I Am Not Well (Part 2).

Thursday, July 30. So on Thursday, my temperature started coming down a bit.

Ah, the road to recovery, I thought.

I can go back to office on Monday, I thought.

Tra la la la la, I thought. Before passing out and sleeping most of the day.

My mother called at some point and told me that she was going to come back to Bangalore. I saw red.

"I HAVE A VIRAL FEVER, MAMA!" I bellowed. "I AM NOT DYING. I DON'T NEED YOU RUNNING HERE TO PROTECT ME FOR EVERY LITTLE THING. I AM A STRONG, INDEPENDENT 24 YEAR OLD WOMAN."

"Did they take a malaria test?"

"Yes, of course they did,"

"What did it say?"

"Negative,"

"The report?"

And then I went through the report and realised that they'd only taken a platelet count - and asked me to return on Friday because platelets can take a while to drop.

"But she told me everything was negative. So I assumed that she took the dengue and malaria tests."

My mother didn't even shout at me. She understood that a) I've never been to a hospital under such circumstances, i.e. alone and b) that I was half-delirious most of the time and c) I am generally useless although less useless than I used to be.

But I assured her I didn't need her to come back because S. (who was away on a shoot) was coming home that evening.

Friday, July 30. Relatively boring day. Slept. Went to hospital. Got blood tests done. Blood pressure scarily low, but the tests were all negative. Went home. Yawn. Except for when I went to sleep - this agonising itching started around midnight - everywhere. I couldn't get to sleep till 3 in the morning. The itching on my face was particularly bad - forget scratching, I wanted to rip the skin off my face. But my skin was clear, there were no rashes. I spent an hour crawling around my bed, inspecting it for bedbugs or fleas - but nothing. An irritating mystery.

Saturday, July 31. In hindsight, I should have just started documenting everything from this point onward. But oh well.

So apart from the usual tiredness and fever, everything seemed normal until 10 PM when I went for my bed-time bath. I noticed a red rash covering my arms. And then I noticed, to my growing horror, that it was all over my body, including MY FACE.

I am very particular about my complexion. I follow a Set Skin Care Routine. Exfoliation every alternate day, a cleanser twice daily, followed by toner, followed by moisturiser, followed by vain attempts to get rid of the dark circles under my eyes. So you can imagine what this rash - and dryness, my nose and parts of my face had started peeling - did to my soul. I also had a huge pimple on my cheek, just to add some icing to the cake, I guess.

I yelled for S.

"MEASLES! I HAVE MEASLES!"

I would like to say he came running, but he moved at an infuriating slow pace and informed me it wasn't measles.

"Measles are like little red pimples," he said. "This is just a rash,"

"JUST A RASH? JUST A RASH?"

"Do you want to go to hospital?"

Remember how I told you I loathe hospitals more than anything, and do my best to avoid them?

Not this time. Not when it comes to my skin.

"OF COURSE I WANT TO GO TO HOSPITAL!" I shrieked.

So at 10.30, we went off to this hospital down the road from where I live. I solemnly vow never to go there again. We got to Emergency and the 'doctor' looked at my rash and confirmed it wasn't measles; it was an allergy or maybe a result of the viral fever.

And then he got a nurse to stick an injection into me.

There was a brief tussle for a moment - I thought she wanted to inject my bottom, and I refused to let her touch me, protesting that my bottom was sacred. But she finally managed to communicate that she was going to stick it into my hip, so that was okay.

The 'doctor' seemed supremely unconcerned. He had an ugly face, which is forgivable, But it had an ugly smirk on it. That is not forgivable, especially given the circumstances. And he didn't check the inside of my mouth or my eyes and more importantly -

HE WASN'T WEARING A LAB COAT.

That's right! No lab coat! Just an ugly brown shirt and ugly brown pants (that suitably matched the aforementioned ugly face and ugly smirk) and I distrusted him from the start.

I called my mother to tell her what had happened, and I told her (and S.) that there was no proof that jackass was a doctor, he could have been a Man Who Sits At A Desk, but as usual, no one listened to me.

Neither the injection nor the pills he prescribed helped me at all. That night, my fever went up to 103 degrees. I drifted in and out of sleep, shivering despite the four blankets I'd piled on top of me. And then, at 3 am, when the world was dark and quiet, I woke up because my face felt funny.

