Five Feet Zero

Is this it?

2007-03-20T14:17:00.000+05:30

..It is, unfortunately. Circumstances have forced me to end this blog. It's a pity, really, since it's been the cause of much joy in my life. So anyway, I will continue to blog but I've decided to remain un-find-ably anonymous this time round. If you're really really interested in reading the new blog (I can't quite imagine why, but still) and you don't know me in real life, you can email me at: fivefeetzero@gmail.com.

My (albeit slightly delayed) New Year's Resolution

2007-03-04T21:43:00.000+05:30

It's to stop being scared.
(Disclaimer: this is going to be an emo-ridden aka shitty post).
I'm not sure when exactly but somewhere along 2006 I became scared of everything - a new relationship, bitchy boss, not doing well at work - the works. And this, for those who don't know me from years past, was a complete turnaround from the girl I used to be. In those pre-major breakup times, I was the man (or woman). Little fazed me and I really didn't give a fuck about anyone's opinion. Yet, today I realise that right now I DO give a fuck and I'm far too hung up on just about everything.
So two days of chilling by myself and I've realised that this is no time for fear. I will now go forth and conquer.

Chuddy Buddies

2007-01-23T15:54:00.000+05:30

So last night was the shoe baroness' birthday, and me and the girlies (well some of them anyway, since whirlwind (thanks, zaphod, it's rather fitting) and pretty trophy are MIA) were out celebrating at Not Just Jazz By The Bay (aka a South Mumbai hangout that used to be about jazz and karaoke but has slowly degenerated into yet another Bollywood-ised and bimbo-ised bar). It must be noted that while I may sould like a Bollywood-bling hater, I actually revel in my ghati-ness (dehati-ness, for all you Delly people) - I've perfected my Govinda moves, and I'm a Rang-Barse dancer par excellence. And oh, my sarkailo khatiya, gutar gutar and beedi are the stuff that item girls are made of.
Anyway, getting back on track - there I was belting out my dhinchak moves, when it occurred to me (in Carrie Bradshaw, moment of revelation style) that for all my griping about the girlies and their airheadedness, I owe the fact that I'm relatively insecurity-free almost entirely to them. You see, we've all been friends since the age of five. And they've seen me go from a happy-dippy 16-year-old to an angsty, world-hater at 19, to a self-reflecting, but slightly saner 23-year-old. They've accepted me completely - from the occasional frostiness to the emotional instability, from the short-temper to the shortness - and they've never made any demands to change; they've taken the whole package and loved it unconditionally.
Now, the reason that all of this has come into sharp focus is because 'insecurity' has become everyone's favourite topic. (I think it might have to do with people approaching their mid 20s - you sort of feel too old to not have gotten over your childhood issues, but at the same time, all the impending decisions just make the vulnerablities more acute).
M has several insecurities, all related to his move from Mumbai, to Dubai and back to Mumba between ages 10 and 12, and the friendless-ness and loneliness that followed. And while zaphod might want to murder me for over-analysing, I think his issues too, are related to Boston College, and the lack of friends there, to perhaps (I'm not sure about this, so don't hate me if i'm wrong) having to move all over the place when he was still growing up. What I'm trying to say, in this painfully long winded post, is that acceptance is much more important than I ever realised. And that I've never really given my school friends their due.

I owe you so much, girlies. And I love you much much more than I tend to show you.

My famous last words aka I'm addicted to this stupid website even though I should be working

2006-12-12T23:50:00.000+05:30

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"Goodbye. I am leaving because I am bored."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

2006-12-12T23:19:00.000+05:30

Your Sexy Brazilian Name is:

Luíza Cabral

What's" Your Sexy Brazilian Name?

I walk the line..

2006-12-10T23:00:00.000+05:30

I don’t want to hurt them and yet I find myself hating them. Why do I feel so disconnected from them? I thought things would be better once I’d gotten over all the rebellion, and in a way they are – infinitely better actually. But I still feel misunderstood and bullied, like I've gotten the short end of the stick. I feel mis-trusted, angry, sad, and worst of all - disconnected.
And I know they care, and they’d hate that I feel like this, but honestly I don’t know how to make it better. I feel like they know I take things seriously, that I’m more sensitive than K, that it’s easy to emotionally blackmail me, and without realizing it, they use it to their advantage. They know I’ll listen, and for some reason that seems to have worked against me. And you know what the worst bit is? That I still want to be a good daughter. I wish I could just fuck it all, and do exactly what I want. I wish I stopped trying to walk the line between making both of us happy. M, where are you when I need you?

Oh look! Another update..and this only after two weeks!

