Men and Myopia

The thing with being in love is that you become the most annoying person ever. Especially if you're a girl. Your uncalled for, eternally sunny disposition can be of gross irritation to an entire nation and its populace. But see, being in love, especially falling in love, is the best, most blinding feeling in the world. It doesn't matter who thinks what, as long as the apple of your affection is twinkling away at you. It makes you ecstatic, but also seriously myopic. 

The leading cause of my myopia is Funny Men. Let me explain-

I was watching Louis CK the other night and he's, MY GOD, such a riot! My insides were instinctively curling with want. Imagine a man who can make me laugh all day; why wouldn't any woman want that. I proceeded, in my usual obsessive gusto, to look him up online. Somewhere among lots of videos and text, here is what I found him say, "Marriage is just a larva stage to true happiness- which is divorce!" Followed by lots of laughs I'll admit, some even awkward, and sure I'll consider it very talented writing- merely a script, but it suddenly made me realise why I'd sworn off the funny boys and their stupid funny bones. 

Funny guys are my cryptonite. Or have become, I have come to realise. 

Take the desi-type-funny guy I dated when I was 21. Or the subtle-but-hilariously-funny guy I dated when I was 23. Or the whiny-funny guy when I was 27. They have two things in common. They were funny. And they were seriously immature. Like a special kind of immature (read escapist) that deserves a brand new adjective to describe it. 

FunnyGuy #1: Having lived in the south of India most of my life, my exposure to real-life people who could tell really great jokes in Hindi was limited. Very limited. I met him through work, and I admit I kind of didn't like him too much when I first met him. Actually, scratch that. I kind of hated him. He was new levels of difficult to work with. Never answering my calls, never following up on anything he was supposed to follow up on, disappearing at important times. That should seem like a great, big SIGNBOARD in my face, right? STAY AWAY. ESCAPIST AHEAD. But err, no, no. Myopic remember? 

I hung out with him, dated him, and laughed a lot. A LOT. Until one night, he decided to get wasted, and confess to me that he was in love with me. The words came out of HIS mouth. And yet I found that it was only barely ironic-funny when he immediately put on his running shoes (metaphorically obviously), and sprinted out of my life.

FunnyGuy #2: Eerrrmmmaaagawd, so damned witty. He was Chandler-meets-Jeeves-meets...well, I don't know who. But man, he was funny. He took my breath away. He also knocked the air out of me when after three years of fabulously entertaining laughs, he ran for the hills for no real reason. 

Literally. Ha ha.

Guess that sounds funny. But isn't.

FunnyGuy #3: This one is my fault entirely, but in my defense, it was kind of trial-basis- like an outfit I was trying on. He was so slapstick, and I don't even like slapstick, but others did, so I thought I'd swing it. Try it on, y'know? He was just so funny with his 24/7 whiny, disgruntled jokes. But three weeks into it, his whining-funny suddenly seemed to take on dementor-like qualities. He sucked the sunshine out of the world. As if, god forbid, something nice should happen to him- his world would end, wouldn't it? I was out of there as soon as I could find an exit sign. 

Truth is, I still haven't gotten over my Love-Funny-Guys myopia, and I will admit I'm still looking for that perfectly funny-but-mature guy combination. But hopefully in the meanwhile, I can find myself some thick glasses to repair my vision. A knock on the head will also help.

Ten things I’m terrified of in my 20s.

There are so many lists out there talking about the fabulous 20s, the puzzling 20s, and what have you. So I figured what’s one more. But this one’s about things that terrify me in my 20s about my future life.

1. I’m terrified that I’m losing out on time. Like the 20s are supposed to the best years- the ‘golden period’ if you must- where I’m paving, paving, paving the path for my soon to be illustrious future. And if don’t pave fast enough, I’ll never make that road, and then suddenly I’m 30 and then what will I walk on, omigod, I’ll be totally lost, and Omfg, omfg.