Sort of like when you're drinking water and you put too much in your mouth, and so it spills out, trickling down your chin, and your neck.

I put a hand to my chin, and I looked at my fingers in the moonlight. They were covered in blood. It was blood.

I'd only been awake for a few seconds, and I wasn't thinking properly, so in that moment - just a split second - with my body burning up and blood pouring out of my mouth, I thought, maybe, that I might die. I don't know how to explain it without sounding like an idiot. It was such a fleeting feeling. And my only thought was about something I regret; something I have been regretting for a long, long time, something that I broke and cannot fix.

On the bright side, I can't do anything about it, not even if I end up on my deathbed. I don't know whether that's depressing or comforting.

Anyway, like I said, it was a thought that passed as soon as it came, and I stumbled to the bathroom where a very gory sight met my eyes.

The entire lining of my top gum, the entire semi-circle, was bleeding more heavily than it's ever bled before. In the front, where it was pouring down my chin like a waterfall. At the back, where it was filling my mouth like a monsoon pool.

And if you think reading about it is disgusting, imagine what seeing it was like.

Luckily, we actually had a medicinal mouthwash in the house - not a regular one. So I coollied with it three or four times and the blood started receding, and it finally went - only my gums were redder and more raw than usual.

S. looked scared, which was gratifying, and he kept checking my nose for blood. According to him, it's a sign of high blood pressure, and I think he would have rushed me to the hospital if it had been bleeding. But it wasn't.

Everything seemed okay for the moment, and I didn't really want to call my mother up at 3 in the morning, so I went back to sleep.

I told her about it the next morning, and before I knew it, my aunt and uncle (who live down the road) spoke to some doctors who recommended I go to the hospital. They all agreed that it sounded a viral infection, albeit a really nasty one, and that 48 hours of supervision would, perhaps, be a good idea.

I nearly objected - I have never stayed overnight in a hospital before, let alone two nights (except when I was born which doesn't, obviously, count) - but then I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The rash had gotten even worse.

"I'll be ready in fifteen minutes," I told my aunt.

And then I started packing my things.



To be continued. 

I Am Not Well (Part 1).

There are sometimes advantages to being sick. Not when you have a cold, mind you (there can be no advantage to snot flowing out of the caves that were once your nostrils), but maybe a mild fever that lasts a couple of days. You can lie in bed for hours on end, with nothing but sleep and books to keep you company, and ask people to bring you cups of tea and they can't even tell you to get it yourself because that would make them Selfish and Inconsiderate and Unfeeling. Ha ha. 

But what I've been through the past week, my god, I've been through the very depths of hell and I swear that for once I'm not exaggerating. 

Tuesday, July 28. My mother had been in town and she was leaving that morning. She was on her way home after a month-long trip to Amrika and Engerland. She turned 56 on the 25th, by the way, and when I made fun of her age, she asked me to compare our lives to see who had the better one.

She doesn't usually get the better of me, but when she does - ouch. 

Anyway, so I spent the previous night at my aunt's, so I could have a Last Breakfast with Mum before she left, and I woke up that morning in agony. Terrible pains in my chest, the back of my knees, my wrists. I bent down to pick up something I'd dropped at one point, and the pain was unbelievable. 

"Something's wrong," I told her.

"Nothing's wrong. You just slept awkwardly."

"But I've never had this sort of pain before,"

My mother's explanation?

"You slept awkwardly in a position you've never slept in before,"

"Never slept in before? In twenty-four years?"

"Yes,"

I let it go. Sometimes, with my mother, you have to let things go. There's no other way.

Anyway, I kissed her goodbye, and hugged her tight, and then left for work with a slight lump in my throat. Because the world is a strange place and I am more fond of her than anything else in it. 

Anyway.

I was feeling awful by the time I got to work and by noon, I was burning up with fever. So I finished off the bits and pieces of work I had to do, and went home at lunch-time. 

I don't know how I got home and I don't remember the next 24 hours either. I just sort of lay there, drifting in and out of sleep. I do remember having to go to the shop to get water because my Aquaguard isn't working and I haven't gotten around to fixing it, and I remember that it was a very painful excursion. It's just a 2 minute walk, but I had to stop and rest, and when I got home, my fingers couldn't hold the packet the water was in, and the bottles fell on the floor, and rolled around, and I spent another painful 2 minutes attempting to pick them up.

