Friday, May 28, 2010

hoochie coochie man

I lucked out.

He plays the guitar,

Has a voice that can melt your knees,

And is now turning into a kitchen hero!

Say hello to the talented Mr a!

Thursday, May 27, 2010

think. thug. thong.

Abhi and I are hanging out at the promenade.

We’re watching a couple, who’ve just about starting to see each other, stumble through the awkwardness of meeting up at the promenade after work, and not having a place to go to.

She’s in allen solly for women type of pants and a shirt. He’s dressed as allen solly for men. He’s got a laptop bag on his shoulders, she’s got her large handbag.

They are walking slowly. Then they stop. Abhi and I settle back on the bench to watch.

They are maintaining a distance between themselves. Still early days, so there’s no touching just some “that guy at work is such an ass. Ha ha ha.”

She gently swinging her bag, he says something, she laughs. They’re looking out towards the sea. The moon is a sliver, perfect.

Then, the guy jumps. And stands on the raised edge of the promenade. Ass. He’s put a whole bloody drain between them. The girl is caught by surprise. Abhi and I are snorting with laughter.

He continues to talk. The girl is looking up at him, and also probably feeling weird because this man has suddenly decided that she has bad breath or BO or something. He clearly has the upper hand.

We’re wondering how long he’ll stand there. Might as well just stand across the road from her.

Then after ten minutes he jumps back. We’re so relieved. Maybe he’s made a decision, he’s gonna live with the BO or buy her a really nice deo. She looks relieved as well. This is when he should grab his chance. We’re like “ yeah, come on, touch her shoulder, put an arm around her waist something.”

And he does. They start walking towards the road. He drops back a couple of steps. And quickly checks out her ass as she heads for an auto.


Then abhi says, “He’s probably wondering what colour undies she has on.”

I’m like “what? Is that what guys think when they stare at women’s backsides?”

“Yeah, you’re always wondering what she has on. And ideally it should be single coloured, or just black. If it’s those crappy pastel ones with little flowers and birds and shit on it, just run a mile.”

Wow. The promenade is such a revelation.

PS: this post is dedicated to the man who’s now a world authority on ladies chaddies.

Monday, May 24, 2010

friday dressing

What a weekend. I drank far more than i should have.

Rum and coke in this heat, that too at the non ac floor at Janta.

I swear I could see my scalp glistening . My hair was so wet and stringy with sweat. And at one point I wanted to ask the waiter, for a pair of scissors, and just chop my hair and my head off.

By the way, the waiters at Janta are fantastic. They’re always grinning and saying hello. Actually even the waiters are totos are super friendly. The owner though is another story. I suspect he’s a CIA wannabe. What’s the deal with those glasses? Is he blind? Or is he an alcoholic with red eyes.

And, if you are ever at Janta, and both the loos are occupied, and you feel like your bladder is going to burst, I would suggest nipping into Pali Vilage Cafe next door. They never have tables, but the loo is always free. Maybe rich expats don’t like to pee.

Anyway, the highlight of the weekend was this:

On Friday night, we get back home very drunk. We are five of us. AP, enters the house and passes out on the sofa. The rest of us sing and dance and watch videos till about three, when we are passing out as well.

We try and shake AP out of his slumber. His driver is waiting downstairs. But he’s out cold. So after much shaking and pushing, we give up. O stays over as well, and soon three of us pass out.

In the morning, I wake up to give the dog his milk and biscuits. It’s an unearthly hour. 8am. I groggily step into the living room, followed by a jumpy dog. And almost trip over a pair of jeans. I stare at them, and then look up at AP on the couch. He’s still sprawled exactly as he was last night.

Only he seems be wearing blue leggings. I’m so confused, and my brain is a hazy swirl of old monk and madonna’s like a prayer. I think they played it at elbo room, the night before. And if they didn’t then I probably need to get help.

Any way I notice the leggings as I’m slowly wandering around the kitchen, pouring milk, getting biscuits etc. And I’m wondering why does he wear leggings under his jeans. Then, I start thinking he’s from Garhwal, maybe it’s a habit. But it rather strange in this heat though.

Anyway I also notice that he’s wearing a rather tight bright blue T shirt, which is obviously very short for him. My brain can hardly process anything anymore, so I give Milo his stuff and pass out.

