I love you
I never said thank you, for the smiles , for the letter, for everything, for you, for me and the space in between
how u blow through my life, its narcissitic love to love you like it was me, it is something that few people will ever give to another's life,the warmth the honey coloured radiance that permeates my existence in ways better left unsaid .Thank you , thank you child
I'd forgotten how pleasant it was talking to you.
you are nice and special
such a wonderful ability to make friends and get people to like you.... cute eyes... wonderful writing skills
Because I like conversation
not just any conversation
but rather conversation with intelligent people
who possess a certain degree of wit and verbal inventiveness
how do i explain?
you're just good company
well i've been smiling for a while now
definitely attractive, yes. and so tall! and a great smile.
so glad i met you.
i love u too.
*sigh*
That's ten different hes, all chronological, and a different kind of ache each compliment.
A prize for anyone who knows who's who.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
monday mindgames
Pardon in advance, please, any bad or not-very-well-written sentences. Also any spelling errors, because I'm writing from work, and I have not much time.
Today is Monday. I'm here at work early because Boss B's in Kerala but the carpenter for the project will be here at nine-thirty to pick up the drawings so that work can begin on site. So I'm here to hand them over.
I'm here early, and fuming.
I took the scooter to work today. Regular (leave me my timid fantasies, dears) readers of the blog may remember the aforementioned as a rather elderly Kinetic Honda, scene to King stories. I'd remembered that there was no petrol in the scooter, so I left extra early to fill some at the petrol pump near home.
And there, at half-past eight in the morning, I was ignominiously cheated.
Today is Monday. I'm here at work early because Boss B's in Kerala but the carpenter for the project will be here at nine-thirty to pick up the drawings so that work can begin on site. So I'm here to hand them over.
I'm here early, and fuming.
I took the scooter to work today. Regular (leave me my timid fantasies, dears) readers of the blog may remember the aforementioned as a rather elderly Kinetic Honda, scene to King stories. I'd remembered that there was no petrol in the scooter, so I left extra early to fill some at the petrol pump near home.
And there, at half-past eight in the morning, I was ignominiously cheated.
Well, an attempt was made. I still, at first pass, ended up paying Rs. 102 for something approaching one-third a litre of petrol. Of course it was partly my fault for not instantly screaming about the failure of the attendant to show me the zero mark. But I was in a hurry, I hadn't been paying attention, and I was wary of creating a scene. And this is how these people always end up getting away with this kind of behaviour in the first place!
So I stood there, like a silly little smark, and I decided that, despite my immediate feeling that I had been made gull of (oh, and believe me, it was immediate. the attendant had been pouring the petrol into the tank for no more than a few seconds, and the tank looked startlingly empty, and i thought "fuck, i've been cheated"), I would wait to make sure that I was before I began yelling. (i am rather wary of open-foot-insert-mouth. it makes for too much embarrassment.)
So I drove along and watched the tank indicator. It didn't move past the quarter mark. And then I knew. To confirm, and to gain some more courage, I drove home to check with the father. The father confirmed my fears, but, to my horror, seemed to think I would let the matter slide. Do you want some more money to fill petrol, he said. Go somewhere else and do it, he added. Shock!
I refused to stand for such tame acceptance, so I scorned his kindly attempts at consolation, picked up my jacket from the house (one of T's little life lessons: never pass up an opportunity to pick up things you have forgotten.) and drove back to the petrol pump.
There, I proceeded to throw a right royal tantrum (which T enjoyed very much, the crazy creature that she is.), demanding to know whether they thought I was an idiot, whether they thought they could fool me just because I was a woman, showing them the petrol level in the tank and asking them in what planet that looked like two litres, threatening to call the cops...
It was a short, but powerful, performance. I wish I could have seen it from the outside.
"Put one and a half litres of petrol in this tank right now, or I'm calling the cops!", I screamed. (incidentally, arjun, there was a repeat performance of the spittle-on-visor incident. Alas for you that you missed it again.)
After five sentences, one of the attendants filled the tank with thirty rupees worth of petrol. I drove away feeling distinctly that I had been cheated again.
I'm going back there this evening to get a litre's worth. I have the entire monologue written out in my head, so I should be fine.
The T absolutely refuses to be an easy mark.
Await developments, please. Moral support is welcome. :)
Update at half past five:
The T is disappointed at the anticlimactic end to her tale. She returned to vent the rest of her anger, and found that the morning attendants were off duty.
