An abundance of books, and a compromise

I find myself in a fix: a while ago I had ranted here about how offensive I found e-readers, how I am a purist and would never want to commit myself to such an atrocity. I wrote about the sacred experience of reading a book, the satisfaction of having a full bookshelf. So when I celebrated having survived for a quarter of a century without any major mishaps, I went and purchased (or, as my aunt tries to comfort me, she gifted me) a Kindle. Shameful secret – I bought three e-books in under a minute the moment I opened that Amazon parcel. I am a spectacular sell out.

Digression – I have also ranted about how I would resist a phone too smart for itself. Own one of those as well now. While I feel like I have moved into the 21^st century, I can hear the dying groans of my lofty ideals. But then, I have access to mobile internet, and therefore Google maps, at all times, so my sense of guilt is overpowered by my glee at never having to be lost again, and knowing exactly when the next bus will come along. That is what I use the Internet for, now you know. I also browse museum websites, and photo archives of art and architecture magazines. Don’t bother commenting; I know I am a loser.

Back to the Kindle, here is the thing that turned the tide: I moved to England with two books, To Kill a Mockingbird, which is the closest thing I have to a security blanket, and The Shadow of the Wind, which is not exactly high literature, but its ability to grip me after repeated readings makes me love it nonetheless. Then I discovered charity shops and cheap books. And my dark side emerged (I have several dark sides, but this one is particularly sinister) – I need to own books. They are everywhere - in my study, my floor, under my bed, on my bed. And yet I buy more. I need to smell them before buying them, and then I write my name on them, they are MINE. I have spent hours rearranging my bookshelf, I even use my phone (hah!) to browse this amazing website http://bookshelfporn.com a tumbler blog devoted to bookshelves I’d sell my firstborn to own. This is terrible. It is a disease. It has now reached a point where I will probably have to ship books back to Bombay if I move home. That is more expensive than their actual cost. And I would still do it. 

The situation after I had sent half a suitcase full of books back home:

Weirdly positioned bookshelf at home. Love it. 
Note inefficient use of photo editor on fancy phone. 

The oversize books collection

So a Kindle was really inevitable, if I wanted to make my life easier in the long run.  

The Kindle has its pros and cons. Pros: I can carry my library with me everywhere, so if I finish a book, I don’t have to twiddle my thumbs, I can start the next one. The reading experience is fairly smooth. I don’t have to hunt for a dictionary (that is a lie, I just skip the word or make up a meaning); the Kindle has one in-built. And I can highlight passages I like, which I wouldn’t dream of doing in an actual paper book. And you can get some really cheap and good e-books. 

The cons: No page numbers, just a stupid percentage bar which irritates me – 36%, 40% - its not an economic textbook I am trying to get through, its not a competition. Also, its annoying when I want to go back several pages and have to press buttons or search for words till I find it – while reading a book, I know exactly where a passage is, and can find it easily, with the kindle, I just don’t bother. And footnotes/appendix = nightmare. Next – battery. It has an astonishingly long life, but I get nervous that it will run out in the middle of a crucial scene in a book, and then I’ll be left, well, twiddling my thumbs. Final con (or pro, depending how you see it) – the experience of purchasing a book is so easy and immediate, that you sort of don’t think before you impulsively commit yourself to a book.

Still, I have reconciled myself to the Kindle – I think I have read more books since I got it, because access to books is so quick and easy on it. And while that should be the most important thing, I do miss the experience of holding, well, a real book.

Also, I judge people according to the books I see on their shelves. What they can see on mine now is an abundance of science fiction and graphic novels. I swear there’s a wider variety of genres on my Kindle. Oh darn.

He likes to stand, James does.

                                            Even James Bond thinks museums are cool.

Finding Syrie

A blogpost for work. Do read!

A very clichéd 'Let it snow!'

I am ruled by the whims of the weather gods. It starts to rain, and I burrow under the blanket, cancel all plans till it stops. In India, that can mean hibernation from June to October, which my parents don’t quite agree with. Sunshine, and my room is a mess of my creation, a result of my attempts to climb over all obstacles to get out to the gloriousness that is the world.

First snow of the season today. My room is clean, with a clear route to the window/balcony, which was blocked by several successive layers of junk. I can finally see my floor! It starts to snow and I run out on to the street, and stretch out my hands to catch snowflakes, raise my face to the sky and talk to complete strangers. I get offended that Travel For London does not consider announcing “Ladies and gentlemen, the first snow of the season is here!” instead of a pointless “good service on all London underground lines” – though I do see their need to brag, it does happen so far and few in between. But so does snow! And my need to blog, apparently. Hello, I am back. With more wishes, of course.

I wish could share this moment with you. I wish I could sit with you by a window, sharing ginger tea and silence. I wish you could hear the absolute silence that descends on the world along with snow. I wish you could see the smiles that strangers on the street exchange, the smiles of those who know that this is a moment to be shared, smiles that really cannot be contained. I wish you could hear the distant laughter of children scrambling about in their long awaited prize, that overdue Christmas present from nature. And see the magical shapes that frost can create on car windows; watch dogs get very confused by the white stuff from the sky. Watch trees and shrubs laden with snow, to the point that their branches finally creak with their heavy burden, and then bend to create a tiny avalanche, much to their relief. I wish you could see snow swirling under the street light, that moment when they twirl about in the air, debating whether or not to hurl themselves down to the thickening carpet on the ground.

