n i g h t i n g a l e s h i r a z / blog
between clients...

june 2017
march 2017
february 2017
january 2017
november 2016
october 2016
september 2016
august 2016
july 2016
june 2016
may 2016
april 2016
march 2016
february 2016
december 2015
november 2015
october 2015
september 2015
may 2015
march 2015
february 2015
january 2015
december 2014
november 2014
october 2014
september 2014
august 2014
may 2014
april 2014
march 2014
february 2014
*april 2013
*march 2013
*february 2013
*january 2013
*december 2012
*november 2012
*october 2012
*september 2012
*july 2012
*october 2011
*september 2011
*august 2011
*july 2011
*june 2011
*may 2011
april 2011
march 2011
april 2010
march 2010
february 2010
january 2010
december 2009
november 2009
september 2009
june 2009
may 2009
february 2009
january 2009
december 2008
october 2008
september 2008
august 2008
july 2008
june 2008
may 2008
april 2008
january 2008
december 2007
november 2007
october 2007
september 2007
august 2007
july 2007
june 2007
may 2007
april 2007
march 2007
february 2007
january 2007
december 2006
november 2006
october 2006
september 2006
august 2006
july 2006
june 2006
may 2006
april 2006
march 2006
february 2006
january 2006
december 2005
november 2005
october 2005
september 2005
august 2005
july 2005
june 2005
may 2005
april 2005
march 2005
february 2005
january 2005
december 2004
november 2004
october 2004
september 2004
august 2004
july 2004
june 2004
may 2004
april 2004
march 2004
february 2004
january 2004
december 2003
june 2003
april 2003
march 2003
 
when the mets are not a baseball team.

today i am tired.

i am tired of hotel climate control, tired of not being able to cook my own pasta, tired of every single damn Mumbaikar who cannot stop telling me how wonderful and amazing this city is (and don't get me wrong, i'm sure it may be, i am just sick of the hyper-enthusiastic hardsell that makes even a Karachi comb-seller look apathetic).  i am tired of the hospital and its exceptionally high concentration of misery -- exceptionally high even for this city.  i am tired of people trying too hard to help -- of trying to figure out how to tell them, could you just give us some space?  i am tired of the ICC Cricket World Cup, of Bob Woolmer's murder and Shakira's concert and Abhiash's (cough-snort) wedding and Shilpa Shitty's [sic] midriff -- all fighting for room in papers that can't seem to spell right.  i am even tired of smoked salmon.  (and don't get me started on Indian wine.)  i am tired of trying to figure out how i will get another Indian visa when this one expires.  i am tired of books with crooked print, books about cancer and chemotherapy, books about palliative care, books about how many months my father has.

i am tired enough to finally write.

***

but.

there is not a moment when i would rather be anywhere else than where i am right now.  there is not a moment when i am not completely aware, that out of all the people in this hotel-room, i have the fewest reasons, to be tired.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[ITC Hotel Grand Central Sheraton & Towers, Mumbai]
[monday 26 march 2007 at 13:36:30] []

m is for March.

i sit in the hotel bar, trying to take an hour off from Being Perfect (or at least, from Being My Version Of Perfect).

because it's Friday night, there seem to be more people here, than there have been all week, put together.

this is my first time in India.
(care factor, as Demetri would say, is *so* zero.)

i cannot think of a thing to write.

on Skype, Erica tells me to record Bombay-speak, so i can carry it back for her.  she reminds me to look for glass bangles, and for magic laddus, and every once in a while, for myself.
i am trying (right this minute, in fact).  but it's hard to be interested in anything.  it's hard to *want* to be interested in anything.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[ITC Hotel Grand Central Sheraton & Towers, Mumbai]
[friday 16 march 2007 at 19:40:38] []