A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.

Happy New Year peeps!!!

I've been meaning to write for a while now but there has been no happy thing to write about. I wanted my 1st post of 2010 to be a happy one and if you see my blogger drafts for the last 20 odd days - you'd feel so bad for me. I churned out some semi-finished depression filled posts. I've been going through this endless process of submitting applications, staying up all night and working at office (a thankless bitch of a place!) This kinda schedule leaves little or no time for basics like food and sleep, forget blogging.

Anyway, cribs apart, I've been listening to some very cute telugu music (trying to read up lyrics and wondering what the mumble-jumble of vowels is all about! hell yes, its my mother tongue but still!) and anything telugu brings only 1 memory to my mind. No, not mom's weekly routine of sambar rice. It reminds me of my 2.5 years at Hyderabad. Those 2.5 yrs which gave me my budds for a good memory and a zillion other things for a bad memory. I hated the first breeze of that place when I landed there. I hated where my hotel was. I hated the locality where I moved in. I hated those malls that stocked piles of tasteless clothes. I hated those movie theatres which almost never played good movies and when they did, there'd be no tickets available. I hated the streets where people spat paan on your pants. I hated those mindless flyovers running from somewhere to nowhere and from nowhere to yet another nowhere - clogging traffic and making you sick of looking at tasteless buildings lined next to each other for 10s of kilometers. I hated the night clubs - they were a hangout zone for a bunch of rich wannabes figuring out how a mojito is different from a long island iced tea. I hated how the only bearable place in the face of hyd, a quaint little cafe at jubilee rd no. 36, called my cafe latte turned into a monstrous and ugly and loud coffee bar. When it was small, we spent every weekend for 6 months at the cafe, talking to the waiter in marathi and buying classic milds for the weekend at the pan shop next to it.

We spent countless hours at those bad malls, on those crowded flyovers, in those bad cafe coffee days and baristas, stood in those long queues for movies, walked on those risky bylanes, went to those bad clubs with bad music and terrible crowd and shook a leg, got fooled by half of the town, spoke endlessly about mindless topics like love and past, sat at home out of frustration, downed zillions of litres of tea, coffee, read books, slept, sat and did nothing, went to spas for massage and ate bad sandwiches thereafter for hundreds of rupees.

Me and budds were eager to leave Hyd the day we went there until the day we left. But why am I not surprised that cute telugu songs bring back memories of hyderabad, not in a bad taste, but in a tone of reminiscence? That's because we spent every day at Hyd telling ourselves - these are the best days of our life, no matter how fucked up they are, they are good because we are together. To have fun, to crib, bitch, to get wasted, to do nothing and to do everything.

And boy were we right!