officially-most-fucked-up-week-I've-had-this-year came to an end with two
retards I have for friends coming over with fruits (err...because I was sick and all that), me dropping an entire handi
full of scalding hot milk all over my hand and tummy and four of us
(including roommate) playing a particularly savage and seemingly never-ending
game of UNO (two decks of cards and everyone screwing with each other; that’s
the trick) over butter chicken and Maharashtriyan style cooked minty biryani.
I survived. And in
exactly 18 days I am headed home for pujo. :-)
iii.uprooted my toe nail
and kept bleeding till I slept off and the blood coagulated sealing
the wound. Something like that.
iv.blacked out in the
washroom and fallen on my ass twice and almost sprained my ankle
v.suffered from extreme
dizziness and nausea caused by extremely low blood pressure
vi.been scratched by a
mad woman in the local
getting stung by a scorpion
viii.gotten into two huge
fights with one friend
ix.watched people cope
with bad breakup induced depression
x.struggled to find
words to comfort a nineteen year old broken heart while remembering a time when
I was nineteen and heartbreaks were a dime a dozen and always swept under the
rug lest people found out and laughed
xi.watched a friend deal
with brain tumor and homophobic parents while doing little more than standing
back and well, offering some well-meant, but clichéd and tired words of comfort
over the phone from office at 10 in the night
xii.lived on only cold
soggy Maggi and Dunhill Switch
xiii.met parents splitting up with kids left to deal with the situation on their own
xiv.argued with roommate
who came down with viral trying to get her to do the whole steam-Vicks-Crocin thing
xv.dealt with clients
making your life look like a ppt on How-to-spot-the-workaholic
xvi.realized my father is
growing old and I have not seen him in seven months and that these days the
only words I speak to him are “Had dinner? Yeah even I had. Going to sleep now.
Good night.” while struggling with a broken umbrella in Lower Parel station
xvii.spoken to journalists
abusing me in a language I do not speak and hence could not salvage the
xviii.effectively ended a
not-so-long but very intense friendship and did not have the time to give a
fuck about it
xix.realized one never
really completely stops being
sixteen; one simply learns to ignore and never talk about it
once when Gandalf the Grey fell into the abyss in the Mines of Moria
don’t like weekends much. I mean people crave for weekends. Even I do. Sitting
in office till late at night slumming it out over reports that can bring dead
people back and kill them all over again out of sheer boredom, all I crave for
is glorious weekend when I can get an extra hour of well-deserved shuteye
before the bai comes at an ungodly
hour and wakes us all up with Didi Rin
sabun khatam ho gaya in such an injured voice that you almost feel sorry.
For her. Self pity comes later on Sunday night.
But I digress.
Yes so I realized I
dislike weekends. You see on a normal office-going weekday I have to wake up at
7, take a shower, make breakfast, eat it, make my bed, iron clothes, deal with
bai-garbagewallah issues and I am out by 8.30 sharp. Even though it sounds
boring and mundane and I complain about it, I like it. (I complain because you
know, complaining is so much fun, sometimes.) This routine, this is almost like
a comfortable space. It is predictable, safe, comfortable. The nice kind of
predictable, if you know what I mean.
You know it can’t go wrong. You shower on
time, you eat all your meals, you get enough sleep (actually *I* don’t but that’s
not the point I’m trying to make here), you are never late for work etc.
But weekends? Bah. Your
Saturday morning goes in catching up on those lost sleep time. You wake up at 7
(because of aforementioned bai), get up at 11.30 feeling like a dump because
you haven’t showered or eaten any breakfast. Then you are too lazy to shower
and fix something you call lunch and your mother shudders at (read: cold, soggy
Maggi/cereals) and eat. Your face looks all puffy and you have bags under your
eyes. Your hair looks like vegetable. By 2.30 your head starts hurting again
and you feel woozy because either you have had too much sleep or not. If you have
a non-existent social life you stay at home and try to read/smoke/watch
something on your laptop but you can’t because that head-throb has turned
pretty bad by now and you feel tired and listless. But you cannot go back to
sleep because hey it’s Saturday and it’s a weekend and you are supposed to do
things you don’t get to do on normal weekdays-like staying up really late
reading/watching something/talking to people and by the time you do manage to
crawl to bed (or in my case, slump onto the sofa with the laptop on my tummy
almost burning my flesh) your eyes burn like hell.
Sundays are even
worse. I mean, it is like Saturday only but somehow it gets worse because
probably you have been doing the whole
getting-up-late-not-eating-not-showering-nursing-headache thing all over again
but it’s been two days in a row and by Sunday evening you get that ‘what am I
doing with my life?’ feeling.
And if, you are this
social animal/person who really enjoys a healthy number of nightouts every
month/person who hates or sucks at socializing but will because someone told
him to get a life, you will go out on a Friday night which means you will spend
your Saturday morning at a friend’s place feeling that horrible feeling you get
when you really just want to get some sleep at your own place but you can’t.
Then you drag yourself home and do the whole not-showering-not eating thing
again because you feel sick and sleep-deprived. Then god forbid, if you again
go out on a Saturday night you wake up with an alcohol induced temporary
blindness/blackout/something to that effect on a Sunday morning. And because
pretty much everyone around you is in the same or much worse state of
inebriation, you don’t get the motivation to get up, shower, eat and sleep like
a human being who wants to live to see his/her grandchildren.
