of the dog that was such a bitch

AP and N celebrated Ben’s arrival like that of a newborn baby. It was like the beginning of a wonderful time, fresh hope, countless possibilities, and tremendous confusion. How often does he need to be fed? Is it time to start potty training him? How do we work our shifts in office so he’s never left unsupervised? They lay awake at night wondering what he was doing.

I wasn’t so excited. I missed the way things were before Ben came. I didn’t hate him, but we wished I could. My feelings were all mixed up; so mixed up that I have neither the intellectual apparatus nor the vocabulary to describe it.

Anyway.

Ben was the most moody dog I’ve ever seen. He had just about enough patience to suck up to us when he wanted to be fed, but as soon as that was done, he’d crawl under AP’s bed and stay there until he got hungry again, much like a bored husband would roll over and fall asleep after he is done having his way with the poor wife. Believe me, the dog was a total bitch.

Seriously.

When he was teething, we would come home to stuff that had been chewed up in ways you couldn’t imagine. Think half-eaten (raw) potatoes, bits and pieces of paper tissue strewn across the house, chewed up mattresses. And if that seems normal, imagine crotchless panties, toeless socks, heel-less slippers. I can’t speak for anyone else, but all this made me want to rip his precious little teeth right out.

Once, Ben slyly took little sips from my rum and coke, got drunk, and got the glass stuck on his face with the alcohol still in it. The fucker couldn’t breathe, but he thought it would be a great time to go hide under the bed. I didn’t realize what had happened until I realized my glass wasn’t where I had kept it. I thought I was going nuts until AP found the trail Ben had left behind. The bitch had passed out under AP’s bed with a glass stuck to his face.

I’m pretty sure it was the first time I ever used the words ‘dog’ and ‘deathwish’ in the same sentence. People laughed for the longest time. Until Ben proved me right.

Do you have a pet as crazy as Ben? Do you think dogs can be suicidal? Did you miss me while I was away? 🙂

of happy endings

Was it Dumbledore who said it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends? D (the ex-husband) and I clearly weren’t listening, so we not only unwittingly invited AP to come stay with us, but also allowed him to bully us into letting his friend N, whom we barely knew, move into our new apartment.

I don’t think I told you this before, but N was this tall, dusky girl with painstakingly ironed, poker-straight hair, clichéd big brown eyes and washboard abs and big boobs. She was also smart and funny, she could dance, she liked the same music I did, and we really liked her.

We spent the first few months getting to know each other. Though D and I still had zero privacy, we didn’t actually mind the company. It was like living in a hostel.

The only thing that really bothered me was that she didn’t seem to be wearing any clothes at home. I’m serious. All she ever wore was a loose spaghetti top that ended (very conveniently) just above her pierced navel and her super-short shorts that ended even before they began three inches below her waist.

But anyway…

A few months into the new apartment, N decided to get a dog. AP, our rom-com loving, highly codependent, and emotional wreck of a friend was overwhelmed. We were, too, but only because we didn’t want the responsibility of having to care for another living being, but were too chicken to say no.

N flew all the way to Bangalore to “adopt” a puppy in exchange for money. Seriously, she actually paid three thousand rupees. She spent another 7k to fly him back with her. She texted images and videos of two pups from the same litter, one male and one female, playing with each other. Someone she knew had “adopted” Tiny, the girl. She promised to name our dog only after she got back.

The day they were supposed to arrive, D and I (very reluctantly) set about puppy-proofing the apartment to the best of our collective ability. Basically, we moved all laundry detergent and cleaning supplies from the bottom shelf in the kitchen to the one above it, and cleaned under AP’s bed (we didn’t have one, we slept on a mattress). AP went and bought buying pet supplies in the meantime.

In a few days, N returned with a gold-white ball of fur with long, soft ears; large, droopy eyes; a glistening black nose; and four little paws tucked under her arm.

Meet Ben, my first-ever pet and the reason why I forgave N for everything (including stealing money from the jar in the kitchen) because apparently that’s what she used to pay for him.

