Merry Christmas Folks!!!

This is brilliant!!! Listen carefully, its so funny.

Speed Post: North Pole

...

Dear Santa,

More than half the people I love are scattered across various parts of the world, and this Christmas I miss them. Im going to have a lousy Christmas because all my ridiculous friends have stationed themselves all over the bloody world and I have no one to get smashed on eggnogg with. Its great to know you are loved and have people watching your back, but it sucks that you only get to hear from them when youre in trouble or depressed, or they are.

My life is surprisingly empty without those idiots! Make them stop fucking around and come home already! Please Santa, I know I havent belived in you since I was like 5, but Id really like to have my friends all back for Christmas. I know also that this is very short notice, so if you cant manage Christmas, New Years will do.

So here is my list:
(In Alphabetical Order)

• Ameya (She can drink fifty whiskeys and still stand up straight, cooks awesum food and always has something funny to say)
• Dodi (hmmmm.... well... Heeheehe just kidding Do! She buys great wine, has awesum sexcapades and lets me borrow her clothes)
• Kasewa (He gets bloody drunk on one beer, gets into the most unbelievably funny situations and is always willing to drive people places no matter how drunk he is*)
• Pig** (He always has cigarrettes, is great at seeing the funny side of things and telling me about it quietly so I have something to laugh about and he always insists on paying)
• Posh (He knows the best places to buy stuff in palika, is secretly really fond of me and its awesum watching him accidentally show it and the get all emabarassed and he has LOTS of JD)

So I dont have a tree this year, or a chimney, but Im sure you'll be able to work your magic. Anyhooo, in return I will leave out a plate of White Chocolate and Rasberry cookies and a glass of Full Cream Milk. All the good stuff! See you soon Santa.

Much love and Good wishes
to you and Mrs. Claus,
and a hug for all the Reindeer,

Misha

*I know this might sound dangerous, but we dont let him drive, he just offers!

**I know Gurgaon isnt that far away, but as we arent speaking to each other right now, metaphorically he is on the other side of the planet so you could fix that.

Come Watch The Fringe

Seduction Style

Take this quiz. Its really fun, and you learn some interesting things about yourself.TAG


And I already have a puppy*mutter mutter*

The Nobility at My Home.

This is Lord Bartholomew IV. He is a fat, snooty, demanding, adorable monster.

He doesnt like sharing food with his sister, and is not above smacking her on the head to make her stop eating. This makes FCM very angry, but he knows just how to win her over. He is always the first to poo, and is in infact a little over-enthusiastic in this department. He cant stand to be cuddled for more than ten seconds, and if you try to hold him for longer he will wiggle his fat bottom in your face and eat your hair.

He has an alarming affection for mud and green leaves from all the plants in FCM's mothers garden. FCM has so far manged to keep mother from finding out, but she lives in fear. He is very insistent that his cerelac is always lukewarm, and does a tempertaure test by sticking both his paws in his bowl before eating. So far FCM has managed to get the tempertaure right everytime. He thinks that he is the absolute cat's whiskers (so to speak), and thinks he can get whatever he wants by sitting on his opponent. However, his sister and his Boss Dog are both extremely cunning gurls who outwit him all the time and often leave him in emabarassing situations that he simply cant explain to FCM. He is a good sport though, and never holds a grudge.

This is Lady Leaf. She is quiet, graceful, intelligent, cuddly, manipulative and has the most beautiful grey-green-brown eyes you have ever seen.
She was very sick wen she was a wee-er baby, and as a result she doesnt trust anyone. Her favourite thing to do is curl up on FCM's lap and go to sleep. When she is happy she jumps up and down and has the cutest little happy dance. Though her brother is much bigger than she is, she knows how to put him in his place. She has the lungs of a jungle amazon queen, and if you piss her off you had better look out. She is immensely patient with the neurotic FCM, and understandingly lets her wipe of the essential cerelac face pack with cotton and warm water whenever FCM feels compelled to do so.

