Something Something

It Had to be TV

I’ve been working and keeping blissfully busy these past weeks, and I actually love that I haven’t really gotten a day off in some time now because it takes away from alone time that might lead to suicidal/ homicidal thoughts. Anyway… Project Runway has been giving me much refreshment these nights, especially because Heidi Klum is lovelier than ever. One day, I will look like an Indian version of her and hopefully marry someone with fewer holes in his face than Seal. But I digress. The point of this blog entry was to reiterate a longstanding fact: When Harry Met Sally is the best romantic comedy of the past 40 years. I just watched it for perhaps the 70th time, and it was funnier, warmer, and more delightful than I remembered it. So good. And the best part is that it’s one of those rare screen romances that give you a sense of hope because of their realism and believability instead of exciting you and then throwing you into deep depression like Pride and Prejudice (The BBC Version, please) might. Now all I have to do is find a balding guy, have an argument with him and then wait for 12 years to have a beautiful romance in my life! And, as I argue with several bald guys on a daily basis, I can certainly say that I’m off to a brilliant start!

2 Seemingly Different Things

1. My dad is losing it. He’s been watching this reality singing show and is now obsessed with this guy on it. I admit, the singer isn’t bad at all from whatever I’ve seen but quite frankly he isn’t worth ruining your life over. And that’s exactly where my dad seems to be going. The poor singer, unaware of a middle-aged man’s affections, was kicked off the show last week. I attribute that to his lack of sex appeal. My dad thinks it’s racism against muslims and he won’t have it and has decided to get his contacts together and produce an album for him! Seriously. He asked me to use my media connections and get the guy’s number. Embarrassed, and slightly amused at his whim, I asked around and actually got the show’s planner’s number and gave it to my dad. That was probably a mistake because he is now pursuing this very seriously and is talking like a mad man about how he will bring this new voice to the people and this is why he was born…

2. I just saw the coolest beggar I’ve ever seen. He was about 60 years old, with a bald head that’s quite in fashion at the moment, shirtless with a freakishly ripped body and wearing bright lime green flowing pants that I would pay good money for. Of course the coolest part was that he was begging with his right hand while he held out his penis with his left, as if to say ‘Help me help this’. Just like how female beggars hold their babies while on the job. Those pants though… maybe I’ll ask him about them the next time I see him.

Ear Massages and Pigeon Sex

This is not a new problem in my life. Every place I’ve lived in, barring NYC, I’ve had to deal with pigeons having loud sex. I’m fed up! I wake up in the morning, and the second sound I hear after my alarm is loud ascending throaty pigeon moans!! And it’s sex. I thought it was just regular pigeon sounds myself, and that the nature of the noises seemed dirty to me because of my gutter brain. But NO! I’ve researched, hunted for and observed the root cause with my own eyes. Therefore, I can safely say that for once it’s not just me, it’s them damn birds. They’re at it 24 hours a day, making really disturbing fat middle-aged women sounds, and it can become quite an unpleasant experience if they suddenly start up when you have company or when you just want to digest your dinner. I’m planning on getting a gun soon. I shall keep you all updated.

In the mean time, there’s a new form of pleasure in my life. And it’s not the head massage that I just had. I got off from work in the afternoon and decided to make something of my half-Sunday by getting a head massage. Good decision. Especially because it has introduced me to something I’d like to call ‘Ear Masturbation’. The lady, after massaging my head, neck and shoulders, moved on to massaging my ears. Whether we hold tension in our ear muscles or not is still unclear to me, but nonetheless it was a thoroughly useless 5 minutes she spent on bending and twisting my ears. However, then the true goods came out. She took out this huge hair-brush looking machine with knobs on it and turned it on. It started vibrating really loudly. I thought it was some sort of back massage device and started to sit up straight when the lady put a finger in my ear and another on the machine. Suddenly there was a vibrating finger in my ear and by the time I registered what was happening I was seeped in a sea of pleasure and never wanted it to stop. It was as though a current was going through my entire insides and distributing a sweet pain wherever it went. Soon it was over, and the same events followed as my other ear was taken over. All i remember from that time, besides the supreme happiness, was my wish for another few hundred ears.

