Mumbai Calling

“Is it your first time? Don't worry, I'll help you. Be careful. It might be tough at first, but you'll love it. Oh, it gets sticky and wet. Dress appropriately”

I have been spoken to more about Mumbai than sex, drugs and alcohol (and not the very conveniently left out cigarettes). Instructionally ofcourse, I come from a rather open family where the cringe-induceability of the members are directly proportional to the information shared. Everyone seemed to think Mumbai wasn't my place.

“You're too used to another life honey” Read: You're spoilt and if you carry on like this I'm gonna be broke. Courtesy-the boy.

“People aren't very nice there” Read: You're a pussy. Courtesy-dad

“Wear open shoes! Mosquito repellant! Do you have zyrtec? Paracetamol? I have a fifth cousin in pune, I'll give you their number!” Read: You're doomed, serves you right for taking my lipstick. Courtesy-mom.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Read: I need new friends.

So, armed with encouraging words and for some strange (yet stellar, I'm sure) reason sans raincoat or umberella (my bikery chick jacket looks sort of waterproofy I suppose) I reached. I landed. I held back a cough as they scanned my Swine Flu card (yes I've experienced all the symptoms. But I don't get interesting newsworthy ailments. I get the common cold caused by too much wine by a lake in the rain. I know. I checked. WebMD might as well me my homepage and Boots my living room. I'm allergic to dust though, if you're interested. Dust.)

Everyone I've met in Mumbai asks me the same question, “what do you think?” as though Mumbai was a work of art only the discerning could enjoy. Seeing as this was my second day there and I had only really spent about 12 hours in the city at that point, the bulk of it in a delightfully tantraic lounge bar restaurant type establishment with class and less of the sticky tables and suspect beds and more lovely sushi and retro music and 'domestic' wine to everyone's horror; as well as in one of dad's oldtime friend's apartment. It was in this context that it was decided that I needed to go to a street to shop and get completely ripped off by the locals who would instantly realise that I know as much Hindi as Obama. With less of the whole POTUS thing going on. (being 'Lakshmy' I'm more of the Lotus persuasion. HAHAHAHA!). The only place I could actually remember was Colaba Causeway, maybe because of 26/7 or word of mouth or because Colaba just sounds nice. A few cheap H&M tops later, the likes of which I have never seen back in Notts or London, bags and impulse buys later I began to understand why people go places to shop. There's nothing like being able to convert things back into pounds. A very irate brother of a friend who had only spent a year in the UK seethed, “Just because it's nothing in pounds doesn't mean it's nothing in Rupees!” as we gleefully giggled over how cheap everything was.

Another lovely dinner later heralded my last day in luxury, and despite “You're not staying here? Why not? You should, one of the drivers will take you up and down for work and shopping and everything” I (for some insane and uncharacteristic reason) made my way to the corporate guesthouse near the company I'd be working for. It's no smoking. It's no alcohol. The internet says 100Mbps but it can't possibly be more than 0.5. And mom says hostels are worse. I almost think back longingly to my room during the first week, in (of all halls) Rutland. After a few heavy sighs and temporary euphoria at the fact that the TV has decent English channels I decided to stop feeling like a deprived yet spoilt brat. Five minutes later I went back to being me.

But enough about me (I doubt it). It's humid here. And alive. Inspiring and depressing and frustrating and uplifting all at the same time. Three days here, and although I still haven't made up my mind about this place it's crystalastically easy to see why some people hate Mumbai with every fibre of their being, and some don't ever want to leave.

In retrospect, I think it is.

