*NEW* Recent blog entries

May 31, 2007

Don't want to be self-sufficient!

No particularly coherent thought or particular thought for that matter.
I feel drained.
Once upon a time, I had wished that my life was happening and now I wish there wasn't so much happening. And nothing is necessarily in a good or a bad way.
I've realised that one of the major reasons I cannot get to sleep is because I constantly wake up with an "oh shit" feeling.
Like, 'oh shit, am i late for work?"
Oh shit my horoscope sucks... so then I will read 3-4 different ones and finally realise that my stars are confused because all four would read different.
Oh shit someone is calling me...
Oh shit I left the phone charging through the night
Oh shit Golu has gone after yet another shoe
And so on and so forth...

So now I want two days... at least... where I just sleep... no water pump, no landlords' calls, no wondering if I am justifying my job, no autowalah-haggling, no waking up with the maid banging, no kids to kick the gate on Sundays (neighbours' kids), no Golu Dawg to put his nose in my mouth to wake me up or slap me... he paws me full in the face if I dont wake up with the nose treatment; I feel like a mom. :(

I just want to sleep. I am so tired. And I want to chuck it all up and run to Mamma and sleep late and wake up late and have Bhai make my coffee and mom irritate about breakfast and Papa scowl at the paper... Where a good job done was a very neat homework and every, single cake I baked was polished so fast, you'd think there was no cake. Or for that matter anything I cooked. Where I could throw my clothes around the room -- LIKE A MAN -- and not bother that later, I would have to pick them up! I HAD never, ever thought about WHO paid the electricity bill...as in who stood in the queue and all. Yes, yes, there are e-payments and all, but I dont trust those.

I want to go back home.

I DON'T want to do everything. I don't want to be self-sufficient, I want to be happy NOT knowing something. I don't want to be able to manage it all... 10 years that I have been doing it and now I seem to have become so good at it that am scared that whatever years are left will be the same too. Self-Sufficient Single woman. (Caricature of self, 20 years from now says, "And look, I have four dildos for variety!")

This is not feeling lonely. This is just being very tired of doing everything myself. Uff. Sucks.

Or maybe I don't want to go home -- Mamma will hound to eat three meals and I simply cannot -- and Papa and I would get into way too many arguments that would always end with "Don't forget I am your Dad!" hahaha. :D Women grow up pampering men's egos, I tell you. :) Strange, I am missing them and I want to go back then I think about all the quirks, all the nagging, get horrified and find it funny... don't think either party can readjust to living together again. Sigh. But they're too cute and funny.

And maybe, I just want to vanish. Like. Poof!

PS: How to poof Golu Dawg?

May 30, 2007

It’s just the way you look at me

Root me to where I stand
Make my skin tingle,
And send a shiver up my spine.

Let me feel your rough hand
The love and lust mingle,
And say without a word, “You’re mine.”

Wreck my vile schemes, plans grand
One, two, all and every single,
And yet reassure that it’d all be just fine.

Mark me with your mouth, your brand
Shake every shard, sinew and shingle,
And Promise, Us would paint the town carmine.

And don’t say a word, oh please, don’t say a word

Once you say them, they would be lies,
Let the words lie in your eyes.
Don’t talk, discuss, dissect, let it, leave it be
It’s anyway just in the way you look at me.

May 29, 2007

Sharing stats...

Hello, hello Everyone!

Thankyou so much for reading...and to all those who read and write back and even those who anonymously come and read me each time I post. There is a stat counter on the site, if anyone has noticed. It ticks slowly, but it's a steady beat and is reassuring.

Yesterday, was a record of sorts for the Emancipation of Eve... it was an all-time 'high'.

The page got 94 new visitors

There were 54 of you who came BACK :) (thankyou so, so much)

There were 157 page loads, which means that some of you read more than one page...and that means at least skimmed through a series of post. OH.

Everyone's time is valuable, and I sincerely appreciate whatever time you have/spent here. And yeah, do keep coming back.

Eve* aka Clit Chatting

May 28, 2007

Thinking sleep and blue balls

It's 11.09 pm, Monday night, and I am FORCING myself to get to bed...without music and the cellphone switched off. (You can see how much forcing, am sitting and blogging!)… I have not slept for three nights now, except for a brief passing out period last night for about three hours. And no, it was not sex. (Wry smile) Not even shagging I tell you. (Close to tears now, changes topic) AAAAAAARGH.
What do you think?! Just because a woman doesn’t get blue balls doesn’t mean…. !!!!! K

Ufffffffff. I am at times so pissed with myself -- this is still writing sex but what the heck, now the thought's there in my head -- that now, when without doing shit I have lost weight and am enjoying the way I look and from the looks around it looks as if others are enjoying my looks as well.... My fucking CONSCIENCE wakes up. Or whatever else you want to call it. :(

NO. It's not love I am looking for, not marriage, but even to have sex.... I NEED a kind of reassurance that I cannot spell out. I am not talking about 'how long will you last'. That reminds me... someone recently told me that he was skeptical about the sexual chemistry we might share because he (thought he) had read that one of my happiest bed-sessions had lasted for 7 hours non-stop. Erm, no! It was longer, but with, you know, the usual breathers, the water drinking, smoking, maybe talk a little, laugh some more… then get back to the rhythm and oohs. And please, neither have I ‘tried’ a whole lot of stuff that I know happens and can be done/had done to you. Am pretty much ‘normal’ in what I like, uhm… definitely acrobatic mind you (hahaha), but pretty much straight. But now, casual has just lost its charm. There has to be camaraderie, even if longevity does not figure in the discussions. And anyway I don’t see it happening with the men in this city. It hasn’t happened in the last ten years.

Hmm…. Still cant sleep. Now it’s 11.30, changed the music, currently this mad number called Power (by well, Porno) is playing. While the vocals are pretty average and could have been done without, the base track and this one bit they repeat… quite nice. My arse is hurting with sitting up against the wall on a very hard bed and the lappy on my pillow, which is on my lap. (too many details) So now I am trying to read my own writing to see if it puts me to sleep….

