I found my old cellphone and several drafts of unpublished blogs. Here’s an attempt to revive some of those with a slight edit towards the end.
A few months down the line, there is probably a lot that I’m going to miss. Walking downhill all by myself and treating myself to coffee is probably going to top the list. I don’t want to look back and say why didn’t I do this more often?
I want to do this everyday if I need to. Just to make sure that I did it when I could.
There’s a dilemma in my head. About my career. It was probably always there but inexpressible. Now that the time for placements is here.. It’s resurfacing, and in a big way. What’s the answer to that? Do I have the courage to follow through? Without knowing what is the destination, is the journey worth embarking upon?
It’s been exactly two years now since I grabbed my accidental degree and I’m now on my third job after a few freelance gigs.
Truth be told, I got placed in what was my dream company then, one of the world’s leading market research firms but life at my dream company wasn’t the stuff that dreams are made of. I was insanely Happy and proud of my achievements – lone girl from Bangalore, armed with an MBA in media, living in the city of dreams with my best friend, it was the stuff I had dreamed but not believed in. And life was good, or as good as it can be with plenty of working weekends and a work life that I didn’t enjoy, and with my loved ones far away. But I was exceedingly Happy at being away from home and couldn’t think of having it any other way. But you gotta believe in destiny right, and let it unravel its plans the way it’s meant to be. Despite more than a few pressing concerns, I made the shift home, for the love of my people. For I’d realized one thing, a place is only as good as its people. A lot has changed from then to now, my perspective to things is different and my reactions are far less emotional and more pragmatic, and that has made all the difference.
As for whether the journey is worth embarking on, well the road is never monotonous and you’ve got to decide this for yourself.
Maybe it’s meant to be difficult and incomprehensible, enough to drive you nuts. But just hang in there bud, and keep faith. It gets better. Always! 🙂
Bangalore is heart and Mumbai is mind, but the simplest mention of Pune, brings a smile to my face because of the special place it holds in my heart.
As with a lot of things, I’ve noticed that my tryst with love usually begins with an abject hatred of something. First impression of Pune was that I had to run away from it and not come even inches close to it. This happened during the time when I was interviewing at Simc. I was disappointed that it was so much like an older Bangalore. I assured two of my friends that I would definitely not take it up because Pune wasn’t Mumbai and I then believed that I had needed the vibe of Mumbai.
I couldn’t have been more wrong bout Pune. Having lived in Lavale for two blissful years, I think this city will always be home of a different kind. The kind of home that gave me hope in finding good in different people and an acceptance of myself, thanks to my people.
As I undertake this bus journey home, from Mumbai. I am fleetingly passing through the lanes of Pune city and I’m nostalgic like hell. What stands out is our countless trips to FC road on broke days, with friends and not so good friends, celebrity spotting while on a ‘research’ project to study religious tourism and it’s effects, (I’m amazed a senior sent us knowing fully well that we couldn’t have access to Osho, no regrets though cause that was a beautiful day!), a full day Pune Darshan at the end of two years (now I can brag about places in Pune to everyone), of freshers nights that turned to the beginning of common crushes and friendships, of dosa and coffee trips with the extended best girl gang that one could possibly have.. And of countless as bus rides, to the ‘city’ and back to the hostel, just because. ‘Let’s go through city’ was music to the ears! And yet, the amazing solitude our rooms offered.
It’s funny how you comfortable you get with your people. How you video call each other, even if it’s as rare as once in a few months. How connected you are, and how much it makes you feel happy.. Knowing that they’re there. Man. I miss you guys!
And I haven’t even talked about the campus fun. Shared secrets, embarrassments, gossip and stories about the people you detest? Sigh.
I can only hope that meeting all of you in two months, is going to culminate in an epic extravaganza.
I’ve been cooped inside my room reading Amitav Ghosh for the first time ever. It is taking me though an intensely riveting journey through the erstwhile little empire of the Burmese to the coastline of Ratnagiri district and then to Malay. Something tells me I need to brush up on my geography to keep pace with all the places.
I can’t but marvel upon how the events of a person’s life becomes so immaterial in books. Youth, marriage, kids.. All are given but a fleeting mention and suddenly the protagonist is dealing with issues that are rooted deeply in the positions they have scoured themselves. I’m amazed at how this book is written with such a good buildup. I can imagine the greatness of the glass palace and I can almost taste the stench in the air when King Thebaw and his family are forced to endure the commonality of the house at Ratnagiri. Their fortunes as emperors forgotten because of the British ruler’s insecurities.
There is such a strong element of realism in Ghosh’s work that it’s like interviewing and dissecting the lives of the people at close quarters. With every passing day, my personal opinion on love and familial relationships are challenged and this work is a manifestation of the many doubts that our minds may possess. We are reduced to the depth or shallowness of our society and our personal inclination. You can always control just how much of yourself are you willing to invest for the outward world.
The Glass Palace is perhaps a metaphor of our own warped lives. It’s a boundary or our limitations.
A dragonfly usually always reminds me of Professor Trelawney because of her bejeweled appearance. It’s been raining like crazy on the hills and classes have been a real bore. I’ve slept through three classes back to back and even hid below the computers, in the closely cramped room to avoid having to do anything. I began to re-read The Alchemist and balanced it out with some Archie Comics and an ebook, The Mistborn. I’ve just booked tickets to go home for the week, and I can’t help feeling relieved and glad.
More stuff tomorrow, adios amigos!
I’ve just finished reading the Economic Times and I’m sitting on my bed, content yet curious. What do I do next?
It’s my first leisurely Sunday out on the hills. Yes, after a whole lot of pendulum-like behaviour, I’m a proud student of Symbiosis Institute of Media and Communication.
I’m enjoying the leisure that this holiday bring. It’s been 16 days since I moved in here and this is our first Sunday off. The azure sky is a pleasing to the eyes and the drizzle ensures a cool ambience. If I was playing the daring ‘Never have I ever’ game, then I could oblige if someone talked about never having read financial newsletters. When I come to think of it, I’ve actually enjoyed reading this.
After waking up to the traditional rendition of Vande Mataram from the speakers (Yes, you wake up with a surge of patriotism every morning out here), we were asked to report to the ground at 6:30 A.M, or rather, as soon as we could manage. Sleepy eyed and tired, Prinks and I walked up to the wet mass of grass that was the football ground. Despite plastic coverings, the carpet was decidedly wet. Once the crowd amassed and we jostled for space, we sat on our haunches and grimaced. As if the cold on our backs wasn’t enough, the steady pattering of fine spray added to our discomfort. However, we persisted in our attempts to follow the instructors and do our bit to celebrate World Yoga Day. Dressed in a light-coloured tee and tracks, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. We’d have to all go back and scrub these clothes clean. I sympathise with Hans Rosling and I wholeheartedly agree. The luxury of those washing machines have been grossly under estimated.
After a warm shower, a nice sleep seemed inevitable and I went back to sleep. I think I just tested the adage ‘Knowledge is power’. When I discovered that the mess breakfast included Idli and Poha, I withheld attempts of persuasion from my peers and resorted to ‘room’ food instead. Well, when I wouldn’t eat yummy mummy-made poha, there was no way I was going to give in to the mess poha. As for the idli, let’s just say we’ve all eaten better ones! The last minute purchase of the elecrtic kettle has been a pure blessing so far! Satiated with boiled eggs, some cream biscuits, and a hearty cup of green tea from my beloved yellow mug (So much for the weight-loss tamasha!), I’m ready for this Sunday on the hills! 😉