July 12, 2004

Echoes

Conversations in corridors are always of great interest if you are a passerby. In well populated corridors and staircases, it feels something like moving in and out of various consciousnesses. One moment you could be listening to someone saying “the problem is that I cannot do anything about the problem” and next it could be someone delivering the much-beaten-about lines of courtship and flirtation. Eavesdropping? Maybe, but it certainly is good fun when you have to work five floors, countless times, to do even the most menial of tasks.

That, incidentally, is no excuse for the lack of anything new here, nor do I have any other excuse that is worthy of any mention. The long and the short of the tale is that I am fine and well. The only problem is that I am bored out of my mind and in constant conflict with the monster called routine, which doggedly follows me around all the time. For the time being though, you, my dear reader, will be spared of another of those ‘damn-what-do-write-about-now’ bouts of verbal diarrhea and be guided over probably mildly better matter of interests like a mildly-different weekend.

After the best-laid plans for a partying Saturday went totally awry, we found ourselves looking almost skyward, in one of the front row seats, at the giant screen for a late night show of Troy. Bulk was in abundance everywhere and so were ample instances of unintended humour. Pardon us Greek Gods for not lending enough gravity towards the tale of pathos and a stellar example of crappy movie making on the screen. But we certainly did have our bang for the Rs. 75 buck a pop and save the Brad Pitt-induced droolfest by the ladies, it was, all things considered, not a bad way to spend a Saturday night.

Around evening, Sunday picked up speed and chugged on towards a meeting of seven bloggers and one non-blogger at one of the local watering holes. At the head of the table, was the ‘high’ priest of the Delhi Blogger clan – Simple Simon – at his often-failingly menacing best. Towards my left was seated the bovine clan – Boomsa and the Tuber, followed by my good friend and non-blogging colleague. And on my right was the fabulous Wonderbug, the star attraction of the congregation, seamlessly switching between her mommy and blogger modes, flanked on her left by Surinder ‘I-love-Schumie’ XX and Reshma.

Reverting back to the main ‘done-to-death’ theme, one of the reasons why I don’t update the blog much is that I can’t seem to beat redundancy when it comes to tackling certain issues on the personal front. That is reflected on the blog with entries that maybe different from each other only in terms of metaphorical mockery and nothing else. Thus, as long as the larger malaise, of the actual life, remains unchanged, there would be nothing new here. For me the blog is just an echo chamber, where I can listen to myself interpret things, chart a clear path for my thought pattern and see, just for myself, where I trip and fall.

Beyond the falls, things are changing all around; only if the damned weather would change too. Someone should tell them Gods that the adage “change is the only constant” applies to weather too. Another cousin is about to take the plunge and will be getting married soon. The folks have breached the topic in one of our previous strained conversations. The future is very much an unknown, yet exciting, dark road ahead. And the journey with no specific destination or purpose moves on ahead like a steam engine that tears into the darkness. How in the world can you explain all this to anyone at all? How in the world can you describe what is it that you want and what is it that you are looking for, when it is yourself that you know the least about?