Happy, Shiny People

Lately I've just stopped caring about work. Like just stopped. There's tons of work to be done, but I can't get myself to work on any of it. This could be what a burn out looks like, or this could be plain boredom. Or it could be both. Either way, I don't care.

And it's not just about work; it's about my profession in general. Yes, journalism has always been exciting -- reporting, editing, enlightening the world one perfectly crafted word at a time, but everything just seems a bit dull these days. In fact, last night I actually thought about a career in music. Fortunately or unfortunately I couldn't quite work out the logistics of that grand plan, and quickly dismissed it as just another fleeting whim.

Which brings us back to journalism. The only thing I've ever thought I'd be good at. The only career for me because you get to express yourself (with minimal editing, if you're lucky), poke around in other people's affairs, and get paid for it (insert loose definition of "paid" here). So what's the problem?

I really don't know. And at this point, I barely care.

To Pick Up and Leave ... Again

It's time again to leave home to go home. Bombay, you've been beautiful. I'll miss you terribly you unruly, lawless, chaotic city, you.

This City by the Arabian Sea

I'm starting to fall in love with Bombay all over again. Damn, it's such a crazy city in the most fantastic sort of way. There's a perpetual racket regardless of where you go, and nobody seems to care. Rather they thrive in this noise and chaos, and helpfully advise you to follow their lead. And so I have. Over the last few days I've literally gone with the flow of 13 million people, tapping into the old, forgotten Bombayite (still not a Mumbaikar) in me. I've assertively stuck my hand out and crossed a bustling road as 10 cars and autos race towards me, I've haggled till I'm blue in the face, and I've chit-chatted in Bombay Hindi with all and sundry (trusting no one, still). Today, I spent a long evening with childhood friends, and had the time of my life. Now I've come home to loud music being played at some neighborhood party that's broken through the routine of a somewhat quiet evening, and quickly destroyed all plans of sleeping early. But that's OK. 'Coz, damn, that's just Bombay. Everything is out of the ordinary, things rarely go according to plan, and, as long as you don't fight it, life in this mad, mad city has a way of working out rather perfectly.

An Exciting Time in Your Life

Today I was reminded that it's critical to stand up to rude smurfs (polite terminology for obnoxious prick). If only others on my team remembered it too.

In other, less life-altering news, Bombay's on red alert these days, as security personnel prepare to counter potential terror attacks. The place is crawling with cops, some comfortably situated behind mile-high bags of cement, others peering out from easily visible camouflaged land rovers. All this because the World Cup cricket matches will make their way to Bombay next week, and authorities don't want a rehash of the November, 2008 attack. Apparently cops have also been quite active in ambushing any semblance of love (both, the slurpy and non-slurpy kind) on our otherwise cultured, traditionally sound streets. If a man and woman are holding hands, they're in for a rough time. It's just not what Indians do, y'see. (we do other things, but more on that some other time.)

Today has been a highly productive first-day-of-wedding shopping day. Already I'm tired of shopping, though, (never thought I'd say that), and I have another 10 days to go. This is why people go on honeymoons right after a wedding -- not to celebrate love (and hold hands, albeit rather discreetly in some places), but to recover from an exhausting experience. Fun and exciting for sure, but mostly exhausting.

Too bad I'm jetlagged, or I'd be asleep right now. Either way I'm off to calm my terribly frayed nerves.

O&O,
D