Now when my colleague asked me this, it simply meant that the other
night was a cool one, in fact a (brrr...) cold one. I finally hired an air conditioner and installed it in my room. Though it was a hell of a job seeing my room covered in dust and cleaning it up thereafter (besides cursing myself for thinking that getting an ac fixed is a piece of cake), the end result was undescribable. I even called up my dad and started giggling excitedly: "Baba it's so cold and nice." He must have thought: "My poor daughter seems to have lost it. She's reacting like she's seen an ac for the first time." But aloud he said: "Enjoy mamma". And I am, so much so that even two days later the novelty refuses to fade away.
However, all this doesn't mean that good days are here. What an ac can't take away is the pain of travelling for assignments on hot sultry days in auto rickshaws. E says I should probably look for a car on hire!
Yesterday I had this drooly drooly experience for sure. I met Abhishek Bachchan. When I say he's hot, it's an understatement. As I sat across him for an interview, I couldn't take my eyes off his chest (his shirt was carelessly carefully open till some point). But he seemed to be quite a twerp when it came to giving candid answers. I bet the word 'candid' doesn't exist in his dictionary. Another thing...he's bloody tall.
The rest of the day was a stinker. First of all my shoes gave way on the road while I was on my way to my next assignment. I had to hobble back to the cobbler with the road scorching my bare feet. It was pathetic. At the assignment, I caught hold of this theatre personality whose name happened to be Khalid Muhammad (yes same as that of the filmmaker). The foolish PR person told me very confidently that it was the filmmaker guy. I went up and asked him: "So Mr Muhammad what projects are you working on at the moment?" He said: "I am not Khalid Mohammad of Silsilay." Why why does it happen to me?
After this I went for a third assignment. It was an UN event on anti
drugs day. My bait for attending it had been a performance by rock band Them Clones. But the prelude was too much to weather. Plus there were tiny hammers pounding together in my head, all at one go it seemed. I decided to meet P for coffee. My auto stopped somewhere near P's office and the autowallah was caught by the police constable. The autowallah had the gall to bark at me. It was like a bad comedy. I couldn't understand what he was saying nor could I make what he was shouting at me for (he had stopped of his own free will). This was followed by me standing on a dusty road desperately trying to hail another auto with an irate constable's aid.
On my way back home after dinner at Pizza Hut, I realised with a sinking feeling that my cell phone was nowhere to be found in my immensely cluttered bag. To top it all, while I was rummaging for it, my compact fell out of the auto and I saw the mirror inside it breaking into tiny little shards (well, I am a bit superstitious about mirrors). The guy at Pizza Hut was the icing. He calmly flicked out my cell and said: "Is this yours?" I am sure nothing could have been more obvious than my relief. But my good friend didn't think it was proof enough. He wanted solid proof. At that moment when I felt like screaming at him out of sheer relief and frustration, there was a stranger across the room who smiled at me in silent solidarity. It feels funny how small gestures can touch you. I smiled back at her and felt decidedly calmer. After I established my identity as the owner, I walked out an immensely relieved individual.
I returned home. There was no light.