On a lazy Saturday morning, I settle down with the latest issue of the Rolling Stone magazine (the Indian edition). The first thing that has me going wow, is the Royal Enfield advertisement. It’s not an advert; it’s a style statement. I am hooked to the magazine and as I turn a few pages start feeling the restlessness, so much so that I tear myself away from the magazine because I can’t handle the restlessness. I have an itch to listen to Dylan, when I do, I want to write something- it’s like a restlessness set off by an addiction.

I have decided that my new aim is to one day work for this magazine. Not that I hate my job right now, but I think for me to be a writer for the Rolling Stone magazine would be the ULTIMATE job. I enjoy the restlessness, because it inspires me to do something. Nothing definitive, but it sends me on this trip to create. It sensitizes me in a very vague manner. So to cut a long story short, it gives my creative drive a damn good boost.

This is the effect of reading about music. I tried learning to make music, but I figured I am a better listener than a player. But, there’s no denying that I have a deep connect with music, any music.

If I ever end up working for the Rolling Stone magazine, I figure that it would the ultimate inspiration high ever. I could be wrong but to me, it wouldn’t be just a job. It would be a dream statement, it would be my raison d’etre.

You wanna know why? Read this email I sent to my Dad while I was in the UK:

All’s well in the The Stones’  land! Trying not to miss the city of blinding lights but I can’t live with or without it… I’ve got to find my stairway to heaven and I can’t get no satisfaction but I am also aware that you can’t always get what you want, and you do get stuck in a moment that you can’t get out of… but then you find the answer and it is blowing in the wind…

PS: I applied to the magazine when I heard it was launching in India… I didn’t get it. I don’t know why. But I still hope and I still aspire… After all the Stones said that you can’t always get what you want, but you try sometimes…

Something I saw while surfing blogs. Being a foodie that I am, I couldn’t resist filling it up myself.

1. What’s your favourite table?

The coffee table

2. What would you have for your last supper?

I might kill myself with the buffet at BBQ Nation or just gobble up seafood platters at Britto’s with a nice white wine…slurrrrrrp

3. What’s your poison?

Depends on the food and mood. I love Diet Coke on ice, fresh watermelon juice, Ice-teas. If I am indulging in a nice Italian meal, I enjoy a glass of wine.

4. Name your three dessert island ingredients.

Chocolate sauce, muesli and ice-cream

5. Which book gets you cooking?

Frankly, I don’t know what gets me cooking, but books don’t really do the trick. Sometimes, I just need to whip up that pasta! But yeah I love Jamie Oliver’s Italy. Most of my recipes are from Nigella’s show.  

6. What’s your dream dinner party line up?

There are many. But I would love to serve some nice spicy kebabs with some nice summery cocktails followed by a nice Biryani, kachumber and more kebabs (current obsession of this gourmet is marinated BBQ meat!) Dessert would be a nice and simple barfi with mint tea.

7. What was your childhood teatime treat?

Cream biscuits and Naankhatais… I love the way they soften up when dipped in tea. I still relish digestive biscuits dipped in chai… Yum.

8. What was your most memorable meal?

Many of them. Right from homecooked grandma meals to delectable meals at dhabas. But one of the best meals I have eaten is at BBQ nation.

9. What was your biggest food disaster?

None really… Food is all good!

10. What’s the worst meal you’ve ever had?

The first time I ever cooked pasta… I didn’t drain it, I added the veggies to it and it ended up being a soggy porridge… Yuck…

11. Your food hero/food villian?

Many food heroes. Rahul dada, Mom, grandmom, Jamie Oliver and of course Vivek kaka, as for villains none. When there’s food, nothings negative.

12. Nigella or Delia?

She might act seductive with food, but the woman knows her ingredients and she knows her way around tedious cooking methods. So yes, Nigella.

13. Vegetarians: genius or madness?

Vegetarians are considerate, healthy. Non-vegetarians live life for the moment…

14. Fast food or fresh food?

Both have their beauty, but I enjoy fast food just once in a while. I love the crunch of a fresh off the farm carrots, radishes and cucumbers.

