Tag: life

Day Belly

There is a beautiful path where I go running. It’s really kind of into the woods. Running is both frustrating and exhilarating. It’s sad that the exhilaration comes only when you are done with the frustration. The more I work, I more I realize how futile it really is. Somehow, the concept of putting people

Fables from Across: Moving

A green worm once became best friends with a little caterpillar. Together, they roamed the patch of grass that was as vast as their thoughts. It stretched all the way, and would take you two long strides to cover this patch. They would crawl along together in this infinity, talking about all the little things

The Inscrutable Weariness of Travel

The first post of this year on this blog. And it’s in Feb! From a very desultory, travelless year, I have already been to many places this year. And the promise of more. The promise coming from me. I have posts to write from Burma. From Shimoga. And all the little details of my life

House-warming and Free Advice

Life at the PG has been busy of late. I don’t get to blog as often as I would like because the internet doesn’t work half the time. And when it does, the speed is so slow that I suffer from slowitis just waiting for the page to load. There are now a few girls

The Inscrutable Messiness of one Moment

The laptop fan whirrs. Hot air on a mildly cold Bangalore evening. Outside, faint music reaches my ears. A lizard mutters to itself. And a frog (?) enjoys its own rhythmic music. From the neighbors house in front, I can hear voices. My fingers create their own pitter patter on the keyboard. The laptop is

The First Day in a PG

It sounds grand writing like this. At the end of another working day, I drive down 3.5km instead of 35km, and there I am. The road seems dustier than ever before. I park the car in front, the road leads to nowhere. In front, furious construction for some more identical multi-storied monsters that house these

Staying in a “Ladies PG”

It’s all very quaint and Victorian. We don’t call them PG for Women. Or men. It’s PG for Gents. And PG for Ladies. The “gents” in question live in some slovenly conditions. The ladies, it seems, are a little better. But they remain squashed. Sharing a little room with 3 or 4, and calling it

Bangalore’s PG Village

Wandering through the bylanes of Marathalli, Bellandur, and various other villages was a revelation. I am a traveler, and yesterday I traveled far and wide through some of Bangalore’s dustiest, narrowest, and barely livable localities. And no place I had traveled to quite was so appalling in its squalor. Row after row of houses. All

The Y I Need To Be Online

I have fought against it. Resisted it. Battled it. Yet, I find myself shaking off the cobwebs of online obscurity. Like a baby that has opened it’s eyes to the world, I find myself on the Internet. These pages might offer succor to the weary, I hope. I kid myself. I do not dream of

Epitaphs

Walking around in the graveyard, little flowers peeked underneath the grass. Long blades of grass. Shifting in the autumnal breeze. The ground underneath didn’t bear thinking but it should. The flowers. The grass. The stones. The tombstones. Underneath lies rotting carcasses. Bones of death. Flesh decayed. Molten fluid surrendering to the fresh earth. I walked