The One With The Ghosts, The Creepy Guys and All The Nudity (Mila)

So, Arya and I decide to watch a horror movie. And then, one of our friends (he’s the same guy who made Arya promise she’ll kiss him) says that he’ll watch it with us because he loves horror movies. We agree. Besides, he’s huge and teddy bear-ish which would he’s a comfort when we need to hide behind someone.

We watched the damn movie, The Grudge 2. It was so bad. It was sooo bad. I don’t watch horror movies. The last one I watched was the Chronicles of Narnia (The Lion, The Witch, The Wardrobe). I didn’t keep my eyes open during most of the last half. Thank the fucking Lord. I would have killed myself if I had seen anymore of the movie. The next morning when I was taking bath, I heard pigeons and thought that the ghost was behind me. Seriously.

Creepy Japanese Ghost.

And then, Arya goes off to do her work and I’m left with this annoying boy who won’t leave. He kept telling me he would. After a while, I was wondering how he could stand someone being downright rude to him. And then he said let’s watch  a movie. So we put on some chick flick. And he started tickling me. And then his hand went under my shirt. And then it creeped up.

I didn’t know what to do. I kept preaching to Arya how saying “No” was important but I didn’t know what to do. It was an hour of weirdness on my side during which I made three work calls and made several excuses. Finally, I called Arya and she came back.

He apologized profusely later. And I said with false bravado that it was okay. Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I didn’t feel violated and all but why do men think they can just put their hands up whosoever shirts whenever the fuck they want? Because I didn’t say no. And because people like me don’t say no.

There was this other guy I knew who made me intensely uncomfortable. Let’s just say, he put his hand into my pants in class one day. And he kept following me around, on field trips, during classes- everywhere basically. He wasn’t interested in me but he did it when he saw me. I avoided him. Successfully.

And today, he messaged me apologising for the way he behaved. Now, the incident is long passed so I told him that it was all chill frankly because I’m just glad he realises that he was a dick. But how do I know that he’s not going to do this again?

I don’t.

Anyway, Arya and I did our nude photoshoot. Honestly, it was daunting. It was all bravado but when we came down to stripping that night, it was weird. I was nervous. At the end of the day, I wish I had a few different features. But I knew that we’d both chicken out so when Arya told me to go first, I did.

It wasn’t liberating. I didn’t fly high. I felt nervous and weird and shy. When I look at the pictures, I still do. But once I was done, I felt awesome. Honestly, I can’t believe I did this.

I can't believe I did it!

It’s a big thing because it’s so intimate and personal and artistic. I love the idea of being 80- old and wrinkled and nearly senile-and looking back at the time when I was young and carefree. 

The Drinking, The Dancing and All That Jazz (Mila)

Everyone needs to loosen up every once in a while.

Alright, this is one overdue post. When Arya went back home, I told myself that I needed to get over myself. Thankfully, a good friend of mine- let’s call her Emma- came to Mumbai. She has a gang of friends here in Mumbai and asked if we could go clubbing with them. First, I was surprised. A hanger-on? That’s what I had become? But then, Emma’s the type who’ll go out of her way to make sure that you’re feeling awesome. So we went. We shopped forever and finally landed up at her friend’s house where we were set to change.

Did I mention her friends were fashion students who studied in some fancy Parisian college in Mumbai?

Well, they smoke only Dunhills- I loved them when they offered me mine. Usually, I;m awkward and silent around people who I don’t know. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t THAT girl.

They dressed me up, gave me accessories and shoes, did my make up, straightened my hair and they were so damn nice. I realised that I need to stop condescending people who do not have literary inclinations. These people could give no two fucks about Austen but they’re awesome.

And they had a car! We crammed into it and would have died if we were claustrophobic but it was fun. I haven’t been around Mumbai in a car. We drank in it and then went to a swanky bar and then Emma warned me that they had often been thrown out of there for not meeting the age limit. Sometimes, I feel fed up with that damn thing. I like my petite figure and my short hair but I am so sick of being stopped everywhere. But they didn’t stop me that night. I went in and we danced. We danced our hearts out.

Emma was wearing Aldo heels that was as long as an Reynolds pen. After a while,  she was about to cry so I offered to switch. We went to the balcony where couples were making out and did it- the switching, I mean. When we went back in, we went and sat at the bar just to rest her feet. And then, a really drunk guy came to me and then held out his hand asking me if I wanted to dance. I looked at him. And I was about to refuse. And then, I remembered the damn bucket list. So I accepted.

