Sunday, August 29, 2004
MOVING ON
Shifting coordinates is another name for untold woes-other than the maudlin Nirupa Roy tears I copiously and dutifully shed. The list of things to do is overpowering, overwhelming and cornucopic, which habitually seems to coincide with my most stark moments of lassitude and sloth. On the professional front, other than the mandatory ubiquitous Handing-Over note (as opposed to the Legging-it note which is more my wont) , the need to safely migrate all those gargantuan data files is matched only by the desperate desire to continue subscribing to the groups that one is accustomed to. This apart, the slovenly paper trails billowing around in my office need to be halted in their respective tracks. Obviously, the personal changes are much more dispersed and straddle media and locations—as submitted earlier, I’ve no clue about the finances, but more importantly, the magazine subscriptions and pots and pans like the Worldspace newsletters have to be redirected.
Thus, I stand and fall !
As a befitting companion, on the brink of contracting a fever too—Give me hope !
Made a way to Mocha yesterday ( after a minor mid-pitch brawl with my colleague on the pronunciation). Interesting décor, even more interesting lighting ( which means that if I was not wearing my glassed, I would have had as much chance of making my way around as a blinded Peke in Manhattan ). Seemed to remind me of the Opium Den in one of the Tintins, literally laidback folks on their chillums and hookams—looked rather inviting but my lungs are under preparation for the Beijing Olympics. The music ( Hush—NOT the noise, the music , the music, I say ) was straight out of a channel called System designed to drown out any conversation one might have contemplated. Ordered a double coffee served in a huge cauldron—my enfeebled arm could not lift the thing and so had to drink it in teaspoonfuls. The waffle was a wheatish thing served cold with honey. So my budding career as a culture vulture looks nipped for the moment…
Came to a rapturous welcome ( tis Rakhi, and the cometh the hour, cometh the band of brothers—ha ha what a clever pun ) , lingered on to late at night with the family watching some Ethiopian athletes distinguishing themselves and beam as they received their medals. All said and done, takes some beating, ineluctable pride, quivering chins a la Mack –of course my father on hand to wonder on matters such as do all anthems have words or do they adopt tunes such as mere desh ki dharti .The awareness levels of all around me seem to have escalated—the ladies at Office the other full of Lebedeva, Kluft, Jones and Anju, and was seated to a winsome couple yesterday who were at home with the order of the 4 * 400 m relay team replete with strategies …. That’s good. The festivities culminate today, “bas aaj ki raat hai zondahi, kal hum kahaan tum kahaan “.
Have to head back on this languorous Sunday, and worse, work.
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Shifting coordinates is another name for untold woes-other than the maudlin Nirupa Roy tears I copiously and dutifully shed. The list of things to do is overpowering, overwhelming and cornucopic, which habitually seems to coincide with my most stark moments of lassitude and sloth. On the professional front, other than the mandatory ubiquitous Handing-Over note (as opposed to the Legging-it note which is more my wont) , the need to safely migrate all those gargantuan data files is matched only by the desperate desire to continue subscribing to the groups that one is accustomed to. This apart, the slovenly paper trails billowing around in my office need to be halted in their respective tracks. Obviously, the personal changes are much more dispersed and straddle media and locations—as submitted earlier, I’ve no clue about the finances, but more importantly, the magazine subscriptions and pots and pans like the Worldspace newsletters have to be redirected.
Thus, I stand and fall !
As a befitting companion, on the brink of contracting a fever too—Give me hope !
Made a way to Mocha yesterday ( after a minor mid-pitch brawl with my colleague on the pronunciation). Interesting décor, even more interesting lighting ( which means that if I was not wearing my glassed, I would have had as much chance of making my way around as a blinded Peke in Manhattan ). Seemed to remind me of the Opium Den in one of the Tintins, literally laidback folks on their chillums and hookams—looked rather inviting but my lungs are under preparation for the Beijing Olympics. The music ( Hush—NOT the noise, the music , the music, I say ) was straight out of a channel called System designed to drown out any conversation one might have contemplated. Ordered a double coffee served in a huge cauldron—my enfeebled arm could not lift the thing and so had to drink it in teaspoonfuls. The waffle was a wheatish thing served cold with honey. So my budding career as a culture vulture looks nipped for the moment…
Came to a rapturous welcome ( tis Rakhi, and the cometh the hour, cometh the band of brothers—ha ha what a clever pun ) , lingered on to late at night with the family watching some Ethiopian athletes distinguishing themselves and beam as they received their medals. All said and done, takes some beating, ineluctable pride, quivering chins a la Mack –of course my father on hand to wonder on matters such as do all anthems have words or do they adopt tunes such as mere desh ki dharti .The awareness levels of all around me seem to have escalated—the ladies at Office the other full of Lebedeva, Kluft, Jones and Anju, and was seated to a winsome couple yesterday who were at home with the order of the 4 * 400 m relay team replete with strategies …. That’s good. The festivities culminate today, “bas aaj ki raat hai zondahi, kal hum kahaan tum kahaan “.
Have to head back on this languorous Sunday, and worse, work.
