Woman and a Quarter

Introversion for Dummies

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sun, 05 Oct 2014 16:35:00 +0000

'Shyness is the fear of social disapproval or humiliation, while introversion is a preference for environments that are not overstimulating. Shyness is inherently painful; introversion is not.' - Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

People are always telling me that I should get out more. It’s usually accompanied by a sage nod and a string of well-meaning and yet, profoundly ignorant statements (stemming from absurd assumptions about introversion) that are supposed to motivate me into getting out: “Just come, meet some relatives, TALK! You’ll feel happy,” or “I know what’s missing in your life. Gossip!” and my personal favourite (because of how high it scores in the absurd-o-meter), “Don’t be such an aunty. When was the last time you got hammered?” It always takes me every ounce of self-restraint to not point out the obvious: That introverts are not unhappy people leading empty lives that are boring.

Here’s the thing: There has been a sudden explosion of memes and articles on the lines of 27 Signs of Introversion and 15 Things Only Introverts Understand and yada yada yada and I keep thinking: Why? WHY are we explaining the difference between ‘introversion’ and ‘depression’ to people who are clearly too busy gossiping and getting hammered to have ever brushed up against the concept of a dictionary? And why should we have to come up with excuses for who we are EVERY TIME we turn down an invitation to ‘get out.’

I mean, it’s not like they consulted us when they decided that out is better than in. I get that it’s better for some people, but if they can’t see it that way, I’ve decided that I’m going to stop apologizing for choosing The Good Wife over Saturday night with people who want to talk about their relationships, get drunk and take selfies.

See, I keep seeing pictures with captions on the lines of ‘This is the life’ on my FB newsfeed all the time. The pictures are usually of exotic vacations, a bottle of chilled beer, sinfully rich desserts, partying with friends and on and on. Most people go on to comment and agree that it is, indeed, the life. I look at that and I want to make a meme of my own with the same caption: A picture of Tom Hanks in Castaway, talking to Wilson, the volleyball. An island to myself where no one can call and ask me if I’d like to get out! What’s not to like? This. Is. The. Life.

This brings me to the question that no one is asking: How did introverts get into this mess in the first place? You know? Being treated like socially impaired half-people, who need to be coaxed out of our toxic shells where we are clearly DYING. I mean, the typical introvert feels like he might lose his mind if he doesn’t get time to himself, and the typical extrovert feels that way if he’s left alone with his thoughts for long periods of time – as proven by people who go “I don’t know HOW you sit at home all the time. I’d go MAD. I mean, it’s unhealthy!” Waitaminute. You are basically saying that you are not interesting enough to keep yourself interested and somehow I’m the one with the problem?

Probably, the only people more annoying to a true blue introvert than the Extrovert Evangelists, are the Wannabe Introverts. They exist and they are a ‘thing.’ They’ve watched too many shows (Breaking Bad, Big Bang Theory, Newsroom and on and on) that have established nerds as ‘cool’ in their heads; and now they think the only way to claim said coolness is by convincing everyone on social media about the big, introverted nerdy FREAKS that they are (Of course, this would be a lot more convincing if they stopped updating their status about introversion from 3 different clubs they checked into on the same night).

I better stop now, my head feels full: another side-effect of staying in.

‘You’re told that you’re “in your head too much,” a phrase that’s often deployed against the quiet and cerebral. Of course, there’s another word for such people: thinkers.’ – Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking

On running out of conversation

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sat, 27 Sep 2014 18:44:00 +0000

"My need to make the best of things and your need to be responsible...if we don't do something now, we could lose ten years being polite." - Jerry Maguire

I used to think that running out of conversation was the worst thing that could happen to a relationship. There was a quiet finality about it, quite unlike rage or betrayal which provided a perverse reassurance ("they're only lashing out at you because they care") even when the relationship itself was falling apart. The popular notion was that if you're running out of things to say, then you're probably running out of things you have in common, which means you're likely to get bored very soon and oh my god, do you not know what happens to relationships in which the two people (or worse, just one of the two) get(s) BORED?

Of course, I was not alone in this. I've had friends (women, always) who pursued me with all the zeal of a newly converted Jehovah's Witness, upon the first signs of conversation wearing out. "I feel like we don't talk that much anymore" was a refrain that once made me shudder and melt at the same time. I then went on some pretty nasty guilt-trips (I mean, I'm a true blue Virgo - I come with the unique talent of making everything MY fault. After which, I will brood, apologise profusely and make amends. Then I will go over the whole episode in my head objectively, rationalize, and get really mad with the other person for not introspecting, not being self-aware and so gladly accepting my apologies). I digress.

Nowadays, I have a completely different take on this. I still think that waning conversation is usually a sign of waning interest (with the exception of those relationships (usually family) that come with this gorgeous, perfect silence that just lets you be). But it doesn't bother me anymore when a relationship shows signs of dying a natural death. It doesn't even bother me when it bothers the other person. While this might sound cold on the surface, there's a simple logic at work here: I only have room for this many (that's about a handful) people in my life.
Of these, some people fall under the lots-of-momentum category. They are people who are constantly pushing themselves, pursuing goals, holding themselves accountable when they aren't being authentic enough, nice enough, interesting enough. The result is magical. I've known them for years and there's never been a dull moment. And here's the thing: There's always something to TALK about. The other category is people who are a constant thorn in my flesh (the ones who seem to exist just to give me grief every now and then) and I can't seem to shake them off. But they have their place too: They make me grow. And besides, they have a way of falling away on their own when they've served their purpose.

My problem is with the ones in between. They're not moving forward fast enough to keep me interested, and they're not painful enough to make me grow. And ever since I hit 29, I've had this constantly ticking clock (no, not THAT clock, you schmuck, I already have a child) in my head. It's like there's only so much time and I have to be very clear about what I want to do in this time. What are the relationships I want to nurture? What are the goals I must accomplish? What are the dreams I want to pursue? All of this aside, there are such things as making a living, running errands, falling in love, doing chores, standing in queues, having heart pounded from falling in love, getting stuck in traffic, recovering from pounded heart, missing flights, fixing A/Cs, catching the flu, etc. etc that get in the way. So how is one supposed to fit in 'Try to make conversation and force a connection with friend who refuses to try to move forward?' into the schedule? Also, WHY should one try so hard when the other person chooses to be stuck in Time-Warp Land? Pray, tell!

I'm not saying you stop caring about people you've run out of conversation with. I know for a fact that I'll be there for anyone in my life should they really need me. And if I have fab memories with them, I'll keep those close too. And who's to tell - perhaps, years down the line, some life-altering situation might change one of us beyond recognition and cause us to reconnect and grow closer than we were the first time.

But until then, would it be so wrong to acknowledge that we have nothing to say and that's OKAY?

The problem with first impressions (even when they’re true).

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sun, 01 Jun 2014 04:12:00 +0000

I don’t make a good first impression. For starters, I’m vertically challenged and it is a proven fact that it’s the tall people who get noticed first; followed by medium-sized people, and by the time they get down to noticing me, something interesting has happened or someone has said something hilarious and everyone’s now busy focusing on that. Now this situation could be easily fixed if I were Eva Longoria (we share the same height) but I’m not.

That’s all right though, we can still find a way out. All I need is a big, colourful personality.

You know all those people who walk into a room as if everyone’s gathered there just to hear them speak? Yeah, them. Are you picturing someone right now? It helps if you picture them. They can talk about anything – it doesn’t have to make sense or even be particularly funny. And many people even secretly admit to finding their constant need for the spotlight, annoying, after a while. BUT. They make a good firstimpression. A chance that is entirely denied to us introverted, socially-awkward folk.

So. I have to rely heavily on such things as good nature and my ability to sustain deep, meaningful conversations and relationships. Everything has to be about depth and meaning because clearly, I’m completely lacking on the cosmetic front. This is why I don’t even bother putting my back into small talk. People mistakenly conclude that this is because I must be some kind of snob, but it’s completely untrue. It’s because I need time.

See, unlike all those flashy, charming people who will swoop right in, bowl you over and disappear before you can pick yourself up, I will take my time to grow on you. Sure, I can’t hold a party together, dance to save my life and no, rooms do not get brighter when I walk into them.

But give me some time, and I’ll know all your faces, all your noises, your defence mechanisms, your weird things, your annoying traits - and unlike most people who will give up on you at this stage, I’ll just be getting started.

And suddenly, you won’t even remember what you thought when you first met me because by now, we’d have the kind of friendship that actually matters. And all the party chit-chat in the world will not be able to replace it. If you’re a sucker, this might even cloud your judgment and make you think I’m kind of pretty. Deep and meaningful with even a healthy amount of delusion. What’s not to like?

It’s because I’m not trying to make an impression to begin with. I’m looking for people worth investingin. In some ways I feel like this has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve lived in Chennai all my life. It just strikes me as a quintessentially Chennai trait. I mean, while all the colourful complaints about this place might be true, I also suspect it’s because people might be looking at it with all the wrong expectations. Because as almost anyone who has adopted this city would tell you, it does not make a good first impression. But it has a way of sneaking up on you, getting under your skin and much to your surprise, you realize that you don’t even want to shake it off.

It doesn’t have Bombay’s appetite for constant excitement or Bangalore’s fabulous weather, but for some unfathomable reason, it’s the one place you want to rush to when you’ve spent more than a few weeks anywhere else. Because while all those other cities are great for small talk, Chennai is the one that really gets you. And not the you-in-high-heels-blowing-page-3-style-air-kisses, it gets the you-in-pyjamas-listening-to-Ricky-Martin-in-secret-shame. And it loves you anyway. So you reciprocate in the only way you possibly can – you call it home.

As I recently overheard a twenty-something guy describe Chennai– ‘It’s like the not-very-good-looking-but-sweet chick you ignore at first, but end up marrying.’

Yeah, sounds about right.

The New Law of Reciprocation

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Thu, 17 Apr 2014 15:27:00 +0000

Someone recently enlightened me about how teenagers in London, say hello to each other. I’m cutting the story short here, but it involves two teenage girls in the tube, having a casual exchange that goes something like this: ‘He sent me a naked picture.’ ‘Oh. What did you do?’ ‘(Shrugs) Sent him back one of mine.’ ‘How do you know him again?’ ‘Met him just once at a party.’ ‘You said you didn’t like him right?’ ‘Yes, but I didn’t want to be rude.’

Oh.

After discussing it with a few others here in India, I realized that it’s how it is here as well. It’s probably not yet a norm for politeness, but it does exist. I responded to this in three ways: As a person, I was appalled. As a parent, anxious. And as a writer, curious.

When I was a teenager back in the 90s, playing hard-to-get was still in vogue. Girls gave boys a good long run before they expressed any interest in them and the boys, in turn, seemed to appreciate this because it made them feel like they had won something. But like all cute traditions involving teenagers, this one also came with a rule. A rule that no one spoke of, but understood. And in my case, learned after several embarrassing situations. And the rule went like this: The length of time a boy chases you, is directly proportional to how good looking and popular you are. And oh, how much the other boys want you.

So. I learned politeness early.

I learned not to be shrewish and fussy, to not take anyone’s interest in me for granted and to always appreciate the nice things that people did for me. But most of all, I learned to reciprocate – a trait that has served me well in adulthood. Of course, reciprocation in the 90s didn’t always have to be in the same capacity. So if a boy liked me ‘like that’ but I didn’t, I responded by being nice to him and treating him like a friend. Because the rule of reciprocation went like this: You can’t like everyone ‘like that,’ but you can still be nice.

Clearly, the law of reciprocation has been drastically revised since. And yes, I understand that it is the bane of every generation to attempt to exorcise the demons of the previous one, thereby begetting new demons. But what I don’t understand is this: What did these kids find so wrong with our hellos that they had to take such an extreme step?

Perhaps they recognized all societal norms to be a farce. They noticed that hellos between boys and girls are often loaded with sexual tension. And where there is tension, there is always an agenda.

Maybe, at a subconscious level, all they’re really looking for are friendships without hidden motives. And this is just their way of freeing themselves of said motives – by getting the sexual tension out of the way in the very beginning. And what better way to say ‘All right, get it over with and thenwe can be friends’ than sending naked selfies to boys you barely know and don’t really like? It’s kind of brilliant when you think about it. Right?

Hahaha, no. I’m messing with you. It’s warped, freaky and in every sense, a cry for help. We need to fix this. But how? Especially since it’s established that no generation has ever listened to the previous one. But what is also established is that they are programmed to go in the opposite direction. SO. I’m thinking, we should go completely cuckoo on them. Like, 90s-grunge cuckoo. Show up with weird hairdos, walk around in ripped jeans, break things for no reason, stay perennially high, appear promiscuous and generally act angry and misunderstood. They won’t know what hit them.

And they’ll learn to reciprocateby living on a freakishly high moral plane. If they don’t, we’ll start twerking. Just as soon as we find out what it means.

New People vs Old People (and the science of small talk)

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Mon, 24 Feb 2014 07:02:00 +0000

People are always talking about how they like to meet new people. And they always say it like it's something they really like about themselves. Like, 'Oh, I just luuuuuurv meeting new people. It keeps things interesting' and 'I get a rush out of meeting and making friends with new people.' This bothers me. It's okay to like meeting people and all that, but why this over emphasis on NEW people? I mean, what about the old people? Now, I'm not against new friendships at all and I agree that newness is always exciting. But for me, the rush is in discovering new layers in people I thought I had completely figured out. You know? That moment when someone you've known for years, turns around and says or does something so out of character, that it makes you dig deeper. And then, upon digging, you find this whole story attached to this trait that's so familiar to you, and yet it's so different from the story you told yourself. It's like every person in your life comes with an infinite number of Easter eggs that are revealed to you from time to time if you won't stop looking. How cool is that. So yeah, for once in my life, I'd like to see a social media profile that reads 'I like hanging out with people I already know.'

But then again, I'm on the other extreme of this situation. I'm so supremely happy with the alarmingly few people in my life, that I need to be pushed, bribed or blackmailed into putting myself in a situation that would involve small talk with new people. I'm like the fox in that episode of Full House where Jesse and Joey go into the forest to film the 'fast fox' for a Fast Fox Fax commercial (heh). And they sit there all night making vague noises, trying to coax the fox out of its hole, but it refuses to surface. And after a whole night of no-show, they start singing Happy Trails in their desperation and the fox finally comes out. Yeah, it takes a lot of effort and most people pack up and leave.

