How I killed a year

I thought I'd do a year-end post, something nice and witty. Maybe make a list and use bullet points -- easier for the reader. But I can't remember what I was doing last month, forget April. My memories betray any sequence, still I must prove myself capable of assorted recollections.

I remember January. And February. The talks with my grandparents. The look on my grandmother's face, sitting in the veranda with her back to the sun, wanting to believe her granddaughter's lie that the condom really was a part of some AIDS campaign back in college. I remember her look, her tone, her drama. I remember over breakfast, (the night after I sneaked back into my house after a vodka-heavy-birthday party of one jovial fair boy), my grandfather asking me why I don't get a court marriage done because then I will know where I stand in the life of my "current partner".

I remember my parents anniversary (April). I joined them for a Chinese dinner. We had fried lotus stem and a pot of that jasmine tea, and drove back in separate cars. I remember that earlier in the same day, my boyfriend lost his rottweiler, his companion for 17-years. Before calling it a day, he fed the dog kebabs, chocolates, and offered him a peg of premium whiskey that Simba smacked clean.

I remember August, the shit a friend went through when his new-born niece stayed in ICU longer than she should have. The doctors messed up. He flew down. But things turned out just fine -- like the annoying song in 3 Idiots goes, All is Well.

In Jan, my boyfriend and I fought a lot because he couldn't get over the exes. Then I bought him a tabla for his birthday, and I hoped he would vent some of his frustrations on the camel skin-surface of that instrument.

In June or July, I went to meet a publisher and got very excited about the prospect of working on a manuscript. I stayed true to myself and never got off my ass, never wrote, just spewed venom (in private, to people close to me) at the book launches of first time authors.

Khan Market stands out. It's where we idle and unwind, and go into The Body Shop store and curse the prices of Tea Tree oil products. Expensive pedicures stand out. The memory of blowing up money at lunch, four times a week at eateries close to office stands out. Office hours merge. I remember the office parties. The gossip eludes me. Yoga stands out. I remember my birthday, September, (they sang for me in yoga class). I remember my flat tyres (one on my birthday). I remember a friend saying "lets have a piss-up..", meaning lets get together. I remember all not being okay with this friend, and not just because of her odd choice of phrases.

I started wearing eye shadow this year. Red lipstick can wait. I remember an eye infection, and tortoise-shell glasses that were all wrong for my face. I remember the dermatologist. I remember the Liver Function Tests that I had to get done. I remember being a baby about the syringe and hating the amusement in the face of this boy whose hand I chose to hold. I remember the ultrasound of my ovaries. I had to pee because they made me drink so much water but the doc woman insisted my bladder wasn't full enough so she made me wait, and by the time hand-holder and I got back from the ATM, I was ready to wet my pants and blame someone else.

I remember the Monday my ipod was stolen. I remember shopping for all those bags in Singapore, and drinking Absolut with scoops of lemony ice cream at my much-older cousin and his girlfriend's place till 6 in the morning.

I remember my friend's wedding. And the week-long madness. And the mehndi that stayed, and the songs that played and the clothes that I still didn't get tailored, and the bachelorette with the under confident stripper, to avoid whom, D and I did a lesbo act. I remember the fat woman in black at the Vidya Tikari make-up studio who said I could mix bronze and pink and blushers can double up as eye shadow, and in no time flat, gave me smoky party eyes for free.

But whirlwind run down of 2009 apart, what did I achieve? I learnt how to eat with chopsticks. Other than that, this could well be last year. Not that it was a bad year. But like every year, it's gone. I don't know if the decade has ended. Couldn't be bothered to follow the logic, but the millennium bash seems like it was just the other day -- I was in the 10th standard and I wore that silver top with strappy black platforms I paid Rs 700 for in Bombay.

I don't know yet what my party plan this year is, other than to be the arm candy, but surely I'll have a drink or two, and blog about it. Happy New Year, loyalists!

And since this bit was drafted when we were still on bullet points:

May feed readers never go out of business.
May you lose weight and not be left with stretch marks.
May your divorce come through and you not be taken to the cleaners.
May you get a promotion, but also a 40 per cent pay hike.
May your friends call often, but not while you're having sex.
May you have nobody to visit in hospital because may nobody fall sick.
May your loneliness not last long and comfort food come to your rescue.
May all that studying pay off and you actually learn stuff.
May someone pick and send you flowers you really like and not just a token bouquet.
May your kids have pink cheeks and say please.
May there be less road rage and more helpless giggling.
May there be good conversation at lunch.
May there be good conversation on gtalk.
May there be text messages that make you smile.
May there be good stuff on sale.
May you get genuine compliments.
May you get movie tickets.
May you write that book.
May you get plenty of steamy texts from the service providers you want.
May the person in front look at you and say thanks if you let them go first.
May haircuts turn out just how you want them.
May you have a fun party to go to on the 31st, and next year if not this,
May you have someone to kiss long and hard at midnight.