So the coo is sitting at home on a state holiday and realizing it’s been over a month since she blogged. And since it almost feels like I have a whole day with nothing to do, I must talk about anything and everything that has happened this past month. So whether you like it or not, a lot of inane information is about to come meandering your way.
So post the last post, I started off by begging my boss to give me the weekend off after a hectic release week in Chennai and headed home to Bangalore. 2 measly days, but it felt like heaven. And a four month old baby that is my adorable nephew is pure unadulterated therapy. Chicken soup for my weary corporate soullessness. I spent hours just staring at him sleep or looking at every finger and toe, every vein, his birthmark, the way his legs curved, the folds of his plump little arms, babinski feathered the soles of his feet and watched with wonder how his toes curled inside in perfect reflex-tion.
Bangalore simply isn’t the place I grew up in. Five years has turned the city on its head. It was boiling hot in August. I remember going to college as early as five years ago wearing a sweatshirt and muffler, with cotton in my ears because it used to be windy and cold as hell, and this is May-June, we’re talking about. Summer only meant the bizarre feeling of feeling burnt if exposed to the sun directly and strangely cold if you stood in the shade. Winter of course was divine. The sun would bathe you one second making your ears feel gratifyingly warm and the next second a chill breeze would pass by giving you goosebumps that never melted till the sun came out of the clouds again.
What I miss most about Bangalore is definitely the music. My 500 cassette strong music collection that a lot of people growing up in school were envious of dosent really exist anymore, but the music and lyrics are etched pretty permanently in my head. Whether it was waking up to the Beatles singing ‘here comes the sun’ on our stereo or listening to my dad singing about the night they drove old Dixie down as he strummed his rhythm guitar in the evenings, music was always an integral part of my life, mostly a discovery, sometimes to show off to cute band boys, and sometimes to drown out parental bickering in a soon to be broken home. As I got older and wouldn’t get up in time for college I was subjected to Audioslave blaring into my ears at 8 am by my mother. She didn’t really like Audioslave, but she liked that it was loud and clear! She gave me a life and showed me how to live!! Heh heh. Nowadays, it’s almost scary how little I listen to. Songs at clubs and lounges. Songs that auto-rickshaws play. Album songs of my company’s films. Yeah that pretty much covers it. Music is suddenly an effort. Like polite conversation.
Three childhood friends also went out for dinner to Kosmo-Village on Cunningham road. The very Cunningham road, named after Major Cunningham, the knieving glutton (well, not really but ‘cunningham’?!, really these brits are crazy), that housed my favourite Java City, currently relocated to Museum Inn road, and who can forget Casa Picola, the nouveau riche Italian do of the very upwardly mobile bangalorean of the early 2000’s. Now it has a smattering of really hip joints, Fresco’s (of dessert fame), Infinitea (of er Tea fame) and of course Kosmo Village, that reminded me a lot of Olive in Bombay, though ten times the size. S, N and I ate a quiet dinner. We didn’t really have much to say to each other. I told them that I wouldn’t be coming to Bangalore anymore for a very long time, after all family is moving abroad and all that. They digested the news quietly. N talked about maybe moving to America with her boyfriend while he did his MBA, but not too thrilled with the idea because she hated the US. S talked about not being able to find a suitable boy. I asked her to open her mind to the internet to search for a possible someone and she gave me a strange look, with a tinge of disgust that I thankfully couldn’t see properly because of our fast dying table tealight.
When I got back that week, N came online and said that S and her were planning a trip to Bombay for us to be together during Diwali. I was touched and sad. We’ve never been an affectionately expressive trio. We’ve known each other since we were in Nursery and somehow always taken each other for granted. We’re not even the sort of friends that keep in touch very regularly. But there’s always been a sense of subliminal commitment to each other. A tie that childhood binded for us. And I knew they’d sensed our times together were seemingly drawing to a close, proximity wise atleast. We were moving countries, some were getting married, things would never be the same, however clichéd that may sound.
Back in Bombay, the highlight has been my flatmate P’s trip to NY and LA. I think I was more excited than she was. She was gone for all of a week and when she came back we stayed up till 5 in the morning talking and coming to the conclusion that there is a life out there that we aren’t living. And that as both our sixth years in the city draw close, we couldn’t believe we were saying this, but we’ve tired of the city.
Of course, moving away is easier said than done. Its at times like these that you wish you listened your parents and became a doctor/engineer/lawyer/banker because suddenly you realize that though you may be good at what you do, what you do isn’t really a universally applicable skill. I can’t imagine where I should start looking for work, and in which country pray? And will what I do here be of equal if not more weightage in another country? Maybe the film production executive of India is like the tea bringer/ in-house secretary of LA? Or perhaps the on set catering curry queen of London?
Needless to say, it’s a decision that must be taken. Six years is a long commitment (though poorly if you consider that I’ve said many times that ill devote an eternity here). But the restlessness that’s been burgeoning in me isn’t something I can ignore for long. So go away I must. Suggestions are welcome. Media industry and all that. Please don’t come up with porn and suchlike. I’m an appreciative viewer and a bad participant. Also no perennially snow covered cities as after Manali trip this year, I realize I don’t co-operate well with the white stuff. There. That’s it then. Oh and this blogs url will change init?