Not a nice woman to know

My birthday was like any other day. We woke up to Mia’s babbling at 5.30am. Unlike when she was a ‘new’ baby and had me sprinting out of bed, her morning babble got the usual reaction from me. I slunk deeper under the doona hoping she would perhaps go back to sleep. I hope every morning. Every morning she continues the gibberish till she realises that no one has responded to her yet. Then there are a series of grumpy, staccato bub-bub-bub-bubs followed by a screech. BAAAARGH. It is an imperial command for us to respond without any further delay. I slink lower and Partner happily goes into her room, changes her, cuddles her and then brings her into our bedroom. My birthday was pretty much the same except that Partner entered the room dancing with his daughter in his arms and singing Happy Birthday. Mia thought it was a much better start to the morning and responded gleefully. Bub-bub-bub-bubbab-BUB!

Gift-shift

As far as I can remember, Amul chocolates were perhaps the first ones to cash in on the whole "gift for someone you love" idea in India, much before Archies and Hallmark came about and created a thousand reasons to buy cards, pendants, cassettes and a whole plethora of gift items.

I was considered one of the uncool ones in school, I didn't believe in Valentine's Day. According to the Valentine's Day myth, if you 'proposed' someone, they had to say yes. The idea had terrified me, more so because a) I didn't have that many suitors and b) I was rather shy then (!). After much resistance I decided it was worth the effort of making a Valentine's Day card... Only to learn I was still uncool because who wanted a hand-made card? Archies had much better options. So I scraped money to buy one only to be told there was a Rose Day and a Chocolate Day card -- and a rose and chocolate respectively -- to be bought as well...

Then suddenly there was Friendship Day, quickly followed by Teachers Day (strangely, Independence Day cards never really sold...) I didn't get a whole lot of pocket money and therefore the most prudent thing to do was not participate in any of it. It didn't do much to my popularity and till date, the record stands that I've never received a Valentine's Day card. In fact, for some unusual reason -- there's a research on that somewhere -- come 14 Feb, I've usually ended relationships/associations.

Somewhere in my late teen years, there started the whole thing about Mother's Day, quickly followed by Father's Day and Save the Dolphin Day or the belated versions of all these cards and days or a Sorry card to well, say sorry if you missed any of the days...

The cards I've treasured and went to some lengths to make were the birthday and anniversary cards, mostly hand-made. I was one of those kids who are very good at copying stuff. I was a pro at 'making' Garfield, Donald Duck and other cartoon figures and had quite a flair with water colours... For at least 8-10 years, my parents have received various versions of cartoon couples for their anniversary, which changed to various water colour flowers as I grew up.

My family knew I liked funny cards and those were the ones I got for my birthday. The most treasured cards though -- I still have them -- were the ones made by my little brother (who's now a foot taller than me and in his first job! Yay!) Like this particular one that said 'The World's Greatest Sister' -- made from an A4 'register' sheet, folded into a card, a mug cut out from one side of the sheet, coloured with crayons and stuck on the other side with a cotton ball under it. The card was magical, the spellings were perfect (heh, he was 6/7 years old) and it had a 3D effect... Now I don't make cards, neither does my brother and in fact after many years we managed to be together for his birthday this year when I was visiting India.

In Australia, it's a big thing to celebrate the 18th, followed by the 21st, then 25th and then 30th and so on... Maybe because we shifted cities so much, or because our father was strict or whatever, we never really had any memorable teenage birthdays. Rather they involved only the four of us. This year, in June, we went out, Partner, Brother, me, Dee and another Aussie-friend-in-India... and had a blast. Later in the hotel room, my now-grown-up brother said, "Dibhai, this was my best birthday ever." He turned 25, oh I love him. I am also digressing...

Increasingly today I find that wedding couples, engagement couples, expectant mothers, birthday candidates... Everyone prefers cash instead of a gift. Those who have to give gifts are relieved they don't have to think much, those receiving are relieved because at least they can use the cash instead of getting something they don't want or already have.

In fact in Australia, there is a list of gift items to select from at weddings. So as an invited guest, you see the list and pick what you want to 'gift'. Some weddings even tell you the store the couple would like the gift from. I find it quite amusing and somewhat depressing. Aren't gifts supposed to be thought out? Something that shows you know the person you're giving it to and have put some effort thinking about it? Is it still a 'gift' if you're asking for it? If there is a demand list? Or is all just a scam?

Now there are advertisements everywhere for what to buy your Mom or Dad for Mothers and Fathers day respectively. It's all the same stuff. While I've never had trouble buying mom something, buying gifts for Dad was always a challenge. It seems it's the same thing the world over...I wonder if they too would prefer cash.

What's the best gift you've received or gave that the other side really liked?
Pic courtesy: edupics

I don't love you anymore.

It's a regular day. You two have been together for years, have built a house, a future, dreams together. You have your arguments and times you get irritated with each other, but overall, you'd say you are happy.

And then one fine day your partner -- husband, fiance, long-time girlfriend -- turns around says, "I don't love you anymore."
What will you do?
Pic = zazzy.com

UPDATE on 31/8/2009

Of the 10 early responses on this post, the common reactions to the questions above are:

1. Shock
2. Refusal to beg or self-pity
3. Hurt
4. Alimony, court, divorce
5. Be brave, move on

One response takes it as a sense of freedom; another is very cynical of the whole mushy-mushy thing says the declaration should not come as a shock. Waiting for more responses.

Things Mom did NOT tell me...

... on how to make a relationship work. Over the years, Ma has told me a number of things on how to have a lasting, successful and happy relationship - in that order - with special emphasis on the 'lasting'. Most of those things have involved me -- always -- doing those things. However, and I say this with a heavy heart, an aching back and at the absolute end of my short-lived, rarely seen patience... I think Ma either missed out a whole lot of stuff or intentionally didn't tell me.

Like having to watch sport all the time. Like ALL the time. I could perhaps understand footy (Australian League Football), I can even understand tennis. If it's the Ashes, I can even understand cricket. What I DON'T understand is sudden interest in rugby, followed by golf (so s-l-o-w), the Tour de France because there's-nothing-else-on-TV and worse, "watching" stupid blokes in weird clothes playing poker. Poker!?

