Home alone

Long hiatus that. I’ve been home for the last four days and have had the entire house to myself, with nobody to tell me what to eat, when and how much. Nobody to tell me not to pace the entire compound with a cell to my ears for hours, and being able to do as little cleaning as I could possibly do, making tea for myself, have my dog stare devotedly at me while I mix his food. The only minus point is the afternoons… feels like everyone has something useful to do with their lives except me. Which is so not true, says the CAT stuff on my table. But who listens to paper stacks anyway?

It seems like my life is one long series of transitions between preparing to leave for home from college, and packing my bags to go to college once I’m home. It’s nice to feel all grown up and caretaker of the house and dog and myself, but when I start feeling too that, I want to switch right back to goofing off and worrying my head about mundane little college things dawn to dusk. Oooh. Now I remember what it was that I’ve been thinking I should do and didn’t. I was supposed to give my dog a bath. Poor thing must be feeling like he’s being turned into some variant of rare steak. Dog steak. Ugh. Morbid.

To quote someone to whom I was proudly announcing how I’ve turned over a new leaf, I’m turning into one of them- an adult, those 40-something people, who get up early in the morning and go for a walk, have tea, sit down and read the paper, have breakfast, feed the dog. :o My gene-givers in Delhi are thrilled that I can take care of myself when need be, something I have been trying to drill into their heads for a while now. Sigh. Aren’t big people supposed to be smarter? At the moment I am imagining that I am at the foot of the Swiss Alps, with the melting snow giving the word bracing its meaning, just to be able to survive the infernal heat that is causing my hair to go all wet and frizzy. Discovered music channel VH1 recently, they play classic retro after 11 at night. Music to bored ears. Er.. literally. Oh God I am sorry, the whole world around me maroes PJs! And I mean EVERYone! It’s catching! :-s Dad once asked me isn’t the plural of mango mengo? And another time something about if how if you made my poor, unsuspecting dog stand on his head, he’d become someone some people worship. :’(

No fun news for a while.. is it such uneventful times? Or am I just too self-involved to not notice? I am Nero… I fiddle while my backyard burns. (VH1.. music.. summer.. backyard hot and burning.. you know?) Oh well, I’m beginning to give myself a headache so I think I’ll try to think of something more profound to write about the world and its peculiarities another time. Oh, apni zulfien from Taj Mahal is a lovely song. (yeah the only GK I have gathered in the past week is TV related) and this new movie Parineeta looks nice too. I love that old-worldly look and colour, like in Hallmark. Indian filmmakers should try it more. When they make period films, they make Devdas. Bah. All flamboyance, no substance. Chatting is quite an art, isn’t it? So is talking on the phone, for that matter. Precious few conversations which leave me with a nice taste in the mouth. Most are uncomfortable, fakely interesting, smalltalky or downright flaccid.Okay, before I get any nastier… it’s Wednesday night, in tandem with the last few notes of Sleeping Child, this is the sophist from purgatory, signing off. Life’s worth much more than sticking around when Kylie Minogue has begun screeching out her high-pitched emotions. Nite nite folks.