It’s quite strange the way we human beings feel the sense of ‘absence’. It takes us a shorter time to acknowledge the ‘absence’ of something rather than it’s ‘presence’. Like my phone, for instance. A month ago, I lost it. Well, not exactly lost it. It was stolen from my bag in a crowded elevator. I haven’t yet been able to reconcile with the fact that instead of my beloved old phone, I have been compelled to use a trashy piece of black plastic with an abhorring white screen. My old one, a Nokia N73 Music edition (The champion among all the N- Series phones so far which is sadly about to be phased out) was just one and a half years old. But he had the heart of an adult: warm, loving, responding well to my impetuous and unpredictable behaviour. One minute the music player, the other second, photo editing and right then checking my mail, he has seen it all. Even though, in recent times, I had troubled him quite a bit by downloading random ‘themes’ and giving him a new look every single day, he never complained by slowing down his response mechanism. My old one was a bundle of vitality.
He might have been a very regular looking phone but he had an awesome stamina and his expandable 2GB never seemed to get exhausted as I loaded him with song after song after song. And during lonely drives around the city, when I felt like shutting out the mundane noise, out came the headset and I rocked away to a different world. I was complimented several times about my ‘playlists’ and the ease with which I can 'shuffle' through them. And everytime I could feel the black metal body grow warm and hard! He knew!
I have taken some of my best self-portraits with his 3.2 mp camera and Carl- Zeiss optics. And in places where carrying a camera would set you back by one extra bag, my old man was a handy one. Just a swish of the lens cover and my guy was ready for ‘capture’. Needless to mention, he was my constant travel companion. Whether up in the Hills of North Bengal of at the beach in Goa, my world was just a ‘select’ away. Ready access to my mail made my life so much easier especially when you realise an important message has to be sent to the Boss while you are tying up your bikini, ready to hit the surf in Goa. All it took was some deft finger movements and voila! You are ready to...surf! Once when I forgot the chords of a Jack Johnson number, my Google application salvaged me from what could have been an embarrassing situation in front of my guitarist friend!
When I had him, I hardly noticed him. Today when I have to go on a longish journey, I miss him ever so more. Dearest phone, I wish you were here. You had seen me through some of the toughest times in my life. (Yes, a year and a half ago, I was going through a rough patch). And I can never thank you enough. You never ‘died out’ on me, never ‘hung’ up on me. I only hope, wherever you are, in whosever’s hands you are, may you enjoy the same vitality as you did while we were still together.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The EMBEEYAY
In this world thrives a creature called the ‘Embeeyay.’ He (or she) is biped, penta-dactyl, mostly omnivorous (though the herbivore category is slowly on the rise!).He has a very potent weapon, it’s called: the BlackBerry. Powerful messages could be sent and received thru them. In appearance, the Embeeyay is mostly of medium height- five eight or five nine for the males and five two for the female. The Embeeyays are generally slow-reacting (except in matters of KRAs and PMIs), one-dimensional and superficial species. They are driven in only one direction. They have just one goal in life: achieve the TARGET. Pathetic, humourless, defensive is what Historians prefer to call this breed. They stay and move around in their own little bubble universes. We shall now attempt a CASE STUDY of one such prototype.
Meet Kishore Dhanuka. Plain looking, medium built, bespectacled. It wouldn’t have mattered to the world had his surname been Dhandhaniya or Dhanki, Dhariwal or Dasgupta. Today, he arrived at office a full minute late. He shuffled to his workstation, placed his leather briefcase under his desk and switched on his workstation. From behind, his colleague and now cigarette mate slapped Kishore on his back and joked about the girl they used to chase at B- School. But Kishore didn’t have the time or mood to reminisce. It was month-end and he had to achieve his ‘figures’. Now, a little about the word ‘figures’. Figures: Sing. figure- noun- A set of integers greater than equal to zero; usually referred to by certain species as a target to achieve at the end of a month/year by way of ‘sales’. Kishore was a good sales guy. His boss had given him the highest target to achieve. Forty lakhs in thirty days. But Kishore was going through a rough patch. His dream car was waiting in the showroom but the bank was yet to process the loan. He had spent many sleepless nights worrying about this. Then there was his mother who prodded him every day at breakfast to talk about the girl he was seeing. Kishore wasn’t seeing anybody. Hell, who has the time to see when there are ‘figures’ to achieve. Yet Mrs Dhanuka had an uncanny knack of asking intrusive questions about women. Kishore spent many sleepless nights worrying about this too. He himself wondered sometimes whether he did miss something in life, whether there is a need, after all, to worry about women. And then of course, the huge education loan he was to pay back in seven years’ time. This was not Kishore’s first job as the Retail head of an insurance agency. He had already spent three years in this industry but there were too many worries catching up with him now. After a brief stare at the ‘Siddhivinayak’ desktop wall-paper, Kishore started his day by opening his mail.
