Happy New Year

If I had a tale that I could tell you,
I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile.
If I had a wish that I could wish for you,
I'd make a wish for sunshine all the while.

- J. Denver.

Have a wonderful 2006!

Bhoi In The Mo(u)rning

Please join me in mourning for the sad demise of my computer's motherboard.

In other news :

1. Created a furore at Inox Forum this morning. Reasons were as follows:-
(a) Young love, I like. But if u want to make out at a movie hall, u will adapt ur moves so as NOT to incessantly bang ur platform heeled bigfoot against my seat.
(b) Exhibiting your femininity, why certainly. But "ooooooweeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaawoooooooo, I'm soooooooo sc-sc-sc-ared-d-d-d" at the topmost of falsetto pitches, it's outdated. and irksome. Hop on to your boyfriend's lap. Squeeze his arm to a pulp. KEEP QUIET and let me watch my movie.
(c) Yes, I know you've paid for the movie ticket. So have I. But it's called a movie ticket because ur here to watch a MOVIE. Not to make public speeches to the effect of,"Oh look yaa, a spider's got into her dress. now she'll put her hand on her breast, no? oh she'll take off her clothes, see na yaaaa." U didn't direct it. U don't know what's coming next. Neither do I, for that matter. So how about we shut up and WATCH? And if u must talk, talk amongst urselves, the rest of the world doesn't care to indulge ur stupidity.
(d) Everytime u see King Kong, u don't have to guffaw,"dekh dekh, boyfriend aa gaya uska." and double up in LOUD laughter. Once, ok, Twice, fine. More than that, and u've had it. Ur sense of humour is too substandard for charitable tolerance.

2. I'm in love with King Kong. Awl over again. If u must know, he was my first crush ever. My knight in flea-ridden fur, how I sniffled when u crashed off the Empire State Building, snorting and roaring ur love till death did u part. :-[

3. I've said this before. D is an asshole. I've no idea why I think he's adorable sometimes. He is not. He is a perfect ... wtf, I've got to stop posting about him.

However, now that my beloved leetle computer is an orphan, I shall not be posting again for quite a while. Everybody be evil and keep adoring me. Or else.

Touch Me Not

I've always wondered about this. What is it about our upper-middle class club-culture-seeped Indians that makes them hug and kiss everybody in the vicinity of their Chanel and Shahtoosh, or their Tommy Hilfiger and Hugo Boss, dripping false familiarity while they size you up, to reckon whether the shoes you're wearing are off the streets of Bangkok [they're Khadim's, thank you] or whether the pair of faded jeans are [wozzit they said? blow-dried?] Levi's or [stone-chipped?] Lee. They're worn-and-torn Bare jeans, if you please.
I mean, the first time you're introduced to a lady and you find your face stuffed into the folds of her zardosi or whatchamacallit- is not what I call a pleasant feeling. And whatever happened to men smiling gallantly and shaking hands? What the hell, whatever happened to our good ol' namaste?! It's a perfectly dignified, [hygienic] way of greeting a person. I say, while we're being good and honest here, I do NOT like having another woman's breast pressed against mine, and i do NOT like men I barely know wetting my cheek with their lips!! I mean, I'm fine with hugging - but only when I've known a person for years and am especially happy to see her/him. Mostly I would hug when in areas of deep emotional crises - but generally, I like to keep aside such gentle fondling for the very-close and the most-beloved [that boils down to about 4 people in my life, as I distressingly find]. But I fail to understand widespread petting of one another just because it's the way to be in fashionable circles in Paris [pronounced pah-ree. roll the 'r']. I mean I understand that this is common in the West and, really even here I have nothing against such aping - leave me out of it, is awl I'm saying. Me, I'm awl for the folding of the hands and the light bowing of the head. The handshake even. There's variety in that - 5 or 6 different ways to shake a person's hand, depending on mood and occasion as D had rattled off when he'd freshly returned from training for his job.
So, tell me true, dear reader, is there a latent homophobe of sorts lurking wildly among the fatty acids that make up my being? 'Tis a most worrying thought.

Oh but he's so inexorably pretty when he's all silent with a lingering smile at the ends of his curled lips that you just want to reach out and stroke his hair and tell him this is forever!

But then, it isn't.