Mood Swings

You know how some days start out really shitty and then start getting better and better to the point where you’d wager it was a kick ass day on the whole? Today is just one of those days for me. The only difference is, nothing of consequence, good or bad, has happened so far. It’s more like a state of mind. So I woke up all angry and look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-bite-you mode, but then now just a few hours later, I feel less hostile and positively happier. I don’t want to go and jinx this though. But just saying.

So, in a nutshell I will tell you what prompted the teenagey angst in the morning and what brought on this gradual wave of happiness.

1. Krum and I had another fight last night. It wasn’t a new fight…just a sort of continuation of something that happened last weekend. We hadn’t talked about it. (Both playing the whole silent and therefore superior act). So last night we finally got talking. FYI last night was my dad’s birthday party…which was awesome. I took a whole lot of pictures…but I digress. Krum was getting a ride back home from cousin G. So anyhow, just when both our claws were starting to come out, and my foot was inadvertently reaching for his family jewels, cousin G came in to say he was leaving. Krum left without so much as a word, leaving me with a whole lot of unresolved, pent up anger and frustration which was magnified substantially when I realized we’d run out of booze.

2. My lower back’s been giving me grief since yesterday and this morning it was worse. Also I was pissed as all fuck about last night. A part of me, in spite of the wave of euphoria is angry and hurt and I know we need to address this before it starts to fester... but for now, one order of I-couldn’t-give-a-flying-fuck coming right up. Downer post so far, I know. But think of this as an infinitely more civilized take on that abominable guy saying: if it itches it will be scratched.

3. Getting to work from my house is a royal nightmare. So here’s the scene. There are no direct metro routes. There’s ONE tiny bus which will take you on an elaborate Kolkata-darshan before finally reaching my stop. Also getting on that bus is a skill I am yet to master. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I ride buses all the time, but this baby is a different challenge altogether. It has a lot to do with your reflexes and your agility or lack thereof. You also need to be fast on your feet. So basically, you need to run for your life to catch this tiny white bus. Lunge towards the general direction of the door, except this bus doesn’t have a door per se. It’s an opening. So what you need to do is (as you are lunging towards the opening) thrust your arms forward and get a grip of the door handle, failing which you aim for the window grills, failing which you grab onto a person hanging in front of you. And then if you’re lucky you manage to find your feet a place on the steps. If not, you have to be content with your hand- grip, with the rest of your body hanging out of the bus as it speeds on at 80 km per hour on the E M Bypass.

Until recently, we had a wonderful solution to this: shuttles. Twenty bucks to get to Sector 5, crammed in a Maruti Omni with six other people, not including the driver. Get this: the shuttle drivers have a union! There’s been some fuck up in that union and so now none of the cars are going to Sector 5. This has been going on since last week. Seven fucking days! Every morning I go to the usual stop, hoping to see the familiar old Maruti vans. It’s so tragic. Every morning we seek out people going to sector 5 and when we manage to get six people, we hail a cab and split the fare by 6.

There’s a quiet camaraderie we’ve developed- us fellow passengers- we who are plagued by the same affliction and united by our stoic resolution to reach our goals and beat the red marks on the attendance registers. We don’t talk much. But there’s a comfort in this silence. A kind of strange reassurance that I am not alone and eventually we’ll get there.

Annnnnyhoe, these were some of the highlights of the morning blues. Now for the change in perspective:

1. Today, for the very first time in my life I uploaded an album on Facebook, completely on my own. Big shit? It is indeed. For me at any rate. I took these random pictures of the party from last night. My phone cam’s a bitch so the resolution isn’t great or anything, but whatever. Uploaded all 21 of these babies on FB this morning and felt efficient. I really do envy people who can do all these wonderful technology-related things. I hear my friends talking about designing something or another on Photoshop and other such wonderful things. To which my reaction is wistful sighing. But I’ll get there someday. Baby steps.

2. I usually keep complaining about work and how my pay’s shit and totally not commensurate with the amount of work I do. But then all of this week’s been light…so far (fingers crossed) and so by way of passing time, as I started writing this post. I mean that’s pretty much all I did. Upload the photos and blog. Fun much?

