tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73313412024-03-07T13:05:38.707+05:30 Yet Another Blogger <i> meander and ponder, ramble, write </i>mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.comBlogger410125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-64541359974224617132020-05-19T05:27:00.001+05:302020-05-19T05:27:38.076+05:30Wrestling with the groundhogs<div>"2020-05-18"</div><div><br /></div><div>Week 10 of the pandemic they call it. More than ever before, I had to resort to checking the calendar on the phone and push my mind into recollection mode to find my bearing with respect to the days and agree with the 10 week assessment. This is the same me who had taken a two year hiatus doing nothing much than staying at home and trying to stay alive earlier in the decade. So I should know much more and be much better prepared than most of you for living through a lockdown. Frankly? Yes, I am! I don’t find these days particularly constrictive or unnatural. In fact, I even find it strangely liberating that I don’t have to make any plans or think about the immediate future. There is no guilt to staying in the slow lane these days!</div><div><br /></div><div>But how do you keep track of the days, the weeks, even the months? What happened in March versus what happened in April? Every week, there is a monday, and soon there is a friday, oh and here is a monday again. Of course, we have a saturday and sunday. But which saturday was it that we went out for groceries? Was it this one or the previous one? Did we bake a cake last sunday, or was that four sundays ago? Is the passage of time still a thing or have we managed to bring it to a halt? It might as well have all melded into an all-encompassing chronic blob. All hail the C. Blob!</div><div><br /></div><div>This brings me to wonder if this is the situation for a habitual stay-at-home hermit like me, how are those exuberant beings, otherwise proclaimed as extroverts, braving it out in their social isolations?</div><div>Would it be a stretch to wonder whether the lockdowns may end up altering the distribution of the intro-extra-version spectrum? Will these unprecedented days push the density of the distribution away from the extrovert end to something more in the middle? Will the world emerge from this period having gained more appreciation for staying at home, deliberating into the void and perhaps, be ready to give more credence to thought over action? Is it too wishful to wish for?</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, all those who are juggling working from home and keeping young kids engaged and doing all the additional housework and having to shower after every grocery trip all at the same time every single day would snort at this discussion and invite me to exchange places with them for a day or two. To them, I just say - “No, thank you” :P</div><div><br /></div><div><i>PS - I opened the blogger account after more than a year to publish the above rant. While choosing labels, 'atmos' and 'general' made most sense. Curiosity made me check what was the previous post under 'atmos' - and it was this post - <a href="https://mythalez.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-year-of-groundhog-days.html" target="_blank">The-Year-Of-Groundhog-Days</a> (its other label is 'general'). Aha! I guess I should find it reassuring that I still share some characteristics with my younger self! </i></div><div><br /></div>mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-57175444652558219412019-02-09T21:30:00.001+05:302019-02-12T06:51:50.902+05:309th Feb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Collective made up purposes.<br />
Chemical slavery dressed up<br />
as survival of the fittest.<br />
Continued existence on excuses.<br />
<br />
The thinking mind dredges it up again and again.<br />
But perhaps, recursive puzzles<br />
are only resolved recursively.<br />
Or maybe, this too is a pretense to remain sane.<br />
<br />
I am conscious, therefore I question.<br />
What is the point of this consciousness?<br />
But maybe, to enquire of its own meaning<br />
is the conscious mind's sole redemption.<br />
<br />
<i>There you go, birthday catharsis.</i></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-61443975195541718762018-12-26T01:34:00.002+05:302019-01-02T01:53:46.579+05:30Losing my verse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The fingers stare expectantly<br />
Standing erect, waiting for orders<br />
The keys prepared, the page blank<br />
The wait unending<br />
<br />
The mind grapples, the belly rumbles<br />
The brain synapses, the stomach convulses<br />
<br />
Time ticks and tocks<br />
<br />
The commands finally arrive<br />
All jumbled<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
The need to write - immense<br />
The words to convey - nonsense</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-79041104164011823302017-11-04T03:39:00.001+05:302017-11-04T03:39:06.431+05:30The Silence of Happiness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Strife, both within and out<br />
Thrives verses glorious<br />
But why is it that contentment<br />
Shuts out all with its peace?<br />
<br />
Those outbursts of pain proliferate<br />
To bring only joys of melancholy,<br />
While happiness with its reticence<br />
Withholds all the bliss, selfishly.<br />
<br />
Is it because sorrow shared<br />
Begets calm and sympathy,<br />
While prosperity expressed<br />
Slithers in envy ...<br />
... dressed as apathy?</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-38711063537792904062017-09-26T01:51:00.000+05:302017-09-26T01:55:30.356+05:30Twitter-Compliant Book Reviews - Edition 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Following the path laid down <a href="https://mythalez.blogspot.in/2013/02/twitter-compliant-book-reviews.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://mythalez.blogspot.in/2016/01/twitter-compliant-book-reviews-again.html" target="_blank">here</a>:<br />
<br />
<b>Elantris</b> by<i> Brandon Sanderson</i>: <span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A rare standalone fantasy. Magic goes bust. Prince goes dark and restores order. Princess foils fascists. Gripping and illuminating.</span><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Shardik </b>by<i> Richard Adams</i>: <span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A huge bear - god or a mammal? Helps fisherman conquer and rule dominions of superstitions. Shamans, mythology, adventure and guilt trips. </span><br />
<br />
<b>With Their Backs to the World</b> by <i>Asne Seierstad</i>, translated by <i>Sindre Kartvedt</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Life accounts of Serbians on either sides and times of Milosevic. Evocative and informative. A peek into the inscrutable human condition.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Stoner </b>by <i>John Williams</i>: <span id="docs-internal-guid-22a7f58d-ba8b-f88a-6ae0-696476b1e2b4"><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not about weed. About a teacher of English and a loser in life - travails beset Mr. Stoner. A tender study into a life of quiet desperation.</span></span><br />
<br />
<b>The Martian</b> by <i>Andy Weir</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">More scientific and realistic than the movie. Man stranded on Mars to grow potatoes and recycle water. Imaginative and technically sound.</span><br />
<br />
<b>IQ84</b> by <i>Haruki Murakami</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Love story or muddled fantasy? Vast canvas with minute details and unexplained phenomena. Cats and solitude. The lovers never meet, almost.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Predictably Irrational</b> by <i>Dan Ariely</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The myth of rationality through experimental studies. The frail mind and its fallacy of assumptions. Funny and delightful for a non-fiction.</span><br />
<br />
<b>The Moon is a Harsh Mistress</b> by <i>Robert A. Heinlein</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A classic and a pioneer. AI heads lunar rebellion against imperialists. An exploration of culture, politics and possibilities. Witty Sci-Fi!</span><br />
<br />
