Marshall's Magazine and India's obsession with Death

Two completely unrelated stories, but my morning headlines nevertheless.

Remember that utterly wonderful episode of How I Met Your Mother where Marshall had to come home every time, ahem, he had to "read a magazine"? Yeah so I went home today to "read a magazine" in the middle of the day, simply because...I can. My house is like 5 minutes away, so I indulge in its nearness once in a while. Besides, I absolutely HATE using the office loo for magazine reading purposes, for reasons similar to Marshall's: They ALL know what you've been doing! I get squeamish about things like that :P

Note to self: Cut down on the drinking and fast food on weekdays. Phew.

Now for story number two (no puns intended). I don't get it with India's obsession with models committing suicide. How lonely life on the fast lane is, how young independent women with fading good looks are prone to depression et al et al. I get it. It's sad. But why and how is that your newspaper headline for the past fucking week? Even Bhopal didn't get that kind of coverage! Our obsession with glamour and death is sickening. Their excuse? It sells baby. We're all feeding off this meaty little sad love story. Wait, did I just see Madhur Bhandarkar sitting in a corner gloating?

Itchy feet. Need to do something new. Bored. Designing. Eating too much. Not good signs these. HAVE to travel. This is not school. Or college. Or University. There's no fixed time to leave. I can leave if I want to right? Right.

I miss...certain things. I miss Cal in bits and pieces. I miss being 19. I miss playing guitar. I miss FS classes in that big, dark, gloomy room. I miss being a student.

I think my shorts are too short. And I got splashed in the rain while walking to work today. There's no point bathing in Bombay.

I had a horrible dream where a lot of people died. Death is a leit motif in my dreams.

Maska Pao is my maska maroing blog. See it.

I am bored at work. Like seriously bored. And I do this every morning drama thing in the loo while showering - where I tackle with an imaginary situation - and now it's gone out of control. Like the drama's become too intense, and it's effecting my reality. Issues. Sigh.

There's a guy at work listening to Bryan Adams and Bon Jovi. Like intensely. And I know all the words. Sigh.

New project coming up. But I feel distracted.

Okbye.

I cannot do parties. I cannot. I get bored at them. And I can't make an effort to make them interesting. I'm a thrill freeloader, not a provider. I can only entertain if I really like you, and/or you may have seen in me in my underwear at some point of time in my life. So yeah.
I've been missing college of late, and so decided to call over some old friends from the old school. And I was happy, because we made excellent happy drunks and generally got along. But I think an hour into this intermingling of two very different crowds, I started getting angsty. There was this weird vibe and I just wanted them to leave so that everyone could relax. I like all of them. But you just shouldn't mix friends. No-one is a potato.
I miss the college fun. It was simpler. It was within a routine. It was speckled with exams and serious shit. Life now is like La Dolce Vita. Absofuckinglutely out of control. I am an old, serious woman of routine and method. Push me out of the line and I'm like Mrs. Thurlow. Don't disorient me if you can help it. I have a library personality.

I am so crazy bored right now. Of Bombay, of work, of the sameness. I need to travel somewhere. But work is like a leech. I can't let go, without them letting go of me. Dratz.

Today is a very wallflowery day. I am sitting in office, with no work, a bit of jazz, a lot of rain, feeling a little pretentious. My umbrella upturned twice while walking to work today so I'm a little damp. And no-one is talking to me at work, even if I ask a question. Okay, maybe I'm mumbling a little and talking to no-one in particular, but it's like I'm in an empty room or something.

Yesterday I watched Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown. Very La Strada. Very nice.

My dogs are going away. :(
It's sucky.
It's very, very sucky.

I was rude to K, and he probably deserved it a little, but I feel bad about it. You know, there's no point holding grudges and being a mean bitch, because what if he dies or something? Then I'll feel like a heel all my life.
What I wanted to tell him though was how life was suddenly topsy turvy for a bit, and I wanted a little perspective. But fuck that.

Anyway. My foot is fucked. I walk with a limp now. Like an old woman. This is so uncool.

I walked all the way home from work yesterday (it's not a big deal though - just 15 mins away it is) through the pouring rain, because no auto would stop. It was a good healthy downpour and I got thoroughly wet, but how wonderful. Yes, the wading through miserable muck bit isn't as exhilarating as it used to be when I was 10, and yes there were concerns about the clothes drying and the laptop getting wet...but hey. It's monsoon. I love monsoon.

I need my Glee fix, I'm going mad. I can't download anything in office anymore, because I keep getting caught. Life sucks without TV shows to go home to. I am aware of how sad that sounds, but it's my happy thing. So shut. Up.

Everyone "chills" in Bombay. So whaddya wanna do? Let's just chill. So what are you doing? Oh nothing, chilling. Stoppit ya. Jusstoppitwhatthefuck. Stop saying that all the fucken time! Let's not chill. Let's NOT.

Speaking of. I've been doing too much of this chilling thing. Eating, drinking, smoking/up. Bah. Humbug. Enough already. I'm bored of chilling. I'm bored of the Bombay culture. Work hard. Party harder. Fuck that. I want to not party hard. I want to read a book. I want to watch a movie. ON MY LAPTOP. I don't want people in my space. Is that so bad?

Good news. It's raining. Sometimes. There is some hope for this city.

My colleague N thinks that I am a lesbian. Others too. What is it? The short hair? The lack of a boyfriend? The amazing women around me all the time? Hmmm. So what about it?
A couple of months ago, I was at the edit studio and I met this woman. I was sitting on the steps of the cafeteria, smoking, when I noticed her. I couldn't stop looking, not because she was unduly attractive, but because she looked EXACTLY like me, maybe 15 years later.
She had short, not so nice hair, a pretty unshapely body, big glasses, and was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans (me too that day). She was carrying a jhola and had a nose pin. Hmm. She sees me smoking and asks, so you can smoke here? And I'm like, duh, obviously. Ok I didn't say that. But I just nodded my head.
So she sits by me, lights up and we're both smoking in silence, when I don't know why, I become morbidly curious about her. I do what I never do. I extend my hand and say, hi, I'm engee. And she jumps at the opportunity to befriend me (maybe she was thinking the same?). So we get talking, and she has this semi-breakdown where she rants about men, smoking and general mid-life crisis shit. And I'm like fuck, is it me? Why is she telling me all this? So after a while of listening to her, I decide to go back to work - but I can sense she wants this to continue. I shake hands again (!!) and walk off like a cowboy into the sunset. Like this total stud.
I think I have brilliant lesbian potential. I can be such a cocky chyut of a man.

I do not. Need. This.

My steady, staid life is happy. Happy with its manageable roller coaster-ness. I have been working for over a year now. And I’m finally at peace with it. I do not need you to mess this up with your whirlwind ways.

Over-reacting. Our new ad looks wonderful. I'm semi-proud of it. :)