..I do stereotype. It helps remove the clutter (like GeorgeC says in Up in the Air). I so loved the way this was used in the movie. I cannot get it out of my mind and cannot stop thinking about the stereotypes I have.
I don’t
Follow vehicles with non KA registration while on the road in Bangalore city. They, 99% of the time don’t understand the urgency of us Bangaloreans.
Trail people riding older bikes. Like Splendor, scooty or even a maruthi car. They are damn slow – vehicle problem or a mindset problem.
Talk to guys wearing very tight T-shirts. Am pretty sure they will bore me to death…if they have not been able to win over the mirror...how would they talk sane things.
Like smiling families in the US. They are usually these chain marketing teams who will lure the poor-hungry-jobless Indian students to a free lunch and then make you sit through 3 hours of marketing (read: how to become rich) gyaan.
Eat fried food that is orange in color. Oh honey, that color remains like henna on ur hands n I believe it also coats your stomach.
Believing in correcting assumptions. Then I have to talk a lot…about things I don’t want to.
Like people in bright colored clothes. I believe they will be overly annoying in their talks.
Talk to pretty girls… I end up staring at them and wondering how god made such a nice thing and forgot the brain.
Drink coffee or tea when sugar is already added (if I don’t make it). I am usually sure that it will have more sugar than I want …more sugar gives me a headache.
And more..
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
...I believe
...in the foundation for Existentialism that theorized; an individual is solely responsible for giving their life meaning and living that life passionately and sincerely, in spite of many existential obstacles and distractions including despair, angst, absurdity, alienation, and boredom.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
….it happened one evening
It was past the twilight hour. The gentle evening zephyr overtook the hot sun that shone down to bake the earth. In a lonely hour at this pleasant evening, my eyes hunted for some distractive amusement. Did I think too loud I wondered…when my eyes were glued. We never let each other out of sight. Although, I must admit I sometimes lost sight...could not keep up with this hide and seek. The camaraderie of being in one room with the still air to disturb and the sound of bated breath to distract…revved up a storm for more. How could I resist..but walk up and say… I need the doors closed. Then I let the stillness take over and then let it all settle. Then I noticed this unsettled distraction…who could it be other than me. Or was it me at all? I wondered. And realized it was the small fruit that the fly was attracted to. I opened the door to the wind and let nature lap its creation.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Jotting a day in my work life
I give myself no buffer time…and buffer here includes time to stay in front of the mirror more than the time required to pull my comb off the dresser, or time to make nice cuppa or even the lavishness of fixing a lunch. That’s how a weekday starts. Giving myself half hour to from the time I get off the bed to get out of the house and onto the road to work. I mean a long winding road that I take to work. I ride (I should mention…drive as well. For all those who still exercise their jocular vein about wondering if I drive). I start usually unfazed by the 26km ride. I don’t get tempted to race with people of time.
I just follow my bike’s rules. I have Honda dio and I know it cannot do more than 70km. I don’t zig-zag or tease other drivers with speed. I am just a conscious rider always acknowledging that fact that the road to work is my personal yard. The road is weird…the first half of the stretch from home to work has 2 signals. The second half has around 7 and a two flyover construction points. My peaceful self, singing (one to two lines is all I can memorize…) and suddenly realizing that it is the road to perdition (for the love of the word and the lack to finding another beautifully fitting word here). All drivers on the road (most of them) are rogues. There are days I anoint on my mindless 26 km ride…some are ‘lorries day out’, ‘rogues day of fun’, ‘bad dressers day out’, ‘breakdown day’, ‘dress down day’, ‘brainless people’s day out’, ‘less clothes day’, ‘ogling men’s day out’, ‘good looking guys day out’, ‘my sad days’, and all that and more.
I traverse through the parked, over speeding, moving, not so moving, kinda vehicles and reach work. Oh no… not yet. Am in front of my office but on the other side of the road. Have to go ahead another half a km and make a ‘U’ turn and then get to my work spot. Once in…usually am (un)welcomed by the guard. Let me script the answer to the previous statement. The entrance to the business park has a guard station and there are many of them…who on some days insist of being on duty. There is a synthetic road hump, strategically placed. The sunlight pokes into your eye. The guard stands at the base of the hump, literally. There is no way you have single hand a bike on the hump and escape the glaring sunlight and then use the other hand to pull the id out. If you insist on clearing the hump and then doing the unnecessary task…the guards will sometimes dauntingly stare and utter undecipherable words. Which I am sure is something unpleasant.
As I make my way in and park the bike and walk and climb up the stairs to reach the 3rd floor (a mistake..out of the routine I followed the last 6-7 months), I then go to the fourth floor. Welcomed by the empty cubicles, I settle to pack my keys in my back and launch Outlook. This makes me feel at work. After ensuring the quarantine mail from Aditi, I settle in to a breakfast, usually of idli and the sometimes edible chutney, at the café on the 8th floor. Then, I see people trickle in to work… The sounds of noise from the team in the next cubicle wakes me time and again through the day.
This is just like 10.30 am.
