Songs of the not-so innocent

Before pitching tent for good in Pune, there were 2 previous lives for me. One was in Abu Dhabi & Dubai... years characterized by nothing pleasant. The other was Bombay... ancient memories of which seem more akin to those fashioned from fading smells rather than any clear images or experiences. I left Bombay in 1988... Today, after the drama of the last 3 weeks, there's no feeling of triumph... none even of vindication. Just a simple, slight relaxation of the shoulders, more due to exhaustion than relief & I walked out. I've got my first real full-time job, starting Monday. 21 years on, I'm returning to Bombay. At long last, school's out. Song for the moment: Break the night with colour - Richard Ashcroft

It's all very well to bandy about the phrase 'watch the paint dry on the walls' with a lack of appreciation for the excruciating sense of boredom that accompanies the dubious pleasure of actually watching the paint dry... for 3 straight days. If the above sentence has not put you in the know as to my present mood, go duck your head in some cold water & then read it. If light fails to penetrate even then, congratulate yourself on having a cranium denser than a collapsing star and try not to engage in any complicated activities. Breathing, for instance. To exacerbate the flavour of my current state, supposed well-wishers are fighting to line up with their book of handy homilies and provide assurance that things will get better or that everything will fall into place & of course that it'll all work out. To which I have resorted to caustically enquiring as to how they know that. At least in this time of doom & gloom, the resulting goldfish-like indignant gapes

Fate has called on me, delivered his usual crushing uppercut & made a quick exit. This being the first post of 2009, there was a hankering to write something cheery, hope-filled or some such sentiment. Instead, thanks to the disturbingly consistent Kafka-esq existence that is my life, I am writing this. See here folks, I'd always wanted to come back to India... to work & and to live. However, wistful romanticism apart, one has to face up to reality. Being 26 and jobless, with degrees that can only be of some use in that Alice-in-Wonderland aka the Non-profit / development sector, is scary. Not only that, all and sundry are working (happily or otherwise), bringing in various parts of the swine. Leaves one wondering about one's purpose in the greater scheme of things and all that. So, I did what I thought was enough i.e. interviewed with an NGO in Bombay and was eventually given an offer. So far, so good one would think. Then, this happened. At this juncture, any sembla