A day in the life of..

So my week-days can undoubtedly be categorized into two parts - the days I go to office and the days I don't. And it's the days I don't which looked poised to contribute towards that first shade of grey on the (not-so) luxuriant mane.

Monday mornings dawn bright and full of promise. What do you know.

A quick bath, followed by throwing-on a pair of jeans so old, they probably remember the day I was born, and something on top that I reserve only for office-wear, given the fact that tank-tops, halter-necks, and other universally-acknowledged skimpy attire would not be met with appreciation, is more or less step-one. Then begins the long trudge to office.

While I must document here the fact that I live in what most people refer to as hep environs, my office is attached to the other end of that rainbow, with no proverbial pot of gold dangling from it. Now I have tried all sorts of routes to get there - and am pleased to say that after exhaustive research and on-ground experimentation, have zeroed-in on the optimum mode of transportation.

So I take the Bandra-Belapur bus that leaves every twenty minutes from Bandra station and deposits me at my destination a neat 90 minutes later. These 90 minutes are spent in relative luxury - a-listening to the radio, a-working on the laptop, or a-reading.

Office is absolute delight. Breakfast, my fifteen minutes of me-time, is followed by a karara cup of chai - the joy is enhanced by the fact that it is delivered by an amiable and industrious man, who would rather die than not oblige someone's heartfelt plea for that life-restoring beverage.

Work gets crazy after that, the phone never stops ringing, and the mails flood the mailbox tsunami-like. What I like, is that most of the people who I need to keep going back to for my daily bread like Jack-OCDingonwhetherdoorshutproperlyornot-Nicholson are situated on a couple of floors above or below.

Lunch is quick, unless there happens to be at the table, a certain mix of people, the coming together of whom, results in explosions. There are many things we Sales people are not, and aggressive is not one of them.

So the day melts into evening and suddenly the clock strikes 7 and I am left ruing the fact that even if I leave the premises that very instant, home will not be reached before good ol' 9. Nevertheless, such ruminations apart, the premises are left no sooner than a solid hour later, what with one thing and the other.

The journey back by train, is another epic one. Belapur to Wadala, Wadala to Bandra, and let me not forget the bhel at Wadala. There are few things in life, that would make one miss a near-empty train that is going expressly to where you want to get off, and said bhel is one of them. The actual taste is not much to write about, it is quite typical in its construct. It's the idea of it, the joy of looking forward to this little snack in the midst of a two-hour journey home; the alacrity and adroitness with which it is made, the sheer professionalism of never handing over the final product until completely satisfied with. Like a Bong would day - it is Bhel-made.

And then there are other post-coming-home benefits of being in town, which I shall not elaborate upon here, since they are not, my dears, for-public-consumption.