But see, this is not because I'm snooty. It's because I really don't get the science of small talk. And it’s a science, mind you. An exclusive science that everyone but me seems to be in on. I've tried and I don't get it. Everything about it makes me anxious. Like, when people you've just met, look you squarely in the eye and say "Let's keep in touch." See, now everyone agrees that this is just plain, old fashioned manners, but I just don't get it. Because for me, keeping in touch is an entirely spontaneous process that I give no thought to. I meet you at some vague party, we talk for sometime, we do okay, we leave. Then we randomly bump into each other again, talk some more, find that we get along good. Then we end up working together on something and this time, we really hit it off and suddenly, tada! We’re friends.

SO. I get very nervous when people just DECLARE it like that – Let’s keep in touch. Because then, it becomes a plan. And when something is a plan, my brain goes off into OCD mode. I need to know everything about the plan so I can decide if I’m on board with it. So I want to ask this unsuspecting, friendly new person I’ve just met, a few questions about this PLAN. Like, how are we going to do this? Are you going to call me or am I supposed to call you? If I don’t call, will you think I’m ignoring you? Also, what will we talk about when we’re keeping in touch? So many questions.

Of course, I refrain. It is never OKAY to unleash the crazies on someone you’ve just met. You should wait at least 3-6 months and see if they’ll pass the test. This is why old friends rock. Because they’ve seen you go batshit and for some unfathomable reason, they’ve decided to stick with you. And since their expectations are so low, it can only go uphill from here, see? This is just logic.

Some people argue that you never know what to expect around new people and the whole unpredictability of it all is what they find so exciting. And then they'll annoy you with that overused sentence "because I'm a very adventurous person." I don't get it. If adventure is what you want, why not jump off a plane with a half-broken parachute? That way, you might even make it to the front page. But using new friendships as some sort of bungee jumping exercise? That's just uncool, dude.

But they aren't the worst offenders. It's the ones who are out there "networking." I think networking is perfectly legit as long as you make your intentions known. Then it becomes a purely professional exercise for both individuals. But meeting people, pretending to be their friend, regularly keeping in touch with them and then referring to them as a "good contact" behind their backs? I will never get that.

But that's all perfectly OKAY. As long as you're adventurous and like to meet new people.

When Sophie Met Sid (The Weirdly Fictitious Post).

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sun, 26 Jan 2014 09:11:00 +0000

So. Yashodara Lal Sharma, the lovely author of Just Married, Please Excuse, has come out with her second novel - Sorting out Sid. She asked me sometime back if we could get our lead characters (Sid from her novel and Sophie from my second novel, Sophie Says: Memoirs of a Breakup Coach) to meet, and I thought it would be a fun experiment. So we had a short exchange the other day, as our characters (She was Sid and I was Sophie), on Google Talk and I have to say, I'm enjoying every second of this MPD thing. It was so much fun fake-drunk flirting as a fictional woman with a fictional man written by a woman.

Schizophrenia is company. MPD is a party ;-)

***

Setting: A Bar in Chennai. Lights Dim. A guy and a girl find themselves sitting next to each other at the counter. Both are on their third or fourth drinks.

Sid: (Preens, trying to get her to notice his newly sprouting French Beard. He refuses to be the one to say something first even though he feels like a conversation. It would be too forward of him.)

Sophie: And this is a day I never thought I'd see in Chennai..

Sid: (Hoping she isn't one of those crazies who end up in places like this) Excuse me?

Sophie: (completely ignoring his cautious approach) Nothing, I find it charming that you think you're being subtle checking me out.

Sid: ( sputters and chokes-he was in the middle of taking another swig of his Beer. Recovers and says with as much dignity as possible).Madam. I assure you I was not. I was merely looking at MYSELF in the mirror to see how my new French Beard is coming along. I apologize if you thought I was looking at you. (He adds) I am very much a married man. Married fifteen long years, actually. (Shows her his ring to convince her of the fact.)

Sophie: (rolling eyes) Okay, relax, take a breath and all that, Gilderoy Lockhart. (a beat, speaking more to herself ) Wow, so there's hope for that sinking institution after all…

Sid: Gilderoy..who? Oh I see. I understand. I'm sometimes mistaken for a foreigner. Well, it happened once. Oh, but that's when I was in China, so I guess I was a foreigner only (Shakes head to clear it). Anyway. My name is Sid. Siddharth, actually, but everyone calls me Sid. And you are...?

Sophie: Never mind. You might be too old for a Harry Potter reference anyway (quickly realizes she's too old as well and tries to change the subject). I'm Sophie. And everyone calls me Sophie. Or The Breakup Coach.

Sid: (shocked) A ...break up coach? I didn't know there was such a thing. How unusual (Suddenly realizes she was making a barb at his age). Hey. I'm only 36. I've been TRYING to look older because I might soon become a VP at my company. And I'll have you know that my marriage is JUST FINE. No sinking institution at all. (Sinks lower in his chair, trying to keep thoughts of his last fight at home at bay)

Sophie: I was actually commenting on marriage as an institution and not your marriage specifically, but interesting response (looks at him like she's making a psycho analytic observation). Also, VP at 36, huh? Good for you. I'm 31, fashionably quit my job a few months ago because it wasn't "fulfilling" and now I have nooooo idea what I want to do… (smiles vaguely, looking straight ahead.) (a long pause). You know, at this point, it is polite to offer a sad fact about your life.

Sid: (caught off guard) Sad fact...well, I would except that my life is fine, FINE. It's Rockin'! (thinks for a bit, realizing he may be overdoing it) Well, I suppose...it could get better. Mandira and I have been ...er, having differences of opinion rather a lot. But that's normal in any relationship, right? (Changes track, embarrassed at having opened up to this strange girl, although she is kind of cute. But he's married!) So, no job eh? A free bird-types?! I'm sure joblessness has its moments. Doesn't it?

Sophie: (noticing he's embarrassed about opening up and getting a kick out of making him feel worse): Whoa, whoa, Sid…too much information.. It's not cool to discuss fights with your wife with strange women at the bar, you know? (impish smile)

Sid (feeling uncomfortable) Yes, yes...well, you're the one who started with the whole break up, sinking institution thing. Never mind. Wait, so you're not really jobless then, right? You do that...Break up Engineering thing?

Sophie: (laughing) You're so cute... (Doing a Sid impression) "you're the one who started it..nananana" (chuckling again)..sorry, sorry, I'm 4 margaritas down. And yeah the Breakup "Engineering" thing is more of a blog I write. It's called Sophie Says. Hey, you should look it up on Facebook! Uhh, not that you need it or anything.

Sid: (Tips of his ears turning pink at having been called cute. But wait, she's just making fun of him) Yeah. I definitely, so definitely don't need your services. (Doesn't like the way that sounds) Er, what I mean is ... yeah, my marriage is fine, but still. What do you do exactly? I would look it up, but I'm not much on Facebook. I don't get the time at work, busy long days, meetings, emails, important stuff, you know. Plus (confessing a little shamefacedly) They keep using some Firewall thingy to block it at office.

Sophie: (laughs) Well, as a Breakup Coach, I get to slap some sense into Breakees. Uh, Breakees is a word I coined for people who get dumped. You know Relationship Junkies who think they're entitled to whine all over town, throw tantrums and boil your bunny because you dumped them? Yeah, I like to fix those losers. Kind of like a contribution to society and all. Also, this whole thing is built around the philosophy that it is the Breakers who suffer more at the end of a relationship and NOT the Breakees who have friends, countless tubs of Baskin Robbins and good old fashioned self-pity to fall back on…(Looks at Sid thoughtfully).Also, you keep saying that your marriage is fine A LOT. Just an observation. Feel free to ignore it. But you know, you strike me as the king of denial.

Sid: (defensive) That's because it is Fine. A LOT. That's just how it is. I am so totally NOT the king of Denial. That's just ( Realizing he's denying it too hard) ...And I have no idea what this Breaker and Breakee business is. Isn't it possible for two people to just mutually decide that it's not working, at some point? ( He takes another large swig to fortify himself. This conversation is taking a toll on him. Looks at her, with almost a plea in his eyes this time) Doesn't that EVER happen?

Sophie: Like I said, just an observation. But I feel like you're very all-caps-y every time you talk about your marriage, you know? (she sighs, there's a pause) And I wait for that day as much as you…the day when the breaker and the breakee deal with their own problems…(examines her glass. it's empty.) So tell me, mysterious stranger with too many unresolved issues, should I order another one or are you afraid you might fall in love with me? (drunk laughs).

Sid: ( trying to suppress the strange attraction he feels towards her. Come on, you're the master of suppressing things, he tells himself) I'll take that chance. (turns away from her) Bhaiiya! I mean Waiter! We'll have another refill, this lovely young lady and I.( Searches his head for a safe topic) So...are you from Chennai?

Sophie: (thinking to herself: Oh, crap. What did I do. I already have a Ryan and a Yatan to deal with and after all the grief I gave Bonnie about the married guy… oh, please God..I've learnt my lesson! I shall never judge again!) (Smiles). Yup. Been here all my wife. Er, life. You?

Sid: I'm from Delhi. Er, well, I'm actually from Lucknow but now I live in Delhi. Used to be in Bombay, but my wife got a great job opportunity in Delhi so we moved there. Good for me, though! Doing very well at work. The VP thing you know. ( Realizes he sounds like a bit of an ass but it's too late to backtrack)

Sophie: I was just at that point in my margarita buzz when I had gotten past my existential pain. But now that you've reminded me again about what an unaccomplished mess I am what with that VP thing you keep bringing up and all.. (pouts at the mirror, trying to see if she can appear girly for a change) Anyway… this has been peculiar, Sid. I never thought I'd see the day in Chennai.. when a cute guy would check me out at a bar and then tell me that he was only checking out his new french beard. (smiles)

Sid: (Humorless laugh) Okay! Fine! You want to hear it? I will TELL YOU (getting very loud)...I'm a VP at my company, all right...BUT YOU HAVEN'T ASKED WHAT WE MAKE!

WE MAKE TOILET CLEANERS. YOU KNOW...STAIN REMOVAL FOR WESTERN AND INDIAN STYLE BOTH. NEW PERFUMED VARIANT. I WENT FOR THE PRODUCT RESEARCHES MYSELF. IT WAS ENLIGHTENING! HAHAHAHAHAHA

Sophie: Ohh-kay. My girl erection just went down.

Sid: So You're not the one with existential problems! I'm the LOSER! Ha ha! I WIN! (suddenly realizes what she just said, and looks hopeful) You mean I could have...we could have...can we rewind and maybe ...

Sophie: (laughs) I think this is the point in that drunk cocky boy meets drunk damaged girl scenario, where they should both get up and leave. (Leans in to whisper to him mock-seductively) You know? Since your marriage is FINE and all? (picks up her bag to leave, flashes him a smile.) This has been sweet, Sid. But let's NOT keep in touch on Facebook. (winks).

Sid: (calls after her) I wasn't interested anyway! You're not my type after all! And I'm too loyal! My MARRIAGE IS FINE! ( Sees he is now alone except for the waiter staring at him with arms crossed. Looks at him haughtily) One more, Bhaiiya! (Slumps over the bar)

***

You can pick up your copy of Sorting Out Sid here and Sophie Says here.

On Part-Delusions

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Thu, 19 Dec 2013 12:51:00 +0000

Gwen: 'This Dr. Reed is bad news.'

Mindy: 'No, he has a good heart. I think he's like Hugh Grant in About a Boy.'

Gwen: 'He's like Hugh Grant in real life.' - The Mindy Project

Someone once told me "I want you forever. Not everyday, but forever." I thought it was romantic at the time. At least, it was a huge leap from the previous one who couldn’t see our relationship even a few hours into the future. Also, pop culture – and by that I mean Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Aniston movies – had rewired my brain to be suspicious of men who said all the right things. So yes, I was a sucker for blunt deliveries. I found the honesty, charming.

See, romantic-comedy, as a genre, has been glorifying the "real" man for way too long. The emotionally-stunted guy who eventually confronts his feelings and comes around, but only after putting our adorable heroine through the worst (The Switch, Sex and the City, Jerry Maguire, Made of Honour); the guy who is always acting like a jerk but it's only because his wife died or cheated on him and left him cold and dead inside. We are then led to believe that there is this good, almost caring-too-much guy lurking just beneath the surface and all our heroine has to do is scratch that surface and set him free (The Ugly Truth, Life as we know it, About a Boy, 27 Dresses). Needless to say, this does not happen in real life. Commitment phobes are often better left alone and the guy (or girl) who acts like a jerk is really just a jerk.

I know some smartass will say 'But you're not supposed to take romantic-comedy so seriously.' Yes, I get that. But since you're feeding me lies anyway, the least you can do is feed me a complete lie. See, my all-time favorite fictional men are Henry (who is a time-traveler from The Time Traveler's Wife), Darcy (19th century), Leopold (of Kate and Leopold, who is a Duke who time-traveled from the 1800s) and my current big time TV love, Elijah Michaelson (who is a 1000 year old vampire from The Originals and The Vampire Diaries). Now you see what all these men have in common? They are entirely fictional. Which means, there is no risk of me sitting here waiting for a vampire or a time-traveler to show up and declare his undying love for me. These men simply give me a rush of blood to the head every once in a while, simply by existing in a parallel universe. And I have no trouble going back to my ordinary 21st century existence and rolling eyes at the ordinary 21st century men and their fashionable pop-psych issues.

But when you take the concept of eternal love with a gorgeous man who will adore me everyday and who'd much rather DIE than not be with me, and then you water it down to a story about a girl who finds her perfect someone in a commitment phobe or a self-serving jerk who changes in the end, you are on dangerous ground. Because you are now feeding a delusive idea that is much bigger and infinitely more toxic than the one that existed before. 'Cause here's a fun fact: vampires and time-traveling dukes do not exist but emotional halfwits are EVERYWHERE.

Besides, what's up with this need to make everything "real?" I don't know about you, but I can only enjoy my reality when it's balanced out by an alternate reality. I'm not using the word delusion because it's all in the way you see it. I mean, isn't fiction meant to be a kind of escape? And if we can't even aspire for perfection in fiction, I shudder to imagine our real world standards. So, yes. It's the part-delusion you need to watch out for. A complete delusion won't hurt you.