Or that a lasting relationship means having to put the lid back on everything. Like EVERYTHING. Bathroom, toothpaste lid is missing. Breakfast table, from the milk, jam, butter, vegemite; nothing has the lid back on. Re-warmed something, the microwave door is wide open. Cutlery drawer, of course it's too much to push it back. I've heard women have to pick up strewn clothes... but shutting doors and putting the lids back on everything?!

Or wet towels off the floor. It's been used, it will need to be used again and it is not pleasant using it when it's wet. So why not put it out? Nope, doesn't work that way. And strangely, it is always followed by a surprised, "How come there are no towels in the bathroom?" Because maybe they are all on the bed?

Or man sickness. LORD how I can't understand man sickness. I used to think it was only my Dad who was, well, weird. Whenever Dad was ill -- includes cough and cold -- he had/has this habit of groaning loudly. Like lying in bed, sniffling and groaning. Not because it was hurting him but because Dad truly believed -- even argued about it -- that groaning loudly made him feel better.

So period pain is something that can be fixed with a tablet and comes with a "But you should be used to it, it's monthly, right?" But common cold, muscle ache due to sudden over-zealous exercise, cough, post-all-night-drinking-headache. are all matters of urgency. They need to be dealt with chicken soup, constant fussing, a massage in appropriate places, favourite food being cooked and of course, total control of the TV remote control.

And of course, total control of the TV remote control. What's so wrong with watching a soap opera or some reality TV show? One is make-believe and the other is watching other people make an ass of themselves. At least unlike poker, it does not involve some loser competing with other losers on who loses the most money. I don't understand "watching" poker at all.

Ma did mention compromise though. And honestly, it's never been a favourite word. Hrmph. Gotta go, there's a wet towel to be picked up.

PS: All hints, tips and arguments are welcome.
Pic courtesy: 4tnz

PS: Wearing the shoe on the other foot, the Partner's list would perhaps read something like:
1. Constant praising of everything cooked; re-warmed dishes previously praised included.
2. Too much money spent on buying plants; I've heard of women buying clothes and jewellery but $ 200 on saplings?
3. A sudden interest in sickening soap operas just because there's a very important poker tournament on.
4. Absolutely imperative things to discuss just when the third English wicket has fallen...
5. Constant debates on anything remotely related to India, women, liberation, porn...
6. Intense discussions on Harry Potter... everytime she re-watches the movies 1-5...
7. (I'm sure there are more) ;)

Happy Rakhi.

So well, Rakhi is happy. And happy Rakhi as well everyone. It's been ages since I've been with my brother on the festival. Most times I've forgotten to send him a rakhi, most times he has been upset; and yet this year, I miss him the most.

Over the years, the ethos of rakhsha bandhan (literally, the tie that protects) has been changing. And that Rakhi's not the only one. From a festival that celebrates the brother-sister relationship, it's morphed into something bizarre.

Rakhi is celebrated by a sister tying a holy thread around her brother's(s) wrist and the latter vowing to 'protect' her. If the sister is older, it is she who 'protects' the brother. Personally, I think it's one of the few Indian festivals that actually treats women as empowered beings. In what other festival/celebration/ritual in India do you have the man looking for protection from the woman? (For the origins of the festival, click here)

When we were children, the festival meant a really gaudy, the biggest possible, the most showy rakhi -- I don't mean Sawant -- for him and my favourite cassette for me. To avoid any fights on who got the better gift, Ma would buy us both a Cadbury Dairy Milk; it was a great equaliser. As I grew older -- I'm five years older to him -- I wanted cash instead of the 'gifts'. Ma wouldn't have any of it since that would have meant giving my bro cash as well, he was too young for it.

In school -- around 11-12 years-old-- boys used to dread this festival. No one wanted his crush to tie a rakhi on his wrist and over a single woven thread, change his status from possible suitor to adopted brother. While I've witnessed boys running away when a rather pretty girl approached them with a rakhi; I unfortunately, seemed to be everyone's favourite choice for an adopted 'sister'. Perhaps it was because I was good at academics, perhaps the wanting-to-be-adopted brothers thought I'd do their homework. Hah.

Yet, I didn't have as many 'rakhi brothers' in school as the other girls did. The reason was my dad. Pa firmly believed and firmly forbade me from adopting any new brothers because, "I know how these boys think; they try to get closer by 'becoming' brothers. You don't need anymore brothers." As I grew older I realised Pa was bloody right.

Rakhi became a convenient way of getting closer to the girl you liked. So boys and the object(s) of their desire would 'become' brother-sister, tied by a flimsy thread; she would expect a 'gift' from him and he would have wet dreams at night. Despite Pa's dire warnings, nothing much changed for me though. Boys still wanted to be my 'brother' -- now at 17 -- though this time it wasn't for academics alone. My chest size had changed.

I moved out of home at 19 and since then, Bhai and me have been together on rakhi only once or twice. I'm not too sure. While my cousin sister remembered to post him a rakhi, I forgot. Always. I stopped believing in rakhi...along with a lot of things. It all came down to either "It's all mythology" or "Hah, I know what s/he is thinking."

I've just sent a rakhi e-card to Bhai. Perhaps distance makes the heart grow fonder towards 'Indian culture' and ties that bind. It was a shocking experience. While I was expecting rakhi designs... I was definitely not expecting 'smileys' wearing rakhis...and even a chimpanzee on one card. As I said, rakhi has changed. (Please see this picture--->!)

I sent a rakhi to my brother as I wanted him to know I remembered. (Also because he emailed me two days back saying "Mom says rakhi is on 5th, don't forget). More than that, after a huge amount of struggle, my little brother is finally, slowly, on the path to a happier life. I just wanted him to know I love him and miss him; no matter how much the festival itself has been bastardised and commercialised. Or maybe they are both the same thing. Much like Rakhi Sawant's televised 'engagement' and forthcoming marriage.