Oh, the tragedies I have lived through. The sufferings I have been through. The traumas I have - 

Okay, getting back to the point, otherwise no one's going to believe I'm not exaggerating. 

Wednesday, July 29. I woke up feeling worse. I knew I needed to get blood tests done because the joint pain was getting unbearable, and the fever was disturbingly high, but I hate hospitals. I spent much of Wednesday morning googling doctors who do home-visits instead.

There are none anymore. Which is really terribly sad. 

My mother called. 

"I think you should go to the hospital for tests," she said.

"I can't go to the hospital on my own," I said irritably. 

"Chini can take you. Suja spoke to her and she says that Chini's brother works in a hospital close by. She thinks you need a blood test."

Chini is the lady who comes to help out at my aunt and uncle's house every morning. She makes very good coffee and I adore her - not just because of the coffee. 

"Well, see if she can arrange for someone to come to the house. That would be good. Because I cannot go to the hospital." And then a bellow to make my point - "I CAN'T EVEN WALK PROPERLY." 

"Okay, okay, I'll call you back." 

I was settled in bed when the doorbell rang and Chini walked into the house. I hadn't been expecting her. 

"What are you doing here?" I said in surprise.

"Come, we'll go to the hospital."

"No, no," I protested. "I don't need to, Chini. I'll get someone to come to the house. It's absolutely fine. I'm completely okay,"

"No, let's go, it's close by." 

I made a last feeble protest. "My legs hurt."

"I'll get an auto for you and we'll go together."

There are some people who, without the slightest hint of authority, in the sweetest, most matter-of-fact tones, Get Their Own Way. Chini is obviously one of those people and I am no match for her.

I found myself quietly putting my jeans on and hobbling out the door. 

We got to the hospital, it's close by, on Miller's Road and ironically it's called Vikram Hospital (I didn't find it amusing, but all my friends did) and Chini introduced me to her brother who is on the nursing staff. They took me to the Emergency Department and I climbed gratefully into a bed. 

The first thing they did was attach me to a drip. It was exciting at first because I've never been attached to a drip before, but it stopped being exciting very soon, and after they took my pulse rate (I could hear it beeping away on those machines which was slightly scary) and my blood pressure and stuck a bunch of needles in me, I fell asleep. 

Chini was a star. I had to stay there for 2 to 3 hours, so I told her she ought to go home instead of hanging around, but she refused to. She got all the paper-work done and paid the bills while I drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep. I didn't have to lift a finger; she was, to put it simply, amazing. 

The tests were apparently clear (I thought I'd been tested for malaria and stuff but more on that later) and the doctors thought it was viral fever. So they gave me some tablets and sent me home. 

Chini dropped me right to my door, I assured her that there was plenty of food in the house and that I'd be fine. And then I staggered to bed and fell asleep again.

A small side note on dinner that night. I was too tired to make a sandwich so I called this Chinese restaurant near my house. I don't usually order from them, they're on the expensive side and I don't like their food as much as Delicacy which in my opinion is the best Chinese restaurant in Bangalore, but I was craving soup and Thai Green Curry. So I ordered that. 

The soup and curry came and ten minutes later, I realised there was no rice with it. I burst into tears. Pathetic, I know. And then I got angry and I called the restaurant and they told me I had to order the rice separately (a small steamed rice, by the way, was 150 bucks).

"SEPARATELY?" I shouted. "EVERYONE SENDS RICE WITH GREEN CURRY. IT'S A GIVEN. YOU THINK PEOPLE EAT IT WITH CHOW MEIN?"

(Later, mulling over this matter, I realised that this is India, and maybe green curry and chow mein is not unheard of.)

"I'VE SEEN HOW MUCH YOUR RICE COSTS. I'M NOT A MILLIONAIRE. I DON'T WANT YOUR CURRY. TAKE IT BACK AND GIVE ME MY MONEY. I'M NOT PAYING FOR RICE."

At this point, I started crying again over the phone (my fever was at a fever-pitch) and I must have scared the poor man at the end because he said he'd send across rice for free. 

Now my temper is explosive, but it never lasts for long, so five minutes later, I called the restaurant back. 

"Listen," I said. "I'm sorry for speaking so rudely. I lost my temper. I still think it's a little unfair - you should mention that there's no rice with it, because most restaurants send rice, but I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. Please send the rice, but I'll pay for it."

