Last Sunday afternoon, I reread my morning pages. Morning pages are stream-of-consciousness writing done upon waking for high-off purposes. (More on them here.)
Every month, during the week of my period, my notes take an unmistakable turn. My observations become flighty and ungenerous.
BUT they are also emotionally honest (h/t Hasan Minhaj’s Obama interview ).
This week, to bridge the gap between who I truly am and who I might appear to be, I am declaring my irritations.
This is a litany of petty problems.
Enjoy.
The Scent of Ubers: Uber odours exist on a continuum. But many are a vague combination of ass and lemons. Byredo, the makers of ‘Mumbai Noise’ (a 25,000 rupee perfume inspired by the streets of Chembur of all places), should take note.
Some days, it is unclear if the problem is the Uber or the fact of having to actually be somewhere.
The Bus That Takes You From the Plane to the Tarmac: Every time a plane taxis and there is no sign of an aerobridge, a little piece of me dies. They herd us into those buses and go where they like. They take away our agency. It is all very World War II-esque.
Banking: It’s 1964 in HDFC Bank. My manager, Atanu, seems nice enough. He’s a character straight out of an Amol Palekar film. He's no help at all, and he’s comfortable being that way. He always wants that one document I don't have.
These days, I pretend to be interested in their (surprisingly legal) investment instruments before asking for the help I need. Can’t wait for the whole bank to be colonised.
Keeping in touch with extended family: Conceptually, a good idea. But requires an unforgiving RoI assessment. An excellent time for math.
DJs: We always talk about what annoys DJs, not how annoying THEY are. The discourse needs improvement. I need to be more familiar with the intricate science of DJing. From a drunken distance, though, I can tell that some (literal and metaphorical) buttons are being pressed. To make atrocious sounds like in this terrible 2015 track.
Salons: The role that salons play in society needs examining. In my studied opinion, they are sites of feminine oppression. Brainwashed women sign up to be detained for several hours to be "fixed". We become hostages as people pull and prick at us. And then we pay them. This whole thing is very perverse.
Too Much Service: Is it realistic or desirable for society to want to be dazzled by something as meagre and insipid as customer service? Please, sirs and ma'ams, just leave me alone. I don't enjoy the strange power dynamic, and the fact that you're 30 seconds away from offering to perform an experimental dance for my delight gives me anxiety.
I am friendly, and I am a bish. Or, as William James would say, tough-minded AND tender-minded.
I guess we're all in the asshole circumplex often enough. The duality of the human experience and all that.
Have a good weekend! :D
Atanu always wanting one document that you don’t have is the cruel joke we’ve all been the butt of. Another great piece.
This was a really funny one, Uthara. Especially the line, "the streets of Chembur of all places" 😆