I went back to work on the 10th, right after my little fiasco. I was too damn bored at home for my own good. Work is dull with all the global recession and people resorting to stimulate the economy for growth and stuff. My project, being under the direct supervision of the president of the company, is always hot and ready to dish. I work 12 to 13 hours a day, non-stop (I don't even have time to pee).
But that's me. And this is my project. Mine is not the only project in my company.
One of the other teams has 3 people. One designer, one program man and a team leader. This is the team that is the envy of every other team in the module. Not coz its got one person over the usual number or coz the leader is the most experienced of us all. But more coz there are 3 people tending to one non-existent product. They waltz in at 8.35 in the morning. Leave for lunch 2 minutes before the siren goes (I've never seen the canteen at 12.30. I am the one who breezes in at 12.50 and leaves at 1). They leave the company premises at 5 (save one, who tends to stay back till around 6. Hold on...He isn't around working...He's just here to workout...Company GYM). They spend their time doing everything one has to do at work. They dedicate a major chunk of their time to wish everyone in the morning. The rest of their scarce time is eaten away by mid-morning coffee, post-coffee chat, mid-afternoon tea and post-tea chat. Oh...They also sit in front of their monitors refreshing their mailboxes in hopes of finding another "This is my last day at work..." mail.
Recently, I was so amazed at how much spare time they had apart from their usually tight schedule (refer above paragraph for 'usually tight schedule') , that I was sorry for them. They did not know what to do. With the recent advent of a couple of orders from strange corners, most of the module was either busy, or was detached as part of a value-engineering program. They were out of people to nag to death with useless jargon. Man, a real plight indeed.
Time was, however, on their side. Within an eye's blink, the fourteenth of February was here. The day people were dying to see. It did not occur to me , why, they were unusually early for work today. I did not realize it was valentines day (my girl friend failed to remind me through the course of our hour long tirade). They looked like they had a mission. I was happy for them. I thought they finally had an order to work towards. My happiness was as short lived as a rat's fart. Their wait and patience, I realized moments later, was for the arrival of our GM. It wasn't 2 seconds after he had arrived, when one of them, beating the others to it, reached him, shook his hand and in the cutest way I've ever seen, handed him a Valentine's day gift, wrapped in pink.
I wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, me or my GM.
2009-02-14
2009-02-07
THE CAUSE AND THE EFFECT
She was late to start from her home. She left only at 7.15.
She usually wakes up by 5.30 in the morning, when I lay oblivious to the hair raising siren my phone emits for an alarm. She was tired the previous night after a delay at the ice cream parlor. She slept 25 minutes later than she normally does. This is why she had to wake up with a start at 6.15, 45 minutes later than usual.
Her father, who usually wakes up at 4.30 for his usual morning walk for paper and milk, was not around the house when she was frustrated with herself. If he had been back, 10 minuets earlier, he would not have been held up in the bathroom, tending to his morning dooties and would definitely have woken her up, at least 10 minutes earlier.
They normally buy the milk that's got 2.5% fat. Today, however, they were forced to buy the one with 5% fat. This delayed the boiling time by 5 minuted than what it normally is. Her breakfast had to wait as she was habitual of drinking her milk before she touched a morsel of food in the morning.
The father, being late as he was, sat down with the morning paper, forgetting the bread that was toasting on the grill. It was too late when he realized that the smell was not of his daughter's usual cologne.
Her breakfast had to wait as he milk was late by 5 minuets. Now that her bread was ruined, she was delayed by another 5 minutes.
She throttled her bike with all he might to make up for the last time. Her effective speed with her daily duties had only delayed her 15 minutes from her usual start for work.
Her friend had, the previous day, a flat tire and could not ride to work and requested her to pick her up as well. She obliged as they lived just a few blocks from each other.
As they zoomed together on the bike, down the deserted main road, they realized that the signal that usually did not work, started functioning. They were inching closer to their dead line for time.
The blazed through the signal, not minding the steady whistle from the cop who was never there usually. They braked to see what the problem was about. Another 5 minute delay.
They realized the main road was not their way to go and turned into one of the less conspicuous side roads that ran parallel to the main road.
The obvious shrink in the size of the road did not stop them form hitting what can only be described as BREAK NECK SPEED.
