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.

Goa
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!

So where exactly is the Happy Ending again?

So where is the ‘happy ending’ Bollywood style I ask myself time and again?
I have been delirious with a mind numbing headache and a fever that refuses to go away. Being sick has it’s advantages of course, lying in bed all night wrapped in a blanket, shuddering from the unwarranted and uncalled for chills, on an exceedingly warm October night gave me the time and space to think and contemplate about the many complexities of life. I absolutely love the fact that everyone leaves you alone when you are sick! A terrible temperament and general frumpiness are discounted as bad, lingering side effects of your so called appalling suffering and you can almost get away with anything!
It seems sort of unfortunate that even though your limbs refuse to cooperate and your body rebels at the slightest movement, your mind is most active and alive than ever. Last night I desperately tried to put myself to sleep. At first I gently rocked myself back and forth as I sat hunched in bed propped against a couple of mismatched pillows. When this didn’t have the desired effect, I moved on to restlessly tossing back and forth in short, unstable jerky movements desperately trying to cling on to the smallest glimmer of sleep, only to come really close and then see it slip away, my eyelids drooping in exhaustion, but my mind alive and more awake than ever.

Once upon a time in a familiar looking suburb of big city there lived a girl named Sheila. Sheila was the perfect child next door types. Being extremely average has its benefits, thanks to this; Sheila for a good portion of her existence lived a very ordinary life. She always had a really difficult time waking up in the morning and getting to school on time. It’s not that Sheila didn’t enjoy the benefits of a rather mediocre education system, which she realized much later on doesn’t really prepare you for life at all. Quite the contrary, Sheila just didn’t find the morning hours very conducive towards her personal growth and learning. At the end of the day Sheila skipped home from school and then spent a good portion of the evening doing homework with great gusto and enthusiasm, a rather uncanny trait in a ten year old, but little Sheila liked to study and was indeed a rather odd child.

Summer was Sheila’s favorite season of the year. Apart from the obvious joys of not having school for three whole months and the sheer bliss and luxury of loitering and loafing around that the season offered, Sheila also loved summers because this was the only in the year that she got to see Ridhi.

Ridhi was a distance cousin, she spent the summers with the family that lived next door, who were coincidently were related to them both. Sheila and Ridhi were destined to be the best of friends, age and time being on their side helped speed up the process considerably. People smiled fondly as the watched the two girls skip together hand in hand on numerous occasions, apparently their mothers were good friends too and did exactly the same when they were their age.
Childhood, suddenly without so much as a slight warning gave way to those difficult teenage years. It brought along with it many joys and angst’s, but most importantly the painful realization and discovery of the opposite sex.

Sheila was younger than Ridhi by nearly a year and a half. To her Ridhi was almost a woman, all worldly and wise. They spent many a night, with their heads tucked under the same blanket, quietly and futilely fretting about the nature of men in low, almost inaudible whispers. They were always afraid of waking up the grownups with their scandalous talks. They were overjoyed to discover that each of them more or less wanted the same things in life. Ridhi was pretty and smart and all the boys seemed to like her, although a tad bit jealous Sheila enjoyed this and vicariously lived through her. When she finally got some attention of her own, Sheila emulated Ridhi’s ways to the tee to garner the same effect her friend seem to have on men.

Alas the long, starry, sultry nights filled with endless jibber couldn’t last forever. Today Sheila and Ridhi remains friends, they see each on rare occasion and thankfully sort of even share the same amicable feelings of warmth they once did for each other, sadly the similarity ends there. Riddhi now appears to be particularly tired and engrossed all the time. What seems like a never ending day is spent chasing after a hyper active but ridiculously adorable two year old and catering to her ever whim and fancy. Somewhere in the last five odd years or so, Riddhi had managed to snag herself a husband and produce a child. Sheila had been busy as well; only her days are filled with chasing after seemingly impossible, nonsensical, idealistic dreams, which had absolutely very little foundation in reality and unstable but interesting men she thought she was in love with, who ended up breaking her fragile and all too eager heart time and again. Riddhi basked in the glory of supposed marital bliss while Sheila reveled in her liberated, strong, independent woman of the 21st century existence. Both were seemingly content in their own right; yet felt that other lived a delusional, highly unfulfilled existence.
A couple of days ago, unexpectedly, Riddhi showed up at Sheila’s doorstep. After both got over the initial excitement and joy at each others sight, the conversation took a very sour turn. Riddhi pondered rather loudly on Sheila’s husbandless state and how incredibly unfortunate it seemed. The worldly and wise Ridhi lamented in great agony on how a life without the joys of marital bliss and snot nosed brats to run after was one badly lived. Sheila sat in utter silence as a feeling of loneliness and isolation slowly enveloped her, no words dared escape her lips.

“You are being selfish and horrible. Think about your mother, she isn’t getting any younger; doesn’t she deserve to see you happy?”

*eerie silence followed by a slightly throaty, awkward cough*

“You have some strange, funny ideas about space and relationships, what do you mean you aren’t quite ready to incorporate someone else into your life just yet? I haven’t heard anything more ridiculous!”

“Hmm.”

“What’s wrong with an arranged marriage? Not everyone is destined to meet each other and fall madly in love like Harsh and I did.”

“Yeah, thanks for rubbing salt on my nearly healed bruises.”

You must listen to your mother and meet some of these guys she is trying to introduce you to.”

“They sound like losers who can’t get a date on their own…” Sheila muttered softly.

“You think you are smart, mature, all knowing and wise but you are NOT! Have you heard yourself speak? You want the man to do all the work and make all the compromises, while you don’t give an inch."

“I don’t think that’s how I think or feel you are just misunder…” Sheila’s voice slowly trailed off as Riddhi once again loudly interjected.

“If I had an eligible, marriageable son, I would NEVER want him get marry a girl like you!!”
“Ouch.” Though Sheila.

“Change your ways before it’s too late! Otherwise there is a damn good chance that you might just end up all alone.”

“Fine, Fine!! I will meet some of these losers if you insist!” Sheila yelled, as she huffed out of the room, her composure badly shaken.

“Well NOT calling them losers would be a nice place to begin. Good.” Said Riddhi, with a triumphant humph, a big smile of victory plastered upon her lips.

The next night Sheila met Riddhi and the covered husband for dinner along with another married couple they were once very close too. The evening was fun and ordinary of sorts, the food although not exceptional was rather delectable. They all had a perfectly decently time, making small, individual contributions to the rather inane conversations that took place. Sheila remained silent through the bits where the discussed the triumphs and woes of matrimony due to her obvious lack of expertise on the subject. Now only if this was a discussion on disastrous relationships and terrible taste in men, would I have a thing or five to add, she thought herself in her usual self deprecating humorous manner. The evening ended on a good note with some scrumptious caramel custard that they each polished off with great gusto.

After the tab was paid and the husband packed off home to spend one more night in bed alone, Sheila and Riddhi silently walked homewards. Their private thoughts regularly interrupted by the sound of their sandals crunching against the abandoned gravel on the cemented side walk.

“Well, so tonight was fun!”

“Yes I had a great time. Thank you, wow we haven’t done this in a while.”

“Isn’t my husband lovely?” Riddi asked with a smile.

“Yes, he seems really nice.” Sheila offered.

“Didn’t you feel all lonely and alone tonight, having no one there to take care of you?”

“Not at all, I am quite use to looking after myself.”

Sheila strode ahead with a small yet determined and hopeful smile. She pressed a cigarette in between her parted lips and lit it with a sigh of content, all the while ignoring Riddhi’s look of disapproval and disdain, blissfully puffing away into the muggy October evening air.