Chronicles of Bani - I

I used to think that love meant everything. Note the use of past tense. Now I’m older and a bit wiser. Alright, that was only a few months ago, but so much can happen in a few months! My friends call me their local Bridget Jones. And believe me, it’s not a compliment. I’d hate to think I had more in common with a fictitious character like her, apart from sharing her initials. No offense to single 30-something women out there. I’m sure we’re all lovely. I just couldn’t stand the way they brought her down and reduced her to.. oh, whatever. It was almost as bad as Ally McBeal.

Now, sitting across a single 30-something, not-so-ugly chap at my new workplace, I know I’ve changed. Because I’m not looking at him the way I usually look at men and size them up. Like I’m shopping for fruit. I don’t even care whether this one “likes” me or not. Men at work = trouble. Okay, so maybe I have one more thing in common with the British Jones. But he wasn’t my boss. And I was in love with him. or so I thought. And he definitely didn’t look like Hugh Grant. Sudhish was a 40-something womanising liar who wrapped me around his little finger and convinced me he would file for divorce once his financial issues were all ironed out. Then his wife found out, left him, abused me and it turned out that his only financial “issue” was that he was broke and living off his wife’s inheritance. Needless to say that didn’t work out. Not because I ditched him. Hell, I offered to pay for his expenses, even his divorce lawyer! It didn’t work out because I realised he never intended to leave his wife and their kids. And because he wasn’t in love with me. In hindsight, he never really said the words. Of course the ‘I love you, babe’ when I saved his ass a few times. But no soul-shaking, looking into my brown eyes and melting type i-love-yous.

Sigh. And now I was down with a proverbial case of the ‘once bitten, twice shy’ bug. Both of us quit our job. Given the fact that we were found atop the studio table, wrapped around each other, I thought that was the best thing to do. Sudhish moved to Delhi and I switched professions. Almost five years earlier I had left my job, anchoring for a news channel in Delhi, and swore never to get into the media again. I took to designing and other arty things which made me happy. And now I was back. Sigh again.

My parents had given up on me. They didn’t know why I quit my job, obviously. Or they would have disowned me. Sudhish’s wife was nice enough not to go too public with my once-clandestine affair with her ex. Though some people did suddenly begin ignoring my Facebook messages and attempts to get in touch with them. I wondered what I would say to Shalini (the ex) if I ever came face to face with her. (She had yelled at me over the phone so I’d never met her.) The only thing I could do was grovel. Sigh.

The male colleague had raised his eyebrows at me.

“Need any help?”

“No, no. I mean they’re just joining forms, right. I’ll manage.”

I sighed too much, obviously.

Instead of writing a letter to the HR Manager of my new company, I wrote down resolutions for the new year. The new year of course is a hoax. Resolutions even more so. But maybe it was time to change. 2009. Hmm. 9 resolutions would do…

I, Bani Jambulingam, will try my best not to break the below resolutions for the next 365 days and to accomplish the below acts within the next one year:

1. Do not fall in love with married men.
2. Do not daydream or get lost in unprofessional thoughts when at work.
3. Give up smoking.
4. Take a 6-month break from men.
5. Apologise to Shalini. If she lets you.
6. Never contact Sudhish again.
7. Stop whining about hating the media and work at kicking some ass.
8. Be happy with who you are. Apart from the smoking and extra-marital affairs of course.

The last one had me stumped. What would be my 9^th and final resolution for the year?

Any suggestions?