She then went in and complained, in an exceedingly boring and dignified manner, to the supervisor. He then put a litre of petrol in her vehicle, and gave her a bill for the morning's two litres into the bargain.
Either the T is very persuasive, or this thing happens often enough that a litre makes no earthly difference.
Meanwhile, the T is also more than slightly staggered at being apparently excessively memorable. Strangers are coming up to her at unusual places and saying, "Aren't you <insert T's real name>? Hi! I'm so-and-so from school/your Spanish class/some other vague place."
One lovely person recognised my voice. And I'd only seen her twice in my life!!!
The T knows not what to say. She is flattered.
:)
Update at half past five:
The T is disappointed at the anticlimactic end to her tale. She returned to vent the rest of her anger, and found that the morning attendants were off duty.
She then went in and complained, in an exceedingly boring and dignified manner, to the supervisor. He then put a litre of petrol in her vehicle, and gave her a bill for the morning's two litres into the bargain.
Either the T is very persuasive, or this thing happens often enough that a litre makes no earthly difference.
Meanwhile, the T is also more than slightly staggered at being apparently excessively memorable. Strangers are coming up to her at unusual places and saying, "Aren't you <insert T's real name>? Hi! I'm so-and-so from school/your Spanish class/some other vague place."
One lovely person recognised my voice. And I'd only seen her twice in my life!!!
The T knows not what to say. She is flattered.
:)
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
remembering tempers
A week ago, I drove to work for the first time. I left with no time to spare, which meant that I could not afford any extra stops along the way. Naturally, therefore, I hadn't been driving five minutes before I got stuck behind a garbage truck.
Patience, I told myself. It's a mantra I often find myself repeating. It's a throwback to older times.
Suddenly, I felt a strange pressure on the back of the scooter. I turned back to see what it was, and discovered that the driver in the car behind me had decided to inch forward while looking out of his window at the autorickshaw on his right. Which meant that he was slowly inching into my vehicle, which was now tilted at an alarming angle and practically falling from my hands.
I yelled, Hey, and Hello! (he bellowed help! and let me out! who knows where that's from?) The person in front of me turned back to see what the commotion was about, and kindly added his voice to mine. It was rather reedy and low, but it's the thought that counts, surely?
The car continued to inch forward.
I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move to the side, I couldn't move at all. My bag was falling off the front sideboard, the smell of garbage was in my nose, and all at once I lost my head. I let go the handlebars with my right hand and made a fist, and banged on the hood of that great big smug silver car. I banged and screamed expletives and watched the spittle from my mouth make tiny drops on the visor of my helmet. Naturally, the man noticed the insane woman denting his precious car and he stopped moving.
The light changed, and the vehicles moved ahead, and I went on to the office with an adrenaline rush I hadn't had in a long time.
When I was younger, I was famous for my short temper. Flare and flash, and explosions. Violent tantrums, more often than not. Banging my head on walls, banging my sister's head on walls, slamming doors, throwing things around. Later I progressed to less noisy methods of venting spleen - breaking pencils, tearing sheets of paper into shreds... I remember walking around in moods just begging for someone to trigger an outburst. I had a short fuse, and it was too much work to lengthen it. It was also much more fun being volatile.
Eventually, of course, I grew up, or grew wise, and I found ways around the anger. It still bubbled, one of those little background simmers, but any time the temperature got too hot to handle, I ran.
That day, I felt again the rush that being deliberately cruel gives me. And as I felt it, I missed it. A painful visceral ache. Perhaps the way reformed alcholics feel when they lapse and take a drink again.
I wouldn't know.
I am addicted to the strangest things.
P.S. cat's paw.
Sigh. I'm so witty I slay me.
Patience, I told myself. It's a mantra I often find myself repeating. It's a throwback to older times.
Suddenly, I felt a strange pressure on the back of the scooter. I turned back to see what it was, and discovered that the driver in the car behind me had decided to inch forward while looking out of his window at the autorickshaw on his right. Which meant that he was slowly inching into my vehicle, which was now tilted at an alarming angle and practically falling from my hands.
I yelled, Hey, and Hello! (he bellowed help! and let me out! who knows where that's from?) The person in front of me turned back to see what the commotion was about, and kindly added his voice to mine. It was rather reedy and low, but it's the thought that counts, surely?
