Mid week blues..

A wedding invitation which was sent by one of the misguided souls at work has made me shed my laziness and write about it here..

What is it with wedding invitations?
While my wife always cribs that our wedding invitation read like a formal business dinner invitation, I find that wedding invitations are getting more and more kitschy.

Like the one read yesterday which goes on the lines of “Please do come and be a part of one of our happiest moments of our life..." or something else which spoke of "All hearts becoming one".

Well, I have hypertension and do take valsartan tablets. I am sure the newly wedded ones would not want my heart hobnobbing with theirs.

Also, Another glowing example of man becoming less of a social animal and more of an animal in the digital era manifested itself in the morning today.

My neighbour who with great insight told me in the lift that he had sent me a mail about a function in his house scheduled for this Saturday.

Conversation went on these lines -
Neighbour: "Vivek, I see we have met again in the lift"
Vivek (not being very bright in the day before 2 cups of espresso" with weak smile (a la Bela Lugosi before he sunk fangs into forlorn women in Dracula movies of old) - "Yes"
Neighbour - "I have sent a mail yesterday regarding a function in my house, Please check and respond"
Vivek - "I will do that, What is the function about and where is .."
Lift reaches basement ..

Neighbour - "Got to leave, check mail, It will tell all. Have a good day ahead..."

Parting shot - "Please read mail the first thing in the morning and send me a mail. I need to plan for the food..."

Well, if that was not surreal, I do not know what is?
Even if I had plans of reading the twerp’s mail, I will not do so now in addition to boycotting the event...

Dec 6 2006 - Do I have a life or what?

another day working late. is this getting to eb a habit or have I turned into a low life form who has no social behaviourial habits. to rub salt into my wounds, my mother lectures me about neighbours who are home by 5pm and take regular holidays.
she definitely is getting back for all the tiding up of the room I never did when I was a kid !!!

The only advantage of late night outs are working in peace without the phone ringing every 10 minutes and the blogging !!!
Called home to find the clan asleep. Why oh Why oh Why

Dec 5, 2006 - Late night ramblings

After months of non activity on the blog front (no thanks to horrid work and , ennui), I realised I had vegetated. Between a client video conference and some tepid expresso, decided to check if my Blogspot account still existed and glory be - yes it did !!

white beard and stubble rash

the last few months have been mundane. life has continued at a humdrum pace with things alternating between work, late hours and absolute rusting of grey cells. to try out something different and entertain myself, i grew a french beard or a goatee as its properly called by the nexus of un employed poets, down and out street performers and the supposedly uber cool crowd.

results were varied - wife complains of stubble rash if i smooch her, son said i looked like a tarantula (did not have the heart to ask him why)
the beard is like a gumboil. it is annoying at first and then it grows on you. if its not around, its like missing a woman in your life. on the flip side, everyone knows when i have had noodles, white hair creeps in at an alarming rate making it look like a horde of termites have had a field day.

to shave or not to shave that is the question.....

chianti sutra

over the last couple of months I have seen my self transgress from a man to a drone going through the motions. it may be winter ennui. it could be the listless work but its quite apparent there's been a lack of passion in the things I do.

on sunday, i noticed my little son spend time dismantling things meticulously with his cycle. Whatever he was doing looked laboriously boring to me but passionate to him . His sole aim was to grind crayons under his tricycle wheel.
The gameplan was simple, the execution near perfect. the result disastorous for the crayons and his parents but triumphic for him.

within 30 minutes, he had ground a dozen crayons and had also dirtied the marble flooring not to mention his tri cycle wheels. He had also incurred grandmother caution, maternal wrath and father's look of annoyance.

On a casual note, the crayons were all gone but he didn't think so. it was quite apparent to him that life did lurk within those wasted objects. Life which had to be dealt with. he grouped the dismembered crayons together and drove the cycle all over it again.
This bought to mind something I had seen on CNN during the war on terror. An highly sophisticated million dollar stealth pounding foot solidiers or soldiers on cycles.

Anyway that was something one does not explain to a hyper 3 year old.

Here are some poems which made sense pre and post chianti stupor...

Regina Derieva - All My Life
============================
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"


Matsuo Basho - How admirable
============================
How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.


Wislawa Szymborska - Going Home
================================
He came home. Said nothing.
It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong.
He lay down fully dressed.
Pulled the blanket over his head.
Tucked up his knees.
He's nearly forty, but not at the moment.
He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb,
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he'll give a lecture
on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics.
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep.