Waiting and watching
The post-MICA shakedown has been quick. Like pulling off the clichéd Band-aid. Quick and momentarily painful. The illusions of bonding created by proximity were quick to disappear. Nostalgia strikes now and then – leaving behind a distinct bittersweetness. They were the best two years… and then one day, they weren’t.
It has been a hot, sweaty Bombay summer. The days have been spent in the company of books and thoughts and television. Re-reading Five Find-outers (and Dog). Unputdownable whodunits solved by the inimitable Poirot. Travelogue. Newspapers, in which real news has to be hunted down with a fine-toothed comb. Tamil soaps peppered with bigamy, pseudo-morality and inappropriate background music. New Hindi soaps that will never end unless killed by zero ratings. News channels that could be mistaken for Bollywood fare.
Taking sides. For Aamir Khan. Against reservation. For Jayalalitha. Against orkut-spamsters. For Da Vinci Code. Against the Indian side minus Sachin. For myself. Against expectations from life. All the while knowing everything but the last two don’t really matter.
Life took a nosedive and rose again. A perfectly inverted parabola. Quiet conversation. Unexpected messages. A lil’ bit of poetry ;) … Seeing Bombay in a way I haven’t seen before. Yet fighting a déjà vu.
Retail therapy. Salon therapy. Waiting to start work. To bring home the first paycheck. All in pursuit of yuppie-ness.
There’s three days to go to June 1st, when I start working. I haven’t been counting down, so this comment on an earlier post caught me off guard.
“To those of you who are about to enter the media industry... long hours, sleepless nights and acidity, heartburn, insolent clients, cocky media buyers, temperamental operations guys, mid and senior level managers who'll put the country's politicans (with their politicking) to shame, rocky marriages, indifferent kids, a taxi driver who bares his soul to you on the ride home at 3 am, potbelly, free drinks, and oh yes 24x7 work week with almost no chance of ever seeing real sun shine again ... are all part of the deal.”
I’ve heard it before, though on a much less graphic level. And wonder if it was all worth it. Worth the 20 odd years of books and admissions and exams and assignments. Worth the paycheck at the end of the month. Worth the 150 minutes spent commuting everyday. Worth the dream that I’m chasing.
I’ll never know till I find out for my own.
It’s going to be an interesting two weeks ahead. The first steps into work life. The first lashes of a Mumbai monsoon. Hellos… and Goodbyes. And some psychological yoga to help me brave it all.
It has been a hot, sweaty Bombay summer. The days have been spent in the company of books and thoughts and television. Re-reading Five Find-outers (and Dog). Unputdownable whodunits solved by the inimitable Poirot. Travelogue. Newspapers, in which real news has to be hunted down with a fine-toothed comb. Tamil soaps peppered with bigamy, pseudo-morality and inappropriate background music. New Hindi soaps that will never end unless killed by zero ratings. News channels that could be mistaken for Bollywood fare.
Taking sides. For Aamir Khan. Against reservation. For Jayalalitha. Against orkut-spamsters. For Da Vinci Code. Against the Indian side minus Sachin. For myself. Against expectations from life. All the while knowing everything but the last two don’t really matter.
Life took a nosedive and rose again. A perfectly inverted parabola. Quiet conversation. Unexpected messages. A lil’ bit of poetry ;) … Seeing Bombay in a way I haven’t seen before. Yet fighting a déjà vu.
Retail therapy. Salon therapy. Waiting to start work. To bring home the first paycheck. All in pursuit of yuppie-ness.
There’s three days to go to June 1st, when I start working. I haven’t been counting down, so this comment on an earlier post caught me off guard.
“To those of you who are about to enter the media industry... long hours, sleepless nights and acidity, heartburn, insolent clients, cocky media buyers, temperamental operations guys, mid and senior level managers who'll put the country's politicans (with their politicking) to shame, rocky marriages, indifferent kids, a taxi driver who bares his soul to you on the ride home at 3 am, potbelly, free drinks, and oh yes 24x7 work week with almost no chance of ever seeing real sun shine again ... are all part of the deal.”
I’ve heard it before, though on a much less graphic level. And wonder if it was all worth it. Worth the 20 odd years of books and admissions and exams and assignments. Worth the paycheck at the end of the month. Worth the 150 minutes spent commuting everyday. Worth the dream that I’m chasing.
I’ll never know till I find out for my own.
It’s going to be an interesting two weeks ahead. The first steps into work life. The first lashes of a Mumbai monsoon. Hellos… and Goodbyes. And some psychological yoga to help me brave it all.
posted by DeepBlueSea at 10:33
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