6 January 2005

Coz I'm moving on out, moving on up, time to break free, nothing can stop me

I’m! Going! To! Mumbai!

Yup, today’s my last day at the job and what, you ask, am I doing? Simultaneously, cleaning out my desk, dumping four months worth of unreviewed books that have been gathering dust in my drawer on my colleague’ desk (weeping as I opened the new Shawna Singh Baldwin package that arrived all for me but which I had to relinquish); adding my mother’s dental bill to my medical reimbursment form, because, y’know, I’m as strong as an ox and I don’t need no doctors; gloating over the CNN planner that arrived for me today, all new and leather bound and unwritten in; writing a story on the NSD theatre festival which I’ve been working on for quite some time and have now, lessee, 152 words (only 200 words to go before I can legitimately call it a story); collecting business cards and printing out contact lists which I’m very organisedly putting into my new planner (coz it’s leather-bound. With flaps); sending messages to friends to let them know it’s my last day here; wondering whether I should smoke a cigarette even though my throat hurts like a bitch; cease wondering and go smoke a cigarette---multitasking, thy name is woman!

And then, did I mention I’m going to Mumbai? I leave on Saturday and then begins a week of absolute debauchery in the hands of my good friend Pieces. She lives alone there and I foresee much drinking, much partying and maybe much men. Not much blogging though, so you’ll just have to wait for me to return to hear about the trip and the (ohmygod ohmygod) New Job— N capital, J capital

La la la la.

I’m happy.



(written in an entirely different mood, so don't say I didn't warn you)



The way the waiters know my name,
And when I gesture with an empty glass,
The way they know exactly what to bring.
Meeting, air-kissing the same people,
Talk grows stale, the air is stagnant,
With stilted conversation and smoke plumes,
That drift casually to the ceiling,
Pausing to caress my forehead as I turn
And search the room yearningly,
For someone, anyone, to break out of the crowd,
And act like it makes a difference that I’m living.
I know despite the low cleavage,
Despite the bright smile and the belly-button ring,
Despite the fact that according to me and my mother,
I’m certainly the wonderfull-est person there,
That tonight will merge into all the others,
And that tomorrow, I will still be alone.



6 comments:

  1. Hey there..

    All the best for your new job..(what was ur old job?)
    as for the cigarettes part, i do the same..my throat can kick and buck and sputter all it wants..and my mind starts going into a Hamlet-ian lapse..ultimately though, the cigarette wins..

    U write well..

    Shain

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  2. I wish I was in that room, I would come up to you.

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  3. Oh !!!
    I accidently reached here.. to ur blog... and its sad to know that u've already left delhi...

    guess i was a lil late, else u wud hv found a reason to stay put here ..

    hahaha... all the best anyways :D

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  4. gawd. i just came across your blog and i just LOVE IT. you are living the life that i would have just died to live in india. please keep writing.

    ReplyDelete

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