Monday, November 27, 2006
Strange, the things I haven't done in a long time. I haven't written a short story in ages, and I wonder why. I'm reading this great book currently, called The World According To Garp, and it's all about a writer's life. The last time I read something on this line was Mrs Dalloway (though not strictly about Virginia Woolf's own life), and that so influenced me, I ended up writing this longish short story about love and life in Delhi. Part autobiographical, but then Garp says that autobiographies are just lazy fiction, so I'm not sure whether what I wrote was excellent or just 'lazy'. When I read now what I wrote, a part of me remembers what I felt then, and how strange and thrilled and sad life was. And then I wonder, is life really any better now?
Is life really any better now? I'm supposed to be older and wiser. I'm supposed to live my life in a guard, a strange kind of guard. I tell myself that I'm not going to let anything destroy me, or circumscribe the way I feel and love, and then I go ahead and give into a desire that I desperately tried to quell. God, I sound like a soap opera queen, and I want to pull the plug on the script here. Right here.
Mrs Dalloway. And Garp. And livingHIGH. Not sure exactly how they all tie in. I need to meet publishers. I need to finish my stories and my plots. There's this character in Garp, Alice Fletcher, a person who starts great things but never finishes anything. And I thought to myself, while reading the book, am I like her? I have two novel plots in my head, so why haven't I finished them? Chapters one to three are finished, but I don't really like them and want to work them over, so why the hell don't I do it? What am I waiting for? The exams are over, the preparations are over. So write, dammit, write. There are some kind people who read your blog and tell you, you've got talent. They tell you, you should write a book. And while you feel secretly proud, you don't actually resume the book.
Stop the drama and write.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
My head feels like its going to BURST now...!
That's how you get when you're dying to hear some word, some news... and you get none. Calls, sms', emails... and there's no reply. What's going on, where do you stand, are you driving yourself crazy, and there's no answer to any of that. Voice of reason somewhere deep in your brain tells you not to panic, not to over react, that no news may well be good news, but that teenytiny voice is gagged in the chaos pretty soon again... and the terrible thumping of drums resumes in your head and your heart.
Was it supposed to feel like this? Friends tell me, never give up on Yourself, because that's the most important thing you have. Give it time, if it requires time, but never bend so far and so low that you give up on yourself... and while I nod and agree and tell myself that in the mirror, and admonish myself while crossing the road to quit the drama... I'm about ready to burst.
That one phone-call could end it all. And I'm scared. What if it does END it all? What do I do?
How did I end up getting so dependent? I hate this needy me. Yet, I am this needy me.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
There's a new blog out here -->
I decided to give in to the lure of having labels and all that extra jazz on my blog, and made a new Beta account - courtesy my brand new digicam, you now have Pixelated - the livingHIGH photoblog.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I've got an uninvited and completely unexpected guest in my flat. Actually, there's two of them. Swooped in all aflutter the other day, no hellos, no warnings, no nothing. Just came right in, as if she owned the damn place and settled into her spot. Refused to budge, even though I cussed a great deal. Departed for awhile when I charged, but then came right back when I wasn't looking. And now, my stoooooopid conscience has kicked in, and I'm afraid I don't know how to ask her to leave.
So, instead, I took a picture of her, and put it in my offline album called 'home'.
She's settled on top of a wooden crate I have on my *sort of*verandha-*more of*-clothesline, and the last time I shooed her away, I noticed she'd arranged a whole lot of leaves on the crate. Made a mental note to tell the bai to get rid of the crate and the leaves, but of course I forgot, and tended to ignore the pigeon flutterings outside my window.... And this morning, my impertinent tresspasser was very ballsy about not fluttering away when I wanted her to - so when I climbed up to investigate, I see a single, shiny white egg.
I groaned to myself and begged my flatmate to be the ogre and get ride of the crate and leaves and egg, but of course she got all "I can't be a Pigeon Saddam", and refused to carry out the hatchet job. Ditto the good-for-nothing bai, who gets up there to string up clothes for drying every two days or so, and still doesn't manage to notice the damn bird in the damn crate with the damn egg.
