Lapses of lingy…

2007 seems to be a year for introspection.

And transition. I may have to fly solo once again, because the roommate turnover is turning out to be just too high.

Living alone is a strange experience. On one hand it gives you a lot of space. But sometimes I wonder — is there something like too much space?

In my first year in Mumbai I lived a lone, in a compact, stylish studio apartment. And I didn’t own a TV. I had a two-in-one, which broke down beyond repair about 2 months after I moved in. It was my first job, and back in the day when installments and credit cards were like UFOs. So, I could not afford a TV.

Yes, there is life without a telly.

I read a lot. Good books. Not pulp fiction. Or women’s magazines. But real books, which dissect life, situations and people, succinctly. 

My place doubled up as an escape for friends who lived with family and needed a little space to think, breathe, be themselves.

Since then, I have been spoilt, and today I can’t do without TV. I like to kid myself, that I have an academic interest in most programming, be it Koffee with Karan, the Bold and the Beautiful, Project Runway etc.

Coming back to living alone, I wonder – will I lay awake in the dark of night half expecting a strange apparition to  metamorphose out of nowhere? Yeah, I do have an imagination. Darn.

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This morning my mom was gushing about Lassie the pom’s birthday on April 28. Yup, the little rascal is taurean and turns one tomorrow. The mother is baking a cake for the birthday girl, and plans to distribute it to all of Lassie’s friends (canine, feline and human) in the neighbourhood.

She plans to take pictures of Lassie in a paper hat, which I am sure the latter will tear to peices in a jiffy. Cakes, she hates. She prefers ice cream. My family does weird doggie stuff like that. On my birthday they sent me a text from Lassie, and waited with baited breath for a response from me.

On a different note, I have now discovered extra hours in the day courtesy my early brisk morning walk in the park. For company I have several septuagenarians, some octogenarians too. But what the heck! I’m not a gym person. This I concluded after splurging many thousands on a once-swanky-now-tacky gym in Bandra, who’s instructors offer conflicting fitness advice!

All India Radio plays the best music during the wee hours, thus making the morning walk more interesting. I love that song by Louis Armstrong and Ella, called Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off. It puts a spring in my step, and widens my smile by a couple of notches. Louis’ deep baritone is heartwarming and Ella sounds positively cheery, perfect for cheery mornings. Each assumes a character for the song. He’s American. She’s Brit. And the twain doesn’t meet.

Speaking about dating Brits and Americans, hooking up with a non-gay version of a very Brit Rupert Everett, would be swell! 

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Today, a crochety old man at the superstote, demanded to know whether, if an item costs Rs 25 and 20 paise, would the 20 paise be waived off, or would he be charged an extra 80 paise.

The cashier, used to instant cash or credit cards, looked at me and her eyes seemed to convey: “O! What a stingy old crane”. 

I ignored her.  

If a man wants to know where his money goes, down to the last paise, he has EVERY right to know.

He earned it. Unless if you’re say, Kevin Federeline.

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There’s so much to write about. Yet I feel so uninspired to write. 

Bhai politics, the quest for a new housemate, the cushy new job, blah, blah, blah. All these trials and the triumphs seem like trivia. Energy, focus, drive, all these buzzwords seem so yuppie.

Tame. Mundane.

It’s like as if a greater purpose has to emerge. Or do I need to find it? Or does it reveal itself?

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I have an impulsive side. And then I have this sensible side. And it always feels like my sensible side is cleaning up after the impulsive side, messed up. At the moment, sensible me needs all the kleenex, washing powder, ear buds and more, that I can muster up – whilst impulsive me slumbers peacefully (with not a care in the world) – until the next impulsive fit, which shall no doubt, on regular intervals, get me into trouble.

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This weekend I was terribly broke. In retrospective it was a blessing in disguise. I finally launched into Henry James’ Portrait of a Lady with a vengeance. What a book! Or rather what a writer!

His prose is poetic, and he uses such rich words and phrases to describe the most (seemingly), mundane or ugly things. And his characters sound so intriguing. However, not because they are more special than others, but because he is able to dissect them so expertly.

Besides reading, I took some time out to get organised, think about the horrific foods I am subjecting my gastro-intestinal system to, and cast some old separates in a brand new, chic avatar, in keeping with my broke spell.

