Aashima Talwar: Bombay to Melbourne

I'm at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International airport (Bombay) waiting for my flight to Melbourne. Let's rewind a bit. 

Past week has been strange. Ever since I dropped the “I’m never getting married” bomb on my family, conversations get choked at my sight, expressions fade at lightning pace & gloom envelopes our home. Mom has gone cold turkey on me. Dad has become so formal it makes me nauseated. They truly regret not making another child. They feel betrayed by the one they did.   

Over the last week I’ve stayed out of their sight as much as I could. So self-proud.  

There’s a slight change in plan. One of my bosom buddies is getting married, suddenly. Impromptu shit. Talk about invitation, I got a Whatsapp: “hey bitch I’m getting married to a white boy. Be there or I’ll miss the chance to rub it in your face. P.S. he looks like Jahan Gill. And bitch I ain’t sharing. All bets are off”.

Samaira & I went to boarding school {darjeeling} together. We started dating together. At one time even our menses were in sync. We were 14 when we tasted each other’s lips before we kissed a real boy. And we made a pact (pinkie swear) if we ever have a threesome it’d be us two & Jahan Gill. He was this hottest piece of 6-feet flesh & bones that god ever sculpted. He once asked me something but I never answered. I lost my voice & found difficult to breath. Before he got worried what’s happening, Samaira came & rescued me from the clutches of his killing charm.

She lives in Melbourne now, marrying an Aussie. When I broke the news to mom I expected her to yell dramatically ‘oh my god. What is wrong with Samaira’ but all I got was a soapish ‘at least Samaira is marrying’ & the classic look saying how I let her down bigtime. I really can’t catch a break.

I wonder if mother thinks I’m a virgin. May be she does or maybe not. But even in her wildest imagination she wouldn’t guess that I’ve had five boyfriends & done it with all seven of them (2 one-night stands for a few nights). And I lived-in with one of them (we were serious till I drove him crazy). That makes me wonder if there are any girls out there who are ever real to their mothers or anyone for that matter about the dreaded three letters: sex. What kind of world have we built? A world that believes god is real yet so scared of truth.

Anyway I got my tickets changed. I'm going to Melbourne first & then to California from there. Oh I forgot to mention I arrived in Bombay a day ago. All the sulking & cold vibes at home got too much for me without alcohol. Ya! I’m detoxing till I get to California, well, at least till Melbourne.

In Bombay I stayed with a guy friend of mine. Alone. He & me. I know what you’re thinking: Me, the slut, alone with a boy & bam I’ll make him my number 8. Not really. We’ve known each other way too long for that. Here’s an unwanted advice: Sex is best in its one-night stand avatar with someone you’ve just met & sparks flew and with boyfriends who also happen to be your buddies. But sex is a terrible idea with real friends who aren’t boyfriends. It messes everything. Try it & you’ll know for real what it feels to lose a dear friend. Stings.

My first ever day in Bombay (RSS/MNS don’t kill me please for calling your Mumbai: Bombay) was so much that I can’t explain it in a word. Here I will tell you about it.

Zafar told me not to but I’m not the conformist kind. I hopped on this local train in the general box. Hold on. Not that easy. We missed 9 trains & had to wait 51 minutes before I could squeeze in through the crowd. But the real adventure lay ahead. The de-boarding experience had parallels with near death experience. Any of you mamma’s boys & daddy’s girls who think I’m exaggerating. Try alighting a Bombay local during peak hours & if you're still alive, you'll hear me, girl.

Few quirky things I noticed in comparison to Delhi: People queue up for buses but pounce on the trains. Auto-rickshaws bill-by-meter (always), trains are dirt cheap (10 bucks (17 cents) for a 27 kilometer ride), people aren’t class conscious, are generally pleasant & bindaas (happy go lucky), make sounds like they’re calling a dog when they want to catch your attention, evenings are beautiful (as long as you stay away from travelling), beaches are criminally dirty, girls aren’t scared of getting raped, & you can get weed almost anywhere.

Half-hour ago I bid adieu to Zafar & since been sitting on this bench staring at fat people. So many. About fifteen minutes ago I caught this bloke looking at my rack. Let’s be fair to him, it was an unconscious glance & I’ve a big rack. But I was bored & I couldn’t let this juicy chance slip. So I yelled “Stop staring at my boobs, you creep. How would you feel if I stared at your tiny penis?” People started giving him dirty looks. Poor lad. He went pale, lost his voice like I used to when I saw Jahan. His head soon dropped in shame.

I enjoyed it totally. I’m such a bitch. I see the first call is been made to board the plane to Melbourne. Time to depart. The wedding is in 2 days. I’ll stay for another day after the wedding & then depart for California in a long 15-hour direct flight.

You idiots can go now & get back to your dead-beat life. I will write again in few days & tell you all about the wedding & who says bride is the only one who’s gonna get lucky. Muah.