I went and danced with him. He was average looking but piss drunk and he was starting to get into my personal space. One song was enough for me- I smiled at him and then went to Emma. “They’re waiting for us!” I fudged, hoping she would catch on. She did, of course. Only my drunk guy’s friend had kept badgering her to dance and had finally only relented when she let him buy her a drink. So when I went to her and told her about how everyone was wondering where we were, she had just told him that she wanted Redbull in her vodka cocktail. “You promised me a dance!” said my drunk guy, angrily. I knew better than to piss him off.  “I’m just going to be back in two minutes.” I said earnestly, smiling at him. And then we walked to the other end of the club and stayed away from them forever. But hey, I did it. I went clubbing and got picked up by a guy.

After a while, we all got tired of the club and we left. Seven people fit into one Maruti Zen or some similarly small car. But the guy, sitting to my left, Neil I think he was called was damn cute and great conversation. We drove around the city- the whole city- for about three hours and then finally everyone became hungry so we stopped at this place where we could get Chinese food. As we drove over the Sea Link, I knew for sure that I loved this city where so many people like me live and breathe and fight every single minute.  Finally, I came home at 4.00.

And then I slept like I hadn’t slept my whole life.

Letters To Juliet (Mila)

Dear Juliet,

I am writing to you because you were 14 and you barely knew him but you still killed yourself for him. Frankly, I think that you’re clichéd and a stupid hormonal teenager because neither do I endorse killing oneself (for heartbreak or any other reasons) nor do I think you knew him well enough to love him.

I am writing to you because I’m having an annoying day. Ah, Juliet, I love my mother so and sometimes I feel so ungrateful. My dad told her that I would react to a certain news in a positive, caring daughter-like way and she disputed it. So, to check, she called me up. As it turns out, she was right. When she hung up, she said “Thanks for proving my judgement about you right.”

I hate that she knows me. And I hate that I can’t dispute her. I hate that I’m not the better daughter she deserves and I hate that I don’t even want (or care enough) to be the better daughter that she deserves.

Enough about my mother, let’s move to that guy I was moaning about- the sweet, cute, amazingly charming one who I romanticized. After he moved away, I started writing him emails because letters are much better than random messages. So, he told me that he didn’t write much so out of my six letters, he replied to one. I kept writing because I had this romantic notion in my head of this girl who wrote a 100 letters, one a day, every day over the summer for this boy she liked. I guess that it happens only on cheap television.

Today, he told me to write shorter letters so that it prompted him to reply.  I don’t write spools of yarn about how much I like him, Juliet. I don’t. They can’t be longer than 500 words at the most. That’s barely anything. So guess what Sunshine? I’m not going to write letters at all. How’s that for short?

I don’t know Juliet. I’ve moved on- I understand that but I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I feel normal. I feel good. I've gone clubbing (and I got picked up by a guy. I stayed out till four in the morning. I've gone to a concert. (All of these are stories for later, of course). I feel like I did before I was with him. And that’s good. He’s an amazing guy and things didn’t work out but in my irritation today, I realized that I have moved on. I’ll write him a last letter- a brief, poetic one that he wanted.

Somehow, there are no ifs and buts. I’m surprised. I got closure Juliet. I’ve moved on. I’m happy and I love it. I love this summer Juliet. I’ve met so many new people and I’ve done things that I haven’t before. Often, I look at myself and feel guilty but I’m not splurging in a splurging sort of way. This summer feels normal only everyday feels like a good day. Except this one.  Okay, maybe today’s a good day and I’m just whiny.

Juliet, I’m writing to you because I saw the movie, Letters To Juliet, last night with Arya. I wanted to pour my heart to you in the most romantic, poetic way but as I am writing, I realize that I am not suffering and I am not unhappy. I live a good life Juliet.

Love,

Mila

WHY I HATE BOYS (Arya)

I hate boys. That’s right. No, I’m not a feminist or a lesbian. I just don’t like them. I mean, I don’t mind an occasional shag, or flowers from a secret admirer. But having boys as friends? No thank you. Because all those lameass movies they told you about, where they said women and men can never be friends because everything gets screwed in the end? They weren’t lying.

