Monday, November 30, 2009

who can tell - part 2

So Dying To Marry A Rich Guy has been burning up the phone lines with me.

She wants to quit working, wear kitten heels, and stand in a 5 star lobby and dial her driver.

She’s asked her parents to find this guy.

And then she calls me and wails about marrying a man her parents find. And sleeping with this stranger.

So I like this girl. She’s sassy, funny and level headed.

But ever since she’s turned into Dying To Marry A Rich Guy, all I want to do is shake her hard till her teeth fall out and her brains fall into place.

I have no patience for this. You want a rich guy. Then please spare us the how will I sleep with him, and will he be a Mensa graduate, and even I have some self respect.

Just go ahead and say Fuck it, he’s loaded and that’s all I care about.

I have another friend who did just that. She said she married for love the first time. And it left her with a broken heart and the resolve never to marry for love again.

So she married a rich guy, and she’s pretty happy now.

So what’s the conclusion? I have no idea. I guess to each his own.

I just wish love had some part to play here.

Or then maybe to quote the great philosopher Tina Turner: what’s love, but a second hand emotion.

picture @

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

how to fool millions and make millions

I went to watch twilight last evening.

I’d borrowed the book from a friend’s daughter and finished it in one go. Then someone gave me the other three. Which weren’t as hot as the first one. Dude, she gets married at 18 to a vampire, they keep trying to have sex for more than half the book and then finally voila! She has two kids in two days and then turns vampire herself.

Yesh, someone hold up a barf bag while I throw up.

Anyway, the book is a rage. And like I said, the first one is pretty neat. Some smouldering romance, solid vampire action, potential for great music.

And then comes the movie.

Here’s how they wrote the screenplay. Let’s start with page one, then go to page 20, then straight to page 80 and then page 160 and so on and so forth.

It just keeps jumping like a flea on acid.

The hero, who has way too much foundation on his face, looks so nice when he smiles. Which is precisely twice in the movie. The rest of the time the director insisted he keep peering under his eyebrows so he’d look like a vampire. He just ends up looking like he’s holding back a fart.

The heroine never smiles. And looks more washed out than the vampire.

The production values are so tacky. It screams kanjoosi.

The special effects are the comic relief.

The story is butchered.

And the effing movie raked in 70.6 million dollars.

Where’s the justice in this world?

And, on the topic of let's make love vs. let's fuck, I'll go with what this chick suggests. Let's have sexy time I think wins hands down.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

rant in my underpant

Fought with milo.

Burst into tears.

Made up.

A ignores me.

Think he’s worried i’m behaving

Like a ticking time bomb strapped to a see saw

I grumble about the TV being on

And the fridge that’s empty

No energy to fill it

Domestic goddess is long dead

Two people call

They mean money

No energy to call back

Business goddess is feeling blah

Stomach hurts

Shoulders hurt even more

The bath soap that I usually love

Felt like a blob of used paneer today

The class I have at 1 noon

I don’t care, i’m not going

All this

And it’s only 11.30 on a Saturday morning.

Pee fucking em ess.

and why do people say

let's make love


say it like it is

feel too shy to say let's fuck

let's have sex

then say let's make out

just please

let's make love is so pahargunj

it's something richard bach

or yanni would probably say.

lame brain.

picture @

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


half a day
spent with my parents
in a strange city

i watch them get dressed
i say goodbye to them in 20 mins

leaving them alone
to think of me
to miss me
i know
that's all they'll think of

they have no idea i know.

they think i'm working

but i'm thinking
however difficult your relationship with your parents
it is so difficult to say good bye

i will try
not to cry
but it breaks my heart
to say goodbye

i said this before
and i say this again
can't live with them
can't live without them


Tuesday, November 10, 2009

overheard over the weekend

Saturday. Late lunch at cafe.

The next table has a girl and a guy sitting across each other. She’s leaning towards him, he’s settled back, leaning away, in to his chair.

Girl: Wow. New year? That is such a cool plan.