She knows just how to get what she wants, and she always has an escape plan, much like bond. Her favourite smell in the world is the perfume of her brothers bottom, and for that reason her second favourite thing to do is sleep with her nose up it. She has the fanciest pedicure in straypuppieville, and if she decides to dig her nails into you believe me you will be sorry for whatever it is you have done to offend her.

She loves punishing FCM by refusing to poo after she eats. This means that FCM is forced to squat outside in the freezing cold at 6 in the morning and 10 at night, begging the little furball to PLEASE POOO!!!!

My Calling

Though I get by, my hindi is appaling at best. I often find myself mired in complicated and embarassing situations, because I cant make myself understood, or because I simply cant understand what the guy talking to me is saying. And the more I get flustered the less I understand, and the more complicated the situation is going to get.

Im doing the sound for a play, and helping me out is the tech guy, a gentleman named Jasbir Bhaiya (JB). JB and I were ensconsed in the lights room earlier today, watching the rather disorganised play downstairs, and we got rather chatty despite my hindi.

However one sticky situation arose while I was crawling around under the lights console, trying to hook up my ipod.

JB: Aapne bilkul galat line chose kiya hai. (you have chosen the wrong line)

I stare up at him from my submissive position on my knees, confusion wrinkling my forehead. I begin to examine the bundle of wires in my hand more closely, carefully tracing them back to the slots in the sound board marked Line 1, Line 2 and so on. Since Im relatively new to the sound tech world, today being my first day, it was not inconceivable that i had messed up royally.

JB: Mera matlab hai, yeh jo line hai, bahut mushkil hai. Aapko bahut musibat ho gi. Hum sab ko bahut musibat hoti hai. (I mean, this line is very difficult. Youll have lots of trouble. We'll all have lots of trouble)

I begin to panic quite seriously. I have no idea what Ive done that is so disastrous, but clearly it could put the whole play in jeopardy. I go over every wire in the sound board, but they all appear to plugged into the right slot. Miserable and close to a major breakdown i turn to the heartless JB and ask,

"Kaunsi line?" (which line is it?)

JB: Theatre ki line! Iss me bahut musibat hoti hai! Raat ke dus baje tak rehearsal ke liye rehna parta hai! (The theatre line! Its a very difficult profession. Rehearsals go on till ten at night!)

I stare at JB, struggling with a mix of horror, delight, relief and an irrrepressible desire to giggle like an idiot.

He's right. Theatre is a tough profession. Where else could this have happened to me?

Overheard

Pre-teen boy 1: "Do you masturbate?"

Pre-teen boy 2: "NO!... Do you?"

Pre-teen boy 1: "NO of course not!"

{Brief thoughtful silence}

Pre-teen boy 2: "Do girls masturbate?"

Pre-teen boy 1: "No stupid. Gurls dont masturbate, they menstruate!"

{Furious wise nodding}

Ah men. Imagine what gems these two will grow up to be.

Fidelity

Views on the subject are by and large the same for the majority of the human race. Even those that flout this 'law' know that they are doing something wrong, they just chose to do it anyway.

I have never believed in fidelity. As a concept. I think its wrong to tell someone who they can be with, and to restrict someones freedom in the matter of who they decide to love, or how many, has never been an easy thing for me to wrap my head around. I want the person Im with to choose me. Choose me from real options, not imaginary or hypothetical ones. Choose me even though they were free to be with whomever they chose and did not risk losing me if they did find someone else to also spend time with. My only demand is honesty. You have to ell me whats happening. Deception is not acceptable.

As a result, I have given this freedom to every man Ive ever been with. Most men puff up in anticipation of receiving such an offer... that is until they realise they have to reciprocate. I have had boyfriends for, oh, 5 years now, and I have always extended this offer at the begining of every relationship.

No one has ever taken me up on it.

That may be why Im still resolved to tell men they can fuck around while they are with me. Having been with remarkably faithful and devoted men my whole life, the concept of sharing is still hypothetical. Hypothetically Im willing to share. I just dont know if I could in real life.