The car continued to inch forward.
I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move to the side, I couldn't move at all. My bag was falling off the front sideboard, the smell of garbage was in my nose, and all at once I lost my head. I let go the handlebars with my right hand and made a fist, and banged on the hood of that great big smug silver car. I banged and screamed expletives and watched the spittle from my mouth make tiny drops on the visor of my helmet. Naturally, the man noticed the insane woman denting his precious car and he stopped moving.
The light changed, and the vehicles moved ahead, and I went on to the office with an adrenaline rush I hadn't had in a long time.
When I was younger, I was famous for my short temper. Flare and flash, and explosions. Violent tantrums, more often than not. Banging my head on walls, banging my sister's head on walls, slamming doors, throwing things around. Later I progressed to less noisy methods of venting spleen - breaking pencils, tearing sheets of paper into shreds... I remember walking around in moods just begging for someone to trigger an outburst. I had a short fuse, and it was too much work to lengthen it. It was also much more fun being volatile.
Eventually, of course, I grew up, or grew wise, and I found ways around the anger. It still bubbled, one of those little background simmers, but any time the temperature got too hot to handle, I ran.
That day, I felt again the rush that being deliberately cruel gives me. And as I felt it, I missed it. A painful visceral ache. Perhaps the way reformed alcholics feel when they lapse and take a drink again.
I wouldn't know.
I am addicted to the strangest things.
P.S. cat's paw.
Sigh. I'm so witty I slay me.
Friday, February 16, 2007
first week
It's been four days. Is that too soon?
Perhaps.
But then when have I ever waited the proper time to do anything?
I'm afraid the next few posts might turn out to be too work-centric. I am spending nine of my day's hours there, though, so that makes sense. It's just doubtful whether any of it will be interesting.
Quick recap, T style.
Day Zero. (which reminds me. i will complete the IIT diaries on request. i promise.)
Monday.
I was supposed to begin work on the Monday of this week. My mother had looked at the calendar the week before and told me it was a terrible day to start anything. Fortunately, my wonderful state decided to declare a bandh, and hence spent the day at home, in front of the television, on the internet and so on.
Later, as the evening came by, we attended the wedding reception of someone I knew. The son of a teacher, man! Was rather memorable. Made some ill-advised remarks in front of practically the entire faculty body of my old school. Had teachers promise to find me a nice boy.
"Begin in June", said the mother.
"Make sure he's tall and can speak English," I said, as I left them to eat paan in the car. Added many more points mentally on my way up the stairs.
Went to bed at midnight. That's how I prepare for long days the previous night, don't you know.
Day One.
Tuesday.
Left home with exactly half an hour to get to office. Had a nice ride. Had a man drive his car into the scooter while looking out his window at an auto behind him. Yelled and screamed and cursed, but to no avail. Had to finally resort to thumping the hood of his car to get his attention, the creep. Wrote a vitriolic mental post on anger and my strange addictions and felt much better.
Got to the office at exactly ten in the morning. No one was there. Waited around for a while, and then called Boss One. His phone was turned off. Waited a while longer, and then called the colleague. "Get the keys from the house", says she.
So! The first day on the job and I got to open up the office. What a brilliance!!
I didn't get any work to do until one, and so I spent the time till then messaging people. Got some plans to edit and a section to do, and did all those things till seven. The electricity kept switching between on and off, so I catalogued all the books at the office when my computer died.
At seven, I left the office to attend another wedding reception, this time of unmet people. Strangers, even. One of those 'venturous days.
Got home at eleven. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, I told myself. Sigh, I said.
Then went to bed.
Day Two.
Wednesday.
Valentine's Day. Drew two sections.
Went to see the old Drama class. Breathing exercises. I've come a long way, I thought. Self-confidence isn't something to be scoffed at.
Day Three.
Thursday.
Missed R at work. She was at a friend's wedding, and I was left with all the serious people at work. Well, the ones who seem to think I'm nuts, anyway.
Spent the day doing two more sections. Was hungry and bored and hence ate my lunch at eleven. Went out to have "lunch" at three to a charming little Shree Krishna Sagar. Forgot to pay for my juice etc. The usual, in fact.
I suspect Boss A thinks I'm rather useless. Boss B seems to think me a highly amusing silly creature that comes with extra perks, viz. nice music.
Day Four.
Friday.
Today.
