Sunday, January 25, 2009

Can Life Get Better?

You guessed it. I'm happy. Sharp (and sweet) of you to notice. Let me tell you why.

Mohit Chauhan's singing into my ears words penned by Gulzar. Some I understand, some I don't. But I know them all. The strange rhythms of a graceful, earthy language, further spurred on to dance their strange dance by a music effusive as sunrise, seductive as sunset. And yet another movie on Delhi! Ah, happiness.

It's past two in the morning and I'm writing a post. It can only mean one thing. I've got an internet connection for that most beloved of laptops, The Sexy Beast. He's over two years old and has lost some of his sheen. But now he looks distinguished, war weary and thrillingly familiar. In short, he's yummier than ever.

I just realized that I need not blog from work again. Sigh (a happy one, finally).

Alexander Mccall Smith's latest has been devoured and placed alongwith the rest of my books. My library (or something like it) has finally made its way from Delhi and found its place in Mumbai.

Two more days in this extended weekend that has started so well. And Icecream has a brand new look! Arctic blue and yet warm, like the soul that this blog has preserved, quite independent of me.

And I just know that little Pinkerton, my younger sister, will tell me in a few days that Dev Patel has caught her fancy. I will rejoice at the fact that Ranbir Kapoor has finally been replaced.

I could just sing right now.

Hawa se judd, ada se udd..

Monday, January 12, 2009

I'm Inside Of A Blur

And it's like travelling by Floo powder. There are glimpses, and then there are none. There is the occasional nausea and the necessary headache. But beneath it all is the fierceness of travelling by fire, the burn of it.

Firstly, I broke my mug on New Year's Day. It was filled with intoxicant, which probably explains it. Then there was Delhi, blasts of cold weather and more fun than one could possibly pack into five days. My twenty-fifth birthday, and the realization that I can never get old, because I've been old since the day I was born. My phone was off all day because I couldn't for the life of me find a charger, so my apologies to whoever was nice enough to remember and call and got irritated at finding my phone so non-cooperative.

Delhi makes me believe that I was born to buy. Socks, curtains, jewellery, shawls and if I could have, just a little more time. The friends were gorgeous, as I expected. Fun was had, alongwith scrumptious food at every possible place between Paranthe Wali Galli and The Astronomically Expensive Big Chill Cafe. I had a moment or two of contempt for modernity at Humayun's Tomb, but that is nothing really new.

At twenty five, I'm so short of what I'd wanted to be. I'm not a millionaire doing volunteer work full time, I haven't written a single word of the book that is supposedly in me, I still don't like my looks and there's just so much I don't know. But hey, atleast I still like me, I have the most wonderful friends one could ever want, and I'm in love with a man I couldn't have dreamed up. Yay.

P.S.: - I know that imitation is supposed to be a form of flattery, but I don't include copying my posts in that category. A few bloggers were kind enough to let me know that someone named Mansi was copying my posts onto her blog, which has since been deleted. She was another one of those online magpies making a srapbook of others' thoughts and giving herself credit for it. I just want to say that just because some things are so underhanded that they don't even occur to you, it doesn't mean that no one else will go ahead and do exactly just those things. I've never given advice to bloggers before because I don't believe it's my place to do so, but if all you can do is copy others' posts, you might as well delete your blog. Trust me, we'll live.