Sunday, June 13, 2010

Pack your bags and Move on- Part 2

[Part 1 is right below in case you want to read it in order]

I had to move into my house on a weekday in the evening [which was a right pain in the arse, what with my exhaustingly long work day], and also, I had to boil milk. Why? Because my mother said it was auspicious. “No, no Saturday is no good. It has got to be a Friday. And what do you mean you don’t have a gas cylinder? Get one. Or we’ll help you find one.” Said my mother, who surprised me by taking such an interest with this move-in although she seemed to be dead against it the last time I checked. When I mentioned this to her, she quite simply looked at me like I was slow and said, “If you’re doing this stupid thing, at least do it right.”

So I did. Late on Friday evening, I brought over a mattress, some pillows and a make-do stove, and LOL brought over a packet of mosquito coils and a bottle of wine. We had great plans of drinking into the wee hours of the morning talking about anything and everything, and generally celebrating the romantic moment of moving into our first home together.

Instead, the exhaustion of the eventful day lead us to promptly fall sleep in under an hour- wine bottle unopened, mosquito coil unlit.

We did manage to do get the milk boiled early next morning though.


LOL was constantly a bit worried about how a live-in relationship would work for me. This was my first and his second, although to be honest this was one step further than his last live-in, since his girlfriend and him, poor college students at the time, lived with as many as six other housemates.

Still, he was worried about my expectations. And he was kind of right to be- In a way; although it wasn’t for any of the reasons he had anticipated.

Because what actually happened was The Return of the MonsterME. Like I said, in my earlier post, I am the kind of madzer that proactively looks for change in my life every few months, but gets extremely frustrated with that very same change! It’s almost as if I’m offended by the change. How can that be though? Seeing as how I inflict it on myself most times?

This is what happened:

a.I was struggling with the move to this branch office of my company and the job role change (also self inflicted)
b.I was struggling with having so much sudden time with my family
c.I wasstruggling with not having my roommates to fall back on—we were best friends who lived and worked together and I was missing precious face time with my support system
d.And I HATED that LOL was never home- LOL was still doing a night shift at the time
Therefore a+b+c+d = MonsterME

I think I might have just missed the routine. Plus, being as I am, a social person, a talkative social person, I hated coming home to nobody, not seeing LOL all week or very late in the day (sometimes as late as 1am), I hated not having to talk to someone about my new job etc. In those early days, I thought of the TV as my best friend who entertained me and/or I entertained myself by attempting to talk to myself. Now, looking back, I think I even remember being the kind of person who hung on to LOL’s legs (metaphorically obviously) every chance I got to see him- like a kid who didn’t want daddy to go to office (although I can’t be sure since I’m hoping it’s a figment of my imagination). (Plus, I don’t like the idea of that having freaked him out). Anyway, like I said, madzer.

Gratefully, my best friend slash previously house-mate moved into town soon after and crashed at our place for the first month, until he found a place of his own. I think he might be the reason I remained sane, and LOL didn’t need to ship me off to a crazyhouse in exchange for a basket of fruits (imagine what I’d be like if I kept muttering to myself—and if I’d continue to unconsciously keep doing that in public. Oh, the shame.)

Don’t get me wrong though. Moving in with LOL has been the most beautiful and exciting experience I’ve ever had. In the first few months, during the weekends, and the few days he managed to get home early, we cooked together, bought beautiful things for the house together (thank God he’s a boy with good taste; they’re such a rare species), set up the house together etc.

We didn’t have any other teething problems; we were like a perfect fit, like a couple of people who were meant to live under the same roof. Gradually, I even started getting used to his erratic timings.

We settled into this perfect way of being around each other and spending time together, and also being around each other and doing our own thing. Like reading our own books in bed, him watching TV out in the hall and me writing inside, etc. 

The one thing I always knew I’d enjoy about living together was the Small Things. Buying little artifacts for the house, drinking green tea and watching crap on TV, lying awake late into the night talking about our day (we call it TalkTime), grocery shopping, reading together (and reading little excerpts of what we like to each other), taking care of each other when we were sick, choosing which toothpaste to use, waking up next to each other-- smiling that this is the first thing we open our eyes to, and a million other dazzling, little things.

I don’t know if the Boiling the Milk and the Moving in on a ‘lucky’ Day helped, but if it did, whoever or whatever you are that made this happen (apart from my mum), thank you-- because I’m having the time of my life.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Pack your bags and Move On- Part 1.

A year and half ago, I found myself in a peculiar situation. I was moving back to the town I was from (having lived in another for work for a couple of years) and I had to move back in with my parents. The thought both excited and terrified me. I was happy because I didn’t need to worry about what I’d have to cook for dinner or about the laundry not being done. Scared because I had gotten used to living life on my own terms, aka living unhealthy and whimsically and now I’d have to someone to answer to.

Oh, and the main reason? I was mostly terrified because I had to move in to their house and then move OUT very shortly. To move IN with my boyfriend. So I had to spend most of this stop- gap move -in with them trying to convince them about why I wanted to move OUT. (Yeah, you can imagine, a South Indian girl from a 'good family', not only wanted to rent a house and live separately in the same city as her parents, but she ALSO wanted to move IN with her boyfriend. Shaantam Paapam.)

In those months, the conversations with my parents mostly revolved around topics like these: a) Pickle: explaining to them that I find that pickle is an essential part of my meal and that’s why I eat so much of it, and no, I don’t think I’ll stop b) Living in Sin: trying to explain to them why live-in relationships were not SIN and why I wanted to move in with the Love Of my Life (Lets call him LOL for convenience).

These months were spent eating nice homely food,having super fun pyjama parties and bonding with my baby sister, talking to LOL and being excited about looking for a house and setting up a home, fighting with my parents about well, almost everything, missing the life I’d left behind- my roommates, my penthouse-, getting used to the very, very new job role and job environment. And mostly freaking out about everything.

You see, ‘change’ and I have a very love-hate relationship.

I go looking for ‘change’ every few months- I’m a person who gets fed up of life the way it is and wants it to be ‘different’ and ‘dynamic’, but when it actually happens- oh my, I have a near nervous breakdown. ‘Trying to cope’ I tell myself and all my poor friends who are always trying their damned best to be supportive to a mad girl who will at one heartbeat be crying and pleading for change and in the next crying ABOUT that very change! (I love you guys- you know who you are!).

Anyway, while I was still fighting for this live-in relationship at home, I was almost also regretting making the decision- It was turning out to be way harder than I thought to find a decent home to live in. After all of three rounds of looking for houses, LOL declared that he’s done.

So there I was: All alone, making spreadsheets with To-Do lists, calling brokers and trying to make them understand that a hole, the size of a letterbox, cannot be a home. My patience was running out, the insanity was setting in.

And there LOL was: Sending me little joyful texts that said, ‘hey babe, what about a bathtub? Or maybe a big balcony with a grill for BBQ parties?’ And although all I wanted to do was poison his green tea, I’d text back and say, ‘Hey babe. What about the budget? Did a rich, 100 year old grand-aunt die and leave you money recently?’

After many useless brokers, useless real estate online and offline portals I decided to go on ‘walks’. FINALLY, thanks to many ‘Walks’ around the area we wanted to live in, talking to every gurkha and watchman and thanks to my best friend RO’s patience and generosity, one rainy night, I found the house LOL and I moved into.