Lately Ive been faced with a disturbing situation, that doesnt match this scenario exactly, but is broadly related. My reaction was not promising. It seems the whole concept of sharing, actually sharing is limited to, at the most, a random drunken fumble with a stranger at a riotous party. Invole things like history, emotion and a real connection and Im a vindictive bitch with a firestorm of a temper.

However.

Im all this on the inside. On the outside Im all support and encouragement.

Does it still count?

Never Be Late For a BA Flight - They are evil creatures who will make you pay...

I was one of the last amongst my friends to lose my virginity. And in my late teens and beyond I was a leeeettle sensitive about the issue. Its actually quite a study in the human psyche, If you think about something enough, It will soon seem like everyone thinks about the same thing.
This happened to me, during this particular phase of my life.

I was flying by myself, from London to New Delhi on a British Airways Flight, and as the title suggests, I was unbeleivably late. I huffed up escalators, lugging a month worth of shopping with me, crawled under the bars at security and finally dragged myself onto the plane, cringing under the disapproving glares of passengers and stewardesses alike. I thought the glares and a cold meal would be the worst of it. I was wrong.

I dragged my overstuffed hand bag (This happened in the days before airport security madness, when touching up your makeup inflight wasnt an act of terrorism) through the aisles, staring at the carpeting before me and trying to look pathetic, sad and generally apologetic. As a result I didnt look at my seat until I was a few rows away.

British Airways really knows how to torture a gurl. My seat was smack in the middle of the row, this is murder enough for someone who is 5'10" tall, but what really made my gut sink to my toes, were the occupants of every seat in the same row.

Buddhist Monks.

Thats right. Seven Monks and me.

The virgin row. (Take that Virgin, Iv brought you into the belly of your competition)

I stood there, staring at my seat in open mouthed diesbelief. Was I carrying a sign or something? How did they know???

Ive never been late for a flight EVER again.

The Beast of Id

I hate not being in control. A friend of mine recently told me that I always planned an Iron clad escape route from every relationship Ive ever been in, and Ive realised that its true. I have always been afraid of being caught with my pants down, so to speak, so I make sure that I include some clause somewhere that would let me escape with a whole skin and my dignity intact.

The problem with playing this cowardly game, and generally being an annoying twit by trying to outwit your emotions, karma and the universes will, is that eventually the universe gets sick of you and decides to teach you who's boss. Damn youre in trouble in now.

{I really thought I had it all covered. There was no way in hell that i could come out of this as anything but unscathed, and totally cool.

Boy was I wrong. Its like.... Heck Ive never fucking been here before. I feel reduced to my sixteen year old self. All sweaty palms and trembling lips and yearning heart. Full of questions I dont have the courage to ask and feelings I dont know what to do with. Isnt one of the advantages of being 21 that you dont have to play the silly teenage mating games anymore? That youre sophisticated and experianced, and unruffleable.

BAH.

I feel like the universe has yanked the rug out from under my feet, and Im lying on my ass on a cold stone floor with my legs arranged over my head, my jaw hanging open in shock as twenty years worth of ridiculous sentimental bullshit is seeping its way out of my pores.}

And because you supressed that part of you for so long, when it finally escapes, it explodes out of you. An absolute monster in its invincibility and disregard for reason. A bawling, screaming, wailing toothless infant that is immune to concepts like self respect, composure or independance.
Its mine, he screams, I WANT it NOW. There is no way to silence this particular Beast of Id. You can only bite your lips together to keep them from opening and saying the things youre feeling outloud and emabarassing the crap out of yourself and forcing you to retire to a mountain top where the only creature who will hear you whine is the odd goat who'll glance at you disapprovingly before ushering its kids away so as to prevent them from picking up what is most certainly a vile kind of human madness.

I have been poleaxed by the universe. I feel like an absolute idiot.

