Generic life update

Right, sorry for not updating and all that. No time still, so let's get right to it.

- Been falling in something (not sure what it is yet, and I'm too scared to call it anything). And it feels..nice to say the least. But it's all very odd, because it happened weirdly (but then my life has always been..well....a little out of the ordinary). He seems to have taken over my life though - even my social life is suffering (gasp!). Now no more sappy stuff; all the good things always seem to disappear as soon as I say something. So shh..going to keep quiet about it. Oh but if you can, hope that it works out well for me this time?

- Work's been decent, still not sure if the big move is going to happen (see what I mean by all the good stuff disappearing?). So yeah, more on that front when it happens.

- M is still not talking to me. Still hurts terribly, especially now that we semi-ignore each other at social events. Oh well, can't do much but grin and bear it, I suppose. (Btw, Mr. Get Real Anonymous person, phoeey to you and your stupid comments. I don't think being friends with someone means that you're leading them on at all, especially if you make it totally clear that you're JUST FRIENDS. Seriously, how hard is that to get?!).

- Lots of nice dos to attend for work, including a great restaurant-cum-live-entertainment venue called Ammbir. I'm going to post the review here soon.

Okay, that's about all I have time for now. Expect to see more from me soon. Going for Bombay Gym bar night tonight, very excited about all the free booze and pretty boys.

Bootylicious!

Ooh, so much to blog about but so little time. I feel young, so gloriously, unattachedly, footloose-and-fancy-free-edly young.
So, Thursday was the boss’ birthday, and we decided to go out drinking to Zenzi in Bandra. Zenzi is the unofficial watering hole for all creative and media types. Very hip, very trendy and refreshingly non-South Mumbai. (To understand the true meaning of that sentence, you’d have to know a little about Mumbai’s socio-economic geography; in a nutshell South Mumbai = snotty old money, Bandra = trendy young professionals, Christians and Sindhi aunties, Andheri, Versova and beyond = noveau riche couples, television and filmi types.
Disclaimer: these are just general guidelines, and exceptions abound. Direct all hate mail here).

So where was I? Aah, yes, Zenzi and drinking. No dinner, one long island iced tea, and I was set for the rest of the evening. Incidentally, my notoriously low alcohol tolerance is the stuff of legend.
So anyway, there I was revealing random details about my sex life to my colleagues, and generally making an ass of myself, when P and I spotted a group of pretty gay boys. I dared her to go grab one of their asses, and she, drunken as she was, quite happily took me up on it.
They seemed very flattered, and one of them even stuck his bum out for it to be squeezed. And P gleefully grabbed a nice handful.
I remember being overcome with much laughter as we stumbled back to where we were sitting – actually I remember toppling over head first into the couch, with my feet sticking up in the air. I kid you not.
By the time I resurfaced, we’d discovered that the pretty boys were friends of Aki Narula. (If you’re too lazy to click on the link, Aki Narula is a realllly BIG fashion designer, like seriously famous. Think the Alexander McQueen of India).
Anyway, we went back to drinking and dancing, and I was involved in some pretty hard booty-shaking when I managed to walk backwards into none other than…
Yes, you guessed it: Aki Narula. And dudes, he’s h-o-t.
“I thought it was the men who pushed the women around,” he said into my ear, after steadying me, and walked off.
It took a couple of minutes for this to register.
I spun around, and grabbed him by the waist, “Not when they’re as hot as you are.”
Boys and Girls (and in-betweens, I don’t discriminate), I KID YOU NOT!
I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t already know he was gay. Or so I like to think.
So he laughed and I laughed and we hugged and it was all very fun.

But then I walked back, and the boss (yes, my boss), who thinks he’s hot too insisted that I go back and grab his ass.
“Pleeeeaaase, it’s my birthday.” And of course, I didn’t need much convincing. So I got up, straightened myself and marched back to where Aki Narula was standing with his friends.
“My editor thinks you’re really cute and wants me to squeeze your butt. It’s her birthday.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
*Booty grab happens*
“Where’s your editor? I want to wish her.”

I still can’t get over it. I SQUEEZED AKI NARULA’S BUM. Say it with me people, Fivefeetzero squeezed Aki Narula’s bum. She grabbed his ass (it was disappointingly flat, incidentally). She squeezed his booty, she did!

But wait, it gets worse.
At 1:15 am, the lights came on, and the boy whose butt P pinched came over to talk to her.
“So you’re a journalist,” he said.
“Yeah, what do you do?” P replied, still in a drunken haze.
“I’m a filmmaker.”
“Oh how nice, what kind of films do you make?”
“Uhmm..I’ve made two films. My Brother Nikhil and Bas Ek Pal.”

Yes, P squeezed Onir’s bum.

And when I stumbled blearily into the office the next morning, I was told that I was probably going to be moved to the main magazine. Which means no more shitty lifestyle stories. Yayyy. But I don’t want to count the proverbial bylines before they’re printed so I’m going to pretend like it’s not going to happen.

But yes, in sum, I would say it’s been a good week in the life of a 23-year-old single girl, wouldn’t you agree?