Leave out all the reasons above, if only I had not done 60 km/h (or was it mph) on my bike, I would not have been sitting at home on a working day, with cops ramming my door and the bleeding slit on my back ruining the pleasure of seating my swollen legs (that's where my bike landed on the road when the, then late, girls crashed into my bike).
P.S.: The word LATE does not mean the girls are dead and the post is no way a representative of what acually happed at the scene of their crime.
She usually wakes up by 5.30 in the morning, when I lay oblivious to the hair raising siren my phone emits for an alarm. She was tired the previous night after a delay at the ice cream parlor. She slept 25 minutes later than she normally does. This is why she had to wake up with a start at 6.15, 45 minutes later than usual.
Her father, who usually wakes up at 4.30 for his usual morning walk for paper and milk, was not around the house when she was frustrated with herself. If he had been back, 10 minuets earlier, he would not have been held up in the bathroom, tending to his morning dooties and would definitely have woken her up, at least 10 minutes earlier.
They normally buy the milk that's got 2.5% fat. Today, however, they were forced to buy the one with 5% fat. This delayed the boiling time by 5 minuted than what it normally is. Her breakfast had to wait as she was habitual of drinking her milk before she touched a morsel of food in the morning.
The father, being late as he was, sat down with the morning paper, forgetting the bread that was toasting on the grill. It was too late when he realized that the smell was not of his daughter's usual cologne.
Her breakfast had to wait as he milk was late by 5 minuets. Now that her bread was ruined, she was delayed by another 5 minutes.
She throttled her bike with all he might to make up for the last time. Her effective speed with her daily duties had only delayed her 15 minutes from her usual start for work.
Her friend had, the previous day, a flat tire and could not ride to work and requested her to pick her up as well. She obliged as they lived just a few blocks from each other.
As they zoomed together on the bike, down the deserted main road, they realized that the signal that usually did not work, started functioning. They were inching closer to their dead line for time.
The blazed through the signal, not minding the steady whistle from the cop who was never there usually. They braked to see what the problem was about. Another 5 minute delay.
They realized the main road was not their way to go and turned into one of the less conspicuous side roads that ran parallel to the main road.
The obvious shrink in the size of the road did not stop them form hitting what can only be described as BREAK NECK SPEED.
Leave out all the reasons above, if only I had not done 60 km/h (or was it mph) on my bike, I would not have been sitting at home on a working day, with cops ramming my door and the bleeding slit on my back ruining the pleasure of seating my swollen legs (that's where my bike landed on the road when the, then late, girls crashed into my bike).
P.S.: The word LATE does not mean the girls are dead and the post is no way a representative of what acually happed at the scene of their crime.
2009-01-17
THE LAST DON
Please...this is no dark, shady and repulsive post...its just a script on the latest book I ploughed through...A book called THE LAST DON, by Mario Puzo. A Puzo book that I have had the guts to read, after the Godfather. The book was an amazing read from the start to the end. Just the right quantity of everything you might imagine, for each of your senses.
Like the book's title reads, its about an Italian mafia family settled in the United States of America, using every loop-hole in the country's law to survive and flourish. Unlike normal gangster books and movies, this is a slightly different read. Its about an aging Mafioso King-pin, who controls all the drug dealing and the gambling in the nation. But that's all there is common with the other books along similar lines. Here, however, the Don uses all his experience and cunning to dilute the roots of his family into the so-called legal society of America. He is aging and sees himself a a protector of his kind.
The story is centered around the Don's grandson who turns coat against the family and the son of the Don's Nephew, who struggles to relieve himself from any ties he has remaining with the Family.
Like any old plot should be, this book also has a lot of cold bloodshed, cleverly planned murders, loss of a close one and revenge. The twist in the book is that, here, the Family is running INTO the society, instead of running away from it.
Just the right amount of suspense, intertwined with the best explained kill-plots and just the right amount of flesh. Also, these are timed in perfect unison to compliment each other. The scenes are also set out in a careful haphazard manner to provide enough temptation. Best of all, you never get bored of pages and the lines.
A wing of the family tries to run away into the movie business, opening a whole new avenue for the readers to know all the ACTUAL "behind the scene", in a movie business. The harsh truth can sometimes be a little unnerving, but thrilling to read.
