Food

I was going to write a philosophical post, all about the meaning of existence and the point of life. Its sessional time, and that means its time to denounce the materialistic world and embrace the spiritual one, while silently laughing at all those who are still in pursuit of materialistic pleasure (such as not failing the tests). But somehow, the post isn’t going the way I want it to. Maybe because the sessionals are a whole week away. Maybe because the hypocrite in me is still asleep. But mostly because I’m hungry. You can’t see through the illusions of this deceiving world when there’s a very real void in your stomach.

I’m not even actually hungry. There’s just this huge hole in my stomach. See, you can’t be properly hungry unless you’re hungry for something. And I’m not hungry for mess food. These are the times that I miss Mumbai the most. The mess food isn’t very very bad, it’s just tasteless. What I want now is some chaat with obscene amounts of masala sprinkled all over it.

I have this unexplained craving for pav bhaji. I mean, I never really liked it much anyway. But you don’t get decent pav bhaji anywhere in Manipal. Everything you get here is very very bland. I have this picture in my mind of pav bhaji, with butter slowly melting on the bhaji and the onion, lemon and the oily fingers.

The grilled sandwiches. The dahi puri. The sev puri. Everything and anything which has huge amounts of chaat masala.

I hate my life.

Robots.

There are robots outside my window. Giant, metallic, gleaming, with-a-thousand-glowing-lights robots. One male, one female. They help with construction work. And keep pretty much to themselves.
And, very obviously, love blossomed between the two robots. In between planning for the great big robotic wedding bash which is a year and a half away, they get very little work done. And these robots, in contrast to robotic tradition, are strongly in favour of premarital sex. And robots, unlike humans (this human in particular), are mostly morning creatures.
Robots are also, apparently, passionate creatures. At 7 in the morning (which is exactly twenty whole minutes before I’m supposed to get up), they indulge in wild, loud, metallic, clanging, squealing, grunting, and very very passionate robotic sex. I hate having to get up a little before I’m supposed to. Because then by the time I get back to sleep, it’s time to get up. And going to sleep in the middle of loud robotic sex, not to mention the stares and silent disapproval of my already half-ready roommate, is practically impossible.
Maybe I should complain. Or sue. There must be laws against early morning, loud, public robotic fornication.

Calvin & Hobbes.

The Story of My Life.