LIFE’S A HUM, FOR THE MOST PART…

God. How long has it been since I wrote my last blogpost? Every time I come to Madras, I always put this down on my list of things to do. But in the flurry of, you know, walking around in dirty pyjamas, gossiping with Amma, visiting Ammamma Thatha, Uno with friends at home, and movies on the computer, I don’t get around to writing a post. Plus, when you write for a living, there isn’t much of an inclination to write otherwise. (God. Have I become a cold professional, who has forgotten how to write for pleasure? *shudder* ) But right now, there is a flow, so I shall write, and shall do so, without cribbing about the company, nay, institution, I work for, because a blog is an open book. ZZZ. How boring have I become? Anyway, any cribbing shall be restricted to personal gtalk conversations.

• I write for a living. I go to bed every night in mortal fear of having gotten a fact/quote wrong, and hope that the next day goes by without any untoward incident, such as, you know, have some hired assassin skulk around some corner waiting to finish me off, or worse still, have someone call office and demand that a correction be printed. Zzz.
• I have begun to write fast. Really fast, as compared to the 30 hours I took to write a 600 word piece in college. I am proud to say that today, I am a copy producing factory. Who calls up her sources 5 times in paranoia, to ensure she has gotten her copy right. And yes, I still write in Microsoft Word, and copy paste it before sending it. I can’t get myself to write anywhere else. Word limits and deadlines continue to agonize me.
• The features I write, I just realized, have become slightly formulaic, although I try to throw in a fair bit of both heritage and lifestyle. Hmm, must change that. The first feature I wrote, I wrote like I do in this space, and as a result, it got edited quite drastically. Must find some middle ground, and write acceptable fun pieces. I am not allowed to post my stories elsewhere without permission, and getting permission is too strenuous, and unnecessary for a nobody like me.
• I don’t think I want to do this for a living. Will get back to studying soon. These days, I really really wish I could study for a living. I know I sound like a nerd, but I really really like studying, but strictly only subjects I myself can choose.
• On the personal-ish front, I really like Pondicherry. Was thinking of doing a series of posts tagged “city girl in a small town” based on my experiences and observations there. We’ll see.
• I don’t have a laptop, and have sort of decided I don’t need one, considering that I have access to the net during my nearly ten hours at office. Have learnt to be really alert – whenever a colleague walks past my computer, I quickly change windows, so they don’t notice I am chatting. It makes me feel guilty, but its not like I don’t work. As always, I multitask superbly, and at very impressive speeds now. This also explains why I don’t/can’t blog from work.
• Having my pieces edited too much is a BIG ego issue for me. BIG BIG BIG. Oh, snap out of it already!
• I miss Madras quite badly. Not like in a depressed way, but in a yearning sort of way. I always thought that when I fly the nest, I wouldn’t return too often and my parents would miss me terribly. But I hate to admit that I am the one pining away here. My folks miss me, and call me enough, but not as often as i thought they would. I am the one who comes back home every off I get. So much for all the bravado. Zzz.
• Another completely reverse thing. One of the reasons I said yes to posting at Pondi, was all those images I kept conjuring in my head, of my wearing my Stetson and cycling around everywhere, with a basket full of flowers (refer to header of this blog for clarifications. How cocky I am).  But since I report, I need to get around a lot, and fast, so my purple Scooty Pep has come there. When I am in Madras, I get around on my old green Ladybird. What life has in store for you, no one can tell. Even I couldn’t.
• I am quite happy there. The one thing that makes me feel bad is my nearly complete lack of friends at Pondi. But yes, things are getting better.  And so, in the future, I hope to spend more time at Pondi and discover it, during the offs that I decide not to come home. that shall happen as soon as my social life is worth writing home about, and I mean literally.
