The recession has hit my workplace hard…so an otherwise semi-blue Tuesday seems like a butter yellow Friday…minus the cheer and the thrilled anticipation of a gorgeous weekend…minus the Chinese dinner, minus the DVDs from a movie rental service, minus the pedicure in lukewarm shampooed water, minus the booze, minus the sea-side drive.
Now it brings me to the million-dollar question…When will this God-forsaken economy recover? I don’t understand deficit-spending, I don’t understand the inverted yield curve, I don’t understand petro-politics, I don’t understand Laissez –faire, and I definitely don’t understand the so-called magic that an African-American middle-aged man is about to weave, somewhere in the Western Hemisphere.
However, I do understand a no-appraisal mail from my boss, I understand why I buy Britannia cheese for breakfast, instead of a box of Kraft Classic Melts, I understand why I commute by the local passenger train instead of a cab, and I understand why we drink Kalyani Black Label instead of Budweiser.
Perhaps I sound a bit like Paris Hilton, but I wish I had the latitude to think about Chevrolet’s latest shade and Mediterranean food, instead of appraisals. I wish I had the dough to buy Evanovich’s Plum Spooky, the celadon skirt from Biba’s spring collection, hire Rujuta Diwekar to help me fit into the skirt, and not worry about credit card bills. Yawn…I am surely a Hilton in the making! How detestable!
Materialistic dreams notwithstanding, times couldn’t be worse. As a lay corporate nearing thirty, I wish I had sound understanding of world economic affairs. But sadly, I don’t. All I understand is my job, my family, my need to be independent, a bit of Shakespeare and Tagore, and my need to dream. And this dream lets me hope that someday, and someday soon, we will walk towards a happy sunset…make that a happy cantaloupe sunset…Dare to dream!
Now it brings me to the million-dollar question…When will this God-forsaken economy recover? I don’t understand deficit-spending, I don’t understand the inverted yield curve, I don’t understand petro-politics, I don’t understand Laissez –faire, and I definitely don’t understand the so-called magic that an African-American middle-aged man is about to weave, somewhere in the Western Hemisphere.
However, I do understand a no-appraisal mail from my boss, I understand why I buy Britannia cheese for breakfast, instead of a box of Kraft Classic Melts, I understand why I commute by the local passenger train instead of a cab, and I understand why we drink Kalyani Black Label instead of Budweiser.
Perhaps I sound a bit like Paris Hilton, but I wish I had the latitude to think about Chevrolet’s latest shade and Mediterranean food, instead of appraisals. I wish I had the dough to buy Evanovich’s Plum Spooky, the celadon skirt from Biba’s spring collection, hire Rujuta Diwekar to help me fit into the skirt, and not worry about credit card bills. Yawn…I am surely a Hilton in the making! How detestable!
Materialistic dreams notwithstanding, times couldn’t be worse. As a lay corporate nearing thirty, I wish I had sound understanding of world economic affairs. But sadly, I don’t. All I understand is my job, my family, my need to be independent, a bit of Shakespeare and Tagore, and my need to dream. And this dream lets me hope that someday, and someday soon, we will walk towards a happy sunset…make that a happy cantaloupe sunset…Dare to dream!
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