Here I Am

A couple of days ago, as I was watching Desperate Housewives, my dad called out to me to partake in our age-old family tradition of 10 pm fruit eating. My mum would judiciously cut a bowl of assorted fruits – apples, oranges, guavas, pears, grapes (not cut ofcourse, we aren’t that silly), banana, papaya – basically whatever’s available. That day the guava was really, really sweet and so I kept one piece aside to eat at the end, you know, to end on a sweet note and all. I ate all the others and by the time I came back to this one, not only was I kinda full, it really wasn’t all that sweet, probably cuz of the combined sweetness of the other fruits.

Now consider that in the whole life perspective. How we always save the best for last. Or atleast are constantly on the run expecting the last to be the best and in the race fail to savour the sweetness of now. When you reach the end of the line, you’d be surprised to feel you’ve had enough. What you thought would be everything would just be another something.

So people, the underlying lesson behind this post is that all of you must, and I say must, take time out to have fun now, rather than wait for the weekend. Call your dad and tell him you love him now rather than on his birthday. Meet your friend to hug her rather than hug her when you meet.

On that note, let me dig into this yummy banana walnut muffin, my 2nd if I may add. Why let futuristic thoughts of thin-Preeti mar current yumminess huh?**

* Pardon the mokkai. That’s just me.

** I could do without the guilt trip so please, spare me

There are certain words and phrases that I hate, abhor, loathe, dislike, would never even dream of using, would…..you get the drift. And I’ve got reasons for them as well.

Here’s my list:

Bonanza: It goes back to my childhood in Bahrain when all we had to watch were like 5 channels – Channel 55 of Bahrain, Channel 33 of Dubai, Aramco of Saudi and a few other Arabic ones. The only ‘Indian’ connection we had was to either wait for Wednesday nights for the weekend special hindi movies on Channel 55 (Thursday-Friday was our Saturday-Sunday) or to rent out cassettes of programs from Indian television. And almost always, at the end of these tapes, there’d be some ‘forthcoming attraction’ kinda message with some Pakistani sounding guy (don’t ask me what that is) talking in that weird accent with that weirdly bass-ish voice and sing-song going ‘Intezaar kijiye agle episode ke liye. Sirf aap ke liye hai comedy ka bonenza’. That’s it. I’ve hated and will hate that word for eternity ever since.

Rendezvous: 2 words: Simi. Garewal.

(Additionally, I’m not that into them French words really. Cuz I can never get the pronunciation right – I mean how difficult is it to say croissant as it is without having to eat half the word just saying it?)

Friggin’ (God, you should see the definitions): What does this damn word mean anyway? Is it like saying “freakin’” while gargling? Or is it just an alternative word for “fuckin’”? Besides it’s just such a wannabe word. I don’t like.

Cornucopia: Okk, this is a toughie. I don’t know how to explain this out without it sounding really, you know, weird. Well, lemme just be as straight forward as I can. It reminds me of very, ahem, sexual words – like coitus. There. That’s my reason. And to think there’s a restaurant named Cornucopia in Chennai…………………. (!)

British-y words and phrases: like bloke, and ‘sod-off’ and how they use bum instead of ass. A bum is a bum you may say, but I just don’t like it, atleast not when it’s used as ‘god, did you see his bum?’ It just sounds…stupid. Which usage of bum am I ok with? That would be when it is being directed at someone like ‘oh you bum!’. Another one would be how they use pants for underwear. Like there aren’t already a million ways to get embarrassed without having to say “I’m not gonna wear pants today” in front of a snickering Brit. Then there’s arse (ughhh) and bollocks.

There are many more, I’m sure but this is all my tired-from-walking-in-the-damning-hot-sun-and-as-always-super-sleepy brain can throw up now. Maybe more later.

(Did I just hear a groan?)

Do you how when you’re fat and you go on a diet and you expect everyone, and I mean everyone, to go “Aww, that’s all your eating?! You poor thing!” and when they don’t do that you get all low and mopey and suffer from (my) kind of ADD that makes you constantly feel like you lack attention? Well, I’m right there.

I’m on a diet, as strict as I can get right now, which may not seem all that rigid, but it’d do. I’ve actually, actually started waking up at 6 am (wake up call courtesy Pp) and heading to the beach for a one-hour walk. It’s awesome. Really is. Invigorating and all that. Basically, it feels good to be doing something worthwhile. Well, yea, it does make me sleepy half-way through the morning day (it’s 10:07 am and I just yawned my 50^th yawn). But that’s just because I’ve got a dominant yawn gene. That would explain why my standard gap-filler statement, apart from ‘it’s so boring’ is ‘I’m soooo sleeeeeppyyyy’ followed by *yawn* *smile* *yawn*. Oh, but don’t mistake me for one of ‘em slow-walking, slow-talking, droopy sorts, I’m pretty hyper and all that. I just yawn and say I’m sleepy, sometimes even when I’m not. Ok, I’m blabbering now.

Soooo, as I was saying, pathetic as it sounds, I am sympath-o-phile. I expect people to fuss over me when I say NO to that yummy chocolate truffle. I expect them to be jealous of my strong-as-TMT-kambi will power. I expect them to listen to my whiney Why-me’s, not advice me and just say I’m fine the way I am. I don’t expect people to tell me it’s ok not to eat cuz I’m on a diet. Infact, no pain no gain is my mantra for myself , I  say it out when I wanna impress, I don’t wanna hear it from someone else. Yea, I am a Drama Queen and I want some molly-coddling.