And it might have kept Mark Darcy alive. Yeah, Helen Fielding killed Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones 3. I haven't read the book so I don't know the cause of death. I suspect it was "real" writing.

It's a vibe thing (it seems).

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Wed, 04 Sep 2013 18:29:00 +0000

One of my friends recently told me, that if he walked into a bar and saw me standing there, he wouldn't ever come up and talk to me, let alone hit on me. "Even if you were in your hottest outfit," he added - you know, just in case I hadn't felt completely rejected already. I was at the verge of assuming it was because I was simply not his type or whatever, when he decided to elucidate - "It's a vibe thing," he said. "You send out this Don't-mess-with-me vibe and guys can always sense that kind of stuff."

Oh.

Now see, I'm always open to new theories on why I'm still single so I considered it and I have to say - If this is true, I'm in some serious trouble here. I mean, I've been thinking all this time that my obsession with The One (over the last few years) has been making me appear something on the lines of delusional, pathetic and kind of scary in a she-might-gag-me-tie-me-to-a-pole-and-marry-me kind of way, so I've been trying to play it down. But it turns out, I've been poshly rejecting even the few good men around, without my knowledge. This is worrisome. So worrisome, it might drive me to quilting or something.

I wish he had just said that I was too short. That way, I would have sulked about it for a little while and shrugged it off. OR it should have been something constructive such as 'You need to smile more' or I don't know, 'You should wear brighter colours (something I get all the time)'. But this vibe thing is totally unfair. Because now, you're basically saying that the reason I still haven't met The One is because of ME. And since I don't even KNOW that I'm sending out this stupid vibe, how on earth am I supposed to make it stop? Pray, tell!

I mean, it's like I come with something like an inbuilt Galton Whistle. Except, this one is not directed at dogs and cats. It sends out these extremely irritating high pitched sounds to all the desirable single men within a 100 meter radius - causing them to make a 180 degree turn and walk away.

Actually, it's kind of fascinating when you think about it. Maybe I should use my powers for good. Yeah, if any of you ladies need to revolt a persistent ex or just any guy who won't leave you alone at a party, take me with you. I'll put on my hottest outfit and just stand there emitting these super cool vibes and make all the men disappear. I always wanted to have telekinetic powers but this is cool enough. So let me just get my very own superhero costume and we'll get going, yes?

NO.

This is not funny at all and I refuse to settle for this rubbish vibe mumbo-jumbo. That's like telling a child that she didn't get any Christmas presents this year because Santa's sleigh broke down. How lame is that. I mean, we all know that she didn't get any presents because she's been NAUGHTY.
So. Stop giving excuses and come up with reasons I can actually work on, dammit.
Not that The One and Santa are the same thing. You can laugh all you want but I know that he (The One, not Santa) is out there.

You know, like I can sense it. It's a vibe thing. From the universe.

Birthday Blues, NOT like Holiday Blues.

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Thu, 29 Aug 2013 17:03:00 +0000

Is there any such thing as Birthday Blues? You know, like Baby Blues. And if it's not a real thing, can we please make it a thing? And generally fuss about it? Because every year, the week preceding my birthday, I feel an awful sense of dread take over me. No, not because I want to be 25 again (hell, no). It's not even because I've failed to accomplish some random goals I set for myself back in the day when list-making was all the rage. It's just that I feel all this pressure to be extra happy on that day and I often crack under it. It's like, I owe it to the world to wake up all wired and do something exciting on this day. If you're wondering how this is different from Holiday Blues and Valentine's Day Blues, let me point out that there is a certain comfort you can draw from the fact that other people are suffering the same pangs on those days. With birthdays on the other hand, you are singled out. You, missy. You-with-no-plans-on-your-birthday YOU. You have disappointed the world.

It's awful. It all begins with that first caller who excitedly goes 'SO. What's the plaaaaan?' I'm sorry, but I don't have it in me to tell this happy person that I have no plans. I usually lie and say something on the lines of 'Yeah, I might go out with some friends in the evening.' This is received well. I have found that telling people that you have no plans on your birthday is often interpreted as a complaint. Or you know, sulking. And now they feel responsible - like, it's up to them to cheer you up on your birthday. And while that's sweet, it's also sad (sympathy plans!) and not to mention, completely unnecessary. Also, this method gets tricky as the day progresses. By evening, the questions get altered a bit - 'So where are youuuuu? What are you doingggg?' I don't know about you, but I'm uncomfortable about lying when people ask me pointed questions. So I go with the truth. But then, they want to know why. Like, one must have a legitimate reason to not party on her birthday. At this point, I usually feel like Joey in that episode of Friends where they all turn thirty. You know? Where he looks up at the ceiling and goes - 'Why, God, WHY?'

Two more calls on these lines and I'm almost depressed. Because I'm now somehow convinced that the reason I have no plans on my birthday is because a) I'm a loser b) Nobody loves me c) All of the above.

But see, this Happy Birthday culture has been around for so long, that I'm now primed to think that this day is special. Or that it ought to be. Which means that even if I've had a fairly decent day, I'm going to feel disappointed if no one made me feel special and I didn't get out of bed with a gush of happiness in my chest. This is absurd. I am not eight years old anymore. Presents don't excite me (well, not as much at least) and the people who love me, do such a fabulous job of it on all the other days, that it really shouldn't matter if they are not particularly affectionate on this day. It shouldn't matter even if they forget. But somewhere deep inside, it does matter. And it sucks. I blame this on pop-culture priming. I mean, who is the genius who came up with the term Happy Birthday anyway? I think about it and it makes no sense. I mean, is it logical? Is it rational to expect people to be visibly happy every year on the day they were born?

What's worse is this unwritten Code of Birthday Ethics floating around. For example, if we're in the middle of a really bad fight and you're not talking to me (because I'm never the one who stops talking to people because of a fight), you still have to call and wish me on my birthday. I'd understand if you're using the birthday to break the walls, make peace, that sort of thing. But most people who follow this rule, usually make a very quick, extremely awkward call and then immediately go back to ignoring you again. I once asked someone who did this, why she even bothered to call me in the first place and she said "Well, it was your birthday. It had to be done!" Err.

And then of course, there are the people who feel like they have to wish you because they've been doing it for many years or because they are related to you and though you've both drifted so far apart and really have nothing to say to each other, they still feel like they have to do it. Though they're secretly just waiting for the day you forget to wish them on their birthday, so that they can conveniently forget yours the next time and this pointless tradition can finally stop.

Don't get me wrong. I love birthdays just as much as the next person. As long as they are other people's birthdays. I love planning and throwing surprise parties, picking unique, thoughtful gifts, making cards, all that stuff. But see, I only do that for the people who matter. And if it were up to me, I'd only wish the people who matter. Because to me, the only thing that makes sense about celebrating birthdays is to show people that you are happy and thankful that they are in your life. Which basically means, you consider it a cause for celebration that they were even born. Makes perfect sense.

But asking people what they plan on doing for their own birthday? That still strikes me as absurd. It's not like I even chose to be born. How is this a cause for celebration and pray WHY, am I expected to be happy on this day!

Especially since no one usually gives a crap if you're not happy the day after. It's like they're saying - 'That's it, we're done indulging you. It's someone else's birthday today and that person actually has plans.'

Move over, ADD. MFHAD is here to stay (and it has a longer name).

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Wed, 14 Aug 2013 17:58:00 +0000

Every second person I know, claims to have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). The thing is, they always say it in this offhanded, unapologetic fashion like you're expected to forgive them for not listening to a word you just said simply because they happen to have a fancy disorder. Now, I'm a big fan of fancy disorders but what I will not accept is a fake disorder. Because that's what ADD is - it's good old-fashioned absent-mindedness masquerading as a mental condition and it pisses me off. All I'm saying is, if you're going to hide behind a disorder and expect me to put up with your crazies, the least you can do, is be a man about it and get yourself a respectable condition like Schizophrenia, Bipolar or Manic Depression. Everything else is for wimps.

And it's not funny how many different situations people try to get out of using ADD as an excuse - During an important conversation: 'Sorry, what were you saying? I spaced out! ADD, man!' While watching a movie or TV show: 'Sorry, I'm just going to rewind this bit, I lost track. This ADD, I tell you!' In a relationshippy fight: 'Baby, that's not fair. You know I have ADD. I just can't remember these things (basically, anything), they just don't register.' I could go on and on.

This is particularly frustrating for me, because what I have is the opposite of ADD. It's this unfashionable thing called focus. And believe me, it has only made my life difficult. Because I actually listen when people talk. And then I think about what they said. Which then leads me to remember it. You see how this is a problem? Not only am I always the one to switch off the heater and remind you about your mom's birthday and your appointments with the doctor, I'm also always in the immensely frustrating position of remembering every detail of everything that's ever happened since we met and not using it against you in an argument.

But that's just the small stuff. My ability to focus gets particularly intense when I fall in love - be it with work, a hobby, a TV show or an actual person. At work, it makes me a bit of a demanding, nit-picky bitch (which is why I've never been able to be a team player, always preferring to work alone). Also, I'm not a multi-tasker, I'm a uni-tasker (oh, yes, it's a real thing). Which, needless to say, makes me a very undesirable candidate for any corporate job.

With TV shows (or any addictive fictional world for that matter), I get so irrationally involved with the story and the characters, that I can't help but pull it apart episode by episode, scrutinize every detail - what was right with it, what was wrong with it, what should/could/ought to happen next - thereby diminishing the joy I could have experienced as a casual viewer. Not to mention that awful, sinking feeling that takes over when I'm done focusing on that world and snap back into reality.

And when it comes to relationships, falling in love is my only option and getting there isn't easy either - because it has to have a strong foundation of friendship. You see, I cannot flirt to save my life. Meaning, I don't know how to keep things breezy and exciting. I get intense and totally freak the guy out. So I don't even pretend I can do it anymore. You see how this narrows my options? I can only do friendships or relationships. My particular type of focus does not recognize anything in between (anything casual, that is) as worth the effort. But let's say I do find this unsuspecting guy who gets into a relationship with me - even then, my focus will get in the way. Because unlike most normal people in relationships, I find it impossible to scatter my attention on other men when I'm already involved with one. And while I understand that this is my problem and it is not the guy's fault if he did the occasional flirting with other women or I don't know, the N number of things that he could do that I wouldn't, I would still end up feeling short-changed. And no, I'm not a freak who will blame him even in my secret heart or take it out on him in any way, but I will be the one who suffers for it and I will suffer alone. This sucks.

SO. Since I've established that being the focused one in this 140-characters-only era (where flakiness is rampant and ADD is cool) sucks immensely, can we all please agree that we, the focused ones, are the ones who deserve a fancy disorder, please? I mean, check it out: a) we are clearly outnumbered b) often socially awkward and c) no one thinks we're cool. I'm sorry, but those are clear grounds for our problem to qualify as some kind of fancy neurological condition. Like, Manic Focus Hyper Absorption Disorder.

Or something else, maybe. Something that sounds badass and supports your watching-3-seasons-in-3-days habit.

Platonic Relationships - The (non) solution to the intimacy drama

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sat, 27 Jul 2013 18:15:00 +0000

'In the most famous treatise on desire ever written, The Symposium, Plato describes a famous dinner party during which the playwright Aristophanes lays out the mythical story of why we humans have such deep longings of union with each other, and why our acts of union can sometimes be so unsatisfying and even destructive. Once upon a time, there were gods in the heavens and humans down on earth. But we humans did not look the way we look today. Instead, we each had two heads and four legs and four arms—a perfect melding, in other words, of two people joined together, seamlessly united into one being. Since we each had the perfect partner sewn into the very fabric of our being, we were all happy. Thus, all of us double-headed, eight-limbed, perfectly contended creatures moved across the earth much the same way that planets travel through the heavens—dreamily, orderly, smoothly. We lacked for nothing; we had no unmet needs; we wanted nobody. There was no strife and no chaos. We were whole.

But in our wholeness, we became overly proud. In our pride, we neglected to worship the gods. The mighty Zeus punished us for our neglect by cutting all the double-headed, eight-limbed, perfectly contended humans in half, thereby creating a world of cruelly severed one-headed, two-armed, two-legged miserable creatures. In this moment of mass amputation, Zeus inflicted on mankind that most painful of human conditions: the dull and constant sense that we are not quite whole.

For the rest of time, humans would be born sensing that there was some missing part—a lost half, which we love almost more than we love ourselves—and that this missing part was out there someplace spinning through the universe in the form of another person. We would also be born believing that if only we searched relentlessly enough, we might someday find the vanished half, that other soul. Through union with the other, we would recomplete our original form, never to experience loneliness again.

This is the singular fantasy of human intimacy: that one plus one will somehow, someday, equal one.' - Committed, Elizabeth Gilbert

I love Greek mythology. There's a hilarious story in there to explain almost every aspect of the human condition. This particular one though, appears slightly flawed. Because to me, this desperate search for a soul mate sounds more like a female condition than a human one. In fact, I think our friend Zeus didn't just sever the humans in half, he actually pulled a Voldermort on the male half and chopped its soul into multiple minuscule bits. So while the females spend their whole lives looking for ONE grand, epic love to fill the void, the males seem to be on a constant prowl for multiple loves - in small doses. I know, I know. Generalization aside, that just sounds entirely baseless. Also, there's that whole bonobo explanation for the theory that neither men nor women are hardwired for monogamy but that sexual exclusivity was a man-made model - conducive for raising families.
Yes, I get all that. I'm just saying, women (I'm not talking about the damaged ones), seem to struggle less with monogamy than men. And though I know a lot of men who are way better at the self-restraint thing than many women (who would use a drunken excuse to kiss a new guy purely out of curiosity), it just makes me feel short-changed, you know? Because self-restraint comes with practice and discipline. And the thought that you have to struggle SO MUCH to be faithful to me, while my default setting (when in a relationship) is somewhere between Faithful and Bragging-about-you-publicly Devoted (depending on how awesome you are) is well, not uplifting.

Of course, I've been over this a million times in my head over the years and I've found that it is so much easier when you make it all about the biology or a freak Greek god on an amputation rampage. This way, you don't wonder obsessively what you did wrong every time some dipshit cheats on you - it wasn't about him or you, to begin with! So now you can actually move on from that situation and decide what you want to do - adjust your expectations (that is, accept that there might be the occasional straying) or if you absolutely cannot accept it, switch to a platonic arrangement. With people you care about and want in your life for the long haul, at least.