"No, Ma'am," the poor man at the other end of the line said, probably cursing his job. "We'll send it for free." 

"No, sir. I insist on paying for it. I'll give the delivery boy the money."

"No, Ma'am," said he. "It's absolutely okay. Please just take the rice."

"Well, thank you very much," I said, after another minute of arguing with him. "It's very kind of you and I'm so sorry about shouting the way I did. It's really...so kind...I..." And then I started blubbering again. 

"We'll send it immediately, Ma'am," he said in alarm. "No problem, don't mention it."

The power a crying woman has over men is truly one of life's greatest mysteries. 

To be continued. 

For you. Today, and everyday.

Ceci n'est pas une egg.
It is fifty thousand words that can't be written.
Fifty thousand thoughts that just won't die.

How to be a domestic goddess. Or a domestic fraud.

I start a new job on Monday. And I managed getting a huge raise which means, for the first time in my life, I am completely financially independent. To me this translates as follows - I can pay my rent and still drink beer in pubs. Shady pubs, but I like shady pubs - they're infinitely more interesting than the other kind - so that's okay.

It's difficult not to be emotional about this (i.e. being independent, not pubs), because since graduating college, my ultimate goal has been to not leech money off my mother for rent. To stand on my own two feet. To walk the Path alone. (Don't ask me which path, I have no clue, but there has to be a frigging path somewhere.) To stand tall. (I also mean literally because though 5'3" seems short to most people, they are uninformed and do not realise I am above average height worldwide thanks to India and, of course, China.) To swim without sinking. To -

Etc. etc.

But seriously. This has been really important to me and it's one of the biggest things I've managed to accomplish in a long while, though, of course, it's an accomplishment nearly everyone...er...accomplishes.

Don't get me wrong. I'll still be making peanuts, but a few more peanuts than previously.

Anyway. Where was I?

Oh right. I start a new job on Monday. Back to the working life. Back to unforgiving deadlines and re-writing a single paragraph multiple times and spending three hours on producing a headline that isn't shit. (I'm not kidding, to get a headline that isn't shit, you sometimes have to write more than a hundred. And you usually go back to the second one you wrote but that's neither here nor there.)  Back to returning home post-midnight, to having three days to come up with a pitch that will convince an important company to use your agency to sell it, and then a campaign to actually sell it. Back to banging my head against my desk, not having time to eat lunch, and being irritable and stressed nearly all the time.

I CAN'T WAIT.

Because you know what the alternative has been?

Being - egad - domestic. That means: making beds, keeping the house relatively tidy, and calling the guy from Onida to service my washing machine. Which isn't difficult. On the contrary, it's extremely easy, but it's also tedious. And quite frankly, I'd rather battle a shark (I've written a guide on how to do it anyway). At least it won't be boring - if I live to tell the tale which, let's face it, I probably won't. (Although it's a pretty kick-ass guide.)

But I've had to do it. The domestic stuff, I mean. Because even I realise, inconsiderate and selfish and lazy as I am, that it's completely unfair for S. to come home to a complete mess after a long day at work (which mostly comprises, I suspect, playing some infernal tank game he's discovered) when I've been sitting at home doing nothing.

We have a lady who comes in to help four times a week. But the thing about Vijaylakshmi is that she insists on making me dosas because she thinks I need to be fatter (she has a horror of collarbones) and then she runs off without cleaning the bathrooms or dusting the shelves. And how can you ask someone to clean bathrooms and dust shelves after they've made you dosas? I can't.

But once I start work, I won't be around to eat the dosas, so maybe she'll have to clean the bathrooms.

Ha ha, Vijaylakshmi, ha ha.

(I'm grasping at straws here.)

So I've been over-hauling the house at least once a week and doing some light tidying up everyday.

But Viji's taken her kids to Chennai for four days, which means I have to step up the ante. Especially when it comes to cleaning floors - thanks to the rain, a bunch of insects have made our home theirs and they are inconsiderate enough to die everywhere, at the same time ensuring their corpses are carefully positioned for human feet to tread upon.

 And even though I hate cleaning, when I do decide to do it, I am pretty thorough.

Okay, sometimes I take short-cuts.

And so this guide has a two-fold purpose: to aid those who wish to clean thoroughly and, more importantly, to aid those who wish to make it seem that they've cleaned thoroughly.