See the problem? You
get no rest, something you have been pining for the whole week. You don’t get
to eat because, well, I just explained why so please scroll up and read. Your
whole weekend is a haze where even your existing bank balance on a Sunday
evening does not make you jerk into consciousness. And basically pretty much
all you think all this while is…well…yes the same old ’what am I doing with my
I don’t know. Don’t
get all judgmental. I have tried reading on weekends but the headache gets so
worse and I feel so distracted all the time that all I manage to do is keep
reading one line almost thrice before I realize I am doing that thing where I
read one line thrice because I am plain distracted. I have tried getting some
sleep but even that doesn’t help much. I have lied to people who want me to
attend their parties that I have other plans just to stay home but even that
doesn’t help. (I am sorry and I love you all even though I really don’t
understand why some of you are still friends with me because you clearly see I
am lying and I don’t wanna come to
your party) Because even at home I feel listless. I make it a point to not
check my mail or go online even once during the weekend. I never ever make any plan unless it involves
me and only me going to a bookshop and reading quietly, not taking calls, not
replying to text messages or anything. But I don’t even have the energy for
that kind of thing these days.
And now with all the
religious frenzy the good people of Dadar have worked themselves into for
Ganpati (accompanied by loud beating of the dhol
and the loud singing of bhajans as
if their life depended on it), sleep is a distant never-to-be-fulfilled dream.
Don’t get me wrong. I
am all for festive euphoria and shor
sharaba during festivals. I mean, hell, I come from a place where during pujo we shut down offices, banks,
schools, colleges, maybe even hospitals and police stations going by the spiraling
crime rate at that time...so I am no one to judge. But you do get my predicament now, right? RIGHT?
I should stop whining
and go beat up whoever gave me that stupid crap about my life being too
predictable and the importance of going out there and doing something and
feeling upbeat all the time. I want my weekdays. I want my meals on time,
regularly taken showers and everything. I
want my routine. I crave for my routine.
Now go. Go start
judging right away. I won’t hold that against you.
Today someone I once used to be very pally with randomly pinged me on Facebook. Normally I do not bother
to reply to Facebook chat messages (or text messages, mails, missed calls….and now
I seriously wonder how I still have people in my life who I call ‘friends’. But
I digress.). But this is someone I had once decided to share an apartment with
and we bonded big time over our futile attempts at house-hunting in town (err…not
so much of a rookie mistake this time as a stubbornness to accept our church
mouse poor state and a desperate attempt to not leave town and move to
But the moving in
together bit did not happen since we disagreed over rent, location and
logistical issues (she refused to leave town; I realized I cannot afford it etc
etc.). And I chose to stay in this suffocating, minor claustrophobia-inducing,
cacophonous crowded urban hell hole called Dadar (which, btw I like. Call me
mental but I like Dadar.)
We had a minor
argument. And then we stopped talking. Or rather I stopped all forms of
communication with her because I have the attention span of a 2 year old and
very very limited capacity of caring.
Today she pinged me
out of the blue and I was pleasantly surprised to note that the old camaraderie
which I thought had effectively died that one unpleasant evening was still
intact. I was happy. And immensely sad. And it is not my neurosis speaking.
It sucks to know a
person your age does not hold back grudges and can sort out past issues
(however trivial they may be/sound to an outsider...which in this case is you
dear non-existent reader) and you cannot. It sucks to know there’s someone your
age who does believe in getting in touch with people he/she once fell out with and
all you do is cut people loose from your life if things do not go your way.
A non-functioning internet
connection in office is a cause for much celebration right? Even if work shit
has hit the ceiling?
That’s precisely what people are
doing. Some are working from home (read: sleeping); some had gone to Phoenix
and in all probability are not coming back, (same goes for the internet
connection methinks) and the ones who stayed back are either huddled near the
tv watching the coverage of the aftermath of SC verdict on Kasab’s death
sentence or playing Angry Birds. My friend G is so frustrated that he cannot clear
some level 10 thingy (I have never played this game in my life.) that he keeps
muttering some really choicest cusswords. Once he banged the table in sheer
frustration and the coffee spilled out of the cup and fell on my white kurta.
(Again, I have never played this game in my life so I wouldn't know what it entails or whether lives are at stake here or something but YOU DON'T SPILL COFFEE ON MY WHITE KURTA and then hold a grudge against me for smacking you.)
But I am in no shape to celebrate. I am ill with food poisoning. Yesterday some people were making fun of my pudina goli dabba (best 60 bucks every spent) and then queued up to help themselves to it. I counted that as bad karma for them and wished them all food poisoning. Sometimes the universe gets a kick out of screwing with me. Now I can't even hold that against the universe and wish something bad lest I come down with flu or something now. Bleddy bleddy bleddy.
And Dear Google Chrome,
Pliss to explain how is the page
below in Malay? Are you a retard? Or have I finally gone blind?
P.S: I should stop obsessing over
petty things and get a life. I just spent 10 minutes cribbing to someone (with
an equally sad life, pliss to note dear readers, I am not the only one out
there) that G has spilt coffee on my white kurta and there’s an ugly
brown shapeless stain on it and my perpetually cranky bai will simply refuse to wash it. I am ashamed. Really.