Is this it?

..It is, unfortunately. Circumstances have forced me to end this blog. It's a pity, really, since it's been the cause of much joy in my life. So anyway, I will continue to blog but I've decided to remain un-find-ably anonymous this time round. If you're really really interested in reading the new blog (I can't quite imagine why, but still) and you don't know me in real life, you can email me at: fivefeetzero@gmail.com.

My (albeit slightly delayed) New Year's Resolution

It's to stop being scared.
(Disclaimer: this is going to be an emo-ridden aka shitty post).
I'm not sure when exactly but somewhere along 2006 I became scared of everything - a new relationship, bitchy boss, not doing well at work - the works. And this, for those who don't know me from years past, was a complete turnaround from the girl I used to be. In those pre-major breakup times, I was the man (or woman). Little fazed me and I really didn't give a fuck about anyone's opinion. Yet, today I realise that right now I DO give a fuck and I'm far too hung up on just about everything.
So two days of chilling by myself and I've realised that this is no time for fear. I will now go forth and conquer.

Chuddy Buddies

So last night was the shoe baroness' birthday, and me and the girlies (well some of them anyway, since whirlwind (thanks, zaphod, it's rather fitting) and pretty trophy are MIA) were out celebrating at Not Just Jazz By The Bay (aka a South Mumbai hangout that used to be about jazz and karaoke but has slowly degenerated into yet another Bollywood-ised and bimbo-ised bar). It must be noted that while I may sould like a Bollywood-bling hater, I actually revel in my ghati-ness (dehati-ness, for all you Delly people) - I've perfected my Govinda moves, and I'm a Rang-Barse dancer par excellence. And oh, my sarkailo khatiya, gutar gutar and beedi are the stuff that item girls are made of.
Anyway, getting back on track - there I was belting out my dhinchak moves, when it occurred to me (in Carrie Bradshaw, moment of revelation style) that for all my griping about the girlies and their airheadedness, I owe the fact that I'm relatively insecurity-free almost entirely to them. You see, we've all been friends since the age of five. And they've seen me go from a happy-dippy 16-year-old to an angsty, world-hater at 19, to a self-reflecting, but slightly saner 23-year-old. They've accepted me completely - from the occasional frostiness to the emotional instability, from the short-temper to the shortness - and they've never made any demands to change; they've taken the whole package and loved it unconditionally.
Now, the reason that all of this has come into sharp focus is because 'insecurity' has become everyone's favourite topic. (I think it might have to do with people approaching their mid 20s - you sort of feel too old to not have gotten over your childhood issues, but at the same time, all the impending decisions just make the vulnerablities more acute).
M has several insecurities, all related to his move from Mumbai, to Dubai and back to Mumba between ages 10 and 12, and the friendless-ness and loneliness that followed. And while zaphod might want to murder me for over-analysing, I think his issues too, are related to Boston College, and the lack of friends there, to perhaps (I'm not sure about this, so don't hate me if i'm wrong) having to move all over the place when he was still growing up. What I'm trying to say, in this painfully long winded post, is that acceptance is much more important than I ever realised. And that I've never really given my school friends their due.

I owe you so much, girlies. And I love you much much more than I tend to show you.

My famous last words aka I'm addicted to this stupid website even though I should be working

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"Goodbye. I am leaving because I am bored."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Your Sexy Brazilian Name is:

Luíza Cabral

What's" Your Sexy Brazilian Name?

I walk the line..

I don’t want to hurt them and yet I find myself hating them. Why do I feel so disconnected from them? I thought things would be better once I’d gotten over all the rebellion, and in a way they are – infinitely better actually. But I still feel misunderstood and bullied, like I've gotten the short end of the stick. I feel mis-trusted, angry, sad, and worst of all - disconnected.
And I know they care, and they’d hate that I feel like this, but honestly I don’t know how to make it better. I feel like they know I take things seriously, that I’m more sensitive than K, that it’s easy to emotionally blackmail me, and without realizing it, they use it to their advantage. They know I’ll listen, and for some reason that seems to have worked against me. And you know what the worst bit is? That I still want to be a good daughter. I wish I could just fuck it all, and do exactly what I want. I wish I stopped trying to walk the line between making both of us happy. M, where are you when I need you?

Oh look! Another update..and this only after two weeks!

