The week rushes, through some amount of anxiety and masked existentialism. I realise that the only habit I’ve realised in the past few months is of escaping the city. I wake up to an empty home, complete with the all the remnants of an unwilling night. Unwilling because the only resident does not do anything willingly - he gives into Netflix, because it a captive companion in the house. He gives into a messy bed and cupboard, full with clothes of yesterday, the day before and a few from the week before. The bed even hosts diversity in cleanliness: the clean refuse to get folded, the unclean refuse to be washed until smelt: Bangalore’s weather gives me an excuse, and i wonder how my room would have looked like in Chennai… I could talk in Tamil, curse at my friends maybe, or maybe hangout without it being in a fancy Indiranagar equivalent. The local tea shop or a ride would be possible, but then my friends in Chennai don’t have a job yet, the few in blore do, making them freer. ...