<b>To Kill a Mockingbird</b> by <i>Harper Lee</i>: <span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 10pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Defies prejudices of readers and characters. The plays and thoughts of a little girl and her brother. Uncolored depiction of an era. Go Boo!</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com2Vancouver, BC, Canada49.2827291 -123.1207375000000249.1169156 -123.44346100000001 49.448542599999996 -122.79801400000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-49231149521187318372016-01-02T18:57:00.000+05:302016-11-30T19:54:34.459+05:30Twitter-Compliant Book Reviews Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first of this kind was posted many a sunrise ago <a href="http://mythalez.blogspot.in/2013/02/twitter-compliant-book-reviews.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Let's begin 2016 by resuming this ancient art of reviewing :P.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 1.2; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Gilgamesh</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - version by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Stephen Mitchell: </i>Perhaps, the oldest epic. A great king and a wild man - enemies turned friends. Gods kill the friend. King saves the country. First superhero?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Quo Vadis</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Henryk Sienkiewicz</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, translated by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>W. S. Kuniczak</i>: Nero, Roman empire and persecution of the early christians. Love story and burning of Rome. Witty, imaginative, though long. Petronius rocks!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>The Master and Margarita</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Mikhail Bulgakov</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, translated by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Michael Glenny: </i>There's Moscow, the master and his Margarita. A novel written and burnt. And there's the devil. Depressing to uproariously glorious satire.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>NW</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Zadie Smith</i>: Four young adults living in London. Diverse lifestyles and troubles. Slow-paced and fast-moving. An insight into the urban British life.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>A Tale for the Time Being</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Ruth Ozeki</i>: A teenage Japanese girl with troubled parents. A Canadian writer living in the wilderness. A washed-up diary. Evocative and immersing.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Watership Down</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Richard Adams</i>: Renegade rabbits in quest of a new home. To survive man, machine and predator. Hare-raising adventures. Politics! Not all rabbits are equal. ;)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>One Hundred Years of Solitude</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Gabriel Garcia Marquez</i>:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Fables and analogies. Magic and madness. A hundred characters, stories and years. All jumbled up. The only novel ever left unfinished by me.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next installment should contain the following works. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Elantris - Brandon Sanderson</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shardik - Richard Adams</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With Their Backs to the World - Asne Seierstad, translated by Sindre Kartvedt</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stoner - John Williams</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 1.2; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Martian - Andy Weir</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">1Q84 - Haruki Murakami</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the next installment might present itself is the real question ;).</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: 13.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-7463169556452764132015-12-27T00:07:00.001+05:302015-12-27T00:19:54.182+05:30Terminal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-c15ecd99-df9e-8373-aa7c-eb90abc6c63c" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">M</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">eh!’ He sighed. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Airports no longer fascinated him as they used to. He strolled around the departure lounge seeking a comfortable seat. Since it was still very early in the morning, it was quiet with just a few travellers around. Coming across several rows of vacant seats neatly arranged into two columns with a walk-way in between, he settled down in a corner and pulled out a book from his backpack. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He glanced at the handwritten note on the first page: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So that you don’t fly alone - Love, M”. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It brought a smile to his face. Malini was a sweet girl. She had gifted him this book when he met her on his last trip to Delhi. It hasn’t even been a month and here he was, flying to Delhi again. He knew she would be delighted to meet him this time too.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yet he neglected to inform her that he was coming. Perhaps he wasn’t sure he could be bothered to meet up with her this time round.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Already bored of the book, he looked at the time. There was still an hour for his flight. There ought to be a way that all the preprocessing time ranging from check-in to boarding was reduced to reflect that of other transport modes, say a train. Was he the only one to find it weird that one has to arrive 2 hours early at the airport for a flight of one-hour duration, while one needs to arrive at the station just a couple of minutes before the departure of an overnight train?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">djusting himself on the seat, he looked up briefly to see how many more travellers were now around him. That’s when his eyes instantly singled her out from the incoming crowd. Unmistakable. It was her. He could feel his heart quicken up as he squinted to get a better look at her. How long has it been? 2 years? Perhaps more. Has she changed in anyway? Just as suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he averted his eyes. What if she saw him looking at her? There would be a forced smile of recognition on her face and she would feel obliged to approach him and exchange greetings. He didn’t want to put her in that position. He slid further down in his chair and buried his face in his book. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After many minutes, or maybe seconds, from the corner of his eye, he followed her footsteps going past him. After what felt like another eternity, he hazarded turning around to see where she was. He had to turn all the way around to look behind him, yet he couldn’t spot her. He returned to his novel and resumed reading. Although he tried to concentrate, running through several lines in the story, the words failed to penetrate beyond his eyes.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">N</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">arrowing her eyes, she stared at him. She could just see his side profile, but there was no way she could mistake someone else for him. She knew him too well for that. There he was, sitting at the other end of her row, turning around seemingly in search of something. He held a big book in his hands. Since when did he become such a serious reader? She could barely get him to read a magazine article in those days. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her eyes searched him further. Has he changed in other ways too? Was there a white strand or two in his hair? She tried to look at his fingers but they were hidden beneath the big book. She turned away, wondering. Should she move away so that he doesn’t spot her? Should she go and say ‘hi’? Was she ready for this? Ready for him? Now, after all these days, all of a sudden? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She couldn’t contain herself any longer and looked in his direction again. The seat was empty now. He had left! She got up with a jolt, surprising herself and even startling the old man seated next to her. Had she lost him? Again?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">nxiously, she paced around looking for him. After a lot of scanning, she managed to locate him strolling aimlessly on the other side of the terminal. A plethora of shops separated them. She jogged to catch up with him and started walking beside him, looking at him. He noticed her and stopped.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘How you been?’ she asked, hoping to sound gentle and pleasant.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Not bad,’ he drawled in his usual way. Somethings at least hadn’t changed.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Hmm.’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘And you?’ he asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Fine, I guess.’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They resumed walking. She had so many things to ask him. And so many more to tell. Yet, none made their way out. She wished she knew what the rules were. Does she limit the conversation to only small-talk? Does she wait for him to ask something? Does she just say ‘bye’ and move on?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Where are you headed?’ she asked finally.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Delhi. You? Bangalore?’ He responded.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Yeah.’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Still working for BP?’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Yeah.’ </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They continued walking down the terminal.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">S</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ilence made its presence felt. He didn’t want to ask her anything that would be uncomfortable for her. But he had nothing else to converse either. His face turned to look at her more closely. She looked older now, but that only made her more beautiful. During those times, did he ever mention to her that he found her pretty? Perhaps she knew anyway. More and more questions were flooding into his head. To ignore the raging ones, he tried to focus on making trivial conversation. He started talking about their mutual acquaintances and she joined in enthusiastically. Pretty soon, all of them were covered and the dreaded silence returned.