This post is not a bit like what I’d planned. Somewhere along the way it got all rambly. I mean I know you’re probably thinking: what the hell happened to the opening paragraph?… about the happiness and shit. Well, I don’t know if any of what I wrote in the latter part of this post substantiates that…but suffice it to say, I am content. There’s a lot of shit I am mad about and more that I’ve stashed away in a dusty old closet called denial but it’s all good. I guess that is the main point of this rather pointless post.

Introductions please

The thing about blogging is that I never know how personal or impersonal it’s going to get. I mean I start out alright with general observations on life etc and some brief and mostly random revelations about myself and my life. But then slowly, once blogging becomes a habit, like some sort of therapeutic distraction, I find myself becoming increasingly personal and… revealing.

And it works out really well you know… you can rave and rant and write pretty much whatever you need to get out of your system. The beautiful part is that unlike a diary or a word document on your laptop, your blog actually gives you a sense of an audience. I mean it’s out there on the World Wide Web, open to anybody who chances to stumble upon it. So, what you have at your disposal is essentially a listener who won’t interrupt you, or tell you you’re biased or try to reason with you. But just hear you out. Awesomeness? I think so.

So now that we’ve established that raving and ranting are two things we’ll most definitely have on this blog, let’s get on with it shall we?

First things first. The man. Hereafter I will refer to him as Krum.

If you believe in karma and reincarnation and the theory that we all owe something to one another in every lifetime, then you’ll understand about Krum and me. I am convinced that in one of our lifetimes I killed him and in another he did something pretty darn bad to me and so now we’re both stuck in the same rut, paying off our karmas to each other. The problem is we both fucked up. And whoever decides about the whole karma thing is mindfucked trying to figure out who gets the shaft this lifetime. You dig so far?

It’s like one mind got split into two and now the two halves are duelling against each other. There is a weird misplaced sense of honour though. And pride in each other. The pride however stems from sheer arrogance.

But enough on that for now.

In this blog, I will try to control the self indulgence and keep a watch on the sordid NGDs (nitty gritty details) of my life that interest no one but me. But, but…this is my blog and cyber therapy will be resorted to in times of distress. Just wanted to get the disclaimers out of the way.

It is my father’s birthday today. I woke up at 6am this morning (because of three large and extremely delish mojitos the night before) to the sound of shuffling feet and the radio. I went to the dining room to see my dad walking around in his socks, a pack of lopchu tea in hand and the kettle on the boil. High levels of cuteness. So I wished the man a happy 65^th as he told me to come home early for his party, with all the enthusiasm of a 6-year old. He kills me. He really does kill me.

It rained. Last evening and again early this morning. I detest rains in general. But there’s something exquisitely romantic about rain in winter. The chilly fogginess somehow doesn’t bring on the same gloom of monsoon. It just sort of hangs over the city like a benevolent spirit infusing the people, trees, birds and street dogs with a sense of wistful languor. For me winter rains have an inherent association with old English novels: the haunting melancholy of Wuthering Heights, the merciless immobility of Egdon Heath, the riveting intrigue of Manderley- I envision each of these settings in the wet, wintry weather of Kolkata. Also, thinking about Heathcliff is that much more delicious in this weather. But that’s another matter and likely, another post.

Winter

Winter has to be just about the nicest season. Yes, I know how Brits, Canadians et al who live in the colder parts of the norther hemisphere go on about how wretched the snow is and how lovely it is to able to tan oneself all year round. But never mind you guys...I loved the snow even when it brought London (and therefore my life) to a grinding halt for almost 48 hours last year and I love it even more right now when there is not a chance in hell of it snowing in tropical Cal.

Right from when I was little I have these distinct memories of the city which I associate with winter. Frankly, the season encapsulates the very essence of Kolkata, with its infectious languor of a lost era. Of unhurried movements and an inherent disdain for vulgar things like time. Of steaming cups of tea throughout the day; of monkey tupees that I am convinced only a bengali has ever worn/will ever wear.

Of New Market and Park Street prepping up for Christmas. Of the emergence of Kashmiri shawl-wallas after the year-long hiatus. Of countless weddings across the city and the maddening traffic jams they cause.

This is a view from my office. Too bad my phone camera's so crappy, so you cant really see the ripples on the water.

One of my most favourite memories from childhood is settling down on this old, rickety staircase with a couple of oranges and a book and then spending the entire afternoon in the cozy warmth of the sun.