This, of course, is easier in theory than in actual practice. See, the problem with the conjecture that keeping things decidedly platonic will solve all your relationship drama is that - I find it extremely hard to sustain serious, longterm relationships with men who are not my family and with whom I have no chemistry whatsoever. Unless they come in a package deal - the guy's wife is my friend or he's a family friend or one of those things. But as a rule, great friendships, even the ones that have never crossed lines, tend to be backed by great chemistry. This chemistry is easy to ignore if you're already fixated on someone else. But if you're doing this purely on principle as a type of self-preservation, it can get really freakin' irritating. Like Cameron Diaz's character says in The Holiday - 'Sex always complicates things. Even when you're not having it, the not-having-it complicates it.'

I mean, maybe there is a way we can all learn to be entirely captivated by someone's mind without being distracted by annoying primal urges but no one seems to have figured that out yet. So what do you do when you stumble upon the rare creature with a beautiful mind that you want to keep in your life forever (and therefore you keep it platonic) but very well know that at some point, resisting the urge to cross the line is going to become SO tedious, that it becomes far more bearable to avoid said creature altogether? This is a cruel situation to be faced with - one that really has no solution. Because once you say - 'Okay, to hell with this, let's just get it out of our systems' and bravely cross the line, you're kind of screwed. We all know about that power shift thing that happens after sex. And while neither of you may be grappling for power in the relationship, it's just how it is. But for the longest time, I failed to consider the male side of this. A friend of mine who always insisted on not having boundaries in his friendships (meaning, he argued that he couldn't really be a friend to a woman if there was a strict rule about not having sex) enlightened me on the reason for this - he said that he could never believe that a woman was seriously invested in him - even as a friend - until he got sex (the bargaining tool) out of the equation. In his defence, he never ran away or stopped calling the person and was able to be a better friend to the woman - but as expected, in most cases, the woman started wanting more. Classic. But I was understandably overjoyed to learn that men feel powerless too at some point in the relationship. It's quite basic when you think about it, but it just never occurred to me. But this doesn't solve our problem, it only amplifies it. Because now, it becomes a full-fledged tug of war. SO. This whole platonic thing is kind of a cosmic joke after all. I feel so cheated.

Sigh. At times like this, I wish I were an elephant or something. Actually, most creatures in the animal kingdom (except lions) are so sorted when it comes to this. They know what they are doing - way better than us. With the elephants, it's the females that are the dominant ones (as opposed to lions, where the female does all the work and the male just lazes around, eats all her food and gets called King) - they are the leaders, the protectors, the nurturers, you name it. The male just kind of tags along with the herd (which is mostly female) and knows its place - mostly for procreation. I mean, the female is so focussed on such things as leading, guiding and teaching, that it has no time to wonder where the male has wandered off. How evolved and truly liberated. I can totally see myself as an elephant.

'Apparently, Plato, who came up with the concept of the platonic relationship, was pretty excited about it. He named it after himself. He said, "Yeah, I got this new thing, 'platonic.' My idea, my name, called it after myself. What I do is, I go out with the girls, I talk with them, don't do anything and go right home. What do you think? I think it's going to be big." I bet you, there were other guys in history that tried to get relationships named after them - but it didn't work. You know, I bet you, there were guys who tried to do it - just went, uh, "Hi, uh, name's Rico, would you like to go to bed immediately?" Hey, it's a Riconic relationship.' - Seinfeld

Don't date a guy who...

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Wed, 03 Jul 2013 14:34:00 +0000

{This post was requested by a reader. I don't usually write Do-Don't and How-to posts but I received a mail today from a girl asking if I would please write a post on how to identify the 'wrong' guy. Haha, if only I knew. But then I remembered my half-written memoir on teenage, so I'm posting a half-chapter from my yet-to-be-completed-and-published new book (and I swear, this is the only Do-Don't chapter in it) because I had already covered the topic there. Don't judge, it's aimed at teenagers.

Manasa Ramani and all your friends, hope you enjoy this.}

Ever since Date a Girl Who Reads by Rosemarie Urquico went viral, people have been taking it upon themselves to tell people who they should date – Date a guy who reads, Date a guy who loves music, Date a girl who travels and on and on. It’s not that any of these people are wrong but this over-emphasis on ONE quality as the elixir of your happily ever after – kind of makes me uncomfortable.

I mean, what if the lost-in-the-music-store-Love-Me-Do-humming guy who believes good music is dead - turns out to be so lost in his music and so wrapped up in his philosophies that by the end of the week, you start wishing you looked more like John Lennon instead? Maybe then, he’d actually acknowledge your presence and take you out on a real date. Or what if the Girl Who Reads is so caught up in her fictional worlds that she’s always drawing parallels between you and her 19^th century, tights-sporting, classical heroes? Admit it - that is going to get annoying. Especially when she calls you ‘Heathcliff!’ in a fit of passion.

SO. In my opinion, one great quality is never enough. But then again, what do I know about the kind of guy you should date? I don’t really have the most envy-inducing track record in the relationship department. Which makes me kind of an expert on the kind of guy you shouldn’t date. You see where I’m going with this?

DO NOT – I REPEAT – DO NOT DATE A GUY WHO:

Has mommy issues – which by the way, is not just a term coined by your favourite sitcom character. It is a REAL thing and you should be SCARED. This guy basically operates on the assumption that women, as a breed, are manipulative and controlling and if you let them in, they'll turn you into one of those pansy-assed husband types who never open their mouths in the presence of their wives and please-do-you-not-know-that-he-is-smart-enough-to-see-right-through-you-huh-huh-HUH? He's always on guard in relationships - waiting for that moment when you will attempt to outsmart him and take over his house, car, finances, friends, family and life in general. He often uses sentences that begin with “all women,” but this gets particularly scary if he is prone to rage attacks. That’s your cue - run. Do not attempt to pacify him at this point because you imagine he’s just insecure and needs reassurance. That’s like petting a werewolf under a full moon. RUN. Of course, rage issues and mommy issues are two separate things - not always traveling in packs - but even if he comes without the rage, I'd say, run. I have tried working it out with these types but even when they seem - by all manner of appearance - in love with you, it can get extremely tedious trying to erase 30+ (or whatever) years of his relationship with his mom (the prototype in his head) with one or two fabulous years with you. Please note: I'm saying this under the assumption that you're a reasonable, level-headed girl who does not need to take over a man's life in order to feel like a woman. Because if you are in fact a manipulative psycho bitch who watches too many Hindi soaps, please stay with him. You deserve each other. And he just might sort you out.

Knows three chords but makes it look like Satriani personally gave him guitar lessons. You cannot even express a vague interest in him without wondering about the version of that story that he’ll soon circulate ("Man, she's so into me, it's scary"). I mean, hyperbole is like his native tongue. He can’t help it. He also likes to be seen around important slash popular people (he's the guy who will wave at some celebrity he worked on ONE event with about a thousand years ago -thinking he/she is waving at him, when in fact, it's someone behind him) and has no identity whatsoever. This might be difficult to imagine if you are an extremely individualistic type but these people exist, and believe it or not, they don't have such things as likes, dislikes, tastes or preferences. If you're wondering why I'm even belabouring this because it's obvious you wouldn't end up with a loser like him, please know that since he lacks an identity, he behaves like a chameleon - taking on the ideas, principles and preferences of those around him. So when you meet him, he'll agree with everything you say so convincingly, that you might mistake it for compatibility. And this is not scientific, but usually, these types are obsessed with their hair. Just saying – you’ve been warned.

Tells you he does not like animals. And I don’t mean scary, predatory creatures but cute, defenceless ones like puppies and rabbits. It’s one thing to not be an animal lover but quite another thing to be vocal about actively disliking the most affectionate creatures on the planet. I'm not even going to bother breaking this down. I mean, there's just something downright wrong about it. Maybe you could take him to a restaurant and see how he treats the waiter. Usually, these types derive some kind of twisted pleasure from being rude to waiters, valet guys and the like as well.

Does gross things such as belch and slurp at the dinner table and when you express your disapproval, calls you a tight ass and gives you crap about defying societal norms, etc. These types are also known to go without deos and perfumes and insist that sweating is sexy. When you’re younger, it’s easy to get bullied by him but at some point you’re going to have to make your peace with the fact that if you do not live in a cave, you cannot go around acting like you do. So find him a dirty hippie and get on with your life.

Mispronounces/misspells words, has absolutely no respect for grammar and when you correct him, annoys you with the language-is-for-communication argument. You could always mispronounce his name but he’ll pretend to enjoy it. I know this may seem trivial but his know-it-allness usually extends far beyond this subject and besides, if you think about it, the problem here isn't grammar, really, but the fact that he 1) cannot admit he's wrong 2) argues for the sake of arguing and absolutely has to win everything and if you add those two points, it boils down to an ego problem - which is something only children - emotional infants - waste any energy on. But again, if you are still there and find yourself struggling with ego problems (nothing wrong, everybody's been there), it might actually help to be with someone who is exactly like that - you might sort each other out. Or kill each other (which is better for world peace and all that).

Does not have any close friends. Seriously, what’s his excuse? My head is conjuring up all kinds of images such as jars with mutilated body parts that he keeps by his bedside – so he can creepily smile at them and whisper ‘good night’ before hitting the sack.

Has undergone severe childhood trauma and hates his father. I know I probably sound like a heartless bitch saying this but believe me, these are the ones I wasted a whole decade on - so I’d say, leave the psych projects to an actual shrink and go for something less challenging – like, a guy whose childhood memories involve such things as carousels, cotton candy and happy parents. I know, I know. He’d be such a wuss.

So there. That’s my No-No list. It’s not comprehensive but I don’t want to make it impossible for you to find a dateable guy. So I’ll let you fill in the rest. Happy dating. May you have better luck than I did.

Letter to the little one - On emotional excess

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 17:07:00 +0000

Kiara,

I hope you're at least 18 (mentally) when you're reading this so that some of this makes sense to you.

I have spent a lot of time beating myself up for not being a great mum to you. I wish I could - first of all - be more patient and much less anxious around you. I wish I could play with you more without ruining it in some way, plan fun trips with you and spend endless hours gluing and pasting stuff with you. I wish I could listen patiently and enjoy every long, dramatic story you tell me about an insect bite or be more amused about the fact that you still (you're going to be 7 this Saturday, sweetheart) haven't tired of hiding (every night!) in one of the three spots you've been hiding in since you were a toddler, and sincerely believe - every time - that I won't find you.

But see, that's the thing. I cherish these moments in retrospect but find it so hard not to ruin them as they unfold. This quality of mine - in particular -upsets me, because you deserve at least one fabulous parent and it is my deepest regret that I'm nothing like my own mum - your ammanna - who was and is such an exquisitely delightful creature to be around.

Still, there is hope.

While I work on those trying traits of mine, here is something that I can give you. Theories (tried and tested for the most part). Tools that will help you cope. Because, little one, if you're anything like me, you're going to be doing a lot of coping. Not necessarily because your circumstances are that awful, but because you are so emotionally intense and have no idea how to relate to that side of yourself without letting it eat into your sanity and turn you into a depressoid. In other words, you're an artist.

#1 I'll come back to that, but I'm more and more convinced that artists are simply people who are born a certain way - with emotional excess - and have found a way to relate to their pain and channel it - so it doesn't destroy them. This is why I also believe that the guy shooting heroin up his veins is simply a Picasso or Tolkien who did not find his calling. Because that's what addictions do - they fill voids (seemingly) - they are shortcuts leading to counterfeit highs. But the way I see it, if the void exists, so does the answer. You just have to look really, really hard for it. Because when you finally find the answer, you'll find that it not only saves you, it completes you.

#2 Even after you think you've found your calling or passion or whatever and have a better grip on your emotions, you'll have some really bad days (and sometimes they'll all join hands and ambush you into submission) when the pain is so pervasive, it can be entirely debilitating. I have found that most of the time, sadness comes in waves. Easy ones that you can handle and some huge ones that knock you down every now and then and some that engulf you. Sometimes, it's a tidal wave and this can destroy you for a period of time. And then there are times when it just decides to barge in unannounced and take over your couch for days on end. It remains with you and you have no idea how to make it go away without leaving yourself. I'm here now and I still haven't figured a way out of this. But I'm thinking that it must simply mean that I need more than one art to pursue. Maybe I come with multiple voids. I must just be a better artist (haha, there has to be a payoff somewhere). So I'll try this and I'll let you know how this goes.

#3 Next, you'll need emotional anchors. Please, darling, not a boy. When the boy goes, the anchor goes with him and you'll be all over the place. Kind of defeats the purpose. Ideally, it should be me - because you know, I'm your mum and I love you even after you said "Justin Bieber is very cool, mamma. You don't know anything!" So you can trust me to love you even while you're making terrible choices right before my eyes (like, becoming vegan or something).

If you have two anchors, you're sorted. Three, and you're just really blessed. Mind you, anchors are not best friends either. You don't have to call them every day or be preoccupied about nurturing the relationship. Your anchor is someone who simply loves you with no agenda of his/her own. And it's a quiet, constant, unconditional love that you'll never have to earn or maintain. Which is why God is the best anchor of all.

#4 Most importantly, don't. ever. romanticize. the pain. This whole tormented artist stuff? It's true. But let me assure you, it is not even remotely fun. It is an ugly, toxic pain that will destroy you if you don't take all measures to fight it. Constantly, if you have to. I'm telling you this because you may be tempted to believe that all this drama makes you a dark and twisted (and therefore hot) person. It doesn't. You're not going to be feeling anything close to sexy when you're processing this stuff. I say it again, this stuff is real. And it can destroy you. Don't let it. What's hot is fighting it. Not killing yourself at 27. Okay?

#5 And lastly, I never thought I'd say this, but for your sake (and mine), I hope with all my heart that you're a left-brained weirdo who loves straight lines and Excel sheets. Because I don't - at this point, considering the low I'm dealing with - care if you're going to be accomplished or successful. I just want you to figure out a way to be happy. Not deriving happiness from things or people. But find a way to make happy your default setting.

#6 And oh, please, don't be an all-or-nothing person. Don't swing from one extreme to the other. Whatever you learn or don't learn, please baby, somehow, learn moderation - learn to love people and life moderately. I'm not saying you should hold back but instead of throwing yourself - in your entirety - into a relationship or a person, why not walk in and calmly take a seat or something? I'm sure it's possible. A lot of people do it. So learn. Learn moderation. And when you do, teach me.

