Tomorrow is chhoti Diwali (rolling eyes, here) and I am going home. Kanna pachhe, because there will be so much chaos, at home while leaving, and then on the way, at the station. Because I wanted to send off the syllabus to my author, scan and send chapters to another author, speak to someone who might help me find a series editor, and all my bloody office forced us to do today was celebrate Diwali. We had to dress up in the shinies, play musical chairs, eat the lunch organised, and then everyone went home before 3, barring a few. Of course I didn't play musical chairs. I really really resent being forced to conform to someone's definition of culture, fun and celebration, that it has to be so loud and shiny, that shitloads are spent on what is a smokescreen to take focus away from shitty increments, and a reorientation of focus from quality work to loud show.
I have hardly worked. I mean, I have, but it's more like dragging the weight along, rather than rushing ahead to do as much as I can and sneaking in some more, if possible. I feel angry, tired and bored all the time. Oh, and also cold, since we are in the season of is it/isn't it winter.
My loud and attention-needing colleague really annoys me, my boss came wearing a wedding sari, for heaven's sake, and I know nothing will get done the moment I push away from this dusty, dirty, smoggy, awful city.
My mother is a constant thorn on my mind. Where would I even start if I have to write about her. I have a photo of me which has distinct hints of mortality. My hair is silvering in sad and different ways that it didn't before. And there is no boy in sight. I wish I could go out on a fun date with someone normal: not really an obvious asshole, you know? I have felt so old and unpartnerable these past few days, like, how could I even imagine that someone might want to spend their life with me. 

I want to speak out about the supposed taboos of friendship once and for all.

As a friend, you are expected to be delighted when your friends announce their weddings, their pregnancies, when the kid is born, when the marriage happens. But when you are single, don’t have plans to wed and are not particularly interested in kids – even when you feel all of these – you feel left out of life, you feel like life is passing you by. I wish I had more friends my age who felt this way, who were still looking, you didn’t feel like jumping on to the bandwagon because – middle age. I wish there were avenues in this our society where you could channel your energies as a single woman and have your very different achievements recognised just as much as important milestones as those two above. Like, hitting the 1 lakh mark in salary, yay! Was made manager, yay! Was given a team of people to manage, yay! Took solo trip, has managed to keep ageing parents healthy into their 70s, sterilized X no. of dogs this year, etc.

I am tired of feigning happiness for things that mean nothing to me. It’s like I am looking in at a party which seems interesting but not really, but everybody’s at it, and it seems so happening that it’s only out of intellectual willing that you decide to stay out of it. I survived news of your marriages, now I don’t want to hear about your babies, people! Please take your smug-married things *away* from me. And quit pretending that it’s perfectly fine to expect your single friend to be excited and happy when you tell them about happenings which, by not being a part of, I am setting myself up to be a pariah. Don’t pretend that that isn’t loud, rude, uncouth and unkind.

I *don’t* want to travel with a pregnant friend, I don’t want to be have to take care of her all the time, this is also my only trip of the year, and I deserve to relax too. I’ve also had a hard year.

I wish I could crawl into a hole for a few years and come out after everyone of these smug married people had had their babies.