At least I am yawning. Hmmm… and some parts, I am repetitive. (Not nice at all) And, oh lawrd. I have done it. How typically, bloody woman of me. After all this talk and all these attempts, the first fucking chance and I gave in. And not once, I had a go at it twice. Despite saying that I won't. There, the internal woman shows through! Given one bloody chance to bitch and I went for it. Hmmm. Haha. :) Fucking good for me. :)

I 'got' personal, vis-a-vis people - two women - on the blog. Firstly, I had told myself I wouldn't ever bitch or get personal, as in not directly. Then I went ahead and did it and even announced here that it was "the first and last time" I was getting personal. And well, went and did it again in the very next post. See so far, hardly anyone can point to another person and say "You have been mentioned on the blog." Unless I have been tactless. And that would be no mistake or coincidence. So, say for example, if I speak of Could-Be-Trouble... at any given time, so many men I know fit that description that it would be hard to tell. (Phew!) And anyway I don't think 'that' circle and my ‘this’ world -- well at least to a large extent I hope! – don’t exactly mix. I am not read there. And thank god.

That apart, I am an arsehole, healthwise. Too much caffeine, too little food, too much dancing, too little sleep, too much stress, too little peace, too much Internet, too little real interactions (it's just Golu Dawg and me)... Hmmm. And I am giving up on some stuff. I realized, I really love my body. Not giving up cigarettes, not yet, will cut down on them though. Hmm. But I just noticed that I have not used the word 'never' when saying I would give up on stuff. Hmmm....

Am in a generally Hmmm-ing mood. Erm... does anyone feel that you would lose out on time if you sleep? :O I feel that ALL the time... But yes, that’s no excuse to not sleep. :( So am going to bed …and now someone calls ‘Tiesto Rules’ has messaged me on myspace so am publishing this and loggin off and going to bed. Hmmm.

May 27, 2007

Eve*, and then they said...

He said, “Oh my god, where is the rest of you?”
(Then: She of course will take up space for two.”)

She said, “You look so dried up.”
(Then: “Well, you have always looked well fed.”

He said, “Somalia returned?”
(Then: “You have a sweet tooth?”)

He said, “You used to be voluptuous.”
(Then: Love your bust size.)

He said, “Hahaha, you have no breasts now.”
(Then: “I like your breasts.”) L

She said, “You can be packed in a suitcase and taken.”
(Then: “How can you walk around with those two?”)

He wrote, “There is something deliciously man-handle-able about you.”
(Then: “A woman should have flesh.”)

HE said, “At least look healthy.”
(Then: “Kam khale golu.”)

She said, “Your arse is absolutely flat, na?”
(Then: “Her arse is so big it could balance a tray.”)

She said, “How sad, the glow from your skin is gone?”
(Then: Forever beaming, eh?”)

She said, “Arre, you used to be so nice and golu back then.”
(Then: “Earlier she was sexy and hot, now she is married and fat.”)

He said, “You know, you were ‘better’ when you were rounder.”
(Then: “Will you do a gym-wear shoot, without undergarments?”)

She said, “You should have seen her earlier, she was all curves.”
(Then: “Where is that chubby trouble?”)

She said, “Madam, your face skin has become looj.”
(Then: “Stop it now, don’t spread out so much.”)

I had always thought my face was ‘round’ till recently. It took me a while to figure out my facial angles on camera. Earlier – hahaha – I had to suck my cheeks in to ‘bring’ out my cheekbones. Women at the salon would refuse to give me an eyebrow arch saying arched brows would look out of place on an absolutely round face. My nose looked rounder too! And I had stubby fingers. And really jiggly arms. And my breasts! Oh god, no matter how much I tried, no cleavage looked classy. Even the tiniest inch glared. And the cellulite! They were little pick-me-up handles on my flanks. And buying jeans was a pain…according to the arse size the length would be longer and then a boot-cut wouldn’t remain a boot-cut because the boot, the cut and half the knee had to be chopped off to accommodate my height. I didn’t know my hip bones were fucking sexy. I didn’t know I HAD hip bones. They didn’t make string bikinis in my size. Bras had to have thick straps for support. And yet dancing was made difficult because no support yet has been built to prevent heavy boobs from jiggling.

So… it’s very weird. I am just constantly bewildered: What????!!! So when I look at myself in the mirror, it can take a little readjusting to see everything shrunk by four inches. But for all that everyone has to say about the "oh so cute chubby me", I don't really miss her. Now I can perhaps say "shut the fuck up"...then I took it. Yet, now i am dried up, anorexic, look bad, dont have boobs. WTF? It's my weight either way and I can carry it around. So why don't people stop talking out of their arses and just mind their own business, and weights?

May 26, 2007


Actually.... I am not feeling brave or confrontational or anything. But I definitely feel like two people. One who surfs the net, goes out to parties, does her shopping, listens to music, paints her nails, plays with her dog.... does EVERYTHING alone and she is secure and safe and not hurting and becoming increasingly self-sufficient.

And there is the girl/woman who does everything alone and sees proof of how aberrant she is to all that is 'normal' and 'usual' around her.

Go to Facebook... most couples have am-so-in-love pics, most women will have theirs and their boyfriend pic up in their profiles. Go shopping and you will see couples or pairs or people TOGETHER... him holding the bags or the kids and she checking each window.

Go to a club and you dont know what to do on slow numbers when everyone around you grabs their partners and does the I-am-getting-into-you baby dance. There you are, hopping away by yourself.

It's funny when you go to the bar to order a drink - Red Bull or water in my case - you are not visible (I am also just 5 feet, barely reach ANY bar's height!)... and while other women stand on the side and wait for their drinks prettily, there you are getting elbowed or jostled and not being seen, because, of course, free, independent, ball-breaking woman that you, you are alone and therefore will get your drinks yourself.

It's weird when you are dancing by yourself and suddenly find that there are four huge, weird men standing around you, looking at you in a way that tells you they are doing you in their minds. Or some guy intentionally rubs past you...just BECAUSE he knows you are alone. There isn't anyone picking up that fight for me. But HELL, if THAT is going to stop me.

I just want to fucking live my fucking life on my fucking terms. And. I Will.

Message to self = Won't.
Message to the piss-offers = Don't.

Let's talk balls baby

Sigh. I am 28. At times, I seriously feel that everyone is younger than I am. An entire generation that was in diapers just yesterday is now hip-hopping in boob tubes and chest-hugging tee shirts. And the men...boys...men...have GOOD bodies I tell you. Siiiiiiigh. I cannot even letch at a guy for fear that he would be WAY younger. And well, almost everyone is WAY younger.