1. On dusting 

The thorough way to do it, henceforth known as You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Remove all objects from surface. Wipe surface with a wet and soapy cloth. Then wipe damp surface with a dry cloth. Repeat on the removed objects. Then put them back.

For ceilings, use that long ceiling cleaner thing every ten days. Cover any furniture that dust may land on. Alternatively, just brush off the dust from the furniture before attacking everything with a jharu. 

The quick way to do it, henceforth known as the Last Resort

Keep objects where they are. Use wet and soapy cloth to clean all the spaces around objects. Move cloth briefly over objects themselves. Put faith in the air or whatever to dry the bits that have been cleaned.

Ignore ceiling. And never look up.


2. On dishes

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Rinse dish thoroughly. Then clean with dish-cleaning liquid or whatever it's called. Rinse again. Check for any bits that are still stuck to the dish. Repeat process with focus on the bits. Wipe with dry cloth until the dish is dry. Then place dish on shelf or in cabinet/drawer.

The Last Resort

Rinse. Use liquid. Check for bits if you are on the fussy side which I am. Do not check for bits if you are lazier than I am. (Improbable, but not impossible.) Leave on sideboard or whatever and let the blessed air or whatever do the drying. Use dish from its place on the sideboard. This also leaves cabinets empty for more important things - your cat's bed, for instance.


3. On sweeping floors

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Switch fan off. Remove carpets. You may air them which you probably will if you're following this method - do it before you start sweeping. Sweep floor with a jharu. Pay close attention to corners and under-sofas. Use a dustpan to gather the dirt. Throw dirt in waste-paper basket.

There will always be a bit of remaining dirt that will refuse to be swept on the dustpan. Sweep it out the door. If door has a slight ledge to it, use a flick of the wrist (or a low tennis backhand sweep if you're feeling energetic) to send dirt flying out. The amount should be minuscule if you've done your job properly so calm yourself; it doesn't matter.

Then fill a bucket with soapy water. Use mop to clean the floor. It is extremely important to make sure that there are no dustballs or hairballs left, otherwise they just stick to the floor. Which is disgusting.

Re-fill bucket after cleaning every room otherwise you'll be using dirty water which defeats the point of this exercise.

Leave fan on high. And make sure your feet are clean otherwise you have to repeat the entire process which is just depressing.

The Last Resort

Switch fan off. Ignore corners and under-sofas and carpets for now. Once dust has accumulated, sweep it into corners, under the sofas, and under the carpets. No one will know.

Mopping is optional.


4. Laundry

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

If you have a washing machine, use it. If you are insane, fill your time with other things - cleaning the machine on the outside, for instance.

If you do not have a machine, fill a bucket with soapy water. Energetically dip clothes in the water several times. Then scrub clothes with a scrubbing brush (or use one part of the garment to scrub the other part, this helps with stains). Then rinse clothes until all the suds are gone. Then hang them up to dry.

The Last Resort

If you have a washing machine, use it.

If you do not have a machine, just rinse with water and hang out to dry. There shouldn't be any smell. If there is, just spray deodorant on the offending garment.


5. Making beds

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Strip down all sheets and bundle into laundry (if you've been using them for more than a week). Take out new sheets, give them a vigorous airing, and use them to make the bed. Tuck them into the corners, smooth the wrinkles. Repeat this entire process with the pillows and their covers. Air the bed cover (according to Mawii, it's unhygienic not to have a bed cover) and cover the bed, making sure that it doesn't drag on the floors and covers all the bits underneath and hangs evenly on all sides of the bed.

The Last Resort

Make an attempt to smooth existing sheets down. Throw bed cover haphazardly on bed. If anything offends the eye at first glance, throw a bunch of cushions over it.

If you haven't changed your sheets in a while, and don't intend to for a while longer, place a clean t-shirt on your pillow before going to sleep. This ensures that the dirt and oil on your pillow doesn't seep into your face and resurrect the acne of your teenage years.


6. Folding clothes

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

According to my mother, there is a particular formula to folding clothes. First you do this, then you do that, blah blah blah. She has shared this formula with me many times - I have also observed Mawii doing something similar - but there are limits to my patience so if you want to know, email me at trishdutt@gmail.com and I'll put you in touch with one of them.

