Landing in Shit, Mud, Garbage & More Garbage

Adventures in Delhi never fail to surprise. Just getting out of home is an adventure. Staying at home is also an adventure. The maid says or does so many amusing things that you can't help tape her mouth but you keep on listening to her anyways. She's like crack to a non-addict. Weird, but surprisingly an experience worth having.

So, getting out of home and experiencing Delhi. Well, I find that my dad gives the best driving experience. He's an absolute bore, so you have to drive the conversation. But since I'm the family comedian, I know that it is my job to keep things cool and to make everyone laugh. It's OK, they laugh. Though some of my best lines sometimes go over their head. 

OK, so driving in the car with dad. He has a real knack of making sure he stops the car for you to get off at the most amusing places. When I switched jobs in June last year, I travelled in the metro. That meant that dad had the job of dropping me off at the station and picking me up if I got late. Firstly, he ensures that he is the best dressed man when he gets out of home. Not a hair is out of place because he knows that the women are watching him. Yes, he thinks he is young enough to be my brother. (Sigh!)

So, what was it like being dropped by my dad? Well...interesting. There was hardly a day when I didn't raise my eyebrow at him. Most of the days, I would say, "Dad, you have a real talent for 'landing'."

I do not know if it is talent or his internal, male GPS honing system, but it never works. Whenever he dropped me at the metro station, he would stop directly next to a puddle if it was raining. On dry days, he would stop right next to the pile of garbage that the street sweepers would pile up on sides of pavements where they know no one steps.

Well, everyone except me.

My dad has a real knack for these things. Come mud, garbage, sewerage spill, dog poop, or cow dung, my dad has stopped right next to them all. Recently he topped it all. I opened the car door and put out my left foot. I know that I should always look down, so I did this time too. Since this was in the morning, the sight that greeted my left foot was fantastic: a used condom.

When my dad does the usual "stopping the car in top of garbage", I look back at him with disgust and have him drive forward a few inches to "clearer ground". When that is not possible, I do some acrobatic stretching and long-jump out of the car. This time, I rolled my eyes. And I opted for long jump.

When I looked back to close the door, he was grinning. That's his way of saying "Have fun at work!" Yeah, right! Like that ever happens. I could not really say, "Dad, you topped the car stopping list today." I navigated carefully out of the way. For a condom, it was in quite a good shape. "Recently used", I thought. "Hope the wearer had fun." Well, when you have to start a day by not stepping on a used condom, I believe that positive thoughts like these help. After all, worse could have happened. I may have stepped on dirty semen and ruined a pair of lovely leather shoes. Now that would be a real shame.

That Thing Called... Love... Something....

Love makes me feel icky. 

No kidding. When I see couples walk by, it disgusts me. I can't believe that everything is as perfect as people claim. There are problems on the surface as much as the deeply buried, numerous ones. Why do people pretend to be in love? Why do they show off to the world that they are desperate to keep it together but clearly cannot do so.

I have seen people all around me change drastically for the people they are dating. Dating actually translates to "love" because casual dating is so cliche. The girl is going to ask you about marriage anyways. No escaping that. "The Future" is so important to the preservation of our sanity that we cling desperately to whoever gives is even a smidgen of attention. So shallow are our personalities.

Anyways, the rantings of an overweight, chubby woman rarely evoke any kind of reaction except dismissal. Did I mention that I also lead a loveless life? Gosh! How did I miss that?

Contrary to popular opinion, I did not push people away. The ones I do push away are obviously annoying. Why wouldn't anyone want them out of their lives? Sorry, people, but I'm not patient with "stupid". It's like slowly roasting to death. Being with people of your own intelligence is tough. They rarely know what their time and place is. They love being reckless.

So, the hurt I caused people is not on my conscience. The hurt that other people caused has been utilised for rising above bad situations. It has also been diverted towards overheating sometimes. But I'm working towards fixing that. Food, I've come to realise, doesn't have all the answers. And "42" is an elusive one. What did Douglas Adams mean when he wrote that?

Then what is one way which would allow me to accept that stupid thing called love? Sorry, but it's not easy to be convinced otherwise when all that I see and observe supports my stand. Love is a vomit-inducing idea. It's too farfetched and a human construct. 

Till I get convinced otherwise, Love = Vomit. Trust me on that!

I Climbed a Spanish Mountain

The story about how I conquered my emotional side and stainless steel-coated my ovaries (not actually, but metaphorically)

As a human being with friends, I have been a witness to many a pity party. I have to clarify that (a) I am a human being because I have been called emotionless too many times, and (b) a pity party is a way of experiencing grief, in which you spend your time feeling sorry for yourself and whining endlessly about how crappy your life is. I try and make friends with people who generally seem strong and willful because I know they will not start crying fountains of tears at random points of our friendship. Sadly, however, the reality is very different. Just like Dr. Clock (Heather Graham) from Scrubs said, "...some people have a hard outer shell, but inside, everybody has a creamy centre."

(Pause for effect and look like you are deep in thought. Like Mr. Gorilla here.)

