Evicted!!

If you follow me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, you'll know that I had a new roommate for four days. If you don't, well here it is. I had a roommate for four days.

The difference between this roommate and my previous roommates is that she only occupied the bathroom and she wasn't exactly the two legged variety. She wasn't even a four legged furry roomie. She was what you would know as a common leaf insect. If you were being particular, she was a Euphasmida. I called her Leafy.

She gave me an awful shock when I first met her, staring at me, all bright green! I didn't really want to share my room and especially my bathroom. My most memorable moment with her was when I was taking a shower, the lights flickered and she flew around. I screamed and pretty much sat on the floor all scrunched up hoping she would go away. It didn't happen. Of course, I was an idiot to hope because, have you met me???? I have no such luck!

I had to get Leafy evicted. She was tormenting me too much and I really didn't find it "cool" anymore. There in, started the process. 

First, I shooed her towards the window, hoping that if I got her close enough, she would go on her own. Apparently that was being too hopeful. She wanted to fight me every step of the way. She flew onto my towel and clung onto it for deal life, while I clung onto my racing heart as it threatened to run away from me. I pulled my towel down from off the rack, wrapped her up and with an arm's distance, ran through the house with her till we reached outside. 

Now that she was outside my house, I still wanted my towel back (it's my hello kitty towel!) but there was no way I was going near it. I then asked my maid, hoping she was braver than I was to help. She walked over, unwrapped my towel, picked up Leafy (like it was no big deal), laughed her behind off at me and my stricken face and then let her go in a tree. 

Then, after this dramatic, traumatic escapade, I had to get ready for work. What a morning.

Dear Leafy, I hope you are well. Take care and please DO NOT come back. Much.... yeah well. Romy.

Happy New Year!!!!

Hey guys!!! Happy New Year! Hope this one brings only goodness, joy and cheer!

I struck something off my bucket list this year by going to Goa for the New Year. It was one massive adventure and insane amounts of fun!

It started off with an insane FIVE hour flight, stopping through Hyderabad and Pune. Now the direct flight is just 50 minutes. We flew for 45 minutes, landed, stayed on the plane for another 45 minutes, landed, stayed on the plane for 45 minutes and then flew for 30 minutes! Sheesh. By the time we reached Goa, we were totally ready to get off and run. Move our legs, not sit next to strangers and squalling babies. Yes, there were squalling babies on the plane, and of course, in the seat behind me. Not cool. Like my cousin, Smriti, said, planes need to have a soundproof, "family" class. All babies must go there.

Once we reached Goa, we made our way to our hotel, which also turned out to be an Irish pub called Molly Malones! So fun! We relaxed for a bit in the hotel and then, my friend Darren took our starving tummies out to lunch and a little tour of Goa with the churches, Portuguese houses and the long windy roads. Making our way back to the hotel, we then hit the Goa party scene! Good lord, I have never seen so many people and more over, so many men!

Smriti told me that parties where there is an over population of men are called "Sausage Fests". It took me a while to figure out why it was called that! Yes, yes, laugh all you want. She also introduced me to new words like "Cray-Cray". It means crazy, for those who are too busy laughing to grasp the meaning. Apparently it was in some song. But Smriti used it before the song came out. I still haven't decided how I feel about that!

Also, words like "totes", "ridic" and "lates" were used.

With day one done, we hauled out exhausted behinds back to the hotel at 4am (which is VERY late for me as my city shuts down at 11:30pm and you're in bed by midnight!) and we slept in. On day two, which is new years eve, we met my friends Suresh, Thomas and Krissy and went beach hopping, to Baga, Anjuna and Morjim. We ended up scouting some parties near Morjim, which was a massive adventure as they were hard to find and charged a whopping Rs. 5000 to "party till the sunrise". I'm sorry, I am not living my life according to Dancing Till The Sun Comes Out by Pixie Lott.

We ended up hanging out on the beach, in a shack with DJ Sergei spinning some tunes (clearly popular in Russia). It was his first gig and we were happy to support him. Now it was us five and a massive group of Russians on the beach dancing and celebrating. It was, in Goan terms, quiet. Now here is the fun part.

We danced with the Russians, well two Russian women, one of who was obsessed with my cousin's hair. She kept lifting it in wonder! It was hilarious. Another fun thing that happened was that we were all on the beach laughing and joking till some firecrackers (read rockets) came directly at us, chasing us down the beach! Yes it was a little dangerous, but hilarious also, because my cousin who isn't too fond of them was all "this is why crackers are bad!" Hahaha! It was funny. My new years consisted of dancing to Russian music with Russians and getting chased by firecrackers on a beach. Somehow, even my "quiet" new year was anything but!

Day three consisted of us going shack hopping on Baga, trying ice cream with liqueur, paneer tikka and just relaxing. Trying to catch up with everything that had happened on the 31st. It also didn't help that we had a flight at 4am, so we had to leave for the airport at 2am. So we wound up by 10 and decided to get a few hours of sleep.

