The same circle of faintly pretentious faintly good blogs, the same breakfasts, the same wet, salty, heavy air, the same face in the mirror. (Not same, exactly, though. I believe I see the precursor of a zit on my forehead. Definitely absent yesterday.)
I tried to drive it away with books, so many books, and I ate them all with the desperate sort of grabbing hunger that you see in middle class people for upperclass-hood and therefore for plasticsheet-protected sofas and dustjacket-bound English books that nobody reads. I met people and drank oversweet tepid coffee and warm masala pepsi and took buses home that surprisingly went nowhere close to home and walked beach promenades and lost a slipper to the Bay of Bengal and made a sand angel halfway to Pondicherry (if you see it, it's the one wearing a tipsy crown) and ate furiously off roadsides, which were all good enough experiences in themselves I guess, but now I'm out of things to do (bad) and out of people to meet (good) and the very sight of books is annoying me, which only annoys me further, and that halfheartedly albino man who was in Johnny Gaddaar is singing incessantly on the bloody TV and my idiot sister is singing with him and one of these days there is going to be a hole in the TV screen the shape of my sister's head.
Jagdish Bhagwati should be compulsory reading at undergrad level at least... the whole concept of a pointwise defence of globalisation is very appealing. There are some issues with what I believe are patches of unwarranted optimism, but it's a very nicely laid out argument overall. Order and method, order and method.
Which reminds me... how hot is Bips? Really. Phew. (Observe how I say 'Bips' like I've been living next door to her and lending her one cup dahi everyday all my life.)
Also on hot-list was Obama, though his sex appeal quotient fell rapidly from greek-god to snotface-perv when the US tripled aid to Pakistan. What the feckin fish, what? Sorry Obama-man. You're going to have to settle for Michelle. Who is not a bad bargain actually, except that she:
1. Doesn't have my sparkling personality, and
2. Has too many double-toned fluorescent dresses.
Point two should be sufficient to draw sharp and flattering (to self) contrast to self.
If I have to face one more morning with nothing to look forward to but breakfast, and then nothing to anticipate but lunch, I will murder a cat for the sheer activity of it. I swear I will.
If you live in a different city, invite me home. Now.