Twenty Days to Go

Amidst a raging recession, it's said that the smart thing for people to be doing is to bury their heads in work and forget the rest. Everyone seems to be listening. But me? No, siree! Not me. I decide to jump off the other end. That's right. I put in my papers. Quit. Gave up my comfy, well paying, easy and effortless job. For what? You ask. To finally do what I want. That's what.



I'm going to the best J school in the country to learn how to write. It's nothing short of borderline suicide. Trust me, I know. I will die trying to cope with the workload; if I haven't already drowned in my sweat and died by then, that is. Considering that its Chennai, I'd actually bet on it. But the point is that I'm still willing.



I might drop out of the course midway. I might top the class and end up a penniless journalist. I might learn that writing is not really my cuppa tea. Or I might just do alright. Every which way, it's an acceptable risk. It's time I found out how good I really am.



All the idealistic bullshit aside, leaving home is going to be *gulp* tough. I already know all the things I'll miss about Hyd. That is not counting work, Amen, home and metered autos amongst them. Because, then I will weep. And, O' my Buddha! The apple of my eye. The cherry on my cake. The love of my life. How do I leave thee? How?

*Sniff*

But yes, yes, I know. The show must go on.

And, go on, it will.

Week after Week

I remember, from last week, that evening in Mocha. Sitting by the courtyard in twilight, listening to the rhythm of the rain. In an alcove with beautifully lit lamps, the sweet taste of hookah, silence interspersed with rain and the occasional dialogue. Eye Candy, Kong Kong, Ha and I. Click. Our very own Kodak moment, that.

Last week in itself was awesome, by the way. I went out every single night and came back home at some odd hour of the morning, having had the time of my life. Despite us being as severely sleep deprived as were (plus hurting, in my case) we still managed to have kick ass fun before Ha left and that made it all worth it.

This week, in stark contrast, has been dreadful. Work has been about appraisals, which I've thoroughly come to detest/loathe/hate/abhor/despise, call it what you want. Sigh. I know. I should be overjoyed just to have a job and all that. Right. Yeah. Okay. Whatever. That's how I feel and fat load of good knowing all that is doing to my spirit.

In fact, for some freaky reason I seem to have, what can only be called, a pit of dread in my stomach these days that has me thinking all sorts of morbid thoughts. Seriously! Its gnawing away at me so hard, I can barely keep it in check. Did anyone ever die of paranoia, I wonder? No? Well, there can always be a first, I suppose.

Talking of dying, the trip to Chennai was as close to hell as I ever got. I have no doubt that I'd die if I was ever made to live in that place. As it is, in the three days I was there, I wilted and shriveled and melted and dried and then died. Like really. The people there must be of a different make to live like that. Anyhow, I'm back home and earlier than I'd have dared hoped at that. Safe, sound and none the worse for wear.
Next week promises to bring some relief. But then again, the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, yeah?

That said, time for my closing statements. Headlines from the good news desk -- Another cousin kneels at the matrimonial altar. Is betrothed to the love of her life. Cud and I talk. Was just like old times. Best of all - Blue Shirt and I. At last, we're cool.
PS: Watched Kite Runner on the flight. It's decent. The Egyptian - Khalid Abdullah, is more than that... he's gorgeous.