2. I’m terrified I’ll never live that travel dream I’ve dreamt of. People say travel young, travel young. And I’m terrified I’m making and saving all this money in my 20s only (not making that much money, actually) to forget the travel dream I had for later. I’m scared I’ll get caught up with other things like marriage, making money, and career paths.

3. Which brings me to... my career. I’m terrified I’ll never have the balls to do what I really want to do. I’m scared I’ll keep using the 20s to dream, dream, dream, stalling till the 30s, to do the ‘real thing I want to do’, and all that will end up being a sham because ‘logic’ ‘logistics’ or ‘reality’ will set in.

4. I’m scared that as I leave my 20s, I’ll become the person I always scoffed at- the person that always knows everything. That super closed minded person that probably thinks I’m a hippie, but he really, was the loser that lacked imagination. I’m terrified I’ll grow older to become that fool.

5. I’m terrified that post my 20s, I’ll want more, but in the most limited way possible. That my lists will grow longer, but only because they’re growing tighter. ‘I want my man to be a funny, non-smoking, open minded, non chauvinistic, scuba diving banker from an exotic country, who is generous and spoils me rotten, but also respects my independence...’ Or whatever, you know?

6. I’ve already noticed a lack of risk taking between now and when I was 17, so what’s to say I won’t become a paranoid person post my 20s, who’s like, ‘oh I don’t want to cycle through this gorgeous park because you know, I might fall and scrape my knee and it’ll be hurt for a whole week and the scab will be so ugly..’. You get the drift.

7. While I’m aware of the fact that I’m getting older, I’m acutely aware of the fact that my parents are getting older too. It almost seems like the minute I turn thirty, I’ll have to start giving serious thought to how to take care of them and make sure they’re okay. The thing about this is that, I’m not sure I’m ready to ‘take care’ of anyone, much less my beautiful parents, who I’ve constantly relied on for guidance and support. The thought of that role reversing is scary, more so because I’m terrified I might not not be as good at taking care of them as they have done for me.

8. I’m terrified I’ll always be selfish. So, this one is a little different- I’m terrified of something I am right now, that I really want to shed, and I think I may not be able to.

9. On the whole, I’m terrified of my entire identity changing when I’m not paying attention. I know it’s silly (which part of this paranoid list, isn’t?). Some people say we all evolve every 7 years; that if you look back seven years earlier, you’ll realise you were completely different. Still, I’m terrified of my identity changing and not having control over it.

10. Most of all, I’m terrified that the 20s might wear me down. That the disappointment I might face in this decade might make me cynical. Worse, it might cause me to settle, settle for less. And become that person that only lives from car loans to house loans, paying EMIs on everything I own and touch. Living a perfectly staid life, one that no one will remember. Not even me, when I look back at it. One in which I wouldn’t have realised my potential. One in which I’m just sheep.

The thing is though, I’m glad I’m terrified of all these things. Because that means I’ll try my damned hardest to focus on what I’ve dreamt for myself and avoid settling for anything else. I might change my mind, and I might change some of my priorities. But if I manage to retain my love for life and never settle for anything less than what I dreamed of as a child, a time when my dreams where the least diluted, then I think I’m sorted.

Catalogue #talesofacat

Here's picture story for a change. Below is my little Kittle in all his flamboyance, and fame.

We've had him for 5 months now, having rescued him from the streets (bless the power of twitter). He came to us as a Valentine's Day gift and what a little crazy gift he's been.

This is two month old kittle, when he first came to us. Funny story insert- we were told he was female. We named the poor bugger Ella and called him 'elegant' 'lady-like', and 'beautiful'. Two weeks into it, a visit to the vet and we had come back broken-hearted that we had to rename him (I love that name, Ella). He's now Garfunkle aka Garfy, and hopefully the awful memory of the two week gender confusion doesn't haunt him forever.

Garfy's obsession with teabags. I'm pretty sure one day when we're cleaning the nook and corners of the house we'll find Garfy's personal storage of these (ew!).

He's a lap-claiming, roaring like a lion (not), poser cat (more posu photos to follow- he fancies himself a model I'm sure).

