Well, a lot, not all of which I can mention here. But enough to make me happy enough to settle down with a comfortable case of writer’s block. You know, the kind where there’s so much happening that you just can’t decide what to write, and how, so well, you don’t.
But here’s a tiny summary, you know, just to get over the block and hopefully onto figuring out more artistic ways of killing people. Pardon the disconnected randomness.
Zara has now joined Aldo in my brands’ hit-list. While Aldo pissed me off with bad shoe quality (My Lajpat Nagar roadside shoe store gives me shoes that last longer for 1/10th the price) and pathetic service, Zara is on its way to being a very close contender, with a white shirt that tore every place it stretched. I-kid-you-not. More on this when it hopefully gets back from the much mysterious quality check. After blaming my ironing capabilities, of course.
While London seemed as crowded as Sarojini Nagar, I realised it’s easy to fall in love with it if you have a willing friend to walk around with in the middle of the night along the Thames. A very willing friend, in fact, who will force you to walk even when you’re practically blind in one eye, till you somehow manage to stumble on a very flat pavement multiple times and establish that you’re just too old for 24 hours of staying awake now. But, despite getting close to being almost toe-less and turning into a pirate with an eye patch, I shall forever be grateful to the friend for pushing me enough, or I may have always remembered London with a crinkled nose and too many heads.
On a slightly different note, people in UK are surprisingly happy. Specially so in the little town near Wales where I put up. I can’t ever imagine smiling so much at seeing an auditor, really. But then again, I can’t imagine leaving for home at 4.30 PM and having a half day on Friday.
On a completely different note, I was very very disappointed that nobody asked me “Ma’am, would you like a cup of tea?” in a highly accented fake British accent. Bleh.
But I did finally have scones and clotted cream. I’m still not sure what to make of them. Except wonder at Enid Blyton’s choice of tea time snacks.
My birthday was one hotch-potch twenty four hours where nothing, and I mean nothing went as per my wish. But everything, and I mean everything, was perfect thanks to the huge amount of effort and love put in by someone who cared.
And an e-mail at midnight from someone who I like to believe is my blogging soul mate, who somehow always manages to know just how to cheer me up, even when she doesn’t actually know me at all. When actually, she knows me so well.
I’ve realised that sari shops can leave me blinded and bruised. Literally. The majentas and shiny stones… My eyes just weren’t meant for them. And some of the Dilli wali aunties fighting for the last pieces on sale... My body type definitely wasn’t meant for them.
And most importantly, I’ve learnt that life doesn’t work as per the theories we make up along the way. Whether it’s life in Mumbai, our good luck charms, our negotiations with that bitch called Karma, or the Chopsuey theory…some things are meant to change, or meant to be understood better, as we finally grow up. Except, we never really do stop growing up, do we?
Oh! And I managed to cross off some more items from my Wish-List!
P.S. I really haven’t managed to come up with any innovative ways to kill people lately. You guys. Help!
P.P.S. So much that I’d like to tell and can’t. But one day, soon! :)