A sneeze and voila!

Achooo! Sniffles... tchooo! Sho as you can see, I hab a bad cold, a bery stuphy nosh, and I am breathing with my mouth. I was wondering what to write for the 15th (and if you thought thinking with mucus filled nostrils is easy, you are in for a surprise sometime soon) when it struck me that the last week had been rather unusual. In fact it was made to order for this post. So here is my piece of India turning a glorious 58.

Monday saw me back at the hostel. I had packed in a pair of extra T's and trousers for a just-in-case outing, but the extra weight in the rucksack had me cursing my imaginative thinking, for thinking way too imaginatively. Whom will I go out with! The day passed quite ok for a Monday - I even got some work done. The night's menu at the mess was aloo parantha and chole. Sumptuous to say the least - God bless the cook. A tells me the cook has changed since I started eating there. I slept early that day, because I had an 8 o'clock meeting.

Next day the chap at shop where I have breakfast looked decidedly crestfallen upon seeing me. Looking quite guilty, he told me that he was out of milk packets (and there went my breakfast), so I had to make do with a packet of Parle G biscuits. Almost slept during the meeting and didn't get caught either. The day passed quickly, as did the evening. At midnight, I saw S peering into the monitor at a graph. He was upset. "This looks like an egg," he said pointing towards the graph. It really did, suddenly when AN suggested he was really feeling ravenous for an omelet. Impromptu decisions like this always catch me off guard, but I guess I had been primed by S's egg - and so we went at 12:30pm to hunt for the omelet-waale-bhaiyya, who AN informed us, had his stall under the nearby flyover. After trekking for 15 minutes, we found in a dark street with no sign of any omelets and were getting ready to beat up AN, when he pointed out a guy selling egg-paranthas. A Delhi police gypsy was parked nearby. We got four egg-paranthe, one paneer and one onion parantha back to the office, and made short work of our midnight snack.

I slept in the office that night, on a sleeping bag I keep in my cupboard. Early next day I got a call from Y. She wanted me to come to the bank to get a draft made. Over then last few weeks, she has been coaxing me to join Spanish classes. She wanted to learn German, but I have an inclination for the more passionate, and so it was I who managed to influence the senorita's choice. Now she was after my blood to register for the course before the last date. Where is the fun in that? After the pilgrimage to the bank, I came back and finished my project appraisal report. Just when I noticed the skin beneath my eyes had turned red. Upon inspection, I found that some insect had found my face and neck the right location to practice... ballet; and had chalked out its footsteps in itchy, red lacerations. I saw S look at me with a smug face, and point to his computer screen. He had been watching "A Bug's Life," just as I was discovering the silk route on my flawless skin.

Though no doctor will tell you this, having chicken curry for dinner will heal all wounds. Therefore, when Z asked me out for a movie on Thursday, I was ecstatic. I was searching for someone crazy enough to accompany me to "Madagascar," and I was almost sure I would have to go see it by myself. However, when "you gotta move it, move it" - it's always better if you find someone to move it with you. Therefore, I finished all work on Thursday, and braved the messy continental dinner at the hostel mess (trust me you do not want to know the menu). I made it in time for an early morning meeting next day, and then summoned enough courage to tell the boss I would be out till lunch, dressed up in my imaginatively-thought-out-spare-trouser and made for my rendezvous with Z. Madagascar was mad, and Z's smile was infectious. So, I returned back to work happy and very hungry for lunch. Even though I had just noticed the nasty black paint streaks on my t-shirt from the freshly painted, and left without a "wet-paint" notice, bar stool at McDonald's, when G called sounding decidedly furtive on the phone, I was all ears. A very giggly conversation followed, which had S quite puzzled as he was waiting for me to order lunch. I had postponed going home to Saturday morning, so I had Friday evening completely free. I offered a shop-for-books-and-eat-out to Y, who agreed immediately. We walked (and that I made Y walk for half-an-hour had her getting quite murderous) to a bookstore, which to our dismay we found was closing down. We rummaged through their clearance sale, and Y picked up some kiddy books for her nephew. Some CD's and a meal later, I dropped Y back at her place and walked back to mine.

Next morning I woke up to the bad cold. I had to go to my cousin sister's place that my parents were visiting. From where I was driven back home by the new driver my parents have appointed, as I am no longer around to drive the car. I felt strangely envious of the driver at the wheel, somehow as if he had snatched something that was very much mine. In spite of chicken stews and prawn curries, my cold became worse. When I told G about my cold, her solution was "Mint Tea and Eucalyptus," while A at work showed me a Yoga exercise to get rid of the cold. Sunday morning, cold still there, Dad was getting ready to go shop for the groceries, when he went into the kitchen and asked Mom, "Okay! Now tell me what all you don't need." I poured over the TV listings to find the repeat telecast timings of Desperate Housewives episode I missed on Friday. I saw a movie called "Sehar" on cable. Pirated obviously. The movie, however, had Pankaj Kapoor. Brilliant. The housewives were in line after the movie. Does a cold also bring down testosterone levels, or were the housewives a bit tamer today? I switched channels to find this old track, playing:


Tu hi meri aarzoo, Tu hi meri aabroo,
Tujpe dil kurbaan.

Tere daaman se jo aayen, un hawaaon ko salaam,
Choom loon mai us zubaan ko, jispe aaye tera naam,
Sabse pyaari subah teri, sabse rangee teri shaam,
Tujpe dil kurbaan.


I looked at the clock - it was 12am. Should I wish everybody a Happy Independence Day? Naah. I think this is more in order -

Jai Hind!