I have a job. I’ve had it since November. It’s in Delhi. If someone asks me what I’m doing I’ll say “I make books.” I don’t say that actually. But I think I will. My work is fine, the team is cool but enough about work. Let’s talk about life.
I’m finally living on my own. I live in a cave. Well, not really but the place has no windows. It’s a timeless zone. There’s no way of knowing if it’s eight in the morning or eight at night.It’s not like it has no ventilation. It has plenty of ventilation, provided by two exhaust shafts. The door in second room, which I figured was a closet, was actually the door to one of the exhaust shafts. At least I have an escape route when the KGB agents come to assassinate me.
I’ve become used to moving. Now I know what I’ll be needing. I picked up the keys and then went around buying everything I needed. Mattresses, a refrigerator, an induction cooker, vessels, plates, glasses, spices, the works.
Christmas and New Year’s were kinda fun.
I can now cook decently. I can make bread omelette at four in the morning. The feeling of accomplishment is completely out of proportion to the act.
Delhi is cold but I have not gotten hypothermia yet.