PS: For the few fortunates who might not know, the chick in the pic (hah!) is a Bollywood dancer called Rakhi Sawant. Some in the media call her a "sex symbol"; they never specify for whom. Rakhi's been on an Indian reality TV show where she "selects" her husband from a number of aspirants. Apparently there was no cash involved and Rakhi was/is the prize. She got "engaged" on the show a couple of days back and apparently will get married on TV. In Australia, you have Farmer Wants A Wife, where 5-6 Aussie farmers are the catch -- and a million-dollar, all-expenses paid wedding -- and girls compete for their attention, and perhaps their hand. Without being judgemental about either Rakhi or the girls on Farmer, I just wonder... Are we all that lonely and desperate that we're willing to go on air with our courtship(s)?

Up yours, sister.

Presumptions are the mother of all cock-ups.

No matter what country you are in, some things really don't change. Complete strangers don't think twice about asking personal questions. Or stupid questions. Most people we meet here know that I have moved to Australia with Partner. If they don't know, they are told so when Partner introduces me to them. This is also a country where living together without getting married is not unusual; people know what it means to "live" with someone. It means you are going to stay together. So I don't understand when people ask, "How long are you going to stay in Australia?" What does that mean?

What answers are people expecting? "As long as Partner keeps me?" "Till I don't find a better looking, richer man?" "As long as Partner does not decide to date a blonde, white girl?" Oh yes, I did try the date-white-girl version and the reply to that was, "Ah don't worry about that. You know (wink) 'Once you date black, you never go back'?" Really. Was that wink supposed to make me ignore that you made an ignorant, underhanded comment? Or ignore your stupidity? Because LOOK again. I am B.R.O.W.N. There is a huge difference; like four shades.

Or strangers you've only just been introduced to think it's their goddamn right to ask, "So when are you getting married?" Why? Are you paying my wedding bills? Are you giving me away? Am I in love with your f-king son? No? So shut up. Till recently, I have smiled at that question and answered with a, "Let's see" and walked away. However, it's getting difficult.

At a recent meeting with people, as is the meet-new-people routine, I am introduced to everyone. I understand that people will be curious. It is a different thing to hear about mixed couples and it is a totally different thing when someone you know starts dating a 100 % Indian girl ( as against born-brought-up-overseas Indian girl). I guess it is even MORE different/bizarre when said boy goes to work in India for two years and comes back with a girlfriend. (I wonder if I should have a "Made in India" tattoo)

Perhaps some people were expecting me to wear a sari, a bindi and break into a Bollywood song-dance routine every two minutes. Or sit cross-legged on the dinner table and eat with my fingers. Well, I DO enjoy sitting cross-legged on chairs -- my size allows me to do so -- but I can use cutlery very well (including chopsticks). Though honestly, I am still partial to eating with my fingers. I can even eat pasta with my fingers (learnt in Sikkim). Anyhoo. What I know is that this curiosity is harmless. I am dead certain that Partner will be even MORE stared at when he finally meets my family back in India. Knowing some of my relatives, I am quite sure some of them will also giggle or point at him and say "White man" and perhaps ask him to do some Shane Warne bowling actions...

ARGH, digressing, getting back to the story... So I am introduced to all new people and amongst them is this offensive woman who took it upon herself to just stare at my face. Not like surreptitious looking but outright staring. There was nothing curious or harmless about the stare. It was a "what-did-he-see-in-her" stare. And no, I was not imagining. I am very good with understanding looks and even better at reading vibes. Having had enough of her silent staring, I said a polite hello and walked off. Only to have to sit next to her again. Two mintues of me sitting next to her, she asks, "So, are you going to marry him (Partner)?" This question was even more bizarre than the when-are-you-marrying one. It irritated me and I said, "No I will not." Unfortunately, I played right into her hands. She responded with, "Ah. You must be one of those people from India who come here and then never go back."

No, I did not slap her. But it's making me angry again. The second incident happened in class yesterday. This chick said something on the lines of, "Marry him then divorce him" etc. I didn't say anything to her either. BUT the next time she does, I will ensure I screw political correctness in the bum. Enough.

PS 1: Before any of you say,"Don't worry about what other people say", "Learn to let things go" or "You have a bigger heart than them, move on" etc. I KNOW all that. While I respect all attempts/suggestions at positive thinking, at this moment, I do not give a bloody damn f-ck.

PS 2: Ranted at Partner. He heard, cocked his head, hugged me BIG, kissed my forehead and said, "It's ok for you to be angry as long as you remember I am not them; I love you." Sigh. He good man.
Toon courtesy: The Back Porch Studio

My favourite ball sport

Dear Gol gappas, You are by far my favourite ball sport. You are my comfort food, my sustenance when broke and the one experience that completes any shopping trip. I love the way the tamarind chutney mixes with the boiled potatoes and chickpeas in you. I love you despite the near-death-experiences of the times I have choked on you. You are the flavour of India to me: sweet, spicy, tangy and yet undefinable. You are also my biggest craving. I miss you.

Love to eat you.

Lazy Saturday

Nice Saturday in Melbourne, a cloud cover that might not bring rain, but not too cold. Partner is out to get a washer for the BBQ and chlorine for the spa. I will soon be heading out for body servicing at the salon. Here, they don't 'thread' the brows but use wax instead, so I am in for some pain. My face will also look multishaded as there will be three clear strips of red skin amongst all the brown.


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Then we are headed to the Flemington Racecourse, there's some race on and we shall try our luck at winning some. Since my first trip to the races, I've managed to win three trifectas. A trifecta is when you bet on the three horses you think will come in the 1st-3rd positions. Since December 2008 -- my first bet -- my total winnings amount to $ 1910 AUD. Over the Easter weekend, Partner won another trifecta, I didn't go.

Billy is sitting on my lap as I type. He is an intelligent kitty and has realised in two days that the moment Mamma showers and wears shoes that make noise, it means she is about to leave him alone in the house. Billy thinks by sitting on me and not letting me go, he will not be left alone. Cute, devious little kitty.

Last night Billy puked, his light-lactose solution was too heavy. After that he refused to move and looked wilted. I nearly died. I hate it, HATE it, when pets get sick. They just look so helpless. This morning he's been fine though. The evidence was when he jumped on the bed -- yes, he's figured how to -- then got tangled in my hair, which he thinks is his enemy, and bit my ear. Of course it was NOT a nice way to be woken up, but if it means Billy's all right; I shall live with it.

