Wholly day

Pun aside, today was different.

No office work meant looseness and lightness.

This despite yet another night of troubled sleep. I overslept because I underslept when it matters.

A mild headache. Lazy coffee. In fact, no making bed before. Playing with the feline before reaching out for the ground coffee jar. Then, despite the summery winter sun pelting down, sitting on the chair on the kitchen balcony and reading.

What? <em>Blindsight</em> by Peter Watts. That's the seventh or the thirteenth book I'm currently on.

But this one is different. It's captivating. Like Alastair Reynolds openings. Not familiar? Try <em>Chasm City</em> or <em>Absolution Gap</em>.

Then came the hard part. Looking for bank documents and realising that your relatively neat organisational strategy is not nearly as good as you think it is. Three hours. Seemingly lost things rediscovered. Old cards and memories.

Hunger is abated by Quaker's oatmeal. I pack and I set off to a couple of banks. Or so I think.

The first one only exists on Google Maps. Then off to another branch that you know has to continue to exist beyond Google servers.

A bit of a wait. More of Peter Watts. Extremely difficult to focus on hard sci-fi over harsh voices of disenchanted patrons.

I get a less-than-adequate resolution eventually. It's so because adequate is either difficult or impossible.

Quickly off to the second bank, which was almost empty. So much nicer and got done real quick. Like in two (literal) minutes. Faster than Maggi by a lot.

Then a new Keralaite restaurant. A mild disappointment because it was too homely.

Then back home. The help has brought new feathers. Another long play session. Some tea and cake before heading south.

Fleshing out my latest sci-fi short story idea on the train. Got at least two original hooks in the process. Have to say that I surprised and pleased myself.

The day is wholly. "Not bad," I say to myself, like everyone else says when they mean "Is good."

Home, Worrisome Home

The phrase "home, sweet home"* does not make a lot of sense, at least in my own life.  All these seemingly glorified images of coming home, kicking back your shoes, and enjoying the treasures of life, do not seem to resonate with my life living in Mumbai. Although I am partnered, I don't live in with my partner. In fact, I need to divide by "home time" between three locations. All of these locations have issues that need fixing. 

What is this bullshit that I hear about people going home to relax? Why don't we also start believing in fairies and magic beans?

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 2, 2015

First of all, I need to make it to the place I am staying over on any particular night through the chaotic mess referred to as public transportation. This is probably the most stressful part of my day. People on the roads seem to be so low in self-esteem that they seem to channel their anger/rage through horns and bizarre driving. Of course, the remarkably unintuitive traffic rules/regulations don't help.

Once I reach my destination, there are dozens of things that need to be done, including chores and errands, and my time is usually spent in fixing things. Apart from these are the things that you need to tackle in other supposedly pleasurable aspects of your life--news to catch up with, e-mails to respond, people to communicate with, socializations to be planned, shows to watch/listen, photos to work on, songs to work on, things to rehearse, and books to finish.

By the time you are done with a couple of these things, you are so exhausted and want to go to bed. In bed, you drift away worrying about how to tackle the pending issues and about not getting enough sleep that night. When you wake up, you feel tired and you have to start to work.

The trend of finding home as a stressful aspect of life is not something that I have picked up after moving to Mumbai. For most of my life with my family, I dreaded going home and confront my parents and/or relatives. I used to like going over to my friends' places because I found them more open, inviting, and stress-free.

So tell me again--where's the "sweet" part of our own homes?

(PS: If you are wondering about the punctuation of the phrase, please check this link.)