Sappy shit

Certain days are randomly suffused with love. Inexplicably, without justification or warning. I think being ill helps (I can currently feel my body vibrate with every breath); it leaves me depleted, without any energy to focus on the unessential (and therefore irrelevant). So, stripped of all the bullshit that makes up my life I’m a glowing being of love and zen or something like that. Being ill and medicated is also the only way I can get restful sleep apparently. I accidentally slept in a particular fashion about four months ago and now I seem to have been spoilt and rendered unable to get any actual rest on my own. My mind continuously whirrs like it’s been assigned the sole responsibility for solving the relationship between god and man and the universe. My eyes , internet, my poor eyes.

B came home this morning. In all his grown-up, healthy, beautiful tom glory. It was a sight to be seen, internet, all of us crowding around him, making cooing loving noises, getting late for work and not giving a damn. It was just a week ago that my ma had sighed about how she missed him. B’s awesome. He’s the cat with the biggest heart, the nicest person on the planet. He’s the only grown up boy who bothers to come home once every two months just to let us know that he’s fine. That he’s out there doing his own thing, but that he remembers us and feels the need to make a courtesy call to his annoying family every now and then.

In other news, due to certain recent administrative and monetary changes at work I now have a handful of new employees stalking me. Most of them are very nice and quite sweet and make big fervent eyes at me. This sometimes I like very much, it allows me to start my day with my surroundings in sync with my mental state which pictures me constantly walking like this:



But mostly it makes me dart into unnecessary corridors and stairwells, just to avoid having to muster the energy to actually look like I know what I’m doing. However, there is also one very irate new young employee, who is currently not adequately occupied. I can’t help it, internet! The project she’s scheduled on hasn’t started, is refusing to start and there isn’t much to be done about it. But man. She really does not appreciate being kept waiting. I’m constantly being hounded through texts and calls and internal IM for status updates. She wants to know every six hours if there’s been a change, if we have work for her already, and what the fuck is taking us so long. Well she doesn’t exactly say that, but her glowering implies it. And I’m being uncharacteristically nice to her and telling her to be patient. I think I remember feeling similar initial contempt for my industry and its constant dependence on imbecile clients. A simpler time, internet. But since homegirl is so impatient she’s going to get her wish and get some work. Unfortunately for her she’s off to the coal mines and I think that’s my first professional piece of bad karma.

Tchah. All I wanted to do was to sit quietly in one corner and be ignored and allowed to constantly sniffle into my work. Speaking of sniffling, both my grandma and the met department were proven to be totally right about the monsoons. And I’ve come to realize that I too have a meteorological talent. Every time the seasons officially change I fall ill. Like the premature, total tease showers we had in Delhi before the monsoons finally broke had no affect on me whatsoever. You can identify the real deal by the immediate response shown by my immune system.

My hair may still be falling out but I’m happy and I’m in love. What more can I want?

Migrant labourer Murphy

Abortive entry from work. Can't relate to mood of entry now:

I really dislike having to work so far from home. Today I was discussing how I have naturally dry hair with this chick and she told me I need to oil my hair twice a week and keep it oiled for only an hour before washing it off. And in the interest of not going to work with wet, unruly hair this activity must be conducted in the evening after work. Wherein lies the catch as I only get home at 8. Which implies washing my hair at 9:30 at night, followed by four hours of waiting for it to dry. It’s a good thing I have given up sleep.
All the free time I have at work (let’s not get into that for now) I keep thinking to myself that I ought to update my blog, I ought to update my blog. But writing at work is hard. My mind’s clamped shut so that I don’t accidentally end up thinking about how I’m not learning anything new or how I don’t get to spend enough time traveling any more. I can’t do a desk job, internet. My heart’s just not in it and my nomadic habits seem to be too deeply entrenched to break. I refuse to be bound down; I can’t be responsible for the same thing for longer than a while. This whole leaving work on time, every day at 6 business, is a little depressing. I’m bored and I can’t do one goddamned thing about it.
Maybe I don’t know how to be grateful. Maybe I’m a liar and an asshole. But fuck this shit dudes, I should be allowed to sulk as and when I feel like it. Being understanding and accommodating and spelling e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g out is just too bloody painful sometimes and sometimes I just want to resent things in peace.
I realize how much of my life is dictated by my commute. It takes up the time I would normally prefer to spend doing regular 24 year old things, having a life etc. But it also gives me time to think things through entirely which in turn gives me the strength to be understanding and accommodating. I get to see a large number of really varied people also commuting, also going through the same routine, though in different degrees of comfort. This is the time I get to see men on fast moving two wheelers manage to adjust their balls with one hand only. This is when I get to reflect on my inability to sleep, my falling hair and wonder what sort of secret malaise inflicts me. This commute marks the physical distance between having to think about things and spending ten blissful hours daily in a job that is demanding and unreasonable and in all probability not meant for me at all. At least that used to be the case till I got this desk job equivalent with all its free time and fuckall inability to occupy my mind completely. This commute has given me the chance to truly appreciate how functional Indian women are designed to be and also worry about how the only thing I seem to be capable of is making money.

Impotence impotence impotence impotence impotence impotence impotence impotence impotence.