15. Who would you most like to cook for?

I love cooking for my sister and Pannu. Mind it, if I want to cook for you, you’re special…

16. What would you cook to impress a date?

I’d cook up a story! I wouldn’t have to try too hard, I am a good cook…

17. Make a wish.

Let the food crisis be resolved fast…

There are three things that have driven me to write this post. First the earthquake in China and the rising death toll. Second, the Jaipur blasts. Then I happened to visit my friend Sneha’s blog who wrote about the earthquake (click here for a link to the post I am talking about)

Life can be really unpredictable. We keep procrastinating. We leave phone-calls to friends, visits to grandparents and conversations with the ones we love for tomorrow. We go on thinking what’s there to lose, I’ll do this tomorrow. Until, one day a phone call, a news report or a natural calamity shakes you up. You want to just reach that person, by hook or by crook. Sometimes, there’s uncertainty about their whereabouts, in that case you’ve got hope to cling to. But sometimes, its just a phone call that tells you that there’s going to be no tomorrow.

The words ‘if only’ torment you. You wince in pain, trying to deal with the loss. If only you’d not have procrastinated. The pain would be the same, but at least there would be no regrets. If only…

I want to be a superhero. I want to fly high, across the world. I want to fly into all the toy stores and get whatever I like. I want to be a superhero.

When I will be a superhero, people will flock around to see me. I will be popular and I will have my own trendy outfit. All the kids in my class will look up to me. I am a superhero. Everyone knows me. I have magical powers to make all my dreams come true. I am a cool superhero.

I have grown up a little. I want to grow more. I want to grow older a little, to watch TV when I want to. To go to the mall by myself and buy myself all the ice-cream I want. I want to grow up a little, so I can finally have a room of my own, a computer of my own and eventually a world of my own.

I have grown up a little more… I want to end up in a great college, a great college with great friends and a great degree. I want to have loads of cool friends around me. I want to have loads of fun. I want to be able to do all those things college kids in the movies do. Flirt a little, play a few pranks and have big laughs.

I have grown up a little more. I want to end up with that person I fancy. I want him to hold me; I want him to whisper sweet nothings to me. I want him to fancy me as much as I fancy him. I want us to hold hands at sunset on a long, lonely beach. I want him.

Oh man, time has passed. I have grown up even more. I want to land the best job with a great pay-packet. I could use that money to get fancy things for my Mum, Dad and friends. I would spend money I have earned doing things I have always wanted to do. Go to the pub, go shopping, travel the world.

Time has passed yet again. I want to get ahead of all my contemporaries. I want to be the most successful one. I want to have a fat bank balance, a plush apartment, a fancy car and of course everything fancy. I want to be known as the best of the best. Wherever I go, people should talk about me. They should know me. I should be respected.

Now I am an old lady, watching the sunset in the distance. Trying to point to that long lonely beach, I may have walked in my fantasy… So what if my fingers are crooked and my vision blurry? I still fantasize…

My first impression of Van Gogh was through the Childcraft series’ art and culture book. I remember seeing his paintings and reading about his anger. Yesterday, I saw a documentary about Van Gogh and imagined it to have information about his paintings. Well, it was a 2 part series about his one painting- he famous Sunflowers. Experts spoke about the colours he used, the symbolism of the sunflowers, the landscape of his life at that point of time, his friends then and also the topography of Arles in France where he painted the sunflowers. It reminded me yet again that a painting may be just one frame, one moment captured, but it has a long story to tell. If only we knew how to listen.

For absolute art dodos (like meself) I do recommend the daily tours at National Gallery, London, UK which have an art enthusiast explaining 2-3 celebrated paintings from the gallery in detail.  They take you through each layer explaining the social, religious and cultural metaphors that the painting stands for. They also talk about the painter’s life, their personality etc that takes your understanding of art beyond strokes, colours and names.

I love intimate family traditions. There used to be a whole lot of them when I was a kid, but with time, they have dissolved and new ones have evolved.

There used to be breakfasts on Sundays, which I used to make with my Mum’s help. There were walks in the garden with Mum and baby sister in a pram. There were summers at Grandmom’s. There were annual picnics to the Zoo. There was dinner with Dad and sister. As we grew up, we swapped home cooked breakfast for cereal, the garden was swapped for homework, Grandmom was no more, the Zoo was boring and diet took over and dinner was just a cup of milk.

But there are new traditions we have set. Celebrating Mother’s Day with a meal at Mum’s favourite restaurant, watching a film together every once in a while, taking a walk whenever the father’s mood permits (its hard to drag him out for exercise!)

I love traditions. Of late, the timings are tight. Both me and my sister work in different corners of the city. We get so tired by the end of the day that our catching up happens in our bedroom. Thank God we share that space.

Me and my parents usually catch up over some random newspaper scanning and breakfast.

