Sunday, August 23

Dry Dreams

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.

Monday, August 3

Weekends and Weak ends

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.