There’s no question about it. Bangalore is happening. So happening that pale-white Hare Krishna devotees with transparent dhotis and American accents roam the streets. There’s definitely a mini-NY feel in the air. And with Americanism pervading every corner, there’s a need to spend, spend, SPEND. Here’s when my wallet woes step in.

This ‘independent living’ trip costs more than I bargained for. Quite often, I wake up in the middle of the cold Bangalore night, in a hot sweat hearing the clink clink of shiny coins whirling down an imaginary drain. The Barista coffee, the cell-phone recharge card, the fruit salad at the gym, the chocolate fudge at ‘Corner House’ — the trappings of urban living are quite a shock to someone reared in a parent-supported zone. The previously referred to ‘clinks’ have the uncanny rythym about them… every hour or so there’s the unmistakable sound.

The last couple of months I’ve carefully conjured up a well-thought out strategy to deal with the aforementioned problem: pure, blissful oblivion. Pretend like it doesn’t bother me. It works almost all the time. Except when it unconsciously spills out in impromptu blogging sessions.