I love you and I'm going to figure this shit out before you get here.

Mumma.

Eternal Drama of the Mindless Spot

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Mon, 27 May 2013 16:52:00 +0000

You know how there is always that one personal demon that keeps hounding you no matter how far you run? That ugly, almost sinister part of yourself that keeps saying 'boo' just when you've taken a huge leap or made a dramatic turn and sincerely believed for the nth time, that this time, it's different - you've really got rid of your demon, you've crossed over, you're free? Yeah, in my case, it's not really sinister. It's more like - humiliating or pathetic or some adjective on those lines. In fact, it's so ironic and hilarious (for anyone other than me) that nowadays, I hear my emotionally-depleting situation like a sitcom promo in my head. I kid you not.

About two weeks ago, I was in this really bad place (meaning, I was an emotional wreck) and even as it felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside, I could hear this voice-over in my head going -

'Tonight! The Judy Project returns with all new episodes. Or Not! Because we may be in Season 16, but Judy is still recycling the same destructive relationship patterns from Season 1. Oh, no, no. Don't be fooled. She still doesn't have a boyfriend <canned laughter> but she has successfully put a man in the centre of her universe all over again, to the point of being affected by his every move <applause> Will Judy grow out of this need for a personal Batman anytime soon? Will she emerge out of her man-drama in 24 hours to speak about self-empowerment on TV?(true story) <more laughter> That's coming up next on The Judy Project!'

YEAH. That wasn't fun. And you know what triggered off the drama? This ONE line from a movie - 'We accept the love we think we deserve' (The Perks of Being a Wallflower).

I pondered on it long enough (please don't try this at home) for it to mess with my head and make me rehash previously-dealt-with baggage for further analysis and well, you know what happens when you pull out baggage. SO. I decided enough is enough and decided to take life into my own hands and all that. Meaning, I went bawling into the shrink's office. And of course, I gave her a detailed account of the symptoms along with past references and my diagnosis. For the record, she was very impressed but did not think I qualified for one of those happy pills that make you feel all woozy and who-cares-about-the-world-when-there-is-a-bed-and-I-can-sleep. SO. I came up with another way. Because - pay attention - there is always another way.

I looked up the anatomy of the human brain and corresponding functions (I've forgotten, of course). Because I find that sometimes, the best way to get around emotions is to just make it all about the science. That, and my compulsive Virgo need to get to the bottom of things. So. Not sure how accurate this information is, but going by this chart, the part of the brain that's concerned with emotions is really such a puny one (the yellow portion on the top right image). And still, it manages to cause so much drama because for some reason, this is the only part of the brain that doesn't actually behave like you'd expect the brain to, you know? This is the part often attributed to the heart - the part that blurs your ability to see reason, makes you ponder on all the wrong memories and basically causes you to think and act irrationally - The Mindless Spot, as I call it. And since we can't do what Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey did in that movie, I reckoned, the best way to handle this is by keeping the other parts of the brain extremely occupied.

So I decided to take this free self-defence class for women (if you're a woman living in Chennai, you totally have to check this out for real! Seriously!) that Cary has been doing for a while now (since that horrific Delhi incident) - because it very clearly, keeps my cerebellum, occipital lobe and even parts of my parietal lobe occupied (see picture). That's almost a half of the brain! I didn't think I'd last more than one class, but it was so freakin' awesome, I've decided to take the regular Brazilian Jiu Jitsu classes that happen the whole week through (I'll be going just twice a week apart from the self-defence thingy on Sunday) but it's such a huge shift from my otherwise sedentary, indoors life - and I can already feel it doing awesome things in me - brain wise. Like, I feel SO wired - as if on a sugar high but so much better - after class, and it's also empowering in a very real way. I mean, you get to slap people around and all that (so cathartic) and it's just generally so woohooish. Now I'm working on my Warrior Princess name. I'm thinking BrockoWitch Mudpie or something. Or Lady Mozzarella.

So next, temporal lobe - nothing like learning a new language to keep that part busy. I mean, check it out - almost everything mentioned there will in some way be part of learning a foreign language. So I decided it's time to learn Italian like I've always wanted and what better reason? Most people don't get it though. 'Why Italian? Why not French? At least French might be useful if you go to France or Canada.' I mean, that is SO not the point, psycho. What's up with this Indian need to make everything functional? Whatever happened to doing things for the joy and just that! And this one is joy + keeping those darn emotions under control. So, win-win.

The frontal lobe is kind of tricky. It has the emo parts as well as the rational parts (an eternal mystery) and I don't know how this works and I know I'm definitely wrong, but I can't help but imagine that while I'm trying to trigger the math side of the brain, I might accidentally trip on the emo wires and trigger the Mindless Spot all over again. Brrr. It's all very complicated. So I don't know, maybe I'll just keep it simple - like, Suduko or something. And oh, this part is also in charge of social skills (which have been very dormant for a very long time) so the Italian class and Jiu Jitsu should take care of that as well - new people, small talk and all that.

SO. You see how wonderfully it all worked out? I haven't even enrolled for the Italian class but I already feel better. And the puny, drama part of the brain is quiet again. For now.

Attraversiamo!

Judy is Eating-Praying-Jiu Jitsuing-Italianoing her way through the eternal drama of the Mindless Spot. It seems like a fantastic idea but will it actually work? Could this be the end of man-drama in Judy's life? Well, we sure hope so. That's next week (or next month) on The Judy Project. Stay tuned.

Sophie Says - The Unofficial Synopsis

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 16:22:00 +0000

So. After many frustrating delays and logistical issues, my second novel Sophie says is finally out in stores! Go read it quickly (I think I'm going to explode from the long wait) and send in those review links! I cannot wait to hear what you guys think because this book is written in the same style as my blog and my central character is a complicated wreck with a lot of fashionable issues.

Here's the re-written synopsis (because I think the one on the cover of the book doesn't give you the complete picture).

Sophia Tilgum has dated all kinds of men in thirty years. Men who’ve stalked and pleaded, men who’ve lied and cheated, men who’ve written songs and wanted to play house after three dates. And equally scary, men who’ve sported hot-pink bow ties and called her Sweet Cheeks.

So after a decade-long attempt at sustaining long-term relationships, Sophie has finally thrown in the towel and has found her calling as The Breakup Coach via her super-popular blog: Sophie Says – in which she makes a case for Single-Singles or people who are wired to remain single (because according to Sophie, commitment phobia is not a real thing) and shares her many theories on breakups.

It’s all going great and Sophie seems well on her way to ridding the world of relationship junkies when: Enter The Blah-Blah Auntyhood (three aunties who are out to coerce Sophie into finding a ‘respectable’ boyfriend so that her cousin’s arranged marriage may proceed smoothly) and Mrs. Mathrubootham (crazy sixth-floor lady who believes that Sophie likes to flash her legs to unsuspecting uncles and is determined to report her to the landlady). Add to this, an impossible-to-resist fake boyfriend, a very complicated If-Someday Guy and two BFFs with completely different kinds of man trouble – and Sophie’s life is about to turn into one of those hilarious sitcoms which is fun for everyone but the central character.

You can order Sophie Says online by clicking on one of the links below:

uRead (I just sent them 50 signed copies and they ship worldwide at low shipping costs)

Okay. Read, already!

In which a man is forced to listen to my crap periodically without complaining

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 16:17:00 +0000

People always express surprise when I tell them that I go for confession – the Catholic variety involving a priest at the other end. I get it – most people can’t digest the thought of baring their most personal thoughts, acts and feelings to an almost complete stranger. And even if they get past that, they don’t see why anyone would want to do it. “But why can’t you tell a friend? Why a priest?” I don’t know – my Catholic reasons aside, I find it hugely therapeutic to spill my crap to a person who isn’t allowed to judge me.

Also, my confessor is a very calm, reflective Jesuit who is never shocked or scandalized by anything I say. And I can tell he isn’t feigning it. It’s a response that comes with experience (I imagine he’s heard much worse confessions). Also, he doesn’t advise. He tells me what he thinks and asks me to consider what he says in prayer and see if it works for me (9 out of 10 things he tells me, work) and then gives me absolution. I happen to love this arrangement.

See, if it’s a girlfriend, it would be so complicated. First, she’d keep interrupting everything I say with a question. Then she’d annoy me by expressing shock and disapproval. This will then be followed by a long talk on self-actualization and taking life into our own hands and all that. I remember one of my friendships fizzled out because of repeated reactions on these lines when I was in a messed up place in life.

But what’s worse is if the friend is in a there-is-no-hope-for-me-I-give-up phase herself. This is when she will actually encourage your aberrant behavior because that’s her way of giving herself permission to do what she wants. And before you know it, you’ll be talking about her crap again.

This is a problem with girlfriends – there is no clear understanding about whose problem is being discussed. Add two more women to this scenario and you can forget all about how this conversation started. They’ll add their problems to the discussion and suddenly, everyone’s problems will BLUR into ONE big, complicated mess. And before you can arrive at a solution, someone will open a tub of ice cream and you’ll forget all about the problem. Till you’re dealing with it again. Rinse, repeat.

Male friends, on the other hand, are a different kind of annoying. Sure, the conversation is likely to be much shorter and to the point, but I won’t be allowed to have a point of view - “Do you want my help or not?”

I’ve noticed that when I go to a guy with my confession, he takes it very seriously (this is because he doesn’t understand the difference between the words ‘confession’ and ‘problem’). It’s the opposite of the girlfriend scenario. And he’ll show the same focus he shows anything else he works on – be it fixing the light bulb or preparing for an earth-shattering meeting. But before you get turned on by the fact that you have his undivided attention, please know that you are – right now – no different than a light bulb to him. He’s FIXING you and since he believes there’s nothing he can’t fix, you’d be really stupid to interrupt him with a sentence that begins with “But I don’t think.”

This will only make him mad – “Okay, you are right, I am wrong, why don’t you just figure this out yourself.”

Because if he – at any point – realizes that you came to him with ANYTHING BUT the intention of following his instructions word for word, he will lose it and accuse you of wasting his time. It’s just how he approaches problems.

So if a discussion and autopsy of your problem is what you want, he’s not your guy. He doesn’t get it – I mean, discussing a problem is a foreign concept to most males.

Needless to say, this arrangement does not work for me. I only go to a man with my problem when I’ve tried everything and I’m tired and now I just want someone to give me a readymade solution.

So now you see why I’m all for running to the confessional - it’s the perfect blend of everything. First, I get a man’s undivided attention as I talk, digress, analyze and whine about my crap (that’s a miracle right there) and throughout this process, he is required – by GOD – to keep my secret, not judge me, talk to me kindly no matter how uncooperative and irritating I am when it comes to taking his suggestions and I get an absolution in the end. What’s not to like? I recommend it!

And if I returned to him three months later with the same set of offences – having made no progress – he would have to listen to me all over again.

And priests think they’re escaping whiny women by opting out of marriage.

Sophie Says

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 13:34:00 +0000

If you guys are on Facebook, you really should come over to my new page - Sophie Says (click the link) - and get up to speed on all the breakup/relationshit fun we're having there. Sophie Says is my upcoming novel on breakups, so I've been busy with all the promos. If you're on Facebook, Sophie and I would love it if you visited the page. And if you like it there, show love - 'like', share, tweet, recommend!

Here's a peek. But there's LOTS more happening at the page so come off.

Love!

PS: Sophia Tilgum is also on Facebook. If you're on Facebook, feel free to send her a friend request. But she doesn't yet know she's a fictional character so try not to burst her bubble.

PPS: Sorry about the typo on The Facebook Break poster. And forgive Sophie's Jharkhand spelling. Typical Tamilian.

Chickophobia (or the fear of being chick-ed on Valentine's Day)

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 08:14:00 +0000

{As published in the Valentine's Day edition of DC}

I’m not sure how I feel about Valentine’s Day anymore. I’ve never been a fan, but I’m not a hater either (because the only thing more uncool than loving Feb 14^th – is hating it). In fact, I’m not even judging. I’m just confused. What exactly is everyone celebrating?

It was clearer in the 90s when people still believed in such things as ‘true love,’ ‘for eternity’ and ‘love conquers all.’ Oh, wait. Maybe that wasn’t the 90s. Yeah, no – that’s just vampire fiction. But at least, people still reached out for love in its original, non-watered-down sense in fiction – as evident in all the 90s rom coms. From Ghost (death-will-not-do-us-part love) and Pretty Woman(against-all-odds love), all the way to Titanic(I’ll-die-for-you love) and City of Angels (I’ll-become-mortal-for-you love).

But things started changing in the early-mid 2000s – About a Boy (Commitment Phobe struggles to let people in) and Bridget Jones had once again fallen for the wiles of The Emotionally-Stunted Player in Bridget Jones 2. And suddenly, normal people weren’t cool anymore. People had to have ‘issues’ – commitment phobia or intimacy issues – in order to qualify as real, and love wasn’t that magical thing that just happened to people and they ‘just knew.’ Because enter the mid 2000s and everybody was confused - A lot like Love (because no one was sure anymore). And it’s been downhill since then – Knocked Up (a one-night-stand with a pot-smoking weirdo results in a baby), Friends with Benefits, No Strings Attached and it all hits a crescendo in Crazy Stupid Love. It would be fair to say that it’s the most popular brand of love that people subscribe to these days – the crazy, stupid variety. Which brings me back to my question – what is everyone celebrating?

I’ve noticed a peculiar trend in the last few years – people make it a point to reserve the flowers and any display of affection on Valentine’s Day for friends or family. In fact, they even consciously stay away from those they are ‘involved’ with in any capacity – because they’re paranoid about what might be inferred from it (True Love? Forever? Horrors.) I think this is both sweet and tragic. Sweet, because Valentine’s Day is still about ‘true love’ and ‘forever.’ Tragic, because most people now believe that this is only possible in the context of friendship.

This has led to a whole new kind of anxiety in women – Chickophobia or the fear of being chick-ed on Valentine’s Day. It’s the opposite of every guy’s perennial fear of being ‘friend-zoned’ by a girl he’s attracted to. Because when a woman really likes a man (even asexually), the last thing she wants is for him to see her as a ‘chick.’ Because then, he’s basically saying – you’re cool and fun but you’re nota permanent fixture in my life. Ouch. I mean, it’s difficult enough for us to find someone to like. And then to just get chick-ed like that? Ouch-ouch-ouch. You see, with the Notebook variety of love gone out of the window, friendship is probably the most sacred equation you can have with someone in these dark and cynical times. Like Phoebe Buffay once pointed out to Joey when he ditched her for a ‘chick’ – ‘You know, boyfriends and girlfriends come and go, but this – is for life!’