It's the little things in life..

..that make me happy.

Chai-soaked biscuits
A post-lunch cigarette on a rainy day
Marine Drive at night
Good cheese, actually just good food
A cold beer on a muggy night (i know that's a cliche, but it still makes me happy)
Midnight drives with the girlies
Being tipsy
My grandmother's house (it smells of my childhood)
The anticipation of a whole weekend on a Friday night
Saturday lunch with my sister
The waterfalls on the way to Khandala with Z
The smiling flower-seller outside Pizzeria (he's gone now, though)
Babies, especially when they laugh

My longest and most focus-less post

Depression can be delicious, no? It's almost sinfully decadent - spending the day in bed, blanketed in melancholy, feeling awful for one's self. I think I'm a shoo-in for the world's biggest drama queen - I am a Grade-A moaner, a whiner par-excellence. I will tell all the world my problems and soak luxuriously in their sympathy.
I don't cry as much now, but when I was little, the tears were in limitless supply. In fact, the guard at my school had christened me 'ronewali' (the girl who cries). I could cry about anything - my younger sister being late for the school-bus, my mother being 20 minutes late to pick me up, the dead rat outside the school gates. Anything. You name it and I could cry.
In fact, we had quite a nice routine perfected for every time my mother was caught breaking a redlight. The cop would saunter over to our car and on cue I would start bawling. My mother would make the cop feel bad for scaring me and my histrionics would get ever more..well hysterical. The bewildered cop had no choice but to let her go.
Age and spirituality have made me calmer and more stable, but I'm still scarily bipolar. Sometimes I'll be the epitome of emotional maturity and at other times a prolonged case of conjunctivitis will be enough to induce serious hysteria. On a related note, I've also become strangely indecisive. At 19 there was no question about it - I was right and the rest of the world could stuff it. Now I constantly second-guess myself - Am I right to wait for 'the one' while the rest of my friends stand in a fast-disappearing queue to get hitched? Should I really stick to print journalism or make the switch to broadcast? And so on and so forth.

Yeah, yeah so I know you're going to say it's a quarter-life crisis. But dude, you've gotta admit - it sucks. Not sure how much more I can take of this nonsense. Can someone out there please just figure it all out for me and send me a postcard? Pretty please? Not even with the cherry and the sugar?

- Ends -

Why won't he talk to me? Why? Why? Why? Why? I mean, honestly, what did I do to deserve this? Okay so here's the back story, in case you haven't already figured it out: My bestfriend M has been in love with me for a l-o-o-o-n-g time, and he's finally realised that it's time to move on. It's been a strange five years - I've been in a long-term relationship, a long-term fling and several short ones, but I admit (and it takes a lot for me to come out and say this) that I've been giving him a lot of mixed signals. Which in no way implies taht I take the entire blame for this mess, but just that I'm willing to..well..shoulder part of it. It's just that we've always been so good..he understands me better than anyone else I know/ever will know, and we've managed to grow together. We're always, always on the same page. Always. But somehow, I've never felt it, you know? Never felt in love with him.
So anyway, he's decided to severe all contact with me, and it kills me. I can't even fathom life without him, and so I keep breaking down and try to re-establish contact with him. Everytime I talk to him, it hurts more. And it's not like getting out of a relationship, you know? Because then you're pissed off and hurt and there's reason to not want to maintain contact with the person, and you want to shut them out of your life. But now, I have no reasons. It's this horrible, forced exile. And no, that's not an overly dramatic analogy - it really is like being lost in a dense forest, with no way home. I don't know how to negotiate life without him.

- Ends -

As promised to Zaphod, here's part-1 of my guide to London:

Best places to eat:

Leon: Tiny eatery right across from Liberty. It's behind Oxford Circus station - take the Little Argyll Street exit, walk left, left again and you should see it. It's a limited menu which changes every six months, and the food is pretty offbeat, but it's tastes divine (if you don't mind experimenting). I recommend the ginger cake, the hummus and the superfood salad.

Souk and Souk Cafe: Litchfield Street, Leicester Square tube. The name sounds like a run-of-the-mill Moroccan restaurant, but both the food and the ambience are to die for. It's a basement restaurant, with occasional belly dancers, and menus on scraps of animal skin. It's also decently priced, and makes some killer tagines. They've opened a sister restaurant - Souk Cafe somewhere between Charing Cross and Holborn but I'm too lazy to look for the address.

Ciro's Pizza Pomodoro: Beauchamp Place, Knightsbridge tube. Another tiny basement restaurant, this one's a favourite more because of the atmosphere than the food. Oh, and it's also the first time the Palestinian and I seriously flirted; I got up and danced on the table. They usually have a live band playing, and because they play requests, the music can get cheesy, but in a really fun way. It's also very retro, with vinyl tables and pictures of Ciro with all sorts of celebrities plastered all over the walls. And to top it off, the food is to die for - the vegetarian chilli made me want to cry (in a really good, if somewhat scary way).

