Sunday, March 18
It seems that I was determined to sound depressed the last time around, because I sure didn't tell you about all the unforgettable things that happened to me last year. Like how I lost my iPhone. In an auto. On my birthday. And how roaringly drunk we got afterwards. How I got my first-ever cigarette scar, courtesy Bor. In the same party.
How ten days later, we -- Jughead, Pink Panther and I -- went to Coorg with a tempo traveller full of crazies to the back of beyond and returned so traumatized that Jughead and I can never again sleep in a house with wooden walls. How on the same trip, we tried curing Jughead out of one of her (many, many different kinds of) paranoia --vertigo -- by luring her onto a very-safe looking bridge across the river, until a bridge on the other side collapsed right in front of us.
And, how as compensation for that horrible, horrible trip, I went with her to (what was) my favouritest place in the world, Pondi via Chennai. How it was a trip of many firsts -- first time I went drinking with Mad Prof. That we drove down to Pondi. I got drunk in daylight. I went to a spa. I got a body massage. I saw Rue Gomez in action. I got a lap dance. And for the first time ever that I had so much fun in Chennai.
I want to tell y'all about the many, many, other awesome things that you missed. But I'm afraid its once again that time of the night, I should spend sleeping. Especially considering that I put in over 12 hours at work today and am expected to be back there by 8 o clock tomorrow.
Oh, oh, but I can't leave without telling you about the best part of last year -- my trip to what (will remain) my favouritest place in the country (for the foreseeable future) -- Dharamshala. Momos. Monks. Ice-capped mountains. Blue fingers. Red noses. Crimson Robes. Walks. Treks. Smokes. Woolens. Quiches. Ganaches. Lasagnas. Chocolate cheese cakes. Green cafe. Norbulingka. Ian. And, Aghori. She is, and will forever remain, my travel person.
I notice I didn't say anything about JNU and CP and Metro and Delhi, Dark Lord and Gurgaon, but if you know anything about Mc Leod, you'll forgive my oversight.
So there. If this year proves to be even half as much fun as the year past, I'll be a happy soul.
Amen to that.
Doodled by theworkingclassheroine @ 2:48 AM
Wednesday, March 14
Hello. Trust y'all have missed me? Now, now, no need to get excited and all. Nothing monumental's happened. I haven't received the Pulitzer or become a housewife. Yet. I want to claim I am a much, muchier me now but truth is that I'm much in the same place that we left off last. If anything, I'm a little more subdued, a little less impulsive and a whole lot more boring. In fact, that's part of the reason why the voice of my head went quiet. I'd feared it dead but recently realized that it's still there, only, I haven't given it much to say.
Oh, there have been changes alright. I rejoined the ranks of the employed. Scandalizing almost everyone of acquaintance, I joined a tabloid intent on building itself a seedy reputation. But of course, all that changed with the arrival of Fedora, who has transformed it into quite something. I now worry that it's so futuristic, it's not very viable. So yeah, that means that I might soon be out of a job once again.
In other news, for the first time in the post Blue Shirt era, I found myself teetering on the verge of a relationship. For a variety of reasons, it didn't happen, for which I take as much responsibility as I appropriate the other party. And, as practical and clinical as the decision was, it has left me with a lot of emotional jetsam that I am still collecting to dissect at leisure. But more on that at a later date.
If around this time, you are suspecting the role of a lousy ghostwriter, I can comprehend why. If this is the real me, where is my trademark wit, my brilliant sense of humour, my incisive comments you ask. And what is with this ridiculous register? Okay, so I can explain. One, it has something to do with the fact that its 3'o clock in the morning. Two, has to do with the number of Victorian movies I'm watching. Three, I'm sad.
No, not about the aforementioned ahem..interest. Because suitable replacements are being tested for the post, one of which even looks very promising, which is also something I'll reserve for a later date.
It's the gaping vacancies in several other stations in my life that are causing me grief. I lost Yoda this year, the only person in my family I've ever considered worthy of association, which I'm finding impossible to get over. Then there are an unprecedented number of positions in the inner circle that have opened up.
Amen and I, who I thought were inseparable, have drifted apart. Assy and I, with whom I thought I had conquered the odds, has moved off to the land of lilies. Dark Lord and I, who have always stayed close despite distances, have become strangers. Bor and Paro (who I just discovered) have left for NZ. And now Jughead, who is my veritable soulmate, is moving away to Mumbai for a new job.
Leaving me with well... no one, really. I guess, that's why I am here. It's back to you and me against the world.
So time to rejoice all my imaginary readers. Grouchy is back.
Doodled by theworkingclassheroine @ 3:07 AM