Random Musings

At least, there should be peace, but my neighbours don’t seem to agree. A couple of nights ago the indigo silence of the night was rudely shattered by the sound of raised voices. I peeked out, and these two chaps were almost about to have a fist fight. Over parking space.

It seemed a little pointless to me, but I don’t much like to fight, so perhaps I was missing something.

There is a feeling that winter has just about passed. It’s colder than ever, a sure sign that things are about to heat up real soon. The next weekend is a long one, but sadly I’m too poor right now to plan anything for it. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, since I have a stack of books to finish. I’ve been snatching a couple of hours every day to read them, and have made some good progress.

Just read what I’d written so far, and was struck by just how boring it was. It really is boring, nothing but a bare recital of what I did and what happened and blah blah blah…snore. No zip in the writing, no zest, no life. Just boiled potatoes. However, boiled potatoes are extremely yummy when mashed up with warm butter and some salt. Mashing potatoes is a fine art, not well understood by all. You don’t want them all lumpy and hard to chew, and neither do you want them runny and dripping off the fork. Properly done, this simple dish makes the tongue tingle, and the belly grumble happily once it’s done.

I’ve seen pre-mixed packets of mashed potatoes in the shops here. Never bought any, because to me they have no soul. None whatsoever. No, truly, I have not yet mashed potatoes myself here, but I resolutely refuse to eat that concoction of souless tubers mixed with heathenish chemicals. In this age of golden miracles, perhaps I’m missing out on a good thing? No, these things may be old, but they are the bedrock of many a familiar thing.

This is another example of rambling around. I really have nothing much to say tonight, but I feel like writing a little. So I’m actually watching the word count tick over, word by word, slowly, little by little, inching towards an uncertain future.

Has anyone else ever noticed what happens to the rubber slippers (flip-flops, the Americans say, but I say NO), that we wear around the house. The soles wear smooth, imperceptibly reaching a day when you rush into the bathroom, trying very hard to hurry up cause you’re unbearably late for work. The slippers hit a pool of water, and, with no warning whatsoever, physics takes over and you aquaplane helplessly across the bathroom, waving your arms in a semaphoric manner that no one is there to decipher. If you’re lucky, you manage to catch your self before a not so pleasant introduction with the constituents of the wall. If not…well, then you prepare to spend a while saying hello to every one of them, as you slide slowly down and come to rest in a pool od shuddering humanity, absolutely sure, in every fiber of your being, that you will be fired this day. This very day, not tomorrow, or the day after. This is the day that you have been waiting for but you didn’t know it. Deep in your cold heart’s core, a spark of life flames up, struck by the impact. Life is short, and there’s many a slip, so it’s what you do in the spaces between the falls that matters. All this gets too heavy, so you pick yourself up, and turn on the shower, only to skip out a second later, cursing volubly, as the piping hot water hits your numbed skin.

You stand by, shivering and slowly turning blue, poking a cautious hand into the stream to check the temperature. When it seems fine, you step back in, only to realize that the hand of fate ensured that your own hand was a lot colder than the rest of you, so when all was well for the hand, all was most certainly not well for the rest of you, as the rest of you lets you know in no uncertain terms.

Move one, move on, move one and on, and move on and on.

I notice that I haven’t written anything for a while. No particular reason why, just lazy I guess. I think I was depressed for a bit too, or something like that.

Anyway, so what’s new?

I went for the Black Eyed Peas concert and jumped around. It was quite nice, and since I was in the first row, it was even better. They’re not the greatest band, but hey, a live concert is always good.

I had a chance of going on a little trip to Singapore, all expenses paid, but decided not to.

I’ve also run out of books. I bought a bunch, but I’ve read them all. It’s time to go back to the bookstore. I love this bookstore. It’s a secondhand store, and they have a great collection. And you know what the best part is? It SMELLS like a bookstore.

That’s a big problem with the Crosswords of the world. Sure, they’re big, and well lit, and have place for you to move around in, but somehow, that’s not a bookstore.

A bookstore is a small store, divided into narrow aisles by shelves. Books are stacked everywhere, and while there may be an underlying order, it’s not instantly apparent. So you need to spend time, walking up and down, standing on stools, maneuvering past strangers, trying not to knock down a stack of books, before you find the one true book you’ve been looking for all your life, but never knew you were.

What is a bookstore unless you find an old mildewed book, that you remember reading as a child. Not a reprint, but the same edition. As you turn the pages, the odd illustration leaps out at you, and you remember the precise day and hour that you first read it. I found a Winne the Pooh, and it took me back to when I was six years old. We had gone to visit someone in Calcutta, and I was sitting quietly, and the old lady gave me this book to read. I started reading it then, but did not finish it, because we had to leave. But I still remember the first few pages, and how it felt.

In a real bookstore, you are surrounded by old friends, and the shelves hold the promise of many new ones. Some may turn out to be false friends, and you discard them in disgust, but others you cherish for years, even as the binding loosens, and the pages turn yellow, and people ask you why you don’t throw that old book away.

At home, in Jaipur, I have my books neatly stored in a bookshelf. Bangalore isn’t home yet, but it will be, when my room is full of books. It feels like home to come back from work, and see a stack of books that I haven’t read yet, and they beckon seductively to me. It is seductive, you know. It’s raining outside, and I hear the water spiral down the walls. But inside, snug as a bug in a rug, with something nice to eat close at hand, and a bottle of water, I read on, lost in worlds far far away, once upon a time.

After yet another trip, this time to Bangalore, I’m back, and have exams from tomorrow. Of course, I don’t feel like studying at all.. So what else is new? The trip was great fun, got to meet some of my relatives whom I haven’t met for ages. I spent a day in Bombay, and hung out with my cousin sister, who is sixteen and crazy, in the nice way that we all are.

My basketball aspirations came crashing down after my first game, thanks to a mistimed jump and a bad landing that led to a bruised heel and knee. We won that game 51-12 , but promptly lost the next one to get kicked out of the tournament. So what’s a guy to do? Buy lots of books, of course! I found a very nice second hand bookstore and went slightly mad, snapping up hardcover editions of C.J Cherryh, Forster, Bradbury and Bronte. Always nice to have a stack of books to keep the blues away.

And then I went and met my Uncle and Aunt, who might possibly read this entry.. heh heh. Had a great dinner at their place, and some wacky conversation as well. My aunt is extremely sweet, and she actually went to great lengths to make some great food. And since I am always hungry, and miss home cooked food, I pigged out.

However, all good things come to an end, and I have my end of semester exams starting from tomorrow. Obviously, I don’t know anything, and even more obviously, I am not studying at all   Got six exams, back to back, so it’ll be over quickly at least. And then.. HOME! For a longish time. I have all sorts of plans, none of which will come to fruition, but hey, what the heck, right?

So, as the man said in Punch Drunk Love ( great movie) , That’s that. I shall probably be writing after I get home now.