Sales call at ten, conference at twelve, meeting with agents and prospective clients at four, travel to Messrs Ahluwalia to collect a premium cheque at six, preparing cover notes for tomorrow’s sales calls by eight, conference again at eight thirty. Still he was off-target by about two lakhs. Damn. The furrows on Kishore's forehead deepened. Before even he started his work, Kishore needed a smoke- break.
Kishore’s office was located on the fifth floor of a swanky uptown office complex. The city’s best restaurants were just two blocks away. That place was also the hub of entertainment and the city’s night-life. For Kishore, though, none of this mattered. He worked twelve-hour days and if lunch figured, it would be greasy Chinese food from the street vendor just across the road for 10 bucks. Kishore wasn’t much into drinking or partying though his friends spent endless weekends driving down the city with beer cans in cars and hitting the discos and dancing till the wee hours. The last time Kishore had partied was four years ago in B-School. His eyes drifted from the excel sheet on his computer to a colour photograph on the red soft-board, It was of him with his friends in a hip club in Hyderabad. Man, what a night it was. The music, the food, the beer and the girls. But the picture now seemed like a relic from Stone Age. Before his mind could wander any further, Kishore began listing the clients he was yet to visit in the remaining three days of the month.
Kishore Dhanuka survived the monster called Month-end. Though he was close enough to his target of forty lakhs (He managed thirty eight lakhs, eighty thousand and seven hundred), in this industry, being ‘close enough’ could mean being non- productive. And for perpetual loss making institutions such as Insurance, there is no place for non-productive fellows. But Kishore is a survivor. He will keep surviving till the furrows on his forehead deepens to become bottomless pits of darkness.
Five years and two jobs, Kishore got married and elevated to the position of Retail Head in his new company. After dropping off his pregnant wife to the gynae, he drives his dream car into another swanky address in another part of the city. His appearance has become somewhat swarthy after he started drinking heavily with his male friends. His lanky fingers are adorned with a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire and a topaz. The furrows on his forehead are covered by an orange ‘tika’. He has grown a considerable paunch in three years and is wearing one shirt size too big to conceal his protruding stomach.
He reaches his cabin on time and switches on his laptop. ‘Siddhivinayak’ smiled back at him this time as well. Missing are: the cigarette mate- for Kishore smokes alone now, the colour photograph on his softboard- for it had got buried deep under stuff while he was shifting residence. However, he has a target this time as well. One and a half cores in thirty days. Kishore knows that he would not be there to see his first child right after birth. He had talked it over with his very patient wife Aastha. Kishore looks out of the glass windows in his cabin. The weather outside is dark and grey. Winter was approaching and everything is looking old and dusty, even the sky. A smile slowly spreads across Kishore’s face. It is the first time he had looked out of the window in his new office on the fifteenth floor. It is the first time he had ever looked at the city from this height. He makes an effort to get up from his chair and walk towards the window. He feels the familiar surge of pain shooting up his spine. He had failed many appointments with the doctor. But he just didn’t have the time...
Let me remind the readers that I am not attempting to write a biography here. It is up to you to infer whether Kishore finally got his back diagnosed, whether Kishore had a son or a daughter, whether Kishore was able to achieve his ‘figures’ this time or whether he led a happy life. The choice is yours.
Disclaimer 1: Kishore Dhanuka is a character created by me purely for the purpose of fiction. Any resemblance to any characters living or dead is obviously intentional because there ARE many Kishore Dhanukas living all across the world. And I feel sad about them.
Disclaimer 2: I have nothing against MBA. I believe whichever field one is in, one has to lead a complete, wholesome and enjoyable life. Figures are not the end of the world.
Disclaimer 3: If it seems that I lack technical knowledge in the field of Insurance, it is purely because I am just an observer and have expressed my limited knowledge in the simplest of thoughts without using too much jargon.
