I Hate My Job

And just how many times have I said this?

I'm so sick of corporate bullshit, being taken for a ride, being undermined by utter dumb-asses and egotistical morons, being mismanaged and having to put up with all of this shit for the sake of a paycheck.

I want to go home. And I just think I will.

Change Change Change

"On this day, November 6, 2008, change has come to India" I mutter to myself with glee as I note that Ekta Kapoor's Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi has finally taken it's last saans. And woe to the millions of housewives out there who find themselves bereft of yet another glycerine, makeup and designer saree filled family saga.

A lot of the housewives out there don't really care as long as they get some program or the other to occupy their time with. Big deal if KSBKB has drawn it's last painstaking breath. There will be others like it; maybe even more 'daring' than it. Ekta's still raking in the moolah, coming up with even weirder serials with plotlines suspiciously like the last 100 movies churned out by Bollywood. This time she's just decided not to start all her serials with K. Sigh. I yearn for the time when they'd air sensible stuff like Alpaviram (Comma/Coma), Margarita and even Woh, which was based on Stephen King's It; with or without his permission.

For now I satisfy myself with Saturday Night Live and laughing at Sarah Palin lookalikes. At least somethings are more watchable than Indian cricket. Let me duck NOW!

Finding One's Tongue. Again.

Swallowing one's pride can sometimes make the world a better place to live in. I've taken after my dad in many things, one of which is the possession of a massive ego, which, if slighted, can move me to stop speaking to the offender.

Childish. I know. But somewhere in me the eternal idealist still strives, despising the people who turn out to be contrary to her ideals. Immature. Yeah, yeah. However, there is still hope for, I have found, I'm growing up! I resumed speaking to one such person today and we more or less picked up where we didn't leave off; which is probably a good thing because that had been a pretty bad scene. At least I don't have to desperately wish her into thin air every time I see her now.

I wonder what will come of my dad who sometimes refuses to even speak to his own children and has stopped speaking to most of his family, anyway. 58 seems like a pretty grown-up age, you know.

Oh Bah Ma

Well. I don't believe it. He won after all. I have had to eat my hat, as it were. Amidst the elation of the Americans having had the sense to vote for the better man, however, I did realise that Obama's flame might just peter out all too soon. It's quite easy to make moving speeches and promise people the moon when you're depending on their vote. But once you take office, you're just too busy trying to make everyone happy that you forget what got you voted in the first place.

Perhaps Obama will change all that. Perhaps the world will become a better place, after all. I'd like him to start with the withdrawal of troops from Iraq and Afghanistan (and goodness knows where else) and then focus on maybe whatever else he promised the millions.

Optimism sure feels good. And I have cotton in my mouth.

Horror Autotoxicus

Oh alright, it isn't so bad as all that; I just always liked that term and wondered why no one had converted it into a Hollywood movie title yet.

The trouble with people like me who fall sick too rarely - sometimes not even once a year - is that when you do fall sick, you tend to, well, blow it up a little.

Like take last week, when I was in bed with a fever and then an allergy that came about in reaction to the fever, I was convinced I was close to death. Then when my face swelled up because of the urticaria I managed to develop after coming to Chennai, I was sure I'd never be well again. I'd take a sick sort of pleasure in flashing my hive-ridden arms at my boyfriend and earning coos of consolation from him. And then when the fever kept me in bed all day and I found nothing palatable, I contemplated what death would be like especially when brought on by starvation. Of course, I can tell you I didn't like it one bit that his mum kept forcing me out of bed and stuffing me with food every chance she got. What, can't one even suffer in dignity. Inconsiderate is what I call it.

Then imagine my glee when my fever relapsed and I sallied forth bravely to work, determined to show my boss that I wasn't lying when I demanded for and got five days' worth of sick leave. Hustled back home, on dying limbs, I collapsed into bed immediately, not knowing whether or not I'd see the light of day. Of course, I did, having been woken up from my slumber by my noisy roommates who for some reason had decided it would be very exciting to make a delicious breakfast - while I lay sleeping and half-dying on the couch.

In any case, several courses of medication later, here I am, back at work. Not dead yet, much to the relief of my friends and dear ones (I know you're out there no matter how much you may like to pretend otherwise!). And not being eaten alive by some dreaded allergy. And just to prove that they mean well, my bosses have given me night shift again this month. Sigh.