From deranged to displaced

Humans, we are fickle beings. Living amidst the chaos that was Madras, I often complained about the lack of time, space and privacy. It’s a city that reinforces just how small the world is, where you can’t go anywhere without tripping over someone you know. I despaired over never having time to do anything, to write and have my masterpiece out for the world to see. How it was just too hot to exercise, the auto guys were shameless cheats, that the city sucked. I actually do still stand by most of that. Trips abroad were always so bittersweet, the wonder of new lands and promises they held and the forlorn thought that this wouldn’t last and a trip back was in the offing. So I indulged in everything, like a dying man having a last look at the world, no seriously I was that dramatic. So much retail therapy I could fire my shrink, such amazing amounts of rich food, I had already signed for an extreme cleanse and so much wine and beer and wine that my ulcers had ulcers and I had restocked my meds and it was all totally worth it and I couldn’t wait to get back and do it all over again. Go back I did. Rinse and repeat. Then this year I moved to Boston, as a supportive to wife to my husband’s sudden educational aspirations. I have been here two weeks so far and I feel like I am part of a social experiment. No television, no car and extreme cold – none of which I am used to. It is like a really bad reality show. Would I die of boredom or of lack of social interaction or of the big bad cold. Tune to find out, if you really must. Because I am not really in Boston, but in a little town called Wellesley. California and New York had spoiled me. There was neither the warmth and familiarity of sunny, laidback California nor the cultural effervescence, crowded streets and more importantly convenient public transport that was the Big Apple. Oh did I mention Wellesley is a dry town. It means no booze and also everything shuts down by 8. Oh and it’s cold. I have all the time in the world because I can neither work nor study on my visa and there are hardly any people here. I see a face once every couple of days and we nod sagely. I am actually quite okay with the lack of human contact. What I miss is being useful or being gainfully employed. Okay not even gainfully. Now I do have time to write the novel I never had time for before. I have so many empty hours that I can fill in with all forms of exercise. And it’s a beautiful, tree-lined campus, with inspiration around every corner and all I have done in two weeks is watch a lot of Netflix, drink a lot of recently discovered and fast favourite Moscato wine and wander around the house bundled up in a thousand layers of clothes. Oh and I do the dishes, a lot!!! And sometimes I cook. But here it is too cold to go out and exercise. I have no one to meet and talk to. I am too bored to write. I have no TV to be connected to the outside world (forget Facebook and email and mobile phones), I have no car or proper public transport to travel into the city and enjoy the sights. We humans, I tell you, a fickle bunch. Or maybe it is just me.