Monthly Archives: February 2008

>How much of me do you want to see?


Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to turn this into a nudist blog. I’m only wondering how much of me you want to know. To keep you coming here, do I have to tell you about my husband’s profession, our relationship or about the people I live with, about my friends and their children, my issues with the people I don’t like, what I did on Sunday, post pictures of my new acquisitions…?
I do not want to disclose the particulars of my life here, yet share nuggets of it with you. Does that make this blog less interesting? I’m asking because I realise the more popular blogs in cyberspace are ones that detail the most intimate secrets of the blogger, keeping only the name a secret. I’m not judging them; on the contrary I respect their ability to come clean on so many things that I still keep under wraps.
I wonder, what part of us wants to know how a stranger leads her life. And I keep debating with myself how much of my private life I want to make public. Do I want the world to know about a tiff with my pa-in-law, about why I don’t want children yet or about how much I miss a man who doesn’t remember me at all?
I’m confused. What do you think?

>I’m a rare type – ‘Severe Chilly’

>So says the doc.

I hate visits to doctors, clinics, hospitals, more so when they involve check-ups for me. I’ll do anything to avoid being under the scanner. Usually, I wait for my ailments to disappear so that I don’t have to pay the doc a dreaded visit. I always fear I’m going to be diagnosed with some incurable disease. And then, doctors don’t ask happy questions.

But this time, a visit to the doc was imminent: the nail on my index finger had first turned blue after I crushed it between the car and its door, and now the stubborn thing was refusing to grow out. Clubbed with the very sensitive skin problems I’ve inherited from my dad and thanks to my insane allergies to allopathic medicines, I found a very reluctant and fearful me headed to a doc – a homeopath.

But frankly, I’ve never really enjoyed a doc’s appointment so much! My new doctor was this chubby, young fellow with a smiling face – not the typically sanitised doctor in a white coat who asks curt, clipped questions about your bowel movement. He made me feel like this very important person giving an interview – a very Simi Garewalesque interview – on television. He asked me unending questions about me, my lifestyle, my thoughts, my attitude, my sleeping patterns, my dreams, my fears, my passions, none of which seemed to have any direct relation with the problem at hand. He wanted to know about the kind of foods I like, the weather I prefer, the way I react to situations, how I deal with anger… really, the inquisition went on for over an hour. And I didn’t mind it at all: I really do love the sound of my voice, love to talk about myself whenever I can get a good listener. And this doctor was an amazing listener.

I doubt anybody knows so much about me as he does now: that I like summers to winters, love cold beverages, bathe with hot water all 365 days of the year, that I take a duvet while sleeping even on the hottest summer day, close all the doors in my room without feeling suffocated, do not have an OCD, am confused even when I appear extremely decisive, don’t get violently angry – only very, very angry, can eat green leafy vegetables but not green, seedy vegetables, love spending time away from home, sleep the moment I hit the bed, am incapable of over-analysing stuff, like writing, have recently discovered the joys of shopping, prefer to ignore my problems than sulk about them, have strong likes and dislikes… Bored? I told you, he really was an amazing listener!

And at the end of it, I was pronounced a rare creature – “Severe chilly”! Imagine, how it would sound if he said I was a “Severe Hottie“?!

>Two guys and a girl


Two guy friends going out for lunch doesn’t seem like the same thing as two girls meeting up for a tete-a-tete over great grub. Strange, huh, but I’m not sure I quite like the idea of my husband’s bachelor friend not bothering to ask me if I want to come along. What’s worse, my husband didn’t ask either. I have a feeling I’m sulking, and I don’t like that too. Because it seems unreasonable to be jealous or plain bothered in such a situation – after all, this isn’t like a date! But if he was just hanging out with his friend for a guzzling session or a game of cricket, or a super-action flick or to check out a new car/gizmo/phone/whatever, or just to exchange notes on the stock market, I wouldn’t wonder at all. These are guy things – things that men do together, like there are things that women do together, you know, like talk and shop and exhange notes about their sex lives (yes, women do that all the time!). But since when did married men start going out for lunch with other men? You tell me…


> I’ve been busy attending the wedding of a friend who’s visibly and madly in love with the girl he found for himself some years back. I caught the lovelorn groom look at his beautiful bride with so much more than love, I felt embarassed I’d intruded on that moment. The same day, a totally out-of-love couple around me was celebrating (probably just observing, because there seemed a lot of reluctance to celebrate anything there) their 35th wedding anniversary. And I looked at both of them, the two sets of couple, and wondered what the older one would have been like 35 years ago and what the younger one would be like so many years hence…

Because marriage has a way of changing the way we love. Of course, I’d like to believe that time strengthens the bond two people share. Setting up a home together, having children, bringing them up, quarelling, arguing and then making up would bring any two people closer. But I’ve seen too many couples having done all of that, still looking for a reason why they should be together. They live in loveless marriages for too long, sometimes forever because they once loved the person they’re married to.

It’s a scary prospect – falling in love and then spending the most part of your life wishing there was some reason left to continue loving that person. Worse still, wishing that your partner would love you again the way he/she once did. Why do people continue being part of a marriage that looks for lame excuses to survive? Why do people stop loving the very same people they were inseparable from?

I’m not looking for answers, because I know there are complicated stories behind such unhappy marriages. But I am looking for a happy ending to my love story. I looked at the 35-year-old sham of a wedding and then looked at my husband. And we promised we’d never do this to each other.

>Uneasy questions

>Him: If you were a decision-maker, what would you have done in the IC-814 hijack – released the terrorists or sacrificed the lives of the passengers?

Me: I wouldn’t release the terrorists. I’d sent the forces to combat the hijackers.

Him: And what if I was on that plane?