Where's Flynn Rider?
I mostly write when I am upset. Or when I am super happy. For me, it's hard to find the middle ground -- I'm almost always on an extreme. It's hard for me to mellow down, although it has become progressively easier as the years have started rolling by. It's been two weeks since I turned 27. Do I feel older? I don't know... friends says I'm still a kid. I love to do amateurish stuff. For instance, I will hide someone's notepad at work and make them look for it, and then giggle childishly. I will draw moustaches over faces. I will scribble something funny on the whiteboard, or fill it with random doodles. I will crack jokes even during a serious meeting. I will pun a lot... I'm the office joker. Do I feel more mature? Again, I don't think so. I don't even know what "being mature" is supposed to mean. I live alone, I do everything alone... I run a house, I pay my bills, I'm a responsible girl, I balance my books (money is always an issue when you're a moderately-paid journalist), I buy my own groceries and look after myself... Is that not being mature? Or does maturity only come when one settles down with someone from the opposite sex, signing along dotted lines to signify they will live "happily ever after"? What is this "happily ever after" people talk about? Where is my fairy tale? Where is my Disney character? Flynn Rider... does he even exist? I'm sure not, but I do think about all this even though it makes me grieve when I do. (Also, I digress massively from the issue I am writing on about.)
On to better things.... March 27, walking around the golf course and actually learning something about the sport (although it's amazingly boring, I can now tell the difference between a bogey and an eagle. Yay!). Smoking in an auto-rickshaw. A cute-looking stray dog sniffing the *cough* "junk". Hauz Khas ruins. Finding the perfect angle to shoot. Snapping men all around (the ones in ugly, pointy, leather shoes and extremely tight pants... yech!). Watching a magnificently white duck wriggle his ass at us and quack away to glory. Graffiti all around. Garbage strewn all around. The Garage. Nokia Lumia. Happy Hours. Pints of beer and whiskey. Drinking and conversation. Tears and memories. A piece of chocolate cake at the end and two plates of yummy fried beef. Having my shot-put abilities doubted. Justin Bieber and Bruno Mars and Oasis. Slide Away and Live Forever on request. Singing loudly, not giving a jot about people around. The balcony. The wispy cigarette smoke, like some ephemeral cotton candy, taking wings and vanishing into the dark night. The half-empty bottle in my hand, watching the condensation on its surface, drops of water sliding down on to the wood and being soaked up, having their short lives ended. Suddenly feeling both optimistic and frightened of what lies ahead -- this year, the next year, the year after that, the next decade.... I am soon going to be a 30-something. Will there be a dog, a cat? A kid? School routines and football practice sessions? PTA meets? Worrying for exams and Board results? Or my empty flat with the bookcases, football paraphernalia, posters, clothes everywhere, bottles of alcohol, and the red suitcase, a reminder of my everyday life? Coming and going when I want, without a shred of responsibility towards another human being? Just my career and my office... the workaholicism?
I need to step out more, Thursday was fine, and there can be more days like that, is what I learnt. I've spent enough time staying at home, lying in bed or on the floor, crying, eating whole packets of chocolate chip cookies along with buckets of Mother Dairy's rum chocolate ice cream, watching re-runs of Scrubs and comparing myself to JD, imbibing those dialogues and promising not to make the same mistakes again. Delhi needs to be explored. Ruins need to be photographed. Things need to be felt and said. Days need to be spent with someone beside me, not necessarily alone. Nothing is a permanent state, it's all temporary.
Song of the Day: "Drown" (Poor Rich Ones)
On to better things.... March 27, walking around the golf course and actually learning something about the sport (although it's amazingly boring, I can now tell the difference between a bogey and an eagle. Yay!). Smoking in an auto-rickshaw. A cute-looking stray dog sniffing the *cough* "junk". Hauz Khas ruins. Finding the perfect angle to shoot. Snapping men all around (the ones in ugly, pointy, leather shoes and extremely tight pants... yech!). Watching a magnificently white duck wriggle his ass at us and quack away to glory. Graffiti all around. Garbage strewn all around. The Garage. Nokia Lumia. Happy Hours. Pints of beer and whiskey. Drinking and conversation. Tears and memories. A piece of chocolate cake at the end and two plates of yummy fried beef. Having my shot-put abilities doubted. Justin Bieber and Bruno Mars and Oasis. Slide Away and Live Forever on request. Singing loudly, not giving a jot about people around. The balcony. The wispy cigarette smoke, like some ephemeral cotton candy, taking wings and vanishing into the dark night. The half-empty bottle in my hand, watching the condensation on its surface, drops of water sliding down on to the wood and being soaked up, having their short lives ended. Suddenly feeling both optimistic and frightened of what lies ahead -- this year, the next year, the year after that, the next decade.... I am soon going to be a 30-something. Will there be a dog, a cat? A kid? School routines and football practice sessions? PTA meets? Worrying for exams and Board results? Or my empty flat with the bookcases, football paraphernalia, posters, clothes everywhere, bottles of alcohol, and the red suitcase, a reminder of my everyday life? Coming and going when I want, without a shred of responsibility towards another human being? Just my career and my office... the workaholicism?
I need to step out more, Thursday was fine, and there can be more days like that, is what I learnt. I've spent enough time staying at home, lying in bed or on the floor, crying, eating whole packets of chocolate chip cookies along with buckets of Mother Dairy's rum chocolate ice cream, watching re-runs of Scrubs and comparing myself to JD, imbibing those dialogues and promising not to make the same mistakes again. Delhi needs to be explored. Ruins need to be photographed. Things need to be felt and said. Days need to be spent with someone beside me, not necessarily alone. Nothing is a permanent state, it's all temporary.
Song of the Day: "Drown" (Poor Rich Ones)
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