Osteria Basilico: Kensington Park Road, Ladbroke Grove tube. Was taken on a date to this place, and I have to say it's one of the most romantic restaurants I've been to. Soft candlelight, romantic Italian music, and discreet service. Oh and insanely good food. It's a little expensive, but definitely worth it. Try the pizza, try the pizza! And their dessert wine.

The Creperie: Kensington tube. This place really isn't much to look at - it's totally nondescript, aluminium chairs packed together, dirty plastic menu and a single waiter. BUT, and that's a pretty big but, the food is unimaginably good. And I'm really picky about my food, so when I use superlatives, quality is ensured. It's somewhat pricey - 7 pounds for a single crepe, but again it's totally worth it. The first time I went, they were trying to beat some world record for the longest time spent making crepes, which they unfortunately lost. But you should still visit it.

Next, my guide to off-the-beaten-track London.

Wrapped in melancholy

The city glowers at me and the yellow burns into my skin.
You speak,
But I can only see your lips move.
The crash and the clamour threaten to overwhelm me.
There are no thoughts,
Only a constant static in my head.
I teeter on the edge,
And my heart rattles frighteningly in my ribcage.
I want to talk but my lips seem glued together,
And my voice dismembers from the rest of my body.
I croak.
I stop.
I give in.
My vision blurs, my toe-ring twinkles at me from the darkness and my world stops making sense.

It hasn't sunken in, you know? Sometimes it hits me - when I see a book you've lent me sitting on my bookshelf, or when I look at my phone and remember that it's yours. It hits me when I hear Dave Matthews, and it hits me when I'm faced with some obscure existential dilemma, but you aren't waiting with the answer already figured out.

I need to believe that someday things will be alright - that we can go back to what we had, and that the magical switch of time will return to me my lost friendship.

I love lists - part deux (and 3, 4, 5)

Songs that I'm listening to right now:
Cannonball - Damien Rice
Breathe In - Frou Frou
Asleep on a sunbeam - Belle and Sebastian
I saw you and him walking in the rain - Orange Juice Jones
Blackbird - The Beatles

Songs I grew up listening to:
Higher ground - UB40
It's my life - Dr. Alban
Jump - Kriss Kross
Ice Ice Baby - Vanilla Ice
Didi - Khaled

Random things that have happened to me/I have done over the last week:
1. I made naughty with someone in my friend's bathroom
2. My friend hacked into my ex-boyfriend's email account (the one that's rumoured to be gay. Incidentally, he is unfortunately and unexcitingly hetereosexual)
3. I was accused of being a bimbo (this will, perhaps, not astound you if you go purely by the content of this blog, but really, I'm not)
4. I mooned passersby on Marine Drive (okay, so I made the last one up. The list was beginning to get boring and I can't believe my life is so uninteresting)

Did you know:
That 23% of all photocopying faults in the world are due to people sitting on them and photocopying their bums
That wearing headphones for just an hour will increase the amount of bacteria in your ears 700 times
That duelling is legal in Paraguay as long as both participants are registered blood donors.
That the average human eats 8 spiders in their lifetime at night.
That I am a Bharat Natyam dancer.

And tomorrow we go back to being friends

Whew. I was so looking forward to a chilled long weekend, but it's 2 am on Monday night, and I can safely say that this weekend will go down as one of the most stress-ridden ones when someone decides to write the fivefeetzero-nama (the writing of which I believe is inevitable). Anyway, an update on the events of the last four days will follow but right now it's time for 'fivefeetzero's burning issue of the week' (da da da dum). So, I've been thinking about male-female friendships and their platonicity (or the lack therein). In my experience, when a girl and a boy become close it is inevitable that one party falls for the other. Of course, once there is a rejection from either side, the relationship generally settles into an easy-going friendship.
But here's the bigger question I want to get to: What is the acceptable level of physical contact in a male-female friendship? And the reason I ask is this: I'm extremely comfortable with most of my male friends, and hugging, hand-holding and kisses-on-the-cheek are totally normal. And yet, I realise that the physical contact is much greater with close male friends as compared to female ones. Which begs the question: Does the increased physicality stem from a non-platonicity, which is the most natural equation between a man and a woman?
It's also been my experience that a tacit acceptance of the hugs, kisses etc can be misconstrued by the other side to be an encouragement for any non-platonic feelings that might be brewing. How then, is a girl to differentiate between physical closeness which is simply a healthy expression of platonic affection, and one which signals the desire to take the friendship to the next level?
Err..I've just re-read the post and have realised that I'm being pretty incoherent, but it's late and I want to get to bed. However, if you are male and are reading this, please tell me what you think (the above is to be read out in Rajdeep Sardesai/stupid female bimbo newsreader style).
Oh and here's the dope on my super-exciting life:
1. Happily hooked-up with uber-hot Swedish guy. Ah. Sigh. Sigh again.
2. Got my first major solo byline in the magazine (this doesn't read half as impressive as it really is :P).
3. Had a major fight with bestfriend over (1) above and he is now not talking to me.

PS The title of this post is from my favourite Dave Matthews song, Say Goodbye.