It's almost like he's asking to be photogrpahed. He has these photo faces, just ready, pouting even.

We watch shows on my laptop together, my Kittle and I. And he still fits in my palm- he's a chipku one this fella. One of the friendliest fellas I met. 

Sometimes I'm convinced he's a dog- he rolls around like one and begs for food, and is destructive around the house.






















Sometimes I wonder if he's human- look at the way he's claimed my favourite beer chair.

And this is how I know he belongs with me :D

Technically, my soulmate.

I was on a Girlfriend Date the other day- we were going to lunch, coffee and then a movie. And it was a super fun day! We talked about exes, current crushes, bitchy bosses, 50 shades of Grey and how that'll maybe make men better in bed (I read a statistic that after reading the book, women wanted to go at it 50% more with their men and the men were now feeling the pressure- go, Christian Grey!), places we'd like to vacation, and all of that girly kind of thing. Jokes were shared, gossip was gleaned, secrets were whispered and in the middle of it all, VB and I were making love to our phones. We were busy instagramming pictures of the chandliers at the quaint place we were having lunch at, or tweeting about how much fun we were having- Hashtag #GirlsDayOut.

SO, at one point, one of the girls, PB, got furious at VB and me, and stalked off (she didn't leave or anything- just walked away in disgust for a tad!). VB and I were trying to figure out what caused that dramatic reaction. Wasn't being on the phone only natural, given the day and age? What's the point of doing something if you aren't putting it there on social for the world to see- wait, that sounded so wrong. 

But seriously, look around. Everyone is on their phones. And sometimes I can agree with P, it's annoying. Like smoking zones used to be the best place for fun, unpressurised conversation. I've made many a great new friends just by hanging out with people in the smoking zone. Smoking zones are areas where people are gathered to do one thing that binds them together- smoke. And in the meanwhile, chat about one thing or the other- whether it's Gangnam style's ridiculous fame or how the auto rickshaw prices just leaped up into the sky. 

Now, though.. everyone who comes to the smoking zone just zones out and zones into their phones. All random conversation has died a tragic death. It's like the phone has replaced a person. Or rather, it's like phone is your new best friend, a second shadow. Something that will give you company, anywhere, any time- all you need is a charged battery (have you seen how near death look on someone's face when their phone's running out of battery?). 

Your bf/gf/spouse may be boring you to tears on a dinner date, your bus may be late, you might not be able to fall asleep, your flight maybe 12 hours too long- but fear not! The Smart Phone is here, in a cape and all. Take your pick- Anything from angry birds to organising your day to throwing sheep at a friend on Facebook. Or if you're me- reading a grand ole book on a tiny screen. Your phone is the best friend you never had, a soul mate like none other. It loves you, chooses you and wants you - it's your Derek Shepherd and Christina Yang, rolled into one. Beat that, byatch!

As is obvious above, I have no final word on this- I'm as guilty as the next person who's obsessed with and makes goo-goo eyes at their phones, and I'm also as irritated as the next person who hates how anti-social (how ironic) our phones make us. 

But what can I say- it's my technical soulmate :)

After The Chase.

Boy and Girl meet at a ball (or in today's scenario a club/ coffee shop/ office/ college), boy is mesmerized with Girl. Boy asks Girl to dance. Boy is even more under-the-spell after dancing with Girl. Girl blushes, but, alas, it's 12am, she's gotta go. She secretly wants to stay, because after all, Boy has flattered a thousand butterflies into her tummy. But her fairy godmother told her boys can be treacherous liars, so please to be back by 12am (even fairy godmothers probably had their hearts broken/ flattered into bed, only to find out it's a one night stand). 

So Girl comes back almost in the nick of time, but she cleverly leaves a clue for Boy. Boy goes all around town, state, hell, country, galaxy, starships... climbs grand mountains, picks the lone orange-purple flower off a edge of a cliff, travels to a star, eats rotten cheese, meets Yoda, and asks him what the hell this clue means. After answering 16 of Yoda's wittiest riddles and jumping through varied sizes of rings of fire, Yoda gives him the answer he seeks to go get his woman. 