Only to be woken by the feeling that someone is looking at me. It’s AP, dressed in his jeans and a shirt. He’s staring at me from the door. He can’t find his way out of the house. So again, at an unearthly hour of 9:15am I rouse myself from sleep and show him the door.

He’s mumbling something about being disoriented and I notice that he’s opened the bathroom door, the cupboards, the kitchen cabinets, all in search of the front door.

I let him out, pick up the newspaper, and shut the door. On my way back to the bed, I throw the papers on the sofa. And stop.

My blue chudidaar is lying flung on it. Slowly a weak signal starts to make its way to my brain. I walk up to the sofa and there’s my bright blue kurta.

My brain goes: ping. Then: Kaboooooom!

Those were not leggings. He was wearing my chudidaar kurta. He got up at night, took off his jeans and wore my chudidaar kurta.

I’m hysterical. I stare at my red bag next to the sofa. My swimming stuff lies in it. And last time I went swimming I changed and forgot to take the chudidaar and kurta out.

I wake up A and O. And we are all rolling with laughter. My kurta is torn. But imagine a 6 foot tall guy, waking up, fully sloshed, removing his jeans and trying to slip into a chudidaar. It must have taken him ages. And why? Why did he wear the kurta? Did he dream he was going for a wedding? Or does he get drunk and cross dress?

The mind boggles.

But I wish I had taken out the chudidaar kameez from the bag. Not because i mind losing the kurta. Or the chudidaar. Just that it would have been spectacular to have seen him in my swimsuit.

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Tuesday, May 18, 2010

where are my white stockings?

Freaking hell.

3 days to go, and my parents will be here.

I am, as you can probably guess, in a state.

Here are sure shot things that always happen when my parents come:

One big fight: always between my mom and me. Over my clothes or hair or general appearance. Accompanied by loud yelling, sobbing, doors banging. And then my mother telling my father, let’s go back tomorrow.

One big make up: usually between my dad, mom, me, the dog and anything else that can shed a tear or two. Also accompanied by hugging and sobbing. And then my father saying, let’s cancel those tickets.

One never ending day at salwaar kameez and shoe and bag shops: usually involves my mom walking into every shop, because ‘what’s the harm in seeing everything’. Accompanied by my bored dad and an even more bored me. The day ends in loud sobbing, yelling and doors banging. My mom saying, “ You have no interest in things girls normally like.” Followed by me yelling, “ yeah, normal things, like 16 of the same salwaar kameez shops in one go.” This is then followed by my mother telling my father, let’s go back tomorrow.

One cuddle in session: usually in the afternoon. Involves a large bed and me lying in the middle of both my parents. We’ll talk about all the relatives, and the impending marriage and laugh our heads off at all the mad things we can do. Accompanied by much smothering and hugging of all my limbs by my parents. And then my father saying, let’s cancel those tickets.

Bring your own peanuts. The circus is about to start.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

curses, foiled again! part 2

Okay, a quick update on the swimming.

First, a big cheer to J&J, Spaz-Kumari, Sherry Wasandi, Anon and Wikipedia. Thanks to OB tampons, the swimming pool at Ramada remains unsullied.

However, there’s more to that story. And those who get grossed out by periods can tune out now. Wait before you go, just want to say, go here first.

Okay, now here’s the thing. Tampons are available in two sizes. Extra large for heavy flow and regular for well, regular flow. And all I will say is if you’re trying them for the first time don’t make the mistake I did.

I spent the day walking very, very funny. And sliding and sitting. Till a friend of mine asked to be shown the tampons. She was polite enough to stop laughing after ten minutes of rolling around in the front seat of the car, and tell me that Regular would be an easier option.

So if like me you are Tampon newbie, stick to Regular.

Why don’t they say this stuff on TV? Like the polio ads, or the Mala D ones?

By the way I think the person who coined the name Unwanted 72 is a genius. So simple. So descriptive. I have some of my own:

Maggie aka Lumpy Maida

Citibank aka Dial Customer Care and Die Waiting

Nokia aka Hang

Still not a patch on Unwanted 72. Sigh.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

curses, foiled again!


Just when i had finally conquered my fear of water.

Just when I did not punch the instructor, or freak out and grab the rail till my knuckles turned white.

Just when I learnt to float, paddle, breath, bubble.

Just then bloody aunty in my panty arrives.

I’m so irritated. My period really has no sense of timing.

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