Monday, April 18, 2005

Then again, who needs a family and a husband? Get me the men and let me party, and I won’t ask to be sent home at midnight. Give me somebody to hold me and fill up my glass when it’s getting empty (like right now, dammit) and once in a while, to kiss my nose. That sounds fun to me. I should have done what I wanted to, tonight. If I have the courage, I’ll do it tomorrow. Or not. Exam early next day and all that. Well, maybe on Wednesday. And thus I continue to fool myself I can be brave when I’m actually a little coward hiding in her suffocatingly hot flat.
Felt so sorry for the parents, stuck in this hole and that in this heat. They both looked iller when they left this evening. (Yeah, so I used a word that doesn’t officially exist. So? Sue me, why don’t you? Only, make sure you get into line first.)
Ooh, funny news for all. I have my pigtails back. Beq, do you remember me with my pigtails? Don’t they look funny? I think I’ll wear them everyday. Were it not for my face which seems to look older and graver every day, I would pass off as a schoolgirl still, perhaps. The question is, would I want to?
And my face is just being silly, because I’m happy underneath its strange new look.
It’ll be sad losing my flat in a way, because I won’t be able to type out blogs in my underwear like I’m doing now, or sleep naked or do any other such comfortable thing. But then, I won’t be alone all the time, that can’t be all bad, right?
Still on the subject of parallel universes, there’s one where I never left Calcutta. I wonder how happy I am in that one. Probably deeply miserable or dead. Thank god I’ve lived in so many places. Vicky can go screw himself, I will travel as much as I want to, and take my kids with me. And if the dog likes, it can come too. The cat I draw the line at. Cats don’t like travelling anyway.
It seems fitting that on the day something precious enters my life, six years later, something equally precious is sent away. It seems just. If I can cope with one loss, I can cope with two and then the others after those two. Sometimes, being flippant is the only way to cope with these things. In a hundred years, who’ll care about my life or what went out of it? So why should I care now either? And if I stick to the present, there’s enough to occupy me, like how to get rid of the allergic reactions on my arms, when to get up for the next drink, when to get dinner, whether to just go to bed and sleep till tomorrow, and important decisions like that. And another thing: I’m sick of drinking and not getting drunk. And I don’t like mosquitoes, particularly the one biting me all over now. Being semi-clothed does have its disadvantages, to be sure. Grumble grumble… mutter…
In a perfectly regulated world, romance would be on tap. You press the lever and there goes your doorbell. You are of course, already dressed in your nicest, most fashionable dress (one of the many in your perfectly appointed wardrobe) and you are looking gorgeous because your hair and nails have always been the best. And the door opens to reveal this perfectly nice stranger (who for some reason you trust impeccably) who tells you, in his soft, romantic voice, that he saw you across the road this morning, coaxed your address out of, je ne sais pas ou, somewhere, and just had to take you out to dinner, would you please oblige?
And you go with him in his car (may I have a chauffer, glass partition and enough room in the backseat to curl myself up comfortably, while I’m dreaming so far?) to the river, where you are escorted into a gently rocking boat. You chat a little, discover interesting things about each other, and in about half an hour or so, find yourself ensconced in a quiet restaurant where the perfect d├ęcor is secondary only to the fabulous food.
If you choose, you might go dancing afterwards, or maybe for another ride on the river, and this time, there would be cushions and a blanket to keep you comfortable amidst those river breezes. Then you regretfully thank him and say that you must go home again… so that’s what he does. Drops you home, asks if he may see you again, and when told that that wouldn’t be possible, never calls you again. Of course, you hold a special place in his heart for the rest of his life!
I’m aware that so far the man is more of an escort than a lover, but I don’t think I want any more lovers. I think the older I get the better I begin to understand why rich women have gigolos. I wouldn’t mind somebody utterly unimportant spoiling me for one evening and never reappearing for me to discover that he’s not that hot really.
Or I could just go down some more rum and feel even nicer than I do. I like wishing for the impossible because it hurts less than when I wish for something which might have happened but didn’t. And in this world of my dreams, my neighbours don’t bother me, I look good and I drive my own car.
In another, parallel universe, I’m aware, I’ll be holding a kid in a few months’ time, and I’m sure I’ll be happy there. But in this world, all I need is alcohol. For now, at least.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Back by popular request. What do I write about? Call Cutta ambles along. The Cal phase is pretty slow going because the publicity is almost non-existant. The Berlin phase is going better. I was actually filmed by a German film crew at the webcamera at the Berlin mall, yesterday, so that's something.

Tomorrow is the big gathering of the clans. Five o' clock at the club. Be there or be a regular quadrilateral. Or just be any of my cousins... cos none of them have been invited, to their growing wrath. I don't know what I shall do all by myself. Perhaps I'll carry my swimsuit and go swimming.

I'm feeling dreadfully lazy, it must be the weather. Somehow, sleep ain't doing what it's supposed to do. I wake up each morning feeling as tired as I went to bed. But it's not as though as I'm not getting the sleep I ought to get. Strange. And for some stranger reason, I'm looking like somebody else all day. When I see myself in windows of shops and buses, that look on my face isn't familiar. I don't really look that cold, I tell myself, but what if I do? Have I become one of those faces I see on the streets everyday and pity because they seem vaguely dissatisfied? Poor little rich girl. Got everything, and I still look like those people on the streets.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Goof up. Two nasty blogs I thought I'd deleted, but I logged out before I quite finished with the deletion. Whoever's read 'em, please remember my nasty temper and take them with the liberal pinches of salt such outporings of mine generally require. Sorry...