Boy returns and tells Girl of his grand feats. Girl is thrilled, flattered and convinced that this boy really, truly loves her. He's her The One. Girl's mummy, daddy, chaachi, granduncle and his nephew give their consent and the couple are married, walking away into the sunset... happily ever after.

But what happens after the sun rises again? The chase is over, the girl is won, and home and hearth have been set up. A year or three down the line, peek into that house to hear thunderous fights between Girl and Boy. The story is one you've heard before- Boy is spending too much time on the x-box and at the local bar. Girl is missing all the over the top adoration that was thrown her away in the initial part of the romance and is crying, no, screaming her lungs out about feeling lonely. Boy looks confused and confounded, as if to say, I did go to that star and climbs those mountains for you, yo know- can't I just play God of War with my boys now?

...And on and on they fight every night, until one day, girl packs her bags and walks out on Boy. OR Girl meets other Girls whom this has happened to and has kitty parties with them, where the primary topic of discussion is the fact that all men suck and the most oft repeated sentence is, 'Yes, they're all the same- it's always about the chase".

Recently, I've heard a couple of my girlfriends (some married, some in long term relationships) complaining about this phenomena- The Lull After The Chase. At first, this had me depressed. But then my analytical mind took over- or tried to. Why does this happen? Are women unnecessarily needy? Or do men over promise and under deliver? To begin with- is this whole Chase thing even real? Or is the whole concept of the Chase a figment of everyone's imagination?

Most men I spoke to laughed at me (trying to be obtuse?), and the few brave ones who decided to speak up told me that the Chase was not a myth. It was as real as anything else. And yes, they consider the first few months/ years (duration is apparently dependant on several factors) highly exciting, because they're so caught up in trying to impress the girl and convince her that he's indeed worth it. One even said, 'So, yeah, once the chase is over and I have the girl, why would I want to do anything more? I can't keep bringing her the moon, can I? Besides, I don't know why she doesn't understand that was then and this is now."

So my grand conclusion is... well, I have none. As one of my roomies used to say,  "Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them."

The Tortoise People

@googlefacts defines them as Philophobes (philophobia is the fear of emotional attachment that often leads to expectations that end in disappointment). 

But I like to give them a special name- The Tortoise People. The people that put their shells on every time someone comes near them. The ones that have a mental knee-jerk reaction everytime you try to connect with them emotionally. The ones that are emotionally unreachable. 

Not to be confused with the peeps that are emotionally awkward, popularly known to have the emotional IQ of a cockroach. 

No, no. These people are different- the Tortoise folk are jaded, cynical and scared.

I would know, I used to belong to the clan. And then I realised it don't work for me, no.

And I'll tell you why, but let me ask a couple of questions to begin with- Would you not eat something absolutely lip-smackingly delicious because you're too afraid you'll love it and then never be able to eat it again? Would you live like a poor person all your life because you're afraid that if you get rich, you'll lose it all? I'm assuming the answer is mostly no, so then why would you allow yourself to not love- a person, an idea or a dream?

We're going by the assumption that the Tortoise People are afraid to emotionally invest because they're afraid of the impending disappointment, brought on by expectation. But I ask you, what is life without an expectation? A dream? A hope? 

I constantly hope I will eat good food for lunch, wear beautiful clothes, or travel to all the sorts of new places. I expect it out of my life. And what would I be if I didn't? Soulless? Someone who didn't feel at all- the bad or the good?

Upon badgering a few close friends who are hard-core cynics, here's what I heard- "It helps you be prepared, for the bad stuff that will inevitably happen." But that's defeatist, isn't it? Like someone once said, life is what happens to you when you're busy preparing for it. So don't prep, just live. With mad, reckless abandon, full-heartedly.

Our lives are closely intertwined with so many people's lives and circumstances. Bad things do happen, and whether you like it or not, you will never be able to control it all. And it'll most likely happen in a way you didn't expect it to. Because you see, life is cheeky like that. It sneaks up on you, rubs its hands and grins with glee, and makes you face your very worst fears. 

