Oh I don't know

I've been in anticipation of writing this, of being in a hurry to type so that I can narrate (to myself, which in itself is bizarre) that it hurts but this time I'd like to take the time (part of my 'SF Chapter') to fix the typos myself and think about each thought before committing it to writing.

So I've moved and I like this city. I have the time to do what I want to, the 'life' stuff like watching all these movies (Romancing the Stone, Delhi Belly, Flash Gordon and Dune) in a weekend, walking around the Wharf with her, of stepping in and out of places at random, having the time to do that, of buying books (!!). I like having the time to wake up before I need to, to make the time to ease into my day, the way I like, to not worry about a dentist appointment because it's ok to take the time for stuff like that, of learning something new AND having the space to learn, still, in usual form, waiting for the catch (so far it's manifested in the long-distance nature of my r with her which is to say the least, the worst thing that could have happened. It's an incompleteness to everything every moment)

Moving on, before I *do* forget, I'm at a point where I can't procrastinate without a valid leg to stand on. For without good reason re the bad habits, the lack of forcing myself to do something with a rational, tangible benefit.

Also [] came out to me today. He did allude to the fact that us in dolores park booming (lack of petter word I'm ok with) would make it easier for him to tell me which set of bells but i had no idea what to expect. he told me he was questioning what he wanted and didn't say it explicitly (which i said explicitly and him not doing that would mean i would continue to marvel at the fact that i lived in a city with plan trees which is unusual because i normally don't like places like that because of the images i see i.e. of LA and SF is quite different yet with the palm trees) and then he told me so.
So after 20 odd years, i have to put a new dimension to hereto with fixed point.

I didn't ask him anything from his point of view, i kept going back and forth from the subject from talking about this to random gossip (which i don't necessarily see as a bad thing in my own definition where its going down a list asking how each person we know in common is doing, which is better than say, what, Facebook? eff off)
but i didn't have a reaction to mimic (that the word? no but close enough for the moment) so i just asked who knew, how he told them (not why because that would make me inevitably ask him why he never told me sooner).
But here's what's bothering me, not that he is out but that that fact is so much on my mind, it's on the forefront, it's there and i don't know why. I don't know how to process or what the process of processing it even is. Maybe this is the point you talk to someone about it?

Oh of being able to find the time to do this

Things I Didn't Think I Would Appreciate But I Did After the Process:

-- a long shower where you stand long enough that you appreciate the feeling
-- walk past a bookstore, stop and browse
-- sit on a bench for a c
-- sit with a cigar, listening to music while reading something non-work/finance related
-- listening to non-favorite songs because heck, I have the time to really listen to the song and not just have something definitely good in the background for the time I can focus on it but not long enough time to find a new song
-- clean up my computer. And realize why I am a little possessive of it. Because it's my think-space, almost like a residual storage that well, is just my own library with everything the way I like it and a relatively tangible source of knowledge that it will be the way I left it. Which also explains why I get upset when it doesn't work. It's losing a library of stuff that was important enough for me to file
-- thinking about this stuff
-- while packing, listening to chura liya hai, one of the seventeen hindi songs I have and not just because I do like it a little; it's because it reminds me of Saudi and being a kid and dad's beard when he had it
-- while packing, the sight of my things, books mostly, in a cardboard box reminds me of living in Pachshila Park as a kid, my things from Saudi in boxes in the garage and having to wait a while for someone to open the garage for me to get to them
-- of calling up a friend just to speak about nothing in particular
-- of not having this giant preoccupying gorilla-thought in my head when I'm hanging with her
-- of being able to breather deeper than I did, odd yes but that's the visual form of the emotion
But really of finding the time to convert a strong desire to remember this feeling into words

Pasting to clear desktop

My inability to organically express social convention makes me mimic it. But because, and in my opinion, it fits the dictionary definitions of social convention without the appropriate timing (or at least being off just one beat but being off nonetheless), it in itself gives itself away

Aspergers

I am happy. I really am (about this, not the rest of the shitty time we are going through).
But I am happy for a few (three) reasons:
* It explains so much
* It's a better word than 'odd' or 'weird' or 'eccentric'
* Ironically, there's a sense of belonging vs. the isolation, a group
(it's ironic that people with aspergers want nothing more than to connect with people which is the exact thing they have difficulty with. Grass greener much?)

And then I am sad. She only sees the downside and ... I wish she shared reason 1 with me and got happy over it because well, it just explains everything.

I was watching Adam and Mozart & the Whale and it's the first time I have heard people say how I feel or process things. I suppose it started with Temple Grandin
But the point is, for the first time, *someone knew how I feel!* And that was brilliant.

