Prose before hos

I think I met more people in the last month than I have met in the last fucking decade. The list doesn't include obvious suspects like the people I work with, my immediate family or the people I see on daily basis.
I would give all these people listed below a miss in a heartbeat just to be able to see my cat again (who has been absconding for over a month, thank you very much). Okay, not all but most. The things I've done in the last 35-40 days since Uggles left me, is beyond comprehension. At a point now where people who barely know me are walking up to me or texting to check if I'm alive and/or well (number of times I've received that in the last fortnight- 4).

For this list, though I've excluded people who I met just once. Which would have effectively meant the list would be longer. These are the people I met through the month, more than once, and we don't stay under the same roof. You can imagine this amount of socializing and meeting taking a toll on anyone. Mind you, this doesn't include some of my other close friends or people I'd much rather hang with. Very few here, make the cut to the people I'd much rather be with.

1. Su
2. Aashish
3. Madhuri
4. Udisha
5. Udisha's mom
6. Udisha's dad
7. Udisha's brother
8. Ritika
9. Roshni
10. Dr A (not me, haha)
11. Jolly
12. Yuvraj
13. AJ
14. Aashish's sister
15. Aashish's bff
16. Yuvraj's girlfriend/laash (can't remember her name- she's extremely sweet though)
17. Anuj
18. Abhishek
19. Ritambhara
20. Nilambhari
21. Akshita
22. Man Friday
23. Ananya (the friend)
24. Neelam
25. Sneha
26. Umang
27. Meghna
28. Ashmita
29. Deepika's mom
30. Deepika's dad
31. Deepika's brother
32. Kanika
33. Abhijeet
34. Dr PNS
35. Plastic Surgeon Dude
36. All of the first PR's staff (3 shifts, I'm guessing?)
37. Dietitian -1 
38. Dietitian - 2
39. Tailor
40. Tailor 2
41. Tailor 3
42. Tamanna
43. Tamanna's husband (aka brother in law)
44. Tanishq
45. Sampada
46. Anmol
47. Tamanna's mom
48. Tamanna's dad
49. Sampada's mom
50. Sampada's dad
51. Sampada's cat 1
52. Sampada's cat 2
53. Sampada's cat 3
54. Sampada's cat 4
55. Sheo
56. Shreejee (was most curious, apparently a woman)
57. Mini
58. Mini's mom
59. Mini's dad
60. Mini's brother
61. Sanjay uncle
62. Rekha aunty
63. Hitler Mamiji 
64. Timo
65. Timo's girlfriend
66. Timo's girlfriend's sister
67. Timo's mom
68. Timo's dad
69. 19-year-old Chinese dude whose name I can't remember
70. 19-year-old Chinese dude's mom
71. 19-year-old Chinese dude's mom's sister
72. Hitler mamiji's grandson
73. Random Meerut uncle who told me, "Chinese ke saath itna dance kara hai, humaare saath bhi dance karlo"
74. Random Meerut uncle who shared the table with me for breakfast
75. Random Meerut aunty (lost count)
76. Random West Delhi relatives
77. Mum's nephew who definitely has visible herpes (and he's on my friend list- shit)
78. Mum's nephew's wife (who I dragged to the dance floor and danced with- have never met her before)
79. all of Tamanna's in-laws (lost count)
80. Some 100 odd family friends (don't know who's who)
81. Khursheed
82. Arun
83. Khursheed's grandmom
84. Khursheed's sir
85. Khursheed's friend at the IAF
86. Khursheed's friend's mom at the IAF
87. Neharika
88. Neharika's mom
89. Aastha
90. Rajan
91. Rajan's wife
92. Rajan's kid with his wife
93. Neville
94. Matru
95. Salim
96. The dude from Accounts whose name I don't remember
97. Vijay
98. Vijay's son (Sagar, I think)
99. Veer 
100. Client in Delhi
101. Client's colleague
102. Another client
103. Client's senior colleague
104. Client's head of the department
105. Client's Director
106. Client's artist
107. Client's colleague
108. Client's colleague 2
109. Client at the JLF
110. Client's boss at the JLF
111. Client's Director at the JLF
112. Client's still photographer at the JLF
113. Client's colleague at the JLF
114. Client's Director's husband at the JLF
115. Vinayak
116. Sud
117. Another one of their friend
118. Yet another one of their friend
119. The angry dude who was their friend
120. The dude who brought the doob also their friend
121. Ankur 
122. Mohini
123. Pritish
124. Prityasha (I think that was her name, could be wrong)
125. Mr fucking Fox (fuck me)
126. Ag's sibling (I think)
127. White journalist
128. White dancer
129. White gallery owner
130. Arjun 
131. Translator
132. Famous environmentalist/filmmaker
133. Famous poet
134. Famous author/critic
135. Famous sculptor
136. Famous author
137. Priya
138. PK 
139. KK 
140. Kapil
141. Karam
142. Ritu Masi
143. Tanvi
144. Rachna Masi
145. Rachna Masi's husband
146. Old boss from my 2012 internship
147. Shaleen
148. The artist whose name I missed
149. Anna (whose name I first confused with Maria)
150. Navendu
151. Neha
152. eM
153. Ty
154. Anton
155. Amanat
156. Nirja
157. Sahaj
158. Another client's photographer
159. Same client's second photographer
160. Christie
161. SUSB
162. PP
163. KK 
164. The dude who I intensely dislike (hugged him, yuck)
165. The client's other team member
166. Udita
167. Udita, Vidhaat and Ashmita's friend
168. This big gallery owner's granddaughter
169. Akanksha
170. Dhananjaya 
171. Giriraj
172. Neeti

Earlier this year, I was seeing someone (let's call him the man from Quarter-1) and I'd mentioned this page to him. My planning of putting two pieces a week regularly went out of the window as I spent all my time staring at the screen of my phone, alternating between giggling and going red in the face. My writing became sparse and for the most part, it didn't matter. It didn't matter because I was truly having fun. I was stoked beyond belief and nothing else seemed important.

