Contemplating of getting on to the blog wagon for some while now, but my fingers refuse to, ahem, move. So be it. I am using a telepathy technique just invented by the self wherein I force-feed the brain into relenting its hold on the lazy bone - and thereby this write-up.
July, and most of it, six days a week, spent at the National Book Trust's Hauz Khas office - and going through sessions after sessions of Publishing professionals - as drab as the same might sound, there was plenty of fun within the same. And the boring moments. Mostly good fun, though. Alongwith this a chance to meet people from all over, literally!
Trying to post some of the pictures taken within that same...
See, I moved!
Monday, 30 July 2007
Sunday, 20 May 2007
Birth-DUH!!
Twenty-Seventh anniversary, this. That time of the year, and I have been hearing about that-time-of-the-month throughout the year. Somebody has a sense of irony.
What do you do when you are heaped with all kinds of the same greeting throughout a single day which suggests you must not have done anything to deserve this! Personally, I stayed and stuck obstinately with my behind, and didn't budge. My tashrif was too precious to be seen loitering around - in fact, come to think of it, I have not seen my own since my 15th birthday or thereabouts.
What I did, though, and am doing this very moment, was decide giving my wrist and the appendages at the end a thorough going-over - maybe a typing stint which would last all of five minutes. And from those ends will spew Shakespeare and Nostradamus combined, a literature entirely in the future.
And as that same would be in the future, why waste so much of precious time - I am off to the beer-guy for some filtered stuff, and anybody who is remotely interested in bathing in the beautiful sun of (not-so-new-anyways)-Delhi, can be my guest.
Here is to not moving for another half of my living.
What do you do when you are heaped with all kinds of the same greeting throughout a single day which suggests you must not have done anything to deserve this! Personally, I stayed and stuck obstinately with my behind, and didn't budge. My tashrif was too precious to be seen loitering around - in fact, come to think of it, I have not seen my own since my 15th birthday or thereabouts.
What I did, though, and am doing this very moment, was decide giving my wrist and the appendages at the end a thorough going-over - maybe a typing stint which would last all of five minutes. And from those ends will spew Shakespeare and Nostradamus combined, a literature entirely in the future.
And as that same would be in the future, why waste so much of precious time - I am off to the beer-guy for some filtered stuff, and anybody who is remotely interested in bathing in the beautiful sun of (not-so-new-anyways)-Delhi, can be my guest.
Here is to not moving for another half of my living.
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