A day in the life of LIFE

Of late, I have found it extremely difficult to grab some good sleep at night. Changing the time at which I go to bed hasn’t helped either. I have tried pinning down a lot of reasons for my inadequate rest and have short listed a few potential ones. My party going room mates who, after their “fun” come home and bang the door so hard that the Secretary of the apartment we stay in thinks it’s a terrorist attack in our serene locality. You must however discount his description as he keeps going overboard each time even when he compares his grandson’s arms to John Abraham’s biceps. Well, not that my knowledge of biceps is great. It is as much as Shakira’s interest in Carnatic Classical music. But nevertheless, we all comment on things we are ignorant about, so it’s ok.

Where were we? Ah, yes, my room mates after their parties at the “ 24 x 7 Babu Chettan Chai Kada” opposite our flat, is one probable factor.

Next, it’s the vagaries in the Chennai weather that promote my indecision in judging whether to sleep with the bed sheet on, or otherwise. And even before I decide on this issue of National importance, I hear Bryan Adams singing to me. For a moment I am glad that I am dreaming, which implies that I am asleep, but all of a sudden, his voice grows larger than life. Now I am convinced that I am asleep since I am dreaming about being live at his concert.

And then I hear him intermixing his lyrics with Malayalam, Kannada and Bhojpuri ?? - Eventually driving me to realize that the three pain in the neck room mates of mine have a discussion on “How to celebrate Sonia Gandhi’s next birthday”, ably assisted by Bryan Adams, in the adjacent room. I shout at the top of my “melodious” voice like Bianca Castafiore’s [of Tintin fame] “Maaaarrrrrthaaaa”, till the volume is turned down.

I get back to counting the number of rows in a Microsoft Excel sheet [counting sheep doesn’t quite gel with IT guys] and just as I reach the 29,967 th row count, my room mate’s mobile phone that he left back to sing a lullaby to me, croons with Himesh Reshmiya and his T Nagar police station 3rd degree torture voice.

I shout back over the voices of Bryan Adams, Himesh Reshmiya and the Mallu-Kandu-Bhoju (don’t know if this is the right word) combo, to take the constipated guy away.

As I settle back now, changing body postures to prevent body sores, I suddenly realize I need to get some water after all that shouting. But the challenge lies not in getting to the water can perched atop the kitchen sink, but to dodge the Z security maze that we’ve created four ourselves. Yes, two mosquito nets, a foldable dumping cot, a study table and a chair – all in one room can get quite crampy at times. I slide out of the net trying to evade the attention of the ever waiting mosquitoes; I maneuver the complex network of the rope/thread holding the two nets, in MI 2 style and eventually return after a refreshing drink of H2O.

Now I am all set to wage the Fifth Battle of Panipat ( not sure if there were four of them earlier, either) with the blood sucking parasites and as I brandish my swords like that of the last Samurai, I hear the door bell ring. No one else in the house wakes up as their intellectual discussions have concluded pretty late in the night and I go ahead and open the door to find my owner looking at me with the “ I know you IT guys – you party hard at night and don’t care to open the door at 6:30 in the morning” look. It’s morning already! I wonder, and get back to the bed like the security guard at my office after his night shift.

And as I learn to put up with all this, I am planning to invest in a couple of Ear plugs that would at least save me from answering the door bell - I hope!

Till then, My Dil goes zzzzz zzzzz zzzzz !! :)