Creamy centre, indeed. At first, there is no pleasure in seeing my friends and people on the Metro break down about their ex-lovers. Those people are genuinely hurt, or at least trying to act hurt. Girls are like: "How could he break up with me? Doesn't he like the way I look?" Meanwhile guys are like: "Yaar, I don't understand why she broke up with me. What did I do wrong?" 

Then there are others who are like: "Man, I was waiting for him/her to say something, anything, about our relationship but he/she didn't. And that's why we are no longer talking."If I had made a face like this in front of my friends while they were narrating their stories, I would have been murdered. Strangers get the best of my sarcastic eye roll with a "Grow Up!" sigh. I really cannot help it. These reactions just come to me naturally. If I was a person with more emotion than rationality, I.... Hmm, I cannot imagine what I would be like if I had more emotions.

Anyways, pity party, friends, and break ups. Making a sad face works. Be angry at the person who dumped them. Tell them they did not deserve a great person like she/he. Tell them that the world has millions of people who are single and ready to date you at a moment's notice. Tell them that to get over the break up, you all could go somewhere, or shop, or binge eat, or watch a million rom-coms. Whatever works. These have all mostly been used by me over my friends. It only works in the moments when they are looking at you talk. They never listen. When your friend starts talking though that is when you know that whatever great idea you suggested was plainly ignored. People will deal with break ups like idiots. They will not give heed to rational thought. Been there, went through all of that. (Sigh!)

While I want to believe that I am smarter than most people, I know that I have had my pity parties too. Surprisingly, they are great ways to get to know new people. That's how I met many of my friends. But then one day, I decided that I should do something better. Like climb a mountain, go on an adventure, DO stuff. Anything to get through the sudden emptiness in your life, to get over the loss of a close confidant. That's why I wanted to climb a mountain.


However, climbing even a fake wall is tough business. My body is of course, devoid of all kinds of physical exercise except for some walking and escaping the speeding vehicles on the roads. The last one is a sure-shot heart attack-giver, because nothing gets the heart pumping like imminent vehicular manslaughter. But I had climbed a steep rock when I'd visited Rishikesh, bungee-jumped, walked up and down mountains, and was the elder child. So I simply had to do it.


Anyways, the moral of the story is that I turned a bad situation into a dream. That was the one and only time I was able to do that. I have failed terribly all the other times. Which is why I have become the way I am now. Failures have made me a person that I like being. Sure, I pick on the extra fat I have on various parts of my body but overall, I appreciate the fact that I am an OK person. I suck at friendships, sure. But my friends know this about me and work to ensure that I do not come across as that bad a friend. I love them. If they hadn't listened to me bitch, I probably wouldn't have been able to move on from the countless heartbreaks. Johnny Depp, Daniel Radcliffe, Heath Ledger, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and most recently Benedict Cumberbatch....

That is how I came to learn Spanish. The language is as lovely as any other language but the most important thing was that it was spoken widely throughout South America. The continent has such an interesting culture which is different from anything you have seen so far. Or at least, Discovery Channel makes it look like so.

Depression Sucks at the Soul

I was not clinically diagnosed as depressed but you know that there are symptoms. As a formerly sane individual, the patterns of my behaviour took a complete dive. It was not because I had changed as a person. I was still the same, goofy person. It was what I was projecting and internalising. That was the most dangerous part.

When you are in that state of mind, your gender doesn't matter. Your mannerisms and behaviours are more or less the same. Drinking, eating, laziness, dissatisfaction, aloofness.... I could go on but it makes me sad. It is not as if everything has completely become alright suddenly. It's screwed and very badly screwed.

And everything in the world is seeming to be alright. That's ok, people should really try hard at that. Facades are so important. Trust me, I know. It saved me from telling people how screwed I was.

Internalising my anger, disappointment, sadness and hurt was something I was a natural at. I would pluck at my cuticles and rip off the sensitive skin. I still do that. Once the skin is all out, you can't eat with your hands. The spices in the food hurt. Even salt does. The pink, exposed flesh hurts physically. Yet, when I am having an idle moment, I press at it and relive the pain. Just checking that I'm still human.

Pain is really bad. It hurts physically as well. The mental agony of my experiences are not easy to put into words. Where would I even start? People have mostly been good to me. So how do I tell them that there is something wrong? My facade of being a happy person and a sane individual is going to be diminished. What will happen after that?

Sometimes I think that my future is going to like those bleak, apocalyptic zombie movies. No, I won't be the lone survivor fighting off zombies and trying to save stranded humans. The scenes that I remember are always the lonely walks through the deserted city. That is my mind. There is a lot of clutter but all of it is important. Those desolate buildings give my messed up mind its character. How can I bring those walls down? Each window pane is a memory that looks down on me with pity. What am I doing in this town? I should be somewhere where life exists, where existence is not always at risk. A place which values human life and where there are people to help protect you.

That's in my fantasies. A part of what keeps me going are those questions my memories ask me. Is that a good thing? Probably not. I dream too much. I read too much. I see too much. How does one stop doing all of these and still be sane?