If you havent shut yourself out from the world outside, unlike a certain mr. edward scissorhands, you must’ve read of the “techie who killed his wife and hanged self.” someone by the name of amit budhiraja.
he was from my product’s team. he was a biggie, and a gentleman at work. never showed any signs of “psychotic behavior” as the media claims he suffered from. his conduct and his professionalism stood out.
do a google search on his name. read the first ten articles, and youll see media has dug and exploited every detail it could. a recent article extended the story to talk of how more and more couples sleep outside the relationship. some garbage. there are polls on the internet, asking ppl who they thought was right, who was wrong in this relationship. something about amit epitomizing the conservative male from a patriarchal delhi society, not having been able to handle a liberated, socially active mumbai female for a wife. about how techies today, in their quest for money, have lost all values and contorl over their own lives. the incident was leveraged to paint a grim picture of a techie’s life. would sell well in the dainik bhaskars and the feminas, reckon i.
i dont care about these stories, really. the man committed a horrible crime, and the One above will deliver justice in His own way. i am just angry at a media that would leave no oppotunity to squeeze the blood out of an opportunity, however sensitive it may be. people who died have acquaintances, family and friends, who will have to live with all this stigmatized perceptions of their loved ones their whole lifetimes.
so here we are.
last sunday, my dad got me onto this real dirty bus at kashmere gate. ma, chachu and he came to drop me off. reached chandigarh one in the night. the silence, and the pretty roads were very imposing. and the lad here has travelled on hosur road for a year, so i do seek aesthetics in roads now. hosur IS the proverbial highway to hell.
as the auto approched panchkula, i saw the road and markets giving way to a boulevard with homes so pretty, they made GK look like dharavi. now the boy here has dwelled in flats all his life, so a locality that upmarket was an exciting proposition indeed. then got home. its a room on the top floor of a retired couple’s bungalow. the highlight is a huge balcony that overlooks a park, and hills make up the view on the left.
im quick to fall in love with any place, and its been no different here. fast forwarding dull office details, first day post work, i wandered sector 7 for three hours. sector-7 market is a compact sarojini nagar, chaat shops included. i’ve had golgappas at chaman jee(sector 7’s nathu’s) every single day till now. expensive i must say, 5 suji golgappas for 15; but the affluent panchkula folks dont seem to mind.
i’m learning to ride the bike too. roomie’s got a bike. if i dont learn here, on these deserted, pretty roads, i never will learn. considering im not learning anything on the job, i might as well learn bike riding.
all else same. in my head, im still in bangalore. and this is a break. i guess ill be in bangalore in my mind for a long long time. and i see nothnig wrong with that.
Tomorrow, I leave Bangalore. And with it, I leave behind bad roads, blocked roads, Sankey Tank, Bel Road, college, Sagar Bakery, library, Kodihalli, my lovely roomies, the perennial 20 degree city temperature, my perpetual running nose, beer abuse, idli vada, Hosur Road, and the flowering trees.
A lot of other things. It’s all said and done, it’s real, and it’s been fun. And I love this wonderful city, together with its wonderful people. That wouldn’t include Hoysala police.
dhobi and i were out on another one of our purposeless, directionless evening strolls. i’d had the laziest weekend, u know the kinds in which ure so lazy to move you take one big meal at 12 noon to escape the miserable hunger cycle for the day? those kinds. anyways. so we were like, walking. and as always, dhobi was testing my patience. with his unholy comments. dog.
so towards the end of the walk, we decide to down a beer. so we go to the theka. and we’re downing beer. our cook calls and says hell be home in ten minutes. cook’s name is tapan by the way. i think its a pretty cool name.
next thing we see, tapan’s at the theka with his homies, getting his drinks on. he saw us, and tried to move away unnoticed, embarrassed as the chap was to pick booze in front of his employers. but then he mustve thought frig it. so he comes walking to us with his homies, and we talk, and he goes in to get some real hard liquor. im talking rum+b52+snacks for under 50 a head. cheap, hard liquor.
guy turns up and hour late to cook, makes crappy daal and worse sabji, and leaves. but we learnt the power of the theka as a melting pot. cheers to tat.
.. This time I won’t stop blogging.
Two times I started and stopped. And I blame you heartless people for it, who visit but leave without dropping a comment. (Yes, I could be generating propaganda by saying people atleast visit, if not comment. Live with it. )
Not this time. Hell yeah. I’m flexing my muscles and vowing to blog till the end of time, till the hills come crashing down, till the advent of web 3.0. Now my hands are hurting with all the flexing. Ouch.
Don’t worry if you don’t know what web 3.0 means, or what web 2.0 was supposed to be. Nobody does.
Hell yeah. *Flexes muscles hard.
I’m relocating to Chandigarh. Ya, with Infosys only. The next few months will be about packing bag Fridays and going to Delhi for the weekend. I’ll miss Bangalore, the home it has been for six years. I’m moving out in two weeks. This is the hardest time. You know you’re going to leave, and it’ll be a sudden change. You know you can’t comprehend wats happening to you, you want it to hit you but it wont. Because its all still there, right in front of you. But you know it wont be soon enough. Déjà vu. Too much on the mind, and Radiohead in the ear. Let it be.
India won its second final against Australia. (Second final? Got it? Got it?) We all stood up from our office seats and clapped, and complete strangers on the floor waived in congratulations at each other. This is when even a detached cricket-illiterate like me can’t keep away from the game’s binding power. Nice!