And, while I may mutter expletives to my uninvited guest outside every now and then, and talk aloud about how tasty scrambled eggs are, I know she's already won the damn battle. I feel like the Bombay Municipal Corporation, blackballed by the damn slumdwellers. I'm just hoping that I don't find pigeon poop on my freshly cleaned clothes now. *boohoohoo*
Does anyone know how long it takes pigeons to hatch their eggs?
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Food For Thought
I talk a lot about food, and Mad Bawi told me this afternoon, while walking back to the office post-lunch, "Going by the way you love eating, it's a wonder you aren't fat!"
Wanted to hug her then. Not fat. Not FAT. NOT F-A-T. Now I know how Eliza Dolittle felt when she twirled to I could have danced all night...!
Thanks to the Mad Bawi's finicky eating tastes, our staple lunch joint these days is this Parsi place called Ideal Corner in Fort. It's got a charming ambience, busy waiters, cutesy little wall lamps and the most de-lish Parsi cuisine. Before getting hooked onto Ideal, I used to be a regular at Cafe Military behind the Bombay Stock Exchange and Cafe New Excellsior near the lenegdary Sterling Cinema... so yes, I know a thing or two about Parsi food.
Like, how to eat the yummiest dhansak (pictured above) and soak up all the dal with extra pav, when the portion of caramelised rice is over. I love the different kinds of bread Ideal and Military offer - the former has the usual Marathi pav bread, while the latter has the old-world baked loaf variety. And if you thought that dhansak is all there is to Parsi food, you're sorely mistaken: enter chickan salli boti (chicken masala with fried chips), dhan dar patia (gravy with dal and rice), keema fry and of course the all-too-famous patra ni macchi (which almost reminds me of the good ole Bong paturi style of cooking!).
Ideal also serves up these amazing desserts, ranging from the yummiest bread and butter pudding, to the caramel custard (down there), to the divine chocolate mousse that the Bawi swears by.
And so far, I thought it was only Gujjus and Bongs who had the Sweet Tooth Syndrome - Parsis come in the list too.
Talking about Gujju's, the other day we were stuck without electricity in the office for a freak two hours, and we all decided to go try some authentic Gujju thali at Chetana's, on Kaala Ghoda. As a bonafide animal-eater, I found the price of Rs 250 for a veg thali exorbitant when I paid the bill - but then, I had no idea that was what it cost when I decided to eat - and I'm glad I didn't. The food was awesome - and by the end of the meal, we could hardly walk - I must have put on at least two kilos after that meal!
It's a whole ceremony, really. First, enter the chhaas or the aam sharbat. Next comes the chilli-milli (a dhokla-kind of snack - very tangy and tasty), followed by some samosa-looking thing. Papad and salad of course, and then come the little bowls full of veggies - mixed veg, corn, and potato, and the two bowls of dal (sweet, of course!) and the kadhi. The rotis are served piping hot, dripping in liberal amounts of ghee, and there's also rice and khichdi to boot. And when you're done finishing this mammoth course, there's dessert - piping hot gulab jamun and creamy custard with fruits.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Even as I read about Casablanca buying a DSLR, I splurge by example and buy a digicam. And yes, BUGSY is courtesy my new toy. Been less than a week since I bought my brand new Sony, and I've been lugging it around with me for my Sunday lunch with bro, and my Saturday night out with the Boys, and snapping pictures of my room, et al. Hehehe... experimenting with lighting modes and all that jazz. Forwarding pics of myself, my laaaarge glasses and my swollen head to the Love.
A digital camera is the perfect Happy Halloween To Yourself for a narcissictic freak like me.
And, at the office, work has just been a complete rollercoaster. That's what happens when you work in a financial public relations firm, and it's the end of the second quarter results season, and most of your stoooooopid clients expect you to work miracles and get them extensive media coverage on a day when the RBI Credit Policy is being announced. Apologies for the excessive use of financial journo jargon. In a dumbed down version it means: clients are retards.