Having friends is not easy. Particularly not close ones. There’s always the fear that you’re being your most honest, most vulnerable, truest self in front of someone who spends half his time thinking about something else. There’s also the fear that you love your friend more than he loves you. There’s the fear that, everything you say, he repeats to his own group of actual friends, and laughs. The fear that you’re just a temporary confidante in times of convenience, and will soon become obsolete. The fear that the person you think the sun shines out of only thinks you’re, well…okay-ish.

It’s scary. Scary to have a friend. Scary to be one. Even scarier to look them in the eye, and tell them “Dammit, you hurt me.” I don’t have it in me yet. Yeah, I’m chickenshit. So I’ll just do it here. I’m angry. And hurt.

I had a best boy-friend once. I loved him. I still do- I think that’s the problem. And I loved him for just what he was. A friend. I didn’t secretly want to have his babies, he didn’t secretly want to father mine. We didn’t secretly scribble each other’s names on our notebooks when nobody was looking. We were close. I mean really close. We didn’t need to talk everyday, or call each other every night. When we met, it was like no time had passed at all. We spoke about everything. Love, relationships, friends, family, dreams, ambitions. My family loved (loves, actually) him, his loved me. We were close enough for everybody around us to wonder whether we were having our little sexual fun on the side. We laughed the rumours off. That is, until she came along. Suddenly, it was a problem that I spoke to him so much. That he kissed me on the cheek when he felt like. I thought she was the problem. Clearly she thought I was.

I expected him to fight for all the people he believed in. Not just the one who was making him happy in bed. He didn’t. He succumbed. We stopped talking. And even though I wish it had never happened, he doesn’t seem like it’s too much of a problem for him. Which is fine. Hey, one more thing to bury under the sand, right?

I was upset. More so when I heard he didn’t understand or care about how upset I was. The new girlfriend is keeping him busy, I see.

So I did what any upset girl would do. Got a swanky new haircut, drank enough rum to fill three barrels, wept till I was dehydrated, and fell very fast asleep. Woke up this morning, worked extra hard to compensate for the shit that life seemed like, and felt so much better.
Ah, the pain of watching your hair fall to the ground and around your feet. But the snip snip snip always assures you that change is on its way.

My hair looks awesome, by the way.
(Note to self: Strike 'Haircuts' off the list.)

Now, while I write this post, I’m wondering what exact flavour of ice-cream I want.

Maybe Mila and I can get a pint for dinner. She’s had a bad week, too. Ugh.

Boys are fucking disgusting. This is why I say it. I’m going to now have only straight-girl friends, so this will never, EVER be a problem again. Because YOU, yes you. You hurt me. I had faith that this meant as much to you as it did to me. And the fact that it doesn’t makes me want to punch you in the face. With a chair. So that all your teeth fall out and your girlfriend doesn’t want to sleep with you anymore. HA.

Mila made a good point today, though. It’s not your girlfriend I hate. She’s just being a girlfriend. Which I suppose, by some extension of logic, I can understand. You, on the other hand, you are behaving like a spineless dick. Like I was just someone you could hang around with until your real girlfriend came along and told you what was best. Until your REAL life started.

That’s the thing about having friends. Or maybe it’s just the hard thing about being friends with me. I’m possessive. No, I don’t dislike it when you eat lunch with someone else, or talk to someone else, or decide to split a chicken roll with some random dude instead of me. It’s not like I spend my nights carving your name into my wrists. It’s just, after so long knowing you, I don’t understand or like the fact that in the flash of a euphoria and social orgasm, you forgot who you are.

You forgot how easy it was for you to separate right from wrong. Rational from irrational. Truth from rumour. You knew how smart you were, what you could do with what you had, because nobody else had it.

I know that you’ve forgotten, but I haven’t. And it disgusts me to see you throw it all away for something you think is worth it. And all the years that I told you that, you weren’t listening to me at all. And now she comes along and tells you you’re not good enough, and all it takes is a second to change. I know it’s easier to believe the right things, but I also know that if she were the right person, things wouldn’t be this hard.

You turned your back on me for someone who’s trying to make you a better version of yourself, and here I am. Knowing that you could’ve done so much more. Fought so much harder for what you know is the truth. You were strong in your confusion. Strong in your determination. Somehow along the way, you lost you spine.

If you’re not going to be here, Ben and Jerry’s will. And all the other people who I know will stand by me when the time’s right. So Fuck. You.

In the meanwhile, I miss you.