Wednesday, February 25, 2009

One of the Boys

It’s not like I have gotten frivolous over the course of the last few months, far from it. I have just gotten really tired of being so incredibly serious all the damn time. Like with most things in life I am a late bloomer to this profound, life changing realization. Oh well, better late than never some wise ass once said.

There is some serious, unadulterated joy involved in being lighthearted and headed, not having to act and be like I’m carrying the weight of the whole wide world upon my tender shoulders. It feels like nirvana, or at least the kind of temporary nirvana one attains from toe curling sex. I don’t know about anyone else, but the feeling of physical emptiness (like that of an empty vessel drifting towards horizon at a leisurely pace) one experiences immediately after those few seconds (or if you are lucky even a few minutes) of intense, blazing, tear inducing physical sensation is reason good enough to thank the lord almighty for this human existence. It’s definitely God’s way of compensating for all the misery, strife and crap one endures though most waking hours. Well almost, if you are lucky enough to experience it that is. Even here we are sometimes screwed over by the mysterious workings of the universe in someway.

I am certainly basking in all the glory that living one day at a time brings. This is something that is an entirely new territory for me and like it is with anything novel, I am having a truly wonderful time exploring all the facets and peering at every single nook and corner. Of course, the down side to all this is I do not feel any compelling need to blog, well at least not in the serious pseudo-intellectual kind of way that I previously did. Not that I am calling myself an intellectual or even a pseudo-intellectual, far from it. But thank God for epiphanies, however late in life they may occur that make you say “Hallelujah.”

I love the ladies, well in a totally heterosexual way. I have been blessed with a healthy share of purely platonic male friends. On second thought, it might not be that great of a blessing as I may make it out to be, but for better or worse, I happen to enjoy a decent, amicable, trustworthy friendship with quite a few men. The boys are lovely, some of them even make great friends, sometimes they even offer an interesting perspective when prodded enough for an opinion.

It’s different with the women; there is always that initial dislike and suspicion. Everyone is everyone else’s competition, whether we would like to admit it or not. But after the initial hesitation and distrust is overcome and each others intentions are clearly interpreted and understood, women become each others most trusted, cherished allies.

I spent Valentine’s Day with my two guy friend ‘R’ and ‘A’ having a few drinks at Banana Bar, a perfectly respectable way to spend Saturday evening; it was a matter of pure coincidence that it just happened to be Valentine’s Day. I am vain. My vanity coaxed me to look great, which I did. I am not going to interject with some false modesty here, I am humble in more ways than one, but I am also honest. My honesty compels me to acknowledge my own spiffiness. You know I can digest the fact that these two lovely but ignorant men failed to notice or acknowledge my fabulousness. I can almost live with that. But the sheer audacity to completely bypass me as a specimen of my specie is something that I find entirely unforgivable!

The conversation started innocently enough, we are all single and laidback, not hung up over the fact that we are here together instead of being with our respective significant others and totally keen on have a decent enough time. Sounds great on paper right? Well it was for the most, until the time the art of ‘wooing’ and ‘seduction’ became the topic of intense discussion.

I am modern, liberated woman with some strong antiquated beliefs. Chivalry to me is not dead and most men and women indulge in affairs of the heart with the purest and noblest of intentions, well at least in my head. I have wasted hours upon hours of my waking life indulging in some of the cheesiest romance novels know to man. This has only further strengthened my conviction in the epic romance. So excuse my complete and utter aghast at some of the ‘techniques’ and ‘psychological play’ men employ to bag that hottie standing alone by the bar.

It was then, right at that very moment when I missed all my girlfriends, dearly. On the day that occasions the celebration of ‘real’ love, these guys went on about how the sad, lonely chick was the perfect target to get into the sack that evening. At the zenith of their vulnerability, these fabulous women suffer for the worst bout of fragility and self-doubt on this day that makes singledom a matter of great shame. In short, a perfect target for ones salacious intentions. Right at the very moment, I clasped my eyes shut in frustration, wishing I was with someone else, someone of my own gender.

For all my cynicism and pragmatic thought, I can at least muster the courage to admit to my many, many flights of fantasy with my near and dear ones of the same sex, without being thought of as desperate, vulnerable or worse of all needy.

Nearly impossible to do that with the guys. Especially when you are ‘One of the Boys.’

Saturday, February 14, 2009

This Hangover called Life

Okay, so I haven’t blogged in a very, very long time, I realize this as I cast a furtive glance at the calendar on my official Outlook mail box at work. Oh no, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I haven’t had much to say, there have been plenty of instances that have occurred in the course of the last two months or so on which I would like to put in my so called poignant cent or two. But then there are months and well then there are January’s that occupy every spare second of your waking hours and leave you with very little time to peruse and participate in things that actually hold some sort of interest to you.

There is no particular, glaring reason why I am writing this on ‘Valentines Day’. Yes, I am single, no I do not exhibit any symptoms of bitterness, cynicism or any other colorful adjective used to described under-sexed and unloved women in their mid-20’s without a significant counterpart, whose close friends are already basking in the glory of holy matrimony or well on their way towards hitting the alter in the near future. This post is definitely not geared towards belittling ‘V Day’ either, I am sure there are plenty of other folks in the blogging world that might be already doing that, instead this is going to be an unnecessarily long, detailed account of what’s rattling my universe, written today purely for the reason that my dear boss will be back to the office on Monday from a ten day long work expedition abroad and who know when next I will find some free time to write at work.