I'm just sad she can't be happy that I'm happy.

Sure, there are downsides like emotional retardation but everything she has read online is about how difficult it is and all these people ranting.

It's the most parallely different I have felt from someone I am the closest to. And that makes me sad

Earthquake. Or a shift in things

I woke up with a start and I swear to bejeebus there was

a small earthquake (okay, tremors or something)

(either that or the Short one talking

about hypnagogia had something to do with it)

(Subnote: she asked me to do some homework on it)

So I spent some time in my head

(I think I'm too tired to sleep. It was an awful flight back from HK, more so because of the meal at Chilli Fagara. They had a deep pot with bits of fried chicken but chillies out the wazoo. And that's what I think kept me from a comfortable flight. But I would like to go there again)

One thing I realized is I would

rather be the *remarkable* person than the rich, successful, heck even happy maybe. May be not.

(Maybe being that would make me happy. But a selfish sort I suppose)

Anyway, that was for one.

The other thing I realized is that when I do have money, I will spend (especially on family) without second thought. Perhaps to a fault. No, I don't mean to sound like an ass about it but I think back to the holiday I took my family on to Scotland. I usually remember det

ails, including the cost of big ticket items.

But of that trip,

I don't. I remember where we stayed (B&B), the train and the first class cabins (first for me. Last for me thus far), how excited my folks were, the brilliant car ride, eating Haggis, Dad in front of the soap/candy? store, hanging with the sister in the main street/market in Inverness, telling Dad one day we'd be back so he could play St. Andrews (I don't get golf yet), mum cooking when I got back from work, accidentally locking

our selves out and the sister having to climb in through a window one floor up, the god awful loch ness boat, the lochs, them leaving and me going back to an empty flat)

…

.

Anyway, there was one other thing. Oh yes, so I get *that* from Dad. But when I don't have money, I am, for a large, some?60% of the time, careful.

(Okay, maybe I can do better)

But the mindfulness / panic over it, that I get from mum. I suppose instead of a panicky extreme, perhaps more moderation to the mix?

My point is: maturing involves realizing how fallible your parents can be, seeing them as other human beings, taking the best from each but learning to recognize th

e best in them as well.

I just checked the news. It was an earthquake

It doesnt get any easier

Disappointment.

I suppose all that is different is I will wallow less. But god does it not feel good.

I put in three beautifully laborious days of hard work, I pulled out all the stops to give it my best. And I honestly believe I did. I know I did.

So does that mean my best wasn't good enough? How do I reconcile myself with that. And 2010 was supposed to be the best year yet. There are 6 weeks left. Best year my ass.

Yes, I know I have a million things to be grateful for and I am. I really am. But.

It doesn't feel good. I really tried. And unfortunately I let in some hope. Not a lot. Not once did I think oh if I got it. But it went well, it really did.

I don't know how I'm going to pull this off, I don't know where I'm going to land and if it's going to be on my feet.

Well, as always, will let this be a swift kick in the ass and will push myself more I guess, what else is there.

I know I'm going to rebound faster than before, that's the only thing I do take away each time. But god does it feel raw.

Old Friends

There's a special kind of pleasure in catching up. It's nostalgia without.
It's remembering.
It reminds you of who you were and where you have come from. I said something of the sort, 4 years back. And that in itself triggers remembering.

Of course, some times it's just remembering. The way I'm voicing it now is a function of how I choose to approach it. Truism but a defense against the accusation of drama/romanticizing something.

But perhaps it's that self indulgent pleasure of being able to romanticize and of having something to romanticize. Of course, it was a bunch of 20 somethings…teenagers actually but in the process of growing up.

And I've said this before, growing up is volatile, high deviations, peaks and wallows. Growing up is reducing that volatility. Mellowing down is an appropriate description if by that you mean having a better sense of control and kilter.

But coming back to the point (which is influenced by Chicago by Sufjan Stevens) is that remembering is fun. It's remembering how you felt back when. It's different. And I do like having the people who remind me of that still be there.

What is it that I miss? Angsty rubbishy stuff? The newness of feeling? Ooo. That. The newness of feeling. Of emotion. That. Was it good or healthy? That's a value judgement. It was and well, it was.

mmm, There is an End by The Greenhornes
aaah, even better: Trouble by Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star ness

I'm happy. Things are exciting right now. And I love that feeling. It's the same / different newness. Sameness but approached differently.

Selfconfidence, belief, faith ==?

