Changes…

One of the many things that I enjoyed in Bangalore was the fact that I could start my bike any time I wanted and go anywhere I wished. Mysore, Chennai or even Hampi! That’s certainly the best of the many good things about living alone, I guess.

But now, now that I’m in Mumbai, living with the family, the small things that I’d been taking for granted has become a rarity in terms of occurrence.

Like smoking, for example. In Bangalore, I could smoke wherever, without fear (of getting caught and/or being lectured by someone) and without any guilt. And it’s very easy to get into that sort of a routine, harmful as it may be.

Now, I have to sneak out of my house, get to the terrace, look around if the coast is clear, light one up, look around some more, and in between the looking around, take a few precious drags of the nicotine-filled carcinogen. And I’d never be able to finish an entire cigarette. By the time I finish half of it, I realise it’s not worth all the trouble. The cigarette has stopped ‘helping’. Couple that with the fact that I have to sneak back into my own house like a thief and rushing to the bathroom before anyone breathes and smells my deed, the guilt trip just makes the smoking totally not worth it.

When I’m at work, however, between bouts of jobless Wikipedia-ing (and sometimes, more recently, working), I manage to slip out for a smoke. This gives me the best pleasure. A coffee and a sutta – the best bloody combination. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s the cigarette I enjoy or the lack of guilt that I’ve come to associate with it these days.

So many other things have changed now. For example, I’m sharing a room with my brother. What’s even weirder is the fact that I’m not protesting. I’ve come to accept it as a phase. My brother, I’ll be fair now, is a pretty bearable roomy and he does respect my need to be left alone every now and then.

A lot of things annoy me, still. In Bangalore, I was so used to enter an empty house, devoid of any human presence that every sound now has become an irritant. I wake up with a start every time the maid turns the fan off. I wake up again when she turns it back on. The constant yammering of my mother annoys me and my dad’s racist utterings (still) piss me off.

But its home and I love it. I love it for its quirks and I love it because it’s the only thing that’s mine. I love my parents because they love me for no apparent reason. I love the nag in my mother and I love the snags in my dad! I love my sibling now and it’s not just because he’s my brother.

I don’t have a lot of friends in this city now, I don’t have a girlfriend now and I don’t think I’m enjoying my work a lot, but I am not distressed. Its life and I love it for some reason. Everyday in this city looks like an adventure although it’s routine!

But you know what the best part about being home is? BED COFFEE!

Amen.

The Mahindra Renault Logan is, quite literally, butt ugly.

Amen.