After wasting away a good ten months being completely wretched, disagreeable and utterly pathetic and miserable, during which I drank myself stupid intermittently, I finally swore on all that was holy and important to me (well that would be me) that I would stop being so goddamn pathetic and melancholy,at least a respectable amount of time.
A vacation is a good a place as any other to make a brand new beginning, and did I make a fantastic start or what!
My dearest friend Em, my traveling companion on this Thelma and Louisesque adventure of self discovery was pleasantly surprised and delighted to see a whole new naughty, carefree, flirtatious side of me. Okay, so it really wasn’t so much of a journey of self discovery as it was letting your hair down and acting like an irresponsible eighteen year old that snogs every alternate guy at the bar. I probably wouldn’t have done half the things I did if Em and D (both in loving, committed relationships) hadn’t put the proverbial gun to my head and extracted a promise out of me that I would have enough fun for the three of us and do all the things they were missing out on. (Have at least three evenly spaced out flings, make out with at least five different boys and consume enough adult beverages to get seven portly men extremely intoxicated.)

I think I may have fallen in love, with the holiday me that is. The holiday me is relaxed, carefree, cheerful and fun! (Gasp!) Her days are filled with lazing on the beach or relaxing by the pool reading a book until all odd hours of the day and diving into the clear blue water and disappearing in-between the waves for unaccounted amounts of time. She knows not what anxiety is, at least for that brief expanse of time. It’s a wonderful feeling when the world seems a whole lot more pleasant and tolerable and the copious amount of giddiness that follows after is truly intoxicating.

January (Still Extremely Hung-over from my vacation Revelry)

Like I said before, there are months and then there are MONTHS that turn your routine upside down. I shamelessly admit that the great, dizzying euphoria from my near perfect vacation accompanied me back to Bombay as I once again embarked upon everyday life. Sure the sights and sounds of smog filled Dadar station crowded with honking cabs and loud, rambunctious cab drivers that tried to swindle the few extra pennies out of you, darkened my mood a tad bit, but even they could only do so much damage.

For the longest time I had the worlds silliest, goofiest, most hugely content smile plastered upon my face that made me look vastly more attractive that I already did, that and I had a fabulous, honey dipped, syrupy, golden hue to my skin.
The world was my oyster and no man too unattainable, I even enjoyed the act for a brief period, until reality finally set in. Some twelve odd formative years in a catholic school embeds you with enough guilt to make you feel culpable for the wrong doings of an entire army of libertines. Every time I steeped out of my door to enjoy a boisterous evening with the buddies, images of the receipt confirming my two hundred dollar payment and my exam date swam before my eyes. What followed was a series of terrifying nightmares, being stuck all alone in an examination room, suddenly forgetting how to comprehend the English language, failing my driving test, it was really awful.

That’s when I realized that my guilt was ultimately too much to grapple with and I must, must dedicate a good chunk of time towards my academic goals. Plus, it’s absolutely no consolation when you realize that your memorization skills aren’t as strong as they previously were, or that you have gotten a tad bit stupid over the years from the lack of adequate, constructive brain activity.

When your paycheck partially comes from your writing abilities, it becomes extremely difficult to find the time or the enthusiasm to peruse any sort of leisure writing, especially when every single coherent brain wave is dedicated towards writing countless press releases, devise “creative” marketing strategies that never see the light of the day and come up with story ideas that ultimately end up in the trash can as just another rejected, useless document. Whenever I feel inspired to write, I am too tired to type, whenever I have enough muscle power to sustain an hour or two of hammering away at the keyboard my mind draws a blank, life is a bitch.

Just when things were trudging along at their usual humdrum pace, I quit my job. Well, almost. I love my job, I truly do, I would shoot myself in the head if I did this for the rest of my life, but for now it works. I have been broke all my life, okay well not exactly broke, but I have never had enough money to over indulgent. So when after more than twelve months my boss refused to discuss my raise I put in my papers. The thought of not being able to afford a trip to Thailand in the summer or pay for my subsequent graduate school applications is enough to make want to pack up and seek my fortune elsewhere.

I won’t get into the messy details. Today, I still hold my job, work for the same money and have probably destroyed all chances of getting a substantial raise in April. But I do have ten days off for my exam!

February (The month of love, but none for me)

I went to a friend’s birthday party last weekend. I won’t lie to you; I looked good, actually I looked great. There was the usually drunkenness and joviality around the house. Of course what seemed like a million pictures at that time were captured as testimony. I am not the most photogenic person in the world, actually that’s a lie, I photograph horribly. For most people the camera adds ten pounds, for me it is nothing short of forty. Instead of looking cute, snazzy and vivacious on my best dressed days; I vaguely resemble the Pillsbury dough boy, soft, round and pudgy, but with boobs.

On the rare instance that I manage to get captured in a decent photograph, which doesn’t make me look like the bloated fortuneteller at the roadside carnival, I save it on all available computers (because you never know which one might crash) and paste it on all my public profiles.
As I was saving the picture on my home computer, my mother who has a rather active, somewhat annoying interest in my social life happened to spy on it and made me display it for her viewing pleasure.
“You look so lovely in it!”
“Thanks mom.”
“It doesn’t make you look fat at all!”
“Yeah I know.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
“Look at you, you look pretty! How can guys not fall for you after looking at this?!”
“Ahhh…” I mumbled.
“It’s got to be you. I am sure they are ALL interested. You probably scare them away with your aloofness and unreasonably high expectations.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it, why don't I bring one home next time and you can directly quiz him about his lack of interest in me.” I replied with a chuckle.
“Nothing to laugh about!” Huffed mom in frustration, as she went back to the kitchen.

Today (Self love is the Best Love, no?)
Single and dateless, but I think I will have a good time tonight, probably because I want to. I don’t have to worry about having the perfect hair and makeup and dress or getting rid of the zit on my chin that shows no sign of leaving. I can let my hair down, get sloshed with good friends have a fantastic evening and still have enough time tomorrow to put in a few good quality hours of studying as I have no boyfriend to rush off to and spend “quality” time with.
Life is perfect!