Meet Kishore Dhanuka. Plain looking, medium built, bespectacled. It wouldn’t have mattered to the world had his surname been Dhandhaniya or Dhanki, Dhariwal or Dasgupta. Today, he arrived at office a full minute late. He shuffled to his workstation, placed his leather briefcase under his desk and switched on his workstation. From behind, his colleague and now cigarette mate slapped Kishore on his back and joked about the girl they used to chase at B- School. But Kishore didn’t have the time or mood to reminisce. It was month-end and he had to achieve his ‘figures’. Now, a little about the word ‘figures’. Figures: Sing. figure- noun- A set of integers greater than equal to zero; usually referred to by certain species as a target to achieve at the end of a month/year by way of ‘sales’. Kishore was a good sales guy. His boss had given him the highest target to achieve. Forty lakhs in thirty days. But Kishore was going through a rough patch. His dream car was waiting in the showroom but the bank was yet to process the loan. He had spent many sleepless nights worrying about this. Then there was his mother who prodded him every day at breakfast to talk about the girl he was seeing. Kishore wasn’t seeing anybody. Hell, who has the time to see when there are ‘figures’ to achieve. Yet Mrs Dhanuka had an uncanny knack of asking intrusive questions about women. Kishore spent many sleepless nights worrying about this too. He himself wondered sometimes whether he did miss something in life, whether there is a need, after all, to worry about women. And then of course, the huge education loan he was to pay back in seven years’ time. This was not Kishore’s first job as the Retail head of an insurance agency. He had already spent three years in this industry but there were too many worries catching up with him now. After a brief stare at the ‘Siddhivinayak’ desktop wall-paper, Kishore started his day by opening his mail.
Sales call at ten, conference at twelve, meeting with agents and prospective clients at four, travel to Messrs Ahluwalia to collect a premium cheque at six, preparing cover notes for tomorrow’s sales calls by eight, conference again at eight thirty. Still he was off-target by about two lakhs. Damn. The furrows on Kishore's forehead deepened. Before even he started his work, Kishore needed a smoke- break.
Kishore’s office was located on the fifth floor of a swanky uptown office complex. The city’s best restaurants were just two blocks away. That place was also the hub of entertainment and the city’s night-life. For Kishore, though, none of this mattered. He worked twelve-hour days and if lunch figured, it would be greasy Chinese food from the street vendor just across the road for 10 bucks. Kishore wasn’t much into drinking or partying though his friends spent endless weekends driving down the city with beer cans in cars and hitting the discos and dancing till the wee hours. The last time Kishore had partied was four years ago in B-School. His eyes drifted from the excel sheet on his computer to a colour photograph on the red soft-board, It was of him with his friends in a hip club in Hyderabad. Man, what a night it was. The music, the food, the beer and the girls. But the picture now seemed like a relic from Stone Age. Before his mind could wander any further, Kishore began listing the clients he was yet to visit in the remaining three days of the month.
Kishore Dhanuka survived the monster called Month-end. Though he was close enough to his target of forty lakhs (He managed thirty eight lakhs, eighty thousand and seven hundred), in this industry, being ‘close enough’ could mean being non- productive. And for perpetual loss making institutions such as Insurance, there is no place for non-productive fellows. But Kishore is a survivor. He will keep surviving till the furrows on his forehead deepens to become bottomless pits of darkness.
Five years and two jobs, Kishore got married and elevated to the position of Retail Head in his new company. After dropping off his pregnant wife to the gynae, he drives his dream car into another swanky address in another part of the city. His appearance has become somewhat swarthy after he started drinking heavily with his male friends. His lanky fingers are adorned with a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire and a topaz. The furrows on his forehead are covered by an orange ‘tika’. He has grown a considerable paunch in three years and is wearing one shirt size too big to conceal his protruding stomach.
He reaches his cabin on time and switches on his laptop. ‘Siddhivinayak’ smiled back at him this time as well. Missing are: the cigarette mate- for Kishore smokes alone now, the colour photograph on his softboard- for it had got buried deep under stuff while he was shifting residence. However, he has a target this time as well. One and a half cores in thirty days. Kishore knows that he would not be there to see his first child right after birth. He had talked it over with his very patient wife Aastha. Kishore looks out of the glass windows in his cabin. The weather outside is dark and grey. Winter was approaching and everything is looking old and dusty, even the sky. A smile slowly spreads across Kishore’s face. It is the first time he had looked out of the window in his new office on the fifteenth floor. It is the first time he had ever looked at the city from this height. He makes an effort to get up from his chair and walk towards the window. He feels the familiar surge of pain shooting up his spine. He had failed many appointments with the doctor. But he just didn’t have the time...