So gentleman, don’t make your friends feel like chicks today. Send us the darn flowers. And please, no roses. Put some thought into it. When you send a woman flowers, you’re saying – this is how I see you. That’s why roses are a no-no. I mean, you might as well say: You’re textbook, you’re everywhere and you’re every other girl in the world. So. Tick-tock. No flowers and we’re going to feel chick-ed. Which means you get friend-zoned. By us and all our friends. Like, forever.

Chickmate.

My super organized, colour-coded emotions (or how to be an artist)

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 10:33:00 +0000

'I'm the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has ~~made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has~~ given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life.’- Mindy Kaling, Is everyone hanging out without me (and other concerns)

I’m a messy person. There are too many wires on my bed, too many creases on the sheets, too many bottles of expired hair products I never used – on my desk, too many half-read books on the floor and wet towels carelessly tossed over new handbags and ironed clothes. And let’s not even get started on the closet. You get the picture – it’s what some people would call ‘typical creative type’s room’ or you know, ‘free spirited.’ I just think it’s an excuse for being a slob. And forgive the digression, but what’s up with everyone calling me 'free spirit' these days? I’ve had at least four or five people call me that in the last month or so and it bothers me. Because they seem to say it like it’s a compliment. I’m sorry but when you say free spirit, I see an unshaven, un-showered, dirty hippie telling everyone to become vegan or something. The term just has this aimless, floating-around quality about it and it upsets my grounded-and-no-nonsense Virgo sensibilities. Because if anything, I’m a grounded spirit.

Anyway. Like I was saying, I don’t enjoy being this person. I’m not one of those people who say ‘I’m messy and I like it that way.’ I don’t. I like my room clean and smelling of something fresh and woody. Like that Issey Miyake fragrance. I like my clothes ironed, folded and hanging neatly in my closet. And I do not like the fact that my bin is always overflowing. It’s just that I’ve tried – really tried - to be that person – but I’ve always failed. Usually, within a couple of hours of getting the room looking like something out of an IKEA catalogue. Okay, maybe not IKEA.

This quality of mine has bothered me for years now – mostly because of aforementioned need for a tidy living space but also because this is a particularly jarring quality in an otherwise extremely-Virgo woman. But I realized in the recent past that I’ve been confusing my inability to keep my room clean with a general lack of organizational skills. Because I thought about it and it turns out, I am freakishly organized. And I mean, to a Monica Geller degree. It’s just that I’m organized about my inner world, not my room.

See, I manage my emotions in the same obsessive-compulsive fashion that some people balance their cheque books, fold their clothes or scrub their bathroom floors. I mean, I know people with severe cleanliness-related OCDs and I’ve seen their fingers twitch – like, literally twitch – upon noticing a speck of dust on their sparkling tiles and I now understand and empathize with that need to immediately reach out and clean it. Because I display the same Type A level of obsession with keeping track of my emotions. Seriously, if you could step into my head right now, you’ll find yourself in a mildly snobbish, art-history museum of sorts with every one of my emotions artistically exhibited on spotless white walls. You’ll find people in there too – all parts of my subconscious – gazing fondly upon every exhibit and poring over its history. Yeah, history.

You see, I’m fascinated by feelings. So while – like Linda Goodman says – I may have ‘emotions that can thunder with feeling,’ I’m also extremely interested in understanding and rationalizing this process. This is why I like to let myself go – raise my hopes and let my heart swell up with expectation – even when I know they’re going to shatter against a rock at 500-something kms/h. This is also why I have no interest in self-preservation whatsoever. People who are preoccupied with protecting themselves can never fully know what it is to be human. And for me as a person, and especially as a writer, it’s a waste of living.

So once I’ve fully participated in the human experience and you know, put my heart through another round of not-so-fun emotions, I like to sit down with my feelings all scattered on the floor – much like someone all set for spring cleaning – and then I get my gloves and forceps out, pick each one up and get to know it. What is its name? Why does it exist? What family does it belong to? Because I’ve noticed emotions always travel in packs. There is a mother emotion – like insecurity, for example, and floating around it are all these little baby emotions or emolings (a word I just made up) – such as jealousy, possessiveness, trust issues, etc. – and they all go in one special colour-coded box. This is a box in my head, of course. Then, I stick pictures of the people related to that Emo Family and stick it on the box. Then I bring out those colourful Post Its and write little notes on how they are all connected and try to make sense of the process and how to overcome it. Rinse, repeat.

At this point, it’s like working in a laboratory. The hours are long, the work is tedious and the results aren’t always reassuring.

But the next part is worth it all. It’s the part where the pain becomes a channel for artistic expression. This is what Bon Jovi meant when he sang ‘Like the poet needs the pain, I need you.’ Without pain, there’d be no music, no drama - no art, whatsoever. Imagine that! The world would just be this dull, arid land filled with Excel-sheet loving left-brained weirdos. Brrr. For me, since comedy writing is what I do, this is the part where everything becomes funny – when my self-pity trips in the bathroom - crying copious amounts while staring at my mascara-smudged face in the yellow light - is no longer sad but dramatic and hilarious. Because once you can make sense of your pain, you can also see the humour in it. And humour, as we all know, is healing.

I used to think that funny people were less prone to emotional drama. But in the last four years, I’ve seen that the opposite is true. I mean, when I look at my own writing, I see that my funniest work is often tied to some deeply-painful situation. I’ve also come to realize that I feel very, very intensely. More intensely than the average human. This means that what might cause sadness in most people, causes me to despair. Disappointment can feel like – and I mean literally, in my chest – someone plucked away a piece of my heart. And any kind of loss can be entirely crippling.

But I also know highs that the average person probably hasn’t even glimpsed at - I’m typically the kind of person who can die of happiness. Love, happiness, hope, loyalty, gratitude, passion, affection – they can all engulf me. It’s a bit like how they describe the process of becoming a vampire in The Vampire Diaries – all the things you felt often as a human, become amplified when you become a vampire. And the temptation (for the vampire) is to completely turn the emotions off (something they can do) because when it gets bad, it gets REALLY bad. I thought it was a beautiful metaphor for the self-preservation theory that everybody’s subscribing to these days. A lot of people have told me that self-preservation is the wiser way to live – “because it’s too damn hard and why should I feel pain when I can choose not to.” I get it. But there’s another way. And you’re going to need another way if you are ever going to create something. Something honest, beautiful and touchable. And yes, powerful.

Actually, you’ll need another way even if you just don’t want to lead an emotionally-stunted half life.

Years ago, when I didn’t have writing – when I had no clue how to rationalize my emotional process and channel all that angst – I wore my emotions all the time. I dumped my drama on other people because I didn’t know another way out of it. That’s why I’m excited about my Emotional Colour Coding Process. I’ve tried it for more than four years and I swear, it works. This way, you can let yourself feel – like, really feel – but no one is ever going to know what’s going on inside. Not until you’ve dealt with it and have a grip on it. In fact, I have people telling me I come across as detached and icy even when I'm "thunder(ing) with feeling." Because now, letting people in is a choice. MY choice.

It's like, your emotions aren’t the boss of you anymore, they’re just signals from within telling you where you are. And once you can see them that way, you can also show them to someone else. And I’ve come to believe that that is real power – when you can show someone who you really are. And once you do that, you’ll see that what you can show one person, you can show the whole world.

And voila. An artist is born (I think).

‘Ordinarily, if she really loves you, you’d be safe to trust the typical Virginian woman with the sexiest man you know on a desert island for a month. For two months? Well, Virgos are human, you know. They are not walking, talking computers. They have hearts warmer than people suspect, and emotions that can thunder with feeling even if they don’t care to rent a billboard to advertise it. The emotional nature of Virgo is controlled, but not nonexistent. Remember that. It will give you courage.’– Linda Goodman, Sun Signs - The Virgo Woman

How to catch The Catch (and preserve monogamy)

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 11:33:00 +0000

Natalie Keener: "Sometimes it feels like, no matter how much success I have, it's not gonna matter until I find the right guy. I could have made it work, he really fit the bill, you know. White collar, 6'1, college grad, loves dogs, likes funny movies, brown hair, kind eyes, works in finance but is outdoorsy. I always imagined he'd have a single syllable name like Matt or John or Dave. In a perfect world, he drives a 4 runner and the only thing he loves more than me is his golden lab. And a nice smile. What about you?"

Alex Goran: "You know, honestly by the time you're 34, all the physical requirements just go out the window. You secretly pray that he'll be taller than you, not an asshole would be nice just someone who enjoys my company, comes from a good family. You don't think about that when you're younger. Someone who wants kids, likes kids. Healthy enough to play with his kids. Please let him earn more money than I do, you might not understand that now but believe me, you will one day otherwise that's a recipe for disaster. And hopefully, some hair on his head. I mean, that's not even a deal breaker these days. A nice smile. Yea, a nice smile just might do it."

Natalie Keener: "Wow. That was depressing." - Up in the Air

~ ~

All right. Someone needs to say it out loud. There is a rampant shortage of sorted, single, thirty-plus men in this city. Add such requirements as 'monogamous' and 'non-asshole' and you're pretty much staring at an endangered species situation here. I’m not kidding. I've been living in a bubble (my room, basically) for the last four years, expecting this tall, well-spoken, funny man to magically drop into my room and you know, fall irreversibly in love with me. It is easy to remain hopeful when you’re as cut off from reality as I have been. I still subscribe to the Shut up and Stay Put theory and all that but while you’re shutting up and staying put, it is better to not stick your head out and take a peek at all that you’ve been missing in the last four years. I mean, it is dismal – the dating scene in this city. And I imagine, this country. Wait. My brother mentioned it isn’t very different in London – there are many, many, attractive single women who are only single because of said shortage. The other day, I was whining to this 26 year old girl about how I’m crushing on boys these days for lack of men and she – very matter-of-factly – informed me that this is how it is these days and that she’s been driven to have crushes on 21 year olds as a result. This is scary. Like, The-90s-are-over-and-rock-is-dead-and-all-the-good-men-are-married-and-Tom-Cruise-is-getting-divorced-again scary.

So I’ve been thinking we should do something about this. I mean, if we can create so much drama about the 1411 tigers left, then we should be driving ourselves into a frenzy, looking under couch cushions – trying to save the (much less than 1411, I’m sure) monogamous single men still left in this city before they also sell their souls to some rubbish Victoria’s Secret fantasy and start subscribing to another casual relationship theory.

And let’s not forget the ones that are in circulation. You know, the ones who are currently in a relationship but might be out of it in a bit? It’s not like we’re wishing a breakup on anyone or anything but we do live in the era of fickle relationships and we need to let it work for us.

We chicas who still have old-fashioned views on relationships need to come up with a plan and help each other out.

You can still dream about that perfect encounter with Prince Dashing at the library or the dance floor or my personal favourite, in a plane – you’re seated next to each other and end up hitting it off over the funnest conversation ever and just when the chemistry becomes tangible, the plane gets hijacked and you realize that Funny Guy is in fact a secret agent who is about to kick some hijacker butt and rescue the plane in exactly 36 seconds. And while you’re dropping from the plane in a parachute, tightly wrapped in strong, secret agent arms, you have your most magical first kiss ever.

Yeah, so it’s good to dream. But meanwhile, we need a more practical approach to deal with the crisis at hand.

First, we need to maintain a log. Of who’s in and who’s out – in and out of relationships of course. This way, we will be immediately alerted when a halfway attractive single guy is back in the market. And this information will be accessible to the entire sisterhood. Now if you’re worried that someone will beat you to the draw, I’m going to ask you to please look at the big picture. This is the only way we’re going to save this sinking trend – by sticking together. Also, this won’t be just any log. Next to every available guy – or The Catch as I’d like to call him – will be an empty column for ex girlfriends/ex wives and other close acquaintances to leave any valuable feedback. This way, we get to have a balanced understanding of who it is we’re dealing with here. If you’re wondering how any ex’s opinion can be balanced, you should know that I’ve paid a very heavy price for not cross-checking with the ex girlfriend so I’m just a touch cautious in that department. Besides, if an ex is being catty about a perfectly decent guy, then I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other opinions to balance that out.

So once we’ve figured out who is available and established he is a non-asshole, we will – by means of compatibility tests – come up with the most suitable woman from our circle for this particular catch. We will then use all our contacts and our collective pool of manipulative techniques to set up a series of seemingly random run-ins for the Chosen Chica and The Catch till they figure out that they are so perfectly compatible and eventually, fall in love. During this time, the rest of us will take care to not preen before The Catch so as to avoid distraction. This is a whole new step in the evolution process – The Not-So-Natural-Selection. Of course, The Catch has no say in the matter at all. In fact, the idea is for him to be kept in the dark while we methodically set him up with the soon-to-be love of his life. If you think this is unfair, you should know that this is only because men are simple, easily-distracted creatures and find it difficult to focus on one girl. Please note, this is only the case in the beginning. Once the male has recognized a female as its ideal mate (this will take some time, however), it will gladly walk down the aisle, procreate and lovingly nurture its offspring. So all we’re doing is providing an optimal environment for this to take place. Also, trust me, it’s for the greater good.

Another thing to keep in mind when trying to trap The Catch is that timing is everything. I’ve come to believe that a guy who is truly a catch is never entirely single. And by that I mean, he is usually emotionally or sexually involved with someone even when he’s between relationships. So if he’s one of those well-spoken, well-traveled, funny men who happen to be financially stable and come with a good heart, you are kind of screwed. I mean, we live in a day when even sub standard guys are juggling multiple women at any given point of time (thanks to rampant conversions to casual relationship theories). So you do the math. It’s not going to be easy but it’s not impossible. First, you’ll need to know how his previous relationship ended. If he’s heartbroken, you don’t want to meet him too early or you’ll end up being The Rebound. If the previous girl did a number on him, then the next stage is likely to be what Mark Sloan calls Delayed Rage. He might, at this point, go on a hate-sex rampage. Might. But if he’s thirty-plus, you can count on him to tire of it soon enough. The emptiness of it all will get to him and he’s likely to swear off women for a while (nothing left to prove in that department) and get all wired about his work – seeking the other kind of autonomy. He’ll probably want to create something awesome or start something new and he will throw himself into it. This, ladies, is The Sweet Spot. Not only is there something particularly hot about a man who is deeply passionate about his work, he is also – at this point – not looking for you. So there is the element of surprise. Now is when you strike. But of course, you do it subtly so that he thinks that he is the one doing all the striking. And then, for a little while, you play hard-to-get. It’s only because he has this need to win something – especially given the place he is at – in life.