The weekends bring a golden opportunity to interact. But there are friends to meet, chores to be done and before you know it the weekend’s over. That’s why we need these traditions to make sure that there is time slotted in for family. My parents are fairly liberal and don’t complain but why do I always take them for granted when it comes to time. Its not that they are not my priority, but I know if I can’t get enough time out for them, they will understand. Isn’t it sad?

When one looks at a film like Khuda Ke Liye, a story of religious fundamentalism and racial profiling in the western nations, one expects to see how the West drives young Muslims to commit acts of terror. Blame it on my lack of research but I was treating it like just another film that may glorify religion and terrorists, yet, I wanted to watch it.

I was curious to see a film that came from the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, a country I have always been curious about. And surprise me it did.

Khuda Ke Liye, is a bold attempt to bring forth the hypocrisy under the name of religion. The film is about the people who interpret religion according to their own benefit, the film is about innocent youngsters who seek an answer to the dilemma of religion vs their heart and the film spells out how erratically societies across the globe deal with the monster called religion.

The story revolves around two brothers Mansoor (Shaan) and Sarmad (Fawad Khan), urban Pakistani youth from affluent families. The brothers work together on music, their passion, much to the dislike of their devout grandmother. Sarmad, the younger brother starts getting fascinated with a Maulavi who brainwashes him into quitting music because it is wrong in the eyes of Islam.

What follows is a dilemma in Sarmad’s mind in making a choice between his passion and his religion which is very intelligently demonstrated by an indirect debate between the Maulavi and Mansoor, Sarmad being the medium. Meanwhile, Sarmad’s uncle and his cousin come down from the UK. Mary dreams of marrying her white British boyfriend. Her father wants to save his future generations from being Kafir and plans to cheat her into marrying one of the cousins.

While Mansoor takes off for the US, Sarmad runs away to the Pakistan-Afghanistan border to marry his cousin and save her from the horror of insulting the will of Allah.

Both the brothers travel to an alien environment, one into a western and the other into an anti-western world. While one tries to find his place in an international environment, the other brother struggles with his conscience over fulfilling his so-called religious duties. While one tries to convince a white American girl not to marry him, the other forces his own cousin into marriage and even rapes her. As one brother is tortured because of the religion he belongs to, the other is tortured by the men who interpret his religion. And as one brother loses his senses, the other regains them and comes back to music.

The film reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend of my Dad’s. He argued with me that there is nothing as cruel as religion in this world. He is of the opinion that religion does not give any reason for you to educate yourself and move ahead with times. Instead, it forces you to be lost in the past. Besides, the world over, the amount of crimes committed in the name of religion are alarming.

After seeing the film, I started seeing where this guy was coming from. Sarmad is forced to rape a woman, kill innocent humans in the name of Allah. Mansoor is arrested and tortured out of his senses because he’s Muslim. In our own country a missionary from Australia was burnt alive in a car by a Hindu fundamentalist. In Turkey, women are killed for the honour of the family while in Somalia, parents perform the cruel act of female castration on their own daughters to honour their religion. We Hindus force widowed women to lead a monotonous life, just because their husband is dead.

These are just the things off the top of my head. If I delve deep, it would be depressing to find just how many are killed and how many are left devastated in the name of religion, across the world.

I don’t identify with my religion. I have eaten beef and dare I say, I enjoyed it (beef is taboo in Hinduism). But I do visit temples when I can. I pray at Mt. Mary Church in Bandra and I have kept Rozas. I believe in picking bits and pieces from different religions that my heart agrees with, to satisfy the ‘religion’ drive within. I know many of my friends do. But our minds are restless, still looking for answers. The lack of conviction in our religion drives us to ask questions, questions that leave us depressed many a times.

Blind faith after all is immense peace of mind.

I am a writer. Its just a sentence but it weighs a ton. Everytime someone asks me what I do for a living I say, ‘I am a writer’.
What is being a writer? Does it mean you simply write? What do you write? Novels, poetry or just plain emails?

The writer in me doesn’t let me be unless I write something. She needs to justify her presence. She makes sure that the writer is not forgotten in the endless chores through the day. Being a writer, is a full time profession. Even if you’re not looking for it, something inspires you each day and then you feel the itch. You can’t sit still till you pen the thoughts.

Today I have nothing to write; but the itch is still there. I feel like writing, writing and writing. But about what? Should I write about the butterflies I saw this morning. Nah. Too clichéd. Should I write about… Hell I want to write about nothing. Nothing at all.