Let me remind the readers that I am not attempting to write a biography here. It is up to you to infer whether Kishore finally got his back diagnosed, whether Kishore had a son or a daughter, whether Kishore was able to achieve his ‘figures’ this time or whether he led a happy life. The choice is yours.
Disclaimer 1: Kishore Dhanuka is a character created by me purely for the purpose of fiction. Any resemblance to any characters living or dead is obviously intentional because there ARE many Kishore Dhanukas living all across the world. And I feel sad about them.
Disclaimer 2: I have nothing against MBA. I believe whichever field one is in, one has to lead a complete, wholesome and enjoyable life. Figures are not the end of the world.
Disclaimer 3: If it seems that I lack technical knowledge in the field of Insurance, it is purely because I am just an observer and have expressed my limited knowledge in the simplest of thoughts without using too much jargon.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Delhi
The sun felt hot as it streamed through the wide-open windows and came to rest upon my bare legs. It was six in the morning and I could see the steely- beige- grey sky and a frozen but super-scorching sun. Sasha was sleeping peacefully beside me on the mattress despite the heat. We didn’t have a bed yet and will probably never have one! But what we needed the most, then, were curtains! As morning and afternoon melted into each other, 33D DDA Flat was a blur of motions. Papa in the other room scurrying to make tea for the nth time, Sasha in the loo with the day’s papers and I shuffling somewhere between breakfast and ironing my clothes. Well that’s how most of the days in Delhi started except Sundays. Sundays generally started at noon and then a cold bath, cold but healthy lunch, some lovemaking and then evening. But those were good days. Days that I miss terribly nowadays.
Since we had just started out, Sasha and I bought a bike because we couldn’t afford a car straight up. Our flat turned from ‘habitable’ to a nest in just seven days. And what made it complete was the comforting thought that we had a bike in the garage on which we could just zoom out whenever we wanted to. Helmets were bought too. New ones for the ones bought in Chennai had worn out too much.
The first few months were spent getting accustomed to the different sights and sounds of ‘Dilli’. The best sound used to be the wonderful ‘swish’ of the air near Raisina Hill. It smelt of power and politics. But one cannot miss the cling-clang of empty ‘seekh’s as they were loaded with marinated mutton to be slow-roasted over the tandoor, especially the one that belonged to the little guy in New Friends Colony’s Community Centre. It was one of the hippest places to be after Saket’s Community Centre. And it was OUR neighbourhood! I still remember many a drunken jaunts to and from the nightclubs and bars that lined up the boulevard of CC, as we used to call it!
The curtains finally arrived one July evening when I had an off day and the house was empty. They were blue, the aquamarine kind of blue with turquoise stripes. The next morning, the sun shone from outside the curtains bathing the whole room in a cool blue light. It was almost time to wake up and Sasha and I made love in that blue light.
Though Saturdays and Sundays were mostly off for both of us, we hardly had the energy to travel to the various places where people generally go for weekend tours. The ‘50 Great Places to See Near Delhi, 2007-08’ was just an artefact lying on our bookshelf gathering dry Delhi-dust. We did go to Lansdowne though. A quaint hill station in Uttarakhand, about 600 kilometres from Delhi. It was in the wet month of August when Delhi gets soaked in humidity and the discomfort level rises to a certain degree. Lansdowne is a military cantonment and there’s not much to do there except trudge up and down the winding slope of the only road that runs through the town. Or, drink rum in the cozy comfort of the fire-place in your hotel room. We did both. It was mildly cold and we didn’t carry any winter clothes and had only each other to keep us warm!
Since we had just started out, Sasha and I bought a bike because we couldn’t afford a car straight up. Our flat turned from ‘habitable’ to a nest in just seven days. And what made it complete was the comforting thought that we had a bike in the garage on which we could just zoom out whenever we wanted to. Helmets were bought too. New ones for the ones bought in Chennai had worn out too much.
The first few months were spent getting accustomed to the different sights and sounds of ‘Dilli’. The best sound used to be the wonderful ‘swish’ of the air near Raisina Hill. It smelt of power and politics. But one cannot miss the cling-clang of empty ‘seekh’s as they were loaded with marinated mutton to be slow-roasted over the tandoor, especially the one that belonged to the little guy in New Friends Colony’s Community Centre. It was one of the hippest places to be after Saket’s Community Centre. And it was OUR neighbourhood! I still remember many a drunken jaunts to and from the nightclubs and bars that lined up the boulevard of CC, as we used to call it!
