I love winter. Unfortunately, in Chennai, winter does not exist.
The seasons in Chennai, as the old joke goes, are hot, hotter and hottest. There is no cold season. There is no time of year wherein we are shivering in our boots and puffing out clouds of steam from between our frozen lips. Heck, we don't even have a clearly defined monsoon. The rains here are a mere sprinkle. If the sprinkle goes on for a whole day, we get floods. And then you have to get a boat out just to get to the end of the street.
The only time I wear a jacket in Chennai is when I am riding my two wheeler, to protect me from the sun. A five minute walk down the road during the daytime in Chennai results in a deep tan and profuse sweating. As we mop our brow, we curse our choice of birthplace and/or settlement.
And when we reach our offices, we have to clean up and douse ourselves with deodorant afresh as we move into our - thankfully - airconditioned offices.
Which is why we who live in Chennai object fiercely to Bangaloreans describing to us the wonderful weather out there. Have a heart, people, and think of those who are less fortunate than yourselves...
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Mobile Appendages
Sometimes mobile phones feel like extra appendages. I'm not talking about the women who are on calls for seemingly the whole day long at ought to have them sewn onto their ears. Bluetooth headsets are good enough for them.
It's not even about the constant attention they demand: needs fuel - keep it charging; feels out of sorts - run to a mobile technician and spend three woeful days without it till you wonder how you'd ever survived without one in the first place; buzzing every other few minutes - you feel at ease for you know that all is well with the world.
No, it's just about how personal they are. When someone fingers my mobile phone, just to check out the model, I can't help but be taken aback with a short catch of the breath. Then I see them unlock it and the uneasiness grows. They're violating my precious. Some people don't think much of going through your pictures either without so much as an if you please. That's ok till they get to the embarrassing pictures I'd clicked of myself just to check out how my hair looked (but of course).
The worst are the text message readers. I don't think they exist anymore, now that cellphone users have evolved. But in the early days of cellphone communication, they wouldn't think much of rifling through your messages for any 'interesting forwards' even if the only interesting messages in there were the extra-private ones sent by your boyfriend.
Once it is back safely into my hands again, I let out a little sigh of relief and run my fingers over it vowing to never let it out of my sight again. My precious... ahem.
It's not even about the constant attention they demand: needs fuel - keep it charging; feels out of sorts - run to a mobile technician and spend three woeful days without it till you wonder how you'd ever survived without one in the first place; buzzing every other few minutes - you feel at ease for you know that all is well with the world.
No, it's just about how personal they are. When someone fingers my mobile phone, just to check out the model, I can't help but be taken aback with a short catch of the breath. Then I see them unlock it and the uneasiness grows. They're violating my precious. Some people don't think much of going through your pictures either without so much as an if you please. That's ok till they get to the embarrassing pictures I'd clicked of myself just to check out how my hair looked (but of course).
The worst are the text message readers. I don't think they exist anymore, now that cellphone users have evolved. But in the early days of cellphone communication, they wouldn't think much of rifling through your messages for any 'interesting forwards' even if the only interesting messages in there were the extra-private ones sent by your boyfriend.
Once it is back safely into my hands again, I let out a little sigh of relief and run my fingers over it vowing to never let it out of my sight again. My precious... ahem.
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