If you’re a computer geek enthusiast you probably don’t get up at 8:00 in the morning. You definitely don’t get up that early if it is a freaking friday or saturday or any day when you don’t have to go to work or school. I got up at 8:00 am last Friday and that, dear friend, has changed my world.
I attributed this change to the fact that I am now a grown up and all that. I am 21 after all. I am doing an internship in an effort to educate myself on that world where they wear crisp cotton shirts and silk ties. I’ll be graduating in another 5 months or so. I think I should be adequately prepared. To confidently and enthusiastically go out there and say ‘WHADDUP bitches!?’ to all those men and women in crisp cotton shirts and silk ties. Oh but I digress. This post has nothing to do with my internship but my naivety.
On a side-note, do not ever shout out ‘WHADDUP bitches’. Anyone who wears a suit finds such a question insulting. They expect everyone, interns included, to know that the only thing above the pantry-room is the ceiling. They also expect me to know that they are neither my homies nor bitches. You’ll learn bitching learn what and who the bitch is. That said my internship is actually fun.
That Friday morning was historic in its deviation from history. I think I actually heard birds chirp on a weekend after getting up. I felt that I had effectively been granted knighthood in that kingdom of the wise. After all I was 21. Going to work 5 times a week. I had worked for a couple of weeks and had successfully controlled every single urge to hear Kimya Dawson sing ‘I wish I was a tree’ on speakers. I had taken up a gym membership. I had even changed my ring tone! I thought that I had arrived. That I was finally ready. Yea, all that because I got up at eight in the morning discounting the fact that I had actually slept thirteen hours.
I signed a blog pact.
Every week me and my two room-mates have to blog at least once. Financial penalties have been incorporated to ensure the sustainability of such a pact. Now, the thing is one of my friend is so prolific a writer that he churns out posts faster than Sachin makes runs. I kid you not. Three blog posts this week. The other is so verbose a person that he has more to talk about than Arunadhiti Roy has issues to take up. Actually that is not the thing. The thing is that I only have a few hours to go before I hit the deadline. Memories of that Friday morning, which seemed to herald the rise of a new world order, no longer evocate feelings which resonate with me anymore.
Yes, I want to be productive. Yes, I like blogging and the pact has ensured that I did. Yet, something feels amiss. I’ve been to my gym in less than three times in the last week. I forget to polish my shoes and have my breakfast in a cab. I don’t have the energy to watch a movie at night or sit and work for hours. The best I could come up with today was a plan to go clubbing tonight. I am here blogging instead. Things that I took for granted seem to have been replaced by a list which starts with doing dirty laundry. I had envisioned a semblance of order in the hustle-bustle my life was. I am now a passenger – on a conveyor belt.
Like a rivulet merging into a great sea. Coalescing into an entity with no boundaries. With waves invigoratingly intense. With salt that adds to pain. With salt that adds flavor.
It is not that I fear unchartered depths. It is the only place the big blue whales can call home.
It is the cognizance of turbulence that precedes such phase shifts that is disheartening.