The curtains finally arrived one July evening when I had an off day and the house was empty. They were blue, the aquamarine kind of blue with turquoise stripes. The next morning, the sun shone from outside the curtains bathing the whole room in a cool blue light. It was almost time to wake up and Sasha and I made love in that blue light.
Though Saturdays and Sundays were mostly off for both of us, we hardly had the energy to travel to the various places where people generally go for weekend tours. The ‘50 Great Places to See Near Delhi, 2007-08’ was just an artefact lying on our bookshelf gathering dry Delhi-dust. We did go to Lansdowne though. A quaint hill station in Uttarakhand, about 600 kilometres from Delhi. It was in the wet month of August when Delhi gets soaked in humidity and the discomfort level rises to a certain degree. Lansdowne is a military cantonment and there’s not much to do there except trudge up and down the winding slope of the only road that runs through the town. Or, drink rum in the cozy comfort of the fire-place in your hotel room. We did both. It was mildly cold and we didn’t carry any winter clothes and had only each other to keep us warm!
Confessions of the Solitary Shopaholic
I am a shopaholic and I have no qualms in admitting that. But there’s a catch: I like shopping alone! I always look forward to that time of the year when the air in the city becomes heavy with discounts, when shop windows scream SALE . I cannot seem to wait to get my hands on stuff thats up for grabs. Of course, alone! I have often had my friends tell me: Honey, how could you survive shopping alone? Don’t you feel bored? No I don’t. Infact, I feel more comfortable and at ease when I know that I am not keeping my companions waiting outside trial rooms. Two days when I went out shopping: One with my mother and my sister, two: ALONE! On the first day itself after spending five feet-aching hours at the Mecca of shopping in Kolkata- New Market, I came home with just underwear as the only purchase! On the second day, things were slightly more different. This time, I had planned out my whole routine as it were. Since I start my new job on Monday, I needed to fix my face which had become dark and dull in the past two idle months. So a facial and pedicure as a bonus, I started my day out or rather evening out.
After some much-needed pampering of my face, soles and soul, I headed towards Pantaloons. The long queues in front of the trial rooms didn’t annoy me one bit. Infact, I almost enjoyed watching young women parade in and out of the trial rooms, some with satisfied expressions on their faces and most with a look of complete agony as they had to hold their breath so they could fit into their pants/dresses! I loved it! And what opinions the fathers/mothers/boyfriends had to give! That part was even better!
I had primarily come to look for some formal clothes. My budget was tight. And I had to keep reminding myself that since I was fast running out of my savings and loading up on credit, I should keep the “shoppers’ gluttony” at bay. So here I was with three trousers draped over my arms, feeling proud to have kept the ‘monster’ in me quiet!
As I hailed a cab after purchasing just two trousers, I felt a quiet satisfaction spread all over me. For, one: I shopped but didn’t drop! And two: I shopped alone! No smarty pants boyfriends advising me on what to wear and silly parents admonishing me on what not to wear. When I’m out shopping, I’m happily SINGLE!
After some much-needed pampering of my face, soles and soul, I headed towards Pantaloons. The long queues in front of the trial rooms didn’t annoy me one bit. Infact, I almost enjoyed watching young women parade in and out of the trial rooms, some with satisfied expressions on their faces and most with a look of complete agony as they had to hold their breath so they could fit into their pants/dresses! I loved it! And what opinions the fathers/mothers/boyfriends had to give! That part was even better!
I had primarily come to look for some formal clothes. My budget was tight. And I had to keep reminding myself that since I was fast running out of my savings and loading up on credit, I should keep the “shoppers’ gluttony” at bay. So here I was with three trousers draped over my arms, feeling proud to have kept the ‘monster’ in me quiet!
As I hailed a cab after purchasing just two trousers, I felt a quiet satisfaction spread all over me. For, one: I shopped but didn’t drop! And two: I shopped alone! No smarty pants boyfriends advising me on what to wear and silly parents admonishing me on what not to wear. When I’m out shopping, I’m happily SINGLE!
Simple Harmonic Motion
Relationships- what does that word mean? For one, it’s not an entity one can touch, feel, see. Take it as a pact or say a venture where a part of another person and an EQUAL part of you are signed in...in sync or as we learned in school: in SHM...Simple HARMONIC motion.
Yesterday I was supposed to have dinner with a very old friend of mine. Kaushani. And her boyfriend. She’s married to this guy but they are not in SHM! So she has a boyfriend who is twice divorced but married now to someone and has three kids blah blah blah! But she is my best friend and she they love each other blindly. But somehow the dinner date got cancelled because he was not feeling too well.