They say that age doesn’t matter. Sure. It fucking matters when you get ‘looks’ from 24-year-old chicks. It sure gets funny when the moment you start talking to a guy, his girlfriend magically materializes within two seconds. And you are JUST talking to the guy. And dude, if you happen to bump into someone – say a guy and girl dancing together – while dancing and smile… you are done in. For the rest of the evening, the girl will give you looks that will make you doubt if you had merely smiled at the guy or had you perhaps fondled his crotch or something.

And what’s with women – smart, pretty, apparently with their own identities – declaring Who they are dating the moment they meet you? Or is it just me? "Hi, I am so-and-so and the guy you see there? He is my boyfriend.' Oh great, hope you put it up on wikipedia or something or how about wearing a He Is Mine tee shirt and putting your boyfriend's picture on it so that other chicks know WHO to avoid? The other night as well, sat down next to some girls and well, for some strange reason, one of them pointed out her boyfriend and her friend’s boyfriend as well. Erm… ??

Ladies, ladies. I am really not into ‘attached’ men. If they leave you and they interest me, sure, why not? But TILL any man is dating/married to/seeing Any woman, I won’t venture near. Even if say by any remote chance that man turns out to be my soul mate or something. I would leave him alone. Just don’t agree to the idea of taking another woman’s man, no matter how much of a bitch that woman is. But yes, if your guy happens to be an interesting PERSON – and piques my interest, well – I will talk, no matter how many daggers you send my way. You want to put embargoes on your guy, go ahead.

AND what’s with women bitching about you in stage whispers loud enough for you to hear? Really now. Think about it: If I am doing what I am doing, the way I am doing it, night after night, would I really bother about what you have to say? If I stay quiet, it’s out of a new-found respect for maintaining some basic level of politeness. I AM growing up, you know. So the Whispering Loudly Bitches always need another female to feel brave and bitch about you…Roll their eyes, look at each other with the oh-god-what-she’s-doing look and generally try and feel superior about themselves when they really have no reason to. Really.

Now think ladies – or this particular lady who has now tried to act smarter than her fucking pants on two different occasions where I had done nothing to her – you might need a friend to do your nasty-talk thing. I have been going solo and doing what I am doing for 9 years now and can QUITE stand up for myself. So baby girl, sweet possum, honey bun… if I decide to strip you of your dignity in public, I wouldn’t need any company. I am quite capable of raping your mind verbally, right then and there, just you and me. Everyone has insecurities, but it does not mean that you assuage your lack of confidence by saying nasty things about me.

People say one should not “let things bother” you and “let things slide” and not be vindictive. But tell me something, isn’t there a limit to everything? WHY should I – when I pay for my own taxi, my own cigarettes and my own drinks – let You get away with spoiling my evening? No. Because you are not worth it. And since you are not worth it, you will NOT say trash about me.
First, develop the balls or the ovaries or Fallopian tubes or whatever. WHY I am REALLY pissed is because these bitchy, fucking, pseudo women in the city will FIRST bitch about you, then suddenly come and hug you and go, “Oh what a nice ear ring”, “What a sexy top” etc. Cut the crap woman. Go clutch your boyfriend and get paranoid that he’d run away. I wont do a thing about your men or your friend circle you hold so dear… but are you so sure about your guy? Hah.

Post Scrap: Global Underground came down to India for the first time and brought ‘Mashtronic’ to the Ministry of Sound in Delhi. The night rockkkkked.

May 25, 2007

Tongue-In-Chick: Time for some Ex Mex

"I am going to die a virgin," declared Frustrated Friend, furiously stirring the fourth sachet of brown sugar into her pre-sweetened coffee. Under normal circumstances, one would have pointed out that she did not need the extra sugar. However, the circumstances were definitely not normal. My friend had just declared she was going to die a virgin. While her prophesised death did not bother me the fact that Frustrated Friend was NOT a virgin and was getting delusional about that-which-was-not-there, was a reason for concern.
Read Further: Time for some Ex Mex

May 23, 2007

Shakespeare's Sister

Hello, hello!

Did you'll notice the new CLIT CHATTING link in the Links section on the right-hand navigation panel? That is the feedback page to this blog... things people write in, pictures they make, thoughts that come to their heads, stuff they have read and relate to and share with me. Some of the things are plain funny, others are thoughtful, insightful and make me grateful that people take time out to share things like this.

Here is the first 'post' on the feedback page:

You must have read these words: Shakespeare's Sister

May 22, 2007

Answer folks = Boob or no boob?

Yes, Ladies and gentlemen,
What is the verdict?
Ladies = would you rather have obviously noticeable ones, fashionably manageable ones (there, but not in your face) or dont really care? (wonders if she really expects women to write in saying, "I want big boobs". Hah. Lets see)
Gentlemen = Hmm...i would hate to be stereotypical and NOT ask you guys!!! While I hope that none of you would WANT to have boobs...what say? Where does the preference swing = anatomically abundant ladies (aka booby), am-not-into-boobs-but-arse, i-really-dont-care or i-wish-she-were-bigger still?
so = is bigger better?

Oh well. Been there, was that.I would prefer I would go back to (grow back to?) what i was ... back then. :( (checks if they be still around...)

May 21, 2007

Reality, realisation, renaissance

A good night is when things happen just the way you would have planned them. Like the other night at Tabula Rasa where Jalebee Cartel burned the floor. And surprise of surprises, they would change track in between their set to play Becoming Insane (Infected Mushroom). Now that song’s been on my mind and on my myspace page for like a month so what are the chances that when am out one Thursday night, doing my usual dance-by-self, my current fav number should be played?! Yea baby, loved it all right. And THEN, the weekend was made fab by a surprise 30-minute spin by DJ Jayant at Baci on Friday night. It was also the night to see/hear an old friend get back to spinning tunes (and me) on the dance floor, Karan aka Balam DJ made a return…and I was hearing him after 5 years. Pluto days, don’t know how many Delhi people will remember that. Also heard DJ Steve (regulars at Soho)…hmmm… and the dude has a rather somber expression while playing. And does have a stern way of looking at you suddenly. Maine kya kiya? But anyway, with Becoming Insane and then Jayant doing his surprise thingy, had a musically satisfying week(end). Meanwhile, the mind was all this while on its usual self-analytical spin…

How many of you say or believe in "I don't care what people say about me?" There are more often than not times when I do say that and perhaps I can manage it too (not being bothered)… but there are times, when what people say to me, about me, gets to me. It's not as much WHAT they say that bothers me, but it's the WHY they said it. Hmm. Have been getting some pretty nasty, though-masked-in-sweetness stuff from fucking all over, and when I don't watch it, there are times it gets to me. And as I write my blog, some things are clearing themselves and others are getting further muddled, hopefully to clear out on some other occasion. Realisations about people and their possible motives; of course everything believed with the belief that I might just be paranoid. And these realizations are as much for me as much for those who read.

