Tuesday, July 16, 2013

I am a fever paapa ... ta nana ta nanana

 I'm unwell, super grumpy and I love that we have a working temperature wand (thermometer). Everytime I diagnose myself and it displays a reading of 38.0 deg C or so, I sing to myself "I am a fever paapa" to the tune of "I am a disco dancer".

Annoying DF thusly makes me feel a WHOLE LOT better.


Monday, July 01, 2013

Morning Blues

It is now 6:21 am, and I have been here since 5:59, my feet resting against the railings in the balcony space, steadily observing the early-morning activities of my neighbours and smelling the delicious quiet of the Delhi morning. No-one has honked yet, and I even heard a few non-pigeon birds.

The rainy coolness of the early morning is being peeled away, and I can feel (though not see) a sun coming up somewhere. Likely, it is the sun on this planet, and soon it will be so unbearably humid that I will feel the need to walk into my living room and stand under the fan as I observe the geometric-like patterns that dust makes on fan blades. (This is of no consequence to you, gentle reader, and I wish you climate controlled environs in which you read this.)

At 6:30, my alarm aptly titled 'Waist to hip ratio' will go off, and I will hopefully throw on some shoes and take the skipping rope and head to the park nearby. First, I will have to throw on a bra, which ranks highly in the list of unpleasant things I have to do in the mornings.

I haven't woken up unaided as early as 6 without some kind of prodding. Usually, it is an irate parent, or a screechy alarm telling me about an exam, or some impending disaster that requires my early morning attention. Today, it is a nightmare, rather, a dream that figuratively makes me want to feel physical pain so that I may focus on the blood and gore and distract myself from the spectacle of my subconscious masochism.  This dream wasn't brutal, it was just a window into the alternate univii of everything to do with everything that I wish to not talk about or feel anymore - for god's sake, it is 2013. You would think three years and nine-months would do the trick, right? Or atleast I would get a universe where the scenario takes a turn for the better than the fucking reality on earth? Is that too much to ask for Physics and Subconscious?

Cute old Sikh uncles with cloth facelifts to hold their gigantic turbans + beards in place, have started their morning walks. Neighbour old man from the house diagonally opposite has woken up, watered his plants, and is now clad in sweats and a fun T-shirt; he leaves his house with a surprisingly jaunty step in his stride. The cars parked in front of the house have been cleaned, by two different cleaner men - one for each car, not two for each - excuse my poor sentence phrasing.

Early on, at  6:07, I saw a classmate of mine from college, who now lives in the street somewhere, walk by on his way to a jog. I tried calling out to him, but my voice cracked, and whether it was from the reality of the stuff of dreams, or the a/c running all night, we'll never know.

My alarm went off 6 minutes ago, and it says 'Swimming'. The 'Waist to hip ratio' alarm that is meant to motivate me to do, well, cardio is set for 6:45, when I must needs cease writing, but I have some time yet. The sun is definitely out, I can feel a distinct drop in coolness. I have had my glass of lemon water, a new habit I am trying to pick up, and I should really get out of this chair, move my feet away from the railings and drown all of my sorrow in endorphins, but for just a few minutes more, I am going to be weak and pathetic and sad and I am going to let my lower lip tremble. The eyes filling with tears is a good thing though, it sort of self-washes away eye-gunk from the night.

I have a week ahead that I am not prepared to face mentally, more so with what I have woken up to today, Can I really stay in Delhi for a couple of years more? Can I really find it in me to embrace this harsh, aggressive and thoroughly distasteful clump of overgrown villages? I don't know - for once, I truly do not want to live here anymore, but opportunities and circumstance are forcing my hand.

It is 6:43 - I must depart, but I hope your day is going better than mine. If you have a dog of some kimd, can I borrow it for an hour or two? I need some unconditional love, and even that, I'm afraid, isn't going to save me from my signature mix of self-hate, sadness and delhi-hate.

Have a productive week gentle reader, I leave in search of breathlessness and endorphins.