College Library

There's something about university libraries and the bored, paunchy, governement employed librarian with his hindi newspaper sitting in the one of the two airconditioned rooms in the college that is so condusive to making out no?

The Littlest Birds Sing the prettiest Songs

The disjointed, assorted, unsorted, accumulated thoughts over extended period on non blogging post -

I know you've missed me so you'll read it anyway.

There is this man, who helped me with a virus. We both tried to get it off my computer, through several long exhaustive gchats and a lot of patience from his kindly self. It's still on though - in a controlled form. Whenever I plug anything into my computer, a little newfolder.exe pops up. I've stopped deleteing them because they remind me of him and it makes me smile. What tales I'll tell my grandkids yo, kya comedy life hai.

I'm only half a decade late on the laptop uptake. For the past year or so I've had a computer cum study table with a desktop - is it no wonder then that I bombed my exams? Now, my computer's crashed again and this time I didn't lose anything that major except several sets of photographs and I haven't reinstalled mtnl on the desktop yet. There's Mum's spare office latop doing the rounds and I've using that for all internet travels and it's helping me a LOT. Firstly, the luxury of

sitting anywhere, just anywhere! and typing makes me feel so damn fly. And secondly, I'm very big on compartmentalisation, and now that area is just study/work place and it's making quite a lot of difference concentration wise because I just don't sit down there unless I'm gonna hit them books.

There's a certain kind of people who loved to read and maybe write a little only because the world was so awesome and powerful and unfathomable and they needed to channel some of that revelation and now, all they(we) so is watch films and somehow it's getting translated into

photography.

I've noticed something rather interesting about myself - when am I having a good time? What makes me happy? What is fun for me? And it mostly comes down to kicking back with your people, your pals and all the ridiculous pictures we take and the disgusting food we eat.

Did ya know there's a baoli near Connaught Place. It's actually on Kasturba Gandhi Marg and there's something quite awesome about it's ancient steps, it's dignified purpose, just it's very presence in that bustling mad city centre.

Swordfishtrombones

Waited For Nothing

I don't know what has happened to my reading speed. It has slowed down to the pace of a 3 seed file.

It now takes me WEEKS to finish a book, even one that I'm really enjoying, even non-difficult, non-literary ones; and since I've read a total of nil books on philosophy I don't even have that problem.

It's not like I'm doing much else, true I'm more 'physically active' than I've been in the last seven years combined but that shouldn't make too much of a difference non?

Anyway, REALLY liking 'Any Human Heart' by William Boyd, especially the cameo appearance by a variety of writers/artists most of whom I don't recognize - Hemingway, Woolf, Fitzgerald and Joyce all wandering around London and Paris pre-war as of now and it's only page one hundred and something. Man, what a time.

Only six years late but Shantaram has finally been read and also finally discussed someone who found as tedious as I did, but hey read the whole think just because of the sheer force of his back story. More than the book, I'd really like to chat with Roberts, have lots to say, not in the least that he needs to not straigthen his hair. (err..not even going to try to check the tense on that sentence)

When you put the radio on and it's mid-song, exactly at the part you love.

Ideally I'd love to ride them horses and race through the woods with my dogs till my lungs burst. But we live in apartment blocks so fuck it I'm going to gym instead.