If there was a better book along the same storyline, I would definitely love to read it for comparison.
2009-01-10
In a SNAP!!!!
It was two or so in the afternoon...Sweltering hot in my town of chennai. I was sitting, fiddling around with my pen. The pen I bought from my earnings. I was twirling my pen around my fingers, a habit I developed to keep my mind from diverting. Today, however, I was all the more serious. So serious that I was biting my lips, tugging at my hair, twirling my pen between my fingers, not blinking, and all at the same time. It was happening again.
I had driven down here in my dads car, the A/C blasting, my phone screaming at the top of its voice (its got 4 built-in speakers). I was in queue to park. I found the perfect spot. Right at the beginning, I realized I needed this spot coz I was sure I was not going to be long. 'I shouldn't be long', I told the security. Tipped him to watch my car.
There was a crowd. A large flock of people. All with a serious frown on their face. When I passed them, I noticed they did not look at me twice. I was dressed in the most banal of dresses. Did not want to attract any attention. Looked like my dress was working its charm. Now people will have noticed me, but will not remember me. Just what I need. I had a purpose and a mission.
While I walked from the car, a pack of ridiculously dressed teenagers jeered at my plight. A puny kid, with an extra large shirt and baggy jeans with a cap almost covering his now long hair, driving a car. Yes, a sight to behold indeed. But again, I had a mission and a purpose. I smiled at the punks and make my way pat the giggling pack of girls.
Well, it took me 5 minutes over the planned time to spot the mark. I had not done my homework right. I cursed myself. I tagged a group of people headed towards a common place, it seemed. I followed, unobserved. I should have walked slightly faster than the girl ahead of me, for, I hit the heel of her shoe in my stride. She turned and stared. Now there was at least one person who had seen me in the eye. It was no longer safe. I slowed down after a small and heart-felt apology. The incident was over. I had followed the group into a room filled with chairs. There were tow stern looking people ushering the crowd into the seats. I should have been so good at the camouflage that I was shown into one of the seats too. All the kids outside who were too busy pouring over thick books and scribbling on tiny bits of paper, were now seated in well spaced out chairs. I was seated among them. I felt alone in a room at least 30. I had successfully alienated myself from the rest of the crowd.
I was a man with a mission and a purpose. All those in the room were absolutely terrified. There was tension in the air. I was somehow immune to all that. 'What the hell? Did these people not go to college at all?', I asked myself. I laughed to myself, looking at the people around me, wondering what they would say if they only knew how different I was from them.
2 hours had passed since I walked into the room with the crowd. I was sitting, fiddling around with my pen. The pen I bought from my earnings. I was twirling my pen around my fingers, a habit I developed to keep my mind from diverting. Today, however, I was all the more serious. So serious that I was biting my lips, tugging at my hair, twirling my pen between my fingers, not blinking, and all at the same time. It was happening again. I thought I had moved on, but here I was again, sitting down for a test, completely unprepared and not a speck sorry about it. It felt like being in college again.
P.S. My snap results came today and I am proud to say that I missed a negative score by a pretty long whisker. That's like a distinction to the effort I put in.
I had driven down here in my dads car, the A/C blasting, my phone screaming at the top of its voice (its got 4 built-in speakers). I was in queue to park. I found the perfect spot. Right at the beginning, I realized I needed this spot coz I was sure I was not going to be long. 'I shouldn't be long', I told the security. Tipped him to watch my car.
There was a crowd. A large flock of people. All with a serious frown on their face. When I passed them, I noticed they did not look at me twice. I was dressed in the most banal of dresses. Did not want to attract any attention. Looked like my dress was working its charm. Now people will have noticed me, but will not remember me. Just what I need. I had a purpose and a mission.
While I walked from the car, a pack of ridiculously dressed teenagers jeered at my plight. A puny kid, with an extra large shirt and baggy jeans with a cap almost covering his now long hair, driving a car. Yes, a sight to behold indeed. But again, I had a mission and a purpose. I smiled at the punks and make my way pat the giggling pack of girls.