Realisation 1: People read. Even if it's two repeat visits by the same IP, people read; and while I don't know how much sense I make (to others), I will try and control the tyops. Typos I mean. :)

Realisation 2: When you are an open/candid person, people will analyse. Wrongly. And if you write openly, people don't just read what you write. They read between the lines. They READ you, i.e. Me. People analyse you and given half the chance, will tell you what is wrong with you. Interesting: Yes, please notice that whenever someone will have something to say about you, it is never a good thing. It's always about what you do wrong etc How people love to say things – HARSHLY analytical things, things that are meant to hurt and provoke and get a reaction out of you. They will say that, pretending to be friends, on your face, and will watch to see if it got to you. Umm, all those who have been coming up with interesting character analysis – please feel free to leave your feedback on the blog, with your names. Come out dahlings, come out and give me the crap you try to load on to me in person. And then I will analyse you. And I promise, I will do a fucking good job of it.

Realisation 3: People will ALWAYS project their weaknesses on to you. The moment someone tells you there is something WRONG with you, don't let it get to you. My first reaction when a negative feedback comes from a stranger is to bite their heads off. Yes, yes, I am a little porcupine. And when negative feedback comes from friends or 'pretend-friends'… it hurts. Somehow, I have realized, that when my friends (real ones) tell me something wrong or not-so-right about me, it does NOT hurt. Because you know what? Real friends and real well-wishers ALWAYS know how to put things across. It's the fucking fakes who pretend to be wishing you well and say nasty things to hurt you in the garb of good things. So you think that BECAUSE I write as much as I do, I don’t think about what I write? How about a different thought? How about thinking that perhaps I assimilate and process my thoughts faster than you, that maybe I write as much because I can think faster and write faster than you? And perhaps because I have things to say?

Realisation 4: You can never think too much. No matter who says what. Because the ones who say you think too much will never think for you. “You think too much Eve*, you should think less.”No thank you, my brain functions, things make me think and I want to write about them. It’s funny, the same people who say you “think too much” also declare that you “don’t think much before you write”. Decide baba, does Eve* think too much or too little.

Realisation 5: Everyone has rejection issues; if anyone tells you that it is only you, they are trying to mask their own rejection issues.“You have rejection issues and sadly, you might get rejected because of your rejection issues.” Yes, I have rejection issues – having two men who were VERY important to me repeatedly push me away, I do have rejection issues. I don’t want to be pushed away when I hug my man. I don’t want to be told that I am an 8.8/10 and the Ex is a 9.9/10. Or be told how you would behave differently around me IF you were in love with me. Enough, dude. Frankly, I don’t even know too many people who WANT to be rejected, so I am not much different. So perhaps I am more paranoid than most about rejection to the extent that if I feel even the SLIGHTEST chance that I might not be accepted for who/what/how I am will have me either getting defensive or hitching my skirt and running. What to do?!

Realisation 6: Feeling bad about yourself and crying are perfectly natural. And no matter how many times you are told that you should not feel bad about yourself or not to cry or not feel angry – do not listen to people. Cry: weep loudly, sit on the floor or sprawl and bawl your eyes out. Scream out, break things even. Do WHAT it takes to take the shit pain out of your system. Remember to get up and wash your face afterwards, blow your nose and put some eye drops or rose water if your eyes turn red (mine look as if I have smoked eight joints in a row). But please, FEEL your pain, your hurt, your loss, your whatever. It IS the first step. Trying to be strong all the time will get to you. It gets to me for sure. And I really want to sock people who go, “Weak people cry,” etc. NO. People who FEEL, hurt and therefore cry. There is a reason why when in shock or trauma, even medically, tears are supposed to be a release. Feel ANGER that someone has wronged you. Remember it and DON’T let it happen again. And next time someone tells you life is beautiful and rosy, give them one hard laat (kick) and tell them to fuck off. It’s better to know life can be fucked up and be prepared than get a nasty surprise.
And oh, for men, on crying: This might get me the kicks from you guys, BUT if a man cries as frequently as a woman, this woman gets seriously freaked out. I develop an identity crisis of sorts…because if He cries as much, who gives me the shoulder when I am crying? You are the man, so feel and cry, but don’t be me. Good things happen sporadically, enjoy them. And be prepared for the shit to hit the fan. It will.

Realisation 7: People never fight fair. If you are a friend, don’t stand in my way. Be there, so that if and when I do fall in the ditch you are there with a ready helping hand. I don’t understand friends who chain you to protect you. Similarly, friends who say mean things to “share their insight” with you are no friends. DON’T get into psychological war with me. Like this chick I know – and this is the first time I am getting personal on this blog and the last – who has been pretending to be a friend and doling out one funda after another about who I am and what I should be. I have heard you so far and it has bothered me – BECAUSE had you been a stranger, I would have laughed it off. But you pretended to be a friend. No more. No mind games and don’t cross my path. You are no match for me.
Meanwhile, all those pretending to be Good-Girls-With-secret-sex-lives, boys with dominating father issues, alcohol issues, past girlfriend issues – DO NOT analyse me. I have issues and I might be fucked up, but guess what? I KNOW that. And that is my strength. Which you will never have.

And no, I am NOT manic-depressive. But if I don’t make my imagined bipolarity work for me, I will change my name. :) Currently, I am hurting and confused (it’s all clearing up though), but maybe tomorrow, I will be fine. And no, by that I don’t mean Love. I want nothing to do with that word. Tell me you hate me. Hate me too. But please, please NEVER tell me you love me. You lie. And I cannot forgive lies.


May 21, horoscope: Taurus
You are one popular person today, and folks might try to pull you in several different directions at once -- it seems as though everyone needs your help! In order to avoid overextending yourself, make a schedule and stick to it. And don't let everyone know about the other people you're helping. Keep your alliances secret -- your choices might be misunderstood by folks who are prone to jealousy. They might not understand why they aren't always the center of your universe.

waaaaaaaaaah???? Who is getting jealous? Where? Arre, what secrets? There are no secrets. LIARS. :( waaaaaaaaaaaaaaanh. :D

May 17, 2007

On free-loading, manipulative women...