I recall having a discussion with the man from Q-1 on this and he showed concern. He wanted me to keep pursuing my hobbies, when I was trying to decide if he was good enough so I could add fussing over him as a hobby in itself.

That explains a lot why that didn't work out.

A quarter of the year later, in totally bizarre circumstances I met someone else. The supposed man from Q-1 was out of the picture completely. I wasn't looking for anything at all. Despite that, this somewhat happened. This is the man from Quarter-2.

There were sparks alright, but not without the cloud of doubt. What were we doing? Were we doing anything at all? I could tell you if I knew, but to this date, I don't. The good part is, I've stopped trying to unravel the mystery.

Somewhere between action (and lack of thereof) and speculation, we began bickering more than I have argued with anyone, ever. I tried all possible rational explanations- maybe this is going to do more good than ever. Perhaps, we were going to come out so strong that we could take over anything. Maybe, it was all in my head.

All in my head, it was. A large fucking vertically challenged chimera, that's what.

In the process of trying to save someone and later save myself, I lost two months, my pride, emotional response and every shred of self-respect I had. I did things that my 16-year-old self would cringe reading (read: bawling my eyes out). To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was bawling my eyes out for a man, for employment, for academics, for myself but that is how I remember myself to be.

Every morning I'd wake up, I'd howl in the shower. This act on repeat by putting on a fabulous outfit, going to work, staring at the screen to slap the keyboard, and come back. I tried calibrating my life with the lipstick bait. One overpriced lipstick to get over a man, each time in case of an impending colossal heartbreak.

I was poorer by 3.5k and still fussing over the motherfucker.

Was this some kind of voodoo? The tears of my biological clock revolting at the idea of hitting snooze or just my hormones acting up? I don't know.

To this date, I have no idea.

I could say I'm doing one hundred percent great and over the trauma or past the drama but I'd be lying. The truth is, I allowed myself to built versions of things that were not said out loud, in a gigantic proportion. I allowed myself to think I deserve those things and I'm the rightful owner of all that and more, for once. I deluded myself into believing there's one such thing as a cinematic ending, for whatever it maybe- happy or sad or mellow or traumatic.

Instead, there was reality check. That version was akin to using Internet Explorer which you have deluded yourself into believing that IE is better than Mozilla Firefox. Explorer could be great, but not for you, especially when you need a snappy browser. I'm a wee bit traumatized from this experience, and for the most part unhappy that I put myself through this misery for no rhyme or reason when I could have just spent the energy trying to write.

Six months into this disastrous, fucked beyond measure year, I realized the biggest fucking thing about writing here, on this page. My Achilles heel to writing, and writing well, is love. Or something that deludes me into believing it is love. Or could touch, smell and react like love does.

That's it. It explains everything. Why I had six half-written drafts that I didn't have the energy to post.

A few months ago, a dear friend told me the shortcoming of my approach with online dating. "The problem with you is that you are looking for love and not for hookups."

I vehemently denied. Later, when another friend confronted me on my funk, I denied with utmost surety that love is not on the agenda. 

"Motherfucker, what do you want? Why are you sad? What did you think you were going to do with this person anyway? Neither of you are in the mood to bone, you're not together and you don't want to have the burden of maintaining a boyfriend so to say. What the fuck do you want?"

Got me thinking, which it hasn't done in about two years. What is it that I really want- personally, professionally, physically and mentally.

I'm pleased to say it's been over a month and I have no answers. However, I'm more pleased to announce my return on this page.



Summer's over for the both of us.
But that doesn't mean we should give up on love. 

Years ago, on the morning of a Math exam, I'd picked a fight with my mom. Maybe, it's my mother who picked the fight.

Your guess is as good as mine.

It probably had to do with food. I am convinced there would be no other reason.
By food, I mean forcing milk down my throat. The terrible association I have with school begins with milk. Being forced to chug a glass every morning. A large, steel tumbler, filled till the brim. The taste of milk reminds me of the drudgery that school was.

My grandmother tried making it better by adding tea leaves, and sugar (definitely, a lot more than I needed). This deception often lead to crying, and progressed to throwing fits of anger towards my years as an angst-y teenagers.

Which angst-y teenager began their day drinking milk? Not the kind who'd listen to Nirvana and feel oh, so smug.

I digress, but I vaguely remember this episode. I must have been 7-8 years old. Why I assume this age is because after that, I never quite understood math.

Morning of the math exam; rage of fit over milk. Before stepping out, my mother's last words to me -

"Have a bad day."

I recall, I aced that exam.

Since then, I insisted that my mother wish me a "bad day" before every exam I knew I was going to fail.

Over time, I think it stopped working because despite our best efforts to pass, I continued to fail those exams. In this time, I forgot about this "bad day" episode, rather the details of it.

Years later, instant re-collection happened.

I'm in the office. Inspired by the pep talk of a 21 year old intern on how I should confront and call out the bullshit, I make up my mind to do the same with someone I'd been seeing briefly.

I took the plunge. A few minutes in, his sincerity turned to shamelessness. I called the bullshit out again. In response, I was told -

"Have a good day."

"I will. Thanks."

And so, I did. I had a day I deserved.
No amount of disgust in both those wishes could stop me from having a great fucking day, on both the occasions.