Work in Progress

So I did the blog-round. It was meant to kick me back into those happy days of inspiration and awareness and opinions when I'd fill notebook after notebook, napkin after napkin with my words.
It didnt. Sort of.
I realised the reason I dont blog as much as I wish i could, is because I'm too scared of making the blogs uber personal. But then I realised I have my whole life on gaudy display on facebook, so why not?
So, right into it.
Things have changed. Courtesy their various blogs, A's said it, B's said it xyz's said it. So seeing as im a bandwagon climber I'm saying it as well.
I feel like saying something deep, but we all get tired of deep from time to time now, don't we? So, since I'm more known and remembered for my superficiality than my philosophical insights into life, maybe I'll talk about something along those lines. Like Paris Hilton's new show which left me craving the intellectual stimulation of ANTM (America's Next Top Model). Or maybe how I'm really falling for the Cardy Ugg boots, or how I'm STILL in love with the Dior gladiator pumps.
Hang on, maybe I could write an indepth (but not too indepth to preserve the superficiality of this fine writer) article on how cooking isn't that hard really, if you can get bother. Ooh... or I could talk about my holiday in lovely Czech, replete with biodegradable shampoo, cats, organic strawberries and holba.
But the point is, my darling reader if you're still with me, the point is...
ooh... i think i have one - the point is the general randomity that is me... which i translate to my blog. ok, not really. For those who know where I am while I write this blog, my current incoherence should be understandable.
Maybe I'll publish a post on my life right now. Hmm.. sounds self-indulgent enough for my taste...

Say it's Huge

So. Blogging. How cute. Creative infact. Makes you feel all opinionated, doesn't it.

"I'll leave you to your creative stuff"
"i said 'self' by the way""

"Who wants to do some frottage?"

There's something magical and sacred about the nights we spend in this tiny, green room, 3 laptops whirring away, burgers and general meatiness in the air. This time with cola... the deal was too good.

"Natural birth control" one of the he's says thoughtfully into his wikipediacal screen.

I tell the other he that i like making up words when i blog.

I just learnt that marijuana is birth control. I was then told that it also prevents you from having sex. Such sacred nights we spend in this tiny green room.

There's a song i've never heard before playing on my itunes.

One he jumps onto the chair and glares at the other, "get on with the game"

"I'll leave you alone"says he, and my shoulder is suddenly free.

I wonder how long he'll last before getting scared this time. It seems to be a scary game he's playing.

"I was killed. How nice. This is shit ass scary" the other he says. which is the other he? i know. you can guess if u like.

'Breakaway' by Kelly Clarkson starts playing..... I remember being called Rajasthani at Farewell in the 11th. I'm 18 now, and can buy my ciggs legally. I suddenly feel old and drained if they don't ask me for ID.

I'm talking to her on msn. I miss her, and the chance this winter. I'll make it up alien. 8th was fun, wasn't it?

He starts singing along to 'Goldigger'. I just think he's scared. Maybe i should go hug him.

The other starts singing, "I got weeeeeed"

He's playing F.E.A.R. the other he's wikiing sex and weed i think. My giliker and beckwith's gathering dust. I'm trying to give myself some grounding. Or is it depth? Let me get back to you on that one.

************* a moment frozen***************

Things That Make Me Happy

1. My hot showers that leave the bathroom all steamed up
2. Citrus zest on desserts
3. Christmas songs, trees and hats
4. Getting advantage points
5. Vanilla and spice scented candles
6. How I Met Your Mother, Foster’s, Scrubs and ANTM
7. Coffee table books
8. Photographs
9. Onesentence and postsecret
10. Cheesecake
11. Being silly and loved for it
12. His t-shirts
13. Fancy dinners with silverware
14. Takeaway on room floors
15. When the dryer works like a charm
16. Almost dark chill afternoons
17. Being more like my mom and dad than I thought I was
18. Cookie dough
19. Making them smile
20. Insanely long walks all over
21. Doing it just because I can
22. Rent’s ‘no day but today’ and Love Actually’s ‘all I want for Christmas’
23. Singing along
24. Old movies
25. Fresh flowers
26. When India wins “with two balls to spare”. Better yet, none
27. Doing things they didn’t think I could
28. Being loved because of me, and not in spite of it
29. Doing
30. Saturday brunches
31. My gorgeously perfect friends
32. The ones that aren’t that perfect either

In loving memory

In loving memory of two near and dear ones...
firstly of this blog, started with the best of intentions
with enough to say to worthify itself of its existence
yet cruel writers block
that infinitely seemed to stretch
claimed this fair blog
now just a waste of pixels
or whatever it is that it's a waste of. i really have no clue what you call these things.

the next we mourn for
is an aspiring writer
a journalist
yet she's lost her touch
her observance and originality..among much else
she wishes it werent so
but she just cant seem to write like she used to
she's tried
and tried
before taking a break to try some more
yet what's done is done
and she knows how to live with things she doesnt agree with
she's had the practice
maybe she'll change
but not on this christmas day

may their souls rest in peace.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

So, I've seen a Play. In a Theatre.

