Bengaluru is flooded. So is my mind. I told you yesterday that I am lonely, with you, now that you're far away, clocking your 9 to 7 with more and more work. It's the worst kind of loneliness. At 11 in the night, when I munch on the routine naan and chicken curry, I crave to talk to someone. Talk about things that are not routine. That are not product, growth, revenue. Talk about books, history, politics, instead. Talk about music, art, language. I need people, new interesting people around me. People who are brimming with ideas. People I knew in Delhi. Writers, journalists, scholars. Folks with ample time on hand to discourse and discuss. Folks I could tune into when bored and tune out of when weary of their encyclopedic rant. I crave for that armchairish banter. The intellectual masturbation. Something interesting to gulp in a bottle cap, but never the full bottle.

Unfortunately, my Bengaluru network is too narrow, teeming with the regular IT and start-up folks. You asked if I wanted a girlfriend. I said, no, I need someone to have dinner with. To wade through the flooding water, under one umbrella, holding shoulders instead of hands.

- हर्ष स्नेहांशु