What is it about little animals that hooks us in a mere seven days?

What are you thinking?

In Mel Gibson's romantic/comedy flick What Women Want, Mel gets an electric shock and as a result he can 'hear' what women are thinking. The disaster leads to some funny situations in the movie and eventually happily ever after for Mel.

However, what if the same happened to you? Er, not the electric shock but being able to 'hear' peoples' thoughts. What if you could read minds? Would you want to? Would you freak out?

What will you do -- or how would you feel -- if you learn/hear that your partner thinks about someone else while having sex with you?

How would you react if you knew your partner fantasises about Salma Hayek/ Hugh Jackman/ or both while having sex with you?

Similarly, how would you react if your partner's fantasies involved someone you/he/she knows? Your best friend?His/her boss?

UPDATE: One person says, "There is a huge difference between fantasizing about Katrina Kaif and fantasizing about the neighbour." Thus, celebrity is ok, real person is not.
Waiting for more answers...

PS: Silly Billy insists on attacking my fingers when I type. Argh. At least pups cannot climb tables. Now he is trying to bite me toe. It is always the right, big toe. I don't understand.
Toon courtesy: Savage Chickens

Billy the Cat

1. Billy Batters, the new addition to the family. Age, 6 weeks, weight, 200 gms. Temperament, will have as much fun as possible. And oh, he is sitting inside the car's dashboard.

Billy is what I have been upto the past three days. People get bunnies for Easter; I got myself an Easter kitty. Rather Partner's mom got me Billy.

Partner's parents live on a farm with 16 wild cats and Billy is from a litter of 3. Other than Billy, the weekend has been fun, food and family. Except for the one time that Scroobie the dog nearly ate Billy; everything has been bonny and fine.

He does not cry, he has used his litter right from Try 1, he is happy with his formula and two teaspoons of mashed fish and he is loads of entertainment when awake. He is also a very good alarm as he woke us up this morning at 7.30 am sharp. He was hungry and he lets you know.

Saw hello people to Billy and a proud and happy Mamma. And oh, it's 'Billy' for the Aussies and 'Billi' for the desis. As I've been explaining here, the pronounciation is 'Bill-Lee' without a pause. The cat's bilingual you see. :)

Stale, Mate?

Inspired by File Magazine's A Collection of Unexpected Photography.
Pic = Kotryna ula kiliulyte

Fiction
The Impasse

Her: I can't do it anymore. Not here, not like this, not right now, not with him. Not to him.

Him: What is she thinking? Does she know? Is she going to cry again?

Her: Again. I am here again. He will take the towel off and look at me. Look at me with disgust. And I will look at him looking at me with disgust.

Him: She is going to cry again. If I ask her what she's thinking, she will lie, as usual. Why does she have to make me feel like a prick each time? Why doesn't she understand it was a mistake? A stupid mistake?

Her: I am tired now. I've been tired for a long, long while. I can see what he sees in me each time I am naked. I don't match up. I don't excite. I don't seduce. I don't satisfy. I...

Him: I hate it how she stands in the same room and cries... and pretends she is not crying. I can hear her. She is whimpering now. Anytime now the accusations will start. Why can't she see? It was a fucking mistake...

Her: How can I match up? I don't have the breasts. I don't have a shaved p****y. I don't wear fishnets. I don't moan. I am not a pornstar. He wants a pornstar. A glamour doll. A woman who takes everything, takes in everything. How can I match up? Am I to blame for...?

Him: Why was I so fucking stupid? She asked me about my fantasy. Why didn't I see the trap? Why did I open my mouth? Now she only sees what she wants to see... And she cries. She hates me. I don't match up. I don't excite. I don't satisfy. She accuses... Why can't she see?

Her: I am breaking inside. How do I tell him? Here? Now? Not? When?

Him: Why can't she see it was a mistake? Why can't she it was only a fantasy? Why can't she see I love her, the way she is?

Her: I can't do it anymore. Not here, not like this, not right now, not with him. Not to him. How can I tell him I am pregnant with another man's child?

End.

PS: A picture speaks a thousand words; and each word can be interpreted so differently. What do you think is happening in this picture? If you can write a short story -- however short -- to go with what you think is happening in the picture, will happily publish it here with a link to your blog/site.

How to make your man behave

Lesson 1. Do something unpredictable. Especially if he thinks you won't can't do it.

As I shared earlier, we were down in Australia's surf capital, Torquay this weekend. As we strolled down to find a good spot on the beach, Partner suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and exclaimed, "That chick is topless!"

His observation was correct and right where I would have liked to lay down our beach towels, there was this chick lying topless. Needless to say, I was not too happy about it. Equally needless -- but I'm saying it nonetheless -- I glared at Partner.

He quickly tried to recover his composure -- and failed -- and we walked a safe distance away. However, there is nothing called a safe distance away when there is a topless chick around. Especially if said chick suddenly decides she needs to sit up and start lathering sunscreen all over her body.

By now we were in the ocean and I noticed that Partner was behaving like Noddy. His head kept swivelling towards the beach.

"I can see you, you know," I said.

"No, no, I wasn't looking at her. I was just looking at the beach and she happened to be there. She must have changed her spot," Partner replied hastily.

She of course had not changed her spot at all. So I politely turned my head towards the horizon and informed Partner that if he checked her out again, I would take my bikini top off as well. He didn't believe me. In fact he laughed at me.

About five minutes later, Partner's head again swivelled towards Topless Chick. Please let me point out that Partner is not a perv. However, he is a man and I have now realised that there's something in men's genes that makes their heads turn involuntarily towards naked breasts.

"You are looking again," I said. Partner grinned apologetically. I smiled and took my top off. A 70-year-old man looking at us nearly had a heart attack.

And Partner's face... Oh, his expression was pure gold. Shock, disbelief, exasperation and finally uncontrolled laughter.

He didn't look at that chick again. Happy ending. (smug)

PS: For future reference, have told Partner that next time I shall ensure that there are younger blokes around and not just a heptagenarian. Also, Partner's mom approves. (grin)

Toon courtesy: cartoonstock.com

The greater love?

