As I type this from a chair that’s way too low for me (Do I notice this because of all the Wikipedia entries I’ve just read? The ones on repetitive strain injury, computer vision syndrome and all those hideous things that happen to coffee (the coffee is brilliant at my PS 2 station, filter-coffee level, never knew that a dispenser could work. Blame ANC.}-guzzling beings confined to swivel chairs in air-conditioned office spaces) I realize that multiply bracketed sentences don’t provide the best starts to a post, especially one you type under a glancing-behind-your-shoulder strain that only a deceptively semi-private space like an office cubicle can inspire.
People here don’t even pretend to look away while they are caught staring at each other’s comp screens. Sheesh. I know it’s an office comp and that I’m supposed to figuring statistical modeling out instead of contemplating mails to friends who are probably so entangled within their razais in the anticipation of vetti new courses, that they will find it near-impossible to read mine completely and compose a reply as long as my mails are bound to get. Still…
Tamilian faces aren’t pretty. Or should I say south-Indian faces? Of course I’m referring to the roughly hewn ebony-hued majority, the throng with whom I juggle change and tickets , fight devious toe-scrunching elbow-shifting shoe-wringing wars for standing space near the bus windows and share the spoils- those rare breezes that sneak on you from beneath and move up your clothes in a way that makes you grateful for your city’s perennial summer.
Of course I didn’t mean to sound the way I did about the homely Tamilian. But it’s a sign that I’m starting to get smothered by Chennai and domesticated at home
1. My culinary debut has been successful.
2. I’ve spent half my time in supermarket queues and the other half in the corner shops on the way home to purchase provisions that I’d missed in the supermarket.
And I need as much help to cross these roads as a blind man does.
Fortis Guard is the eleven-letter combination of letters I hate the most now. Signing into igoogle and then adding the Gmail gadget to view my inbox on my colleagues’ suggestion made me realize how much resourcefulness desperation can manufacture to make continuous inroads into webguards.
Here’s to my resolution of not transforming into that unproductive net-grazing stipend-wasting no-good -an exquisitely standardized PS2 product.