Noise pollution and a challenge.

AND I’M BACK. After nearly a year long hiatus, I’ve re-entered the blogging world!

I’m back in Bombay; same treatment, different year. This time M and I are staying in a 2 bedroom apartment nearby the hospital so thankfully we’ve unpacked our suitcases and settled in. I’ve been going to the same clinic, despite the crowd and other concerns. I went there this morning at 9, per usual. TM and VM left for the airport around that time. It was nice to have visitors in Bombay; I do miss the company of my friends and young folk, but I can’t complain too much because the old-people-posse I hang with is pretty hilarious.

I’ve decided I will spend as little time as possible at the clinic. I only have 2.5 weeks left in Bombay and I hate it there. In a sense I force myself to go there out of inspiration-motivation for my writing (strange, huh) and because it is where I got all my treatment done so far, but it doesn’t make the experience any better. It’s still crowded and unhygienic. The equipment is still poor and the environment depressing. M made a good point by saying, ‘The staff doesn’t force to come there. You are not tied down.’ This is so true and the reason why I decided to make my PT appointments for next week at Nanavati. I spoke with Jolly-ji’s PT lady tonight and will likely check out one more rehab center before I leave.

Outside down below on Sion-Trombay road, I hear a wedding. At least I think it’s wedding. Nowadays I assume anything loud with a dhol beat to back it up is a sign of wedding. The assumed *wedding* noise started at 4PM. It’s currently 11:02PM and only now have I experienced silence. M and I thought we’d ‘time-pass’ by watching the always enjoyable SRK in Main Hoon Na for a good 3 hours, hoping the obnoxious clamor would stop. No. Wrong. Absolutely not the case. No matter where I went this racket followed. It seemed to pour into every inch of our apartment– I went to the bathroom in hopes a few minutes of a quiet nothingness to no avail. It was even louder! Gangam Style was on repeat for the last hour until this noise-fest decided to call it quits.

I cannot express how wonderful it is to actually be able to hear the sounds of traffic that I so regularly hate! Its amazing what you can hear from 12 floors up; there is an obvious pothole somewhere outside on the road and when a truck plows over this at 2AM…let’s just say it makes for a very shaken and PO’d Sonali.

It’s been nearly 2 months ( I arrived on Dec 19th), and I’m ready to go home. As of late it’s mainly the pollution and standard Indian bathroom situation that is bringing me down. Bombay has a way of making you fall in love with it; the colors,  peoples’ warmth, the buzz of the city, the helping hands of a million strangers, and many other things. Overtime the charm fades and you’re left feeling what I am feeling now; annoyed and anger. I know this isn’t at all an accurate assessment of India and I know I love this city so much more than how I am expressing right now.
Somehow, I keep finding my way back to this mad place called India.

I RELISHED having a car for the past week while TM and VM visited–this way I don’t have to take my morning rikshaw to the clinic. It’s too dirty. Not to mention every time I enter an autorickshaw I usually face one near death experience. Today a big red bus came out of nowhere and grazed the side of  my leg.

‘Okay, THIS IS IT. This is how I’m going to die. I should just accept it. No struggles with the ‘Main Man Above’. I will leave behind all my personal possessions to older sister D…she always loved that purple dress of mine…’

So I didn’t die but I was surprised I survived. Again, love(d) those rikshaws but I’m starting to lose it. The dirt is everywhere and you can’t escape it…even if you try hiding in the bathroom…

CHALLENGE TO MYSELF: I will post everyday for the next 2.5 weeks until I leave Bombay. If achieved, (insert grand reward here)—I’m open to possible reward suggestions!

I leave you with the only reason I enjoy the occasional rikshaw ride.

WARNING: extreme cuteness below.

Image
adorable school-kid rikshaw neighbors.

Author: howstrait

Inspired by William Ernest Henley, this is The Gait. "It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." After I found out I had muscular dystrophy, I've been two lives: one that exists in India where I wear kurtas and speak Hindi more than English, and the other, an American girl who says 'thank you' and 'please' more than anyone likes. I'm learning and living for the moments when my curiosity gets the best of me. Follow me on this not-so-straight path of life. Thanks for stopping by!

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