Charles de Gaulle wasn’t too bad. The French were actually awesome to me. As I was going through customs in Paris, the black Customs Man looks at me and smiles beautifully. He asks me for my passport, reads my name out and tells me I’m absolutely beautiful! It was nice of him to say that since I thought I looked and smelled like hell given that I’d already spent 20 odd hours travelling. Merci, Customs Man, merci!
I bought two bottles of red wine at the airport. One Bourdeaux and one Syrah. Both 2006 and the cheapest available. I gave the Syrah to my aunt and uncle here but it’s completely wasted on them. Nobody I know in India has a taste for wine. THe first thing my uncle asked me about the wine was if it was sweet. My heart sank. I popped the bottle yesterday because Dark Knight (my cousin) and his father came over. Neither of them liked it at all. His father wanted beer. My aunt wouldn’t drink it because she “doesn’t like wine.” Later that night, I drank about half the Bordeaux by myself in bed while reading ‘Hunted’.
Hunted is a childern’s fiction novel about a world where infertility is the norm. So much so that real kids are commodities that are rented, sold and bought. It’s about a little kid called Tristan (I think) and his Minder Deek. Deek rents Tristan out to people for an hour or more so they can, for a while, know what it feels like to have a child. It’s an interesting concept and the writing is engaging enough. I can’t wait to finish it tonight!
Chef and I have been talking regularly on the phone. I told my mother about him and we talked about the whole age difference thing. In the end she said as long as I’m happy, no one is going to stand in my way. That’s good to hear. She did tell me that my aunt in Bombay and my grandmother went to an astrologer earlier this year to look at my horoscope. They called my mother and told her that according to my horoscope I must only marry the man my family chooses for me because if I choose my own husband, the marriage is doomed to fail. My mum was pissed and she told my dad and my dad in turn yelled at my grandmother for being so ridiculous.
I don’t actually understand how in the HELL they would sell me to a proper Tam-Bram Iyer family. I mean I have tattoos, piercings; I smoke and drink; I’m not a virgin and I can’t cook or sing and speak very bad broken Tamil. I’m not exactly a ‘catch’. That and given my sketchy history of drug abuse, what self respecting Tamil boy would want me? I’m curious.
In other news: I will be gainfully employed from June 1. See other blog for scattered details.