A few weeks back, Kaushani and I decided to hang out together and hit the nightclubs. We spent a whole night club-hopping and dancing with random guys. Though three tequila shots burned a deep hole in my credit card, I actually had a wonderful time with my girlfriend (for a change!) after a really long time. However, the boyfriend of hers kept calling her every hour to make sure she was ‘okay’ and not ‘sloshed’ and definitely not in the arms of another man! She kept swearing a hundred times that she was sober and not checking out other men. I wondered, is this normal? I mean, what are two single (at least while we were out dancing) girls to do when they decide to go club-hopping? Dance with each other? Do some kind of a gay tango?
Well anyway...while I drifted towards this really nice guy who does bit roles on TV and who’s six feet two with stubbles and a killer smile...phew...K kept a safe distance from the male of the species...Two Bacardis, three tequila shots, two beer pints, two pegs of vodka and a peg of scotch downed, at about four thirty in the morning, I peeled myself off the dance floor at Roxy and got into a cab waiting for us outside the hotel.
After the hangover passed...and it took quite a while to pass...I reminisced on the lovely time I had with K. Who needs men when you have good girlfriends to hang out with? I mean though I am not single as in ‘single’ single...well...okay I have a boyfriend of six years, I’d prefer to hang out with my girlfriends because at some point of time or the other, men can’t really have as much fun as a bunch of girls can...can they? Even though K’s guy kept calling her every sixty minutes, I can guarantee that she had as much fun as I did. Hell we freaked out!
As long as you are in SHM with yourself, it doesn’t really matter if your other half (not necessarily the better half!) is in SHM with you. You don’t HAVE to agree with each other on everything and nothing. K is not in SHM with her husband. Problem is she is not even in SHM with her boyfriend. Love in her case wasn’t BLIND! Love, in her case is like a vigilante. Eyes wide open, guarding her against herself, her own instincts. Before she knows it, her motion has fallen out of harmony with herself. She has been swept away by her guy’s motion...If you are in love...you needn’t LOSE yourself.
Yesterday I was supposed to have dinner with a very old friend of mine. Kaushani. And her boyfriend. She’s married to this guy but they are not in SHM! So she has a boyfriend who is twice divorced but married now to someone and has three kids blah blah blah! But she is my best friend and she they love each other blindly. But somehow the dinner date got cancelled because he was not feeling too well.
A few weeks back, Kaushani and I decided to hang out together and hit the nightclubs. We spent a whole night club-hopping and dancing with random guys. Though three tequila shots burned a deep hole in my credit card, I actually had a wonderful time with my girlfriend (for a change!) after a really long time. However, the boyfriend of hers kept calling her every hour to make sure she was ‘okay’ and not ‘sloshed’ and definitely not in the arms of another man! She kept swearing a hundred times that she was sober and not checking out other men. I wondered, is this normal? I mean, what are two single (at least while we were out dancing) girls to do when they decide to go club-hopping? Dance with each other? Do some kind of a gay tango?
Well anyway...while I drifted towards this really nice guy who does bit roles on TV and who’s six feet two with stubbles and a killer smile...phew...K kept a safe distance from the male of the species...Two Bacardis, three tequila shots, two beer pints, two pegs of vodka and a peg of scotch downed, at about four thirty in the morning, I peeled myself off the dance floor at Roxy and got into a cab waiting for us outside the hotel.
After the hangover passed...and it took quite a while to pass...I reminisced on the lovely time I had with K. Who needs men when you have good girlfriends to hang out with? I mean though I am not single as in ‘single’ single...well...okay I have a boyfriend of six years, I’d prefer to hang out with my girlfriends because at some point of time or the other, men can’t really have as much fun as a bunch of girls can...can they? Even though K’s guy kept calling her every sixty minutes, I can guarantee that she had as much fun as I did. Hell we freaked out!
As long as you are in SHM with yourself, it doesn’t really matter if your other half (not necessarily the better half!) is in SHM with you. You don’t HAVE to agree with each other on everything and nothing. K is not in SHM with her husband. Problem is she is not even in SHM with her boyfriend. Love in her case wasn’t BLIND! Love, in her case is like a vigilante. Eyes wide open, guarding her against herself, her own instincts. Before she knows it, her motion has fallen out of harmony with herself. She has been swept away by her guy’s motion...If you are in love...you needn’t LOSE yourself.
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