Melting mushrooms and a myriad of things.

Sometimes, I pick out all the toppings off my pizza and eat them first, and then eat the base later. Sometimes, I pick out the olives, pull a face and put them in your plate. Remember, the olive theory? Yesterday, the cheese was melting really fast. The mushrooms were melting too.Blobs of cheese kept getting stuck to my thumb. Good conversations along with pizza are better than garlic bread along with pizza. Plus, you can have conversations which please you. Garlic bread upsets me sometimes. It's crusty and sticks to the back of my throat. My elbow keeps hitting the glass pane, as I try to pick up a pizza slice a with my left hand. The traffic lights shine off the glass, and I look up every single time. I can't say why. I am not sure. I love the place. It's small and it's bright and the people are friendly. Yes?
My favourite part of eating pizza is when I steal toppings off your pizza. But then again, I give you some of mine. My other favourite part is when I stuff something into your mouth and say, "Nice? Nice?" before you can even taste it. Extra cheese is like having a 3 day weekend. Like your practicals getting canceled the day I don't have class. You agree?

Cut up the pizza in 4 slices, I am too full to have 6.
Don't pour your coke into my glass. Cheat.
For all the talk of liking coke so much, I don't drink much.
You like it?
I love.
I am so happy.
Khar.
I love pizza.
And BBQ mushrooms.
And extra cheese.
Also, other things.
Many much, mini me.

Mood Indigo 2009.

Starters:

Small and pixie like.

When it rains, she cries.

Sometimes.

She sits, perched on a bar stool.

Her curly hair, disheveled.

Her frayed green pajamas.

Rumpled, disgruntled.

If you like her,

You possibly, really do.

It’s her Pajama Theory.

He’s a chef. She knows what an anti-pasta is. He is floored. And as he pours himself water from a pitcher (the ones that have a sprig of mint in them) he thinks he likes her. And speaking of pixies, he thinks he’ll marry her sometime. It hardly makes sense, but that’s always how it is- for him. He likes non- sequiturs. It’s fast but speed impresses him. A lot. He speeds through dinner every day, just so that he can get to the dessert quickly.

Main Course:

She agrees to marry him. It’s only been a week. Her Pajama Theory works, then. Her best friend thinks it’s too fast. Her brother thinks the guy is a player. She, however, is beyond all this. She likes sticking to her gut feeling. Her friend thinks she plays with fire, way too often. She is going to get scalded, yet again. She dismisses it with an impatient nod. She thinks the occasional scalding, makes her feel alive.

He likes her a lot. She is full of stories. She is enthusiastic, bright and slightly crazy. He likes that. And he agrees it’s too fast. But then who gets to decide what’s fast and what’s not? People go on to call their weddings off a day before the big day, after having been together for years.

It is a June wedding. Only family and close friends. Hers. The wedding is so laid back that the laid-back go green. He is in his beach pants. She is in her green pajamas- which made them what they are. They exchange rings. He smiles. She looks like a child on a sugar high. He kisses her forehead. Her girlfriends look happy, in a calculated manner. Her brother looks like he is in pain. His little sister’s infamous affairs, which extend to different parts of the country, have given him an ulcer. He hopes that this one works out. For everyone’s sake.

They take off after the wedding. To a fancy place, far away. He puts on his good-person suit. She takes off hers. She likes playing it rough. It’s exhilarating. They spend prescribed amounts of time in each other’s arms. They say the stray ‘I love you’, like they’d be expected to. They are both seasoned players. It’s an odd thrill to be able to play the game so craftily. What makes it a tad interesting at the same time, is that they are unaware that the other person is also playing the game as well.

Dessert:

His favourite part is here. He sits up against the wall, his head propped against a pillow. As he watches her get dressed, he marvels at the person beneath the boring clothes she is putting on. He has to admit, that she is the best he’s ever been with. She smiles at him, comes and curls up next to him, her head on his chest. He lights a cigarette and strokes her hair indulgently. As he is making rings of smoke in the air, he thinks of how, very soon, he is going to tear her seemingly nonchalant world apart. She deserves it, he thinks. He thinks she ought to be punished for being so naïve, so flighty. What sort of a girl marries a guy she met at a bar, after knowing him for lesser than a week? What sort of a girl bases her choice of a partner on the basis of a ratty pair of night clothes? She needs to be punished for tying her heart to her sleeve like that. Soon, she is going to be chastised. She has had it coming, he thinks. He feels himself getting very angry, without reason. It’s been a while since he saw his shrink.

He pours himself some cold water and tells her the wedding is a farce. He brings gullible girls like her to fancy places, has his fun, has a good weekend and then walks out on them.Usually he only dates them. The wedding is a recent innovation, to make the whole act seem more real. To make it more interesting. Like extra cheese on a common place pizza. Like more white sauce in regular pasta. He likes his food to be full of surprises.

