A Suitable Boy

I remember this one time we went shopping with Dad when we were kids (eight years old, I believe). As I passed by the books section, a particular one caught my fancy. It had this bright red cover (hardbound, I think) with golden lettering. And it was a FAT book.

"Buy me that", I insisted. He checked out the book (and the price, of course). No, he said firmly. He still does not understand why I would buy books - fiction, that is. His idea of book-buying is for 'general knowledge' (as he puts it). As kids the few books he did buy us were - an edition of the Encyclopedia, 'More Tell Me Why', Wren & Martin, Oxford English Dictionary and 'Who said What'. That probably explains a lot of things, including my love for quotes.

Anyway, I did not get that book, and had to settle for a couple of Archie comics.

It's funny that years later the one thing that eludes me is precisely that - a suitable boy.

(Of course, I don't mean the book. Also, I am yet to read it.)

Office Bus-Ride

Most people I know complain of travelling to the work place. It’s too long. The roads are bad (no, positively horrible). The drivers are rash.

 

Neglected...

... That is how this blog must be feeling.

I do realize that the blog count has fallen miserably. Is it work? No, not really. 

Somehow all my enthusiasm to write a post dies a rather quick death. Some thought or the other usually hits me on my way back from office, in the bus (provided I am NOT sleeping, that is). And then I get associated ideas. I’ve almost got a structure and know what I want to convey. At this point I’m literally talking to myself, where I can all but *hear* myself (internal monologue it’s called apparently). I *will* pen this down, I tell myself.