What matters most in life? On one hand you have...

1. ... all your friends, family, a smashing career, you travel a lot and have every other material thing/comfort you could ever want.

On the other hand you...

2. ... don't have any of the above but have/live with the man/woman who you love a lot and who loves you a lot.

Which of the above options would you choose?

Back to school

So today uni opened for the first semester for this year. Melbourne was quite bleak today...a winter day in the middle of summer. Since this is also enrollment time for the first years, there was a whole bunch of new 'kids' as well. If you can call 33-65 year olds as new kids. Shrug.

Seems like 'Edward Cullen' from the Twilight series is quite the heart-throb; everyone from 25-year-old bouncing young things to young moms gushed about him. Book stores here have everything from Twilight posters, Edward Cullen posters and tee shirts and even key chains with the Cullen family crest. Apparently, a radio show also interviewed a dude who BELIEVES he is a vampire. Given the fact that Meyer justifies the existence of vampires without drinking blood; something tells me this isn't the last we're hearing of 'humans' believing themselves vampires.

As for Edward Cullen, if you overlook the fact that he is a vampire, he is being called the 'perfect man'.

That Stephenie Meyer is a horrid writer was unanimously agreed upon. That every hot-blooded chick digs vampire Cullen was also unanimously agreed upon. However, since Edward did not exist before Meyer created him, is she really such a bad writer? Everyone after all IS gushing about her fictional character. The writing in the book is nothing spectacular, neither is the story-telling. However, she has created a fool-proof character for women/girls. A man who will not look at any other woman no matter how beautiful, who thinks of you ALL the time, who wants to spend every waking/sleeping moment with you, who thinks of you as his best friend, who makes crazy love to you and who's drop dead (pun unintended) good looking is Prince Charming in a new avatar. Of course given that only your blood 'calls' to him, he doesn't need sleep, does not need to work or earn money and does not have any guy friends (or other friends) to demand/share his time with you, doesn;t matter. Those are practical things and perhaps I am a cynic.

You might scoff at Meyer's writing, yet you're in 'love' with her creation. Funny. Hating or disparaging Stephenie Meyer's writing is perhaps cool, like it's cool to say that people hate Harry Potter. Or love Slumdog Millionaire, or hate it. Ah yes, the Slumdog questionnaire still exists. Now interestingly -- just to prolong the fun -- I also bring in comparisons with Danny Boyle's Trainspotting and City of God. For the sake of debate, how many out there -- who are reading and care to participate/share their point of view -- think there are ANY similarities between Trainspotting and Slumdog?

On a different note though: Is anyone SCARED by what's happening in Pakistan and the repercussions in/for India? First the Mumbai attacks. Then the Taliban takes over Swat and now cricketers are shot at. New Delhi is a two-hour flight or less from Pakistan. What happens if Taliban takes over Pakistan??? What if they bomb Delhi? So perhaps Pakistan -- or its non-fanatical leaders -- might not have nuked India... but is everyone so sure that the Taliban will not think nuclear?

I am very scared. Are you?

"And your mother too"

<--- How to ensure a good weekend when Partner is away... 1. Try new SFF (science-fiction-fantasy) author... However, it's grandly irritating that these days authors don't finish a story in a trilogy. Isobelle Carmody's Obernewtyn series runs into seven bloody books. (And am now starting on those...) 7 X 25.5= do the math.

Given that Sara Douglass' third book in the Darkglass Mountain series -- The Infinity Gate -- is supposed to hit book-shelves on/around May 26th this year; it's a long wait. I cannot even curse Sara to hurry up because the dear storyteller is underoing chemotherapy. I love her writing. If at all I have spent money reading Terry Brooks, Fiona McIntosh, Stefan Brijs, Stephen Donaldson (groan) and Stephenie Meyer (bigger groan), it's because I am waiting for Infinity Gate... Oh Ms. Douglass, do get well soon. Someday perhaps, I shall either interview you or sit and discuss plot-lines. (Weekend also involves day-dreaming)

2. See the movies I've really been meaning to see: That would NOT include full-of-full-frontals French movie Romance or that loser-werewolf crap called Skinwalkers. I mean, what self-respecting werewolf remains wearing jeans and a leather jacket when s/he phases? 'Phasing' is when a human shifts shape into werewolf and back. More insulting, was when three of the bad-werewolves -- those who still kill human beings -- are busy feeding; the female werewolf and leader werewolf are busy screwing. WTF?! Aren't they hungry or what?! If it was that bloody easy to control werewolves, Remus Lupin would never have died. And DON'T ask me WHO Remus Lupin is. Scoff.

Thank-you to all those who recommended City of God. I LOVED the movie, loved it, loved it, loved it. And highly recommend it to the miniscule who haven't seen it yet. Isko kehte hain piktar! And again, Rio and Mumbai...the similarities shook me. But that some other time...

As for Romance, it was scandal for nothing. The scandal was because the movie had real sex scenes; as in the characters actually do it instead of just simulating sex sequences. Apparently the movie was banned in Australia because the film board here could not find the right rating. Seriously, it should be banned, it's SO badly made. As one reviewer on Rotten Tomatoes says, "Porn was never so sleepy." If it was a blog though, it would run away with traffic. One scene stood out -- only one -- when the girl screws this street-bum and as he is finishing he screams, "Whore! Slut! I did you good!" and she starts howling and screams back, "I am not ashamed." That was the whole point of the movie and in my humble opinion, only that scene managed it.

3. Drink lots of wine, coffee and cola. Have donuts and Lindt's Lindor dark chocolate truffles for accompaniment.
4. Sleep.
5. Blog.
6. Clean house.
7. Maybe cook something...
8. Maybe put it up on my food blog.
9. Try not to mope.
10. Count hours till Partner comes back...

PS: Partner has gone for a buck's weekend...that would be a bachelor-party-weekend. There will be nearly-30 men drinking, playing golf, swimming, drinking, cracking dirty farts and dirty jokes, playing some more golf, drinking... you get the picture? Why don't girls do anything like this? The girl's version is called a hens' party. But isn't 'doe' the female to buck?? Why hen?!! And hell...if I ever get married here... who will come for my hens? I have no hens. :(
I miss my friends.

