Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Standing opposite Rani Meyyammai girls' school on RK Mutt road, I was once again reflecting deeply on how utterly jobless I was. Those who are friends, have seen my Facebook profile or my gtalk status, please forgive me as I say for possibly the 329th time - jobless, in every sense! Almost all my friends were employed (as e-coolies) or abroad (as Gosh-I'd-Forgotten-How-Hot-India-Gets-I-Need-My-Mineral-Water NRIs in the making!), and here I was, clearly not getting used to unemployment. Now that I'd resigned from Infy, and was no longer getting a salary and having squandered most of my savings on flight tickets (for a good cause! I shall come to that later.), I could no longer afford the conveyance for the well-to-do. Yup, that three-wheeled contraption, with a glass pane covered with Rajni/Ajith/Vijay stickers leaving about as much space as a peephole through which the world of chaos and expletives (popularly known as Chennai traffic) was to be viewed, behind which sat a usually loud mouthed-beedi smoking gentleman whose singular, unwavering justification for hiking the fare by 300% always remained "petrol velai eriduchu, sir", behind which sat a metal box (called an autorickshaw meter) for strictly ornamental purposes, behind which sat a fool who'd beaten down the aforementioned gentleman's quote from 300% to 275% in a weak attempt at a fair bargain, behind which sat a rear engine which generally whined louder than the aforementioned fool. (If I go further back, it might become Panchathanthiram revisited.)
Bored me had to go somewhere. Stingy me was too afraid to shell out non-existent currency notes for a cup of bad coffee in a dimly-lit room masquerading to be a cozy-hangout-for-the-young-and-restless. Clever me decided to hit the beach. But how?
That was when, as I have already once mentioned in my blog, magic happened. I turned. There was a horrible sensation that I was being squeezed through a rubber tube; I could not draw breath, every part of me was compressed almost past endurance and then, just when I thought I would suffocate, the invisible bands burst open, and I was standing in the open, breathing in lungfuls of fresh, salty air. Though the previous statement, an almost word-for-word lift from The Half Blood Prince might suggest I had performed a side-along apparition with about 20 others, the fact remained that I had, in fact, travelled in a 29C bus to Besant Nagar. Ah, it's good to be back in Chennai!
1. What's that great escape thing?
The great escape mentioned in the last post was my successful getaway from Bhubaneswar.
2. What are you doing in Chennai?
I had no other place to go well, at least for a week.
3. So where are you going after a week?
4. But why?
5. What? When did you write CAT?!
November 2007, obviously
6. Why didn't you tell me?
Sorry! But now you know!
7. Who's supposed to be asking all these questions?
The people in my schizophrenic mind. The ones I'm delusional enough to think still read my blog.
8. What the hell is the title supposed to mean?
I'd promised more if you watch this space, hadn't I?
9. What were you doing outside a girls' school?
My aunt lives close by. Promise!