Lapses of lingy…

Yesterday, I heard the sound of the wind, a gentle wailing for a few seconds before I plugged the handsfree into my cellphone. I tend to be so divorced from all that’s natural and simple since I came to this city of shockingly high decibel levels, that those few seconds of pure, unadulterated sound made me stop dead in my tracks. I stopped to listen to the wailing of the wind. And then it stopped.

I switched to Tori Amos’ Big Wheel. She role-plays ayoung Southern girl who drinks too much and who asks someone (maybe the Good Lord) to turn the whiskey into rain. Wash it away, wash it away, she says, with a tinge of desperation and hope in her voice.

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I received this text, late Friday night: Heard about the firing in Mulund. Hope you are okay. Please text back.

The bearer of such news and concern is this enthusiastic, opinionated 22-year old, whom I can’t exactly classify as a friend. But neither is she an acquaintance. She’s a friend of a friend whom I have interacted with over the phone, e-mail and on chat, mostly to discuss her career and it’s rudderless state of being. I offered her advice on her lacklustre resume, which sounds nothing like her personality, and even ticked her off a couple of times, when she did some very shoddy work for me. But I felt rather touched that this kid, whom I have never met in person, should be concerned.

I feel loved! 

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I visited the Vie Lounge, this weekend. Quite a few people I know recommend it and sure enough, I liked the vibe. The mixing was spiffy, the mood was chilled. It’s a good bet for a Friday night.

On a different, two of my married girlfriends vociferously advice me to never take the plunge. Both of them are sufficiently miserable in their relationships. I think their view is a little myopic, though. While they continue to blame people and circumstances, they fail to recognise that they are partners in crime.

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Last Sunday I tried sushi. “First time?” asked a friend.

“I luuurrrrvvve sushi and you will too,” cooed another.

“Well, I shall not force myself to like it, acquire a taste, all that jazz,” I maintained because all’s fair in love and sushi.

As sunshine would put it, I shall rot in carb hell!

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I learned a good lesson from someone the other day. This person is not a close friend. Nor is she an acquaintance. But we do need to interact on a regular basis. We say hello, but it’s not with same warmth, which came naturally, some months, back. Our communication is cold, but not detached, and our body language says a lot, mostly negative stuff — not a healthy equation to share with anyone, who to need to interact with all the time. 

I rehearsed several monologues in my head about what I should say to this person. But I never did quite got around to doing it for fear that the irritation simmering just beneath the surface would spiral out of control, and I’d end up something really cruel.

But she cut to the chase first. She said,” I’ve noticed that the energy between us in not so good in the last few months. So, thought I would speak to you about it.”

Wow! What an evolved line to use in the face such personal friction. Anyways, we got talking and soon discovered that the coldness and silent treatment was misplaced and the two months of bad communication was sorted in 10 minutes of straight talk. We were bright and cheery, once again. So, I took a leaf out of her book and did some straight talking to another person, in anticipation of things going awry. And it was a strategic move. Of course, if someone has a real mean streak, it’s better to shut-up. 

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We finally caught Sex And The City, the movie. But instead of that sharp, urbane wit, typical of the show, we got the most banal and the corny. But film did have its moments.

The use of the word ’colouring’ as a metaphor for having sex is clever (there’s a three-year old in the vicinity who might be corrupted with such bold banter). It’s not been even a week since the release of the film, and people have already embraced the word; I’ve heard quite a few friends (girls and guys) using it to describe their racy/lackluster/non-existent sex lives.

‘I coloured this weekend.’

‘I haven’t coloured since last year, but July looks good!’

‘I love to experiment with colouring!’

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After several commonplace weekends and week days, I finally did something a little adventurous: river rafting.

We rowed down the river Kundalika in Kolad. And after, we floated (like deadwood!) along with the twigs and gooseberries in the river, for about 30 minutes or so.

Surfing the rapids, two hours of pure thrills. Bliss!

Finally, an adventure sport I relished!

We set out at 3.30 am and took an ST bus to Kolad. Then there was breakfast in a rundown little shack, which served (and I am not kidding!) pink samosas! It was all very charming, and sometimes smelly. 

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