I love to lick...and other things!

This tag -- the first tag I am responding to! -- was insisted upon by Koshy, MaxJayJay, Catmeister and Mamma Mia.

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(I am doing this on my blog BUT: (To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the application).

Despite having an entire blog to myself... 25 random things about me:

1. I cannot remember jokes or rather, can only remember one joke at a time, which I will repeat at every party. Current joke involves a Chihuahua and a female elephant. Those interested, shout out!

2. I don’t like men with hairless arms. Hairless chests, is okay, hairless arms….pfft (thus I cannot stand Rafael Nadal)

3. I hate four-boobs…when you wear a wrong-sized bra and the top of your breasts pop out…thus, four boobs. I consider it the biggest faux pas.

4. I am extremely uncomfortable with compliments, to the point of being rude. I think people are lying when they compliment, especially when it’s about physical appearance. In the same vein, I am even worse when I am criticised. (wicked grin)

5. I LOVE my boobs. Bwahaha.

6. I have an authority-issue…sooner or later I will hate/dislike my boss.

7. If I was assured I will not be caught, there are at least two people I can murder without any conscience. I think I will make a good assassin.

8. If I could Ctrl+Z… I would've remain a virgin till my wedding day/night. Oh well. Go figure.

9. Despite others being the ‘cause’ of the heartbreak…it has always been me who has walked out of a relationship(s)

10. I have kissed a friend’s boyfriend. :( I consider it one of the shittiest things I have done and will never forgive myself for it.

11. I use a tongue cleaner…Partner thinks its weird, but without it I feel unclean.

12. I like licking -- using my fingers that is! -- the bottom of the pan when certain dishes have been cooked. ‘Kadhi’ and Maggi top the list.

13. I used to chew my nails to little, bitty pieces. Now I do it only when I am EXTREMELY excited (does not include sex). I still consider my nails as rather, er, chewable. Hah. (thank god they don’t have nicotine in them! alarmed)

14. I get extremely uncomfortable and possessive -- I actually throw a tantrum and can lose my temper -- with anyone else working/ using my kitchen. Especially if it’s another woman, even if it’s my mother. (!)

15. I used to be VERY particular about everyone using MY name…no nicknames, no shortcuts, just Jhoomur. Now I am not as Nazi about it… (hmmm…maybe I need to be. If people can pronounce Dostoevsky they can bloody well pronounce my name)

16. I would love to give a dance performance before an audience and receive rave reviews for it. The last was when I was 13 -- Bharatnatyam -- before the then-Vice President of India. Dr SD Sharma, at Siri fort auditorium, New Delhi.

17. I would love, love, LOVE to have a horse as a pet.

18. I would love to tango/ salsa with Partner… REAL steamily. However, this will probably go unfulfilled -- learning dance is anathema to Partner -- unless we can salsa to the tunes of market movements and barley figures.

19. I would really like to get married… at a time when I and the other mean our vows. To just KNOW that I am loved, as I am. And I would consider myself blessed to have a baby, my baby. My child. My existence. I already love him/her…it’s weird.

20. I fervently wish to take my parents out of the country…make them see the world. Papa loves reading and watching National Geographic…I want to see the look on his face when he steps on to the lands he reads about… for Ma, I want to buy her everything she wants. Anything, everything and remove every, single, teensy, vestige of the childhood -- where they took everything from her -- or her youth -- where she gave everything to us.

21. I find the idea of threesomes (yes, that threesome) scary. :P No, I haven’t.

22. My biggest, biggest crush was a man at least 22 years my senior. He was one of the cruellest men I knew. He never hurt me though. Funny.

23. I can ‘read’ other peoples’ relationships. Whether pretending to be happy or whatever, I have NEVER been wrong in reading relationships. Except mine!

24. If I could choose between becoming a vampire or a werewolf, I’d choose to be a vampire (love the clothes) … who can mate with werewolves. :D Go Lycans!

25. I find it very hard completing tags…simply because it feels like an editor telling me what to do…goes against the grain!

(26... I really, really miss my Golu.)

People who I tag:

1.Mamma Mia

2. Catmiester

3. MaxJayJay

4. Mystique

5. Mad Haiku

6. Goofy Mumma

7. Mad Momma

8. Eveline

9. Dew Drop Dreams

10. Pirate of the Arabian

11. Sree

12. Eve's Lungs

13. Chandni

14. Silvara

15. Freespirit

The other names are on the Facebook note...

When your mouth smells like cat piss...

... you should try and not breathe into the pillow. The odours off your own mouth can be really noxious.

The previous post was written under the influence of machine-gun-tequila shots. That is the variety when the shot glass is really big and you don't even stop to suck lime in between the shots and have all four one after the other...

The result is that you go from perfectly sober (was about to 'perfectly sane', but it was far from that last night!) to whoa-keyboard-keys-are-jumping-out-at-me in a matter of seven minutes. And in THAT state we went out...

There must have been something about my body language last night because suddenly eyes were noticing me... I was not 'behaving' drunk but I definitely had my I'll-burn-you-baby hat on. The waiters at the Vietnamese joint were smiling more...despite me having taken a couple of bites out of someone else's order. The bouncers at the club while ignoring the other chicks were quite 'flirtily protective' and of course my tattoo has always been used as an opening line by guys. Not just that, when smoking outside the pub, I had random conversations with slightly-better-of-the-lot guys and was dastardly rude to the muppets who were like "So you've been here long?" And I'd said, "No only at special times..this is a special time..." To which he asked, "What time is that?" And I smugly responded, "Time for you to shut up."

It was a very stupid comeback, but it worked. Because while that guy had been snubbed, there were a couple of cute ones on the side who liked it and laughed. Men can be such predators. When they see a lay, they are only too happy to mock one of their own kind. But it's okay. Women can be worse. We are only too happy to grab on and play anyone against anyone as long as our ego is pleased.

Ach. By the end of the night, there was a huge fight. I think I was flirting last night. "It's all in your eyes and shoulders," is what Partner says. Well, what can I say?? Perhaps I did flirt...