All in all, it was fun and fantastic! I loved that we did it, but I can promise you one thing. Not again. I think I'm a very dinner, drinks and board games kinda gal!

Beachy times!!!

Yes yes. I had to write in the sand!

  My cousin Smriti and me at Molly Malones!

What I write and what it says

I had a very interesting conversation yesterday and read something she had written about accountability in your work. Work being writing, films, pictures, art, etc. About thinking of the consequences, the perceptions, the responses to a particular piece of work.

With the Delhi gang rape case, the shooting in the Connecticut school, the protest against the Cow Slaughter Act, I looked at accountability and owning every piece of what happens in terms of photographs, advertisements, film and television, but never in writing (not news, but leisure) and never in what I've written. I spent the better half of last night going over what I've written, whether its fiction, fan fiction or my own diary and I was a bit unhappy with the results.

To think about what you're writing, about whom and what people's perceptions about it and reactions to it is a massive undertaking, but if I am to call myself a writer, amateur or professional, I should think about it. These thoughts should be in the forefront of my mind and not an after thought. Not a reactive response to someone commenting on my writing.

It did make me ashamed that I had never thought about it, about what my unassuming stereotyping of a person may actually mean to that person, what the consequences of it may be. While I definitely am not as bad as some of the stuff out there, I can't say I'm squeaky clean and what jars me more is that I stand up against stereotyping quite passionately. As a tall, thin girl in a society where the norm is shorter and curvy, I stand out like a palm tree in a paddy field. And I have ranted against people commenting on my size, my diction, my English, my upbringing and the fact that I do get excited about things and don't hide what I feel. And I have stood up for myself and for my friends, not realising that I am doing the exact same thing.

For example, while writing about Emily Prentiss (a character on Criminal Minds), I write about how she likes jazz music because she was brought up in a "rich, cultured home" and is a wealthy, white woman. I don't know why I don't write about her listening to rap music or Carrie Underwood or going to a club for some DnB. It is so automatic for me to write about ballet or the opera for her. That is just a small part. I describe women the way I would like to be described, not realising that maybe it could be offensive to another person, or that people may make assumptions, that in India, that is what women are like, just because I am Indian.

It didn't occur to me that I personally, could influence opinions in a few words. Words that flow naturally to me, but could be alien and maybe even offensive to other people. While I know that I cannot please everyone, and maybe the objective of a piece of writing is to offend a school of thought, but I want to be able to say that it is a conscious decision and not something I think about later, like what I'm doing now.

Being accountable and taking ownership for your words and actually thinking about the consequences before putting it out there is not something that comes easily to me. I'm impulsive and almost rash in my writing. I don't usually let other people look at it before publishing, but now, I will think a little, think about how my characters are shaped, about how people other than me will perceive them. I will be accountable in my work, try to not stereotype and be less judgemental.

There are a lot of excuses I can make, find a million reasons to tell you why I am the way I am, but then again, I can find a zillion reasons to change.

They say, if you want to see change in the world, start from within, well, I'm appalled to say I live in a society that destroys women, has rivers of blood and kills children on whims.

I promise to think, pause, consider and then do. And I also ask you to do the same.

Thank you.

The Cacti Killers

When you normally come across the word, or thought, "serial killers" you think of Ted Bundy, or Jack the Ripper or some other heinous person who did those horrible things. It is usually met with disgust, and a slight fascination of the morbid.

Today, I'd like to introduce a mother-daughter duo, who have plagued Bangalore's cacti population. They call themselves The Cacti Killers. The duo target their victims in a garden called Lalbagh, the biggest garden in Bangalore. A target rich environment, the duo watch and observe their potential victims carefully before choosing them. The study of behavior, aided by the plentiful information available through the groundskeepers and various pamphlets, is undertaken very seriously and then, the victims are chosen.

The victims have no idea that they are so close to their deaths, as they are picked up and physically examined. The greener they are, the more chances are that they will be taken. Bought even. They are chosen for their ability to survive even in the harshest of conditions, to pull through and live. If they can live in the dark, then they are definitely on the victim list.

Once they are bought, they are taken to the lair of the duo, where they are fooled into believing that they were "adopted" into a home. They are transferred into pretty pots, given sunlight and some very tasty natural fertilizers. The psychological and physical torture that the duo are known to inflict on the poor unsuspecting victims is started.

The victims first believe that they will be left alone to enjoy the dryness, reminding them of where they came from, the desert. Alas, that thought barely lasts an hour, when the duo water them. Every time, the pot is dry, it is watered. They are fed fertilizer till they feel like puking. The duo adopted the "I love too much" technique. Within a week, they are finished.

This process goes on for a while, victim after unsuspecting victim, till the duo decide to change their tactics. Once again, the chosen victims are brought home, and are completely neglected. The mother goes out of town for extended periods, and the daughter simply forgets. The green cacti slowly begin to become brown and then they join their peers of killed cacti.

