The other day I quit my job.
The other day I quit my job. It wasn't a sudden thing, but the feeling of being ho-hummed had been creeping up on me for the longest while. There had to be something better to do than sit under the fluorescent lights of an airconned office for long hours, and pretend like you were changing the world.u00a0u00a0u00a0
So I shook the cobwebs off the chair I had sit in for too long. And put in my papers. With a vague idea of doing all the things I had always dreamt of doing.
Learn Bollywood dancing. Take up driving. Write a book. Script a movie. Study Kannada. Study Spanish. Travel whenever I felt like it. Work with an environmental agency. Open a restaurant. Get serious about the gym and those six pack abs (Well, sure I am hitting forty but if SRK and Soorya can do it, why can't I?).
I bundled up all my detritus. Left my fancy designation behind. And threw away all my baggage. But in this week that I have been jobless, have frankly done nothing to tick off even one item on my bucket list.u00a0u00a0 
Ah! But the bliss of taking an afternoon siesta on a weekday afternoon. The magic of laying your head down on a pillow, tired from doing nothing at all. And the divine feeling of well-being that comes from knowing that this won't end in a week, but could last the rest of one's life, if you wanted it to.u00a0
Those Goans and Arabs and Greeks knew what they were talking about when they extolled the virtues of forty winks. When even the flies get duller and you feel replete just after lunch. And the only thing in Nature toiling away, are those worker bees on their high stress, corporate ladders.
Out of the ivory tower, there are no Monday morning blues. There's no ties tied tight. No "Damn-I-have-to-get-to-office-by-nine-am-for-that-all-important-con-call-that's-gonna-decide-my-future." And phew! There's no office politics, just stress-free mediating between the cook and the maid, and sorting out the kitchen coup.
Days melt into each other. In a long ennui of pleasant nothingness. All good intentions of catching up with friends for lunch and dinner haven't happened yet. The rigorous schedule of checking out the art exhibitions in town hasn't even begun.
The only drawback of all this is, I don't get that special feeling of waking up on a Friday morning. That little warm glow I used to get in my days in the rat race, of having the weekend stretch ahead of me. Of knowing that I could finally let my hair down after coming to the end of yet another seventy-hour week.
And damn, this weekend, while the worker bees rest their buzzing, I need to put in a spot of work. Just so I can pay my way for another week of nothingness.
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