Vote for Kumari Murphy

Yaar. I had no intention of updating, because I wasn't really feeling it, but I've also been annoyed about how no one one my blog-roll has updated in a while and I have nothing new to read. So can't really whine without updating myself I guess?
The motherfather heat! The monsoons apparently are supposed to start on the 29th and will be late by three days and will therefore start on the 2nd. I have no idea how the met department calculated this super precise figure, but my grandma also seems to be in the know because she also told me with complete confidence that we can expect rain around the 28th. Am I meteorologically challenged?
Will somebody please take pity on me and find my cat? And figure out my motherfather future and get me a post graduate degree and finish my management accounting exams for me? And bring my stupid manfriend to a hill station near me? Where I can personally supervise the tattooing of my name on his forehead?
Today I met a dude who told me with a very fervent look in his eyes 'I always knew I was meant for direct tax*. I can't be anybody else.' And then he told me that the 3 idiots' concept of everyone always knowing what they want to do with their entire bloody life is spot on and it's only a question of self awareness and being true to yourself. Faaack. If a really annoying bollywood movie has passed on critically important wisdom to me and I've missed it, I'll be pissed. Because internet, the only thing I come up with when I 'look inside my heart' is that I want to be prime minister :( Should I also be distributing raincoats to farmers and putting up posters with a shot of me giving a thumbs up under a photo of Rahul Gandhi and a caption saying 'desh ke ek laute bete ko happy birthday?'
So much to do internet. We've reached a state of critical mass where everything is just plans and propositions and we can plan no more. Why the fuck won't it just rain!

*Direct tax is a team, part of the Global Taxation Advisory Services service line, one of our five spiffy service lines

Credible witness

So somebody asked me how exactly is it that I want to be seen by others. Thank you kind sir, for that very pertinent and interesting question. To give you a more honest and elaborate answer than the part yuppie part zen part incomprehensible bullshit I gave you, I've always wanted to be seen as a credible witness. The kind who you can call to testify on your behalf in a civil trial or a not too scandalous criminal trial. Where an entire life of sensibility and good academic records and community service will stand me in good stead. Where my wasting my youth by not doing belly shots off nubile young things and in stead being known at work for good client relations, stellar presentation skills and beautiful filing will come in handy. (All this necessitates that the jurists are not my parents, who know the truth about my sensibility and my kaale kartoots; my college professors, who will somehow bring up the zero in attendance in first year and the countless tutorials and tests I failed to turn up for; or my brother, whose name for me is an acronym starting with 'fraud'; or my dodgy bombay bff, who really knows my kaale kartoots.)
I wish to be the type of witness who turns up in a white kurta with tired but kind eyes and immediately makes the side I'm on feel better and the other side mentally go 'oh shits.' Considering the company I keep these days (you know who you are) I think it's a vital lifeskill. To be able to turn up and look sincere, a little weary at being made to go through all these tareekh pe tareekh proceedings, and look as if despite my impatience with the whole drama in the first place I will gladly devote my time to ensure that justice is served.
'Nahi m'lord. Muzrim 24th ki raat ko mere saath dinner kar raha thha. I'm not denying that he has many failings as a human being, par woh khooni nahi hai.'

Baby's a little sad, a little hard to please

It's been a while since I've been able to feel loose in my skin. It's a little like I can't look at the world with a perspective that isn't directly related to my life and me and everything that comes to that. It's like being trapped in your life and not being able to see the world for what it is and it's been a while since this happened to me.
Somewhere in my mind I think I'm associating waiting for the rains with waiting for being me again, and not this person completely tied down with circumstances and the people in her life, who's unable to think of anything except the things happening around her / to her.
I typed that in a rush to quickly get it out so I can talk of other more pleasant things.
Damn. Except I can't think of more pleasant things. Can you guys tell the difference between these, these, these, these and these? Because it has been brought to my attention that I have inadvertently bought them all. I don't know whether to be distraught or a little smug.
I miss college you guys. Whenever I meet women from LSR or find out that so-and-so's from LSR I feel this rush of pride and inexplicable happiness. The same thing used to apply to my school too but it's a lot more intense for college. One such person, who went to both my school and my college, who I am NOT at ALL happy with is my stupid best friend. I'm so mad and bewildered that the whole thing just stresses me out. It makes me wonder if women are fucking morons who're actually handicapped by their useless hormones and girly bits that seem to impede clear thinking. Maybe we just like being pathetic and sitting around and waiting for assholes.
In other random news, since this post is obviously some sort of hot mess, my friend Swaamers is biking from Mumbai to Leh (you can follow his journey on Twitter if you're really bored) and the whole thing is making me ache with jealousy. Not that I'd ever get on a bike, I hate the death traps. It's just the fact that he's literally seeing the entire country and being by himself (except that he's with someone called Charsi, who obviously doesn't count) and making impromptu plans to go to Bhutan. Ugh. My jealousy is at an all time high.
Also I found out today that urinals don't have flushes?!?!! Or the ones that do are being replaced with some sort of water saving cake thingy that sort of lays there and absorbs all the nastiness?!?! I'm not sure why I'm sharing this news with you but what the FUCK dudes?
And in more random news, my asshole boss has resigned and is off to be a partner at KPMG. KPMG, if I were you I'd hide all the employees with delicate sensibilities and real personalities and thin skin. And the women who drink or smoke. And people who value having lives and seeing their families. Ahahahaha KPMG, I wish you well.

Internet, baby. Are you mad at me for being so useless at updating you? Don't be. Some days internet we're all like the girl in the yellow.