Flirting for me has never been a way of getting attention... it's been more of a way of tuning others and watching them perform exactly the way I want them to. I needed that feeling last night. In these six-seven months, I think somewhere has been a burgeoning feeling of losing control. So I ended up... Hmm.

Yes, I am in a relationship...but I think guys and girls both flirt to get some sort of I-still-have-it-in-me validation. So I've been home all this while; cooking, washing, gardening, reading cook books (for fuck's sake) and I was even about to be invited to a Tupperware party (shit). And all the kids at the restaurant I was working at are young -- 19-24 -- and there I was, 30. Thinking babies.

I went out with them one night and there was nothing in common -- They were so, free! -- and I was like a chaperone with them. ME! CHAPERONE! That's when I knew I was losing it.

Oh lord. Bas. Let's just say I really need a coffee right now. Last night was a close shave. Had I been single, I knew I would have had whoever eating out of my hands... or what/wherever else. Partner noticed too. We had a mega fight. :( Thankfully both were drunk enough to pass out after a bit. Now I'm about to eat eggs and am watching 80s videos on TV. We both woke up contemplating the pattern on the ceiling. And with huge headaches.

So that's that. It's a happy ending for the interim. But then he's turning 30 too...

PS: Of the 14 dogs, four were pups. The bungalow we lived in was huge, with big front lawns and back gardens as well. One morning we woke up and found the dogs dead. Some in the front lawn, some near the gate... only the four pups who lived inside the house lived. The robbers thought we had a lot of money and had poisoned all the dogs. Rigor mortis had already set in.

Just like that.

<-- Ideal day: baking gingerbread men and assorted cookies. They happily contribute to me piling the pounds as Partner is not too fond of sweets. I am eating too many, faaaar too many sweet things. It starts with two-and-a-half-teaspoons sugar in my coffee. In winter was drinking at least four cuppas a day...you do the math. AND to think diabetes is in my blood. Hmmm.


A perfect Sunday: at Torquay, riding down to the beach. We bought bicycles and have been riding around a bit. Melbourne has an interesting cycling culture and no, unlike India, where usually the 'underpriviledged' cycle to work etc, here it's a fitness thing. Most roads and localities have well-paved bicycle tracks and everyone rides with helmets. Implementing something like this in Delhi would SO help with the pollution. Two weeks back, cycled 30 kilometres from home to the St. Kilda beach and back. Have NOT exercised my legs that much in recent history! Felt bloody good. Yes, the guy with the book is Partner.

<--- An evening out: watching the Black Keys perform at the Palais theatre. Audi acoustics sucked, the Keys were bloody great. Melbourne is something of a music capital here and has frequent gigs by biggies. This was my first one with established artistes and saw Gomez and Black Keys perform. Missed out on Prodigy who performed for the Big Day Out music fest. There WILL be a next time...

Recent shopping: during a random drive, a garden gnome from a Heidelberg nursery and 'sticky' frogs; and a cactus pot that says, "I'm a prick." --->

<--- Recent excitement: watching potted green capsicum turn red in my 'garden'. And very soon, I swear I shall murder. Mynahs from India -- the birds we see and go two-for-joy etc -- are killing my saplings. Hate the shits.

Motherhood: growing my first cherry tomatoes!!! Woohoo! (can you see them? li'l green things) -->

<--- Melbourne: looks golden and majestic when the sun sets...this is a noon shot. Despite the fact that Victoria (the state Melbourne's in) is having something of a freak summer, i.e. it's cold instead of a blistering 40-plus; I am enjoying my time here.

That apart, I'm quite excited about Barak Obama signing in as the US president and would be up bright and early -- 6.30 am Australia time -- to watch him being sworn in. I have never had great faith (or any at all) in politicians but Obama... he inspires. And he makes me think: Will we ever have anyone remotely like him in India? Recently, read an interesting news bit on Ibnlive.com that corporate India -- Mittal and Ambani -- find Narendra Modi as the most viable candidate for PM. At least it's not Mayawati. Yet, I don't if that's something to rejoice about.

Politics aside and on the personal front, all girls I know from my school days have a baby. Or are pregnant. Or are planning babies. Or are getting married and will soon plan babies. All I know is I turn 30 in May. Sigh. Met up with Partner's cousin-wife-and-two-kids yesterday. Such gorgeous little girls! Had a brilliant hour playing with the girls in the park, catching them as they slithered down slides and didn't complain about the heat as I pushed 4-year-old Bridget on the swing. A very simple thing, but it's just a very happy feeling as you push a kid on the swing and the kid turns her head around, looks at you and gives you a grin of sheer pleasure. SIGH.


Attended a wedding on Saturday (17 Jan) and had a hard time not bawling as the bride and groom took their vows. When you see tv serials and movies that are based more and more on adultery, threesomes, single life and divorces... It's heartening to have people still want to commit to each other. I will have to invest in a waterproof mascara as there are three more weddings in the near future and I don't want to make an idiot of myself crying there.


AND. Grrrr. Went for a facial after six months -- in Delhi it was once a month -- and the bloody salon woman suggested I use anti-wrinkle, anti-ageing under-eye cream. :( Not to mention that sales girls in lingerie stores now suggest holding-up bras and waist-clinchers for "maturing" women. It's a cruel world I tell you...


Have a writers' workshop -- uni mates -- this afternoon but haven't written anything worthwhile to show them. Hopefully though, they should inspire me...
What's up with everyone else?

So who said dumping the arsehole was easy?

Needless to say, in the true spirit of man-bashing, I really do not care HOW many nice men are out there. As far as my vision – peripheral and all included – goes, the men I see around me and those dating chicks I know, are all the arsehole variety, stinky ones.

And for god’s f**king sake, I don’t know WHY does MS Word have to underline the word arsehole; it does not even recognize arse for that matter. Grr. Am I angry? Bah, not even remotely so. Am just trying to get into the spirit of things. I want to laugh. It is all so f**king so, so ridiculous. The entire fall in love-cry about it-fall out of love, cry about it situation. Because strangely, nothing seems to change the Cry About It status.