So here's my attitude towards it- I will love everything. I will love every rainbow I see, every raindrop that falls on my nose, and every person who makes me smile silly. I will brave my tears with grace, my disappointments with hope and my heartbreaks with strength. Because at the end of it all, I want to have lived. I want to have loved. I want to have felt every emotion there is to feel. 

I don't just want to drift through my life, I want to experience it. 

You complete me.

Dear Calling,

Must I be 90 years old and unable to carry you out before you show yourself?

No, I thought not.

So, would you call out to me louder please and make your presence felt?

Thanks,

Me

I’ve spent the last few months wondering what this thing we call our Calling is. Is it something we just do everyday and do it well? Is it something that has been pre-ordained for us before we even came into being? Is it something that’s given out to us in a Sunday fair for a fee? Is it something we have to spend our whole lives looking for- i.e, is it our Calling to look for our bloody Calling?

From time to time, I wonder if we have romanticized the idea of our Calling as much as we have romanticized the idea of romance. Is it a once in a lifetime thing that we do? If yes, once you’ve achieved it, what happens after?

The whole bloody thing drives me nuts sometimes.

Here’s what I’d like to think- I’d like to believe that your Calling is something you are good at – you’re not necessarily the best at it in the whole, entire world, but it’s the best of you. Your Calling is your contribution to life around you with a combination of the best of your talents.

It’s what puts the blue in the sky and the green in the grass.

It’s what makes your life complete. 

On that note- you know that knight in shining armour guy? Or that prince we’ve always been told about that ‘covers up your void’ (oh, don’t be perverse now), and ‘completes you’? That’s kind of a myth.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not being cynical. Love is beautiful, the prince is oh-so-charming, and ya-dee-ya-dee-da. But here’s the deal- no one else can complete you but you. You have to be your own complete version before you can be with someone and give to someone.

In Jerry Maguire, when Tom Cruise tells Renee Z, “You complete me,” I don’t think he was lying; I think he simply stretched the truth (and you can’t blame him- at that particular time in the movie, he really needed a good speech to win the girl). But his statement had a context.

His context was that he had that kickass sports agent thing going for him, so the only thing he needed to complete the picture of his life (not really complete him, so to speak), was the girl.

What I’m saying is simple- Only you can write your story. Only you can fill yourself up. Everything else and everyone else is a blessed add-on; a bonus.

Ultimately, if there is one thing that can complete you, it’s you, and the best chance of doing that is by getting acquainted with one Mr.Calling.

The Calling, I believe, is the best sum of your being. The Calling is your raison d’etre. The Calling is your best chance of feeling like a valuable, real and complete person.

Question is- how does one get their Calling to call out a little bit louder?

The Game Of Life

Sometimes I feel like life is one big video game; an almost evil one at that. 

You eat those gold coins, knock down all the bad guys, level after level, and make your way to rescue that kidnapped princess. As you go higher up, a Trojan turtle with a face as ugly as sin and wings monstrously large, throws a bomb at a you, and before you realise what's going on, it explodes in your face. Now in any other normal, good-guy video game, you’d go back to the last level you were on. But this video game, this nasty version, is an evil muhahahaha kinda guy- he picks you up and throws you back to Level One. Game over really means Game over.

You punch the wall, cuss like it's soon going out of fashion, and exit the room.

One would think that's the end of it. And it could be, but...

I actually suspect that playing those initial levels all over again would be more fun than one would think it to be. Getting past that snarly rabid dog, or eating that mushroom that gives you extra life, or killing that ghastly three-headed warlock... It's now your second chance to go into that enchanted castle that you totally didn't pay attention to the first time you went there, because all you wanted to do was get out and complete the level. 

So in some sense, I like that Game Over means Restart. Sometimes reboots are essential, if not thoroughly enjoyable. 

It gives you a chance to really open your eyes, smell that smell, and taste that coffee. It gives you a chance to redefine and do everything you didn't do the last time around. Even if it just means taking timeouts or pee breaks.