2006-12-10T14:11:00.000+05:30

Hello hello. It's nice to see you again too. Bet you're surprised - thought this blog had died, huh? Decided I'm no quitter so I'm back, and of course, I felt the incredible urge to write.
First things first - I quit my job! Finally found the courage to do the what was long overdue. Once I sever all ties with the current place of employment, I will tell all. But until then, I must maintain professionalism and discretion. But I think I deserve a pat on the back for my unwavering courage while telling her I was leaving.
Other good thing of the week: hung out with M, after more than two months of his self-imposed exile from me. While it was really good (we didn't talk about the obvious issue), I don't want to get too excited because it's probable that he'll go back into hibernation. Still, hanging out with him imbued me with me much sadness. Not even quite sure why - maybe it was knowing that things will never be the same again, maybe it was that I couldn't reach over and give him a hug when we'd had 'a moment', maybe it was not being able to tell him any of the things that were on my mind, because I was constantly worried about him just upping and leaving.
All of this weekend I've been craving another city - London or New York, maybe even LA. The weather here has suddenly stopped suiting me, and the pollution is slowly killing me. I can't handle the emptiness, the regressiveness, the I-exist-only-as-my-boyfriend's-trophy attitude, the lack of individuality, the work ethic where sucking-up and seniority matters more than intelligence. And oh, how I miss having my own space - being able to tumble out of bed, into the bathroom, getting dressed and eating breakfast without having to talk to a soul.
Sigh, can't quite understand the sudden melancholy that seems to have settled over me. I suppose if it continues, you'll be hearing a lot more from me.

Generic life update - part deux

2006-11-26T16:54:00.000+05:30

Since several beloved readers have been mourning the demise of this blog, this is my latest, and perhaps last, attempt at its revival. Unfortunately for blogging, life has been moving along rather superbly, and the bits that aren't have mostly to do with my job, which I can't write about anyway.

Anyway, two Sundays ago Mama and Papa fivefeetzero decreed that it was time to get Baby fivefeet hitched. Baby's much screaming and shouting fell on deaf ears and she was hauled off to meet Gaudy Gujju Guy (henceforth referred to as Triple G).
Consequently, the fivefeet family arrive in their spanking new Octavia (which Papa has taken out solely to impress Triple G's family) at the city's best 5 star. As Mama steps out of the car in her Sunday best (quite literally), she finds that, horror of horrors, Triple G's family has also arrived, but in a lowly Indigo. Not to be disappointed so easily, Mama recovers from the shock and looks up to see a huge man, dressed in gold glasses and a matching gold bracelet, also stepping out from the car. Mistaking him for the groom, she is about to pass out from the double shock. But then she sees the real Triple G, who while straight-laced and nerdy, is god-like compared to his Fat Cousin. Mama's faith in Triple G is once more restored.
At this point, Baby too descends from the car. (Side story: After much agonising Baby has decided to dress uber-fashionably in white pants and a semi see-through blue kurti top. She intends fully to shock-and-awe the seemingly simple Triple G). She catches sight of the Mother Triple G - a slight woman in garish silk, chunky jewellery and oiled hair - and after recovering from the initial recoil, is rather unsuccessfully trying to control her mirth. By this point, all she can think about is how this is going to make for some fun blogging.
Both families, having by now realised that this can only result in the unholiest of matrimonies, trudge sadly into the hotel. It's too late to back out now - the initial meeting must be carried out. At the table, Baby sits next to Mother Triple G.
Mother Triple G: Tamaru naam su chhe, behen? (Aap ka naam kya hain, behen? ie What is your name, o sister of mine?)
Baby: (looks at Mama fivefeet, and is about to burst out laughing)
Mama: (Pinches Baby under the table and forces her to reply politely).

Eventually Papa fivefeet sends Baby and Triple G off to another corner of the hotel. It is time for them to 'discuss'.

At the table, Triple G, obviously put-off by Baby's snobby south Mumbai airs, rapid-fires questions at her.
"I heard you tell my mother that you switched from science to journalism. Why? I have known since the age of 15 that I wanted to become a chemical engineer. I dislike people who are confused about things."
"What is your routine like? I go to sleep at 10 pm because I want to be at work by 8 am. My work is my life and I don't like to go out. Movies don't matter to me."
And finally...
"I believe it's a man's world. My wife is free to work if she wants to but if my mother were to fall sick it would be her responsibility. She'd have to not go to the office, I wouldn't miss work."
At which point of course, Baby politely says: "We should go. They're waiting for us downstairs."

Back in the car, Papa profusely apologises to Baby for putting her through the ordeal, and takes her for some much needed retail therapy.

She is now the proud owner of beautiful Fendi sunglasses.

Anyway, in other news:

Love life: is still precarious. Not much to say here, except that I'm not sure if I've over thought/over imagined/over evaluated the situation and that it's actually much ado about nothing at all.

M: is still not on speaking terms with me, but has graduated to emailing.

Work: is sucky.

That's it from fivefeetzero and her team in the sunny city of Mumbai. Good night and Good luck.

