A Week in the Life

I confess, I do miss blogging like I once used to. But it’s lost its charm somewhat, mostly because all the people who read and commented on my blog seem to have vaporized (hint hint). But anyhow, I doubt that the self-importance-inducing pleasure that blogging gives will ever completely die out; so here I am again, two weeks (and several books and movies and a consolation prize in a photography competition) later. Miss me?

Yeah, rhetorical question, if you must.

Last weekend, we had our Diwali Mela (yes it’s always a month earlier, please don’t ask why) (because I don’t know) (well, I suppose it’s because the holidays interfere…but you could’ve figured that for yourself, no?) and it was very very hot. In addition I was bullied into purchasing two ridiculous articles of clothing from a friend’s stall (I NEVER do that, I should tell you, so that just tells you how hot it really was). I’m pathetic when it comes to shopping, mostly because it’s always exhausting for me. I always end up getting stuck on two things and having the yes-no-yes-no debate. Gah.
But still, the blueberry yoghurt, pasta and chocolate-dripping waffles were quite a high point. Not to mention my friends’ excitement over getting their palms “read” by a woman who I can swear was saying practically the same thing to everyone. And charging Rs. 60. What a rip off.

The department journal troubles are also far from over. After the disconcerting yet satisfying (who says it’s a man’s world?) trips to dodgy printer shops last month, I could have sworn the worst was over. Except yesterday saw me doing the same again, though it was a little more eventful this time. There we were, walking purposefully through the throng trying to accost us with cries of “software” and papers being thrust under our chins, when there was a loud “bang”. No, not diwali being celebrated very early by some industrious vagabond, but a real fire from an electric wire (ooh, I rhy…okay too old for that). Right above our destination, too. And people were being particularly stupid, crowding around it for a bit as thought they’d never seen fire before, and then just pretending it didn’t exist and walking up and down just the same as usual. Our conversation went something like:

G- Ah, the complacency of Indians. *sigh*
K- Ooh omg they’re actually laughing! And what is that pink shirt staring at?! *gape*
A- I did NOT mean it when I said I was going to be obituarised in our journal! *sniffle*

Ah well, all in a day’s work.

And to end on a musical note—have you ever noticed that when you sing songs without actually concentrating, you subconsciously pervert the lyrics? I sure do =/

For instance, this song became:

I’ll be your flying soldier
I’ll be your suicide…

Hmm, not very flattering now, is that?

But don’t mind me, go listen to the real thing, it’s beautiful.