I hate that chick!

If there is one thing I can't stand, its hypocrisy. There is a certain missy I know who knows nothing but being hypocritical. Its like this: I love flirting with men but for the world I am this innocent-little-girl who can not be not loved. Flirts her way through things. Flirts to get compliments, flirts to get information, flirts to put up a very fake image of herself and flirts with a certain guy and his friend as well. If you want to flirt, be the slut. Don't flirt circuitously. I don't mind sluts but I really have a problem with chicks who would bleed to flirt yet pretend like there is no innocence beyond them.

Argh. Get away. To me, you still are the flirt. The flirt who leaves none. Lady, please flirt. Flirt. Flirt. Flirt. But don't act like you are six and I am teaching you things. And you are NOT cute. You are just dirty. And hollow. Save your mushy talks for a rainy day when it's raining men!

All did Harper's Bazaar.

STUPID ME. STUPID STUPID ME!

This moment. I have to record this moment as one of the most awfully embarrassing moments in my life. At the cost of sounding extremely dramatic, I repeat- it was MORTIFYING. I had kept my magazine (one of those glossy fashion ones, you know) on my dinner table before I went out and forgot to get it back!Again: Stupid ME! When I got back, I saw my grandmother (who is willingly orthodox and happily conservative in terms of a typical iyer mami) flipping through the pages of the magazine. It was still fine when she exclaimed with raised eyebrows “3750 chappals-ka?”; “1500 lipstick-ku?” and “enna dress pottundrukka indha ponnu?” But the embarrassment was to its peak when she saw the caption “Dresses to Seduce Your Man”(!) with the elaborate details in pictures and illustrations. I expected her to react with a big scream saying “Krithi! Nee ipdi patta ponnu-nu nan ninakala” or “Enna di aachhu unakku?” and prepared a big speech to justify it in lines of “Illa Ajji, Nan andha pakkam-ellam padikka maaten” or “Ayyo! Andha book ennoda friends-odadhu!”. But much to my tough luck, my grandmom chose the sentimental-attack-path and said “Enna ma, enakku theriyum nee Bangalore-la periya padippu padikara… aana naan idha edhirpakala. Namma tamil kalacharam paarthu nadandhukko. Avalvu dhan solradhukku irukku.” With those words, she walked away to the kitchen with a completely disappointed I-cant-believe-my-krithi-has-turned-into-this-big-city-chick-or-monster look.

And the entire incident had only one effect on me. I ate one dosa less to show my grandmom I really regretted the incident. :( :(

Listening in.

While I was at Hotel Kamat (Colaba Causeway, Mumbai) for an early dinner, I heard a girl say “You want to try dosa? Dosa is what the South of India eats and that’s the only thing they ever eat. It is a pancake sort of thing that is made of oil and rice batter.” Apparently she got them there to show them the different Indian cuisines. She, I am presuming, has got her two American friends home for the holiday and when she said this, I was about to get up and clarify a few things but chose not to. It is stupid to try and wake people who are acting asleep, isn’t it? This is exactly why I got back to my cheese dosa promptly without letting a whole, what I wouldn’t have intended to do, argument happen. Instead, thinking about a hundred varieties I can name of our cuisine, I softly thanked all heavens for not letting so many of Mami’s (whether she is an Iyer or a Chettiar) recipes crawl into these menu-ed kitchens.

P.S: This was not to offend anyone if at all it is capable of any such understanding!

P.P.S. Try and eat like there is no south or north. It feels a lot better.

Observation.

On the first day of work, I wore a full-sleeved ruby-red formal shirt with black trousers hoping to escape the monotonous black-n-white combination. But my boss, who happens to be the daughter of her boss, brushed me down. Apparently the vision-safe hue of red with ironed black trousers, to quote her, pissed her off. Fine. I have been dressing in whites, blacks, grays and sober blues since then. Today, being the fifth day (and not a Saturday when we can dress in, to quote her again, smart casuals), I see her dressed in cotton-candy-pink patiala suit with embroidered work in purple and yellow all over. Boss, are you amnesic? Or do you belong to a school of thought that prescribes non-uniformity in application of rules? Or may be, this is what they call humour in uniform, literally!

(giggles and gets back to the Securities Contract (Regulation) Act like nothing pink or red happened!)

Pshaw!

I don’t know what’s going on but I clearly don’t deserve this. Damn. I need a break from this. I need a goddamn break from the system and the constant biAs one could associate with it. A certain bulky doggie bag of wasted flesh decided to get back. Why? Is it because I wasn't worth it? NO. Or is it because I did something wrong? NO. It is because that silly schmuck doesn’t have the ability to see the difference between two independent events- one being this and the other being the proceedings of an enquiry on the basis of a complaint from me. For heaven sake, just because I argued with you about something your senses couldn’t reach. Just because I pointed out the fact that you fiddled with my right and thereby deprived me of something I was, as a matter of merit and morality, entitled to. And just because you can’t understand the concept of rationality. I just have two words for you- get lost! All the while, I only thought you didn’t know how to pronounce the words genuine and empathy. But boy! You have no clue about what they mean.

Such a loser. Who owns nothing but a Board which is a bag full of lies, filth and incompetence. Watch it, its overflowing. We don’t want to drown in it. Just a dip is icky enough.