Of course, it pays to have company when one is broke, and this weekend Slug was my partner in penury. For entertainment we took a stroll along Carter Road and rediscovered the sweet taste of tender coconut water, a worthy opponent of wine. Even whiskey.

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Haley did get the boot, after all and Sanjaya wasn’t even in the bottom three!

On a different note, am settling in rather nicely in the new office. This morning bumped (literally) into a chap with nice pearly whites, and he said ‘sorry’ in that very refined, yet non-effeminate sort of way, that’s immensely rare in this part of the world.

We have a cosy cafetaria, which gets immensely crowded since we are NOT supposed to eat at our desks, a rule that jumped at me, when I offered a piece of khakra to the editor. She took a bite and then spilled the beans. It was a bizaare moment of truth.

And on yet another note, we have a humungous supermarket within the same compound as the office, and people always seem to be shopping with a vengeance.

I guess the supermarket/mall culture is still a novel thing in India and though, supermarkets are convenient, too much mall makes me rather depressed. I grew up on a diet of malls (luckily on a few other things like books, too), and to be honest, it’s a dumbing-down hangout experience of the most serious kind.

People are enraptured, and busy indulging themselves, whilst Mumbai city is grappling with an impending power shortage. It’s important for every one of us to use discretion with electricity, water and other resources in our own way, and be more realistic about our material needs.

In these times I think wastage is a mortal sin.

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I think Haley will be the next Am Idol contestant to get the boot. Her performance was indeed the worst on yesterday’s show.

The tide is slowly turning.

Simon seems to be warming up to boys who seem to have gotten their act together inspite of not having the best voices on the show. He even complimented Sanjaya in a backhanded way saying: ‘That was not horrible’.

On the other hand the girls got the brunt of his ascorbic brand of criticism for having better voices, yet not treating their songs innovatively.

Meanwhile the woman with the hottest bottom in show business gave her stamp of approval to Sanjaya. She said, not just once but twice, that she likes him!

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Ever since I returned from Goa, have started heading out for a brisk walk every morning — to beat the cellulite, clear my head, listen to great music (All India Radio has shockingly great music during the zombie hours).

Today, met the most adorable dashund along the way. She doesn’t have a leash, possibly because I doubt she can move at quicker than one mile an hour. This one ambles about the place sniffing at this and that, whilst her elderly owner looks after her.

I asked the owner if I could take a picture, and he was an absolute dear about it. Rani waddled up to me and I patted her on the head. She’s 14 years old and very congenial.

At the quest of her owner, she posed obligingly for a picture. Will post the pic tom, as my mobile pone chord has (hopefully) temporarily disappeared.

In the park, I was suddenly aware of the crows encircling overhead, rather manically. Twas’ all hauntingly reminiscent of a scene from The Birds, where one never quite figures out the exact reason why they attack human beings with such a vengeance.

A crow’s wing got entwined in a twig on a tall tree, and it was hanging precariously, hence the excitement. The crows went berserk, but none of them came to the rescue. Many fellow-walkers stopped in their tracks, so as to rescue the crow. But it was way too high up.

But our friend up in the tree was a smart cookie, finally managed to perch its feet on a branch, thus giving it some support. It pecked and pecked until it managed to free itself.

We all clapped. Corny I know.

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Had a pretty eventful, inspiring weekend after a long, long time.

Sana, who works for an NGO, which helps abused women, invited me for a film on lesbian love called If these Walls Could Talk 2 (I know what you’re thinking. But nopes, I still like men!).

It was made in 2000 and stars Vanessa Redgrave, Sharon Stone, Ellen Degeneres, Michelle Willams etc.

The screening was organised by Lesbians and Bisexuals In Action. When I mentioned the name LABIA to a non-homophobic friend of mine, she was like, ‘eeks, what a gross name!’.

The film comprises 3 stories, one set in 1961, 1978 and 2000. I especially loved the first two stories, the first about an elderly lesbian couple, and the second about young love.

Vanessa Redgrave is fantastic is an elderly lesbian who loses her partner, way back in the 60s. And Michelle Williams complexion is shockingly dewy and her character is easily shocked and simultaneously intrigued, not at all frumpy like her character in Brokeback Mountain, which just goes to show that she’s a GREAT actress.

These stories are about love, about being true to oneself, about defying prejudices within prejudices, about acceptance and much more. I recommend it to all, irrespective of your sexual preferences.

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