Silence

"Silence
Was what I craved
So I piled up some stones
And built towers taller than dreams
Then barred their windows with my weathered bones
Leaving no escape for my screams
And here I sit alone
In this depraved
Silence"

Black

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know you'll be a star
In somebody else's sky,
but why, why, why
Can't it be,
can't it be mine

Life, or Something Like It

Thkaa stared down at the woman curled up on the pile of skins and furs that served as her bed. She was lying still, staring at the wall calmly, her brown eyes showing no emotion as Thkaa moved around the room, gathering the things she would need. Most women who came to her were terrified, quivering with fear and constantly looking to her for reassurance. This one hadnt said a word since she first stepped in, and her face had remained expressionless throughout. Thkaa heated the potion in a corner, slowly adding the poppy that would put her to sleep, so she wouldnt feel the pain.

The sharp knife caught the light and the woman on the bed turned and stared at it, her eyes becoming colder as she watched Thkaa heat it. Feeling her gaze Thkaa looked up.

"It wont hurt", Thkaa assured her softly, "You wont feel a thing".

The womans eyes narrowed, and a small bitter smile twisted her lips.
"What of my child? Can you promise him the same?"

Thkaa flushed. Killing children before they took their first breath wasnt why she had become a healer.
"You dont have to do it. You could keep the child. He'll be healthy and strong, and you..." Thkaa's voice trailed off as the woman laughed harshly.

"No".

Their eyes met, the solid brown of hers glimmered and suddenly Thkaa understood.

"His father."

It wasnt a question. In her eyes Thkaa could see, see the oceans that the man had crossed to leave her, the way he had left and her news, the bitter words he had spat at her before he left her to do this alone. She could see the richness of the life he had left for, and it stood in stark contrast to the faded, tired colours this woman wore now.

Thkaa handed her the cup. The womans eyes turned cold again, and she swallowed the potion in one gulp. Her eyes drifted shut and her fingers caressed the swell of her stomach as the potion took hold of her. Thkaa picked up the knife, and laid her fingers on the womans skin. For a moment she could hear a child laughing. It stopped abruptly as she brought the knife down.

Come One, Come All

Promiscuity.

Did anyone think of a man?

Technically, men cant be promiscuous. They get lucky. They're studs. Theyre obvioulsy good in bed. Apart from some mild disapproval over not treating women well, its perfectly alright for men to sleep around. Its even a desirable quality.

Translate that into a woman? Slut, Whore, Easy. And the sad part is its so deeply ingrained in our minds. I have used those very words for women who I feel enjoy sex and are not ashamed to proclaim it. A woman who has multiple lovers, or decides she likes random sex and sleeps (safely) with a different man every night has no reputation very soon. Even the men she sleeps with will not see her as anything other than easy. A woman to be used for her body.

My fathers family is from the Mathur stock of Chandni Chowk. We prize good marriages above all else, and sell our daughters hymens in glass diplay cases from our lavishly decorated sitting rooms, over cups of expensive tea and pasrties from the Oberoi.

I dont have a hymen to sell. (I regret it often, sure, but not because Ive lost the chance to marry a man that couldnt see beyond my virginity). In my family Im a disgrace. My sisters have both made 'good' marriages, hymen righteously and traditionaly taken care of by their chosen husbands. A good marriage such as this is out of the question for me. Im a sexually active 21 year old, and in view of my past im sure to have numerous reltionships in the future. Can I avoid being labeled a whore?

Have you ever looked at a promiscuous woman and thought ruefully, well at least she treats the men she sleeps with well? Why do men get to be the victors in random sex? Why cant the women be the ones who use them for simple sexual gratification, and gloat in the afterglow of another conquest without being judged loose?

I know that will be my fate. It is already. In India a woman without a husband, a woman who isnt even looking for one, has no place in our society. A man I was sleeping with, one who claimed quite vehemently to love me, recently told me that his friend was seeing a decent gurl, and she was making his life miserable. A decent gurl? I queried inocently, whats that?

Oh you know, she wont have sex until she gets married.

He might in fact love me, but he thinks Im indecent. I guess he loves me despite my failings hmm?

The Six

I love this tag. Of course its more fun when people you know well write it for you, but this is ok too. The object of The Six tag, is to list six wierd things about yourself.

I know what you're thinking, JUST six? Its one of those painful dilemma's really. Should I mention my sixth toe or my distressing habit of eating chalk powder mixed with lime pickle? Well, chose carefully.

