Welcome to this blog. As my preamble has suggested, this blog will be infrequently updated with posts about motorcycles, life and the myriad thoughts that occur to me. In this particular instance, I write this post amidst the pandemic that is Covid19. A plague that has no known vaccine as yet, and one that has taken its toll on humanity, economy, cashflow, emotions quite like the proverbial storm in a tea cup. The tea cup being, of course, our existence. Before I preach on, for sometimes like the best of men and some women, I too suffer from the hubris of loving hearing myself speak, let me get back to the point. Here, I attempt to outline the routine of a regular, middle class, educated, some might say comfortable, married man.
I start my day early, 6 am to be precise. This is not the outcome of any blaring alarm clock that pitilessly wakens the dead each morning, it is an unfortunate consequence of having a body clock that does not permit me to stay in bed beyond this hour. My wife, on the other hand, having no such limitation imposed on herself, enjoys the pleasures of the pillow for a few more hours, a fact that endlessly amazes me, and paints me green, with envy. So awaken I must, before most humans, and the first thing any self-respecting human of South Indian origin must do, is prepare filter coffee, and I abide by this stereotype myself, religiously. The right combination of coffee powder, sourced from the right manufacturer whose judicious coffee to chickory ratio tends to please the senses, lay waste to the cobwebs of an early morning brain-fog is an experience that delights me ridiculously. Well, as they say, coffee or rather caffeine is the most socially acceptable drug of choice for humanity, and I, myself, am rather enjoying my addiction. So coffee being drunk, now the stupor of an entire night (4-5 hours) having been left behind, I tend to put on my householder hat, and begin my chores. Already the previous night, we have washed the clothes in the washing machine, and there they wait for me, to be hung on the line, to dry, to be worn again post morning ablutions, to continue their cyclical existence of going from fresh laundry to soiled, only to meet the machine again that night to be cleansed of the day's soiling. Not that they are soiled much these days, what with the lockdown in place, there is scant probability of them taking on any perspiration, unlike the days when we were all mobile and permitted to venture outdoors, to curse at traffic, to meet fellow office colleagues, to sweat and soil them with gay abandon! Once this chore is complete, I move on to my next and most coveted ritual, the pumping of iron. I possess a pair of dumbells, some rods and plates that while being sufficient to maintain muscle mass and strength levels, more often end up simply inflating my ego. The fact that I can lift these weights often enough, with requisite ease, quite simply makes me feel bigger and stronger than I actually am. That being said, they are useful to maintain one's health and vitality, so I persist. This ritual complete, the clock nearing 9 AM, I then take a shower, scrubbing away at the epidermis, bringing some fresh soapy scent to my otherwise peculiar pheromonal funk, one I might say is not a matter of complaint from the wife at the worst of times.
Now it is time to get to work, yes I am one of the large section of the workforce in the IT industry that have the luxury of being able to work from home. A fact especially useful in these times of lockdown and isolation. Although this very luxury also sometimes means that me and my tribe are never really not working, through the technological innovation (curse) that is the modern day smartphone, we are always reachable, always online and always on-call. My company builds software, so we work long hours at the best of times. This is compounded by the fact that our customers and founders are in North America, lending our work hours to often extend in to their day time, which is far into our zzz hours. But I cannot and do not complain, for I love my job, I am good at it, and it is what I do, not just to make a living, but also to fulfil my aspirations and ambitions. So work begins, goes on for a few hours until it is lunch time. I take a small break for lunch, often a working lunch, which means your laptop and plate of food often argue with each other squabbling for room on the table in front of you. Lunch, thankfully is something my wife prepares, and regularly exceeds herself at.
After lunch, comes even more work, web-meetings, discussions, messaging and a lot of time spent exercising the muscle that is the human brain. While work often continues far into the night with me, I do confess to one guilty pleasure, I watch an Indian news channel debate, the Republic TV debate every night from 9 PM onwards, chaired by this right wing, often belligerent, unapologetically nationalistic anchor, Arnab Goswami. I watch this debate, not because it is my habit to have my fingers on the pulse of what goes on in the nation or in the world. But I do so, more than often, just to watch members of the Left and Right wing in India have at each other, not unlike gladiators in a Roman coliseum. All while the biggest and loudest dog in the yard, Arnab, yells over all of them and engages in chest thumping and acrimonious dialogue that no debate thus far has ever been guilty of promoting. This ends at 10 PM, whereafter I am in work calls usually until midnight. And once the days labours have been completed, I retire to my bed, tired, but satisfied after a day's efforts.
There are those that complain endlessly of the isolation they are subjected to during this lockdown. Their distance from the rest of humanity being an aberration to the regular scheme of things. Their inability to meet people, experience crowds, shake hands, hug their friends, and just go out for a meal with those they are familiar with. I do not suffer from any of the above. I have always held that humanity is overrated. And while I understand the need for having them around as a workforce, I do not pander to any sentimental longing for being a sheep amidst their herd. I, for one, quite like my isolation. I do not miss mingling with the hordes out here. I do not miss cursing at traffic on my way to work from the air-conditioned confines of my car. I certainly do not long for the sweaty crowded elevators that take us to our places of work. I am, for all intents and purposes, a hermit at heart. Forced to live amongst the rest of humanity, suffering all their agonies, all the discomforts they bring, not because I want to, only because I have to, in this inevitably long, unending journey that is my middle class existence.