Soon, the duo advance and this is not enough for the them. They crave some excitement in their lives. To keep at least one of their victims alive, for longer than two weeks. The mother goes on shorter trips, the daughter suddenly remembers. The unsuspecting victims are tortured by the unsuspecting killers. The once brown, neglected cacti become green with the love, then brown again, then green. The duo are confused and cannot choose between excessive love and tough love. The victims then give up and just die on the duo.

One day, the duo, looking at the empty pots realize that it is not in them to continue on their killing spree. Remorse hits them like a truck carrying a ton of bricks. They put the pots away.

There endeth the tale of The Cacti Killers.

This is the story of my mother and I, and how we desperately tried to find our green thumb, but failed miserably. If there is a hell, I imagine that mine will be full of Cacti waiting.... 

Tall AND thin? Oh no!

The other day, I put up a status on Facebook about how I wished I weren't as tall as I was. Then, today, my friend Supriya, posted a blog post about being skinny and I was inspired (if you will) to write down this little bit of, um, literature.

It starts off with completely not fitting not the Indian body-shape norm, which to me, after 25 years, is short and fat. Or should I be politically correct and say "curvy"? The comments one gets is completely fascinating. I've always had an issue of how it is okay for people to comment, rudely and crudely, about how skinny I am, but I'm not allowed to say anything about people jowls or tires. Seriously. I get these horrified looks when, on the rare occasion, I snap.

Some of my favorite comments about my size are, "Oh my God, if I blow, you'll fly away!" or if it is windy, I've gotten a "Hold my hand, I don't want you to fly away!". Here is a news flash. You are not funny. You're just testing my self control. And no, I will NOT fly away.

Another popular one is when I was compared to a crane or a "Kokkare" in Kannada, because in the 7th grade, there was one godforsaken story in my Kannada textbook about how a crane has only one leg. Oh so funny, Romy is just like a crane in the story. Her TWO legs is like one "normal" leg. Another fantastic nickname is "Kaakadi" which means Cucumber in some Indian language. And how much fun it is to shout it out in the middle of the road while I walk no? Its even funnier when I shout back "Tarbooz"(Watermelon) and the WHOLE road laughs!

Another one of them is "Oh, one of me is like two of you!", stated in a tone full of fascination, like some big discovery. And the ever so popular questions of "Do you know how thin you are?", especially said when the person lifts my wrist and shakes my hand in front of my face as if to show me, like I'll get some kind of epiphany! Yes, you fool. I am well aware of what I look like and how I'm not obese like you. Another rude question is "How much do you weigh?" And when you answer with a smile, hoping you can just skip this part of the so called conversations, they continue to pursue the conversation with a "I know, you must be only 20 kilos no?" or some other ridiculous number. Sometimes, I just smile and say "Oh, definitely half of what you weigh from the looks of it. How much is that again?" and the conversation goes dead and I can escape.

Then comes the concerned extended family one meets at weddings. "Why are you so thin? Don't you eat at all?" to which my reply (said only once though) is "Because you're so fat. The universe needs balance and all that." Or worse, especially now that I'm in my mid twenties, I've gotten a "If you don't put on weight, you won't get married! How will you have children?", albeit that has not come from my family. That was from a very concerned "adult". I dunno, if Posh Spice can do it, so can I.

And in this country, its not enough that I'm thin. Being tall also just seems to leave people open mouthed and speechless! Good lord! Both thin AND tall? And they look at me very sympathetically. I don't know, apart from the physical accidents that a person can have because one is tall, I have no complaints!

Being so tall gets me some fascinating nicknames like "Coconut Tree" "Giraffe" and "Leaning Tower of Pisa", though that was quite a mouthful, so it just became "Pisa". The standard "Skeleton" and "Barbie" also applied, though I don't see the Barbie thing because she is quite curvy. And I don't/didn't mind that either.

Some of the funny questions are "How are you so tall?" and "Why are you so tall?" Yes, because I can control my height. Like I could have just woken up one morning and said, "Hey, 5'5" is good enough. Now stop growing body!" and just like that, magically I would have stopped!

Another popular thing is for people to say "My God, I'll just put a nail in your head and you'll stop growing!" I don't even have any comebacks for that, it is so ridiculous! Another one is for people to ask me "You've grown taller no?" Yes, at TWENTY-FIVE, I'm still growing. Don't you know, my aim is to hit the 7 feet mark!

Oh and it gives people so much joy to keep pointing out that I'm tall and thin! Really, I had no idea. I just thought I was short, but somehow transported to lilliput land! Seriously guys, I'm aware of this!

Also, it is the best when you're told "Put on more mass" or a friend of mine is told to "Wear padded clothes on stage from next time". Like what does that even mean? I wonder if people know what metabolism is. Ours not only exists, it fast!

And yes, it is my DREAM to be compared to Olive Oyl. I mean, oh golly, I get to have a sailor with an obsession with spinach as the love of my life! Gee, how lucky can I get! Oh oh, or in college, to be told "You can be the wicket for the cricket match!" So funny no? Real stand up comedian you are!

I guess, the only thing is to suck it up, and remember the comments so that I have more to blog about!

Thank you for reading my little rant :D