I don't like my phone, that is the truth.


Chosen very carefully for its utility: 5 megapixel camera and high battery life, I think it's graphics are ugly, as is true of so many Samsung phones. I love the gift, but the looks are, eugh!
On another note: make-up! Don't buy! I!

Oli's (original post here: http://www.arcche.blogspot.com/2011/09/normal-0-false-false-false-en-gb-x-none.html)

Prayer for travelling people

If it is evening when they set out,

collect them into the last light

and make it dawn for them.

If someone kissed them

goodbye, let them both remember.

Give them fewer waits at airports

or train stations or bus stops

or rickshaw-stands. Mostly,

give them breath to walk

far and wide and with

clouds catching their eyes.

Keep them warm.

Give them silence if they

are happy. Give them

conversation if they are

in themselves alone

and thinking not just of

passing from place to

place but of passing the

very world by.

Bring to them the

kindness of strangers.

Fill their eyes.

Let there be someone,

when they arrive, to

bring them home.

Is marriage bred out of tiredness? I saw Little Children today and it touched and built up to a crescendo in the end and I longed for a similar plenitude of drama in my life. And the music in the end was beautiful, quite. And I read the last part of the Eragon trilogy a few days ago and I’ve been meaning to write about it, because it struck me so hard in the way pleasure, fun, enjoyment becomes more and more rarefied until it is completely banished from the psychological landscape of the book. Eragon, along with all the major characters in the book, except Roran, follow the path of duty, without any sense of doubt or beyond a longing for what they leave behind. It struck me as so very curious, in that it’s written by a guy who’s barely out of his 20s himself and he’s writing fantasy, right, which is, after all, wish fulfilment. And though I found it very disturbing when I read it, I recognise it as the same satisfaction one gets when I work when I want to do fun things, because it means not having the sick feeling one gets when the weekend is at an end and there’s tonnes of work to finish.

I am considering making this a private blog.

The plumber told me on the naked terrace yesterday, while I looked around for the first time at the crumbling concrete vista below, that marriage, money and something else only comes to those who are fated to have them. Going by how people marry here in the same way that bunnies mate (no idea if they do, really. The bunnies, i.e. The people definitely marry voraciously), you would think it would need a hand of fate to not marry. But it's something to think about. Very scary, the thought of spending the long, long years alone, or making them a blur that does not matter. What if, though? I thought while returning home today that it would be comfortable to be married. To sign a document and that would guarantee extra closeness and fewer questions asked. But that doesn't really happen. And I would be happy to marry, but not to stay in Calcutta for it. Right now, I'm getting the feeling that I am done with Delhi. I would like to go live in Bombay. But that would be another upheaval, perhaps a furthur moving away from the boy. Maybe the money won't be enough to support two people and a dog as comfortably as I can now. It would be so nice if he and I could go live in Bombay, but that I suppose is not to be. Nothing else but living till eternity in the city of my birth can be accomplished with ease.

Meanwhile, the real winter is happening, finally. Gah!