So long, so very long

Yesterday was like a mini 2009. 2009 has been excruciatingly long, with too many people and too many changes. Yesterday was long. I divided myself into many people - I did not particularly like one part of me during the night, but it doesn't really matter.
I went to visit an old friend. I walked a bit. It's brilliant in Cal now. It's a proper winter after ages. There's this lazy, wonderful sun winking at you through the dusty trees - there's a smell of oranges and cold cream - everything that makes winter in Calcutta a proper winter. I was trying to de-romanticize it as much as I could while walking down this lane - but I really am not frillying it. It was pretty damn it. Like this old, persistent lover, reminding you that, she's still got that certain something that no other boob job floosey can ever have.
But then there came a time in the evening where I was reminded why I left Cal in the first place. It's bloody small, and everyone knows everyone. Everyone goes to fucking Park Street in the evening when they want to go out for a drink. With talks of same and same and same.
I want my room in Pune, I want my frog pond, the hills. I want my flat in Bangalore, beer in coffee cups and shivering smokes in the verandah. I want my Delights Dosa and green benches and guitar in Xavier's. My Yeats classes, my Look Back in Anger classes. My Sudoku in Mirza's classes. My metro ride home. My auto rides to my many homes. Screenings. Editing at night. My millions of afternoons at Esplanade Mansions. My room in S1. The kitchen. The TV. My fucking life in a million fucking pieces. Cannot be. Is not. In Park Street. Drinking. Stupidly. With talks of same.
Fuck, I feel old. And I fill full. Stuffed. And I'm trying too hard to be profound. It's just one of the days. I can't articulate. I can't be simple and unpretentious. I'm vague and horrible.

Home?

So here's the deal. I'm back in Cal, I have a job in Bombay and it feels like I've left my entire life behind in Bangalore. Home is okay. I don't have my room to myself, but I surprisingly don't care. Right now, everyone's at work or something. There's the comfort of familiarity. Smells of frying fish, cold cream, aftershave. But this could be anywhere - because I'm not here in my head.
I guess an independent life spoils you. This is not the feeling I had when I came back home from hostel. Then I'd be irritable, I'd be dying for a smoke, I'd be bored without my friends around me all the time. It's not like that now. I know it's only been a day, but I miss the simple things, just the simple rituals of a simple day. I miss boiling the milk in the morning. Having my coffee my way. Kellog's Oat bites. Watching the news and VH1 while chomping on cereal. Cooking dinner. A smoke after dinner. Desultory, but still independent. It's not like that at home.
But, I'm at peace. I don't feel particularly irritable or restless or anything. Yes, I get mollycoddled a bit, and there are way too many questions first thing in the morning - but it's okay. These are my people and they love me. Why be a sourpuss about that?
Life goes on. I know Bombay won't be like Bangalore. It's unfair to expect that from Bombay. It's a different city, with different people - just like Cal is different. It's not better or worse. It's just different. And you get used to anything. So yeah. Note to self: Stop getting so goddamn sentimental.
Note to S1: Cook, clean, wash dishes, watch Glee, Grey's and HIMYM (you can order from Chung's then), go out for brunch, talk, C don't smoke alone too much, switch off the gas, do random dances, and stop spending so bloody much! :)

Govinda rules

Keifer Sutherland, superhit. That's how old I am today.
I have never been crazy about birthdays. I mean, I like them, but it always seems like a day filled with the pressure of being happy. It's a birthday, but why does it HAVE to be happy?
When I was a kid, I used to love birthdays. Not just mine, everyone's. I'd love to wake up on a cold morning (those days, it would be cold in Cal in December), and watch my parents put up streamers in the living room. Then there'd be loads of hugs and kisses, a card, a gift, the cake for later on in the evening. 21st would be the last day of school, so everyone would be superhappy, pushing all the desks to the corner of the classroom, putting up Christmas decorations and just doing all the crazy after exam before holiday things. We'd sing carols, stage silly plays, then dance on top of the desks. Some cool kid would bring her "deck" and that's it. Even the head mistress couldn't do a thing about it. D would get alu kabli and samosas, and I'd probably get Pepsi in a flask, someone would get something or the other, and we'd have a feast. If we got some pocket money, we'd buy orange sticks.
Back home, we'd have a party - which was fun, but even then, I was always a little stressed out. Everyone would be there. Right from Didu Mashi and Mesho Dadu to my dance teacher and best friend from the neighbourhood. I'd be bratty and nyaka and stress out about my "new dress" which I had to wear no matter what. The funnest part was when everyone finally left, the lights were dimmed, and Dada and I would sit and open my presents. Before I knew it, the day would be over - but I wouldn't mind terribly because Christmas and Baba's birthday would just be 4 days away.
Over the years, the wonder of happy birthdays did fade - but then again, you're not six forever. Presents make me nervous, too many wishes make me depressed, I feel old, I feel restless - I don't know - I just want the day to finish fast so that everyone can bloody relax. I guess I never know what to do with too much attention, even if it is all real, and born out of love. I'm always scared that my gratitude will not be enough - that I might seem ungrateful or unhappy. I'm not - I'm happy - I really, really am. And I am grateful for all that I have in my life. Okay, enough.
So I decided to celebrate Keifer in Bangalore and I am so, so glad. We had the funnest time last night - which had water pistols, champagne, fake bands, a Christmas tree (so so pretty), Chiniss bulbs, delish food and delish friends. We ALL got presents, and no-one got drunk or stupid, which you will realise after a while, is a GOOD thing. I was genuinly, completely happy.
I love this home, and it breaks my heart to leave. But, none of that now. For today though, thanks man.