Yesterday, I was eating my (measly) sprouts, carrots and cucumbers lunch when this guy at work spotted me and for courtesy’s sake said hi and, since it was 1, asked me if I had lunch. I could have, and should have, just said a dignified yes. Instead of which I went, “Yea, I just ate only salad today” I even added a tiny sob-sob expression to describe my supposed misery a little bit more. He went, “Why? Diet huh?” and I replied (beaming now, for god knows what joy) “Yea, trying to” and he smiled, said “Good, good” and went on to have his lunch. That’s it. Two words – not encouraging, not wow-ing, just 2 easy random, neutral words.

Suddenly, I had tears in my eyes and I looked down mopily (it’s not a word I guess, what I mean is the –ly version of mope) thinking “That’s all he had to say? I just told him I had sprouts for lunch! He could’ve tried saying ‘But why! You’re fine!’ or, ok, that’s a little far-fetched but he could’ve just said ‘Ohhh, but you should eat some more’ or maybe ‘Wow! that’s enough?’. No body appreciates my effort” *sniff*. Then I became all steely and determined and took my million and one-th oath to diet-unto-thin (fast-unto-death seemed a little too harsh on myself) . No. Matter. What.

Thwack.

My foolishness hit me as hard as a ripe nut from a really tall tree. Forget the poor guy who I’ve hardly spoken to for more than 2 seconds at a stretch, why would anyone make my dieting seem more important than Sneha getting weird sms-es from some weirder guy??? A fat person on a diet is akin to a swine-flu patient on Tamiflu (I try and keep up with the times). Nothing surprising. I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do. People see that and they accept it.

I understand their understanding, totally do.

But, well, I’m just a sucker for sympathy.

I’m gonna sit down, write this and post it before I get complacent / diverted / bored / get back to reading…err…working. I’ve decided, no more editing of posts. I’m gonna do it the Adi way – sit, write and post – as easy as that. (Yea rite. I continued this post, from the 3^rd paragraph on, 12 days after I started it)

Ok, so, I celebrated my 25^th birthday on the 11^th of July. As opposed to all the ‘oh you’re getting old!’ talk, I actually feel a lot lot younger than I anticipated I would. The tell-tale signs of ageing aren’t lost on me. Apart from that annoying stray white hair right on the tip of my head, my increasingly failing memory or those nasty wrinkles under my baggy eyes…uh, ok, I am exaggerating there, I’ve always had dark circles and wrinkled eyes – blame it on my genes or my glasses or uh, pollution (???) or whatever. But, my point is – I feel the same, if not younger. I still like the same stuff – stickers, pencil boxes, pens and all kindsa colourful, neon-y, swirly stuff. I still cry when my parents yell at me, I’ve been sporting two bright pink hello kitty bandages on my pinkies on either feet (the result of the latest spurt of physical activity in my life – which is a result of my bludgeoning belly thanks to inactivity – thanks to my back pain – thanks to over-activity in the form of gymming. Yup, some vicious cycle that is). Well, bottom line is – I feel good.

The day of the birthday was fun. I had a great time with family and friends, awesome food, awesome moments and awesome gifts. I got accessories, perfume, Prathi and the girls with their handmade card plastered with my smiling face all over the cover, Pp gave me a cd of a concert of Bryan Adams that I still haven’t gotten over gawking at, the international entry was the official Women’s towel of Wimbledon, personalized with my initials P.R shipped all the way from Wimbledon, courtesy the gang, a mind blowing poster of MJ, lotsa love and lotsa blessings

They cut a cake for me at office – part of some crappy tradition where they invite ‘one and all to coming for the cake cutting for the celebrating of the Preeti’s birthday on the 11^th of July, which falling on Saturday so cutting on Monday’. It’s not so much the language that was annoying but the fact that we have to invite people on our own (those on our floor and any others we want) to come for ‘my cake cutting please’. 3 of the people I know did the usual smearing-cake-on-the-face routine, which trust me, has gone quite stale now. Especially if the cake is one of those buttery cream cakes that leaves an after-effect that even steel wool wouldn’t be able to scrape off. And NO, that doesn’t make the skin glow and is NOT a substitute for a facial. The cutting and plastering is, but naturally, followed by lotsa smirking and the mandatory photograph. (Please look at photos below) But heck, they cut a cake. And even gave me a ‘family cake’ to take home.

Be nice now and wish me, however belated it is. And gimme some goodwill, I could do with it.

Go on, I’m waiting.

Title translation: Uhm, I dont know. Considering what I’m writing about, I guess ‘Cheap thrills’ would be alrite.

You won’t believe what I’m writing in to say! For those of you who belong to the extra miler category, please ignore. It’s been 4 years, after 20 years of non stop flying, that I’ve travelled by flight. As dumb as it sounds, landing here at the CST airport in Mumbai and finding this Free Internet Service terminal has made me elated! You must know that part of the reason why my elation is so extreme is cuz the person who was to travel with me to Surat (for official reasons) missed his flight with me and is right now on the next flight in. I, in the meantime, am waiting for him like a fool.

Funny part is I can’t even get a cup of coffee here cuz all the restaurants or whatever are either in the Departure lounge or outta the airport, where I can’t go right now. And so here I am, lunchless and regretting not saving that bar of Toblerone from yesterday.

This keyboard is soooo fucked and I’m not able to colon d!