True to my word, I am writing a post on Bombay from a cybercafe, ie using broadband that I am going to pay for. I hope the Universe is watching, because I am putting the ‘think-you-are-rich-even-when-you-are-shitting-bricks-thanks-to-unyielding-unemployment’ adage from The Secret to some serious test here. I am still jobless, but I am not letting that prevent me from my daily dose of burritos and room-temperature Corona. And now, I am in the middle of a 5-hour marathon session at a cyber cafe @ 20 bucks to the hour. I have already taken about 15 useless printouts, and just when I realised my behind is sore from too much sitting, I decided I haven’t qite spent enough to feel happy today. The Universe conspired, sending Bombay its first round of blinding thick rain. The Secret works, again!
Every difficult city in the world has its own set of doggery-hardened philosophers who can define the city like no other. Having allowed the city to see them in the most compromising and vulnerable positions, these people develop a stoic inertia that feeds on watching others going through the same treatment. They are minefields of survival information on the city, but they consider it their duty to let the city toy with your vitals as the best form of induction. Basically, they are insufferable sadists, a bit like second-year seniors are with anxious fuchhas. To make matters worse, many of them are misers.
The best thing to do if you are new in the city and coping with an extended period of idleness is to smoke a few cheap joints with these folks, but if you are beyond that age, you could try provoking them with a few strong statements expressing your dislike for the city, and then sit back with your bottle of warm beer.
My learning from one such session: “Good that you are jobless. Bombay will soon enter you through all your holes. Love will blossom.”
I only hope I don’t have to fake an orgasm, like so many ‘strugglers’ in the city have been doing for so many years, desperately trying to keep their marriage with the city alive.