Hello hello. It's nice to see you again too. Bet you're surprised - thought this blog had died, huh? Decided I'm no quitter so I'm back, and of course, I felt the incredible urge to write.
First things first - I quit my job! Finally found the courage to do the what was long overdue. Once I sever all ties with the current place of employment, I will tell all. But until then, I must maintain professionalism and discretion. But I think I deserve a pat on the back for my unwavering courage while telling her I was leaving.
Other good thing of the week: hung out with M, after more than two months of his self-imposed exile from me. While it was really good (we didn't talk about the obvious issue), I don't want to get too excited because it's probable that he'll go back into hibernation. Still, hanging out with him imbued me with me much sadness. Not even quite sure why - maybe it was knowing that things will never be the same again, maybe it was that I couldn't reach over and give him a hug when we'd had 'a moment', maybe it was not being able to tell him any of the things that were on my mind, because I was constantly worried about him just upping and leaving.
All of this weekend I've been craving another city - London or New York, maybe even LA. The weather here has suddenly stopped suiting me, and the pollution is slowly killing me. I can't handle the emptiness, the regressiveness, the I-exist-only-as-my-boyfriend's-trophy attitude, the lack of individuality, the work ethic where sucking-up and seniority matters more than intelligence. And oh, how I miss having my own space - being able to tumble out of bed, into the bathroom, getting dressed and eating breakfast without having to talk to a soul.
Sigh, can't quite understand the sudden melancholy that seems to have settled over me. I suppose if it continues, you'll be hearing a lot more from me.

Generic life update - part deux

Since several beloved readers have been mourning the demise of this blog, this is my latest, and perhaps last, attempt at its revival. Unfortunately for blogging, life has been moving along rather superbly, and the bits that aren't have mostly to do with my job, which I can't write about anyway.

Anyway, two Sundays ago Mama and Papa fivefeetzero decreed that it was time to get Baby fivefeet hitched. Baby's much screaming and shouting fell on deaf ears and she was hauled off to meet Gaudy Gujju Guy (henceforth referred to as Triple G).
Consequently, the fivefeet family arrive in their spanking new Octavia (which Papa has taken out solely to impress Triple G's family) at the city's best 5 star. As Mama steps out of the car in her Sunday best (quite literally), she finds that, horror of horrors, Triple G's family has also arrived, but in a lowly Indigo. Not to be disappointed so easily, Mama recovers from the shock and looks up to see a huge man, dressed in gold glasses and a matching gold bracelet, also stepping out from the car. Mistaking him for the groom, she is about to pass out from the double shock. But then she sees the real Triple G, who while straight-laced and nerdy, is god-like compared to his Fat Cousin. Mama's faith in Triple G is once more restored.
At this point, Baby too descends from the car. (Side story: After much agonising Baby has decided to dress uber-fashionably in white pants and a semi see-through blue kurti top. She intends fully to shock-and-awe the seemingly simple Triple G). She catches sight of the Mother Triple G - a slight woman in garish silk, chunky jewellery and oiled hair - and after recovering from the initial recoil, is rather unsuccessfully trying to control her mirth. By this point, all she can think about is how this is going to make for some fun blogging.
Both families, having by now realised that this can only result in the unholiest of matrimonies, trudge sadly into the hotel. It's too late to back out now - the initial meeting must be carried out. At the table, Baby sits next to Mother Triple G.
Mother Triple G: Tamaru naam su chhe, behen? (Aap ka naam kya hain, behen? ie What is your name, o sister of mine?)
Baby: (looks at Mama fivefeet, and is about to burst out laughing)
Mama: (Pinches Baby under the table and forces her to reply politely).

Eventually Papa fivefeet sends Baby and Triple G off to another corner of the hotel. It is time for them to 'discuss'.

At the table, Triple G, obviously put-off by Baby's snobby south Mumbai airs, rapid-fires questions at her.
"I heard you tell my mother that you switched from science to journalism. Why? I have known since the age of 15 that I wanted to become a chemical engineer. I dislike people who are confused about things."
"What is your routine like? I go to sleep at 10 pm because I want to be at work by 8 am. My work is my life and I don't like to go out. Movies don't matter to me."
And finally...
"I believe it's a man's world. My wife is free to work if she wants to but if my mother were to fall sick it would be her responsibility. She'd have to not go to the office, I wouldn't miss work."
At which point of course, Baby politely says: "We should go. They're waiting for us downstairs."

Back in the car, Papa profusely apologises to Baby for putting her through the ordeal, and takes her for some much needed retail therapy.

She is now the proud owner of beautiful Fendi sunglasses.

Anyway, in other news:

Love life: is still precarious. Not much to say here, except that I'm not sure if I've over thought/over imagined/over evaluated the situation and that it's actually much ado about nothing at all.

M: is still not on speaking terms with me, but has graduated to emailing.

Work: is sucky.

That's it from fivefeetzero and her team in the sunny city of Mumbai. Good night and Good luck.

I'm wondering

...If people blog less when they're happy
...If non-writers blog more than writers (or journalists)
...Why India has four fashion weeks
...If the neighbour is flirting with me or just being friendly
...What the rest of the year holds for me
...Why I can't seem to get M out of my system. Still.
...Whether good reason is waiting to jump at me from around a corner
...When I became old enough to not want to go out on a Saturday night just because it takes too long to park my car