And I am back to blogging… once more.
Sabbatical. On a break. What-cha-might-call-it. And its good to be back. And will stay that way.
Although I passed out of college in July last year still the euphoria of friends around me all the time was strong. Reminiscing all the good times, scandals and the likes. Some left for gora desh and other gora desh-es.
Some even left for further prospects in apna desh.And I was still pondering at the crossroads.
Sitting at home and wondering whether I’d be fitting as a researcher or as a manager was indeed torture topped with dollops of renovation work driving me to my wits’ end aaand a persistent brother persisting me to coax my Pop to buy “us” a 2 wheeler.
That wasn’t it, since now I was home ALL the time the chores’ burden rest on my shoulders. It was as if I did not move a finger at all! Not fair, I did move to Cuba and Bangkok for indefinitely when I had to complete a job for my Mafia on Facebook :P
Thinking about those choices (Management vs. Research) and in the situation (or dump called my home) I can’t say that I didn’t explore those choices.
See, I had to search for a house to live in temporarily while my home was getting renovated not forgetting rummaging through the designs of bathroom tiles, hunt for a contemporary kitchen designer, and also learn enlightening things like what happens when wall tiles and floor tiles are switched or to know how a perfectly good kitchen bowl can be turned into a cocktail of cement puke.
That was the research part.
Management part was inbuilt:
Operations Management was the result of the workers’ research. Cutting granite into 3 inch long strips first and then joining them together into a single whole was their idea, and at the receiving end of my dad's wrath.
It was also managing the space at home i.e. Human Resource(s) management. Since my research to find a spare apartment was hopeless, my bedroom turned into a kitchen; bathroom was the dressing room and living room was out of the house. I cursed myself for having so much furniture lying around that banging my toe each time I entered any room was so routine I did it once to see if I was still conscious.
Noise was nothing. Meaning it was so goddamn much you could hear nothing but it!
I mean it was the constant drilling, cutting, hammering, breaking, welding which felt like listening to a badly recorded death metal CD. Two days of hammering later our maid was absconding and was heard to have been advised by her doctor to go to her native to treat her ears.
There was so much cement and rock bits lying around the house that I wouldn’t be surprised to have inhaled from the air or ingested some with my food like a garnish.
I think while asleep at night and dreaming; I must have dreamt to have woken up just out of the blue laughing out loud and then coughing out a cement block- which later I would have used to upgrade my chop shop in Mafia Wars. :D
Some neighbours were empathetic and some lauded our effort to stay alive in the mayhem of muddle and misery. I used to beam and receive the compliments gracefully.
Little did they know how desperate I was to just stay out of my own home. Thanks to my really good friends I was kept virtually sane by hanging out with them from time to time; out of my house obviously; else I would have shrieked with agony and crouched into a fetal position with the remotest prospect of having to hear another hammering sound.
Food was next on the management agenda. Call it (Not-visiting-the-)Hospital and Healthcare Management.
Since the kitchen was officially in the bedroom, the idea of sleeping next to the cylinder is like sleeping with a ticking time bomb.
Thus we had to order food in, so much so that the regular joint anna had my address by heart and sometimes my order too. It goes like this:
Me: Hello, VinVin Hotel??
Anna: Haan, bolo..
Me: Address likho. V for- (interrupts)
Anna: Haan. Veee for victory, Duss-a number-a?
Me: Haan haan barabar. Order hai- (interrupts again)
Anna: Duss-a Chap-pati, Ekk-a Bhindi Masala aur-a… aur-a… Ekk-a Daal Fraay??
Me: (Surprised) Haan bhej dena.. (Slams the phone)
Then I get a call. It was anna.
Me: Hello?
Anna: Haan. Madam-a aaj-a Rs. 500 ka change-a nahi chaiye?
Me: :O
A week later Anna calls me and tells me that his chapatti-wala has gone to his native and he insists that I switch to roti now.
Our daily dependence on Anna’s vegetarian fare was so much that I guess he must have recovered the costs of his daughter’s wedding.
Finally the renovation work got completed, and so did my “pondering”, a good 3 months 20 days later. The work done was great. Beautiful marble and granite flooring, larger windows, wider space, brighter walls. I didn't feel like I lived in an Adam's Family-ish home.
I was happy. My hope was beautiful, livable. It somehow paid out handsomely for bearing the so called torture and misery. Cloud called renovation had a silver lining afterall.
I was happy. So happy that I screamt my lungs out in joy and punched the air in the jubilation of not having to see another stranger lying around my house.
It was then that dad broke the news.
Dad: I think the bathroom needs to be redone….
Me: (Swoon) (Thud)