Hunger is an illusion. That’s the latest theme of my life. I am surviving on 4 litres of lemon water, 4 cups of milk and trying hard to tell myself that its doing me good. It is in a way. I am a good 20 kilos lighter and I am a whole lot fitter, but I am also one of those girls I once hated. I cringe at the sight of oily food (its hypocrisy because I still want to eat it). I’m extremely paranoid about the calorie content of my lip balm even. And I am asking the men in my life the dreadful question, ‘Do I look fat?’
So how did I become this monster? I grew up promising myself I would never be like this. I promised myself I wouldn’t shop for clothes that required me to suck my tummy in and now?

Well, firstly I fluffed up and then I found the magic word-‘detox’. This included trips halfway across town to a doctor, depriving myself of food to the extent of crying my hungry self to sleep and sweaty, tiring walks around five gardens.

It was an impossible task but as soon as my first kilo was off, I realised how good it felt. I went on and on until I was about 10 kilos lighter. And I fell in love with the feeling of fitting into clothes two sizes smaller. I loved the way my old clothes hung on me, and I loved how everyone gushed about my weight loss for a change.
The addiction continued. I kept walking, I kept eating right and I kept sipping black tea and fruit juices through the day to keep my body in shape. And it happened. I started missing the lose jeans syndrome and I was back on the dreadful detox. It’s got me down to the size I was in school (I was a chubby girl!) I love the lighter feeling and I love fitting into clothes that I once looked at in disdain.

But I have also turned into a typical girl. I suddenly love getting my hair done (I had a crew cut back in college!) I loved shopping for clothes, I loved taking a walk rather than eating at an all-you-can-eat buffet and I actually care if my clothes match my bag.

Which makes me wonder, do we tell ourselves that we don’t care about our (or for that matter, others’) appearances simply because we aren’t ready to work hard enough on our appearance. Or is it that we live in denial, forever rejecting the idea that losing weight is good for not just your appearance but your health even.

Or does getting a little thin cause a chemical locha in our brain which makes us realise how much we can stretch ourselves to look good? I am wondering help me before I turn into a monster I promised myself I’d never turn into…

Here goes, I am publishing the first chapter of my novel on my blog. This is the reason why I have been so irregular with the blog… Dying for some feedback
———

Chapter One:

OneStop was a noisy place in the calm by-lanes of Bandra. People just poured in to buy groceries, clothes, make-up, jewellery, electronics, food, films and music or just to walk through the maze of shops, making wish-lists. The perfume section was the most popular section and everybody seemed to be fond of the witty young salesman, who could boast of a special talent. Rahul Rajgopal could tell people by their perfumes. Almost everyone coming to the mall was sure to succumb to Rahul’s charm and drift into his section and most of them almost always came back.

There was one person though, who in spite of being a regular shopper at the mall, had never ever come into his section. Not that he hadn’t tried, but she just never succumbed to his charm. She must have been living in the vicinity, because she came often and at odd times.

Today she was walking directly towards him. He shrugged it off….She might be wandering looking for some other section, she never bothers with this section, he thought as he started rearranging the perfumes on the counter.

“I am looking for a perfume for a 35-year-old man.”
A soft female voice said to him in a rather rude, uninterested way. He looked up and there it was; the face that had been intriguing him since a last couple of months. He couldn’t believe the hostility of the voice. “I am in a bit of a hurry so show me something quickly.” She said as she fiddled with her purse, trying to look for something.
“What sort of a perfume would you want, Ma’am?”
She looked up from her cell-phone, “I just told you; anything for a 35-year-old for his birthday.” Nobody spoke to Rahul in a rude way and Tanya was hurting his ego.
“Well there are these perfumes which suit most 35 year old men, this one,” he said spraying the perfume into her face, “is for calm, collected persons, while this one is for those who are sort of young at heart. Yes and this one here is for sporty sort of people and…”
“Just give me something for someone extroverted, funny and romantic.” Tanya interrupted before Rahul could spray another whiff on her face. She wondered why he wasn’t using the tester strips.
“How about this one? It might be perfect. It has an amazingly sharp whiff, which doesn’t shock people approaching the person wearing it, but calms them down. This perfume is for people who like to be with a lot of people.” He held out a strip for her as if he had read her mind. He watched her face as she took in the fragrance. There was a hint of a smile, but she opened her eyes and the smile was gone, as if it had never been there. “Good. Wrap it up. Fast” He took a box off the shelf and began wrapping it, still staring at her. Her choice of perfume had left an odd sinking feeling in his stomach.
As he carefully folded the wrapping paper around the box, he thought about the person the perfume was for. She really cared for this man. He knew enough from his experience that women bought this perfume for the men in their lives. Was this man her husband? Not possible, there’s no Mangalsutra or Sindoor , but then most Indian girls never wore it anymore anyway. No ring either. Probably just a boyfriend… His chain of thoughts was broken by her cold request.
“Write the card out for me, Happy Birthday, Ravi Bhaiyya .”
With a smile across his face he wrote out the card and as he handed her the box, he looked at her face, searching for a smile, but it remained expressionless, as she grabbed the gift and handed him her credit card before turning away starting a conversation over her cell-phone. He couldn’t understand why he felt relieved to know that the most important man in her life was her brother and he couldn’t understand why, he felt angry at her. Who the hell did she think she was?
Grabbing the credit card he glanced at the name; Tanya Kher, nice name he thought as he swiped the card and handed her the receipt. She signed it in one swift motion, grabbed the gift and walked off. He couldn’t believe it. No thank you, no goodbye? He wasn’t used to that kind of customer behaviour. He shrugged and went back to packing off the perfumes; after all he had had a busy day and there was a busier day coming up tomorrow…