But then again, there is beauty in having this moment to myself. Because, knowing you lot, you’ll probably start a snow fight and the poor hopeless romantic would be pelted with snowballs while trying to make a snow angel (which is what hopeless romantics deserve, really).

The sky is orange. Everything is still. All’s right in my world.

Hi! Pull up your trousers!

Blogger’s block seems to be my natural state, with some intermittent blogging scattered here and there. Hi!

Nothing remarkable has happened lately, if you discount the fact that I am WORKING. In a MUSEUM. And they PAY me and everything. I have a pension plan. ME. I mean, my day consisted of eating an apple here, reading a book there, watching TV, laughing at the BJP. And I am now in a flatshare, paying RENT. And I cook my own food (or what I call food, my parents beg to differ. Apparently Rajma does not a meal make). I sleep at reasonable hours and cannot actually function anymore with three hours of sleep. I joined the gym (That’s all, I haven’t actually been there after that little walk on the wild side). And I use a washing machine and worry about interest rates. I caught myself thinking of investments the other day. Christ. Dangerous notions need to be quashed at infancy, or I’ll soon be watching Sanskar TV and learning yoga, and then where will we be?

So, besides independent and semi-responsible living 101, what else is up? Nothing much, really. But I did see a guy running past me in Euston station, in trousers three sizes too large, flashing grey underwear. Yes, it was that evident, and yes, it is burnt into my retinas forever. Seriously. If you do need to show everyone your underwear, at least wear interesting ones like those Chandler has in one episode – ones with hearts (yes, again, I have spent years of my life watching Friends. Ask me to quote them. Go on, I dare you.) Or ones with Calvin and Hobbes, or Superman ones. Otherwise, KEEP THE DAMN TROUSERS UP. What will your grandmother think, eh? Heard of something called a belt? Handy things, those.

Oh, did I tell you about the 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle that I did, just to see if I could? It was finished after a lot of stubborn determination that I would not let something called ‘Flower Fairies’ defeat me. I think I might have become slightly more short sighted after that little adventure. It was very satisfying though, I can tell you that. These days, I am flapping around in art shops looking for marble paper (that’s craft paper, non-Indians) to make origami cranes. I learnt how to from someone at work. While I don’t intend to make a Thousand Origami Cranes to make my wishes come true (if I had to wish, I’d probably wish for a thousand of them first, made and delivered to my doorstep), I am contemplating making a few to hang about in my room. That, my friends, is the extent of my arty side. After that I am going to learn how to knit. A sock, anyone? Fun times! I am clearly living life on the edge here people!

This blog post, in case you haven’t already noticed, is not about anything in particular (unlike all my other very focused, profound, thought driven posts). I'm trying to ‘inspire’ myself by actually putting something up, hoping that its ghastliness will scare me into quickly writing something sounding slightly more intelligent and not make my parents wonder where all that money they spent on my education went.

Or I could always go back to watching Vampire Diaries I suppose.

An odd, disjointed post

Silence. Some feel oppressed by it, some live with it. I love it, just as I love darkness. I love it just as I love sound, just as I adore light. Everyone sees the world in different ways; I see it in these terms – silence, noise, darkness and light. We have already assigned value to everything. Dark is bad, light is good; as for silence and noise, both have their virtues and vices – silence may be peace or death, noise may be chaos or life.

I can wish and hope that I will live in a quaint village far away from ‘the maddening crowd’, but the reality is, I have always lived in cities, plonked right into the centre of humanity. Life hurries past, its impatience and breathlessness is stunning. Why does no one wait? Why does no one look a person in the eye? Why the shuffling, pushing and hurrying? Where are they all going? No, I am not trying to ask some profound existential question - seriously, where the hell are they all going? I imagine them running through their days, mechanical, schedule bound, day in and day out – and suddenly, stunned, surprised – they are 70 and life as they know it, youth, has passed them.

Life, as I know it, is baffling at times. What is our purpose? At 20, we battle confusion and anxiety to answer this very question, some lucky ones come up with answers that satisfy their minds, while the rest just muddle their way through life, or so I suppose. For me, life is one huge learning process - but for all that learning, we get only one shot at it. So next time I am confronted with a big decision, I suppose I should remind myself of this: one life, one chance. No regrets. In the end, I will be worm food. Might as well make my journey toward the inevitable more eventful. So, I will continue to wear my childish socks, and love my colourful laces, and I will continue talking to myself. I will write here even if no one read this, though I sure as hell will try to make people read it. I will continue to watch sitcoms and dramas till I lose interest in them, and not care that I haven’t listened to, or don’t like, classic rock bands.

Wait. Watch. Breathe. Now go.

The Dream

I had a dream that I owned a house. My own place. It was a strange place, not that I expect any home of mine to be any different. Cozy.

There seemed to be no front door to this home of mine (Psychologist friends, have a field day with that one). It was small, just a bedroom and a kitchen (even in my dream, my mind is clear about the fact that I have no money).

I had to break into my own house, by the way. I climbed up a fire escape, and ended up in a corridor. To my right was a window, the kind that slides up, and I entered my house through that window, knocked over something that was on a desk under said window. My bed was next to the desk. Plenty of cushions, lots of reds, browns, and greens. Books everywhere, a small table lamp. There is no phone.

Through beaded curtains on the right, and there is a wash basin behind another curtain, and right ahead of me is a well sized kitchen. (Where is the bathroom? Where are all the French windows I always wanted?)

I worry in this house of mine, because of that darned window. What if someone breaks in through it? I look for the front door, but I cannot find it.