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then she opened her mouth to say something but no words formed. He couldn’t resist any longer and asked her, ‘Just tell me, was it tough to, you know…’ He grappled for words but only ended up waving his hands about in a weird manner.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her eyes looked down as she muttered something inaudible. He paused for a bit before he asked again.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘What was hardest?’ Was he being mean with the questions? Not really. He just wanted to know. A kind of morbid curiosity. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘What all do you know?’ she shot back, still not looking at him.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Phone? Whatsapp, gmail…’ He began listing but stopped as soon as he realised she wasn’t listening. There are so many ways to keep in touch these days. And hence, so many ways to ignore someone. So many ways to exclude someone from one’s life.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She stood unmoving for a while and then stepped over and sat down on a bench, shielding her face with her hands. He didn’t know what to do. Was he to leave or not? Not being able to decide, he looked around, as if someone would spring to his help and advise on the right action. A couple of the other passengers were staring at them, but silently. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘A</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ctually, Facebook was hard. I knew your phone number by memory, and I could unblock you on gmail anytime. But by removing on Facebook, I was no longer going to get your updates. I wouldn’t know what was going on in your life,’ she said very softly, looking up at him </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He went closer and stood next to her.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Why? Didn’t you ever think of letting me know about all this, about your reasons, a courtesy mail perhaps?’ He was careful not to sound aggrieved. This wasn’t the time to let out any pain. Did he even feel any, anymore?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘I knew I .. couldn’t,’ she spoke slowly, pausing inappropriately. ‘It was really ... hard to maintain my resolve. I knew that a small comment ... a message from you would have broken me. Couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way I ... could do it.’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He searched her face for guilt. But all he unearthed was sorrow. Despite her ill-disguised attempts to ward the tears away, they were starting to envelope her eyes. She stood up, perhaps for the sake of doing something. She was still looking at the floor. Should he console her? That would be quite ironic given that he had kindled the pain with his questions. Should he place his arm around her like old times? Wasn’t he the everlasting, ever-present emotional support of hers? The confidant to all her troubles and joys? He ceased to be so two and half years ago, he told himself.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So instead, he just managed to mumble, ‘Whatever it takes for a happy married life. As long as you are happy with him…’ His voice trailed off.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She looked at him for a second, perhaps trying to detect sarcasm, and then said, grasping for a steady voice, ‘We .. we separated six months ago. Guess it was never going to work out with him.’</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He just stared. He didn't even attempt to find any words in response.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘And .. and to think, I gave up on you for him,’ she choked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was all he needed to hear. He averted his eyes from her and focused on the departure-screen beyond her. His flight number had ‘last-call’ flashing next to it.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘I have to go now,’ he said and began walking away from her, though still facing her. Her imploring eyes were strangulating him. He turned around and strode to his gate.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">J</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ust before turning off his mobile for the takeoff, he searched through his contact list for a name and dialled.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.6667px; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘M</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">alini? Hi! Guess what? I’m flying to Delhi right now. What are you doing today evening? Let’s meet up at Hauz Khas!’</span></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-80303674486922084332015-11-10T01:22:00.000+05:302015-11-10T22:54:53.185+05:30Empty Core<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Where are the fingers that could just tap out the thoughts on plastic and transform them into virtual memory capsules? The same fingers that then hide the keys in abstraction?<br />
<br />
I now have the lexicon,<br />
I now have the suave.<br />
Can conjure metaphors on demand,<br />
Words have become my wand.<br />
<br />
Clarity of thought, lucid prose,<br />
Perfectly placed semicolon;<br />
All weapons primed for action<br />
At the mere hint of any mission.<br />
<br />
When I was yet a novice,<br />
With nothing but emotions for battle,<br />
The words were always lacking<br />
And the style, just unbecoming.<br />
<br />
The time has passed, and I have trained.<br />
<br />
My skill is now ready<br />
To pen emotions for eternity<br />
But now, when I dwell within,<br />
All I find is nothin'.<br />
<br /></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-21403849096173421792015-06-24T04:18:00.000+05:302015-06-24T04:26:44.463+05:30Return of the late night post ;)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been years since I have written anything late at night. But such posts used to be the staple of this blog, as we can see if we roll down the archives and go back to the IIIT days. Not just writing late at night, writing on the blog itself is turning into an ebbing hobby. Today, rather tonight as I logged in, I saw the latest draft staring at me. It was created just a week ago and boasted an intriguing title - "The Perils of Work". I had no memory of what this draft post was about. And when I viewed the actual post, it was just blank. How much ever I try, I cannot recollect what I was planning to write in that post, under that title. Can't even say what the 'work' there refers to! But this draft was created just a week ago! All I remember is that I had logged into the blog and was on the verge of writing something but couldn't proceed further due to some reason. The reason doesn't matter now, obviously, but what was this lost draft supposed to be about! I suppose the loss of the content of that draft doesn't matter either. Not as if I would have been unveiling pearls of wisdom in there.</div>
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With this current post, I was just wanted to experience what I used to have almost a decade ago. The ability to just type without giving a second thought or read to what I was saying or wished to convey. Just type. Just let the fingers go on. Almost autonomously. A centrally coordinated multi-agent system, if you like!</div>
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When did the blog turn from being just a medium to express myself into a medium where I compose and coherently put up a reasonably well-drafted article. It is not due to the readers. There are almost none now. At least during the glory days of haphazard posts of the long lost past, there used to be readers and their comments. That was the time when blogs still made sense. Now there exists the 'real' social media. Blogs have no place anymore.</div>
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In all places, especially in social media, we are bombarded by these wise advices -- "followyour heart", "do what you love", "live life in your own way", "Today is the day to start your new, better life", and so on and so on and so on.</div>
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Of course, I was paraphrasing above. We are bombarded by these in much more beautified avatars. But the essence of all of them is the same. The point, however, remains -- what if the heart isn't going anywhere, what do you follow? What if you have no idea what you love? What if you never had a 'way' to live your life? And what if you do not know what's a better life? The ills that ail you now, may ail you in a different way in that 'better' life. But they will still ail you! Taking another step back, what is an ill and what is not? Aren't they all just in your perception. While you might think you are not successful, someone else might think you are mighty successful. So, why change your life? That is unlikely to reveal any sustained benefit. Why not just change your perception? Why do anything? Just to arrogate an artificial purpose to your existence?</div>
