One would think that a month’s not a long enough time to form insights into the world and its machinations and one would be right. Unless of course one spends a large percentage of his time in that position made famous by Rodin’s thinker. I’m sure if one held a magnifying glass to the throne (pun intended) on which the dude sits, they’d see a faint outline that says ‘Parryware’ or its equivalent in the early 1900s. Mind you, its debatable whether he was contemplating the fate of humanity or suffering from a severe bout of constipation. But there’s another way to ponder the deeper meaning, that of sitting in traffic in any one of our megacities. Think about it, both are essential to-dos before the rest of your day can begin and both happen at a measured pace no matter how much you want to hurry, but yeah, only one can realistically result in skid marks. So much for the power to draw pictures with words.
The human brain, pattern recognition and learning are synonymous, right? Not! Any routes that get anywhere in this city go over bridges (not flyovers – which should’ve been more aptly named crawlovers anyway). These bridges, built about the time we gained independence, were designed by people who did not foresee economic prosperity and carmakers from japan and korea. Hence, two lanes and no dividers. These could be functional enough one might say, but then as a gap appears on one of the lanes, an idiot-cum-laude moves into the opposite lane in an attempt to expedite his journey across the bridge. As soon as this occurs, several like-minded idiots (not conferred the merit because of lack of originality) squeal their tires to form a convoy behind the visionary. Now, since the roads feeding into that opposite lane had only slowed down and not disappeared, no sooner has the convoy passed 3 whole cars, they encounter an unrelenting stream from the opposite direction using, their rightful lane. Result: about thrice the time that would’ve taken everyone to cross the bridge is spent honking and maneuvering to regain forward motion. It is possible that every such occurrence is caused by a fresh-faced newbie using the city’s roads for the first time, its also possible that marion jones actually thought she was consuming ayurvedic cough medicine before winning those medals.
(Good) Bloggers and slackers are the same species. Ok, they’re fantastic reads, able to elicit the most un-imaginable insights from seemingly random occurrences and package it all in a manner that has one loudly snorting one’s approval. Spew, ttiot, madman are some prime examples. But I couldn’t present such controversial hypothesis without evidence that’s strong as oak. And thats from observation of the one that calls himself ford prefect and who’s called several other colourful things by others. While I can already hear the murmurs of “blaspheme” and “infidel” from various corners of the globe (globes have corners?), my data is irrefutable, given I’ve been sharing a desk with the bugger for a month now. Ok, so the guy’s been on the cusp of a lifechanging event (or so it seems prior), and I certainly wasn’t melting my keyboard with the amount of work I was churning out a month in the runup to my nuptials, but then I was doing little else but making trips to stores I only used to snicker at, to pick up outfits I’d only seen in portraits of long-dead Indian royalty. FP however, has been lounging in his seat, typing out his learnings from ‘The Book’ with the odd glance at an expense statement that needed reimbursing from his vacation…err…assignment in Japan. No hectic last minute invitation card sendouts, no rummagings to find tickets, rather he found time to rehearse for his sangeet with a professional choreographer! I rest my case.