9-12-2012

Before you start presuming that this is post is about how life has changed post 9-11, you're sadly mistaken. Its about change, certainly. But not one that concerns the world for sure. On this day, last year, I landed in Seattle, embarking on a journey I had absolutely no clue about. As excited as I was to start this new chapter, I had too many butterflies fluttering maddeningly in my stomach to feel even remotely comfortable, or rather associate butterflies with any form of beauty at all. And now that I look back, the past year seems like a blur. People warned me about how slow life can be in Grad school and in a country outside your own, you had that many more apprehensions to thwart. People who've known me for long tell me I've changed. Some tell me I've not. It mostly depends on how honest I choose to be with them. But I feel I've changed. I know I've changed. And here's how:

- I have a checking account with money I can actually call my own. Well, I did earn some in the months before I got accepted into Grad school, but after I quit, I pretty much blew it all away on unnecessarily expensive latte in coffee shops (I could have just said coffee, but using fancy names makes me feel less guilty). On the downside, I'm still barely above poverty line in the US, but converting it to the ever-plummeting Rupee makes me feel a whole lot better. Its really stupid. But it does the trick.

- I can cook! And considering I could barely poach my own eggs (It sounded a lot different in my head!) not so long ago, its quite gratifying. And I can not only cook, but do a pretty darn good job of it. And that's not the usual me patting my own back. People have actually eaten stuff I prepared for them and liked it. Also the fact that they live to tell the tale, and that I haven't received threatening letters from WHO yet, telling me to stop whatever it is I do in the kitchen in the name of cooking, for the fear of endangering hungry, trusting lives out there, I think I can safely commend myself on my acquired culinary skills. I did think of opening a restaurant once, but going over the list of things I want for myself before I die, it seems pretty impossible to realize that dream in this life. Maybe if I was a cat, I had a better shot. Hmm. (Now I'm thinking what kind of cat I would make if I was born as one. But never mind.)

- I have started working out. I recall having mentioned how lazy I am as a person, sitting on my ass all day being my favourite 'activity'. So keeping that in mind, I think I've made great progress. Its only been a week though, and other than the thought of chopping my limbs off just to be able to change sides while sleeping without groaning/tearing up, I'm feeling quite good. And before you know it, I'll be ripped, toned, with sixteen-pack washboard abs giving the likes of Jean-Claude Van Damme a run for his money (only that he has none I'm sure).

- I have started taking things a lot less seriously. And by 'things', I mean the sort of regular pettiness that used to bother me to no end only a year back. It gives me a strange sense of freedom. And coupled with the God-given sharp tongue, there can be nothing but disaster. But who cares. Life's too short (And no, I won't be dying anytime soon in case you're wondering). So, live life on your own terms. And die your own man. *Applause* (I'm shocked at my own profundity. Good job Me!)

- And the thing that I'm most proud of, is the decision of making this blog a regular feature. And by 'regular' I mean twice a month. (For all those sniggering out there, its better than writing once every six months or less isn't it? So I say its a start.) And I still dream of writing that book that's going to make me famous. And the film I'm going to direct. And the music album I'm going to record. And the Oscars and Grammys I'll struggle to find a place for on the shelf. And the day I'm going to be President. There's so much to do and so little time! Gosh!

- And most importantly, I'm alive to document this bullshit. Hail and hearty. I made it! Way to go survivor!

Revelations

Last week I had a couple of visitors: my brother and his (infinitely) better half P. The fact that it would be an exciting week was beyond question. And a delightful week it was. But more importantly I learnt a  thing or two about myself.