Because you see, when we start out, we all look around in wonder, to give awe to the awesome, and enjoy the ride. Somewhere in between, that changes and it starts becoming only about the end.

Maybe the Restart is actually a blessing we didn't think to ask for. So now that we've got it, it's time to give it a shot, and really appreciate the game.

Things I wish I could tell my ten year old self.

-Don't wish you were older. Responsibility is big deal, not necessarily a happy deal.

-Do everything you can. Go to singing classes, karate, diving, fencing, dancing....anything in the world you can find. You'll only be this brave and uninhibited when you're ten, at twenty it'll halve and and at thirty it'll seem silly. Oh, and you won't have time for it.

-Homework is not the worst thing that can happen to you. There are bigger and worse things you'll need to face, and no, I'm not talking about a zit.

-Enjoy your time with your parents. Your parents are young when you're ten. Play with them, ask them a million questions and exhaust them! They'll only get older as you get older and their time with you will keep getting more and more limited.

-Don't be in a rush to fall in love. Spend as much time with yourself as you can. There is a time for loving another person and when that time comes, you'll find there is lesser time and love you can give to yourself. 

-There is a different freedom at every age- make sure you enjoy it.

-Wisdom comes at a price, enjoy your innocence. 

-Whatever you do, as you get older, keep fighting cynical people. Happiness is yours to claim. 

-Don't ever stop imagining or being curious.

-TV is evil. Go out and play hop scotch. 

-Eat as much as you can, your metabolism will suck when you're older!

Oh and quick PS to my 35 year old self:

Don't wish you were 25 again. At 25 you wanted to be 15 and at 15 you wanted to be 25. Shut up and enjoy yourself.

Why God...Why?

There are essentially two things that I feel very strongly about- women's equality issues and religion. Don't get me wrong- I don't go proactively campaigning out there about burning bras, but I will participate heatedly in an argument and/or beat you up if you're a male chauvinistic asshole.

The other thing that is now added to this list is Auto rickshaws drivers- I have SO much to say about these pigs- I can write a book. 

Since I just had a very frustrating experience this morning, let me first just say- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGHHHH!!!! &%#%%$!!@!!!!

Ok, now that that's done...

I know that it's such a small, small thing compared to, I don't know, 3G scams, CWG, Bofors and that very long list. But apart from all that, I wish someone asked us regular citizens about our smaller everyday piss-offs. I pay my taxes on time and every time, and yet no one will help me get a damned auto to where I want to go to. 

Let me illustrate in a few examples what happens to most people who try to get autos in a city like mine (that includes all big cities other than the awesome Bombay). 

Scenario One:

It's raining. A lone girl is standing on a lone road with a lone umbrella. She wants to go home. She hails an auto.

Auto guy: Where?

Girl: ____ (names an area)

Auto guy: Ok, 300 rupees

Girl (baffled look): What? Why?

Auto guy: Can't you see its raining maydum?

Girl: Errr..yes.

Auto guy: Then? What you're asking?

Girl: Do you think they pay me extra at my work on the days it rains?

Auto guy: Who cares about you? (Cocks head, looks at Girl like she's retarted and speeds off like Schumacher)

Moral of the story: Come rain or shine, no matter how late or early it is, just pay what he asks you to pay. Or walk home.

Scenario Two:

Girl in an auto. She's reached her destination. She gives the auto guy a 100 rupees for the 40 he asked for (this is 20 rupees more than the auto fare, but what can she do?).

Auto guy (speaks gruffly): Give me change.

Girl: Sorry. I don't have. I have only 30. 

Auto guy: So? 

Girl: I had kept 30 change but you asked for 40 and I don't have change for a 100.

Auto guy: So? Huh? So?

Girl: Sorry. I don't know.

Auto guy: So? You don't know means what should I do? You must keep change no? Give me 100. I'll keep it.

Girl (too dumbfounded to speak). She walks into a close-by supermarket, buys a cabbage she'll never eat, just so she can get change.

Moral: Carry change. Always. Remember, if you don't have change, it will ALWAYS be your fault.