Doubt is the biggest opponent to faith. Think about it

The moment you begin to doubt something, the pure faith you put it in it disappears. [Edit: so does innocence. I would define innocence as the blind faith in something to the level where it were knowledge. Hence, Adam and Eve were 'innocent' in that they had pure belief in the world as created by god that it were knowledge]

For instance, we all knew the earth was flat. Then one day, someone might have asked, well, what if it weren't. Perhaps a small example thrown in.

Forget that, what about the absolute belief we could never have ever from the lower primates (98% identical genetic material be damned). But what if one person with some semblance of the rational asked, what if we did? It takes some degree of, I can't say courage because if you are a rational person, you will indulge in self doubt so it's a logical phenomenon that indicates upward to some rationale, perhaps the purest form of rationale being able to indulge in self doubt not afraid that if all examples but one proved otherwise, you would/could come to find the courage to question it. Okay then what if it took one person to have that courage/rationale to believe that *thusfar* all examples pointed in one direction but yet one remained, you could have a logical base for questioning

What the fuck is my point

The point: Do i have to feign ignorance of my (lack of) abilities to have self-confidence or can I have both together; can I know my short comings and yet be self-confident? The inference is that to have self-confidence you have to KNOW that you are perfect and infallible. So how are you self confident? Well, you need to have some belief in the fact. (BELIEF) that past history is evidence enough.

Thusfar?

Ugh.

[Edit: either 'ugh' at the logic of that statement OR that the assumptions are faulty. In hind sight, it's the latter]

So yes,, you have to BELIEVE that past precedence is representative and hence, you must have the ABILITY to deal with stuff and hence, not a belief in that you will know it all but that you can figure it out is the root of self confidence.

[Edit: bullshit]

I hope no one has to read all this and try and understand it.

I need to go back and edit the stream.

I take it all back. Self confidence stems from the faith in your ABILITY to deal with stuff, not know stuff. No one knows everything. But a few people deal with everything. How? Because they can. And they build on each one. So why shouldn't/can't I? I've gone through it. It's just a question of converting each non-step into a lesson and trying again.

Braindfood, nom nom nom

Bluuurrghhhhhh (vomit sound)

Emotionally that is.

Stress comes in all shapes and sizes. From R checking facebook when she should be getting ready to realizing I don't have enough money for school, need a loan not only to cover me but us. $40-$50k of it.

Hence the vomit sound.

Speaking of shapes and sizes, the reaction is overblown but still scaled to size. So it ranges from irritation and a restless leg to running as much as possible until I feel like collapsing.

But like HH said, respond don't react. I'm going to try and remember that.

Also, I hate the exhaustion and I am a lazy person but I'm getting the whole running thing. It gives me some degree of control (wry: a common thread over the years has been trying to wrest control or some small measure thereof). And it's free.

So. To economize (and so that when I do make money, I can reflect and feel that I've gotten some where), sandwiches for lunch (PB&J, banana and honey), no more Coke/Beer but water. It's free.

I am writing all over the place.

I need my parents to be a source of support rather than stress. I think my mother over stressed my mistakes that now I am scared of taking risks that may lead to failure/mistakes. And I don't like that. But I can either be a product of my perceived circumstance or wrest control. Again, it's the recurring theme isn't it.

I don't like being broke, again I dont want millions but I just dont want to have to worry. I need to find a personal finance management tool.

I dont have much to say but I want to get something out. I am trying to.

Of the expenses that I don't regret, concerts. The National last week which was brilliant! A whole new obsession ensues, especially for 'Apartment Story', 'Abel' and 'Mr. November'. Ooo oo, and a day after my folks leave, MGMT followed by Ratatat.

Also loving Hot Chip and Fol Chen at the mo.

I miss my friends. I miss being home. But at the same time I am quite loving my new job/internship. It is with a start up L/S equity fund with an experienced founder and I am one of two analysts, certainly the most senior. He wants to open offices in HK and India and that's exactly the trajectory I hope for. So who knows, we'll see where this goes.

As for books, quite loving India: A History by John Keay and I do want to get the Thousand Autums of Jakob d'zoot or howumsoever that is spelled. It's historical fiction about a guy worked for the Dutch on a remote island in Japan in the 1700s when that tiny island was the only point of contact between the Japanese and the rest of the world. I listened to an interview with the author on NPR and he talks of an incredible isolation on the island; there was no contact with the rest of the world, only a handful of foreigners working for the company, no books from the Outside, no letters, no news.

And I love NPR. Am devouring Fast Money, the book podcast, All songs considered, all things considered, wait wait dont tell me and This american life.

I'm tired. Mad men tonight and a conversation with my father about money. I feel blue. I need to laugh. I think you can't feel scared/sad when you laugh. Those endorphins, gimme some.