But now I has to go to Chennai, so this will be completed later.
:)
Installments!
Perhaps.
But then when have I ever waited the proper time to do anything?
I'm afraid the next few posts might turn out to be too work-centric. I am spending nine of my day's hours there, though, so that makes sense. It's just doubtful whether any of it will be interesting.
Quick recap, T style.
Day Zero. (which reminds me. i will complete the IIT diaries on request. i promise.)
Monday.
I was supposed to begin work on the Monday of this week. My mother had looked at the calendar the week before and told me it was a terrible day to start anything. Fortunately, my wonderful state decided to declare a bandh, and hence spent the day at home, in front of the television, on the internet and so on.
Later, as the evening came by, we attended the wedding reception of someone I knew. The son of a teacher, man! Was rather memorable. Made some ill-advised remarks in front of practically the entire faculty body of my old school. Had teachers promise to find me a nice boy.
"Begin in June", said the mother.
"Make sure he's tall and can speak English," I said, as I left them to eat paan in the car. Added many more points mentally on my way up the stairs.
Went to bed at midnight. That's how I prepare for long days the previous night, don't you know.
Day One.
Tuesday.
Left home with exactly half an hour to get to office. Had a nice ride. Had a man drive his car into the scooter while looking out his window at an auto behind him. Yelled and screamed and cursed, but to no avail. Had to finally resort to thumping the hood of his car to get his attention, the creep. Wrote a vitriolic mental post on anger and my strange addictions and felt much better.
Got to the office at exactly ten in the morning. No one was there. Waited around for a while, and then called Boss One. His phone was turned off. Waited a while longer, and then called the colleague. "Get the keys from the house", says she.
So! The first day on the job and I got to open up the office. What a brilliance!!
I didn't get any work to do until one, and so I spent the time till then messaging people. Got some plans to edit and a section to do, and did all those things till seven. The electricity kept switching between on and off, so I catalogued all the books at the office when my computer died.
At seven, I left the office to attend another wedding reception, this time of unmet people. Strangers, even. One of those 'venturous days.
Got home at eleven. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, I told myself. Sigh, I said.
Then went to bed.
Day Two.
Wednesday.
Valentine's Day. Drew two sections.
Went to see the old Drama class. Breathing exercises. I've come a long way, I thought. Self-confidence isn't something to be scoffed at.
Day Three.
Thursday.
Missed R at work. She was at a friend's wedding, and I was left with all the serious people at work. Well, the ones who seem to think I'm nuts, anyway.
Spent the day doing two more sections. Was hungry and bored and hence ate my lunch at eleven. Went out to have "lunch" at three to a charming little Shree Krishna Sagar. Forgot to pay for my juice etc. The usual, in fact.
I suspect Boss A thinks I'm rather useless. Boss B seems to think me a highly amusing silly creature that comes with extra perks, viz. nice music.
Day Four.
Friday.
Today.
But now I has to go to Chennai, so this will be completed later.
:)
Installments!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
blogging from office
It's my second day on the job. I'm the only one here.
I've been here four hours, and I'm already bored, sleepy and distracted.
Here comes the boss. Here I go.
Happy Valentine's Day to me.
P.S. at night time:
Spent the entire day doing useful work. Nobody called or wished, and poor T received not a single card/proposal/box of chocolates. She did, however, complete two sections with promises of a third tomorrow. Such excitement!!
Architecture makes so much more sense when you're not trying to explain your design with grand concepts. It does! Oh, shut up.
I've been here four hours, and I'm already bored, sleepy and distracted.
Here comes the boss. Here I go.
Happy Valentine's Day to me.
P.S. at night time:
Spent the entire day doing useful work. Nobody called or wished, and poor T received not a single card/proposal/box of chocolates. She did, however, complete two sections with promises of a third tomorrow. Such excitement!!
Architecture makes so much more sense when you're not trying to explain your design with grand concepts. It does! Oh, shut up.
Monday, February 12, 2007
tantrum
Darling, how tiresome it is to always want adulation that never comes. Oh, I appreciate the little bitty bits of attention that come my way, sure; and the compliments don't hurt. On the contrary.
The boys have run away, as was expected. I want someone, but only because he's the only one left. I just miss them. Nobody calls.
There's always someone to take the place of the person who has just left. Right from the beginning, there's always been someone there. I don't want that anymore.
