Dear Santa,
I have been a really good girl this year. No kidding.
I know I know… my vocabulary has gone down the tubes. Swearing comes much easier now than it ever did. But apart from the odd invective and cuss word laden sentence or two, I’ve led a model existence.
I’ve done nothing even remotely exciting for most of the last 6 months, I barely even drink anymore (the QBA weekend being a regrettable incident). And its not like I ever smoked (much) or smoked up (at all). I’m terribly sedate and boring (i.e. deserving of generosity).
Yes, I haven’t been as bookwormish as the course demands. But some things tend to take a back seat when you attempt to give direction to the meaningless lives of roughly 90 odd people.
All I want for Christmas…I want an i-pod (not particularly subtle am I?). In the event that the said device cannot be delivered to me, I’ll settle for world peace.
(I’m a shade more partial to the i-pod)
**
I received an e-mail from Raquelle yesterday. It was so beautiful I was tempted to reproduce it in its entirety right here. First, it was long and detailed to a fault. Its hard not to fall in love with someone who puts that much effort into a letter. Second, it was hilarious in a self deprecating sort of way, by far my favourite brand of humour. And last, it kicked off with a compliment for me, always a good idea.
**
Poogalicious PPP,
Yes, I know you wrote to me as well. No, I did not appreciate it any less than Raquelle’s epistle. Yes, I have taken your advice and gone public with one of my portfolio pictures (with excellent results: rave reviews on g-talk. Face book to follow suit). No, I have not killed myself yet and have no intention to either. Yes, you surmised correctly, I am just rationalising. No, my optimism is still alive and kicking (also being kicked once in a while). Yes, no, maybe so. Same difference.
All I know for certain is that you were wrong and I was right or the other way around… can’t say for sure. We can always settle this once you get back.
Arguing for the sake of arguing is fun, even when you aren’t here.
P.S. on Sunday, I slapped a man. And he slapped me right back. Don’t be alarmed, I have an amazing feminist take on it.
**
But I decided against my copy paste idea. I realised that part of why the letter made for a brilliant read was because I could imagine her sitting in front of me, narrating its contents in a way that is so characteristic of her… how she’d speak with breathless spurts, wiggling her little fingers, looking at me seductively/comically above the rim of her glasses and on becoming particularly contemplative, twirling a lock of extra curly mallu hair. All this garnished with the shrillest possible laugh, followed closely by several stages of embarrassment, mouth covering, apologizing and fortunately lots more laughing.
**
Bachan (Kuwindar),
You called yesterday and it made my day. It damn near made my week and month as well. How can I ever return the favour? Ah yes, Limca and Cadbury chocolate…
After some tedious calculations I have concluded that if I set aside a little money every month I should be able to save enough for a one-way ticket to Canada by somewhere around 2016. At which point of time penury will force me to finally accept the marriage proposal. What to say yaar… your twin green cards are way too tempting. That and the prospect of a lifetime of watching Hindi movies and subjecting them to extended critical analysis.
Fikar mat kar, I am fair, homely Punjabi girl (5’3”) of respectable family. Will provide sufficient dowry as well (No prizes for guessing… more Limca and Cadbury chocolate)
Do call again, on whichever of the two Monday’s that is convenient for you.
**
The rest of the world (or the few people who read this blog) would not see that. They’d see a bunch of words on a fairly bland black page (I really ought to do something about the layout, spice things up around here). The prose was exquisite, but its funny how the same set of words can speak so differently to different people.
**
KorahKorah,
Who knew a compliment-less existence could be so tedious. Is it the same for you? No one appreciates us. Well, at least not quite as efficiently as we appreciate each other.
We would have made a nice pair… admiring each others’ respective virtues till well into geriatry. Never a dull moment. And to think we had the chance and never capitalised on it.
Curses…
**
That made me wonder what those who read this blog would think. Do I sound smarter than I really am, calmer, more composed? Or sillier, peculiar and nebulous…
For those who know me or knew me once or know or knew one of the several mes (complicated sentence!), is mine the first face that would spring to mind when they read blimblop? And for those who don’t, what do they think of me, or rather, this version of me?
**
To the Earl of Pearls/ Duke of Puke
All in good time… all of this will add up to something. Something good. All the constant travelling around the badlands of a god forsaken “territory” peddling your wares. Hoping the numbers add up so as to please the powers that be.
There must be some meaning to the madnss.
*madness
If there weren’t, it wouldn’t be happening.
**
And what of those who love and adore me? the ones I love and adore if for no better reason than… well… their love and adoration. Those who’ve known me… at my highest of highs (alcohol induced and otherwise) and lowest of lows. Those who have put up with me? Who’ve seen the nice me, the not so nice me, sad, happy, indifferent, sleepy, nagging, farting, scratching. The pretty me, ugly me. Is the me of blimblop fame, reconcilable with all the others?
**
Pai,
What can I say that hasn’t already been said… that hasn’t already been written… that hasn’t already gotten a laugh out of you. Bolo… bolo bolo
Promise me you’ll always laugh at my jokes, right on cue.
And…
Ponnie,
You’d think life would stop being uncooperative and just figure itself the hell out. This is really turning out to be way too inconvenient.
Do write that graphic novel of yours, become a great big celebrity, so that we can all live off you shamelessly as you had so nobly aspired to live off us. For my part, I’ll try my best to take over the corporate world. Won’t guarantee much on that front. Have taken a sudden and vehement dislike for business suits.
Further…
Jos!!!!!
You have been in delhi all of 24 hours and still not established contact. Puhleeez… Shut Up!! Are you serious???? I will never ever ever ever under any conceivable circumstances speak with you again! Unless of course you do end up calling, in which case let’s meet at Big Chill and try to work out a compromise formula (ha ha.. eeeeiizzz)
I have so so very much to say… and it’s not even funny. While certain prospects have died a natural death there has been a resurgence of the IIM-A men. I have plenty of ammunition to make you writhe and squirm and squeel. Do lets meet.
**
and I wonder if the people with whom we spend so much time will forget what we’re like unless we keep meeting them and calling them or writing to them. What instance in your acquaintance defines the image of you that they will carry with them when a more reliable reminder is hard to find? A shared joke, a deep, dark confession, a fight, unpleasant words. A song, a giggle, a poem, a piece of advice. An idea, a comfortable silence?
**
Mathu,
Can we urge the government to re-engage your father with R.A.W., retirement notwithstanding? And move ya’ll back into the beautiful house on Tughlak Lane. So that we can decorate Christmas trees in perpetuity. Show up with our grubby selves and pretend to be of some use, while secretly eyeing the martinis and steaming hot appams. Then we’ll invite Jatty to do his stellar Rajnikant impression and laugh till our tummies ache…and then laugh some more.
Can we not grow up for just a little while longer? Have another one of those “I don’t quite know where life is going and what I’m going to do with it” conversations without actually having to worry where life is going and what we’re going to do with it.
I’m sure you can do something about it. You’ve got connections, haven't you?
**
Merry Christmas to all… and to all a good night.
Best,
Me.
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