Will I be happy? I have to be. Afterall that’s my decision to leave this cosy-comfy job and opt for a much harder life. No pickups, no drops. Commuting forty kilometers a day in these insane, packed-like-sardines local trains, with the fear of a bomb going off anytime and reduce my much-adored body in pieces of flesh. Stories will not come to me, aha, I have to go and hunt for them.
Am I happy?
You bet, I am.
I know the life is hard there. But isn’t it true that anything easy makes you tired? Wouldn’t Mumbai be an adventure to be remembered? When did I say that I want time for myself?
No, heck no. I don’t want time for myself. I have had so much of time for myself in Bangalore, that I have gone crazy. It’s bloody damn tiring. When I switch off the light, and slip into my blanket, all kinds of thoughts keep crawling in, I go mad.
I want some hustle-bustle, the daily pangs of life that would be enough to make …