Skip to main content

A funny feeling

Am home... on account of my mother having fractured her hand...

Now the funny part is coming home... When you leave home... your identity is packe din bags and cartons and shelved. When you come home, you find all things .. old and musty... in cartons... and if you open one... ahh the memories they come flooding back...

the old newspapers in which you got published, the table tennis rubbers you won tournaments with, the letters, the flowers, the hankerchiefs... the broken pens, the old reports, the fiery ideas, old business plans, the diaries and journals... the penknives, the plaster-of-paris items, the photographs..

Then there is this comp.. A vintage 1999, 733 Mhz Pentium III... converted to a cluster (married to an older computer..sister's.. 1997 Pentium II 350 Mhz).. dual boot, running linux and windows... Ahh this computer.. it made me alivbe... the hacks i did.. the pranks i did... the hours i spent on it.. laboring though linux codes... those beautiful emacs windows... and then life meant so much more...

And then there are those smells... trying to smell a 5 year old rumaal... all twisted and yellowed.. i can assure you its all musty... but the act of sniffing it and imagining what it smelt then... is a pleasure.. that can be a life time...

And then you see the clothes... the torn jeans... the yellowed t-shirts.. All my beautiful jeans... seven of them.. waiting for me to get back to 32"... they love me and so do i...

And then there is this feeling of sinking... letting go of time... and wondering if the time spent was well spent... All bogus and reassuring thoughts...

Anyhow... much said.. its great to be back home... Its great to know that life can be comfortable... and not unidimensional... Come the weekend and we will see the deluge of relatives... (50+) .. and am bracing up for that...

So love me god... and wish me luck...

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Raizada Heritage Fund and Trip to Woodlands

I have a confession to make. We don’t have a sofa at home. We seriously don’t.. Over the last two years, whenever Vartika has broached the touchy topic of a Sofa buy, I have ended up doing rants on how the money saved on not buying a Sofa would be able to feed us for a month, in case startup went bust. (And no, I was not counting on dumb UPA government allowing Sharad Pawar to make billions running amok on the vegetable and cereals market and looting us. In that case, count that sum to last for mere 15 days. That rant is for a separate day) Imagine a 30-40k sofa and me eating it, like the borers mostly do. Tough to imagine and sad to think of. So I return to the sofa tales. Vartika knew I had make her do with those mattresses. You know how dumb I am, relentlessly pointless. Unfortunately I ran into an Ariean, and that too my Mom. She looked at me and the mattresses and then again at me, and I went ballistic. From the sensibility of an accountant, to the eruditeness of an economist (De
Post a Comment
Read more

Can life teach?

It actually began, quite reluctantly. Unnecessary as it may seem, life teaches you what you allow it to teach. Even Life cannot teach you what it offers you. One has to let himself dissolve into the experience and let it sink in, and that I might call religion or education. Whatever the other person is willing to accept. Nay. Does it matter? Nay. Life is about teaching oneself. Being a self-thought-taught "person", picking up bits and pieces from various experiences, I tread on a path; I have myself laid out for myself. Never have I asked, in other words, begged for words, from "messiahs". Never did I think myself of having enough virtue, call it patience, to learn from others. So "rich" were my experiences. Things change, dynamically. Responding to an open question, throwing caution to the winds, I immersed myself into a debate, with people who thought, had streamlined their thinking apparatus and abilities. Gradually, they pestered; read "lee
3 comments
Read more

The void...

I feel empty. I feel raw. I feel rotten. I feel like not feeling. I have nothing to show, if someone to ask me about what I have achieved in my stay on this planet. Nothing. what is a few flirtations with literature, knowledge, pain and sweat. No blood. No tears. No medallions. No gallantry. Ah! I am disgusted with myself for being so ordinary. I deserve the void for I do not work half as hard as I could. I am wasting my life.
3 comments
Read more