4…3…2…1… the countdown has begun. It’s packing time, folks. And there’s a lot of it to be done. Chocolates, garments,shampoos, perfumes, vanity bags, slippers,cameras,watches, mobiles,books,bookmarks scattered all around the apartment. Time to collect all the memories- the joys and heartaches, fleeting images of fullmoon nights and shady afternoons. It would be unfair to say that time has flown by whilst my stay in Singapore. Rather it has limped, (hop-skip-jump)-ed, gurgled, paused, stammered, reversed – all in varying tempos and sequences. It was some experience, that’s the best adjective I can gather right now.
This, most certainly, being my last post from Singapore, I find it obligatory to mention the customary updates( especially now that I have come to know some people actually do read what I scribble). Jumbo prawns ,Mango custard, Kati roll( yes it is available at Clarke quay), Corona, Pig’s Loin- all these take care of the gastronomic quarters. A bulging tummy bears ample testimony to the gourmet delight this entire trip has been. Club Colaba, Songs of the Sea, Ramakarishna Mission,Bugis Street, Orchard Towers- bracketed perhaps in the most absurd combination ever stand as memorable visits. What else then, other than shopping and more shopping? Actually, not much. Watches, Jeans,Raisins and Almonds, Jackets, Gucci Perfumes and a Surprise Gift for someone who hasn’t been surprised in a long time. I am now a confirmed shopaholic, period. The best part is I feel no guilt or remorse about literally throwing away big bucks, just like that. And why should, I? It’s MY Money after all. Probably not the fruit of hours of sweat and toil. But then everyone deserves these mini lotteries thrown at them atleast once in life. And when you’re twenty-one , concepts like savings and compound interest don’t hold much value to you- even if you happen to be a budding investment banker interning at an investment bank. Picking up stuff you like randomly one after the other as soon as you come across them, is the ultimate ego pumping exercise one can undertake. And when it is meant for people who mean something to you, in one way or another, and you kind of visualize the expression on their faces when you say “
Eta tomar jonno”, it all seems worth it! There surely are somethings money can’t buy. For everything else there’s money.
To talk about things money can’t buy. Money can’t buy you that blushing face when your manager tells you,” Excellent. Very Impressive. So, what have you thought about joining us?” . Money can’t buy a nightout on Read Bridge spent with friends discussing fears and insecurities, wondering whether it will all work out in the end or just for all apart like a pack of cards. Money can’t buy you that dreamy melody of the waters lashing onto the pebbled beach in the shadow of the palm trees with a friend asking a seemingly stupid but thought- provoking question, “
Abe, yeh leheren thak nahi jaati patthar se takrate takrate?”. Money can’t buy that butterfly feeling you get talking to someone on the phone every single time. Money can’t buy you “ Carolina, on my mind” and “Rhymes and Reasons”. James Taylor, u rock even as you soothe.
And so it has been. Final Year beckons , Insti top beckons, Imaginary meetings with real people beckon, Mandarmani Beckons,
SSM-ing beckons, Life beckons….. Fly away ….. by SQ 517.