She is taking it unnervingly well. She’ll go pack, she says. She savours the look of confusion on his face. He rubs his forehead, absent mindedly. She wills him to drink the water, he so dramatically poured himself. She goes in to the bathroom, to finish changing. He is taking it all in. He has never been a part of something so off-the-wall.

She comes out of the bathroom. He smiles at her weakly. She smiles back. And then pulls out a .22 caliber pistol, from the pocket of her dressing gown and fires 3 sharp shots through his head. The weak smile freezes on his face. She’d have liked him to know how well she plays her game. She usually poisons their water; the pistol is only a recent innovation. To make it seem more interesting. He thought he’d win this one. The self-flattering chauvinist. She feels herself getting very angry. She’s forgotten her anti-hypertensive drugs at home.

She finishes packing her things. His blood is soaking through the sheets. She walks over to him and kisses him, with genuine longing. And she likes it that she can dictate terms. Since, he can’t kiss now. His blood stains her mouth. She wipes it with the back of her hand. And smiles.

She escapes so fast, that the sleeping security guard doesn’t stir even. She takes his car. Ah the perks of having a rich husband. A rich, dead husband.

Some coffee, perhaps?

She goes to a town close by and enters a quaint looking pub. People look at her sympathetically. They look at her rumpled shirt. Her frayed pajamas. Her uncombed hair. Maybe her husband beats her. Maybe she is having a rough time at home. She sits on a bar stool. She thinks if a guy likes her when she is looking like that, he must really like her.

He is a football enthusiast. She is the first girl he’s met, who knows the off side rule well. He is floored. She smiles. She is waiting, for the day he’ll ask her to marry him.

2009

I do this every year.
I make lists.
About the good and the bad.
Here we go.

My sharpest 2009 memories.

January: Birthday Concert. Eco seminar. Jan fest. The not nice things. Extreme not nice.

February: The combined birthday treat- Karma. The chicken lunch at Shriya's. Stats practical exams. Krati's birthday at Tea Centre.

March: Krati's birthday. Anusha's birthday. Exams. Internship worries. Anusha's birthday sleepover. Contemplation over Malhar.

April: Internship at Palador. Yash's birthday- Surprising him at his Talegaon Institute. Exam Results. Spanish. Shriya's birthday sleepover. The mad Taboo Game. Nailers.

May: Tai! Prada's birthday. M trip. Krati leaving for home. The mad taxi thing. Parents' anniversary- 5 spice. Ladakh. The madness that followed. Not meeting tai before she left.

June: Tuitions. Krati staying over for a week. Mad stationery shopping at Satyam. Mad sleepover at Shriya's. Mad dark room game at 3 a.m. Extreme weirdness with people. Extreme. Tiny cookies crumbling. Metaphorical cookies of course.

July: Shreya stayover before she left for Bangalore. Word Games. Kunal. Krati. Hostel steps. A lot. Scrabble. Sleepover at Yash's. Soul baring conversation. 2 of my best friends. Extreme weirdness continues.

August: Malhar Elims. Word games. Creative writing. Phudee. Feeling super dumb at General Quiz. Swine Flu. Delhi Chatting. Wai wai at hostel steps. Malhar. Placing for wordgames, creative writing. Cough that refuses to go. Landmark Vouchers.

September: Mad mad month. Malhar Bash. Kinked Demand Theory. Birthday excitement. Krati's excitement more than mine. Birthday stayover at my place. Birthday dinner at Sundance. Shreya, Saranya, Krati and me. Birthday. Theobroma. Kunal, Krati and Me. Walking back. The obsolete bus-stop. Landmark book shopping. Weirdness gone.

October: Diwali break. TISS applications. Krati gone home. Late night phone conversations. Walking around fort. Cafe Olympia. Magic Bus stop. Gum spurting blood. Stayover at my place. Diwali. Landmark- reading the FRIENDS book. Tuition tests.

November: Kala Ghoda. Buying yummy WSD things. Sundance day. Phone breaking. New phone. YAF. Worrying about Japanese. Kunal's FRIENDS DVDs. Talking at night. A lot. Cafe Churchhill. MOD. Japanese. Exams. Hating it. A bearable November. Thank you.

December: Exams. Japanese Exam. A sure fail. 5 spice- Kunal, Varun, Krati and me. Krati staying over. TISS. 13th December. Cabs. Sassanian. ISH. Potatoes. IMG lunch- Relish. Ash in Bombay. Essar. Nariman Point. Gokul. Mood Indigo. Creative writing. Word Games. Same team. My best friends. Both. Christmas at Joey's Pizza. Chaos Theory, finally. Mad sleepover. Shreya's place. Relish- cheese fondue. 31st at Shashank's. The morning after. A brilliant December.

I wouldn't trade this year for anything. Not even the bad times. I love my people. I can't get through my day without them. And I am extremely grateful. And when I get upset or worried, I look at this list. I relive the good times. The sleepovers, the cobbled street walks, the soul baring conversations. And then, it's all okay. Thank you. All of you. You know who you are. If you aren't sure, then it's not you.