• Like I said, trips to Madras are looked forward to. I almost always enjoy the bus rides back home, except when a creepy man is near me, and that has happened only once so far. I am now, and only now, discovering the pleasures of music and the i pod. I am no technology ignoramus, but somehow the i pod had completely evaded me, because I listen to no music. I do now, a little. And it thrills me no end that the tracks get shuffled on my ancient, hand-me-down i pod shuffle. It IS so damn cool.
• Lived with an angelic family-friends family in absolute luxury, until recently, I moved into the house of another warm family, not freeloading this time, but as a paying guest. I am really quite thrilled to have suddenly become so grown up and independent, but its also a little scary. Scary-exciting.
• My room is super, really dark and no cross ventilation. Just little windows on top of the AC I don’t use, and dark blue and grey curtains. Its so normal perfect.
• I have completely stopped using the AC except when I am in Madras, because my house is a furnace. I am glad I am weaning off it. Now, my tolerance for cold has also come down drastically, which may not be such a good thing. When I experience for real, the white Christmas of my dreams, I will probably just be a snowman on the landscape.
• Absolutely EVERYONE is off to the US. It is SO scary and thrilling. Maybe I will too, I don’t know. Amma sure wants me to go. Hmm…
• Every trip to Madras is marked by an alarming discovery/news. Sample: last trip’s shock quotient was provided by the discovery that Enge Brahmanan is over. How my heart broke. This trip’s discovery is that Balamurugan Stores has been razed to the ground. I feel like crying a little. How painfully I miss school. Why can’t I go back to being my gawky self, the one who dug up compost pits, spent hours doing Exnora work loving every moment of it, and earned her Pepsi Cola at Balamurugan at the end of everyday’s work? How I miss Exnora. How I miss everything.
• Thanks to Appa, dear Scooty Pep got a nice clean up. I have never done it myself really. The most I can do is, spend 5 minutes looking for a parking space on Mission Street that isn’t in the line of fire from above. What I have learnt is that kaka pi does not always travel in a straight vertical line due to gravity. Its paths are trajectories sometimes. Zzz.
• I used to eat lunch at a Gujju/Maru mess right below office. The first time I went, DDLJ songs were playing in the background, and they served a super rava kesari. My eyes welled up as I realized that it was Fate that threw me and Sri Balaji Mess together. But after Serena described the kitchen and cooking conditions to me mincing no words whatsoever, I don’t know if I believe in fate anymore.
• Ah. What can I say about the pleasure of Walls orange kuchi ice on a rocky beach? Or the chocolate pyramid at Hot Breads? Nothing, except “Thank you God”.
• I have actually stopped thanking him. Still procrastinating the “questioning faith” bit, but I don’t do my routine prayers anymore. I just selfishly pray for my ass to be saved, when I write some copies.
• I wonder often if I should write a book. I don’t know if I can. But when I think of Chetan Bhagat, and his ‘One Night at a Call Centre’ that claims to be a bestseller, I take heart at the fact that anyone can write, and be successful at it, even if not (any) good. Maybe I should try, no harm.

Two thoughts that crossed my head, when I tried really hard not to think of which waiter’s sweat made it into my cup of dal last week:

• There is a foolproof method to decide if your family and the things they do are normal: imagine a family like that on TV or in some movie. Are members of the audience likely to say “loosu kudumbam”, or worse still, “ayiye”? If they are, then SO not normal. Let’s not even begin about my own. The windows had better remain shut all the time.
• There is a foolproof method of being able to tell if a person eating at the table in front of you is settu or South Indian (assuming that the telltale signs, such as tight transparent Hrithik Roshan T shirt or pattai/namam are missing): the settu will tear his roti using both hands, make a sort of a loop with the piece and scoop the gravy into the loop neatly. We? We are destined for yellow fingernails.

Phew. I think I am done for now. Will try my best to write during my next trip down. Can’t wait to go to ACJ tomorrow with friends. There is this warm, fuzzy feeling deep within whenever I think about ACJ. Sheesh I am too wistful and nostalgic and emo for my own good.