I tag mey, aaki, jerry, madhu, saattvic, saturn air jam, pig-watever his name is his week and gaimon and anyone else who wants to do it.
(gaimon you can use my comment page)

The Six

• I eat toothpaste. Yes actually. Im never without a tube of the stuff and you cant spend more than 15 minutes with me before I whip it out and slurp at it. Of course I have received so many wierd looks over the years that now I do it more surreptiously, but if you get to know me, you will see me do it often. Why you ask? Well... I dont know really. Ive always done it. I recently read an article where some scientist had done research that revealed that the fluorides in toothpaste cause a certain kind of cancer. I will die of this cancer.
  
• Im scared of cows. No let me rephrase that. Im TERRIFIED of cows. If I see a cow Ill turn tail and run, and hope to god the cow doesnt decide to chase me. I have been told that cows dont really chase anything, and the bemused, mildly surprised look most cows give me when I run away from them seems to support this theory. I, however, live in fear of meeting an espeacialy athletic cow. With a whip and trident. *gulps* Time to move on. Quickly. *looks around nervously*
  
• I assign personalities to everything. The letter 'S' for example. Its evil, its always trying to screw other letters out of their share of usage and goes into violent sulks if it doesnt get its way. It has no qulams about becoming mean and nasty to get what it wants, and J help you if it gets angry with you.
  
• I have a decided pattern with boyfriends. I didnt realise it until recently, but when i think about it its actualy painfully clear. I alternate between awful men who treat me badly that I absolutely adore and wonderful men who treat me amazingly well that Im only vaguely fond of. Im sure we've all had some of each variety, but for me they alternate exactly. Each time I get out of one, I vow to never get into that kind of thing again. So i go for the exact opposite. Only that doesnt work out so well either. So i get out of that and vow to never get into that kind of thing again. So i go for the exact opposite. Vicious fucking circle.
  
• I have wierd and terribly confusing interactions with animals. Its been happening to me all my life, and I, quite frankly, dont know what to make of it. When I was three a deer smacked me across the face for no apparent reason. When I was five a sparrow a flew into my life and lived with me for three monthes. When I was eight a bunch of monkeys accosted me in the neighbourhood park and ate my precious sketch pens. When I was ten a lizard called joe became my best friend. I dont go looking for these creatures, they just sort of turn up. Ive had pigeons and mice and snakes and moles and puppies and kittens and donkeys and crows and pigs, and yes even a cow once, (though that took some real balls on my part let me tell you. I lost a gallon of sweat that day) suddenly decide to notice me for no real reason whatsoever.
  
• Some days I wake up and think in rhyme, The whole day, All the time. People talk and I answer straight, And they dont notice a small wait. Ill struggle not to rhyme out loud, But my inner poet will not be cowed. So if, occasionally, I speak in verse, Remember please, it could be worse.

I See You. But Will You Ever See Me.

When you were a little gurl, did your father ever tell you were special?
Did you ever doubt it?
Did you ever think that maybe you wouldnt make it?
That maybe, you wouldnt be happy?

You can never be prepared for reality. It just fucking happens to you.

True Love is a Jazz song

...The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do...

I know what love is, I heard a young woman with a voice as deep as a mountain sing it to me. You can only sing love from the bottom of your stomach, love doesnt squeek. Its deep, and primal and basic and makes you crawl on all fours, mourning for reason and logic and rationality. I felt the bass thrumm under my skin, I felt her voice sink into my soul. Jazz is the only reliable way to express that kind of suffering.

Ever heard a song that makes you remember, what it felt to be in love for the first time? You feel a rush, and then a glow. And then you have bizarre conversations inside your head, with people you forgot you knew.


*Dramatic, tragic heroine voice*

Oh lord! There is love to live for! There is bad poetry and giggling and first kisses to make the world a beautiful place!

*the appearance of a lace hanky*

Huh??

*you find yourself crushed into the eager bosom of a large matronly woman leaking tears onto your head*

Dear child, dont you see???? Your prince is out there!!! He will find you and you will be happy for ever after!