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mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-68996338011031537952015-04-04T13:07:00.001+05:302015-04-04T13:07:06.642+05:30Snippets: Siam & Siem Reap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I really ought to blog about a trip soon after the trip -- when the scents are fresh and the images are yet to fade. When the experience seems worthy of a narration. With the weeks passing by, and as the mundane routine engulfs the days, it also infects the memory of the trip and strips it of the excitement. When years pass by, all that is left of the trip are some photos which hadn't been viewed more than once, credit card bills as evidence that the trip actually did take place, and a fridge magnet (which I unfailingly try to bring back as a souvenir) fighting for space on the old grey metallic almirah.<br />
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Lately, of course, I have been known to be taking the easier way out and just posting a collection of the photos on facebook to serve as my online record of the trip rather than compose a coherent blogpost out of the experience. The new year trip to Malaysia to welcome 2014 had fallen victim to precisely this.<br />
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The subsequent annual trip to Thailand and Cambodia to ring in 2015 has looked to be in pretty much the same danger. Until now. So here are some snippets!<br />
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<b>Bangkok </b><br />
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£ It felt good to see the wide roads and the fancy bridges named after my name :D Their monarchy is in possession of excellent taste indeed ;)<br />
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£ The Grand Royal Palace premises are pretty big, and seemingly covered in gold. And while the locals are allowed to exit from any of the many exits, foreigners are allowed to leave only through the final exit, almost as if they don't want us to miss even a little of all the glory. True story.<br />
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£ Taxis are ubiquitous, well serviced and cheap. And very colourful -- red, green. white, yellow, pink! My companion even began to develop a preference for a particular colour with time. Somehow, she felt that red was more equal than the others :P<br />
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£ The charge of the metro for two people is likely to be more than taking a taxi. I thought that was weird until I began using the A/C buses in Bangalore. Mass transport in the "B"-cities have their own economics, perhaps.</div>
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£ The floating markets around the city have become more of a pier and stalls on the riverbank than actual boats that are mobile.<br />
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£ The weekend markets are a crazy place. Heaven for those jostling for fake goods :P, bizarre for me.<br />
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£ Standing in the queue for an hour for the best Pad Thai in the city (and consequently, the world?) is perhaps worth it. I am not sure, we just went for the takeaway and had it in the hotel. The memory still lingers. Aah, prawn oil!<br />
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£ Local Muay Thai is raucous. In the first round, there is more sizing up and less action (unless they are kids - who start going at each other right from the outset). But it picks up speed in the subsequent rounds, and finally, the 5th aka last round results in quite bloodied faces and torsos.<br />
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£ There might exist the most expensive clubs and the most lavish hotels in the city, but the place for the night life is the backpacker hippie area of Khao San.<br />
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<b>Ayutthaya</b><br />
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$ Travelling in the third class section of the slow trains makes you feel like a local. Except for the fact that the real locals are better prepared for the long waits and delays. They bring their food and buy their drink.<br />
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$ All heritage ancient cities should come with scooters like this one. Best means of sight-seeing and the most fun too.<br />
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$ The destruction of the ruins makes one wonder whether .... .... well, just wonder.<br />
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$ Som Tam salad has to be prepared just so. Even when we ordered three, the lady made each one individually. After all, her measurements were precise; a precision attained over years of training and experience perhaps.<br />
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<b>Pattaya</b><br />
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% The better beaches are not accessible. The walking street is too crowded to even walk. The traffic density is horrendous; at least on new year's eve :P.<br />
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<b>Siem Reap</b><br />
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& The visa officials at the airport immigration have turned the visa process into a lesson in assembly line. They are seated in a row and each one has his specific task. Your passports goes in at the beginning of the line and is handed back to you with a freshly minted visa page (and your name entered by ink) at the end of the line.<br />
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<b><br /></b>& The town exists solely to service the millions of tourists descending upon Angkor. The tourists are mainly of two kinds -- backpackers and families with kids.<br />
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& The smooth, pollution-free and scented air of the town, with its vast empty stretches of lands, forested growth and vacant roads is a marked change.<br />
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& Angkor must have experienced more transitions from Hinduism to Buddhism and back than the number of reincarnations possible in either of those :P.<br />
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& The Bakong pyramid temple is more of a 3D trapezoid. (The above pic is of Bayon temple, not Bakong. Bayon makes for a prettier picture.)<br />
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& The non-primary and not so well-maintained areas of the Angkor are the more fascinating of the ruins. They have an all-together different kind of ambiance.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">& Angkor Wat is beautiful. But the much heralded view of the sunrise is marred by the hoards of tourists who had trudged up at 5AM just like you, and click with their cameras, just like you, and all the flashes going off, just like yours. Almost feels like you are at the entrance of Madame Tussauds!</span></div>
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mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-52662721140922808252014-12-11T12:35:00.000+05:302014-12-11T15:57:33.053+05:30"I See You"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The screaming was screeching in its tone, yet faint. Distant as a background noise. Like a desperate, final cry before eternal silence could surround him. The silence never arrived. He knew the screaming was just in his mind. But it was more real than anything else. With a harsh gasp, as if he was surfacing above water after almost drowning, he opened his eyes.</div>
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Outer reality was calm. There was the ambulance siren, the expected bumpiness of the potholed roads, and the diffused amber street lights. But no noise. No traffic, no honking. The typical 4 AM. Keeping his head rigid, why he knew not, he scanned the interiors of the vehicle. Completely bare. The plank he felt below him was bare metal. A flimsy bedsheet, sourced from their house was all that kept the metallic coldness from seeping into him. Even the pillow supporting his neck was a piece of sponge that usually lay forgotten in a corner of the house. Where was the saline equipment, the oxygen masks, and all those other paraphernalia? Can this be called an ambulance? It was just a discarded shell of one.</div>
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The inside was becoming louder again. He knew he was sliding again. Sliding back. At least, this time, he was already lying down.</div>
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Surreal, yet ordinary. The bed wasn't surrounded by white or blue coats. No frantic discussions were being held above him. Of course, some needles had been poked and some sensors wired up to his chest, but all that kept him company now was the constant beeping behind his head. He could see five curtained chambers on the other side of the big hall. The large desk in centre, perhaps the nurses' station, was where a frantic debate seemed to be taking place.</div>
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“B positive, they tested thrice.”</div>
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“Medical history says O positive!”</div>
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“B positive...”</div>
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The beeping behind him had quickened somewhat. What happens if blood of the wrong group if transfused in? The beeping was louder. He had to see what it was about. How many of those machines were there, standing guard over him as robotic sentries? Careful not to disturb the arm that was hooked up, he tried to lift himself slightly to look around. The beeping quickened its pace. He could feel his heart beating faster. Was the beeping quicker because his heart had quickened, or did his heart quicken in response to the faster beep?</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was loud now, like an alarm. Quickly, he sank back, worried that they might come and castigate him for moving. But no one seemed to notice. Clearly, the beeping hadn't reached the stage that summoned attention like it always managed to do in those hospital-based television shows. His arm hooked up to the saline might have moved slightly. The coldness of the liquid seeping into his vein was more stark now. He could feel it flowing in, drop by drop.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