Have you ever had a pet? Ever felt your rage evaporate like this? Has anyone stolen from you for a good cause? Have you ever stolen anything?

of true love

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I love you is something most people in the West tend to avoid saying until they really have to. Not so in India. In India, I love you is usually synonymous with I wanna to do fraandship with you which, in turn, boils down to two things.

(a) The guy wants to get into the girl’s pants (or in the case of some Indians, salwaar).

(b) The poor thing wants a girlfriend so he can look cool, and frankly, any girl that says yes will do.

Not in AP’s case. In his case, a third, and a very rare (for a man) phenomenon was taking place. He thought that because N was nice to him, and they were friends, they must be secretly in love, and therefore it was his moral responsibility to take the first step.

Wondering who AP and N are? Read the first two parts of this story here and here.

To me it seemed like a bad idea for a rotund, balding, criminally emotional man to even bother pursuing a tall, hot, casual sex-having woman. But he didn’t listen, and I was duly appointed messenger to slyly convey his love for her. It wasn’t an easy task.

First, she hated his guts. Fatty Fatterson? Not in this life! When I told AP, he was so crestfallen, he started smoking twice as much as he did, while maintaining a just-friends front for N’s benefit. He would avoid looking at her even as her boobs spilled out of her why-does-she-even-bother sphagetti and her hand reached for her crotch under the waistband of her tinier-than-Ana’s-panties shorts as she lay on the mattress in the living room, watching TV. She often shifted to her side, making her supple (34C) breasts look larger than they were, and some days I could swear I saw AP’s eyes well up. (Well, mine too, but out of my inability to look away. D was either too nice or too careful, but I never caught him staring.)

And then, one day, she started finding him amusing. I can tell you that months of moping can be wiped out with a smile and a You bought me a zippo for my birthday. That’s really sweet, especially when followed up with a lingering feel-my-boobs-yet hug.

She will fall in love one day. I’m telling you she will.

Well, the bugger was right. She did! She actually fell in love.

(But with someone else. More later.)

Have you ever had to play go-between? Have you ever been proxy-approached or proxy-rejected? Ever had a roommate that pranced around practically naked, leaving you embarrassed every time you looked at them? 

of bad moves

Me: What are we going to do now?

D: I don’t know. What do you think?

Me: I don’t know? What do you think? Oh wait – we already covered you.

D: Why don’t we start making plans for just the two of us and maybe he will get the hint?

Me: You think that’ll work?

D: Of course it will.

It didn’t.

We made plans to go out for walks, shop, and watch movies, but because it was never established that by we we meant just the two of us, AP tagged along everywhere anyway.

After a week, we abandoned the apartment with the colorful walls and the huge terrace and the almost-French windows because it was too small for us.

It drove me raging-bull-mad, so one day I decided to rip the band-aid off myself. I was like a ninja on the prowl – I waited all day to find an opportunity to have the tough conversation with him.

Anyway. We finally found an apartment that we all liked, and we decided to move. It was a 3 bedroom house on Road no. 10, Banjara Hills. We didn’t need three bedrooms, but D and I were desperate. We needed a room of our own where we could have the clean fights and the dirty sex.

The moving day finally arrived, and so did N, a colleague of AP’s. She had promised to help him move, and she reached, as promised, at 10 am. We had met her a few times before, and she seemed like a nice girl. We were done moving by lunch time, and decided to order pizza as we unpacked.

N helped me set up the kitchen, while D and AP went about setting up two of the three bedrooms.

What are you going to do with the third room, N asked just as we all sat down to eat.

I don’t know, maybe we’ll create a guest room in case any of our parents come to stay, I responded.

AP chimed in. But parents will come only once in six months. Why don’t you move in with us? 

No points for guessing what happened next.

of privacy

D (the ex-husband) and I had been married for just over a quarter. As with all newlyweds, privacy was highly desirable and in our case, something we didn’t have. We lived in a house with aging parents and only one western toilet, which was unfortunately attached to our bedroom.

We lay in our bed one Saturday, discussing in hushed tones what we could do about our situation. It was the middle of the night, so it was eerily silent; we could hear nothing except for the sound of the crickets, the wind whistling in through a partly open window, and my mother-in-law’s incessant snoring.