1. I'm quite the hyperventilating perfectionist. I always thought myself to be calm, almost stoic and perfection was never up on my priority list anyway. As long as I did a decent job I was happy. But when my brother told me about his plans of coming down to Seattle for a few days along with P, I freaked. I wanted to do ten thousand things with them and couldn't for the life of me decide on an itinerary. And considering I had a whole spectrum of activities to choose from, ranging from whale watching to sky diving, it didn't make my job any easier. I would make a list every morning, and then over the course of the day, painfully scratch the items off of it, one by one, on the grounds of whether it was too over-the-top-bordering-on-impossible or just plain lame. I always prided myself in making quick decisions. Well that went for a toss! Although what I ended up deciding for them wasn't half as bad and they really liked the plan (or at least that's what I would like to believe), what I went through to get there was far from pleasant. I guess I'll just hire a travel agent next time to do all the planning for me while I do absolutely nothing but snore noisily. Oh!! But I'm not an investment banker. I forgot I was a grad student with no money. Dayam!

2. There's hardly any difference between me and a paranoid housewife. Why? Cos I couldn't decide what to cook for my guests. Not that they were particularly finicky eaters. But they cook quite well. Both of them. And considering not many people have eaten anything I cooked over the last year, there was ample room for self doubt. I couldn't decide whether to cook chicken or beef. So I called up my brother and asked what he preferred. He said "Should we get some food?". The faith he showed in my culinary abilities was disturbingly low. Annoyed, a teensy bit hurt and out to prove a point, I decided to cook both. And the time frame I was wrestling against turned out to be rather formidable. I cooked and I cooked and I cooked till the house smelt of a strange concoction of spices. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad cos my nose was blocked. Such immaculate timing! Not happy with just savory entrees, I decided on good old traditional apple pie for dessert. Excited to see how it looks, I tried taking it out of the oven and singed myself against the burning upper rack! Ouch. I almost dropped the pie on the floor and almost closed the oven door on my fingers. None of which thankfully happened. Exhausted, injured and with a severely deflated ego I decided to end this ordeal and crash. Only I couldn't sleep. Not a wink. For three whole nights. Man! I'm glad they lapped up everything I prepared for them. But this paranoid housewife syndrome is NOT cool.

3. I've apparently lost a ton of weight. Or so they thought. My brother politely put it as, 'You look like a hanger!' Honesty can be quite painful. If you ask me, lying is the way to go. But now that it was out in the open, and I couldn't exactly deny it, I asked him what I could do to address the issue of uncontrolled weight loss, knowing fully well what the answer would be. Exercise.*Shudder*. So here's the deal. From as far back as I remember, I've always hated exercise or anything that remotely involves the movement of limbs. I could sit on my ass for days without getting off my bed, holding a cup of coffee, watching my favourite TV show and you wouldn't hear so much as a wince while my insides rot. I'm quite certain I was one of those lazy feudal landlords, with a hundred servants, one fanning me from above, one pouring wine in my ornate brass chalice, and another giving me a relaxing foot massage while I revel in the decadence of it all. Bliss. In my defense, I did try joining the gym for a couple of months last summer but gave it up soon enough, complaining about it being stinky, and them not having enough equipment (which is a lie!) and that the trainers were conspicuously overweight (which is true!) and hence far from being the 'well-toned' example they were supposed to set. Fine, I agree they were mostly excuses. But hell, it was boring. Not to mention, I could feel muscles in my body I thought I never had, and the feeling was far from rewarding. I felt like a bag of brittle bones threatening to snap with every move. If anyone has gymmed seriously even for a few weeks and not spent their time staring at themselves in the mirror, admiring their non-existent muscles, they would know the truth in this. Anyway having established how lazy I really am, I decided to take charge and start doing some exercise. Maybe swimming (which I used to love when I was a kid)  or running (which is a lot more convenient cos the University gym is quite some distance away. Averse to exercise remember? I'm not going to be a completely changed man overnight, right?!) So yesterday I went running in the evening. A thirty minute brisk run. I almost died panting. But it was totally worth it. And I felt alive and totally in control which is an awesome feeling. Except that I can't feel my legs today and am already having second thoughts about going running tonight. Divine intervention needed. NOW.