8 AM. A female battalion in blue strode into view and stood in a line. Another battalion assembled itself from the far unseen corners of the room. The leaders approached each other and exchanged notes. One queen bee handing over responsibility of the hive to another. Allocations were done, and the new battalion moved into their stations. The previous ones gathered their things and, with their chattering taking on a sunny tone, disappeared.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Bye!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Daylight, or no daylight, mornings were mornings. The buzz was more. Humans were more. Cleaners abound. Doctors could be sighted. But only one among the five beds on the opposite side of the hall stirred. These five beds were the only ones he could see. And only one among the visible five seemed capable of being conscious at will. The conscious one called out for the busy ward boy with authority and demanded his bed be raised so he could sit up. Clearly, he was a highly experienced comrade. A veteran of an inmate.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Amma! Amma!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Must be evening visiting hours. Even the visitors had to don the blue hospital gowns and masks over their faces. One per bed. Only one among the 4 unconscious beds received a visitor. A man with distraught eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Amma! Amma!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The visitor patiently kept shouting into the unconscious ear. Was it more than a myth that coma patients are capable of hearing?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another blue-clad visitor walked up to another unconscious bed. She settled comfortably on a stool nearby.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Attamma, attamma!” She began her intonation too, though more gently than the other one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Does the same person visit a patient every day or did all relatives take turns? To diligently visit every evening calling out their names, their nicknames, to retrieve them from their distant realities, and awaken their comas.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Darkened room simulated the outside night. The far corner of the five visible beds had attracted a gathering: all the nurses and both the doctors. Defibrillators made an appearance. The doctor held them up silently. Everyone stepped back silently. He placed them on the chest silently. He looked up silently. He removed them silently. He repeated the whole process, again silently. Everyone else stayed still. So the histrionics on TV shows when a patient ought to be revived -- the frantic movements, the shouts, the drama – are all perhaps just that. Dramatisation.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The only time the silence was broken was when the doctor announced the time.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
New morning. A new body in the far corner bed. With a new attendant. With tears shimmering in his eyes, arms folded to avoid wringing, the son listened intently to the doctor. His face unabashedly displayed the pain within. The doctor, trying to be both professional yet sympathetic, focused on the explanation to avoid the emotion. Reluctantly, the attendant walked towards the exit with one final glance at the bed of his sleeping mother.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Presumably as soon as he left, the doctor shouted for the ward boy. He then began to angrily castigate the ward boy for daring to speak with the attendant, and probably giving him false information about the patient.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“NO ONE! No one is allowed to speak to the attendants except doctors. Not even nurses!”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Arrre! Please!! Koi hai?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Loud pleads in a crass voice broke his sleep. He looked to the source. An old man had replaced one of the unconscious comrades. And old man who was both conscious and seemingly in extreme discomfort.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Arrre!! Evaranna!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He kept calling out for anyone and everyone. But no one stirred. The nurses were all happily chatting with each other, the ward boys flirting with the maid, the doctor immersed in a file. The pain-ridden calls emanated, wafted through the room and dissipated through the roof without bothering anyone. How could all of the staff, who were otherwise so attentive, so blatantly ignore him?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another doctor walked in.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I'm dying! Bachaoo koi toh!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hearing the pleas, the new doctor threw a questioning look at the head nurse.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“That's the patient with the failed liver.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh! That guy. We could have put him in the ward but he just refuses medication!" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“How long will the withdrawal last?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The doctor just shrugged in response.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
….</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The phone rang in the middle of the night. The head nurse picked it up immediately. Then she walked up to him with a smile.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Good news! Your room is ready.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being wheeled out, it was the first time he got to see the rest of the hospital. </div>
</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-80276964793618503912014-10-04T21:06:00.002+05:302015-06-06T17:07:36.852+05:30The world 'not' through 'untinted' glasses<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I remember when my eyes were renowned among local relatives for their sharpness. Or maybe they just praised me because I was a little kid.<br />
<br />
I remember the year my eyes deteriorated to such an extent that I when I went for my first ever eye test, I couldn't even decipher the big A on the test-screen.<br />
<br />
18 years later I no longer remembered what it was to be able to see without having the contraption constantly perched on my nose. When not so disinterestedly looking at the lists people made of the things they can't live without, or things they can't leave the house without, I used to think that if I ever bother with such a list, the top position would have to be taken by 'my glasses'.<br />
<br />
And now, barely a month or two after the 'surgery', I'm so used to the new liberty that it feels like I never used to wear glasses at all! What this essentially tells us is that liberty is always underrated until it is experienced;)<br />
<br />
Anyway ... let's make a list to denote the change :P<br />
<br />
↑ Reaching for the glasses is no longer the first action upon waking up.<br />
↑ No longer uncomfortable going for a <a href="http://mythalez.blogspot.in/2007/11/one-about-barber-and-other-stories.html" target="_blank">haircut</a>. I know now that the primary reason I used to find the experience daunting was because, having been forced to remove my glasses and going blind, I had to face the unknowns of what shenanigans were being played out above my head with my precious hair. But now, I can see!<br />
↑ Being caught in rain no longer means suffering blurred vision through water laden glasses, but getting refreshed the most natural way ;).<br />
↑ No longer do I have to put up with unusual refractions of light due to the dirt and finger-prints hosting lenses.<br />
↑ No longer is the spare set of glasses the first thing to go into my bag when packing for a trip.<br />
↑ Can actually consider going swimming or other 'watery' activities without going blind and without worrying about becoming that fool who waves at all the wrong people.<br />
↑ Protecting my glasses no longer needs to be my top instinctive action when playing sports. Sigh, if I do actually play any more, that is <wishful thinking="">. </wishful><br />
↑ No longer do I need to avoid peering too closely into steaming food or bubbling liquids.<br />
↑ If I were still in the UK, I would have written -- no longer would I have to temporarily go blind due to the rapid condensation on my glasses when I step indoors from the brutal cold outside. <br />
↑ Can finally enjoy 3-D movies without getting a headache or being weighed down by the two sets of glasses (yet to try this out).<br />
<br />
For the last one in today's list, a somewhat ironical liberty: <br />
↑↑ Can buy sun-glasses and wear them without having to get them tailored first!</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-38544888641717273822014-05-21T12:22:00.000+05:302015-12-26T12:25:13.744+05:30Let's go back to the start<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Can't turn around<br />