I know, I know, I’ve always preached strongly against mind games but maybe there is another way of looking at this. It’s like playing Fetch with your dog. It’s the same stupid game but the stupid dog enjoys it, so you play it. Because you love the dog and want it to be happy. Also, this isn’t just about you anymore, remember? It’s about preserving monogamy and winning the war against casual relationships so I say, take one for the team!

And when you’re happily married and have a couple of kids of your own - gather them around and tell them the story of how you really met their father and totally freak them out.

How to survive The Regular Guy

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 11:02:00 +0000

William: 'All I'm asking for, is a normal amount of perspective'
Anna: 'The thing is, I've been dealing with this garbage for ten years. You've had it for ten minutes. Our *perspectives* are very different' - Notting Hill

Someone mentioned to me the other day, that people who come out of particularly devastating marriages - like, those who've been married to psychos and such - are somehow supremely happy in their second marriages. And since the observation came from someone closely connected to said people, I took it in.
And I get it. There's a simple logic to this. If a bad (and by that I mean psycho/abusive) marriage hasn't made you take off to the mountains and join some nudist cult or you know, made you plain old-fashioned cynical, then it is highly likely that you're one of the lucky few who has risen from the ashes with your expectations greatly lowered.

At least, I know for a fact that my expectations are nowhere close to where they used to be. I mean, the shallow Vrski and Edinburgh type fantasies aside, I have this renewed confidence in my ability to sustain a life-long monogamous relationship with a regular guy. Meaning, I don't anymore have issues with all the things that make a guy regular.
Seriously, I keep getting all these forwards on how husbands are like this and wives are like this or men are like this and women are like this and my eyes roll by default. I mean, I look at this very old and widely circulated forward from "The Guys" with points such as: 1) 'Men are not mind readers' 2) 'Crying is blackmail' 3) 'If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying but it is just not worth the hassle' 4) 'Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. It's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for' and I just don't relate. At all. At any level. And worse, I don't find it funny anymore. Not because I don't think it's true but because I think it's SO true, it's sad. It's a reminder of the girl I used to be a very long time ago - a girl who was incapable of being happy no matter what she had going for her. And it breaks my heart that this forward is still in circulation because - jokes aside - it simply means that so many women are still in that place - incapable of appreciating The Regular Guy.

I have been dealing with serious, Hitchcock level (okay, not Hitchcock, more like Darr ) psycho problems now for about 8 years and you have no idea what I'd give to be in a relationship with a guy who watches cricket while "I'm telling him something really important" or "tells me he has work and is actually gaming with the guys" or have the luxury of complaining about such things as someone not being able to figure out what it is that I'm upset about, every time I'm upset about something. Perspectives. All it takes. Just switch shoes with someone else (usually, anyone else) for ten minutes to appreciate your own life more. I'm not saying the daily drudgery of living with The Regular Guy can't make you want to jump off a bridge sometimes - but unlike Anna in the quote above, I believe that a radically different perspective is sometimes just the thing we need.
Also, I've been single for years now - the longest I've ever gone without a relationship - and it's given me all the time in the world to chalk out a workable plan to peacefully coexist with The Regular Guy.

1) For starters, I have finally wrapped my head around a simple fact that I missed all those years ago: The Regular Guy is thick headed. It's just how it is. He may be able to pull your television apart and put it back together but he is simply not equipped to read the nuances in your tone or facial expressions. And even if can tell there's something off, he's usually completely wrong about it. This is not his fault, it's just how he's wired. So just spell it out. How difficult is it? I have found that my relationships with all my male friends have improved significantly since I learnt the fine art of spelling things out. He's not going to think you're a demanding bitch if you sweetly ask him if he can pick you up - even if you don't really have a valid reason for not wanting to get there by yourself on a particular day. He'll just take it at face value and say yes or no (which brings me to #2). If you try and hint at this however, it will confuse him and the whole thing could just go so horribly wrong.

2) 'No' is a valid response. It has to do with so many little things - practical things and very little to do with such things as not caring enough about you. Take the same situation with wanting to be picked up. There is the matter of time, distance and please, traffic is such a bitch these days. So if he says no, he means just that. 'No, not a practically workable situation.' Not 'No, you don't matter enough.' If you are tempted to compare this situation with some other situation when he picked up some other girl from the other end of the city in thick traffic, please don't. No good can come of this. That other girl is not in the picture now, you are. And the fact that he can be himself around you is actually a lovely thing. Let him be, no? And if it's really important to you to get to this place, find a way. Or stay home and don't complain. This is not his fault.

3) Ask nicely and say thank you. If you were an it-girl in high school or you're just one of those women who is used to guys kissing the ground you walk on, this may not come naturally to you but believe me, there is nothing cute about being a spoilt, entitled bitch. Also, these kissing-the-ground guys will disappear in some time so it's better to get used to doing your share of the heavy-lifting. This way, when someone offers to help - you really, genuinely, appreciate it and can easily let them know this.

4) If he's not moving his butt around the house, treat him like a seven year old. Make a list - assigning chores to him. And give him a deadline. If the deadline isn't met, withhold the treat (sex). This should work. If it doesn't, then NO TV, NO FOOD, NO STEPPING OUT OF THE HOUSE. Mommy is in session. But whatever you do, please do not clean up after him and then make mental records of the number of times he let you down. This will only leave you feeling mentally and physically depleted while he continues watching TV.

5) I have read a lot of stuff on obedience training for puppies and one of the things they say is - when your puppy takes a leak on your carpet or something, you have to express disapproval in the same instant. So when you catch your puppy red handed, you're supposed to point to the crime scene and say 'NO' firmly till he gets that you disapprove. They also tell you that there is no point yelling at a puppy hours after the crime. He will not understand what you're angry about and it will only confuse and sadden him. I have found that this is a wonderful rule to apply to your Regular Guy. So if you went to a party and your idiot flirted shamelessly with the hottest girl in the room while she rolled her eyes, you have to point out the idiocy immediately and not two months later. But when I say immediately, I mean, wait till you get home, of course. Don't make a scene. Because then, the focus will shift from his idiocy to yours.

6) There is no shame in admitting to feeling jealous or insecure every now and then. It means you're human and in touch with your feelings. However, admissions of jealousy are often accompanied by tears and screaming and this is not usually received well by The Regular Guy. If you're asking why is it that you are supposed to make all the effort to work around what he can or cannot take, you should know that I've spent years thinking about this. And I've really come to feel sorry for these guys. They are just not as complex and layered as we are. They cannot see your emotional outburst and conclude that you are simply hurt. My contention is, if they could really see this - that when you scream and cry and threaten to leave, you're simply saying 'I am hurting and I want you to hold me' - they probably will just hold you. But sadly, they are incapable of seeing this. They see tears and they think 'Oh, my God. She's accusing me of breaking her. Where's the exit? Oh, I can't breathe! I can't breathe! Where's the darn EXIT?'
I know, it's frustrating and sad. But I really think crying alone in a bathroom is so much more therapeutic anyway. Especially with mascara on. It's super dramatic and it's just the purging you need. So once you've dealt with the emotional aspect of the insecurity or jealousy or whatever, sit him down and have a matter-of-fact talk about how you've felt - listing out ways in which he can help. I swear, this works.
If he still makes a scene and accuses of 'suffocating' him and all that, just bang his head against a wooden block and see if it works. If that doesn't work, dump him. He's probably the emotional equivalent of a small rodent and we don't need that in the house.

7) I've noticed that the best couples have their own understanding of what's allowed and what's not. For example, there is an acceptable degree of flirtation with other people and this differs from couple to couple. But this is a fine balance and it can easily be tipped by one person having a bad day and too much tequila. This is why I prefer going with the no-amount-of-flirtation-is-okay rule. This is also why I'm still single.
But either way, when the balance does get tipped, I find that it is so much easier to confront and deal with it instead of flirting with someone else to get even. For starters, this game could go on and on and you will both end up coming across as two juvenile nincompoops to everyone else in your orbit. Swallow the pride and admit you're not okay with it. If he takes it badly or lashes out, that's not your fault. You have a right to not be okay with something even if the whole world is. You also have to be prepared to lose people for it.

I cannot say it enough - The Regular Guy is a simple, straightforward, non-record-keeping, usually forgetful, oblivious creature. There is no point reading into him and analyzing him to shreds. As Joey Tribbiani once famously put it - 'I don't have another level.' But he also comes with so many lovable qualities - which is why you picked him in the first place. I say, if you have a regular guy who annoys the crap out of you, keep him. Though he can be trying - especially on a daily basis. But all of that can be significantly reduced if you simply learnt to speak his language. Don't you adjust your conversations all the time according to the people around you? You don't talk to your seven year old the same way you talk to your parents and you don't talk to your boss, the way you talk to your colleagues (although this doesn't hold good in advertising). So why should it be any different with the guy? Don't talk to him like you talk to your chicas. That's all!

And seriously, if he's not a raving psycho hell bent on spiting you, maligning you or inflicting pain even years later, then consider yourself blessed. You have no idea how many of those are on the loose these days. Also, the question you need to address is this - do I want a life-long, monogamous relationship. If the answer is yes and you have a non-psycho but annoying guy in your possession, please just keep him and find a way to work around it? Or whatever you do, don't leave your relationship in the hope of finding Prince Charming please - especially not if you've hit 30. I mean, there is NO ONE on this side. I've spent a long time here and I promise you, it's a bleak land filled with commitment phobes, adulterers, casual-relationship-pers, one-night-stand-ers and the like - all the guys on Bridget Jones' Do-not-date list. SO. If you're married to The Regular Guy and complaining all the time, stop it. It's not cool.

'Married people need to step it up: I don't want to hear about the endless struggles it takes to keep sex exciting, or the work it takes to plan a date night. I want to hear that you guys watch every episode of The Bachelorette together in secret shame, or that one got the other hooked on Breaking Bad and if either watches it without the other, they're dead meat. I want to see you guys high-five each other like teammates on a recreational softball team you both do for fun. I want o hear about it because I know it's possible and because I want it for myself.

Married people, it's up to you. It's entirely on your shoulders to keep this sinking institution afloat. It's a stately old ship, and a lot of people, like me, want to get on board. Please be psyched and convey that psychedness to us. And always remember: so many, many people are envious of what you have. You're the star at the end of the Shakespearean play, wearing the wreath of flowers in your hair. The rest of us are just the little side characters.' - Mindy Kaling, Is everyone hanging out without me (and other concerns)

My 18 minutes of TEDx

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 16:18:00 +0000

SO. In case you missed this on Facebook, I went to TEDxYouth@Anaikatti and spoke to a bunch of teens (and some grown ups) on Serendipity. Watch, watch. And tell me what you think!

Ghosts. Because people disappoint.

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 15:30:00 +0000

My nesting urges have hit an all-time high. It was always there but I decided against moving out with the offspring for all kinds of reasons ranging from the legitimate (the kiddo needing her grandparents around) and the frivolous (having nosy aunties for neighbours) to the mind-blowingly absurd (my fear of slaying cockroaches). But it's resurfaced of late and hasn't been letting me sleep for the last few consecutive nights. I blame this on the twenty-somethings I've been hanging out with of late. They all seem so sorted and have these really pretty apartments. When I was 27, I was busy dealing with the consequences of all my decisions until that point - which resulted in me going flat broke for three years. I mean, isn't that what people do in their twenties? Make terrible decisions? Apparently not. So naturally, I've been feeling a little cheated and also going into that dark, oh-I'm-such-an-underachiever place.

So I've been thinking of that dream apartment again. Except, I know for a fact that I cannot afford the one I'm seeing in my head for another five years at least. Unless you know, it's haunted or something. Yeah, I remember someone telling me a long time ago of this gorgeous, independent house in a prime location - that his friend managed to get for an absolute steal because rumour had it that the house was haunted. My friend went on and on about how stupid people were to believe in ghosts but I remember thinking then that I could never move into a haunted house (rumour or not) even if they offered it to me for free and told me that the ghost in question was going to be Kurt Cobain's!
But that was many years ago. I've changed now. I've had time to reconsider.

And no, I still don't think it's stupid to believe in the existence of ghosts or haunted houses but why this assumption that they must be such terrible companions? No, seriously. Give me a ghost to a nosy aunty for a neighbour ANY DAY. I know people with classic poltergeist situations in their houses - such as the potty flushing itself, grinders spontaneously doing their thing, mysterious rapping on the door (this, even I have had), you name it. And while they've all been spooked from time to time, nothing worse has ever been reported. I've been thinking about this and in the light of all the monstrous attacks on humans by humans of late, I'm really warming up to the idea of ghosts in my apartment.

For starters, I get why ghosts are disgruntled - they are dead, for God's sake. Give them a break. And if what they show in The Vampire Diaries is true, then they are stuck on 'The Other Side' all alone with absolutely nothing to do. Horrors. I mean, there is nothing I'm more afraid of than the idea of being bored for eternity. Boredom and blahness scare me in equal measure - so I empathize.
In fact, I just might be in a place in life where I could be really good friends with a ghost.

See, humans are great and all that but at some point, I find it all to be a bit much. On the one hand, I find that deep emotional involvement with people leaves me feeling depleted, suffocated and makes me want to run. But then again, too much of the superficial socializing thing makes me feel empty and alone. In that very sad, alone-in-a-crowd kind of way. It's at this point that I end up listening to songs like Who's gonna drive you home tonight, shed copious tears till my mascara runs and then look in the mirror and feel extra sorry for myself.

The solution, I suppose, is to do all things in moderation except I'm the queen of extremes and have no idea how to not overdo anything I enjoy - in the beginning. Till of course, the high wears off and suddenly, the world isn't spinning anymore and that judgy voice in my head laughs darkly - 'Are you seriously telling me you did this to yourself AGAIN?'
SO.
I've been judging myself very harshly of late and I feel that familiar need to withdraw once again - you know, slow-down-become-zen-and-sell-my-ferrari kind of thing. And I think at this point, a ghost would make the perfect companion.