*you push away from the bosom that is trying to smother you*

But thats bullshit isnt it? There really arent any princes, just ordinary guys, that lie and go to the bathroom and forget your birthday?

*the bosom swells and you are caught in its grips once more*

NO! The perfect man exists! He will sweep you of your feet with his perfect body, lavish upon you expensive gifts with his large fortune, enthrall you in the bedchamber with his immense-

*you hurridly disentangle yourself from your maroon swathed torturess*

Rubbish!

*the bosom jiggles dangerously*

Do not argue!! Now go to your room and practise being a princess infront of the mirror with that plastic tiara and a sheet tied around your waist as a train!

--------

Perhaps it is better for all concerned if I stay away from the open bars at these concerts.

Dont' Cry to Me, If You Loved Me, You'd Be Here With me...

We met for lunch, in a little cafe. As late afternoon turned into early evening, we sat and stared at each other over our rapidly cooling coffee, smiling the soft secret smiles that only two people completely oblivious to the rest of the world knew how to smile. Our arms snaked their way through a maze of glasses and plates and napkins, so that I could rest my fingers in the palm of his hand.

The amused, indulging waiter approached our table to refill our glasses. He offered us the dessert menus, hiding a smile as we reluctantly disentangled our fingers to grip them.

We waited. Still enjoying the quiet between us, occasionally rubbing fingers or asking a random, inconsequential question. And then he said it.

{SILENCE}

The words hung in the air between us. I looked at the view, examined the tiny scratch on the glass, shifted uncomfortably in my chair. He squeezed my fingers tightly and I looked at him.

{SAY IT}

I leaned forward and touched his chest, his eyes were glimmering with hurt he wouldnt talk to me about. I licked my lips, but they wouldnt move.

{IM SORRY}

He needed a smoke he said and got up and walked out. His heart gushed blood from between my fingers, trailing arteries from where it had been ripped out, dripping into luke warm coffee. I could feel it beating sluggishly, pushing against my palm with every beat.

{LIAR. LIAR. LIAR. LIAR...}

Public Service Announcement

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It freaking ROCKS!!!!!!!

All I can do is kiss you, Through the bars of a rhyme..

I know love isnt permanent, but what about hate? I once read that the opposite of love isnt hate, its indifference. But isnt either one an absence of love? Thats whats important surely.

Hate changes you, makes you look at the world differently, (well so does love, but this is about hate). Ive always been able to let go of the love, but the hate stays with me. Its like a part of my life and my mind was dyed the vibrant shade of puke green, and no matter how hard I try I cant dye it any other shade. I can sometimes ignore the presence of the colour, but if you scratch the surface a little bit its still there. Glowering at you from under your skin, waiting to get out and Hulk-ify you.

I hate women with pierced belly buttons, because a boyfriend once told me a gurl with one was hotter than I was. I couldnt give a shit about that boy now, but every time I see a woman with one I feel a jolt. I hate trains, women with tiny waists (though these chicks I might have hated anyways, bloody bitches), the word decent, the country of Japan and everything that comes from it, fridge doors, candy floss, Sujan Singh Park and kur kure for similar reasons (there are others but I will spare you).

Is hate a stronger emotion? Does it get its roots into us deeper and more efficiently than the now hallmarkised and outmoded concept of love? Can we hate better than we can love?

For a refreshing change from todays overly sentimental societal value system, lets do something new! Sit your closest loved one down, and tell them evrything you hate about them and always will. I mean you could die unexpectedly, maybe tomorrow, and then they would never have known. Dont waste a moment. Do it now.

The Superiority of Men

Woman youre a damn fool.

You love him because

• You love him
• He doesnt love you
• You hate him
• He makes you feel small, cheap and used

Men have walked all over us for centuries because we're too preoccupied with being stupid. I mean really. Only a woman would torture herself with completely pointless emotions. It seems that if we're not pining for something we'll die.

The guys have got it right you know, stick to the sex.

Sheesh.

Anguish

My heart hurts.

Thats because I just jabbed a six inch needle into it.

Oh.