For those who know me, yes, I was grinning like an idiot for about 2 hours before and after the show, as well as enthusiastically treating (my blog, my words) anyone nearby to my own versions of 'Tomorrow' and 'Hard Knock Life'. Oh, the play we went to see was Annie, playing at the oh-so-posh sounding Royal Theatre, Nottingham.

Annie is one of those timeless classics (yeah it's a cliche...but there's a reason a cliche became a cliche, right?) that doesn't target a particular age group. Hm, scratch that, maybe it does target a particular age group..... that age group just before pessimism, cynicism and realism set in,that childish part of ourselves, and we honestly believe that the orphan will get adopted by billionaire, who marries his charming assistant, and that the tyrannical owner of the orphanage gets the sack and the country gets a fresh new outlook on their economic crisis thanks to an eleven year old girl. And for the duration of the show, I honestly did. With every 'Tomorrow there'll be sun' and 'Betcha they're good' the flickers of hope that died out whenever you scan the headlines would get relit (is that bit of imagery working?) until the joie de vivre could be compared to a veritable inferno.

Hm, I was just wondering, would I have gone to watch Annie were it a brand new release, ie- had I not seen it about a bazillion times before?
I don't think so. Because having seen it so many times, Annie is a sort of a reminder of that time when I could just watch Annie, and go 'down to play' with friends and we'd role play and sing in the car-park, when I honestly did believe it was possible for every single loose end to get tied up, every orphan happy...... had I seen it for the first time last night, I probably would have had to fight down about a million different questions, from Warbucks' millions to Sandy's timely appearances, it wouldn't have been half as believeable, because to me, last night, there was a 'happily ever after'. And that was only possible because it wasnt 17 year old realistic me watching, it was the grinning, giggling, exciteable 7 year old me........

the one that came around 5 years after the last

You know what i HATE about our generation? We're sooo lazy! We just procrastinate and dwadle and put off..it's disgusting, we are pathetic excuses for human beings......we promise to finish something, we never do, we start blogs never to update them.....and try to get away with that by launching bitter attacks on our generation so that noone comments on how it's been over 4 months since our last post. (did i pull it off?)

Hm, you would think, wouldnt you, that I'd have 4 months worth of fabulous views to share (assuming i ever did share views, leave alone fabulous ones on this blog) but im feeling oddly empty....nope, not looking for love or redemption or a sense of meaning and other rubbish, but empty because i realised i dont have much to say. Annoying, since during the board-time i had quite a bit to say, and wrote out things...lists, cricket hysteria....... but now im drawing a blank. And its annoying me, since i think my blog is the least updated and i was hoping to come back with a bang! hm, can i say that this post is trying to bring out the sheer futileness (did i just make that up?) of an enthusiastic writer (my own meaning applies here) who just cant think of anything to say right now, but rest assured when she's settling down to watch tv, she'll think of something.....but being as lazy as she is, (it's a generation thing) she'll convince herself that it's quite boring actually, and crank up the volume.

So yesterday South Africa's world cup came to an end, a little over month after India's (i just HAD to mention it, come on) and in a very unelegant way....Australia crushed them, teasing a bit with a 6/1....then a 44/2.....before getting bored of toying with them and going in for the kill (although, the proteas did make it to the semi, after last world cup's easily avoidable mistake- for the unitiated, match was cut short and Duckworth-Lewis applied. only Shaun Pollock -the then captain, removed after the match, the end of South Africa's campaign- mistook the figure on the little slip of paper coach handed him to be the number of runs required to win, it was ,ofcourse, the number of runs required to tie. this mistake lost South Africa all mathematical chance of progressing into the quarter finals)....final should be interesting, we all know who we want to win yet I can't help but think they're not going to. It's not anything apart from the fact that Australia is just too damn good......sounds hopeless, but there you go. Sri Lanka is an amazing team, they qualified with style, they play well yet dont have the aura of invincibility that the Australians have, although ive heard some members of our team beg to differ. But still, it's not over yet.....