The recent spate of posts on this page has been all about life, work et cetera. Somehow the guilt of not having written for so long has overpowered the dread of rambling on, cryptic names and all. So here’s some very recent scoop on some very interesting events. Technically not another Bloody Sunday, but almost there. And sorry L.O.V.E. for breaking the promise of no more rhyme.
Brace yourselves.
Apologies, dear readers!
I deign to doggerel
And yet I do not worry
I’m anyway going to hell
So from a life so pedestrian
Little fun facts I draw
Like work expands with heat
And Roomie1 regrets what he saw
After Roomie2’s ass kicking ritual
Me and R1 left for our humble abode
I found me in wondering, perpetual
As he related what he saw before
No more I confound you, reader
But I hope you won’t be slow
In understanding that
She is now She two point oh
For when I told her madam,
All my pointers are in confluence
And they shall point to you
Whenever I dereference
Forewarned by the attempt
To catch her in the rye
She matched my eloquence with
Yeah, right. Nice try.
I can’t remember which standard it was, but we had just been assigned a new Hindi teacher. Right on her very first day, she asked us to open our notebooks and one by one she would visit each of our desks and tear out pages which she though looked too horrible to read. As I watched my notebook strain against the force of her hands, I decided this was the worst teacher we could’ve asked for. Less than a year later, she had become my favorite. I would always have trouble deciding between the badi ee and the chhoti ee on words like kyunki and she would circle each word that I would get wrong, which is why even today during the rare moments when I’m forced to write in Hindi, I can still remember the circled kyunkis vividly. Later, she picked me for a GK quiz and as the nerve racking competition got over to reveal that we had actually managed to win it, I realized that I was in love with these trivial pursuits.
She similarly got me enrolled into a declamation competition, which I got out of by faking illness- the only time I did so. The guy who replaced me went on to become one of the best speakers in school while I could never get over stage fright. The handwriting failed to improve though. I took solace in learning that even Gandhiji failed to improve his.
Sometime during all this, mother dear sent a note to her appreciating all the effort. It was some six or seven years later that she would give the letter back to me with a ‘Happy birthday’ at the bottom. If only I’d been less of a recluse, I would’ve known where she is now. Nevertheless, wherever you are, thank you and happy teachers’ day, Manjit ma’am.
Some things in life only become conspicuous by their absence. Poetic Creep would think of happiness and such poetic tosh. Lefty would perhaps point to nice guys. Not that I disagree, but all these are dwarfed in comparison to a much more ignored and abused substance. Adam’s Ale, Aqua Pura, Di-Hydrogen Mono-Oxide. Known by many names and used for many, many purposes, the magical liquid of which we are three quarters full is found in great abundance in R-land. That it is enriched with activated Uranium is another matter. Let’s just say we bathe in mineral water.
Down below the sanity line, things are drying up. There have been mornings when I let the taps run full throttle and go back to sleep. Atal Bihari could complete his speech before my bucket filled up. But phlegmatic as I am, I take things in stride, cursing the Land of the Haddu as needed. Come this Saturday, this was set to change. As the Roomies would soon discover, the tasteless, odorless elixir of life had left company of 303B.
Knowing full well that the rent had been paid for, phone calls were made to the Builder and the Owner, who both decided to confuse matters as much as possible. We soon discovered what “still waters run deep” really meant. The poly-ticians at R would be put to shame by the intricacies of rent collection and building maintenance in Madhapur, the CP-wannabe of this city of wannabes. Running quickly out of options, we found ourselves house hunting once again. Yet another weekend was going down a very dry drain.
After searching heaven and hell for solutions, we did what most hapless citizens of this country do. We bribed the watchman, who then dutifully made temporary arrangements which should keep us happy for some time.
The Roomies find the situation amusing. I finally found something to write about, which I’ve been itching to do, albeit for reasons not disclosed here anymore. The watchman is richer by 70 rupees. The Builder and Owner have been forewarned. This weekend may not exactly be one to remember, but as the wise man could have misspoke- all’s well that ends wet.
As anyone remotely in touch with me is already aware of, weekends at Hyd have been almost as disappointing as the latest movie in the HP franchise. While some were spent yawning and groaning all day, others were spent trying to breathe through a sea of haddus who had simultaneously decided to turn up at one of the well known malls here. The weekdays were eagerly awaited and the refrain changed from Thank god it’s Friday to Thank god it’s Monday.
Fortunately, after much cribbing about how Hyd is just a wannabe metro, I finally spent two days which did not end in me pinging random people on gtalk. The first day was spent in deciding where to go and spend some of our hard-earned salary. And thanks to a very enthusiastic girl, the plan did materialize and although quite a few were absconding, it was an evening well spent. I also got to see a number of people in slightly different shades, one in a very pleasant mauve and another using a rather pungent tone. And suddenly, the Most Annoying Person was replaced from his high horse by the Rude Dude. Apart from that, an evening that ends at Baskin Robbins can never be too bad. On reaching home, I spent about three hours sending and replying to phrendsip day messages and counseling a rather distraught friend and called it a day. A good one at that.
