Pollution as Religion

Today is the biggest religious festival this city celebrates, among the hundred others. Statues of Ganesh are carried around on trucks and lorries, accompanied by many many people of all ages, shapes and sizes, many barefoot, throwing colour around and dancing with abandon to entirely non-devotional music blaring from speakers adjacent to their idol of worship. Any excuse to party, eh?

I am not too bothered by the fact that someone threw colour on me, specifically on me, before I had finished walking the 600-700 metres from my office to the station. I don't want to be a part of the celebration, but that is my problem, and I will deal with it.

But I can't be not bothered by the fallout. As if its not choking with filth already, all this city needs is another fucking excuse to pollute itself even more. There was not a spot on the road that was not littered with discarded plastic glasses and plates. Those came from the free give-away of edibles every 500 metres or so by a bunch of religiously fanatical do-gooders. And no one had the sense to even leave a token dustbin anywhere near. Not that they would have been used, since civic sense is a rather alien concept around these parts. But the city corporation is taking a very tough line with people throwing cigarette butts on the fucking sidewalk. Good thing I don't feel bad about unfairness from life.

Update, the morning after: On my way to the station, I noticed every single drain mouth at least half clogged with remnants of revelry. And no one seemed to care. To be fair though, there is a clean-up operation on at the beaches where volunteers are mopping it up. But to be fair, its only the beach... what about the damn roads?

Hard to Convince

Time and again, someone or other, usually someone who doesn't live here any more will hear the fact that I don't like the city (if they are impatient) or will listen to me rant against the city (if they are patient), and will then try to convince me about how I will begin to like this city soon enough. How at first, they all hated it and by the time they left, were extremely fond of it. And every time I hear that, I want to dunk them in the sewer that calls itself Mumbai.

But it could still be good for your health. Last night, I got back from Bangalore where I had gone for three days. On the way to my house from the airport, which is a 20 minute drive at most, I did all sorts of respiratory exercises. Well, to be fair, the bulk of it involved simply holding my breath on account of the stench all around. And I am hoping it was good for the lungs. I am glad I will be out of this shithole soon enough.

Shithole is hardly an exaggeration. Not that I tried keeping a tab, but I would have lost count even if I had tried to count the number of people I have seen shitting along the local train tracks every morning on my way to work. Not exactly the best wake-up call, so to speak. And since this is not angel shit but quite human instead, it smells as such. It also makes for funny sights sometimes. Like the 5-year old shitting on the sidewalk while god pissed down from the sky in great fury and his 7-year old sister holding an umbrella over them both.

And I used to think once upon a time that the rain cleanses everything it touches...

Brain Damage, or, The Return of The Zombie

You know the urban legend about ganja killing the brain cells? Or maybe you have seen the Family Guy episode where Peter's drinking brings his brain cells down to one? I don't think that intoxication results in the direct death of brain cells but there is some damage done to the brain for sure. Not for everyone necessarily, but surely for me.

Night before, after a long gap, I once again suffered from memory loss as a result of what I consider not-heavy drinking. Five, at most six, drinks of whisky doesn't count as heavy, does it? Either way, I don't remember the last hour or so in the hotel, I don't remember my boss giving me a ride part-way, I don't remember changing course from a friend's house for his birthday party to my own house, and I sure as hell don't remember what I assume was a fall that left a cut on my forehead and my clothes in a mess. Good thing I didn't wear a suit.

I woke up in the morning at 9 or so to relieve the bladder, and saw dried blood on my forehead. My room looked like a small tornado had gone through it and I just went back to sleep. I awoke again after noon some time, and my first thought was that my office still hadn't called me even though I was meant to be at work by 9:00. Anyway, then I went about my business, cleaning up, sorting stuff, getting food, figuring out events from the previous night, blah blah. No morbid details this time though. :)

Point being this... another memory loss that I am not proud to have. Since it had last happened about a year and a half back, I thought I had been living a more disciplined life when it came to intoxicants. Maybe I am, and maybe its just the residual concentration in my body that has gone up, bringing down the tolerance. Fuck knows. I can't decide now if I should just stop drinking completely or moderate it down to what is called "social drinking" levels. Frankly, the former is infinitely more appealing than the latter half-way bullshit. Then again, I could still drink like a fish so long as I stay indoors instead of being out on the town. As it is, being out and about holds ridiculously low charm for me.

Food for thought for the zombied brain. Food!! May be that is the missing ingredient in my alcohol recipe that is leading to immemorable events!