As she stepped out of the busy mall, Tanya heaved a sigh of relief. Crowds always made her a bit dizzy. Her eyes searched frantically for a cab but there wasn’t a single one to be seen around. She started to walk angrily across the pavement towards a taxi stand. Nobody could have guessed looking at her that her high heel shoes were killing her toes. She walked as if she owned the world taking long strides, looking straight ahead as if she would crash down anybody coming in her way. Her business suit added to the no-nonsense attitude which made people turn around and look at her in awe, as she tick-tocked down the road. She finally saw a cab and made a run for it. “Cadell road!” She said as she sat in. Mumbai cab-drivers were used to being asked whether they would like to take you to wherever you wanted to go. He turned around and gave her a weird look. “Move it, I am getting late.” She ordered in her broken anglicized Hindi. The cab driver shrugged and put the meter down, “These modern pant wearing girls!” He muttered to himself as he sprung the rattling cab into motion. Tanya ignored him. She had better things to do than to pick an argument with a male chauvinist cab driver. She looked at her watch when she saw the shimmering homeward bound traffic. Tanya could imagine her sister-in-law, cursing her for being late.
Anita had called Tanya eight times at work to just remind her to leave her office on time. Once Tanya was out of the office, her cell-phone kept her busy with reminders to leave her home in time, which Tanya obediently did, but as she passed the mall, she remembered that she had forgotten to buy a gift, which had forced her to stop at the mall to buy a quick gift. She found herself wandering through the crowded mall clueless about what to get for a full quarter-hour before she had managed to buy a perfume from a rather enthusiastic salesman. ‘The mall has too many over-friendly sales people.’ She thought to herself. She hated going to the friendly neighbourhood grocer or the friendly neighbourhood boutique. She chose to make a trip to the mall for the smallest things she needed because it just had everything she needed. What she hadn’t realized was that she was stuck with a friendly neighbourhood mall!
As always her cell-phone’s boring tring-tring brought her out of the flashback. She knew who it was without even looking at the screen. “Anita I am getting there, I am so sorry, stuck in traffic.” She fixed her gaze on the red light as she heard her sister-in-law complain. “I am sorry! I’ll be there.” She clicked off the phone and looked at her watch. She was already half an hour late and it looked like she was going to take another half hour to reach her brother’s birthday party. She was right, the cab screeched to a halt outside her brother’s house at exactly half past nine. She threw the money at the cab driver without waiting for change, and ran into the lift, almost slipping off the marble floor in the lobby. She had to hit the button a hundred times before it closed, making her grow impatient and irritated. The doors shut, revealing a reflection of Tanya, with her eyes rolling in irritation again. Her straight long hair was completely out of place thanks to the jerky and windy cab ride. Tanya was very particular about how she wore her hair. She never experimented with length, colour or its style. She liked it long straight and brushed clear, falling over her shoulders. At times she wore it in a pony, but only if it was a hot or a windy day. Her grey-green eyes always had a stern look in them behind the rather expensive rimless glasses she had been wearing for the past 5 years; every year much to Anita’s dislike she bought the same frame, same colour, dull-gold. No experiments. She wore no make-up except for mascara and two lipsticks that she alternated according to her clothes, most of which were rather formal and business like. Rarely did you catch Tanya Kher in Indian clothes and almost never in casual clothes. In fact, her brother joked about how Tanya worked around the clock because she was dressed to hit the boardroom anytime.
Today, however, she had managed to pull out a bit of a fancy woolen bare shoulder top Anita had gifted her. She checked herself in the mirror, pulled down her top so that it fit well and didn’t give Anita another reason to bicker. She had just enough time to smooth the hair with her fingers when the elevator opened on the ninth floor. She got out of the lift and before she could reach the bell, Anita opened the door with a where-the-hell-were-you expression on her face. Unknowingly Tanya gave her the- you-know-me smile and shrugged. Anita nodded her head in an at-least-you’re-here-get-in expression and pointed to the living room.