Well, I'll still need the new people. New people are my reason for existence. I collect boys as I collect the compliments. They are the better jewels. And the ones that hit harder around the heart.
It's just that having a constant would make everything more meaningful.
I wish people would stay. Must you all always go? It hurts so, and I never know what to say to make you stay.
sigh.
Comfortable, John Mayer. The tears came automatically.
The boys have run away, as was expected. I want someone, but only because he's the only one left. I just miss them. Nobody calls.
There's always someone to take the place of the person who has just left. Right from the beginning, there's always been someone there. I don't want that anymore.
Well, I'll still need the new people. New people are my reason for existence. I collect boys as I collect the compliments. They are the better jewels. And the ones that hit harder around the heart.
It's just that having a constant would make everything more meaningful.
I wish people would stay. Must you all always go? It hurts so, and I never know what to say to make you stay.
sigh.
Comfortable, John Mayer. The tears came automatically.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
diaries
Did I tell you about IIT? Did I? I do not believe so.
Day Zero. January 25th. Somebody's birthday.
I went to Chennai for Saarang this year, much like last year. Went all alone, too. Had the father drop me off at Bangalore City Station at six in the a.m, and after depositing me in my seat, he went back home (probably to his warm bed)
I, in great excitement, activated my roaming, and then proceeded to call a person who had promised to call the previous day and then never had. He turned out to be in Chennai already, hurrah. Such a joy, and he'd never even bothered to tell me. So I hung up on him and ate a packet of Kurkure to relieve my feelings. I tried calling the person who was to meet me at the station, but all signs pointed to slumbering through ringing phones, and so I let it go.
Salient points of the train ride:
Once we reached Chennai Central, I was tickled to see cartloads of geeky boys with placards welcoming us to Saarang 2007. How perfectly sweet of them, I thought.
I later discovered this was really nothing out of the ordinary, and if I had been sensible enough to come as an official member of my college, I would have had the same happy treatment meted out to me as well.
Found my escort, joked about the possibility of him being an undesirable element; complained about men in general and the man on the train in particular; and had a wonderfully comfortable ride to my aunt's house, where I proceeded to eat lunch, read a third of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, and waste potloads of money trying to figure out what I was supposed to do for the rest of the day.
The rest of the evening began with a lot of frantic telephoning and some unexpected plans; and ended with me stranded at a free show in Saarang with my phone's battery dying on me, and with no one I knew anywhere nearby. Hence I lost no time in making some new friends. Naturally, no sooner had I found a gaggle of girls to hang out with, than I promptly ran into a horde of young IITians I knew, and my peace of mind was assured. Also my enjoyment.
I was dropped back to my aunt's in a car filled with young alumni of my school, from colleges all over South India. More patterns, oh joy.
And so.
End of Day Zero.
Day Zero. January 25th. Somebody's birthday.
I went to Chennai for Saarang this year, much like last year. Went all alone, too. Had the father drop me off at Bangalore City Station at six in the a.m, and after depositing me in my seat, he went back home (probably to his warm bed)
I, in great excitement, activated my roaming, and then proceeded to call a person who had promised to call the previous day and then never had. He turned out to be in Chennai already, hurrah. Such a joy, and he'd never even bothered to tell me. So I hung up on him and ate a packet of Kurkure to relieve my feelings. I tried calling the person who was to meet me at the station, but all signs pointed to slumbering through ringing phones, and so I let it go.
Salient points of the train ride:
- Discovering that the other person from my college travelling to Chennai that morning was not only in the same compartment, but also seated in the row in front of me. The cream of the jest lay in the messages sent:
- she: yes, i'm in seat 61. you?
- me: er... wouldn't it be better if you told me which compartment you're in before you tell me which seat you're in?
- she: i know! only realized after sending the other message. i'm in s1. you?
- Being aware of the exact moment when I moved out of Karnataka limits into roaming regions, as evinced by the happy message that informed me that the last message had just cost me Rs. 3.45.
- Assisting a guy with his bag. One of probably the only two northies in the entire compartment. Why did I do it? Why? Because naturally he felt this allowed him to not only attempt to engage me in conversation, but also to practically sleep on me the rest of the journey, in spite of elbows and bags and other preventive devices. When he leaned over to spit out of the window and practically fell on my chest, however, I yelled out as loudly as I could for him to keep his bloody hands to himself. Chastened, he stayed away from me for the remainder of the trip. Which was just twenty minutes, sigh.