What I Want

Not much actually, neither a big 'Beamer' nor a massive house. I'm not greedy. But there are some things I want from this life.

-- I want to life a satisfying life. I don't want to work 24x7. I want to travel and read and think and learn. And I want to save enough so that I can do that and not worry.

But lets start small. Let's start with something I can get tomorrow and the day after and thereafter.

-- I want to sleep every night a tired person. It means I did something and I did it with everything I have and it was worth doing and I did it.

-- I want to get control over things I can control. It's not that hard is it? To eat healthy, run, smoke less. And they are worth doing. I can't think of a logical reason not to.

I've never applied logic to think and I surprise myself because I like being logical. I never got on hard drugs even when I could have because the weed hazed logic was inarguable: its not good so don't do it. So why not it IS good, do it.

-- I don't want to be afraid of things, of the unknown. I've survived it very well in the past. What HAS changed though is responsibility. Before it was me in the rocking boat making waves. Now there are two of us.

What does that mean? More thought, more planning. But the advantage is I have two people to steer this bloody boat (one to throw water over the side and another to paddle). I need to take more advantage of this.

-- I don't want to be so reactive any more. But it stems from the previous point so why belabor it.

-- I can't carry any more baggage, whatever it is, any more. Even I'M fed up with it.

I need to summarize, it's still all swirly.

Control.

Talk more.

Think more.

Do more.

Stop the memory of the shortcomings from coming in the way of new learning.

Work more.

What I HAVE managed to do:

actively (at times) chosen to be happy. Been capable to some degree of having a relationship that works better than I would have thought myself capable of (not that im looney but that I can rise up ... at times though tonight isn't one of them).

I know it takes a Herculean effort to effect change and direct my life. What I now need to do is recognize that it IS possible. No, not every time but it is possible. I did that with school and being back in the City. I did that with my personal life.

That happened through sheer effort and without much focus. But it did happen. What if I could focus that effort?

I'm back

in the city. That. Is odd.

I didn't quite things would actually work out the way they would. Not very used to things happening just right. But that's because there's something in common again: it was a series of random events that some how I managed to influence. Or perhaps worked out in spite of.

I got married. But again, there were random pieces that were falling into place and I was unaware of how they moved things. But I'm back in the City with laughter and not forgetting. Because I love her, love fighting and laughing and ("you're annoying")

("I hate you")

This is an announcement

("stop clambering over me")

("I feel like Mt Everest when you do that")

"I feel like someone from Mad Men, you know, throwing out lines."

"We both know out of the two us, I'm the one throwing lines"

Yes, sharing my life with her. And its good.

What else?

I'm in school and loving it like I never did before. Concerts in parks, visits to the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck, pot, work, music, the weather. It's good.

I don't feel like writing a post catching up my life. I was there.

It's not been easy. But it's been worth it. And I am happy. At least in the moments I'm not in the banal (I can hear her clearing up the sink. And no, we take turns. It's just that I wash the dishes as soon as I'm done. She waits until before bed.)

Or in the moments I worry about the future. But I do feel like writing again. Like running, it takes some effort. But its good.

There's a lot that is good. May be there always was, I was just too self-indulgent to notice it. I will continue to be self-indulgent. Just not all the time.

Also, I write in staccato because I feel like it. But then again, I just saw Mad Men. And what did Don do this time.

His secretary.

Zing

Marine Drive in Bombay

Marine Drive in Bombay

In Khotachiwadi, Bombay

In Khotachiwadi, Bombay

(Love the art deco font)

Khotachiwadi, Bombay.  Apt given the city.

The Last Smoke

He slid the door back and the sound, while dull, hit him with its unfamiliarity. He looked out and as his eyes moved down the sky, past the clear blues, he saw its white crest hurtling toward his. Furious white furrows skimmed over the surface, like horses branching out from the main tidal wave, rearing their head forward, falling down as new ones took their place. The water was an angry white.
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.

"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"

"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.

He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.

A was always A.

He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.

But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.

A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.

He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him

You are going to die.

All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.

He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.

It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.

He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.

The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.

With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"

The Last Smoke

He slid the door back and the sound, while dull, hit him with its unfamiliarity. He looked out and as his eyes moved down the sky, past the clear blues, he saw its white crest hurtling toward his. Furious white furrows skimmed over the surface, like horses branching out from the main tidal wave, rearing their head forward, falling down as new ones took their place. The water was an angry white.
He heard the screams of the people on the beach as they ran from wave, Hokusai almost had it right. The ocean wasn't undulating across its length and breath. It was as though the horizon had been lined with white and was moving closer and close, bigger and faster. It was this line of white that was so massive it seemed almost still. It was only when he saw its crest getting taller and the horse heads getting sharper did his senses tell him it was moving closer. That and the sound.