Lots of scenarios such as these- you can't take an auto to somewhere too close or too far off- extra charge. You can't take an auto from a guy at the auto stand- he's too lazy so it'll be extra charge, please. 


So I'm putting down the top five things to not do when taking an auto- it may be useful to some of you- remember, you travel by their auto, you follow their rules.

Top 5 DON'Ts when you're taking an auto:

1. Wear shades- they automatically expect you to be rich and have oodles of money flowing out of your ears. It's why you're wearing shades and it's why you're going to donate some of that overflowing cash to the auto guy. He deserves it more than you, dummy.

2. Speak in a language other than the regional language: Don't you know, you pay extra just because you don't speak in the regional language? I mean, commmmmon, learn the language already- how hard can it be- it's just a whole new language.

3. Wear western clothes: Are you Indian or are you not? Then what's to ask? Wear Indian clothes- dhoti, sari-blouse etc. Otherwise, the very wise Mr. Auto Guy will assume you're opulent and take all your money from you. Because if he's not rich, no one else is allowed to be, okay? (if only someone would tell him that the rich don't take autos- they have enough cars/private helicopters. Only us middle class people do- we just like to dress nicely/ how we like).

4. Ask him to stop anywhere other than a main road: He goes only where HE wants to go. You're not paying him, he's doing YOU a favour. So don't you go and ask him to take a right into the galli you live in. That's just too much to ask from him- he has to draw the line somewhere you know.

5. Ask him to put on this auto meter: How dare you ask! It's only there for show. Believe it.

Freeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

LOL (Love Of my Life) got a call from an unknown number a couple of days ago. He hung up within two minutes and announced to me that we had won a lucky draw. I was like WHAAAAAAAAAAA.... I mean what are the chances that I (me??) won some random lucky dip type thing. I thought Lady Luck had made it very clear that we'd broken up, never to get back. How then?

'It was at one of those local malls. Did you register?' LOL asked, breaking me out of the conversation with myself.

Did I register? DID I?  'Of course. I've been registering for everything for the last year.'

'What? Why?'

'Have you seen us? 2010 has been the poorest year EVER! I entered every contest and lucky draw I came across. Come onnnn, anything that comes free is a miracle.'

LOL smiled, 'Don't exaggerate. We're not poor. Just going through a bit of a broke phase.'

I hid back a smile although I knew he's right- I mean, it's not like we were under the poverty line. 'Hmpfh. I am poor. Don't know about you.' I didn't want him to take my being broke lightly. 'So what did we win?'

'I dont know.. she wasn't very clear... A mixi, grinder, one thousand rupees cash prize, and a holiday at a hotel in Ooty for two days.'

'Wooooooooooooowwwww. I've never won anything. Annnnything.' I did a little dance right there standing on my bed.

'Listen, don't you think this is a bit fishy?'

'Ey! Shut up. We won!'  And I continued dancing atop our fragile bed.

-----

Two days later, we're having lunch with my family- grandparents, parents, aunt, uncle etc. And I'm excitedly telling all them about how I've won something so super exciting. A holiday to Ooty! (as if we never ever could afford a holiday on our own, and this is a supermely unique experience we've never seen or heard of). 

'In Ooty. Can you imagineeee?' I coo; my eyes all big and dreamy.

'You've been there before no?' my favourite aunt says. Hmmm. Maybe I should re-consider that 'favourite' title.

'Ya, so? We won a random competition. It never happens to our family. NEVER. Cant you people be enthusiastic?'

My relatives oblige. They give me exxagerated smiles and say 'oooohhhh' and 'cooooooool'. 

'What, you want us to announce it to a news channel?' my uncle asks, smiling.

I roll my eyes dramatically and spend the rest of lunch telling them they're such dull people for not appreciating the fact that there's now a lucky draw grand prize winner in the family.

'It's a scam my dear daughter' my father says, looking all sage-like. 

'How do they know our names then? Because I entered the contest and won.' I say firmly. 

