How am I here today?
Because there is a powercut. And I have nothing to do. And laptops can run for some time even though there is a power cut.
Im totally overwhelmed with work nowadays. Sensible people tell me that this is what happens when you move to another team. And I have not only moved to another team, I have to work on Apple.
A person like me, who has always thanked Mr Gates, takes time to appreciate the wonders of Apple products. Especially when everything looks different, even the keyboard!
An apple lit a pretty little bulb in Mr Newtons brain. Unfortunately, that bulb has blown its fuse in mine.
So every evening I return from work, muttering the huge amount of things which are still incomplete. It's not doing any good to my confidence.
The only funny thing I have heard about my apple-y situation is
A for Apple
B for Bada apple
C for Chhota apple
D for Do apple
E for Ek aur apple
F for fir se apple
G for Gol apple
H for...H for...ho gaya na pet kharab itna apple khaya to....
Monday, July 25, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Home Sweet Home
With great apprehension, I walked towards the exit of Bhubaneswar airport. That was two months ago. I was greeted with a hot an humid Monday morning. Among the many faces, I searched for the familiar face of my husband. Tapa didn't fail me. I allowed my gnawing anxiety to ease a bit as I rushed towards him, letting go off my luggage and a bit of poise.
I was to report to office that morning. Before that, I had to go home, dump my luggage and get ready. On the way home, I tried capturing the new city unfolding before my eyes. A long road, roadside shops, billboards, people, all new sights and sounds.
At the end of this seemingly unending road, we turned left and got off the main road. A dusty road, leading to dustier roads. Each turn brought me fresh bouts of alarm as the road got more and more unkempt. Finally, we stopped before a lonely house with an ugly looking, uncared garden. I was prepared for an ugly situation, but the house was worse than anything I had imagined. Not in terms of size or general architecture. It looked so forlorn, as if apologizing for its state of neglect.
Inside, it was a typical bachelor pad. It was hard to imagine that a man took rest in such an uninspiring house. Although Tapa had managed to clean it, especially for me, it's bland walls and furniture made me cringe.
Since that day, we have managed to make this house resemble a home. The floor is swept. The bed is made with bright bed spreads and plump pillows. The fridge has fresh vegetables, milk, cottage cheese, half used packs of tomato puree, cartons of juice instead of just half filled bottles of water and frozen, ready to eat meals. The kitchen counter is scrubbed, no matter how tiring my day was. The sink is not overflowing with week old, unwashed utensils. The clothes line is burdened with washed clothes, brightly drying in the sun. The windows are left open religiously morning and evening. The tall grass and weeds have been replaced by freshly planted baby jasmines.
I will be sad when I have to move back to Mysore. I will remember how I set up my first home. Not my house of dreams perhaps but definitely my home sweet home.
I was to report to office that morning. Before that, I had to go home, dump my luggage and get ready. On the way home, I tried capturing the new city unfolding before my eyes. A long road, roadside shops, billboards, people, all new sights and sounds.
At the end of this seemingly unending road, we turned left and got off the main road. A dusty road, leading to dustier roads. Each turn brought me fresh bouts of alarm as the road got more and more unkempt. Finally, we stopped before a lonely house with an ugly looking, uncared garden. I was prepared for an ugly situation, but the house was worse than anything I had imagined. Not in terms of size or general architecture. It looked so forlorn, as if apologizing for its state of neglect.
Inside, it was a typical bachelor pad. It was hard to imagine that a man took rest in such an uninspiring house. Although Tapa had managed to clean it, especially for me, it's bland walls and furniture made me cringe.
Since that day, we have managed to make this house resemble a home. The floor is swept. The bed is made with bright bed spreads and plump pillows. The fridge has fresh vegetables, milk, cottage cheese, half used packs of tomato puree, cartons of juice instead of just half filled bottles of water and frozen, ready to eat meals. The kitchen counter is scrubbed, no matter how tiring my day was. The sink is not overflowing with week old, unwashed utensils. The clothes line is burdened with washed clothes, brightly drying in the sun. The windows are left open religiously morning and evening. The tall grass and weeds have been replaced by freshly planted baby jasmines.
I will be sad when I have to move back to Mysore. I will remember how I set up my first home. Not my house of dreams perhaps but definitely my home sweet home.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Burden of Travelling Light
I read a book some time back called "In a Strange Room". It was a very strange book. a hodgepodge of incidents, seemingly disjoint. A man who takes three different trips, meets strangers and sometimes friends, develops a sort of human bonding and is ultimately forced to move away. And in a most un-poetic way, my life seems to be following a similar pattern. Journeys and trips, moving from one place to the other, meeting people, becoming friends and ultimately moving away.
I am a person who loves change. I get bored with a routine. I love new things and new experiences. But somewhere, I yearn for a semblance of stability. That, I may go out every morning, fight my own battles, alone. Regardless of what the day challenges me with, atleast in the evening, I know that I will return to the sanctuary of my my home, among my family.
I have not felt this anchor-less, ever. Like a nomad, I am moving from one halt to another. Leaving behind loved ones, I travel light. Too light for my comfort. I am constantly searching. Searching for the right direction, searching for a sense of home.
I am a person who loves change. I get bored with a routine. I love new things and new experiences. But somewhere, I yearn for a semblance of stability. That, I may go out every morning, fight my own battles, alone. Regardless of what the day challenges me with, atleast in the evening, I know that I will return to the sanctuary of my my home, among my family.
I have not felt this anchor-less, ever. Like a nomad, I am moving from one halt to another. Leaving behind loved ones, I travel light. Too light for my comfort. I am constantly searching. Searching for the right direction, searching for a sense of home.
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