14.

"Mugs? You want to take a theory about mugs and apply it to men?"

"Not mugs. Tea cups. And not some random theory. A buddhist teaching. To see a teacup as already broken. I mean, I'm bound to drop this cup one day. Or lose it. Or give it away. Nothing in life is permanent. There is no point getting attached. I can not live in fear of breaking it. I don't want to 'protect' the fragile thing at all times. I realize it is going to break someday, and I make my peace with it"

"So you're being indifferent to it? If you've already lost it - or at any rate, are eventually going to lose it - why would you care. You are going to fling it around in the wrong notion that it has to break anyway?"

"On the contrary. I don't store it in bubble wrap and packing nuts but neither do I play fetch with it. Instead, I use it, love it's unique design and shape, appreciate it. Cherish the times I have with it. And when it does shatter, I let it. I feel the sadness and pain of having broken the cup, the memories of all the rainy days; but no regret, because I knew fully well that it had to happen. I will miss the broken cup, but I will allow myself to pick up another one without guilt. And enjoy and cherish that one just as fully."

"I still maintain that men and fine china are not interchangeable"

13. Boyzone

Suddenly there are too many boys. Turns out, all one needed to do to get a boy, is to say that one wanted a boy. That sounds too good to be true, right? But sometimes, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Anyway. So many boys. Boys who are so far away that even the long arm of the law is not long enough to reach out and hug them. And then boys so near I can practically eat off their plate without too much trouble.

The boys far away want emotional commitment. I don't think I even know what that means. The boys closer want cuddles. That is always welcome. There are boys somewhere in between who are my favorite pillow talkers. Presently, between all these multiple boys, I have one whole boy. A complete boy made up of parts of different boys. (Gross imagery unintended.) That's cool, right? I'm the adjusting types. Not too demanding. I'll take whatever you can offer, kinds. Wait, that makes me sound like a charitable organization. I don't know if I'm cool with the implications of that. Wait. I don't even know what the implications are. Will someone enlighten me?

And amidst all this, there is some kind soul out on the interwebs, who is being my, um, wellwisher and suggesting other blogs to date mine. If you're reading this, I've been trying hard to track you. I need to tell you more about my preferences, not that the work you've done so far is any less than acceptable (Dear prospective date blog, my blog is winking at you); just that I was hoping you could do me some matchmaking favors as well. My blog might be elitist and refuse to date other blogs, but I am certainly not.

As far as the boys in my life presently reading this, I lurve you all, without prejudice. But some more than others. I hope that's cool with you.

12. There is something about Maragadhavalli alias Mary

"Macha. I lou you man"
"Me too man, me too"
"You mean you lou yourself. Selfish fellow"
"And others apart from you as well"

***********

"Don't you wonder what it feels like, to fall in love with someone; to throw caution to the wind"
"...and pledge affection and commitment with reckless abandon?"
"Look around you! People are diving in headfirst, and all you can do is gingerly put your toes in the water"
"Maybe I am better off dry!"
"Then you don't have the right to whine and complain about dry spells!"

*********

Tell me this, boys, aren't you supposed to be the sex that is freaked out by exclusivity and commitment? Aren't you supposed to want to play the field? Then why does every boy I want to date want me to fall in louwes with him? And in louwes only with him? It didn't used to be like this, boys. Is it because you have grown older now? Do you have some kind of biological clock that is ticking away that we don't know about? Is this what I get for asking gender stereotypes to be broken? Is this what too many Disney movies with extraspecialeffects does to people?

While I try to get to the bottom of this, if anyone of you tells me about soulmates, I will egg your face. If you want to talk about solemates (the shoe sole kinds, not the "you are my wunnandwunly; my sole mate" kind. I don't want to talk about the latter) or molemates (the macham kind, not the vermin kind. Although, I don't mind talking about the latter) on the other hand... grab a chair!

11. Tomboy. Because it's so much easier.

Me and the roommate went shopping this week. You know, some girl- girl bonding. Seeing as she's leaving and all. We went to those stores where we would spend evenings and money. And to those stores where we wanted to spend evenings and time, but not money. Which include clothing stores (but ofcourse.) You see, the roommate, unlike me,is a regular, normal girl. By which I mean, she is not a tomboy. So she buys pretty girl clothes. And for some strange reason, I think I wanted to be girl pretty for a while too. I suppose I wanted to "attract" boys. But you know, I've had a fair share of boys by just being me, and those are the kind of boys I like anyway. Boys who like girl-girls are weird. Anyway, point being, I have girl clothes now. Dresses. And skirts. They're pretty. I put them on and plopped on my couch and ate cheese sticks while watching America's Next Top Model. It made me feel like I did when I was a kid and amma would dress me in a sari and I would pretend to be a mami making dosai (except for the America's Next Top Model part, of course). I wondered why I hadn't tried this before.