Once we reached Chennai Central, I was tickled to see cartloads of geeky boys with placards welcoming us to Saarang 2007. How perfectly sweet of them, I thought.
I later discovered this was really nothing out of the ordinary, and if I had been sensible enough to come as an official member of my college, I would have had the same happy treatment meted out to me as well.
Found my escort, joked about the possibility of him being an undesirable element; complained about men in general and the man on the train in particular; and had a wonderfully comfortable ride to my aunt's house, where I proceeded to eat lunch, read a third of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, and waste potloads of money trying to figure out what I was supposed to do for the rest of the day.
The rest of the evening began with a lot of frantic telephoning and some unexpected plans; and ended with me stranded at a free show in Saarang with my phone's battery dying on me, and with no one I knew anywhere nearby. Hence I lost no time in making some new friends. Naturally, no sooner had I found a gaggle of girls to hang out with, than I promptly ran into a horde of young IITians I knew, and my peace of mind was assured. Also my enjoyment.
I was dropped back to my aunt's in a car filled with young alumni of my school, from colleges all over South India. More patterns, oh joy.
And so.
End of Day Zero.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
last moments
My stingy heart rebels.
The only fest from which I walked away with a cartload of prizes was the only one which had no prize money. Irony.
In the last twenty days I have been to three fests. Won and lost and glowered. Cried and laughed and wondered. Inhaled. Exhaled. Dreamed.
Too many little things happened.
I only wish I were actually young enough not to look at it all from the outside.
What is it about winning that makes every problem seem so trivial?
The only fest from which I walked away with a cartload of prizes was the only one which had no prize money. Irony.
In the last twenty days I have been to three fests. Won and lost and glowered. Cried and laughed and wondered. Inhaled. Exhaled. Dreamed.
Too many little things happened.
I only wish I were actually young enough not to look at it all from the outside.
What is it about winning that makes every problem seem so trivial?
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
vanity
I collect compliments - I hoard them, like little translucent pearls; I put them away in great glass jars to be looked at and remembered when there is nothing else to be happy about.
I consider odd things compliments - an aunt telling me i have a pretty laugh, a girl friend telling me i have naïve eyes, a boy telling me I have a pretty smile. I like best the compliments that come unasked and unexpected, the ones that surprise me into tears, the ones that come at the end of a long day and turn my mood around. I like best the compliments that are given without thought, without pretense, without design. I like best the compliments not meant as compliments, "I'd forgotten how much fun it was talking to you", compliments sent as little drunken messages, "So glad I met you", compliments sent as angry tirades, "What have you got to be unhappy about?"
I like best compliments that mean somebody knows, somebody sees, somebody likes me, even just a little.
I am a sucker for compliments. Can you tell?
I consider odd things compliments - an aunt telling me i have a pretty laugh, a girl friend telling me i have naïve eyes, a boy telling me I have a pretty smile. I like best the compliments that come unasked and unexpected, the ones that surprise me into tears, the ones that come at the end of a long day and turn my mood around. I like best the compliments that are given without thought, without pretense, without design. I like best the compliments not meant as compliments, "I'd forgotten how much fun it was talking to you", compliments sent as little drunken messages, "So glad I met you", compliments sent as angry tirades, "What have you got to be unhappy about?"
I like best compliments that mean somebody knows, somebody sees, somebody likes me, even just a little.
I am a sucker for compliments. Can you tell?
Thursday, February 1, 2007
nostalgia
And also vanity, but hey. I like my adventure-posts. They're better written than my grand literary pieces, definitely.
There's a new vanity post itching at the back of my head, but in the mean time I'm going to be re-reading the old ones. I wish you would, too. Yes, random visitors, I mean you.
hampi
coorg
people
blank noise 1 2 3
social calls
comic interludes
bus tales
more tales
night at café
night at café again
dumb people
the late ms. me
all fools
So hard to pick them out. :)
Stop by and comment while I do other fest things.
:D
There's a new vanity post itching at the back of my head, but in the mean time I'm going to be re-reading the old ones. I wish you would, too. Yes, random visitors, I mean you.
hampi
coorg
people
blank noise 1 2 3
social calls
comic interludes
bus tales
more tales
night at café
night at café again
dumb people
the late ms. me
all fools
So hard to pick them out. :)
Stop by and comment while I do other fest things.
:D