Wake up, 'cause they said so

I was just thinking the other day while flipping through news channels that, if I were a journalist - I'd be very very tired of the world. And very very cynical. It has got to be one of the toughest times being a journalist now. In fact, it's a pretty tough time being an Indian as well. We're a democracy - we decide our own fates - or do we?
With all our idealistic youthfulness, we decide voting helps. Voting for the right people helps. But pray, who are these right people? And more importantly, how many of us know them? It's not just a lack of education that deceives us. Sometimes too much of it does. We are stirred into action by Arnab Goswami's in-your-face "journalism" on television. We are thrilled by Rahul Gandhi's deep dimples and well, serious insights. We are wowed by Sashi Tharoor and P. Chidambaram's eloquence. We light candles and we sing songs like it's Woodstock. We blog, we campaign. We become "responsible citizens". We hate the bad guys, we cheer on the good guys. We are, in a word, "jagoing". Because a big daddy of the corporate world told us so. The same big daddy who abandoned a small district in Bengal the moment he smelled trouble. See what I mean?
I don't mean to be cynical. I would like to believe that the words of Mahatma - "Be the change you want to see" - are not just words. That brand Mahatma is not just for the benefit of a pen company. Or that there's nothing beyond Mahatma that made India.
What is this country we are living in now? A country where it's okay to parade women naked, beat them at will, keep them uneducated? A country where a Dalit MP builds statues worth millions of herself instead of building schools or hospitals? A country where to become a doctor, you have to "donate" money to so that the principal can enjoy a nice bottle of Chianti or a rendezvous in Switzerland? A country that has ceased to have a mind of its own?
If we allow it - we're indifferent - we're just a bunch of complaining fools. If we don't allow it - well, we run the risk of being killed sometimes. Catch 22. I'm plain depressed.

I hate all this talk. I hate it. Fuck it. Just do things. Blog about it later. Make witty ads about it later. Send edgy emailers about it later. Clean the mess you're in first. Then you can take care of the world.

I hate deciding. I feel like a chump now. But oh well. I did decide eventually, and the ball is no longer in my court.
I saw Rocket Singh Salesman of the year yesterday and I loved it. I think people who have been in shitty jobs like Rocket's (15000 a month, without PF or Gratuity or dignity....ring a bell?) will appreciate it the most.
I need a BRAND NEW thing to look forward to. Like a snowing city. Or bagel and cream cheese. Or riding a bike (not cycle, motor). Or a fun boyfriend. Or a new TV series. Or singing on stage. You know what I mean? I'm beginning to feel a little jaded. Sigh.

On the Road - again.

So I'm officially a post graduate, beer bottle breaker, chronic train traveller and violent insect killer now.

We lived in a small hotel room in Pune, where all these boys came, drank and left beer bottles in the verandah and then I accidentally dropped one, which made the hotel owner think we were a bunch of rowdies. We were, but not that much also. Pune is dusty, indifferent and kind of depressing.I still like FTII though, much much more than my own college.

I was supposed to go back to my new crispy city after our sham convocation, but then Bombay called me again. Bombay has been totally fucking with my head. It just can't decide whether to like me or not. I honestly do not care. I just want to go back home and watch How I Met Your Mother. But while I was here, I spoke to some people, made epic journeys from Harbour Lines to Western Lines, ate Apple Chicken once again and bought a hat from Colaba.

I have a slight cold now, from all the pollution and travel and too much smoking. I always end up smoking way too much in Pune, and I don't like it.

Among other things, my old boss bitched about me, I wrote an emotional letter to a professor and I have a crush on this guy on my FB list, when I really, really shouldn't. I should sleep now. I'm still in Bombay and am wearing S's clothes. Goodnight.

It's done folks. I have QUIT!