travelling with maugham

Took some days off to visit his relatives with his parents.Was pampered sick by everyone there. You begin to realise the importance of breaking the language barriers at times like this.They told me how apprehensive they had been about which language they would communicate with me. They were quite taken aback when they heard me speak fluent hindi!

And, at long last, i did manage to travel long distance by train. No one can mock me now for never having that experience. i know it sounds pretty weird - i mean, you would think what is so
great about it. But i have never had the chance to travel by train - long distance, that is. And now, i can say, yes, i have spent 24 hours cooped up in a train!! The return journey was particularly enjoyable because i had Maugham for company. Travelling alone is great fun because you don't have to indulge in small talk with anyone. i was perched on the upper berth with the book and knew no want! One thing i was wary of was the toilet. i was scared it would stink. For once in my life i was glad to be constipated!! And of course, i discovered i had to share the berth with cockroaches - even in 2nd AC!! (by the way, i was upgraded from 3rd AC to 2nd AC--must be to lure me into travelling by train more often :) )

i rejoined office only to discover that one of my fix was acting up in production. Nice welcome, ni? Have managed to fix it and now i can have a nice weekend!

"The tragedy of love is indifference"
--Somerset Maugham

How true, how very true!

books and nostalgia

Gobbled up Indira Goswami’s ‘In the shadow of Kamakhya’ – a collection of short stories set in Assam. Of late, i have started seeking out home-grown writers. Of course, i will always love Maugham and Lawrence and the Bronte sisters and Ayn Rand but, like they say, variety is the spice of life. And written words are my intoxication. And more varied the intoxicants, the better for me.. OK, no more digression. As i was saying, rather, writing, no typing (ok, shut up, we get you), i am trying to discover new authors (as in, authors who are new to me..i am no literary agent…J). Goswami’s book was, well, good. It kept me engrossed well into the quiet of the night. The stories are on the depressing side of the wall. And since some of the stories are set in a militant-infested background, i could empathise with them.

i was wondering whether we have any translation of Manipuri authors in English. Not that i can’t read Manipuri but i am slow at it. i remember ema reading out Mahabharat for me when i was a kid. And ‘phungga wari” – laikhutsangbi, hanuba hanubi pan thaba, mabung taretki thabaton, pebet….

i miss home..i miss home..now that it is yaosang matam, i am drenched with nostalgia.

“for the people we love the most, we seem to spend the least amount of time” (or something in that line)
--from nisha da cunha’s the quiet of the birds

o maching kare

i am on the edge of losing my temper. i never did have any patience to begin with. And it is worse when i am teaching people who are slow. Been training the newbies, yet again. And god, oh god, i find myself wanting to tear my hair out. i am a bad teacher. Because i expect people to pick up quickly. Is that fair? Maybe not. Ok, cultivate patience. If only that was easy as growing peas!

Picked a fight with him over something trivial. i think i am transforming into a super-bitch. Or maybe i should blame it on my hormones, or the phases of the moon.

he says..i say

he says -
you are a part of me
and i say -
as long as i am not your appendix
something you can cut off
and still not feel the loss

he says -
i think of you every second
and i say –
i think of you when i miss you
and i miss you when i think of you

he says..

and i say….

but when he holds me in his arms
there is no more he and no more i

does it matter then,
what he says
and what i say?

when all that separates
us from each other
is just the skin we are in

don't you dare forget me....!

if suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
--neruda