So. These girl clothes. They have pink on them. And frills. And flowers. And no sleeves. I realized, right the day I put on this one summery dress (Yes. I used the word "summery". As an adjective. For clothes. You have to do things like that when you put on a dress. It's in the contract.) that the reason I stuck to pants and boy t-shirts was this: they are just so much lesser work. There is just so many things you have to do to properly pull off a girl outfit.

First, those things vary widely with occasion. Until now, I had two types of clothes: regular clothes - consisting of pants and whatever shirt I happened to be able to get my hands on; and formals- pants and a clean, pressed, button down shirt. But these girl clothes? They are different for being "professional", "formal (during the day)", "formal (in the evening)", "formal (at dinner and later)", "formal(at a party)", "party", "evening", "shopping", "coffee" and all other sundry events/beverages/random-english-words-that-have-no-business-being-an-adjective-for-clothes. (Seriously- cocktail "dress"? Cocktails are drinks, people. Make sense.) So you need that many different kinds of girl clothes.

Second, apart from the clothes themselves being pricey, there are companion spendings also required. For starters, the girl clothes have no pockets. I'm a pocket person. Every time I have to leave the house, I pat my sides to check if I have my wallet, id, phone and keys in my pockets. I literally count "1,2,3,4" in my head, and I'm out. No bags. Definitely no purses. I don't even own a purse. So this day, when I'm out in this 'summery' dress, I had to carry these in my hand. But I realized, half an hour after I had left home, that I didn't have my phone with me. And I came to terms with the fact that if I need to wear girl clothes, I will need to have a purse. Additional expense #1.This is when the roommate asks me "Are you going to get just one? If you're not going to buy more than one, you should get something that is neutral". So there. Not just purse. Purses. More spending. Then I find out that all this extra fitting doesn't stop with a purse. You need to accessorize. Shoes. I own a pair of sneakers, a pair of running shoes, a pair of leather slip ons, a pair of beach sandals and this one pair of black slippers. I think that's already too many shoes to have. But it turns out that only the slippers "can be worn with a dress, and even that, just barely". I need to buy girl shoes to go with the girl clothes. Earrings. Necklaces. Watches. All girl type things. And all expensive.

But the worst of it all, is the fact that these clothes stop at the knees.Or just below the knees. Or waay above the knees (In the last case, you can't even sit down. Unless you're wearing tights underneath the clothes. Or, in my case, bicycle shorts. I'm not spending anymore.). You know what that means right? (Queasy type boys, you might want to look away. I'm going to actually say it, out here, out loud. You have been warned) You have to constantly shave your legs. Or savagely pull out hairs from the roots. Or burn them away with nasty smelling goop. Everyday. Every week. Every month. More time, more money. More bending, more spending. Foul stenches. Razor nicks.Gaaah!

I am done trying to be girl pretty. I have the clothes. I will wear them with earrings and high heels, put on a flowery apron and walk around the kitchen flipping pancakes, singing '50s Hollywood songs and generally being Donna Reed. Or when I'm trying to get some boy's attention. But otherwise, I'm happy in my styleless tomboy clothes. Boys, next time a girl takes forever to get ready, give her the time.Trust me. take my word for it. It's not easy. And girl-girls, I have a new found respect for you. Or a newfound disdain. I'm not sure which, yet.

10.

"I realized.. I want a house husband. I hate housework, and I love my job. S..o, I want a house husband and I will demand dowry."

"you need a sex change operation, don't you?"

"no.. I'm just a guy who's very comfortable in a girl's body. I love my girl body..."

"So you just need to find your opposite. Right"

"Yes, a girl's mind in a guy's body. Preferably a nice, hot body. That's all I need to find, and I'm set for life"

"Craigslist!! Look for it on Craigslist!"

9. Falling

Ok, so it's been forever since I saw vodka. First I went away on vacation, then he was posted somewhere else, then he didn't have money, and now I don't have time.

Now, I've been very honest with myself about him - I have very little in common with him, except for our mutual attraction for each other. I don't see a future with him, and I'm sure he sees none with me. We're in it just for the moment. But still, how can the boy be your toy if he's not around to enjoy? If you're employed and he's deployed all the way over in Illinois? Ok, so he's not really in Illinois, and even if he was, he wouldn't technically be "deployed"... I was just going with the drift. You know that, right? Right.