The living room was full of candles and dim lights and she could hear glasses clinking and people laughing above the lounge music playing in the background. She saw many faces but the one she wanted to see was lost somewhere. She could hear his high-pitched voice from another corner of the huge living room. She moved through the living room, smiling reluctantly at faces, some drunk, some pretentious, some judging her, some appreciating her.
“Of course, he is going to be fired. He is a lousy coach, if we want the world cup we need someone more focused on the game rather than the media, you know what I mean? Tanya! We thought you would definitely make it by my next birthday.” Tanya looked down, embarrassed. She hated being in the spotlight and her brother always managed to put it right on her. “She’s a busy woman, my sister, so I am going to leave you guys for a moment to make the best of the time I get from her.” Ravi exclaimed as he put his arm around Tanya.
“Why do you always have to make a joke about me?” She scolded him as she handed him the box, “You are getting older but not any wiser.”
He took the box and plucked the card off. Holding it in Tanya’s face he complained. “It says Ravi bhaiyya. How many times did I say stop calling me bhaiyya? We aren’t 10 and 16 anymore okay? I don’t like it.” He frowned as he tore open the wrapping paper. The frown on his face disappeared as he saw the box. “Aqua Di Gio! Impressive. It’s a pleasant change from the gift vouchers you’ve been giving me. Somebody’s coming back into humans, huh.” He nudged Tanya in a playful way. “Met Anita yet? She was whopping mad at you.”
“Oh, she opened the door for me. You could say she’s okay now. I am going to go see if they need any help around the kitchen.” Tanya was about to make a dash for the kitchen when Ravi yelled out, “Oye, we have a caterer this time, so there’s no excuse to hide; these people are decent you know. They don’t bite.”
“I was just being nice.” She said walking off towards Gia, Anita’s friend from Delhi, who was one of the few people Tanya looked forward to seeing at her brother’s parties. She always had exclusive stories and gossip from the television channel she worked for. Gia’s constant jabber took all the socializing pressure off Tanya.
“Tano! Long time… Howdy!” She screamed with delight as she hugged Tanya, who knew instantly that Gia had had quite a bit to drink.
“You won’t believe it, but I am going to be shooting one of our shows at the Delhi branch of your firm, it is about these two models and blah blah. I was just thinking about you when we finalized things with your firm. I am so glad to see you babe!” She hugged Tanya once again.
“Oh! Really? That’s amazing. So which show is this?” Tanya asked sipping from a glass of wine she picked up from the passing waiter’s tray.
“Another new one! The boss thinks that the glamour, sex and high heels will get us the much needed TRP boost. Star is screwing our advertising revenues. Obviously you know that. Silly me.” She laughed out throwing her head back.
“Star is hot property as far as prime time slots are concerned, but this guy at your office is offering us great deals if we plan to advertise across all the channels. We are, as a matter of fact, recommending Zee, it is cost effective.” Tanya explained with a boardroom confidence.
“At least someone’s recommending Zee! Oh there’s Aneesh, he just broke up with his girlfriend and you know what nobody knows, she was cheating on him! Let’s go say hi!” Gia chuckled.
Tanya nodded along. She was always lost for words when Gia gave her all these bits of classified gossip. At the same time, she enjoyed the fact that she could just nod or smile or say a few words and kill time. It was better than standing in one corner, and then getting introduced to random people by Anita and Ravi.
So, Tanya spent the next few hours by Gia’s side as she chatted away with everyone at the party. She used her little knowledge about the television business all thanks to her position as a media planner to add bits and pieces to Gia’s stories, but she had to make a great effort which tired her out by the end of the party. She hated crowds and she hated parties. She wouldn’t attend a single party if it wasn’t for Anita and Ravi’s enthusiasm. They hosted a lot of parties and Tanya had to be there, not as a social obligation towards her brother and her sister-in-law but because she knew it satisfied them to see her mingle with people at their parties. That’s the least she could do for the two people she loved the most.