Meet Ms. Everything. For purposes of convenience, we'll call her Eva (like the Españoles do). Not because she's an olive-skinned beauty, but because she's as brown as any South Indian Tam-Brahm girl can get and she's the alpha of all bitches *snap*. Her life is a glossy magazine to the onlooker but only she knows the frustrations of living on a student allowance. Despite her noble pursuits of intellect, she just wishes she could quit her Master's degree, use her perfectly employable Bachelor's degree and Fendi for herself, already!
A dozen potential suitors queuing up their conversations to be replied on her mail-box, IM, Facebook and WhatsApp regardless, Eva remains single by self-inflicted choice and maintains unnaturally high standards that can only be satisfied by men who are as fictitious as sky-high towers of Mills and Boon volumes in second-hand bookshops. But tall, dark and almost handsome men do exist in some proportion in the horizon of frivolous romantic escapades, always beckoning but never making that last flight into the world of togetherness. The number of commitment phobic fuckwits only add to the all-fart-no-poop predicament of her constipated expectations. Two ex-boyfriends and innumerable mostly-one-time flings later, Eva is yet to find her own version of Carrie Bradshaw's Mr. Big, who is also, preferably, Mr. Too Big.
One such young not-so-gentleman (let us call him The Aviator) with a sizeable bulge in both dorsal and ventral pockets currently exists in her life. Well, "exist" may be too tangible a word at the moment. But let us just say that he lives in her phone and pops up to say hello every time he has a rush of testosterone. Come to think of it, that is not a very favorable situation for Eva now, is it? Nonetheless, she suddenly feels as if standards have been set for HER. What is the meaning of Eva not being able to meet the standards of a strong member of the weak-in-the-knees sex? Even with her self-esteem in a limbo, she will limbo lower. 'Cuz bitches be that flexible.
Our story begins with The Aviator denying runway clearance to Eva's Flight of Fantasy and her room-mate in her hole of a Ladies' Hostel unwilling to discuss this situation in reasonable octaves of Girl-talk. Being of the proportions of Big Bird from Sesame Street, this big bird of a room-mate prefers to live in the ideal world of childhood innocence and constantly lectures Eva about how she should engage in self-improvement and learn to love herself instead of obsessing about love and engagement rings.
A motley crew of mostly straight but all sexually frustrated women in the Ladies' Hostel are Eva's emotional and intellectual stuffed toys to keep her sane in her dreams at night. How could any girl ever exist without her band of sighing and cooing pajama buddies, ready to give her boosts of optimism every now and then, anyway?
A motley crew of mostly straight but all sexually frustrated women in the Ladies' Hostel are Eva's emotional and intellectual stuffed toys to keep her sane in her dreams at night. How could any girl ever exist without her band of sighing and cooing pajama buddies, ready to give her boosts of optimism every now and then, anyway?
To Eva's dismay, however, her life isn't about sexy men, a glamorous career, cocktails with the girls and designer hand-bags at all. While this avid re-reader of The Confessions of a Shopaholic series and Swearing-by-Carrie Sex and the City maniac lives in a world of her strong, independent and successful woman fantasy, she is constantly haunted by dead-lines, eat-out budgeting, ex-boyfriend pacification and long caffeinated nights with frizzy pillow hair. Sometimes, her perfectly chick-lit-on-paper life should just be un-leafed and made kites out of.
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