I'm wondering

2006-11-06T01:09:00.000+05:30

...If people blog less when they're happy
...If non-writers blog more than writers (or journalists)
...Why India has four fashion weeks
...If the neighbour is flirting with me or just being friendly
...What the rest of the year holds for me
...Why I can't seem to get M out of my system. Still.
...Whether good reason is waiting to jump at me from around a corner
...When I became old enough to not want to go out on a Saturday night just because it takes too long to park my car

Generic life update

2006-10-27T11:13:00.000+05:30

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!

2006-10-15T11:10:00.000+05:30

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..

2006-10-11T16:51:00.000+05:30

..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

2006-10-07T03:52:00.000+05:30

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

2006-10-07T02:51:00.000+05:30

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)

2006-10-06T02:24:00.000+05:30

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

2006-10-03T02:19:00.000+05:30

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.

"Not tonight, honey.."

2006-09-29T01:45:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-28T01:08:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-23T04:48:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-23T03:50:00.000+05:30

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!

2006-09-22T02:34:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-19T02:24:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-14T07:30:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-11T20:15:00.000+05:30

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

2006-09-02T20:24:00.000+05:30

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.

Urban humour

2006-08-29T00:55:00.000+05:30

Oh check out these websites - so funny:
www.overheardinnewyork.com
www.overheardinlondon.com

In journalistic terms - fluff

2006-08-28T23:43:00.000+05:30

Since I'm still new to this, and suffering from major 'new-girl-at-school' performance anxiety, I put a lot of thought into my posts. My options for today were:
1. Writing about how my mother accidently read the last post and found out some things she so did not want to know about me. She really did. It was not pretty.
2. Or, I could tell you five things about me that most people don't know.
I've chosen the latter. I know most people that read this blog know me (in real life) as well, but it's fun to pretend that they don't. And as the blog suggests, I must self indulge. So here goes:
2.1 I have hideous feet. And I don't really know when they got this bad, but they are possibly the worst feet in history.
2.2 I wanted to be named Rosie and wanted to become an air-hostess when I was little. Don't ask me why.
2.3 I still sleep with my 13-year-old blanket.
2.4 When I was 13 my voice cracked and I wondered if I was a boy. I've since been saddled with a voice that I like to think of as husky, but that my grandmother terms unladylike.
2.5 Rumour has it that one my ex-boyfriends has turned gay. I don't know why I'm publicising this fact.
Okay, okay. I promise my next post will be full of intellectual fodder. Not.

The Weekend Blues

2006-08-26T03:32:00.000+05:30

I've been battling for a while in my head whether I should allow this blog to become all emotional and angst-y, despite the fact that I've already made it public to several people I know. There's a huge desire to purge all this nonsense in my head - there's something so gratifying in knowing that I can just talk and talk and people will (perhaps, maybe) listen. Yet, it's not-so-fun when the post goes up and you know the random acquaintance you might have told about your blog could be reading it. Oh what the hell..
So my ex-boyfriend is in town, and this isn't just any ex-boyfriend, this is the i-was-so-in-love-that-i-couldn't-see-beyond-him type ex-boyfriend. The kind that you never imagined your life without, and the kind that you've been with for as long as you've had any semblance of personality. The kind that you grew up with, the kind that you first had sex with, and did all sorts of other 'firsts' with. The kind you wanted to marry.
Anyway, he's in town and I know it's over and that if I were to see him objectively I'd see that he's a only a child who just can't seem to grow up. But oh, it hurts. It hurts to sit next to him in his car (his car, cars have a remarkable significance in relationships) and to do nothing. To not be able to hold his hand or exchange secret glances, or feel that funny, warm feeling that comes with knowing you're being loved at that very minute.
And I'm trying so very hard to be all friendly and chummy. I never know what he's feeling and so I don't want to be the cranky, weepy one, despite being exactly that throughout the relationship. I want to show him that I've grown up - That I'm 23 now and I'm into meditation and spirituality and I'm not emotionally high-strung anymore. But of course, being me, I go off the deep end and become bitchy and weird and make so-not-funny jokes about his various liaisons, and quip about him getting some oriental ass. It obviously doesn't work and I've come off looking desperately idiotic.
Now I'm at home at 3:30 am, rueing the state of my life and existence. It doesn't look like I'll ever get into a relationship again, and I have a moustache.
Btw, if anyone I know is reading this, including the above mentioned ex-boyfriend, please don't say anything to me in real life.

For lack of originality

2006-08-25T01:36:00.000+05:30

Now that I'm past my first post, I have a few (I think pretty pertinent) questions: Who actually reads blogs when they first start? And if no one reads them in the first place, how does a blog build up a 'fan base'? Is someone likely to search for fivefeetzero on Google and thereby find my blog? Ever? Are people really even interested? If you have somehow managed to stumble upon this (pretty pointless) blog, I would be ever so grateful if you could answer any/all of the above.

For posterity

2006-08-25T01:31:00.000+05:30

If this is to become yet another born-and-dead blog, I hereby declare that I tried.