One Hundred Hyphens in My Story.

I am nibbling on some unnamed-undoubtedly-sophisticated-cheese and gulping a very strong rum-and-coke. An unofficial celebration of my 100th post.

Meerambika and I celebrated the end of finals for 3 days. Day 1 was dinner at Malacca Spice. It's the sweetest restaurant with gorgeous sausage satay. That was followed by Monopoly-of-the-Dance-Floor-at-Fire N Ice. That is a disco in Pune. One of the most happening. We didn't know where it was. Then we ended up being the only ones on the floor...and not caring.
So that was us trying to be Cool-by-being-conventionally-Uncool.

Day 2 was a movie marathon. Basic Intinct 2, Hum ko Deewana kar Gayee and Being Cyrus. I had to re-build my aquaintaince with the multiplex. BI 2 is pretty good, if a bit overdone. Sharon Stone is all Watch-me-narrow-my-eyes-and- contract-my-clitoris-all-at-once. The plot is clean and well twisted. Whatisname comes nowhere near Michael Douglas. But fascinating insights into Sharon Stone's character.
No comment on the other two movies. 'Hum Ko...' because I was too busy passing 'i-am-too-smart-for-movies-with-more-than-three-songs' comments amd 'Cyrus' because I had to leave half-way for TnT.

Day 3 was lunch in Koregaon Park. Now, neither of us know the area and we both possess terrible senses of direction. We started out with fresh fruit juice at the German Bakery. This is a shack situated opposite the Osho Ashram. A popular health food joint, attracting the labels of hippies, junkies, Osho-ites and foreigners. It's also completely vegetarian so M and I decided to heigh our way onwards in search of meat. It was 2 pm, 37' C. We walked for about 24 minutes and entered a beautifully posh Italian restaurant. Sat down, scanned menu. Jerked our eyes up towards each other. Horror! Disbelief! It was all vegetarian! More dangerously, there were waiters and management personnel who looked capable of harpooning us with silver salad-forks if we left without ordering. So M got an orange juice, I got a Coke and we split a lemon cheesecake. And reached Dessert-Nirvana. It was smooth and rich and white. So bourgeosie and worth every bit of the 105 bucks we paid. We tried our best to be Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. But then, I was smoking Silk Cut. Wasn't my fault. Dad's out of station and I have no one to bum Classics from. We left with our flesh intact. Went to another restaurant. 'We serve Indian, Chinese, Continental', the sign proclaimed. We went in, sat, scanned menu. Slow, tired gazes met. Vegetarian. This time we actually left. There weren't any forks. It was 3:45. We walked for another 200 metres, came to the place we had heard of. It served meat, we had heard. We walked in, scanned menu, sat down. Ordered shredded lamb Szechuan style, chicken reshmi kebab. It was 4:00 pm. We talked of things only patient people can bear. Boys. Lies. Samar. Sex.
We checked out pretty girls.
And our celebration ended in an auto. Aching feet, Burnt skin. Happy.

Foresooth

Lazy laaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzzyyyy days. Raju is being very nice about all my driving-related faux pas. Basically, it's always the other person's fault. TnT began on the 19th. New colleague to learn and discover. Our annual picnic is coming up on Sunday. We're going to Kamshet for an overnighter. The only boo-factor is that both Vernen and Samar have exams so I am woefully short of people whom I can climb all over.

I am currently reading 'Clive Avenue'. A very interesting insight into South-Indian culture and Chennai-vasis. Next up is Ruskin Bond's 'A Flight of Pigeons'. And Janaki is lending me 'Changing' which is Liv Ullman's autobiography and 'Shooting 'Water'. So yay for lots of reading. My Kolkata trip is hanging in the balance. My mashi, whom I usually stay with, will be in England shooting her very first movie (as a producer/director, not an actress). And there is no way I am re-entering GP-land. Anyway I shall know by this weekend. So please pray for me. I need Landmark and Park Street and TCS and Neha and Shakun.

Strange days. A lot of thought on my body. A lot of need from it. See, it hasn't been touched and pampered in nearly two years. All those two years came battering on my door a few days back. I told my friends I needed severely sexual touching. I cried. Tried to write. Everything I wrote looked small. I appeared to myself, in my body. I felt strong. My skin is scarred and reddened and stubbly. AndI love it. I have never been so confident as I was when sensory need was pushing me. I thought of burnt-orange flowers. I thought of his hands under my hair. Of the salty dampness that fingered my spine. I thought of his scent and his shape.
And I breathed.

The Blind River

Somewhere deep inside me
Is the mouth
Of a silent, red river
Weaned on twelve years
Of waiting.

Then my body reached
An estuary

And the river
Groped

It's blind way
Through secret channels...

Carving regions
Of pain

Seeking rest...

It flowed past
Averted eyes
Drained lips

It gathered
Where my flesh parts
Left traces
I tried to hide

I filled
With its edgy colour
It's salt
It's moan...