At first glance, I admit, I do look like your basic brittle and screwed-up NRI woman you see scattered in the metros of the US. But I don't live in the city (ah, NY!). I don't even live in the suburbs. I'm not on H1B, I'm not in debt and I'm not even safely married to a silicon-valley resident.
What I am is on the wrong side of 25, right side of a writing career and the greatest procrastinator in the world.
I live in a beautiful little town in Pennsylvania. It has exactly 3 streets, one little park and about a million lush, green woods. I'm here for an year-long training in the editorial offices of a children's magazine and each day I wake up, not entirely believing that I'm here, in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
I'm writing this blog solely to keep tab on my progress in the next 12 months - which I'm hoping I would. Like any great procrastinator, I have a very poor memory - or rather the great ability to block out certain memories... if allowed, I'll happily spend my remaining time in blissful rut and never learn a thing outside my training.
And along the way, my O.B.l.o.g will also try to - if I actually write something - tabulate the woeful struggles faced by yours truly in trying to finish the great Indian novel.
Alright, put on your seat belt. And stay tuned. Yawn.
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