Guy: I know, it should be a lot of fun.

Girl: It’s fantastic. You guys will have such a great time.

Guy stuffs his face with bread and says hmmmm.

Girl: I wish I could go too. You know I love the beach.

Guy tries to smile politely through a mouthful, nods head and goes hmmmm.

Sunday. At V’s place.

Guy: Are you busy? Got any ads?

Girl: No ya. Not so busy. Ads...One woman called me. For an underwear shoot.

Guy smiles nervously.

Girl: I said okay, what’s the money. She said fifteen thousand. I said no way honey.

Guy: Good ya.

Girl: Exactly. She said it’s only above the waist. So I was like listen that is my best part. You don’t get great boobs for cheap.

Guy laughs. Takes a quick sip of his drink.

fly on the wall @

Thursday, November 5, 2009

ricky don't lose that number

Last night i spoke to you

On a long distance call

Across telephone wires that don’t exist anymore

And you sounded

Sleepy and stoned

And like you had sung a lot

And i remembered

A morning by the beach

You turning to talk to me

And your brown eyes

For the first time those brown eyes

Without glasses to cover them

Unguarded. Unkept.

Brown eyes that made me feel sleepy and stoned

And like i had sung a lot

My breath stays suspended

And if there is a moment

When you know

That you are falling, free falling, drowning, plunging

Without a safety cord

Without a security blanket

Without a thought

Without a moment of hesitation

Then it was that moment

I fell in love with you

It’s been some time now.

But every time I hear you sound like that

I hold it close to me

Like warm popcorn in a dark movie hall.

I don’t believe in the future

Because i can’t see it

But i believe that your voice

Will always do this to me.

picture credit @

title credit @ steely dan

it's been a hard day's night

I had a crazy day. On last count, 67 calls and 21 msgs.

Bloody hell, I thought my phone would explode, or then my head would. The broker, the landlady, the internet guy, the man Friday, client 1, friend who fell off auto, dentist, grand mom, client 2, broker, mom, client 3, dentist, another friend, internet guy, landlady, client 1 – aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

At one point I seriously thought about flinging my phone out of the auto. And then when I figured I couldn’t do it, I burst into tears and called my friend and partner. Who immediately called my other friend and partner.

So partner 1 (girl) consulted with partner 2(guy). And then realising what a shit day I’ve been having, and all the running around I’ve been doing, partner 1 dragged me off to get new nail paint before a meeting.

New nail paint? Are you crazy? I grumbled all the way.

The nail paint came on. It looked nice. I stopped grumbling. And felt a little better.

And then, the meeting went fabulously. That could be because I spent more time admiring my feet, than talking. We sealed the deal on some money. And I ended the day feeling far from shit.

So then it proves my theory that:

a. a. I’m a cheap date.

b. b.Sometimes nice nail polish is all it takes.

c. c. My partners are way wiser than me

Wednesday, November 4, 2009


I have no idea why anyone would like white skin.

Not white skin as in white people. But white skin.

It does nothing to me. Nothing at all. I can’t imagine white skin the way I can brown.

Brown skin under the shower, as the water bounces off it. Brown skin in the sunshine, browned just a little more in happiness. Brown skin, with goosebumps. Brown skin under cool white sheets. Brown skin entwined with brown skin.

Brown skin, in pink, magenta, orange, lime green. Brown skin with a chilled glass of beer resting on it. Brown skin buried in sand. Brown skin with light brown sand smeared on it.

Brown skin like toast. Brown skin with beads. Brown skin with gold glinting off it. Brown skin on cool terracotta tiles. Brown skin with flipflops. Brown skin with an ice cube trailing down it. Brown skin in the summer, beads of sweat lazily tracing their way down. Brown skin in a spike lee movie.

Brown skin like chocolate. Brown skin like honey. Brown skin like cocoa.

Brown skin in motion. Brown skin in black and white. Brown skin in magic light.

And no, I have not gone back to smoking up.