The next day started late and uncertain but luckily, Benevolent Senior turned up and took me to Chutney’s, where I had my first Dosa and Idli in Hyd, which exceeded expectations. Then we went around visiting all the big malls in the area, followed by a round trip around the Necklace road on a bike, which was downright awesome. And then I met Rastogi, who is in Hyd for about a week and so not leaving anything to fate, we decided to rekindle the old flame of the happy days of yore. As we poured our hearts out and criticized every square inch of Hyd, we realized we must part once again to our own separate lives, with which ended a rather good Sunday.
That feeling of possessing a weak end has given way to a comfort level only rarely achieved with those of the opposite affinity towards the color pink. While there are still uncertainties that even Mr. Heisenberg wouldn’t dare to understand, there is some peace in knowing that I, am not alone.
The SPS group is just like any other group with all kinds of people from all kinds of places. We take collective pleasure in decrying all the training sessions. There’s some merriment as we make fun of each other. People are given nicknames, most of them by yours truly. The title of Godmother is already conferred to someone Sri would’ve really liked. People are making plans of DPs. I’m back to playing NFS MW on a mattress lying on the ground, much like the arrangement at F-42.
But all the jokes and free coffee does little for that empty feeling- there’s no Midha or Rastogi or Lefty to go to. There are a million little things to take care of and while we laugh and sip away on our cappuccinos, each one of us is missing their own little families that they left behind. We are all thinking of something or someone. Of how they all would laugh on jokes that don’t even make sense anymore. Of how so many would stuff into one room to start a movie, only to fall asleep half way. Of long sessions spent on discussions they can’t remember too well. Of long walks and short trips. Of little annoying habits of people that seem so trivial now.
We all understand the inevitability of it all and cruel as it is, we all seem to move on. I’m trying to move on too. But there’s a song stuck in my head. And it’s you.
Miss you all.
As I reluctantly overhear my temporary roommate talk to his girlfriend about shoe polish in slightly broken english clad in a heavy Gujarati accent, I am but left to desperately wonder why everyone searches for a partner- and some more than others. It only takes a fraction of a second to be reminded by that inner voice that one is no exception.
Hyderabad has had the pleasure of my presence for about 14 days now, which means I vacate my cozy room in the guest house tomorrow. This means no more AC, TV and no net till Monday. There’s also the household stuff to procure- much of which I left at F-42. But before I take the leap, I thought I’d push the case study aside for now and do something less boring. And so I write.
Each of the many times that I pictured myself at work, I couldn’t have got right exactly how it is here. I’ve had a grand welcome to a place where affable is, for once, just the right word to use for most people. I have surprised myself in my social skills and this place doesn’t seem so alien anymore. I don’t see any corporate sharks or backstabbers for now and there’s a faint resemblance to the way we worked in wona. There has been some endurance testing from their side by making us sit through hours after hours of presentations but I really hope it’s for the good and I don’t mind all the cookies. As for the much dreaded ratio of R, things aren’t that good here, especially in SPS, but they’re nowhere as bad.
While I do paint a rosy picture, I’m still not sure what my job is about. I did always imagine myself working hard at some really cool application in a really huge company but the idea of giving advice on the same and being paid for it isn’t too bad either. Lots of people say lots of things. Some are happy, some frustrated and most are lukewarm. So I’ve decided to wait before I judge, which should take about a quarter of this year. Till then, five days a week, 8-9 hours a day.
It’s great to meet such a variety of people from so many backgrounds. There are times when a totally new face seems so familiar you could swear you knew it from somewhere. Hardly anyone is intimidating. There are a scarce few I’d like to maintain a safe distance from and also a few whose intimate circle I’d like to penetrate, quoted from the brilliant QI series, although the intent is slightly different. There have been some minor developments but that is the stuff for later posts. There could possibly be a second Bloody Sunday, but it won’t be as bloody I’m sure.
As for Hyderabad, the climate has improved and reminds me of Bangalore. There’s little else that I could compare between the two cities. Hbd does have awful traffic but the transport is cheap, there’s no “Open Butter Masala Dosa” in the company cafeteria and even the KFC is a good distance away. I finally tried some non-veg which was practically swimming in butter and tasted just ok. Next stop, KFC. Other means of intoxication are, from what I hear, costly. I’m yet to taste a proper Biryani. I’m sure there is a lot to discover in terms of food around here once I get settled.
Back to where I started this post. My roommate and I don’t quite agree on the life, universe and everything but things aren’t too bad. His treatise on shoe polish reminds me of a similar time when everything under the sun would be discussed and debated on phone calls that would last for hours. Then the various debacles come to mind, some of which have been well documented here. Then there was that feeling of possessing a lead bottom when that person would be around. There’s an inkling of that feeling again. I wonder why.
