The Cure.

One afternoon, when I was in Bangalore, my brother got a text from the Doable One - sorry, the Un-doable One.

"He has the Hump Day Blues," my brother said to me.

I choked.

"The Hump Day Blues?" I demanded, mentally changing the Un-doable One to the Un-doable-Under-Any-Circumstances-Including-if-the-World-Ended-and-We-Were-the-Last-Two-People-Left-on-Earth-One.

"Don't you know about the Hump Day Blues?"


It soon transpired that what my brother meant was the Mid-Week Blues. I really don't know where the humping bit comes in, and I didn't press too hard.

The Mid-Week Blues I could relate to.

I've been suffering the Mid-Week Blues. Except I feel it on Monday, continuously till Friday, and it usually extends to Saturday and Sunday as well.

Yeah, I need to re-evaluate my life, but that can happen later.

Anyway, my blues reached a peak today - they changed to a deep, morose shade of indigo.

My colleague, Pradipta, sensed this and dragged me outside this evening for a cigarette.

"Why do you look more depressed than usual?" She asked.

"Oh," I said. "You know,"

The nice thing about Pradipta is she always knows.

"Don't worry," she said kindly, and I waited for her to say something positive and encouraging, something that would make me see a ray of light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that I am trudging through.

She took a deep drag of her cigarette and said, "Life only gets worse. Don't feel depressed now, because this is as good as it's going to get. It's all going to go downhill from here."

Thank you, Pradipta.

Nain was slightly more helpful. I got a text from her as I was leaving work, and the text said: Why have you been in such an awful mood today?

I did not know why, so I replied saying: I don't know. In an attempt to reassure her, I added that I'd be more cheerful the next day. (A lie, but special friends like Nain need lies sometimes so they worry less.)

Nain proved that she was an extra-special friend by promising me that she would bring me some weed to alleviate my misery. This did cheer me up a bit.

But I still had all night to get through.

Trisha, I said to myself. You can either just be miserable and go home and read something depressing and be even more miserable, or you can take matters into your own hands, and celebrate your un-rational misery.

So I bought myself extra cigarettes and some Thai Green Curry for dinner and a bottle of vodka and I came home, feeling a little more cheerful.

I have no clue where the Thai Green Curry is - I fear I may have left it in the auto - but I don't particularly care because I am on my third vodka and I am listening to an 8track playlist called 60 Years of Pop, and I am reading Adrian Mole.

And this is the cure, people.

It is vodka, music and Adrian Mole.

I will be depressed again - hell, I make a habit of being depressed - but I am cheered by the fact that I know how to enjoy being depressed. It takes a while to get there, but you too can do it. Just remember: vodka, music, and Adrian Mole (and cigarettes, if you're a smoker.)

Learning to laugh at your own ridiculous misery, and to turn it into something that can make a pleasant evening, is an Art, and Art, unless you're Oscar Wilde (who is dead anyway), must never be sneered at.


Anonymous said...

"Art is the only serious thing in the world. And the artist is the only person who is never serious." - Wilde.

You drink a lot.

R said...

Oh, 8tracks is a lifesaver. My cure of late has been marathon-watching Freaks and Geeks back when Franco was still hotstuff, pouring gallons of cold lemony-minty things down throat, and listening to fucktons of the National.
Hello there :)I believe you know Shalmi and Noor, and I've been reading your blog for a while now.

Spin said...

Oof Pradipta is a pessimist. Maybe you don't like having a job? I don't like having a job but I don't like studying either. The only time I like either is when I've done the other for a protracted period of time (in my case, 1-2 years), so my life plan is to alternate between work and studying. It'll get better. :)