It has always been easy for me to fall in love. Ok, by "love" I don't mean "we have a future together, let's get married and be filmy" love. By "love", I mean "at this instant, all I can think of is you; and it has been so on many instances for the past few days/weeks" You all call it infatuation, a crush. But seeing as I'm incapable of believing in the former kind of love, this will just have to do. I don't believe in "falling in love" the way most people do, but I do fall in love. Almost all the time. I also believe in falling out of love. Which is what I think will happen with vodka if I don't turn up at his door soon. I may not have a future with him, but the past I've had with him is swoon worthy, and I believe in milking out every sigh, every drool, every meltage and every "hamuna, hamuna, hamuna" from every relationship. Those are my principles and I stand by them.

I have time till next month to see vodka and be swept off my feet, and for the interim, are any of you boys ready to make my heart flutter?

8. Kannan

"Ayyo, you don't know. I totally urugified. Not because of the heat. His craning neck and dancing eyebrows meltigrated me to a rippling puddle."

"Again?! Onakku eppovume ithe thana di pozhappu?"

"Arrey no di, when I get my head out of the clouds and put my feet on the ground, I am sane enough to realize we are miles apart. Literally and figuratively. Enakkum avanukkum sammanthame illa. He is nattaikurinji. I am naatu sarakku. He spends his life quoting Wodehouse and Woody Allen. And I spend my life trying to come up with wisecracks of my own. He is sangeetha methai, I am gyaanasooniyam. Engayaavathu othu poguma? Plus he is the really artsy fartsy type di. Writing novellas enna, taking photographs enna"

"So what di? If he is classical symphony, you are steel drums."

"But what if, one of these days, he plays me some raagam, special; signifying  love or romance or something? I wouldn't even know. It would be totally wasted on me. His knowledge, his genius.. I won't even be able to appreciate it"

"Appreciate it, you will.. you only won't recogonize it. That is his problem. Avanukku venumna let him teach you. Plus sangeetha gyaanam and all is phooey. "Isaiya anubavikkanum, aaraya koodaathu". You only say, no?"

"Seri, leave that. Still, there is the question of the years, the distance. Plus I'm already busy with work di. There's so much I have to do, I won't even have time for this now, and with passing time, it will fade away... I don't know di. I think I will sober up, get real, and leave this all behind, along with the clothes and the jewellery; with the others hoping that I will come back for them one day."

"Yes di. Don't bring along excess baggage, you end up paying a heavy price for it"

 "Kindalukku korachale illa! ... In the end, I am going to become one of those old ladies with the cats, you just wait and watch"

"What rubbish di! Enakkoru vodka maari onakkoru wine cooler maata maattaana?"

"Ei po di. I was looking for Allepy toddy, and you're giving me alpam wine cooler"

7.

"I’m a baker because brownies attract quality men." said a wise baker once. It is true, you know. I have attracted many a quality boy with my brownie baking skills. You pull out the pan form the oven and they instantly swarm at you like ants. You bring out a big pot of stew, bake up some warm hearty bread and melt some cheese on top, and you have the boy twirled around your fingers like you had your hair when you were initially making eyes at him.

But vodka white boy isn't so particular about food. I don't understand. I think he's wired weird. He likes my particular brand of hummus, though. And root beer floats. So atleast something's right.

But I am officially lost. Without food, I have nothing in my arsenal that will snag a boy. Boys are supposed to like medhu vadai and aloo paratha and warm pies. I had done my research. I even had specific instructions for what to feed your favorite boy on dinner date, and what to feed him when you wake up with said boy in your bed the next morning.

[Disclaimer] Amma, I have never woken up with a boy in my bed. Never. I swear on your rasam podi recipe, I haven't. Except for the numerous cousins with whom I shared the floor during all those summer vacations at paati's house; and they don't count. [End disclaimer]

I don't get to see  vodka for 4 weeks now, after which I am making him dinner. He had better swoon. Although, if he does the dishes, I will forgive him for not being insanely in love with everything chocolate. Instantly.

6.

You know the feeling when you're eating a grilled cheese, and a blob of cheese gets caught in your teeth, and you taste it and think "this is the perfect kind for Mac and Cheese" and you can't wait to finish the sandwich and move on to using that very same cheddar to make a pan of the most deliciously cheesy mac-n-cheese with nothing more than pasta, cheese, milk and mustard; and you are so caught in that thought that you can actually taste it in the back of your throat and that taste travels to your tongue and is so perceivable that you are no longer chewing on the piece of toastie that is actually in your mouth, but instead on a mouthful of chewy gooey cheesy macaroni?

I just had that feeling.

5. The Yogurt Test

Talking to your close friends about what you want in your partner is very important. Not so that one of them can become your partner (although that would be awesome, no?) but because it allows you to discover things about yourself, and change your expectations accordingly.

