Leap Back in Time
Its February 29th. Last day of the best month, in a leap year. What will I do with this extra day? Furiously type on my keyboard at work as usual, while “adding shareholder value”. Attend a Yoga class taught by a Singaporean, while being Indian myself. Try again to make a dear-diary-moment after the NYE fail.
It’s so cute how every Toast Box, FairPrice, Starbucks and Boost store in Singapore played Coldplay songs over the last month – I almost didn’t feel bad for missing the actual concert. Almost. As we approach March, the tide is turning over to Taylor Swift.
I like how the people of this city-state are straightforward, clean-cut. There is peace in the similarity of every day. I can semi-confidently predict every step of any given weekday from start to end because of how stable the environment is. A lame observation to some, a luxury to many from other parts of the world. Most days, I appreciate the monotone. Paint me in Uniqlo.
On some days, I miss the noise. Not literally, living in Little India is noisy enough. I miss the haphazard ways of vegetable vendors, chai-wallas, auto rickshaws, uncles reading newspapers, aunties drawing rangoli and two kids (why is it always two?) sitting on the back of their parents’ scooters– basically India at 8:30 AM. A colleague who was visiting from the Mumbai office asked me “How are you surviving work without chai?” That was a tough question, sent me all the way back to chai-biscuit school mornings as the Swades theme music played in my head. It has not even been a year and look at me, crumbling just like my Parle-G.
I recently met someone who had lived in Bangalore for five years, overlapping my time there. Another one of my friends here is a true-blue Bangalorean. I love how we can spot the Bangalore in the little phrases (“xyz and all”, “broooooo”, “it seems”) of people who have lived there. As my sister shared her sadness of graduating college soon, it reminded me of my gleeful Christ University days – running to Audi for attendance, then running to basement for samosas, then running to Cubbon Park, then starving/grumbling/crawling to Taaza Thindi. The Christmas celebrations and Ethnic days, the hostel life of Maggi, microwave mug cakes, late-night chats and laughter that would wake the grumpy warden; the competitions, dance performances, and the practices no one showed up to; the good grades, and the heartbreaks.
Each place you spend a little time in, keeps a little piece of you - which lights up every time it meets another person, who knows exactly what you are talking about. It’s a cosy feeling, being understood.
Five years have passed and yet the charm of Sudha Murthy’s stories and Bangalore Days” (10/10 movie) is still fresh. Without a choice, we move on to make room for new experiences. For the first time in my life, I have been blessed by lions for Chinese New Year, with traditions of Ang Pao (red envelopes) and placing Mandarin oranges on top of your monitor. Frankly, up until the point the lion dancers showed up to the trading floor, I thought I was being pranked.
As I write this, I think back to the last February 29th. I was still furiously typing on a keyboard for some other company’s financial settlements, wondering if I would clear the CAT and MBA interviews the second time around. I was still running late every morning and taking advantage of the affordable Ola bikes. Still spending too much at IKEA, while admiring the modified cafeteria menu of their Hyderabad store.
Discussing how bad Akshay Kumar’s movies were getting over osmania biscuits and Irani chai. Struggling to lift the 50-liter water bottle over the filter, with my two lovely roommates. The world was laughing over the rumors of a bat-related virus. We had no idea how transformational the next four years would be, and if you ask me, we don’t know today either. Maybe this is the year we see more female leaders of the world’s largest countries; I truly hope that isn’t less probable than a pandemic.