Ah. A good night of dancing is almost like a good orgasm. And then perhaps not, you can dance in public, you know. Two posts coming out, one relatively smaller while the other is loooong. Hmmm…. Funny thing is, I started writing the longer post first, and midway through it, was suddenly struck by some stuff so wrote out the second one, which you will read first.

Free-loaders and Delhi, there is a definite congenital connection there. And you don’t have to belong to the press to freeload off someone else… like I have often seen my brethren do… Order a bottle of wine when it’s a white-rum-only night, come with their entire families for a food review, take home a carton of cigarettes when a packet was offered, ASK for free gifts… My professional fraternity can at times make me cringe. I don’t know why I have this, this morbid fear of anything FREE. I do remember Dad saying, “Never accept anything free. Your papa can get you what you want.” In adult life it has translated into “I can get myself what I want.” Mom says that even as a kid, I had never, NEVER thrown a tantrum demanding things. Hmmm.

And I think THAT is my problem, that I don’t know how to freeload. Or “be” high maintenance. Or take a guy for a ride and make him pay. I just get embarrassed. Damn, maybe I should learn how to make men ‘pay’. I have seen women hang out with guys because, “I want to go to a certain place and the guy wants to take me out and pay for me…so why not? And so what if I don’t like him?”

So then she will go out with the guy and perhaps pretend to be interested while she would check out other people. Or network and leave the guy standing alone. Some of these chicks let the guys paw them. So you would see a very uninterested chick and this guy’s hands going around her waist etc. Or you will see the chick doing her groove-thing on the dance floor, checking out if others are checking her out, all this while there is the guy – obscure looking fellow him usually – will be trying to grind his crotch into her. She is least bothered and behaves as if its her pet dog trying to hump her leg. The dud of course thinks he is ‘dirty dancing’….

And sometimes, like right now, at 4.45 am, when am sitting waiting for the municipal water supply that has been missing for 12 days now… I miss Him. So much. I am ashamed of myself for missing Him. Because apparently ‘emancipated’ me is not supposed to miss him. He has done ugly things to me. I have done nasty things to him, but he has done uglier things. And yet… while I remember only the bad things about other relationships…and despite Him being the HARDEST bastard I have ever dated… I SO miss Him. And I just CANNOT delve on the bad things…I remember the fun things, silly things, adventurous things, trippy things… despite the fact that he did me in. Nearly. And yet I miss Him, not sex, not anything else, just Him. Like when I notice these weird things happening at parties and dos… I miss him. Because I would have noticed all happening around while doing our own thing on the dance floor, and would have poked Him to point it out and spoilt His trip. In a good mood, He would nod indulgently and go right back to grooving. On bad days, which was usually, he would growl and scowl at me. Ha ha. And I would be thrilled – baby, I got your attention na! But then, you never did see that, did you? Maybe because I used to be fat then.

Anyway, coming back… so these women hang with guys to pay for their night outs. I find these chicks strange and formidable. Yes, formidable. Because though I might sound judgmental here, I am not trying to be. Because honestly, I marvel at these women and their kind of bravado that makes them such good cock teases. Yes, I don’t think the Crotch Grinding Guys get laid. They just pay for the girls and the girls go home (are dropped back usually). The girls are getting smarter, you know. So I marvel at how these women can tolerate these duds. I would rather call a cab, pay for my drinks, smoke my own cigarettes — (unless the god-darned bar stacks ONLY ultra-milds, like Ministry of Sound, Delhi; that place sucks) — than suffer the company of these men.

Also, not all guy-girl associations are like this. Friends pay for each other too. And then are cases like me, who, because of their paranoia, just cannot let anyone (say a guy friend am hanging out with) pay for me. So when a well-meaning guy friend does it too often – and I cannot stop him because I KNOW he is just being nice and not trying to take me to bed or something – I begin avoiding that friend. Somehow, the moment my guy friends behave sweetly with me, I get scared and run away or push them away. Or I ensure that I never go “to” a party with my guy friends… I will meet a thousand people at a place, but wont go as anyone’s date. I am no one’s date, thank-you. Well, honestly… I am just TOO chicken about getting into any complications right now.

MAN! How things change… five years back, the world (and men) were a happier place and people because I sought out ‘complications’ to divert my mind from my woes. Yeah, I thoroughly enjoyed getting into ‘complications’… “Hint, hint!” Hah, I could easily write the word instead of ‘complications” but currently, I am feeling bitchy and am masquerading as another good-girl-cannot-decide-if-she-wants-to-fuck-or-what blogger who INSISTS that I need writing workshops. Yawn.

Now I look around, and blog and dance by myself and get REALLY irritated if someone interferes between me and the music when on the dance floor. No complications needed and please do not disturb while crazy-dancing…. Except if it is Could-Be-Trouble.I don’t lust for him, honest to god, I don’t! But… but HELL, I am SO aware of him that I have no other words to describe the feeling, the SENSE of him except for… I am SO aware of him. I think of him at least once everyday, or maybe it’s alternate days. Not in any particular way, just think of him. And before, ass that I am, I get descriptive about him and declare to the world who he is… I shall shut up.

I am getting bloody fond of Could Be Trouble, which is funny, given that I hardly know him. Or hardly meet him. And I am weirdly possessive about this absolute strange feeling that I have, because I know nothing is ever going to happen. Not even just taking off together for a day or two, trippy music and both of us, shooting pictures maybe. His vision and mine. Impossible, uh uh, not happening. Because he is, well.. I just hope she does NOT sing. That will break my heart.
And I just realized, as I am writing this, that I have spoken about two men in less than 15 minutes (it is now 5.10am). Hmmm. Wow! At least I am not mooning over ONE guy, that is always bad news. Hmm.
But what if there was a toss…who would I choose? The Unknown or the Untouchable?
PS: Laughs at herself and says, you really need to look up the meaning of ‘complications’.

Could I be... manic depressive?

What if you were suddenly told that what you do...who you think you are...could all blow up in your face? Because WHO you are is ... a figment of your stressd out brain. Bipolarity apparently leads to creativity.... is that why I am writing so much? It might not be award winning writing, but people ARe reading.... BUT.....is it me or is it a fucking disease?

