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.

Why no new entries, someone asked. Well, I have my reasons, and I don’t want to go into that here. In any case, here is the new entry, so that ought to answer your question.

I’ve finally moved into my own place. It’s a very nice place, and the best part is the fact that it’s walking distance from work. And in Bangalore, that’s something wonderful. Heck, it would probably be wonderful anywhere in the world. It takes me about twenty minutes to walk to work.

On the other hand, setting up home is an arduous process. Everything needs to be purchased, from spoons and knives, to a gas range. I need to take out the trash, make sure there is water in the tank, remember to buy drinking water; or boil it, and sweep out my room. This is all fun in its own way. I like to set up things the way I want, and it’s always nice to have your own curtains. Choose wisely, since curtains make all the difference.

The post above this was originally part of this one, but I have password protected that. Sorry

Disclaimer: Am up late, and bored as hell, so do not believe what you are about to read.

I need new specs. My glasses are showing their age. They are now almost a year old, and for glasses of mine, that’s an eternity. I do not know how they lasted so long, weathering storm and neglect, and games of basketball, where more often than not, they would go flying through the air with the greatest of ease, soaring high, before coming to rest on the earth with an almighty thump.

Old poetry? What does that have to do with anything? Nothing, and everything. I have never been one for poetry, preferring to let my imagination soar with the masters of science-fiction instead. But Yeats I like, for reasons unfathomable. The Lake Isle of Innisfree and the Song of Wandering Aengus speak volumes. For those of you who have never read Yeats, here you go:

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

By William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear the water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

1892

See what I mean? No? Well, don’t worry, neither do I. Sometimes, I confuse myself even, wondering what it is that I am trying to say, and why I say it. I am home now, where my room and I share a very nice relationship, of complete trust and understanding. I have it set up just the way I like it, and I live within its bounds. In the company of most people I merely exist, I live only with a few people. No, this is not a romantic post about my girlfriend, for those of you who have begun rolling their eyes and grinning. If you must know, I am not “sweet” on anyone, so there!

No, this is more about the essential lonliness of being. I seem to always go away to places where not many can follow. The standard world of conversation is difficult for me to stay in. I am always uncomfortable around people, and though most people refuse to believe this, I am bloody shy! And most people end up thinking that I am very arrogant and stuck-up.

So somehow, I always end up wondering about things. Which is not a bad way to be, mind you. I was just wondering about how to install Fedora on my comp without messing up the partitions, and also whether a sprinkler would turn the same way if it sucked water in ( from Feynman) and whether the GMT offset that makes Indian watches show GMT if you turn them upside down would be true anywhere else, and how the site www.mysticball.com works ( figured that out, by the way) and a million other things.

I hop from one to the other, so if you seem me looking really serious, I’m probably goofing off and trying to understand how your house is wired ( in parallel, yes, but will serial wiring be needed anywhere?), or whether ubiquitous wireless access would really change things, and the logical conclusion of national roaming on mobile phones.

That’s how weird I am. SO THERE!

Wrote this in class..

If there is a bear in the cave, do not enter it. If, perchance, you do happen to enter it, stay very very still. If your luck is out and the bear wakes up and starts sniffing, there’s only one thing left to do: DANCE!

Bears love dancing.It’s a fact. They love classical dance more than any other, but in a pinch, they’ll settle for crazy bhangra. You’ll know they are interested if they rear up on two feet and start shaking their ass! Now listen very carefully, because your only chance of escaping alive is this.

Looking the bear in the eye, keep on dancing. Preferably, throw in a few Michael Jackson-esqe “CHUKS!” and “WOO!”‘s, and grab your crotch ( but not too hard, you don’t want to incapacitate yourself.) Start to moonwalk towards the entrance, still looking the bear in the eye. When you are near it, stop suddenly, bow deeply, and RUN!

Do NOT look back, do NOT try to stop to catch your breath, just run run run. Crash your way down the hill, avoiding the pine trees, and watching your footing on the pine needles underfoot.

At the bottom of the hill you’ll find a stream. ( There’s always a stream at the bottom of the hill, so you’re bound to find a stream!) Run into the stream, and start running downstream, along with the water. Hopefully, this will confuse the bear, because bears can’t fathom running through water. They think it’s silly, and they’re probably right! Still, you’re trying to save your ass from being bitten off, so don’t worry about looking silly.

As the stream reaches the plains, and becomes a river, you’ll probably have run around a hundred kilometers at the very least. Don’t start thinking about how you’ve managed this seemingly impossible feat, because if you do, you’ll die instantly! Just keep on running ( or swimming, as the case may be.)

The river will follow it’s course through the plains, meandering here and there, and will finally reach the sea. All rivers eventually reach the sea, so will yours. Don’t argue with me, or I’ll write you out of the story!

And before you is the sea. A stormy, dark sea with mile high waves, and glimpses of strange creatures in the deeps. As you are helplessly carried into the maelstrom, you have only one thought in your head. We don’t want to know what it is, cause if you are so stupid that you can’t keep two thoughts at the same time, it’s not going to be a world-changing one, now is it?

You are now on your way to the bottom of the sea. How are you still alive, you wonder? Well, jackass, you’re still alive cause I say you are, and since, as the author of this, I am GOD for you, you better not piss me off.

You see strange creatures swimming around you..

And that’s all I wrote.