We could both be disgruntled together. In fact, I might just give him a few addresses to haunt - flush toilets, cut off the power supply, switch the shampoo and Fevicol, make giggling sounds every time The Chosen Ones step into the shower and take off their clothes, keep saying 'boo' when they're in the middle of any kind of steamy act, like that. JOY.
If it were a girlfriend on the other hand, we'd be psycho-analyzing some guy over Nutella into the wee hours of the night.
What a pointless waste of time.

This way, once we (the ghost and I), have indulged in our random acts of pettiness, would feel like all is well with the world again. No long talks, no tears, no self-pity-inducing songs. Bliss. We'd slow dance to Unchained Melody and feel like Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze.

Unless of course the ghost in question is in fact Kurt Cobain's. Then it'd be a very different song ;-)

A case for superficial friendships

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 14:34:00 +0000

My friend A and I always had an emotionally charged relationship. And by that I mean, he has broken CDs while talking to me on the phone and I was told (when I went for voice training a couple of years back) that I had lost 70% of my voice from incessant screaming (at him, of course). We've wasted movie tickets and returned home because we couldn't help fighting in the five minutes that we spent together in the corridor before entering the theater. At one point, everything - from iPod playlists to our different takes on how the universe worked - led to an argument. If you're asking WHY we chose to remain friends, you should know that we asked that too - several times. But for some unfathomable reason, we realized we were also genuinely fond of each other. And by the time you make it into your thirties, you tend to appreciate such things as genuine fondness.
But of course, we eventually depleted all our energy reserves on each other to the point of saturation and for the last two (or maybe more) years, we've had a delightfully superficial friendship - we go for months without so much as a call or a text and at other times, we spend whole days together on TV show marathons and psycho-analysing other people over phone calls. If I want to talk to him, I let him know and if he calls back two days later, I don't resent him or make a mental note on how he failed as a friend. No expectations, no record-keeping, no drama. Bliss.

This has led me to revisit my definition of friendship. I mean, I always thought that being a good friend meant I had to be emotionally available to the other person 24/7 and in return, I expected the same. Everything I read on BFF Rules and 3:00 A.M Friendships further convinced me that I was right. What's more, pop-culture kept sending out the message - The older you get, the less inclined you will be to making new friends, so you should hold on tightly to the ones you already have.

I believed this for the longest time (till about a year ago) because overall, I did find it exhausting - investing time and energy in forming deep emotional bonds with new people. But here's the thing - Why the assumption that friendship calls for deep, emotional involvement in the other person's life in the first place? In my experience, this is precisely the kind of thing that leads to clinginess, unreasonable demands, an annoying sense of entitlement, tantrums and of course, the word I most dread - DRAMA. And while this pretty much summed up my early to mid twenties, I've been growing gradually uncomfortable with this idea and now, I think I've finally hit zero tolerance. I think people who expect constant emotional nurturing from their friends, would probably do well to get themselves a dog or something. And this isn't me being rude or sarcy - this is me offering a practical solution to a very real need in some people. I mean, I have a dog myself and every time I find myself falling apart in some way, I don't turn to a friend anymore, I just hug my dog. And I swear, it's bloody therapeutic. SO.

This revelation has opened a whole new door for me - the door to superficial friendships. And I mean superficial in a very good way. See, we've put all this unnecessary pressure on the word 'friendship' and we're shocked when we find that people actually have lives that don't revolve around us. So I'm changing the rules for myself now. I think I did it a long time ago but have only now realized it. And as a sign of my switch to Superficial Friendships, I'm kicking the term BFF out of my vocabulary. It all begins there - Best Friends Forever. Forever is a long time and I don't need that kind of pressure and I certainly don't want you to stay in my life because of random terms such as BFF which I suspect was coined by a six year old. In fact, from now on, the more I love you, the more loosely I will hold you. No expectations, no record-keeping, no drama. My new mantra.

Because I've been thinking about this a lot this past year - about what it means to be a friend and beating myself up for my million inadequacies. I've also had at least two serious meltdowns because I thought I had only two friends and that must mean that I'm some kind of people-repellant. God, so much drama for someone who hates drama. But I've just realized that my life is FULL of awesome people - awesome friends - whom I've never acknowledged because of all my previous hangups about friendship and what it means.

And here's the thing. These friends may not have known me back in The Dark Ages or held my hand after my divorce but they all fill a very unique space in my life. Like, I have a special thing with each person. No, no, not THAT kind of thing. I have an All-things-Writing-and-some-occasional-venting Girl whom I Whatsapp with every day, an Ice Cream Girl who adores and spoils my daughter (Hello, Roxy!) and meets us at least once a month and is one of the most cheerful people I know, My Personal Dumbledore (an ex boss, actually) who is almost as excited as I am every time something awesome happens to me career-wise, offers me free wisdom and calls at least once in two weeks, plans lunches and makes it a point to stay in touch though I'm horrible at it, The Perfect Mommy Friend who never judges me for my lack of mommy skills, The Guardian Angel Friend who isn't in constant touch but somehow, always manages to swoop in just when I need it and offers me her prayers, her time, her support and in The Dark Ages, even financial help, The Praise and Worship Chick - we have a mutual admiration thing going as well as a shared love for cute worship leaders, The Coolest Single Mom Aka A's Sister who is a kickass drinking buddy, The Rock Man slash Favourite Critic who brings back the 90s (which I miss so much) like no one else and is always around to give me objective criticism on my work, The Couple - two friends who met at my house and have known me since I was a teenager - we've pissed each other off in so many ways at so many points but they've managed to be in my life and have now become family, The Manuscript Reviewers slash Friends I Met On This Blog - who've come to be a fun part of my virtual and even offline life - Revs, Smartass Bride, Notgogol, Shikha, Uncle OT (aka Dumbledore #2), The Brilliant Bombay Man That Serendipity Brought Into My Life, The Awesome Bombay Woman who is like a twin sister in so many ways (we have the same annoying Virgo traits, born a day apart), The TV Shows Boy (Hello, Vetti!), The Darling Boy I've Known Since College, The Good-She Gang, The Stella Gang, The Only Guy Who Makes Me Feel Like There Could Never Be Another Me, The Cousin who turned out to be a Friend, The Cousin Who Was Always A Friend and the new bunch of Twenty-Something Darlings I Recently Met - I adore them in spite of their love for hip hop and if that is not special, I don't know what is. And I'm guessing there are more.

The only common thread in all these relationships is zero drama. Which means - every time we hang out or talk to each other, we go back emotionally revived instead of depleted. We bring happy into each other's lives and given how demanding - and sometimes grueling - daily life can be, I think we could all use a dose of happy from our friends.

So as a year-end Happiness Project, I'm switching to a new school of thought - Superficial Friendships. Relationships sans expectations. This is something my friend A used to subscribe to (he still does) but I gave him a lot of grief and a long lecture on how "it doesn't work that way" and "you're just a selfish bastard" back in my Drama Queen days. But now I concur - expectations can botch up a perfectly good equation. So here are my revised points on what makes the perfect friendship aka Superficial Friendship Rules.

If you're in my life (in whatever capacity), you should be:

1) As involved or uninvolved as you want to be.

2) You should feel free to share as much as you want to and hold back as much as you want. You have a right to your privacy (unless it directly concerns/affects me) no matter how close we are.

3) You are allowed to tune in and out of my life as you feel like it. Not being in the mood to see me when I want to see you is a valid reason and you shouldn't have to make up an excuse. I will sulk of course, but you should ignore it. Unless I'm stranded somewhere and freaking out and you're my Go-to Guy.

4) If you're the kind of person who feels the need to shut out every now and then from the world in general, I get that.

5) If we have a special thing that we only do with each other (like aforementioned special things with special people) and someone else comes along and has the same thing with you and/or you end up doing said thing more with the new person, I will get jealous. More so, if you're a guy and said new person is a girl. I'm not proud of this but if the jealousy causes too much drama in my head, I will cut you out of my life - for however long I see fit - just to spare myself the torture. Please Note: I will not make an announcement when I do this, I will just avoid you and lie about being busy or something. Because I really mean it when I say I hate drama.

6) I used to be the extremely confrontational sort but in the last three years, someone's messed with my default settings. I find it next to impossible to tell people harsh truths so I just sweep them under the rug in the name of love. I'm all right with this but if you keep pointing out all my flaws every time you get the opportunity without realizing that I'm overlooking yours, it's going to freaking GET TO ME. And when it reaches that point, I will snap and give up.

7) I cannot over-emphasize my propensity for doing monumentally stupid things. So unless you believe in forgiveness as a concept as much as I do, we cannot work. Because no matter how much I screw up, I have to say it in here, that I'm a zero malice person. I will never hurt you intentionally or let you be hurt if I can help it. But my stupidity can wreck you at times and unless you trust my intentions blindly, you will not be able to forgive me. If you don't understand this or agree with this, we will not work. Period.

8) With that said, I will forgive all your fuck ups no matter how extreme the crime, if it was unintentional. In other words, I understand what the word 'mistake' means and I will not make you pay for it.

9) If on the other hand, your offence itself is trivial but your intentions are wrong - that is, you are a petty bitch taking out your insecurities at me or a self-serving psycho who stops at nothing to get what he wants, I will leave quietly through the back door. In this case, it is best not to come after me because I'd just go for my pepper spray.

10) I say it again, I don't play mind games. Not that I know of, anyway. This means I will not say or do things just to get a reaction from you. So don't wonder, analyze, speculate. And please, for your own sake, don't make crap assumptions. Just ask. In other words, CUT THE DRAMA.

11) When I love people, they look like movie stars in my head. So if I gush and tell you how pretty you look all the time in anything you wear, I'm not being a fake people-pleaser. I really do see you that way.

12) When I thank, I thank profusely and often for the little things. Nowadays, I even thank people for their company. Again, this is not me being fake and gushy. It's just that I realize you don't have to do anything for me, go out of the way for me, call to check on me when I'm stressed out or spoil me in even the littlest of ways. Maybe I've just had too much psycho in my life but it really does make my heart fuller when people say or do nice things and I believe in letting them know. And as for random acts of kindness - such as this lovely, hand-knit wrap that Clueless (a blog reader) sent me and the countless cute things that Revs and Andy have done over the years - they make my heart melt. Almost literally - I feel all warm and buttery inside. This doesn't however mean that I want you to thank me and all that. In fact, please don't do it? I get embarrassed and uncomfortable.

13)And lastly, if you want to leave, just leave. Don't stay and turn my life into daytime television.

And with that, here's a heartfelt thank you from The Woman and The Quarter to all you awesome folks - those of you who've been part of our journey through this blog since 2009, those who joined along the way, those who actively comment, those who write, those who stalk and lurk and send us silent love (ha ha) - thank you. Here's wishing you guys a lovely Christmas and a drama-free 2013.

Muah.

You there, lurking in my subconscious (mind).

noreply@blogger.com (Judy Balan) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 13:28:00 +0000

I woke up from a scary dream a couple of nights ago when I was in Coimbatore. Scary, not because of what happened in the dream but because who happened. And there was absolutely nothing worth recalling about the dream itself but it's just that this person - this guy - is new to my dream world. I know most people don't take their dreams seriously but I do. For two reasons - a) I believe that sometimes (very rarely) dreams are prophetic but mostly because b) they tell you what's going on in the subconscious. And I've come to be fiercely protective of my subconscious mind.

I know that sounds absurd but I'm a big sucker for absurdity if you didn't know that already. I mean, there have been times when I've had month-long crushes on guys I wouldn't normally even notice, simply because of something they said or did in my dreams. And I've discussed this phenomenon with girlfriends, so I know for sure that it's a thing. I remember once - about a decade ago - this guy with close-to-zero personality (a total no-no for me) showed up in my dreams and swept me off my feet in a typical Damon Salvatore (go on, click the link and you'd see why) kind of way. And every time I saw him, I went weak in the knees. When I mentioned this to a girlfriend, she said that she had once dreamt of an otherwise ordinary guy who took her on the most romantic night-out of her life (in her dream, of course) and in the end, he asked her to marry him. She said she woke up from that dream completely dazed and just lay there for a good ten minutes, actually considering the idea.

The inverse is true as well - I once dreamt that my boyfriend had cheated on me and lied about it and the details of the dream were so real that I woke up cranky and refused to see him that weekend because I was pretty sure I'd drive him up the wall with sly, hypothetical questions - 'What if you're drunk and some hot chick throws herself at you...' (Yeah, I know. Like I was dating Johnny Depp).

SO. Dreams mess with my head. And if there's anything I don't need right now, it is the burden of another pointless crush that I can do nothing about. So I'm on high alert and keeping track of the people lurking in my subconscious mind. My theory is that if I can nip it at this stage, I may actually stand a chance at averting another bout of pointless, can-do-nothing-about feelings. People are always saying 'Nip it in the bud' but by then, the bud has usually blossomed into a full-blown Venus Flytrap that's ready to swallow you whole. So this is my way of staying one step ahead - asking myself questions: How did this person enter the subconscious? What exactly is he doing there? How do we send him out? Like that.

I mean, it makes perfect sense. If you spotted someone you barely know, lurking in your premises one night, would you not wonder what the hell he was doing there? Or would you just let it pass - after all, it's not like he has entered your house or anything. I'm just saying, maybe we should be twice as concerned about this psyche-invasion. It's where it all begins.

In fact, I wish I could install some kind of intercom system to my psyche. That way, he would have to ring a freakin' bell and answer a barrage of questions and once I've ensured he does not have oodles of personality, a fab sense of humor and is not tall and has no stubble, I'd let him in and we can be friends - like, really. Otherwise, there is all this tension and I don't enjoy that anymore. I used to think that even in platonic relationships, a certain level of chemistry is essential because people (all of us) are wired to enjoy hanging out with people with whom there is obvious chemistry. Even if no one's going to act on it. But now I disagree. This chemistry thing is distracting and actually gets in the way of what can otherwise be a wonderful friendship.

SO. I'm going to wait and see if Mysterious Subconscious Guy makes another appearance. Then, I'm going to try one of those lucid dreaming techniques and tell him to please get the hell out of my head. From what I've read on lucid dreaming, it should work.

I just hope he doesn't show up with a guitar or something next time. Yeah, then I'm really screwed.