Can't hold on<br />
Time keeps dragging me on<br />
But I still am where I was<br />
<br />
This is not the path for me<br />
A path to nowhere<br />
Would have taken a different turn<br />
If only I had known ahead<br />
<br />
Stuck in sinking sand<br />
Grasping for a helping rope<br />
Passers-by hurried by their burdens<br />
No time to lend me hope<br />
<br />
Let's go back to the start<br />
Let me begin again<br />
This time I'll not explore<br />
And just follow the herd until decay.</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-33040118809427522702014-01-31T16:49:00.000+05:302014-01-31T20:39:46.769+05:30ILL's well that ends WELL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We can think of health as denoted by a point on the x-axis. In that representation, -inf would be I suppose 'dead' :P, and +inf would be, err, superhuman? I suppose people who consider themselves reasonably healthy would lie on the positive side of the origin, and the sick people would be negative. I think I might be quite close to the origin now, but the direction of movement is never certain ;).<br />
<br />
When we are ill, we become a somewhat different person to when we are not.<br />
Before I become too well, I thought I better note down a few differences ... you know, before the memory gets blurred and becomes all rosy :P<br />
<br />
<u>Grey Power</u><br />
£ It may not be a direct effect but caused transitively (less nutrition -> less Hb -> less blood/oxygen to the brain etc :P), but the mind becomes dull. Yes, truly. When faced with a reasonable puzzle, the challenge feels overwhelming. After more than a few seconds of focus, it would feel as if the brain is suffocating. You know, the mental equivalent of panting after a quick dash! Consumption would be simple and easy - reading, watching, listening. But if you are asked to produce something - write, talk, do etc - oh no, that's an impossible task.<br />
+£ But if you are well, well, you do well! Sometimes you even amaze yourself and pat yourself on the back (if you are that good a contortionist :P)<br />
<br />
<u>Will Power</u><br />
$ If you are not well, there is no will :P. If you seek to do something, your brain questions: 'What's the £*€%ing point?' And there is no good answer to that! Any effort seems invariable more than the possible fruits. So path of least effort makes most sense!<br />
+$ If you are well and idle, well, there is always the itch. The itch to do something. It feels hard to just sit and stare and do nothing whatsoever. You will actually need the will to stay completely idle. Whereas, when ill, absolute inactivity used to be my favourite activity ;).<br />
<br />
<u>More Powers</u><br />
€ The future feels tiring. Even making hypothetical plans for say travel, career, et al. feels unattractive. You don't even seek the so called pleasures of life. You just wish you weren't troubled by these silly things called aims, actions.<br />
+€ But if you are well, you are eager for things. You'd want to see the world, own the world and all that.<br />
<br />
A downside of being well, though, is that you are less tolerant of circumstances. You want and seek to make them better. I suppose that's what drives most of humankind :P<br />
<br />
Does this mean I am getting back to blogging? It's been 7 months without a post. I suppose that's the longest hiatus this blog has ever had but I wasn't bothered about it, and I hope the blog bore the wait with patience too. I suppose we both (the blog and I, in case you were wondering :P) have matured into stoic beings that pretend to accept all circumstances with equanimity. Anyway, I didn't even attempt to post in this period because I seem to have lost the outlook that would lookout for events or incidents to document as a blogpost and neither was I ever possessed by that exact mood that used to make me spew out seemingly rhyming lines masquerading as poetry.</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-45578660208171908602013-05-29T14:09:00.000+05:302013-05-29T16:24:44.014+05:30The Year of Groundhog Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<disclaimer>Disclaimer: This post is not about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Groundhog" target="_blank">scurrying animals</a>.</disclaimer><br />
<disclaimer><br /></disclaimer></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The said year with <i>groundhogging</i> abilities was one whole year. But it wasn't a calendar year drably beginning on 1st Jan, or a financial/tax year that tends to commence in April for some reason, or even an academic one whose start date ranges from May to October (or more!) based on your affiliations. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Introductions:</b> The year of interest began and ended on 1st May (yes, this post is almost a month late, but then you weren't waiting for it, were you? :P ) when I completed an year of moving back to India. And no, I do not condone it being called Labour Day year - it was, after all, an year that was the complete anti-thesis of labour or effort of any kind. There were days when I didn't have a clue of what day it was, but was also not sure what month it was! While you try to follow the annoyingly repeating transitions between Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and so on, July turns into August without even bothering to notify you! How are you ought to keep up with the vagaries of the calendar when days could just be exchanged for one another? Every day, be it weekday, weekend, or month-end, presented the same routine: sleep, use interwebs, wake up, read paper, watch TV, read book & ponder nothing, in some order or other.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But like any good research result, there were enough exceptions and conditions to the groundhogging ability of the year that need to be listed, thus enabling me to extend this post from a short sweet paper into a long dreary one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Excursions into the Kitchen: </b>Though those familiar with my physique may not find it credible (or the sniggering ones may find it extra credible), but I used to cook on a fairly regular, almost daily, basis while in the Soton. The tidy bright smartly-arranged kitchen of my flat used to make it an agreeable experience. So having returned to parents' home, here in Hyderabad, and lounging in the bedroom for many many months, I slowly started making small furtive excursions to the kitchen. But the experiences seem to be indicating that I am not supposed to be cooking here. While back in my kitchen in Soton, though rarely confused with the unmarked containers, I could easily differentiate the cumin powder from the coriander power with a sniff or two. But here, to obtain the coriander powder from the shelf, I had to tackle not just cumin, but a couple of tea powders (okay, I admit those were easy to distinguish), some masala powder, some other masala powder, perhaps some rasam powder, some other powder that didn't seem to belong to the kitchen, and some other masala powder. I failed. So I had to contend with limiting my dish to just plain old salt, turmeric, and chilli powder. I was later informed that what I used wasn't plain old chilli powder, but some 'masala chilli' powder :P. Oh, and I was also informed later that it wasn't my olfactories that failed me while identifying coriander powder. How could one expect to find it when it wasn't even in the kitchen, but stored in the refrigerator outside! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Excursions to the Outside: </b>After 6 months of barely stepping out of the house arrived the month of November. It came pledged with the mission of not letting me be. After all, how can I be in India for half a year and not yet have relived the pleasures of a train journey, it seemed to have been wondering. So first it whisked me off to Bangalore which, despite tall claims, was only as cool as Hyderabad but with more traffic. I returned and barely got my lethargy back that I ended up in Chennai, and then Puducherry. Both were balmy but the cuisine was a welcome change, and the company was patently idiosyncratic. And then, towards the end of the month, I found myself in Kakinada. No idea why. I am still trying to figure out how I ended up there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the arrival of the new year (the calendar one, not financial/academic etc :P), a car drive to Tenali was planned that I couldn't wiggle out of. And as the summer started hotting up in March, I decided to gain respite by going back to Bangalore using up some free, about to expire, airmiles. Plan worked out fine, but the supposedly pleasant weather of the city betrayed me. It was just as hot as in Hyderabad! And with more traffic, did I mention that? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Incursions to the Inside: </b>The first four months of life back here were qualitatively bland, especially the food. You know, all those jokes about 'palatability' of hospital food that we keep hearing? Well, those weren't sounding funny to me any more. Anyhow, with the passing of August arrived the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyderabadi_haleem" target="_blank">Haleem</a> season. After so many years, I was in Hyderabad for the haleem month and how could I not consume it at least on an alternate day basis?! So out went the food restrictions and medical advice, and in came the glorious delicacy. And I felt better ;). And my logical reasoning system started enforcing itself. If I can have a mutton and wheat mash and still remain alive, then why not test with some chicken too? And why deny fish?! And if the wheat had not exactly killed me, then perhaps some <i>parathas</i> may be risked sometimes. Why stop at <i>parathas</i>, why not <i>puris</i>? Well, if we are indeed venturing into the deep-fried matters, then the occasional <i>pakodas</i> won't be of much harm, would they? And so on, on a weekly basis, a dietary restriction was chucked out the window, and a new joy added back to the culinary life. And it did help me get better. Well, at least, my mood was becoming less sour ;).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think the post is now long enough to not be considered short, so I will save us further trouble and conclude it here (But of course, you can always ping me for more detailed ramblings :P).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Conclusions: </b>Nothing to say here. I just wanted to have this section because it conveniently rhymes with Excursions and Incursions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