When in love, you are crying about whether he loves you enough, whether he’s about to cheat on you, whether you can match up to his expectations, or whether you are expecting too much and therefore pressurizing him. Or why he doesn’t call enough when once-upon-a-time he wanted you to call him even when you stepped out onto your balcony. Poor fellow used to be worried that his baby might fall off or something. Aww baby.

Or from remembering your favourite dress to opining on what nail paint suits you, he suddenly goes colour-blind or says blanket-decision things like, “Everything looks the same on you.” The somewhat kinder ones – who perhaps want you to stick around a bit longer before you expire your Utility Factor – will modify that statement to say, “Everything looks the same on you… I mean, looks good. Don’t ask each time… baby.”

And Doubt is a deadly thing; because strangely, you never are sure. Unless you find a loaded condom in the dustbin. (haha, cracks up at the memory)

If your man first gives you a blanket-statement and then adds a ‘baby’ after that statement, mark my words, the f**ker is up to no good. No, it does not necessarily mean he’s sleeping with another woman. It could be a man. Technicalities apart, it DEFINITELY means he is not interested. When the situation is rocky and the guy senses it, ‘Baby’ is often used as a Female Core Softener by him.

My Ex would use it each time to soften an argument, or ask for food, after an argument. It was always the same strategy. Fight, bitch, fight and just when I am about to explode or he wants to watch TV, “Baby, later.” It wasn’t the ‘later’, I would go all kachoo-machoo on the ‘baby’ and would ‘behave’. He would also use The Baby when I wondered aloud if the female colleague sending him shady song lyrics at 2.30 am (something to the tune of I-will-follow-you-wherever) meant anything specific…

(Kachoo-machoo is when you feel embarrassed for ever having opened your mouth and having questioned the intentions and motives of Such A Worthy person. You start believing that it is ALL your fault and every doubt is a figment of your imagination and that YOU were the reason the fight started in the first place. So you want to crawl and assure Such A Worthy person that it won’t ever happen again and so you keep your mouth shut and go on pretending that everything is okay while inside… You stew. And the bile, when it stews, just gets thicker. So while you want to scream out the allegations, demand a face-to-face talk and WANT clearance, you keep feeling guilty for having those thoughts. And nauseous. You feel like a doormat but you keep asking yourself, “But isn’t Love supposed to be about letting the small things pass and loving another despite everything? The good and the bad?” etc. So, you take MORE shit. Anyone ever felt kachoo-machoo?)

The good and the bad. Then there is Rotten. The Rotten should be dumped instantly. Beware though, Rotten comes in varied interesting packages. And always, as a RULE, he will SEEM to be the answer to ALL your prayers. Darlings, God is on vacation. So who the f**k is answering ALL your prayers? The dude is probably spam. Rotten. The trick to recognizing the Rotten from the Bad, is recognizing the kachoo-machoo. The INSTANT you begin to justify some horrendous behaviour or start questioning your Own sanity, STOP. Don’t do it.

If a man cannot make you feel happy, WHY the f**k are you with him?
If a man makes you cry once, he WILL make you cry again.
If a man hits you once, he WILL hit you again.
If a man is lying to you, nothing will make it stop and the lies will only grow.
If a man is not moved by your tears, he will not care even if you die. It’s harsh, it’s true.
If a man says, “Baby I am not sure,” don’t wait around for him to be.
If and when he is sure, he will seek you out. But DON’T wait. There was this girl who waited for this dude to be sure for eight years, they got engaged too; and a week before the wedding, he called it off. Sure, there are women who do such things to men too, but hey! This is called EVE Emancipation; the Adams can go f**k each other. And well, they are anyway.

And most importantly, for WHATEVER reason that your man turned nasty on you, it is NOT your fault. You don’t have to have a perfect figure. Or know every f**ker who ever sang just because your dude is interested in music. He reads and you don’t, great! Don’t kill yourself over it. What is the worst that can happen? That you will be alone? It’s far tougher managing to stay single than you can imagine! However, if at all you do end up staying alone, it is definitely better than living for and a with a man who hurts you.

If and when you meet a man who can love you, make you laugh, hug you, care for you and generally be what the man you want – assuming you are being the woman he wants too – give him all, love him to your heart’s content, have no shame in apologizing and don’t keep credit points when you do something for him. Be ready to stand by him, give him your support, your caress, the warmth of your body. Be his strength, vociferously, or silently. But WHEN he does the EXACT things for you.

If he does not, get out and get out fast. You are a human being who deserves to be treated right. If you cannot love yourself yet – for whatever reasons – start by NOT letting another abuse or unlove you.

And remember ALWAYS; the moment a man says, “I am not sure”, get out. A relationship is about taking the not-so-sure things in stride and WORKING around those. Not making a list of the workables and the non-workables and THEN deciding to get into things. Shrug. Perhaps, some people call that taking your time etc; but hey! If the Dude can hang with you and do pretty much everything else BUT “give” his heart. Ha ha. The arsehole is making an ASS out of you.

Get out. Stop crying. Go have sex. If you see his face when sleeping with another man, shut your f**king eyes (and think of what’s happening in the groin). FIRST, get out and THEN we shall figure what to do next. Rest assured, life does NOT end at a break-up. No madam, that makes it easy and rather boring. Life continues and it’s up to you to make it rather boring pining for the jerk that treated you like sewage in the first place… or doing whatever else with it. Shrug.

PS: This is for all of You, who are having a hard time breaking up and are wondering whether you will get over, or where did it go wrong, or why did he do it, or what was lacking in me or oh-my-god how will I survive.
(The boys can change much of the above to women as well. Rotten is genderless)

Here's my Soul Mate

Ah, interestingly it was an evening with Friend that got me re-reading a former chapter that interestingly -- among other things -- enumerates the things I want(ed) in the Soul Mate...and was definitely sure I didn't want to compromise on. Hmm, did the reminding help? "And the whole idea of a Soul Mate is someone who has no flaws. Perfection? Of course not, because my vision is flawed. But perfection is wanting all the flaws I want." Why is it so difficult to find The man or even A man who can thinks/has/gives all that I want? Here goes the list: