Love Hurts

It is my last couple of weeks in Chennai now and I am growing increasingly paranoiac with each passing day. That I have fallen in love with this dusty, sweaty, over-polluted, hot and humid city is no secret to you all. And the more I write about how nice the city is the angrier few of the readers (especially those who hail from the North Indian states and don’t want to be called ‘Northie’) get. So I shall refrain from writing out my love for this great city and go back to writing what I know about – manager bashing, may be. But hey, I did that in my previous post and there is only so much I could crib about a bad manager when I know there are worse.

A couple of days back I was talking to this friend from my school days and as we were talking about life and career and stuff, I told him how much I hate this freaking IT job and how I am not tech-savvy and how awkward it feels when I am supposed to pretend to be an expert at something that I don’t know head or tail of. And then he asked me what my passion in life is. I was tempted to say, “My passion in life is to eat, sleep, read, write and shop – in that order. If anyone is going to pay me to do any of these, then that is the kind of profession I am looking at.” But he was not the kind who would appreciate my pathetic jokes. In the end I said something and he went on to give a lecture about how ‘passion’ is something that ‘doesn’t let you sleep’ and how it ‘keeps you charged’ all the time. After an hour or so of lecture, he hung up. But I had started thinking – is there anything I am really passionate about? Something that I keep thinking of all the time? Something that I want to do for the rest of my life? Something that is not eating, sleeping, reading, writing or shopping? After a couple of hours of thought, I gave up. May be I am not old enough to have a passion as yet. Well, who am I kidding? I should have a passion by now; I should be on my way to excel in it. Although I am so not Sidharth Mehra from ‘Wake Up Sid’ who lives life carefree, happy to be spending his father’s hard-earned money, I don’t think I am any better than him in realizing my potential or at least in knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. Anyways, I am not going to write about finding my passion either.

By the way, the big fat ticket inspector from the MTC (to know more about this character read this) has made it a habit to harass everyone from school children to construction workers. I see him almost everyday sitting on his bike with his entourage of ticket checkers who I am very sure receive a part each of the “collection” and what am I doing there? Well, just standing and watching and writing about it on my blog. Sigh…

Well, finally what I want to say is: I love Chennai. Yes, despite such foul-language speaking MTC ticket checkers and even worse auto-walahs and the dirty beaches. I love this city and it kills me every time I think I have to move away.