PS -- "So, how are you feeling nowadays?" - the more concerned ones among you may feel obliged to ask. "Better than May '12," I would say, even though the quantifiable parameters are still stuck at May '12 levels :).</div>
</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-65982783183231323572013-03-22T18:10:00.000+05:302013-03-22T18:10:05.480+05:30MYKUs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Staring at the little window in the corner.<br />
It says ABC is typing<br />
ABC has entered text<br />
ABC is typing<br />
ABC has entered text<br />
ABC is typing<br />
ABC has entered text<br />
....<br />
....<br />
But appears no text.<br />
Lost to the interwebs?<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
The warmth prickles<br />
Fingers tremble in withdrawal<br />
Fever looks up in sorrow<br />
Carer leaves for the morrow.<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
Jostling each other<br />
Bristling with honks of urgency<br />
The vehicles stray everywhere<br />
Like ants bereft of a nest.<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
Where is<br />
The cool breeze promised,<br />
The pleasant shade assured,<br />
The soft grass proffered,<br />
The eternal peace imagined?<br />
<br /></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-59936752463039413542013-02-28T15:21:00.001+05:302013-02-28T15:21:38.454+05:30Twitter-Compliant Book Reviews<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For unreasoned reasons, I had developed the habit of posting short reviews of the books I read (which mostly tended to be of the novel types). However, on account of persistent bouts of laziness, the habit seemed to have gone on a sabbatical. The list of books read kept growing longer and the review task more and more daunting. But yesterday, enlightenment struck and an easy solution presented itself: reviews in 140 chars or less. So here they are!<br />
<br />
<b>The Art of Fiction </b>by <i>David Lodge</i>: <span style="font-family: inherit;">50 chapters on the various aspects of a novel using extracts. The styles, nuances and methods behind the beauty. Wonderful authors exampled.</span><br />
<br />
<b>The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao</b> by <i>Junot Diaz</i>:<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Based in New Jersey, Dominican Republic and screwed up minds. Multiple first-person narrators. Peek into a different form of life and lingo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>A Case of Exploding Mangoes</b> by <i>Mohammed Hanif</i>: </span>Dark humour. Hilarious and sad simultaneously. Features a plot to kill the Pakistani dictator by a gay military officer. Mangoes not harmed.<br />
<br />
<b>A Suitable Boy</b> by <i>Vikram Seth</i>: A portrait of (mainly) urban India after independence. The search for a suitable boy is merely a sub-plot. 1400++ pages of delightful prose.<br />
<br />
<b>Hackers and Painters</b> by <i>Paul Graham</i>: Non-fiction! Not about hacking or painting. Many cool insights. Programming and startup experiences recounted. And about life and the world.<br />
<br />
<b>Transmission</b> by <i>Hari Kunzru</i>: Below-par. Depressed Indian IT security hacker in US. A pompous CEO in London. Bollywood shooting in Scotland. Global havoc by a virus. Bah!<br />
<br />
<b>The Immortals of Meluha</b> by <i>Amish Tripathi</i>: A fantastical mix of mythology, history and culture. Writing style is passable and the plot decent but the references are quite imaginative.<br />
<br />
<b>Known Turf</b> by <i>Annie Zaidi: </i>Non-fiction! Quirks from the forgotten depths of rural India. About the callousness, contrasts and complications. With some wit and humour.<br />
<br />
<b>Cloud Road</b> by <i>John Harrison</i>: Travelogue! Trek and bus from Equator to Machu-Pichu along Inca roads. History, reality, archaeology and architecture. Donkeys and poverty.<br />
<br />
<b>The Way to Dusty Death</b> by <i>Alistair Maclean</i>: Hollywood thriller in a book form. F1 races, blown up cars, secret agents and a heady rush. Enough action and plot-holes to make it a movie.<br />
<br />
<b>Room</b> by <i>Emma Donoghue</i>: A 5 year old narrator. Was always only in a room and then not. A bit presumptuous, but spellbinding. Gripping and intense. Well thought-out.<br />
<br />
<b>The Secret of the Nagas</b> by <i>Amish Tripathi</i>: To be read only after The Immortals of Meluha. More of the mythological and historical references. Many more twists in the plot. More filmy.<br />
<br />
Aah, that's all for today. More reviews should be written but they will be written later. The forthcoming include Works of Oscar Wilde by Oscar Wilde (obviously), Gilgamesh translated by Stephen Mitchell, Quo Vadis by the difficult-to-spell Polish author and so on...</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-52226980809247891722013-02-09T22:41:00.001+05:302013-02-09T22:41:28.763+05:30J'ai vingt neuf ans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For a year that wasn't.<br />
<br />
Also for a year that was much more than a mere year.<br />
<br />
And for the last year of the third decade.<br />
<br />
A cheer :)</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-77943787978767438322013-01-24T17:58:00.000+05:302013-01-25T12:20:18.790+05:30A plateful of words.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
Those exquisitely conceived sentences.</div>
<div>
Couldn't they just apparate and stay when they are desired?</div>
<div>
Those words, immaculately strung together.</div>
<div>
Why flicker with grandeur and then wisp into nothingness?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Those images, flitting in and out of the mind.</div>
<div>
Travelling perhaps to other realities where they are yet to be enacted.</div>
<div>
Those photographs, embellished with incomplete memories.</div>
<div>
Why burst out in radiance and vanish into unseen recesses?</div>
<div>
Ablaze yet silent.</div>
<div>
Ephemeral like faraway fireworks in the nearby sky.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Those servings, meticulously crafted to perfection.</div>
<div>
Steam wafting up into aromas of intoxication.</div>
<div>
Those colours, seductively tossed up together. </div>
<div>
Actualised on the meagre tongue, why thou not live up to thy promises?</div>
</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-2620309378613808882012-12-30T14:04:00.001+05:302012-12-30T14:07:10.732+05:30Facebook Wedding Invites<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This has been the season of weddings in India. Don't blame the people, blame the auspicious nature of dates. After the drought over the long monsoon season wherein there wasn't a single day when a wedding wouldn't be blasphemous arrived the winter season in which any couple getting married on almost any day would be assured of 100 years of prosperity :P.<br />
<br />
There have been days on which I had 3 different wedding invites to choose from (of course, I mostly ended up attending none of them, but that's tangential to the post :P), and in total I must have had maybe 15 invites over a period of one month! No, I am not bragging about my popularity or my wide social circle. Just the fortuity of being in the marriageable age, and hence having most of my friends in the same marriageable age. So while I was dodging wedding invites, they were all getting happily, clumsily married and inviting me to partake of the free food.<br />
<br />
Another contributor to the windfall of wedding invites is the fortuity of being in the Facebook age. First we had house visits and snail mail wedding invitations. Then came the age of emails with colourful text and links to cheesy wedding websites. And now is the age of Facebook event invitations sent out to all the friends of the bride and groom. But the last type brings with it newer challenges. Can anything be more impersonal than an invitation to a Facebook event sent out to a thousand people? I was curious to find out :D. [For further ease of reading and typing, and keeping in with the times, Facebook is being hereby referred to with its abbreviated form: Fb :P ]<br />
<br />