Anyway… I have to go watch a thoroughly B-grade film now and enjoy it immensely.

Welcome to Boredomhood

A day expected to hold much excitement and drama has turned into a sleepy, ming-numbingly boring event. We were to have a wonderful first day of shoot today. Up I got at 7 am, despite the failure of my trusted phone alarm, and ran out the door after a quick shower, not washing my hair and not bothering with makeup. We had to shoot in the rain afterall, so why bother, I thought. Horrible mistake. Everybody turned up really late, then sat around waiting for it to rain, and the sun just kept getting brighter and brighter. So we all dispersed, to look for locations for the film. An hour of polluted rickshaw rides later, I get a call to tell me that the kind of location we want has been changed. Not only did this make my last hour a failure, the vagueness of this suggested ‘change’ meant that I had nothing to do now. So back to the office I came, and found the other ADs in a similar position. Together, we decided to make something of the day and watch a disgusting 3rd grade film online and make fun of it. The pelvic gyrations and vulgar dialogue had almost saved the day when we got a call. Half the ADs were needed just in case a shoot was to magically happen. I’m one of the unlucky ones that wasn’t needed. So, here I sit, encompassed by bad music, my eyelids closing every 3 seconds, and looking (ah the morning’s folly!) like I was just raped and slid through a drain.

To put a cherry on top, I have to go to my irritating uncle’s birthday dinner. Why should I have to suffer just because my grandparents didn’t know about the existence of birth-control 50 years ago??

Sodom, Gomorrah and China

Some top politician in Malaysia could go to jail for 10 years. His crime- Sodomy. It’s not so much the imprisonment of all homosexuals that shocks me, but the choice of the word ‘sodomy’. Who uses that anymore? This led me to look up something I’ve had at the back of my mind for some time now- the biblical origins of this word. My extensive research (wikipedia) has taught me that Sodom was a village somewhere near the Dead Sea where people were pretty much living it up. In the words of God, they “were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned”. They also indulged in heavy drinking, drugs and sex. Now obviously, if you’re drunk and don’t have much work to do, the boredom might lead one to experimentation such as gay sex or bestiality. Why did God have to take this so personally? Alas, he did, and he destroyed the entire village! I’m sure he just didn’t want people to enjoy themselves while he had to live a lonely and saggy life himself.

Then, as Wikipedia inevitably makes you do, I went off into reading about the views of every religion on homosexuality. Quite shocking was the fact that the only religion that didn’t mind it so much was Confucianism! Not that it encourages you to be gay, but it says that if you are also sleeping with the opposite sex (and not preventing yourself from procreating) it’s fine if you also sleep with the same sex for recreational purposes. Apparently, the Chinese had never even thought of monogamy till the western Christians came along. This makes a lot of sense.

All in all, I hail the Yellow Emperor Huang Di, known to be the father of all of the Han dynasty, because he was a raging peacock despite having 25 children. He pleased Confucius and himself. Let us all follow his path.

Shallow Shit (as opposed to the deeper kind)

I have made a few cultural observations since my move to Mumbai, but none has been as shocking and overwhelming as the revelation of how shallow a people can be. I mean, this is coming from me. I care about a lot of shallow stuff- clothes, hair, skin, make-up, fancy food and wine, luxury, etc. And I also judge people based on what they look like, and presume their character before they even open their mouths. Yet, this is nothing compared to the petty, pretentious shallowness that exists in this city. People have actual hour-long conversations about the brands of their jeans and the plushness of the lounge they went to last night and the famous people they know who know other famous people. And much more detailed talks are had about other people- what they’re wearing, where they’re going, which words they use, which cellphone they buy, what their ringtone is, which song they’re humming… and this isn’t an exaggeration. I tried to participate in such talks for a bit, just to talk about something at least, but it’s not my cup of tea. Mostly because the whole time I’m thinking, “who gives a fuck?!”