Signs and symptoms of the depressive phase of bipolar disorder include (but in no way are limited to):
persistent feelings of sadness, anxiety, guilt, anger, isolation and/or hopelessness

disturbances in sleep = I do 2-4 hours every night...
and appetite = lost 27 kgs in a year and a half
loss of interest in usually enjoyed activities (i DONT cook or bake anymore, and it was sustenance),
problems concentrating, loneliness, apathy or indifference, depersonalization,
loss of interest in sexual activity,
social anxiety (i AVOID people),
irritability (OH GOD),
chronic pain (with or without a known cause --- MY BACK PAIN),
lack of motivation (OH GOD. I GET BORED LIKE ...THAT with anything),
and morbid/suicidal ideation: OH GOD. Read my posts... not suicidal but the reference to death.

i am very very scared now.

People having a manic episode of mood can be elated, euphoric, irritated and/or suspicious. There will be an increase in physical and mental rate and quality. Increased energy and over-activity is common; speech can become racing. The need for sleep is reduced. Attention span is low and easily distracted. Unrealistic, grandiose or over optimistic ideas may be voiced or attempted (This entire thing that i have decided...the blog, the writing, the dogs, the beaten up women).
Social skills are impaired, and impractical ideas may lead to financial and relationship indiscretions (oh well, nothing lasts).

i am FREAKING out here people....SERIOUSLY freaking out. Am I writing so much because i am a manic depressive? Is the so-called creativity a product of a,... crazed brain? Oh god. I am basing a whole lot on WHAT i can do... IS IT ALL FUCKING IMAGINED????

...less of the symptoms of mania than those in a full-blown manic episode. This is often a very 'artistic' state of the disorder, where there is a flight of ideas, extremely clever thinking, and an increase in energy. DOES THAT MEAN THAT ONE DAY I MIGHT JUST STOP WRITING...BECAUSE...THERE WONT BE ANYTHING?

Mixed state (psychiatry)
In the context of bipolar disorder, a mixed state is a condition during which symptoms of mania and clinical depression occur simultaneously (for example, agitation, anxiety, aggressiveness or belligerence, confusion, fatigue, impulsiveness, insomnia, irritability, morbid and/or suicidal ideation, panic, paranoia, persecutory delusions, pressured speech, racing thoughts, restlessness, and rage).[6]
Mixed episodes can be the most volatile of the bipolar states, as moods can easily and quickly be triggered or shifted. Suicide attempts, substance abuse, and self-mutilation may occur during this state.

Hmm...so if this cannot be controlled...basically means that no matter what you (meaning, I) do, you will keep fucking up. Shit. Shit. Shit. Called my dad, asked him if we had a family history. He says no.... BUT... were they looking for it? ...
Well... i guess i might as well write for as long as i can..or i dont know. many typos in this...i loggin in to write the post i wrote last night... at 4am in the morning. NOW...i dont know.... am i writing out my madness before people?

May 16, 2007

Sex chatting, virtual reality and feedback

Hmmm. First up, thankyou all for those who take the pains to leave comments and write back. Now a lot of feedback does not figure on the blog because it is coming in my inbox. While the personal touch is darned sweet, some "feedback" is expressedly with the intention of making me "chat". I do not have MSN or Yahoo and am not adding that myspace instant messenger thing. IF at all there is a need to chat -- seriously, after the copious amounts I am writing, you STILL want to chat with me?! -- there is a chat tool on the blog, do leave comments there. If we happen to be online simultaneously and both are free, we shall chat.

AGAIN for those who think that chatting might be you asking me "what are you wearing" or "do you like sex chat" etc etc.... Erm, No. Thinking of some words written in a blue box or whatever coloured IM box and calling it "Sex" does not work for me. There are some things that work for me virtually and some things that just dont. Sex HAS to be real dahlings, not the now-I-am-squeezing-your-boob thing. When you write that you are squeezing my boob, my boob is right where it is and HAS not been squeezed, so I really don't see why I need to indulge in cyber.
I will always remember this friend of mine sex-chattin-up some woman... and she is typing away to glory about what she is doing to his dick and where her tongue is going and all that ...meanwhile, my friend is going through his daily collection report, answering his boss on the phone and typing out his latest presentation ALL the while writing to this girl saying, "Oh, oh, oh, my god, I am cumming over my keyboard."

And I was sitting there and he was not and I just found it TOO funny. Imagine, while she was writing she was suckin him off, she might just have been changing her baby's diapers.
Anyway. So I have been getting feedback in my mail, and not ALL of it pertains to wanting to sex-chat or as many, VERY smartly say, clit-chat me. Would want to share some of the feedback with you -- cant decide whether to do it here or open something separately just for feedback.

Cunt born!!!huh...so are you, so is every one else. There are good men eve, Why so much anger against men??? Unsatisfied life or unfulfilled dreams result in anger. Where do you fit in?....P.S life is beautiful. — Dave, myspace

Er…I am NOT cunt born…. I am a caesarian. About there being good men, the post says so. If this is an attempt to get me to write back…YAWN. And I say if this is an attempt because you sent me mails earlier asking about what I do and all that. Dude, if you want to get to know me better READ me. Shrug.

Somewhere other than the night, she needs to hear, 'I love you.' Somewhere other than the night, she needs to know you care. she wants to know she's needed, she needs to be held tight. Somewhere other than the night." Garth Brooks
from Gopal, myspace = Thanks! J

May 15, 2007

All women are Jews

"Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine". The most iconic opening line ever... says Whitelight in response to the previous post.

Funny that Jesus should be mentioned, am currently reading Philip Roth's "Portnoy's Complaint" and this is what he has to say:

"They worship a Jew, do you know that Alex? Their whole big-deal religion is based on worshipping someone who was an established Jew at that time. Now how do you like that for stupidity? How do you like that for pulling the wool over the eyes of the public? Jesus Christ, who they go around telling everybody was God, was actually a Jew! And this fact, that absolutely kills me when I have to think about it, nobody else pays attention to. That he was a Jew, like you and me, and that they took a Jew and turned him into some kind of God after he is already dead, and then -- and this is what can make you absolutely crazy -- then the dirty bastards turn around afterwards, and who is the first one on their list to persecute? who haven't they left their hands off of to murder and to hate for two thousand years? The Jews! who gave them their beloved Jesus to begin with!"

I swear.... all women, regardless of where they are, are Jews. In West Bengal, they take the mud from a prostitute's compound to make the idols (some of the mud is mixed) of Goddess Durga. A whore and a goddess. They worship Kaali for strength and sacrifice new born girls. They call a cow a "mother" and then beat their own mothers. They are born out of vaginas and they call it a cunt. Yes, you cunt born, feels nice, doesn't it?