Until very recently, I used to think the deal breaker in a dude for me would be his inability to cook. Say what you may, but there is something about a man who can cook. Put an apron on those hips, boys, and they will instantly camouflage that beer gut and those love handles. Forget those free weights and learn to flip a pancake instead. I'm not saying it will get you everywhere, but it ups your hotness quotient very much. Mince a garlic pod while whistling an IR paatu, or saute an onion while strumming an air guitar to a rock song in between; and I will not care that you are a poor grad student with no money. That's not to say that any dude who can cook is immediately mate material, but if you can't it definitely gets you off the list.

Recently though, very recently, this was challenged. Not by any one dude in particular, but conversations with a friend gradually caused me to arrive there. And we weren't even talking about boys. We were talking about how the yogurt became runny once you dip a spoon into it. That immediately set me off into how the protein structure collapses once you cut into it, allowing the whey to ooze out. And me, being me, did not stop there. I continued on to the science behind how yogurt sets, how the various protein and fat concentrations and ratios affect how thick it is and how the temperature affects the process. I was in the process of elucidating why yogurt can never accurately represent the tang of true buttermilk, when said friend got up and walked away. Simply got up, and walked away.

Now, don't read too much into it, me and this person are still great friends, just that we never talk about yogurt (or anything that can set me off on a nerd ramble) much. It does not matter. We need not have those conversations. Our relationship does not demand it. But a dude I want as a boyfriend, a lover, a spouse needs to be able to do this. I mean, I understand that the vodka distillation process doesn't make for good pillow talk, but if you can't keep up with me on that, there will be no pillow talk to get to.

So keep this in mind, boys who are trying to woo me - yes all none of you - you will have to pass the yogurt test. Start studying.

4.

I am becoming total Rouwsu Raajalatchimi. It is oddly liberating. Like setting free my inner goddess. Or something.

Someone told me they did not think I was the vijay padam watching dappakoothu listening type. I totally am. The url of this blog is "vadaporsche" for god's sake! Full gethu.

It is amusing how easily people believe the facades you put up, without even realizing that you are all in a masquerade.

But what is the real you? What you are? Or what everyone sees you as? You know, "you cannot see the complete picture when you are part of it" and "you need a mirror to show you what you are" and all that. If you are able to show different facets of yourself to different people, does that not make you the elephant that the blind men tried to see? Speaking of, the story says the blind men went into a dark room to feel the elephant. One, "feeling" the elephant sounds a bit... perverse. Two, if they are blind, why the dark room? Or was it just men trying to "feel" and elephant in a dark room? Which is worse, no? Pornographic redundancy only that story is. Periya philosophical parable am.

So, in short, I called you a phoney and an elephant. See? Rouwsu Raajalatchimi. Total fun it is being that. Err, being me.

3.

It is too bad that it had to end. You and I were very good. Six years is a long time together. Too bad we only got to spend three of those actually together.

I love the way you talk on stage. I love the way you say "fair enough". I love the way your eyes disappear into horizontal slits when you smile. I love the way you try to pass off Malayalam as Tamil. And I love the fact that you could never say "urulakizhangu" right. Nobody sang "bekaraar karke humein" to me. Ever. Except you. And nobody dared to make fun of my Amman koil red dress. Except you.

If only we had had more time in each others arms. If only you hadn't put your career before me three years ago. If only you didn't put your "duties" before me now. If only you had asked me what kind of house I wanted to build. If only you had asked where I wanted to live. What if I had decided to play it by your terms? What if I hadn't moved away? What if I had been the marrying kind? If. Like you always used to say. If.

It is too bad that it had to end. You and I were very good. Six years is a long time together. Too bad we cannot add more years to that.

2. Vodka. And the white boy

What can I say, I love both very much.

Three of the first, and one of the second later, I'm seeing similarities.  You see, like vodka, your average local amru boy manges to deliver the kick. There is romance and deliberate but unfilmy wooing involved. He can be old world charming without being chauvinistic. And he makes you pancakes for dinner. With chocolate chips, mind.

And like vodka, you need additives for some flavor. He may be the Humphrey Bogart that you could swoon for, but he can never be the guy who quotes Goundamani. He maybe able to understand cultural significances of Bharatnaatyam, but he will never understand dappankoothu. After another round of vodka, I realize that even if he can pull off "you had me at hello", he can never - *never*- say vada poche.

And that, pasangala, is why I am coming back to you. Embrace me with open arms and a Vijai paatu, won't you?

1.

" I wish I could just sleep until I was eighteen and skip all this crap-high school and everything-just skip it." 

"Do you know who Marcel Proust is?"

"He's the guy you teach." 

"Yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he's also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. Anyway, he uh... he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, Those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18... Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school-those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that."