Got back on the bike after a while and came upon the worst traffic Bangalore regularly regurgitates (gargle your r's).
Reminded me of this old post.
Reminded me of this old post.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
One more to the collection - One
"As we climbed higher, the air got thinner and colder. Every breathe would shock and fill our lungs with pristine, clean air. The greener, lower hills gave way to dry and stark crags on either side of the valley as the truck we travelled in followed the river upstream. The sky seemed to be closer, and couldn't be more blue.
We got around a hill that pushed into the valley, and the opposite slope seemed the closest. The road across the valley we'd come by tomorrow seemed within reach. We spoke about the possibilities of a bridge right there and wondered why it hadn't been thought of before. We noticed the debris from an abandoned construction site close by. We quickly forgot about it as the next bend caught us unaware with a magnificent sight of a range of snow capped mountains."
The story, or one version of it goes, that up in the hills, there was a new bridge being built across a valley. The new bridge would purportedly cut down travel time drastically over the old road that wound its way further up the valley. The engineer in charge of the construction, a young man from the plains, is taken in by the beauty of the place or falls in love with a damsel from a village or is drawn to the words of a wandering sage. He abandons the site and is never heard of. The construction of the bridge slowly grinds to a stop and remains incomplete.
A story like this is what you'd want to hear when you pass a place like that. But there was none.
We got around a hill that pushed into the valley, and the opposite slope seemed the closest. The road across the valley we'd come by tomorrow seemed within reach. We spoke about the possibilities of a bridge right there and wondered why it hadn't been thought of before. We noticed the debris from an abandoned construction site close by. We quickly forgot about it as the next bend caught us unaware with a magnificent sight of a range of snow capped mountains."
The story, or one version of it goes, that up in the hills, there was a new bridge being built across a valley. The new bridge would purportedly cut down travel time drastically over the old road that wound its way further up the valley. The engineer in charge of the construction, a young man from the plains, is taken in by the beauty of the place or falls in love with a damsel from a village or is drawn to the words of a wandering sage. He abandons the site and is never heard of. The construction of the bridge slowly grinds to a stop and remains incomplete.
A story like this is what you'd want to hear when you pass a place like that. But there was none.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Curiosity, a malady
As kids, curiosity is what teaches us the most important instincts. It's like the nice bacteria that makes curds / yogurt. Inquisitiveness is honed into trying, asking, grasping, prodding everything and everyone around us.
As grown-ups, you see people pile up at the site of an accident to only watch. We are voyeurs as we stare into others houses as we walk past. You answer the phone on the bus and everyone is eager to listen in to your conversation. We aren't necessarily the stalking type, but places like Facebook puts us in overdrive when it comes to curiosity.
In wanting to know and satiate this want, we've sometimes crossed the line in many ways. There are the stalkers, the voyeurs, and the over-inquisitive neighbour. But you might step over the line unwittingly too. And then you might be hit with the too-much-information brick or the way-too-much-information wheel-barrow of bricks. Then there's no going back. Too many connections are formed, too many visuals. Etched.
As grown-ups, you see people pile up at the site of an accident to only watch. We are voyeurs as we stare into others houses as we walk past. You answer the phone on the bus and everyone is eager to listen in to your conversation. We aren't necessarily the stalking type, but places like Facebook puts us in overdrive when it comes to curiosity.
In wanting to know and satiate this want, we've sometimes crossed the line in many ways. There are the stalkers, the voyeurs, and the over-inquisitive neighbour. But you might step over the line unwittingly too. And then you might be hit with the too-much-information brick or the way-too-much-information wheel-barrow of bricks. Then there's no going back. Too many connections are formed, too many visuals. Etched.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
On the way out...
Getting bored of this place. I need to find a new home online. Until then...mostly nothing to say.
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