The Last Resort

Just sort of fold your shirt or whatever so it looks reasonably folded, like a sort of square shape. Or, you could do what I do, and just toss your stuff in a cupboard and let it pile up. If you reach a stage where everything falls out the minute you open the cupboard door, a little re-stuffing will do the trick.


7. Ironing

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Adjust iron to the setting required for your garment. A cotton garment has a different setting from a silk garment. Lay garment out, sleeves unfolded. Iron front. Iron sleeves. Pay close attention to the edges. Flip garment and iron the back. Flip again and iron the front. If you are as incompetent as I am, you will probably have to do this several times. Fold whichever way you wish to fold.

The Last Resort

Do not purchase clothes that need ironing. If you must, find a dhobi. If you are particularly daring, attempt to start a non-ironed clothing movement. Interestingly enough, using a hairdryer can also be pretty effective.

Friend once claimed that he used his laptop to remove creases from his clothes. You may try this but if you saw Friend, you wouldn't.


8. Bathroom

When You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands

Put on yellow gloves (they're always yellow for some reason) and attack drain first. Pour the relevant liquid/cleanser down the drain. Don't ask me which one to use. I'm not promoting products, mostly because I don't pay attention to them - I usually just use whatever liquid thingy I have lying around. Then pour water down. Foam may rise, but it usually goes away, so that's okay.

Use your gloves to scoop up any muck.

Yuck.

Then pour that cleaning thing made for toilets. Harpic. HARPIC! See, I know Harpic. Leave there for at least twenty minutes while you do the rest of the bathroom.

Mop floor. (Using a jharu is unnecessary.)

Clean sink, pay close attention to taps.

Then use toilet brush to scrub the inside of the toilet. Then flush.

The Last Resort

Ignore drain. Dump harpic in toilet and let it stay there until the next time you flush. Pour soapy water over sink and all over the floor. Leave bathroom and only return when it's relatively dry.


This brings me to the end of my guide. Perhaps there are more things I haven't covered, but quite frankly, I've been covering the bed (with a bed cover, I hope you're happy, Mawii) everyday for the past three weeks and I'm done.

I sincerely hope the content of this post has been illuminating.

And if it has been repugnant - in the sense, made you shudder increasingly as you picture the effort required to keep a house clean - I sincerely hope you feel a new appreciation for your job.

P.S. The best thing to do, really, is to find a Mawii. Although a Mawii - like all good things - is very difficult to find.

The Art of Leisure.

I've lost it.

 The art of leisure obviously.

Because of reasons I won't get into (not right now, I'll talk about it in a few months - it's a story that is full of hilarity with a small dose of horror) I don't have a job.

Hell yeah, I thought on Monday. This is glorious. I can do whatever I want.

Brilliant, I thought on Tuesday. I'm going to sit and home and revel in doing nothing.

I need to be productive, I thought on Wednesday. I will start writing A Book and I will clean the house from top to bottom (which just goes to show how desperate I was for something to do.)

Today I will grocery shop, I said to myself on Thursday. And I will continue to write My Book. I spent the entire day watching Downton Abbey but I actually did write.

Unfortunately, I also had a panic attack. I didn't realise it was a panic attack because I was relaxed and watching Downton Abbey. Suddenly, I noticed that there was a small, sharp pain with every beat my heart took.

I sent my brother a message on Skype. He told me to go to an ER. Then I messaged Mawii. She said the same thing.

"I'll go in the evening if it isn't better," I said.

"You might be dead by then."

I really should have been more careful when choosing my friends.

The pain changed then. It was just my chest, or my heart, that was paining continuously - not with each beat. My left arm started feeling heavy and then these sharp pains started cropping up. First on my shoulder blades, then to the left side of my chest.

I called my mother. She told me to call Dr. Vatsa.

So I called Dr. Vatsa, described the symptoms, and was informed it was a panic attack.

"A panic attack?" I said incredulously. "But I wasn't feeling panic when the pain started. I'm only feeling it now."

"It's quite common to not feel panic before an attack starts. It feels like a heart attack and then you start panicking and then the pain gets worse and the panic gets worse and - are your palms sweaty?"

I looked at my palms and informed her they were.

"There you go. It's a panic attack. Don't worry. It just manifests as a heart attack sometimes."

Brilliant.