Even within the Fb invites there are two types. One sent by those with whom you have been in touch. So the person [the busy bride or groom] may have previously informed you about the imminent wedding via chat or talk. May have urged you to attend the wedding, and then sent out to the Fb event with all the details for your ease. Attending such weddings would be the same had you been invited via email or with a posted card. The other type is more interesting. Perhaps the person and you have been out of touch for decades. Or perhaps you both have met just once and became Fb friends with the false hope of meeting often later on. So essentially, you are among those who lurk at the depths of the person's friends list. And given that an average user only gets to see 12% of his/her friends' posts on his newsfeed, it is likely that the person has never come across your posts and has completely forgotten about your existence. Yet you receive the wedding invite because it has been sent to everyone in his/her friends list with the obvious assumption that those who aren't actually friends in real, current life will not bother to attend anyway. But what if you do? :P<br />
<br />
That's what I wanted to find out. So I, along with an equally risk-friendly 'mutual friend', decided to attend the wedding reception of one such 'friend'. Haven't met or spoken to this 'friend' aka groom for more than 12 years. So the idea was that we both would just turn up and wish him 100 years of happy married life. What the worst that could happen? Well before we imagine that, first lets examine the best-case scenario: We would enter the arena. The groom spots us afar from his pedestal on stage and immediately jumps down. Runs through the parting crowd and hugs us both as long-lost brothers. He would then personally escort us to the best seats and declare that we were now the unofficial chief guests for the evening [Unofficial because protocol prohibits the wedding receptions from having official chief guests :P]. We partake the delicious multi-cuisine dinner, bless the couple and leave.<br />
<br />
Now, for the more likely, worst-case scenario: We enter the arena and are followed by suspicious eyes of the parents of the bride and the groom. Both assume we must belong to the other party. After a lot of waiting, standing in some remote corner, we finally scramble onto the stage to surprise the groom and, of course, bless the couple. However, the groom looks at us perplexed and enquires with his bride whether we are related to her. We then awkwardly clarify to the groom by stating our names, and plead with him to remember and recognise his long lost mates. He awkwardly nods his head, shakes our hands and looks immediately for the next, more familiar group to receive wishes from. We leave the stage to more suspicious eyes and awkwardly make our way to the exit, skipping the bland-looking dinner.<br />
<br />
Okay, am about to leave now, let's see which scenario plays out :P.</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-77778350255858004722012-11-26T15:30:00.004+05:302012-11-26T18:48:57.255+05:30Six Degrees of Ignorance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
1. Initially you are not really aware that you are ignorant.<br />
<br />
2. Next you feel that you are ignorant but that everyone else knows everything.<br />
<br />
3. Then you think you know everything and that everyone else knows everything too.<br />
<br />
4. Later you realise that you know almost nothing.<br />
<br />
5. Following that, you discover that everyone else knows nothing much either.<br />
<br />
6. Finally it dawns upon you that all this <i>knowing</i> and <i>unknowing</i> doesn't really matter. It is all just <i>blah.</i><br />
<br />
:P<br />
<br />
<i>For another dose of such pointless wisdom, you may visit this old <a href="http://mythalez.blogspot.in/2007/11/general-trace-of-life.html" target="_blank">post</a> ;).</i></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-88887698001317482182012-11-19T20:17:00.001+05:302012-11-19T20:17:06.918+05:30Writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I used to believe that the proper way of writing a story is to have it all formed in your mind, scene by scene, and then to narrate it beautifully.<br />
<br />
But I could never do it that way. Spontaneous creation, with only a faint inkling of the plot, seemed to be the only way I was capable of writing. I considered myself all the more amateur because of that.<br />
<br />
Only now I feel that my belief was a false imposition. Writing for me is not a process of narration, but a process of discovery! :)</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-21622637112190972552012-11-02T19:25:00.001+05:302012-11-02T19:25:43.604+05:30Half-year's thoughts, some pontifications ;)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What?! Another post within the span of a month! Yes, seems like my mind finally has thoughts again. Not an exaggeration. It was pretty much blank for the previous many months. Okay, there did occur dreams occasionally, mostly about eating good variety of food (especially those that I had cut out of my diet :P) and maybe about going out of the house and roaming about in the city. But nothing much apart from those.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I guess the mind being active again is an extremely good sign. I think we tend to underestimate the amount of energy used by our brains. We think it is all the muscles and stuff that eat up the food, but really, the brain needs much more. I could feel the stress involved in concentrating on anything beyond a cursory level. For example, reading anything for any amount of time was doable, but writing even small reply-mails seemed quite taxing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, I thought I will make a small list of a few things I noticed over my stay back at home in Hyderabad, back in India, for the last 6 months.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
@ Contrary to popular belief, a 'long-term' patient is not fond of entertaining questions about his/her health. Yes, it is true that the enquirers are only showing their concern and wishing them a speedy recovery, but the patient grows quite tired of repeating the same responses again and again to different people :P. Worsening matters, classifying recovery is such a subjective thing that often the patient has no clue about it either and hence is hesitant to reveal his/her ignorance :P.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
# The body and mind are quite adaptive. They adjust to a routine even if the routine is outright outrageous. After a length of time, anything can feel normal. Only when the changes roll back, does one recognise the adaptation that had occurred . </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
& Moving beyond self, let me now rant about others. Actually, in a way, it is still about me ;). I know that we Indians are not supposed to arrive on time. That it is a requirement to come at least 30 mins later than what you say, and fashionable to arrive at least a couple of hours late. I know all this pretty well. But still am unable to readjust! Despite my best efforts, I still end up getting ready on time and end up waiting to be picked up. That wait is never delicious. Or in the other cases, despite arriving at the venue quite late, or rather what I think is quite late, I still find myself the first one there. The other 6-8 people arrive even later! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
% English seems to much more in vogue during public intercourse than before. Or perhaps it is the same and I just didn't notice it earlier? Especially when people are talking to some staff person (like a sales person, waiter et al.), they tend to use English. Yeah, I know in Hyderabad, there is always the uncertainty over whether the other person is a Telugu or a Hindi/Urdu speaker. But that doesn't seem to be the reason behind this English explosion. People are just becoming 'posher' :P. However, strangely, I find myself addressing any staff-member in Hindi or Telugu rather than English. But does that result in me getting a lower quality of service, given that I use the vernacular? That's a question up for debate ;). </div>
</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-39565534266303489342012-10-09T19:25:00.001+05:302012-10-09T19:26:35.887+05:30Some Numbers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
117 days since the last post -- a hiatus resulting partly from being miffed, and partly from finding it pointless to say anything.<br />
<br />
11 months since that fateful day when it all came to the fore. Again. Would never have guessed the consequences.<br />
<br />
5 months 9 days since I moved back home.<br />
<br />
3 times I have managed to go out of the house to meet friends in this time.<br />
<br />
7 books have been read. The last one too big to be read completely, being a collection of all the author's works.<br />
<br />
5 different types of medical systems I have tried. One of which is of course conventional Allopathy :P.<br />
<br />
4 weeks before I travel again :).</div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7331341.post-15070522908554601052012-06-14T12:47:00.001+05:302012-10-09T19:26:24.362+05:30Atrophy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One day<br />
Will be gone<br />
You may look<br />
You may wonder<br />
Or may be not notice<br />
But one day<br />
I would have withered away.<br />
<br />
Every day<br />
An inch I disappear<br />
Imperceptibly.<br />
You may still rescue<br />
And I may still remain<br />
But would you?<br />
Save me again?<br />
<br />
<i>PS - I guess this might end up being the blog birthday post! 8 years done .... how many more?</i></div>
mythalezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850084004860464172noreply@blogger.com0