AGAIN, I repeat, when I talk of men, I do NOT generalise. There are nasty bastards around and a few good men. Request the Few Good Men to NOT be offended. Thanks to you, some women like me - crazy or whatever I might be - can write. And yet, thanks to the C**t Born, all men get labelled bastards. Shrug. Deified, vilified, loved, abused, murdered, sluttified, bitchified....sounds like a Jew and every other minority out there. Funny, no women, no world and they are a minority. Yup, all women are Jews.

May 14, 2007

Lazy me, crazy me

The problem with being in love...especially if it's a new kinda feeling... is that you keep imagining something is going wrong. Or has gone wrong. Or will go wrong. Or maybe it's just pessimistic me. Uffff.

Ah. Then there is writer's block and there is a blocked writer. Feedback is like a one-way street, once you start getting it and listening to it...you will either carry on doing as is or stop to consider. As far as I am concerned, feedback is confusing me. Everyone - wellwishers and those who wish me in a well - have something to say about what I write and even how I write. From "Why do you always write on relationships" to suggestions to NOT write as and when thoughts strike me but wait it out till the next day, people have come up with all sorts of suggestions. Result? A very confused me. In any case there are a thousand thoughts in the head and to top that if people start telling me what to do... Well...I cannot write.

So I have decided, TILL the time someone does not decide to publish me - Hahahahaha - I am not listening to feedback. I will write as and how and whatever, and well, those who dont want to read it.... Dont. :) It's so easy. This IS my space. Consequently, here is ALL that has been going on in my head... make what you guys want to make of it....ALL sorts of thoughts...ALL over the place... Sigh. Cant get a grip on a single thought....

Thankfully though, as far as people are concerned, my ENTIRE focus is on ONE guy. Yes my dearies, this Clit is currently mentally engaged, very engaged. There are knocks, persistent ones on the heart - he is forever and everyday doing something or the other rather adorable!!! - but Eve* is scared. And it's a funny kinda feeling....nice even.

Oh oh oh oh... here is my current state of mind. Three different posts, none completed or not the way I was originally planning. So I stopped planning and stopped exactly where the thinking got painful... so kinda disjointed thoughts, though i think (think!) they make sense. (erm) Brickbats welcome, dont expect me to react to them though. Irritate me, eh! :D
Inconclusively Yours,
C.C aka Eve* aka "OO"

12th May 2007: Post 1
Consciousness, awareness, education are perhaps the most underrated players in the Fucking Up of the Human race. The moment of awareness or awakening might as well be the beginning of the end and other similar cliches. As long as you walk around unaware, incognizant of what's around you, you will be absolutely fine - the You, being the collective of your ego, conscience and subsconcious. The moment you open your eyes and your mind, consciousness begins to make itself felt. As long as you are unaware, you can live in your idyllic coccoon and feel protected, safe and maybe even laugh at those who mope around you.
"Why do you cry?" you say, "The world is beautiful and whatever bad is there, is there for others. Here! Have an icecream and come let's chill together."
And then, one fine or not so fine day, you (suddenly) realise that everything is really not that beautiful. You become Conscious: of inadequacies in you, the incompetency of the other and the general lackadaisacalness of life around you. And the moment you are conscious, Happiness and staying aloof become a laboured attempt.

Like you realise you could just be another "has been" or "was" in a matter of minutes. A heart attack at 30. A sudden choking. Car accident at 24. You become Aware that Life will always have the upper hand over you. No matter how much you plan and decide and chalk out; it could all go kaput in a matter of seconds. And you feel scared. Consciousness and cognizance bring vulnerability with them.

And awareness by itself is a double-edged rapier. For awareness comes with responsiblity as an attachment. And that's always a pain in the arse. Once you become aware, sitting on your arse becomes a constant pain. And for those who don't feel the responsibility, perhaps you aren't aware yet. And it's not just awareness about the latest headlines in the papers, or the problems of the world (which are unique for every, single individual and consequently there are a hell of a lot of problems) or what George Bush or the latest political darling, Mayawati, are up to.

Awareness could also be about yourself. Maybe you finally are aware that you cannot be loved. That it is so, so tough for people to love you for WHAT you are that you would perhaps be blogging for the rest of your life as those who read your first read it alone, then with their partners, and then if you are still around and blogging, will pass on the link to their children and say, "See, this is what happens when you cannot be loved: you blog the same thing since 2007."
Maybe you become aware that you are the weakest link. And that you don't know what to do. That no matter how much you try, there's always someone smarter than you out there. And let's not even talk about beautiful women. I have realised - become aware - that men will do ANYTHING for a beautiful woman. And well, I am pretty, pretty attractive, but I am under no delusions of being "beautiful". Therefore, no hopes of having some guy going crazy moving the world for me. Nah. And if, IF at all, there is someone for whom perhaps I might be very 'beautiful'...well, I have not met him yet. My earlier boyfriend's mother constantly told me how much her son loved the PREVIOUS girlfriend because she was very beautiful. And she looked at me rather pitifully. Well, THAT girl was ALSO a schizo. Hmmm. But such things stay...no matter how confident you are, some barbs...they haunt. Anyway... You see, at least till the time you are not aware of all this, you can at least HOPE to be loved...
And education? Well,the more educated you are, the more you will be underpaid. Or so is the case with me. Thankgod I did not go in for a post-grad.

12th May 2007: Post 2: All over-the-fucking-place
At times, there is just SO much love to give and to share and to lavish upon... that it all starts bottling up inside and begins to push, push, push...push the organs down through my body, begins to squeeze the heart within the rib cage and threatens to flood the lungs with its own fluid. And then at times I wish I could just puke it all out so that there won't be anything more to feel.

Much as I try today, to control my thoughts and string then together into one sentence and eventually a paragraph, I cannot as my mind refuses to be tamed by my pen today. It's all over the place. Under normal circumstances, I would not write. But I need to write...as neither the circumstances nor me, are normal. And since the mind is all over the place, so is the post. Possible excuse for a bad, disjointed post? Perhaps. Shrug. Sue me, hang me, whatever!

