musing on a vacation

If today was your last day...tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?

 

This was what I am listening to, as I lie in bed typing out what will be my first blog post in a long, long time.  Nickelback's words ring through my kingfisher headphones like Nostradamus' cries, and I get an idea of how sad a song's lyrics can really get. The morbidity is compounded by a power-outage, supposedly the first of the decade. And yes, it just HAD to happen while I was in town...a touch of bad luck? Now that's an understatement.

With all this tragedy in the air, I felt like I was in the middle of the dark ages in the words of a particularly tragedy-happy Russian author.

Then, as the song goes, "it's never too late to shoot for the stars, regardless of who you are"...

In a moment of inspiration, the guys in charge of neyveli's power supply gave us the benefit of modern technology- the electric lighting that gave us the gift of daylight, at night. The power was back on, and I was back in business. Which reminds me of what I was supposed to be doing; writing this post?

I reached neyveli on the morning of Saturday the 8^th of May, having taken the bus the previous night. The 8 hour journey, surprisingly, was quite comfortable. I had a little gum with me, and chewed it at the rate of 2 pieces an hour.

Anyway, my first day was quite uneventful, except for a festive lunch which I enjoyed after a nice little nap.  The second day was the Final Day of the Premier League, and I was devastated, though not surprised, to learn that I would not be able to watch it as sports channels were not being telecast on cable here. I had to make do with reading an SMS every 5 minutes from my father back in Bangalore.  I read fabulous stories of Didier Drogba's exploits as Chelsea thrashed Wigan 8-0 to make history, or rather, prevent Man Utd from making history. That night, I slept with a big smile on my face, thanks to John Terry and Co.

Today, I was awakened by a harsh little shower of good old neyveli water(read Bangalore sewage), and I guess that must explain my day-long vendetta against the toxicity of the so-called drinking water supplied to the residents of this township. The residents, though, stoutly stand by the liquid they call water, with one of them, a high-ranking official of the Neyveli Lignite Corporation, even offering to give me a tour of their "modern" sewage treatment plant, which he said worked 24/7 to keep the water supply here clean and pure. I was also given a sales pitch for the dermatologists of this place, who supposedly charge outrageous fees for what is reported to be the best skin care in the world.  I shall get first hand information on that score, what with an appointment scheduled for Thursday morning at this panacea-man's clinic. I may never survive it and may even end up with skin disease for the rest of my life if I do live at the end of that appointment, but I do it in the interest of knowledge. The lamp of wisdom shall shine on the medical profession in this area with full brightness, and I shall be the one who is remembered to have shone it. Ah, the pride that comes from martyrdom is almost as inexplicable as the human mind itself. Anyway, the uncivilised, primitive inhabitants of this place shall see the light and extricate themselves from the sea of darkness, while I, hopefully, shall be back in Bangalore, among my friends and having a whale of a time. 

Nickelback is still shouting his doomsday prophesies into my ears, and all I can do is be thankful that his tune isn't as horrid as his lyrics. Now my grandfather adds his voice to the commotion, asking me what time it is. He catches me at a disadvantage – if I tell him that it is 10.38pm, he will certainly ask me what I'm doing awake when the clock is past midnight and it's almost dawn. On the other hand, I cannot lie to him, noble soul that I am. So my only option is to shut the laptop, wait for him to go to sleep and continue in my quest to chronicle my adventures in this wasteland called neyveli.

-bala

(at 10.40 on the 12^th of may, 2010 with a grandfather breathing down his neck, ready to move in for the kill)

 

Now, when I re-read this post, I am struck by the realisation that the entire 750 word body could be replaced by just 3 characters, and my message would have got across to my reader. Which 3 characters, you ask?

:'(

Ah, the beauty of emoticons...