And then my mother called again and told me to do these breathing exercises she always rambles on about - ever since she started yoga - and unfortunately, they helped. There'll be no shutting her up after this.

It took a couple of hours and lots of 'emptying my mind' and it went away.

Dr. Vatsa told me that it was because I had nothing to do.

"I love having nothing to do," I said incredulously. "I thrive on it."

"No, you miss work."

So then my sense of self got completely fucked, obviously.


On Friday, I greeted the morning with determination. I was going to continue writing The Book. Five chapters already and the rest outlined. I got to seven chapters before collapsing on the sofa with beer and moaning occasionally.

I tried reading, I didn't feel like reading.

I tried watching tv shows, nada.

So I just lay there and felt sorry for myself. I was going to have friends over, but I was still too busy feeling sorry for myself, so I cancelled and continued to revel in self-pity, staring blankly at a wall, occasionally sipping on flat beer.

And then I ate a lot of junk food and I went to sleep. (I've been doing nothing except eat the past ten days. Three weeks ago people were telling me I was looking skinny. Now I am being described as 'healthy'. This is not helping the misery.)

Today is Saturday and I am being rebellious and listening to Sunday Morning. I usually only play that on Sundays because it fits the appropriateness of things but to hell with that. I am also giving up on My Book because I was usually stoned when I re-read it and therefore laughed hysterically and thought I'd finally found something worth working on.

But I just read it for the first time when sober and it's so boring I want to gauge my eyes out.

So now, I will stop wasting time, and send my portfolio out, get a damn job, and go back to working life.

Being on holiday somewhere else is different from being on holiday at home. I thought I would love having nothing to do, but I hate it. Even my usual leisure activities no longer hold pleasure.

It's kind of like when someone wants to have sex with you, really wants to, and makes it obvious. And even if you're sex-starved and know you can tap them anytime you want, you won't.

It's sad because I always thought I could perfect the art of leisure given the opportunity. But I can't. I don't like having nothing to do when I actually have nothing to do. I only like having nothing to do when I have something to do and I'm not doing it.

I am deeply disturbed because this week has made me realise that I am not who I thought I was and I will have to re-examine my life perspective completely. I have spent fucking twenty-four years already examining it.

Trust me, it was not fun.

Most people thrive on happiness and joy.

I thrive on misery and self-pity and self-delusion.

So there's a silver lining then.

WOMAN LEAVES OFFICE AT 7 PM, REACHES HOME SAFELY

RSS's Mohun Bhagat calls for change, says Indian culture is being abandoned 

​Raj Thapar, TNN| Mar 10, 2015, 11.14 AM IST

​NEW DELHI: In an occurrence that is becoming increasingly frequent throughout the country, 25 year old Manpreet Kaur reached home after work without any untoward incident despite leaving at 7 pm. 

RSS representative Mohun Bhagat called it "disgraceful." "Indian culture is being abandoned." He went on to clarify. 

Kaur, who works in PR, walked 15 minutes to catch a bus which arrived on time. The only occupants were driver Nikhil Sawney (36), conductor Ravi Singh (23) and 11 unidentified male passengers.

Apart from Singh collecting Kaur's fare, not a single occupant of the bus acknowledged her for the duration of the 1 hour journey. 

After alighting, Kaur walked through the narrow alleyway to reach the 2 bedroom flat where she lives alone. Kaur reports that though she passed several local men playing teen patti and drinking in the alley, they did not glance her way even once. 

"Honestly, I am hardly surprised by this now," commented Kaur. "I even frequent Chinese restaurants without feeling unsafe." 

In the past month, at least 3 women have come forward to report similar incidents.

"I was wearing denim shorts and walking along a crowded pavement," says 19 year old Tanisha. "My bottom was not pinched by a single man."

According to 30 year old Riti, she was drinking at a nightclub till 2 am and waiting to be picked up by her boyfriend on the pavement outside. "The only man who approached me offered to stand with me until my boyfriend arrived." she claimed. 

Last week, a Delhi MP stated that women being out on the roads after 7 pm was completely normal. He was contradicted by only 80 ministers.

"The way things are going, we will no longer be able to blame women for men's misdeeds," said a local Delhi constable who wished to be unidentified. He added: "We will have to turn our attention to atheists and non-vegetarians." 

DT News Service

Copy from a spec ad I did at work, I wanted to update this blog, but I didn't feel like writing.