Clarity, thou art hard to find...

Yes, even after 34 long years. Ok, may be I should make the number of years lesser because I'm sure I didn't try looking for clarity at four or 10 or even 15. At 20, maybe. In fact, I was quite sure I had found it. I was going to be a journalist. At that time, it was an all encompassing word, no shades attached. I had a job I loved and a clear head. This is where I belonged. At least for the time being. Until I found another newspaper or magazine that paid me better. Simple. Full and final.

Well, life, at least the so called professional part of it is not so final after all. Because here I am, 14 years down the line, confused as hell despite knowing where some of the answers are. I know that I do not want a full time job. The answer to that is in my guilt ridden mind and heart on the days I have a long assignment and have to pick A up late from the daycare. I know I want to freelance. But to what extent? Do I take whatever comes my way, work late nights, make my money and be happy? Or do I choose only the kind of stories that I really want to do even if those are few? Do I network and try to revive long lost contacts even if some them are masters in the art of cold shouldering or do I make myself believe that work will find me and sit tight no matter how implausible that may sound? Well I try it all. I take up crap edit jobs that make no sense except bring me a decent enough cheque which I promptly go and spend at the Strand Book Sale on vast amounts of books for myself and the child. I trudge halfway across town to meet a social worker for a story that will pay me lesser than the cab fare. I wonder whether to start a content writing service with a friend. I wonder whether to keep myself free, writing only what actually makes me feel good and not being the hyper when-will-I-be-busy-again kind of cranky person I usually am. And I wonder when will the focus, the clarity finally stop being elusive. Maybe when I do.

Of Goa, Bombay and other random stuff...

So the entire month of December 2008 was spent travelling. Well almost the entire month if you discount the 3 or 4 days of interim breaks in Bangalore that were spent in visiting dentist, cleaning dirty dishes left by absconding maid, fixing a non absconding one, attending budday parties and doing other such exhausting stuff. We drove to Karwar and Goa and as soon as we crossed the Karnataka border, a friend called to ask where we were. 'Goa,' I said, rolling the windows down to smell the (truck infested) air. 'Again?' She shrieked, 'don't you guys have any imagination?' Our trip to Hampi in between elicited mostly positive responses (That part of Karnataka is a must do, said one 'doer') but when we landed up in Bombay at the end of the year, most people laughed. 'You've actually wasted four precious days to holiday in Bombay!' the husband heard. I'm of course spared as I do not 'work.'
Who wouldn't love exploring new places on a holiday? Especially say a place like Hampi where we climbed several hills and stairs with a child perpetually attached to our backs. Ok joking, he was permanently attached but we loved the place, though it isn't exactly a holiday for a three year old. Going to Goa is like visiting an old friend. You know exactly what to expect. There's fun in that too isn't it? Like lounging on the sunbed the entire morning as your child is babysat by the sand and a few buckets; ordering the same prawn rechado and fish curry at the same shack everyday; going sick hearing your husband say he plans to paraglide, jet ski and do everything Akshay Kumar can since the beginning of the holiday (Yes Rupa, it's a middle aged male disease) and knowing that by the time you get back exhausted thanks to all those Kings and Belos in the afternoon or evening, the bed would be made and the bathroom would be clean :D. As for Bombay....for me that's a happy story forever.

The random stuff
* Why on earth is Ghajini the name of the movie? I mean the villain is hardly iconic...I could have understood Sholay being named after Gabbar Singh but this one is sheer stupid.
* And shirtless Aamir doesn't work for me at all. It's conditioning I guess. After all these years, the only shirtless 40 plus Bollywooder I can still tolerate is Salman Khan.
* Luw Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire. Terribly young yes, but that's how they all are these days. Except me :(