Honestly, I can't remember exactly what contest I entered or IF I ever entered a contest in that mall. But I most likely did- after all, they knew our names and numbers didn't they?.

'Ha.Let's see who's laughing when I show you the pictures from my free holiday.' I tell my father, nose high up in the air.

-----

Right after lunch we head to the mall's corporate office to claim our gifts. I am getting the sense that LOL doesn't really want to go. He's doing this to humour me. 

That's fine. He's going to eat his smirk once we're on our way to Ooty. Why is a little bit of positivity too much to ask for these days?

We see the board for Casa Retreats as we climb the two stairs up. See? It's not a scam- they're a real company.

There is a receptionist who nods at us. Another woman welcomes and congratulates us. She tells us we'll get our prizes in 15 minutes-- right after 'the small tea party'. 

A tiny alarm goes off in my head. LOL shakes his head. He wants to head home. I can't give him the satisfaction.

'Dont be rude' I whisper to him. 'Lets just go see no?'. LOL, being LOL, adorable and always humouring me, trails in behind me.

We are made to sit with a guy who takes random/ vague details from us. LOL is getting impatient and snaps at the man, 'Get to the point', he says. I give him a look that says 'I'll handle it'.

I spend the next 10 minutes answering the stupidest questions about where we honeymooned (we havent! They're assuming me we're married), what kind of holidays we take, what kind of house we have and what kind of friggin' toothpaste we use. And every two minutes, there is a lady anoouncing 'Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr and Mrs. XYZ to the Casa family! Clap clap clap.

I'm getting annoyed now and I'm almost not listening. The 'representative' can say see this and finally brings us to the climax.

We have to buy a membership to their company- they sell holidays. They provide hotel accommodation all over India and 3000+ destinations abroad. Breakfast is free. Travel and other meals are subsidised. All for only 500 rupees a year.

For a fraction of a second, the travel junkie (combined with the broke person) in me wakes up. Then.... enlightenment- an entire Hustle type long con scene plays in my head- hiring fake reps, making a fake company website, people fixing the fake company board on the building...

By this time LOL has Facebooked about the entire event and is nudging me to show me something on his phone.

I inwardly cringe when see the website- www.consumercomplaints.in. I look at the rep and tell him firmly that we're not interested. He says 'Okay madam but we'll still give you your gifts.'

That makes me feel a bit better. At least the gifts were real. We pick up the gifts and hurry out of there.

Turns out the coupons for Ooty are either fake or to some ghastly hotel with peeling paint on walls (review online). There is no mixi or grinder or any 1000 rupees cash prize. There are two more coupons- one for a picnic day locally and another for a two day hotel voucher for Bangkok- I don't even want to imagine what those could be.

On the way back home I'm avoiding eager calls from my friends and relatives who are calling to ask about when we're leaving to Ooty.

LOL christens me Guillable Geetu and points at every sale/lucky draw contest on the road and laughs uncontrollably. 

' So, now do we agree that we got conned?' he asks.

'No. We didn't pay them any money and we spent only 15 minutes there. And in return we got six kind-of pretty glass bowls.' 

It's true. We did.

Is there a place called Heaven?

Is there a place called heaven?

The place of the good and the saints,

Where people float around

In halos and flowing spotless robes?

A kingdom where artificial light

Is unnecessary,

Where telephone connections

Are a joke?

A place where cable TV

Is really a huge window

Into the the world we live in,

With you and me playing the lead

On reality shows?

A place where souls rest in peace

And float about on clouds…

Or are there any clouds in heaven?

And what of hell then?

Are there people living

Amongst fire and hot coal?

Churning and burning

In the heat of the

Damned place…

Or is it a long lasting party there?

Dressed in the red and black theme

With horns as accessories,

And a drink in one hand?

And is there an in-between?

Filled with people

Whose souls are forever forgotten

Suffering the worst punishment prescribed…

These are questions

Asked several times

In a lifetime

And seldom answered.

And when that lifetime is over

Your bell has rung

Your questions are answered.

Finally.

At a time when the answers will seem

Absolutely meaningless.