To summarize the rest of my day… lunch, chats, test drives (these days), treats (sometimes) all this together with music, is the rest of my work day.
At 7.30 or 8 I start back toward home..and pretty much live my journey to work again.
I just follow my bike’s rules. I have Honda dio and I know it cannot do more than 70km. I don’t zig-zag or tease other drivers with speed. I am just a conscious rider always acknowledging that fact that the road to work is my personal yard. The road is weird…the first half of the stretch from home to work has 2 signals. The second half has around 7 and a two flyover construction points. My peaceful self, singing (one to two lines is all I can memorize…) and suddenly realizing that it is the road to perdition (for the love of the word and the lack to finding another beautifully fitting word here). All drivers on the road (most of them) are rogues. There are days I anoint on my mindless 26 km ride…some are ‘lorries day out’, ‘rogues day of fun’, ‘bad dressers day out’, ‘breakdown day’, ‘dress down day’, ‘brainless people’s day out’, ‘less clothes day’, ‘ogling men’s day out’, ‘good looking guys day out’, ‘my sad days’, and all that and more.
I traverse through the parked, over speeding, moving, not so moving, kinda vehicles and reach work. Oh no… not yet. Am in front of my office but on the other side of the road. Have to go ahead another half a km and make a ‘U’ turn and then get to my work spot. Once in…usually am (un)welcomed by the guard. Let me script the answer to the previous statement. The entrance to the business park has a guard station and there are many of them…who on some days insist of being on duty. There is a synthetic road hump, strategically placed. The sunlight pokes into your eye. The guard stands at the base of the hump, literally. There is no way you have single hand a bike on the hump and escape the glaring sunlight and then use the other hand to pull the id out. If you insist on clearing the hump and then doing the unnecessary task…the guards will sometimes dauntingly stare and utter undecipherable words. Which I am sure is something unpleasant.
As I make my way in and park the bike and walk and climb up the stairs to reach the 3rd floor (a mistake..out of the routine I followed the last 6-7 months), I then go to the fourth floor. Welcomed by the empty cubicles, I settle to pack my keys in my back and launch Outlook. This makes me feel at work. After ensuring the quarantine mail from Aditi, I settle in to a breakfast, usually of idli and the sometimes edible chutney, at the café on the 8th floor. Then, I see people trickle in to work… The sounds of noise from the team in the next cubicle wakes me time and again through the day.
This is just like 10.30 am.
To summarize the rest of my day… lunch, chats, test drives (these days), treats (sometimes) all this together with music, is the rest of my work day.
At 7.30 or 8 I start back toward home..and pretty much live my journey to work again.
Savings. for?? I wonder what?
Toward the end of January and early February I start philosophizing life. Why do we have to save? Yes, the very weeks when everyone is talking about saving and tax in the corporate world.
We are all gonna leave it behind and go away one fine day. The only obvious truth about life – death. Why do we strive to make a pile of money for after life and not use it for life? If we all learnt to earn and live..we would stop to think about saving and leaving something for future generations which only wake up many future lazy souls. Isn’t that something that would help the world become a better place?
We are all gonna leave it behind and go away one fine day. The only obvious truth about life – death. Why do we strive to make a pile of money for after life and not use it for life? If we all learnt to earn and live..we would stop to think about saving and leaving something for future generations which only wake up many future lazy souls. Isn’t that something that would help the world become a better place?
Pesky (ies)...
How the small irritants are the things we sometimes think about … rather than the nicer times in life gone by. I just moved to another team at work…and with it came a change in cubicle and floor. And I think about the noisy slurping tea drinker who sat by me, the annoyingly loud team who insisted of discussing everything on a full-yell mode. The long walk to the restroom, the emptiness on one side of the floor, the stupid (meaning pretty and boring) women and men (the showoff and irritating kinds), and the big pantry with two small tables and the one loud sound making fooseball table and the people playing that game. The nuisances of one time are more deliberated upon than the pleasant times that went by.
The small irritating pesky people are the ones I think of most – oh I remember that irritating thing about that guy and my uncouth roomie and her slimy boyfriend… blah blah blah. Or I think about the nicer things that hoped would have been the case with somethings or some one nice. Phew… my mind has a tough job.
… merrily, merrily, merrily… life is but a dream.
The small irritating pesky people are the ones I think of most – oh I remember that irritating thing about that guy and my uncouth roomie and her slimy boyfriend… blah blah blah. Or I think about the nicer things that hoped would have been the case with somethings or some one nice. Phew… my mind has a tough job.
… merrily, merrily, merrily… life is but a dream.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Born to loot or be looted
On one of the sunny afternoon on a long ride back home… I wondered how the world looked from the eyes of a thief. As uncomplicated as it can get…it was divided into two – the looter and the looted.
All living can be classified as a looter or the looted. The list might defer…but there rarely is a middle line here. There could however be an undecided category but never a thin line.
The story goes…we are both the looted and the looters at some point in life.
All living can be classified as a looter or the looted. The list might defer…but there rarely is a middle line here. There could however be an undecided category but never a thin line.
The story goes…we are both the looted and the looters at some point in life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)