"Why do you use so much 'fuck' in what you write? I read 8 posts and found 18 fuck references in it. Any explaination?" Erm, yes... you read 8 posts...to find fucks? Hah. But did you get the fucking point? The word does a fucking good job in helping me put my point across. It helps cut through the fucking chase and get to the point. Now I coudl say the word does a "bloody"good job for instance, but it's not the same thing as a "fucking good job". Like when someone really pisses you off, nothing, no reprimand works as well as a "Fuck You" or a "Fuck Off". Of course it IS rude. But then, why would you want to be polite when you are asking someone to Fuck Off?

12th May 2007: Post 3: "Wake me up before I change again", Infected Mushroom
"I think you are impulsive and impermanent." But what if I love you?
Repulsive: "Your pirate laugh is ugly."
garrulous: "Dont talk in class, go and stand outside!"
deathly silence: "Are you alright? Why are you so silent today? It's not normal. Are you alright?"
constant thoughts: "Will anyone miss me if I die? How long will they miss me?"
networking: if i vanish, who will run my communities on Orkut?
And Golu Dawg?!
kadhai chicken and soggy rice
Cold Coffee and mango squash
Club Pasha, Ministry of Sound Dance Nation 2006
my Prince
Georgie porgy pudding and pie
jhoom barabar jhoom sharabi
Classic Milds and Sriniwaspuri
Portnoy's Complaint in High Fidelity
Rads: you are ugly inside, ugly like me
The Last Song Of Dusk
DJ.....I LOVE you
Motor Mouth :)
"There is no shame in asking your parents for money, no ego." : Mamma.
"Don't forget, I am STILL your father." : Papa
"Why are you SO stupid, woman?: Bro
"Your intentions are right, but between your intentions and output, something happens." : Boss
no life, faff style
murder in Kolkata
Accident at Mica
Arrest in new delhi
heart attack, crushed to death, over dose
Adopt A Stray
"He rapes me every night when my daughter is away...anally": Maid, age, 50 years.

"Isko to khade khade chuswana chahiye" - Senior colleague ... LITERAL translation: "She should be made to stand and suck". You, BASTARD.

Post scrap: Over.

May 11, 2007

Cheeky Tongue: I am fat, I am happy...?

It was a usual evening after work; one was sitting with mixer-blended cold coffee and surfing the web to see what people were up to on cyberspace. As one read through agony aunt columns – the kind of things people come up with can give one quite a complex, sometimes inferior, sometimes superior, and things to write about as well! – a particular query stood out. A woman reader from Canada had asked: Do husbands like untoned-body wife?
Read further...
I am fat, I am happy?

And now, there's Bosedk....

"Is it better to write good stuff once in a while or not write at all or write trash all the time? And if you don't write, is it possible to forget how to write?"
"Ummm... since you cannot write good stuff all the time, you might as well write the trash...just don't blog it! :) So write the trash to keep yourself writing and when you come up with the good stuff, show it to the world."

And so the words flowed...and hopefully will do so unabated.
An excerpt from a friend's blog, who should be read:

I can feel an alliteration arrested near an artery. An idiom idling in my adam's apple. And if I hold my breath, I can hear my heart steadily thumping out an SOS. "WRITE" it says. "Write for your life".
What else is a writer's worth but a few well chosen words strung together with a string of logic to keep them from falling off? If that be the truth, and currency the measure, I would have to declare myself bankrupt.
And so, like a person who's just seen his cholesterol test report, I step out gingerly to jog my self back to a more acceptable shape. As a wordsmith.

May 9, 2007

May 8, 2007

I am a product of You

I am a product of you.
Amoral, illegal, me

The zygote of hard-working parents
The dreams, dreamt within social constraints
The first steps taken in infancy
Pronouncing the A, B, C and D of Democracy.

I am a product of you.
Stubborn, sinful, me

A lifetime of arousals awakened in adolescence
The understanding of ‘acceptance’ in its teen essence
My hymen sold to your conquest, not in a moment of passion,
It was just to wash my virginity, the sacred loss often in a ridiculous fashion.

I am a product of you.
The Greatest Slut Born

Who’s not a slut but actually a bitch,
And you don’t get laid when you bitch the bitch
I am the whore who’ll bed your friend, your sister, your father,
But never you: that’s just not part of the barter.

I am a product of you.
Over-sexed, wanton me
And even my sex is now a disease,
For I don’t know if it’s you or me, who I please.

May 2, 2007

Multiple orgasms, anyone?

Can all women have multiple orgasms? Yes.
Do all women have multiple orgasms? No.
Do you need a man for multiple orgasms? Preferably, not mandatory.
How much time does it take to reach MOs? 2 minutes to 25 minutes to whatever it takes to get you off…

I have not asked a doctor or an expert or anyone else about multiple orgasms, and the reason why am thinking multiples is because I was asked to. And no, I won’t do a lot of things that you’d ask me to, unless I am sure I’d enjoy those as well. So speaking of multiple orgasms, personal experience says they are of two kinds (so far and there are miles to go before I sleep…) : the Long ‘n’ Cumming and the Supernova.

The Long ‘n’ Cumming is when the two of you have been at it for a while and you (read the woman) have been primed for sometime. This usually starts off as little whimperoos and goes on to become a screamer or a jaw-clencher, depending whether you are the silent-in-bed-type or otherwise.

Now the Supernova is the one I dig: where passion in your head plays as much part as what’s happening physically. This is when a woman is completely INTO her man. When you don’t need foreplay. When you are ready at the touch of a finger tip on your shoulder, when it does not matter that there are guests in the drawing room or kids getting late for school. When everything is familiar and that familiarity creates such a gnawing hunger in you that you grab the other, turn them around, pick them or bend them over…and as you both know what the other needs, you get off quickly. And the getting off does not stop at that – it builds on its own, in a groin-clenching, gut-riding, thigh-quivering crescendo that is the Supernova : it explodes into million little tingling sensations all over your body. WOOF!

The Supernova can also happen with absolute strangers, where nothing explains anything but for the fact that you know you have GOT to. Drunken one-night stands are not to be confused, ladies: due to the sheer fact that the alcohol will keep him going for a while (or prevent him coming!), you might just get default MOs. So don’t think it’s him! Men without alcohol are truly different creatures. Ha, ha.

That apart, the best way to guarantee a Supernova? Your own head and self-help. See technically, there’s nothing a dick can do that 10 fingers cannot do as well. And that’s the sad truth: self-help guarantees MOs; but sooner or later, you start missing the bloody man. Or men.
Post Scrap: But till then, apna hath, jagannath. Saari ungliyan bhi.