"I am going to die", he thought to himself.
"You can either panic or you can dissolve into acceptance and realize nothing can ever change this moment"
"You will die"

"Right". For the first time, things seemed clear. There was no place to go with this realization. It was in it self. It was. There was no A to B. A was A. It was an immutable fact, one moving closer by the second with the power to rips, shred, destroy and obliterate everything around him. Everything around him would cease to be. Everything around him was transient.

He rested his hand on the wooden railing of the balcony. He felt the smooth, beveled edges and realized that some factory some where had set its machines on a tree cut and brought from somewhere else. The tree had grown from a seed. But in under a minute, it would cease to be. It would remain wood, but it would cease to be a railing. Would it cease to exist if it lost its form and function? No, it would still be wood. That was immutable. Bigger, smaller, functional, drift wood, wood was wood. A was A.

A was always A.

He looked up and his eyes gave the slightest of starts, they understood the passage of time, they saw the crest, bigger, taller, nearer. And it wasn't a happy realization of the passage of the time, not the kind when you see a child all grown up and realize the years have gone by. No, no that kind, more so a man who hasn't been near a mirror in years and realizes that his time is up.

But that thought lasted a fraction of a second. After all, thoughts too are transient and rise and fall like waves on the ocean. But then there was this thought, as unflinching and as immutable as the concrete wall of water.

A is A?
Water that wraps itself around you can shred every bit of flesh and rip you in half. Water is always water. And you will die.

He was fine with that. In the span of a few seconds, he made peace with it. There was no point dwelling on the unspoken conversations, the missed connections. They would continue to be, just, without him. As the water and the world would continue to be, just, without him

You are going to die.

All he wanted now was one last cigarette. Now, not the kind the man in front of the execution squad wants. Just the one who has the best seats in the house to the biggest show in his life, the closest he will get to the stage. he has always had an immaculate sense of timing, of finishing the last bite as the TV show ends, of the right amount of juice to compliment his last bite, an exact sense of work to be accomplished in time to go out.

He wants to finish his cigarette. It's not the most important thing in the world. But he wants to. At this moment, nothing matters to him but the time before he dies and the time before the cigarette is stubbed out. By him.

It is in this moment that all sense of control is stripped away from him. Control is an illusion, the sense of calm and making peace? an illusion. A way of reigning in emotions, the panic and the flight instinct. It is the last bastion of humanity in his head, the illusory sense of control. He wants to finish that cigarette. *HE* wants to finish it.

He looks at the ocean and notices how it seems to plough through it self. He looks at this fingers, holding the cigarette and takes another tentative puff. He can't hurry himself. No. He decides. The wave looms over him. It is in that very moment that he realizes he can not finish it and panic sets in. There was no control.

The roar is deafening. A is A. Even if it is drift wood. Even if he is no more.

With clenched fists and white knuckles, he looks at the cigarette. "I got it wrong"

On the Lake

Row Row Row Your Boat...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sidb1983/

High Contrast on Dal Lake

Drive By Wedding

En route to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival (I believe) from Seattle

Seattle Cats

Katjie has a rather large purring engine, loves to play with the little plastic band that holds the cap on the milk bottle and had nose cancer. Also, she has a face that makes you want to squish her but sadly, she is not a dog.




Ollie is a one eyed yoga master. I'd pun about the Downward Facing Dog posture but then I'd have to smack myself in the face




Me footling around with light. One of the biggest throwaways from the photography class was that contrast isn't a function of color, black color isnt darker than white in a b/w picture, it's a question of the amount of light. I guess it seems obvious now, but hard to see the world in shades of darkness when there's so much color around.

Back in the Other City

I went to Sri Nagar in between. I haven't written because I didnt feel like it and dealt with hmm, KLM canceling my flight, not telling me, rerouting me through Detroit, rebooking me, traveling with two trolleys through JFK, using the new Air India flight non stop, no smoking, reaching Delhi, going to Sri Nagar, getting an infected sinus (snot like the Styx believe it or not), reaching Delhi, installing self.
So far, just trying to reassemble life. Went for golf, dropped Mum to work, went to Nehru Place in 45 C heat, fixed the internet, fixed the TV, fixed Airtel to instal internet, fixed for guy to come fix shower pump.
Good heavens, I'm tired.
But now for one picture a day. Or at least an attempt at. If any one has suggestions re: what I can do with these pictures to get something concrete on my resume, let me know.
Nothing intelligent at the moment. Most sleepy
But. If you are in Delhi, mail, I'd love to meet bloggers!