Anyway, I’m reading this beautiful book called Immortality and I came upon a passage that best describes my present sentiments on this shallowness issue. Here it is:

‘Just imagine living in a world without mirrors. You’d dream about your face and imagine it as an outer reflection of what is inside you. And then, when you reached forty, someone would put a mirror before you for the first time in your life. Imagine your fright! You’d see the face of a stranger. And you’d know quite clearly then what you are unable to grasp now: your face is not you.’

Oh My God! AND Beta is on!

I think my birthday has come a week early!

I am the goddess of the roads

After a late dinner last night, I wasn’t looking forward to today. Especially as it meant that I would have to drive to work in my new car and probably die in a crash within the first five minutes. My maid’s talkative arrival didn’t improve things. But then, the day took an incredible upswing. My maid came to me when I was trying to coyly walk from my bathroom to my bedroom in a towel and starting ranting in Marathi as usual. This, after I have told her, yelled at her, begged her to shut up because I don’t understand a word she’s saying! Anyway… after about 10 minutes of confusing dialogue and wild gestures I understood that she had gotten her period and wanted a pad. Oh, ok, sure. I went and got her a couple. She insisted that one was enough but she again went into a long series of words and actions and another few minutes were infuriatingly wasted. Turns out, she wasn’t wearing any underwear and wanted a pair of mine… I made a face and gave her one. And quickly went into my room to get dressed as I suddenly felt very naked. When I came out, there she was smiling in her crazed way. And then came the cherry on top- she lifted her saree up to show me how lovely the panties were and how much she loved them. Of course you love them you whore!! LEAVE ME ALONE!

When she left, my discomfort turned into a fit of laughter and suddenly I was excited for the day to unfold. With my uncle for company and moral support, I got into my car (nicknamed Button for now), put on a James Brown CD and took off. Suddenly, I couldn’t figure out why exactly I hated driving or even thought that it was diffcult. It seemed really fine. I was even enjoying the experience. Despite the sporadic traffic and the rain. I can totally do this. Phew. But let’s not jinx it.

At work, something equally magical happened. The day was busy and full of lots of little tasks as everything seemed to have been left to today. Plus, it was exceptionally hot outside and everyone seemed to be highstrung for some reason. But afterwards, we all went to check out some building terraces for a pivotal scene in our film. It was dark, and all the places were adjacent to the sea and sigh… The breeze, the views, the high high heights- it was seriously orgasmic. This one enchanting roof, which had a 15 feet ladder leading up to this water storage tank, from where Bombay seemed like heaven. It felt, all at the same time, a mixture of Manhattan, Simla, Prague, and London. I lay down on that water tank, a little intoxicated with the breeze and looked at the clouds pass the scattered stars and felt completely satisfied with life.

And then I drove back to my house, all my myself, and made my regular dinner of popcorn and green chillies omelette and now am watching the Rakhi Sawant Show. Thank you Lord, for I am a blessed woman.

Rats!

This guy at work has a collection of the most bizarre life stories ever heard of, and the ability to tell them as if a more normal thing couldn’t exist. I asked him where he lived, and this was the response I got:

The people in my building want to get rid of me, so they do these weird black magic things on me, yeah? One night I got home really late and I stepped on my doormat and felt something mushy under my foot. It was actually a rat that had been beheaded and left there. All its insides were gushing out, yeah? So i tried to clean it up but I couldn’t so I just left it there and went to sleep. The next day I asked around about who could have done this and my neighbors said that probably a cat ate the head and left the rat there. But then how could it be right on the doormat exactly where I step when I come in? Anyway, yeah, I live in Goregoan.

I’ve never been more fascinated.