I end up meeting the ex-boyfriend's chinese-chickie trio, I might shoot someone.