Me time and me thoughts :)

“Me” time is a rarity these days. It is always “errand” time, “work” time, “training” time, “family” time, “friends” time, even “story book” time or “music” time can find a mention, but no “me” time, whatsoever. And you might rightly ask if all these factors don’t form a part of me. Yes, they do, but me time is exploration time. Time to ask myself how I feel, what I want…that has apparently stopped. Because I don’t anymore think about a future. I am contended with my present, if not happy.

As I write this, in my mind I am traveling in a BMTC bus, the one that connected my office to my home bus stop at BTM (mostly me and bhai would meet up and have dinner at Friends restaurant – I love the food there – only place where I can get at least some vestiges of European cuisine in Bangalore – and it was curiously a beer only restaurant – I never saw them serve other drinks. I could never have beer there, because bhai would make a face, but I could smell it at least). That bus goes via Jayanagar, all of 3^rd block, 4^th block and 9^th block are covered in the route. I love that stretch. All lighted up, nice shops, small quaint houses (almost a mirror image of a posh south Kolkata locality) – I miss the long distance travel. Sitting like a queen in the back seat of my car is not my idea of traveling. I am a middle class girl, who has struggled all her life. I like traveling by buses, well, at my present financial status, a less crowded bus where I might manage a window seat would definitely be preferred. In Bangalore, in the last couple of years, I had stopped taking the bus in the morning. But in the evening, if I wouldn’t be too tired, I’d rather wait for such a bus.

I slept early yesterday. Was exhausted. I don’t want to explain why, it seems futile. But then I know myself, and I’d be the last person on earth, trying to change myself. Well, I am lucky in a way, that I have got parents who don’t impose either. Really, it is not easy to get “if she is happy digging her own grave, let her do that” kinda parents. As of now, I don’t want to talk about it, talking would re induce the pain I have numbed with much effort. 

I don’t feel I need to worry too much about myself. The way the world is heading, there is not much to think anyways. It is now totally in grip of terrorism it seems. I was talking to dad the other day. And he told me how the world was almost recreated after the world wars. So all is not over yet.

Really, why do we indulge mania? We should not. If we just manage to keep our sentiments even, the world would be so much of a better place. I am one girl who thoroughly believes in freedom of expression. At least that shouldn’t be bossed over. 

Misinterpretation is an equally threatening crime. “Our God wants this…” – did God speak to you? “He’s spoken through his scriptures” – and who interpreted the scriptures?

I like this Kolkata life better than the Bangalore life. It is easy. The winter season is my favorite anyways. I am falling into a rhythm gradually. Yes, I am not too happy with the work and the workplace, but I am happy in general. Except for some nerve wrecking incidents which I probably imagine mostly in my head. Life is not beautiful, but it is not bad either. I wish I’d find my copy of Doctors, it seems very very important that I read the story once again. Re reading Hema and Kaushik wouldn’t have hurt either, but oh, somebody please retrieve my copy of Unaccustomed Earth, I can’t bear to get the paperback version for myself, and that is all that is available in the book shops.

I watched a documentary recently at the university, on the corruptions involved in the South City project. It touched a chord…I remembered how I had first gone to a theater, Nandan that too, to watch a documentary, after the “no theater before your +2 board exams” restriction was over. If I ever had any lady like grace, it was at that time, when I was turning 18. Otherwise I have always been this clumsy little girl, before and after. 

And right now I am traveling the lanes of Ballygunge Place. Climbing up the staircase to the mezzanine  floor classroom where I’d take my maths coaching classes. Sundays would be for the average students, Thursdays would be for the good students. But that apart, I have a lot of love and respect for my maths teacher. Way he used to call me লক্ষ্মী মেয়ে ...way he understood my love for mathematics, though I didn't have the talent. I remember this time of the year, dad would be having his reunion meetings at his institute after picking me up from the coaching class, I'd sit in the car and do sums in the dim twilight - clumsy or whatever, I have always been a nice girl :)

Well you can as well add mom's story too (that she and dad used to take me to a crazy doctor when I was an infant, and he'd distort my name...yet she'd understand it is I who's being called)...I don't wanna go for car servicing man, I wanna sit and write...someone please give me some me time...