Well, it took me 5 minutes over the planned time to spot the mark. I had not done my homework right. I cursed myself. I tagged a group of people headed towards a common place, it seemed. I followed, unobserved. I should have walked slightly faster than the girl ahead of me, for, I hit the heel of her shoe in my stride. She turned and stared. Now there was at least one person who had seen me in the eye. It was no longer safe. I slowed down after a small and heart-felt apology. The incident was over. I had followed the group into a room filled with chairs. There were tow stern looking people ushering the crowd into the seats. I should have been so good at the camouflage that I was shown into one of the seats too. All the kids outside who were too busy pouring over thick books and scribbling on tiny bits of paper, were now seated in well spaced out chairs. I was seated among them. I felt alone in a room at least 30. I had successfully alienated myself from the rest of the crowd.
I was a man with a mission and a purpose. All those in the room were absolutely terrified. There was tension in the air. I was somehow immune to all that. 'What the hell? Did these people not go to college at all?', I asked myself. I laughed to myself, looking at the people around me, wondering what they would say if they only knew how different I was from them.
2 hours had passed since I walked into the room with the crowd. I was sitting, fiddling around with my pen. The pen I bought from my earnings. I was twirling my pen around my fingers, a habit I developed to keep my mind from diverting. Today, however, I was all the more serious. So serious that I was biting my lips, tugging at my hair, twirling my pen between my fingers, not blinking, and all at the same time. It was happening again. I thought I had moved on, but here I was again, sitting down for a test, completely unprepared and not a speck sorry about it. It felt like being in college again.
P.S. My snap results came today and I am proud to say that I missed a negative score by a pretty long whisker. That's like a distinction to the effort I put in.
2008-12-27
THE HOME-COMING PRINCE
He walked the streets, feeling at home...at last. The moon slowly slid out from behind the dark clouds and cast streaks of light on his battered face. Bags under his heavy eyes, a scar down his cheek and a very prominent vein throbbing in his fore-head, he looked ahead. His weary eyes have a glad gleam. For perhaps the first time in ages, he feels safe. The ravines of the past show in his movement as he shuffled through the street, protecting his exposed skin from the harsh winter wind. He was literally dragging his feet, tired, in a painfully obvious way.
As he shuffled down the street, he passed a rolled up mass of wool and cotton, dirty and stinking, basking in the heat from an almost non-existent flame. The local begger eyed him with pure suspicion and spite. It could have only be the dress he was wearing, drapes hanging from every inch possible, crumpled beyond recognition, that caused the begger to eye him with suspicion for a rival. But he is not flattered by another man's jealousy. He shuffled on. The dogs in the street, catching his scent from a mile away, look up from inside the dumpster and snarl at him as he passes. They sure took him for their a scavenger after their dump. He lauged at the dogs and said "I got better stuff...U guyz eat". He kept shuffling down the streets.
He paused at a coffee shop on the way. He called for a coffee and added the magic word "PLEASE". This immediately raised the shopkeeper's eyebrows. He suddenly demanded to be paid before he made the coffee. He smiled slightly and drew out a 10 rupee note from one of his many pockets and waited for his change while the shopkeeper checked every inch of the note for its validity. The coffee came in a steel glass and he gladly extended his gnarled palms to pick it up. The shopkeeper put the glass on a plate, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near him. The heat from the glass was not felt on his thick palms. He slowly rolled his fingers, painfully slowly, around the glass. It did not help him find the heat. He noticed that the cuts in his palms and fingers were not stinging anymore. It was an improvement. The back of his palm was almost filled with cuts and bruises. He sure has been toiling. He held the glass close to his chest, in an attempt to gather the heat, from the coffee, to his chest. It was not worth it. He preferred a hot coffee to a cold one. So he just started sipping at the glass. The heat of the watery coffee, instantly making him feel better.
He left the shop with the change from the transaction, jingling in his pockets as he shuffled on. He heaved a sigh of relief as he found the door he had been watching out for. He was tired, hungry and had not exposed himself socially in over 3 months now. He was worried he might not be so welcome. It was too early in the winter morning for anyone to be up. He was used to it by now, both the winter and not being welcome. He had stooped lower than this before for food and water, so, this was going to be cake walk. Just wake up a house of 3 and shove himself on them and watch them squirm in sheer loathing.
He rang the bell next to the safely locked door. There was no movement on the other side of the door. He waited out another 5 minutes, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Still no movement. He tried his luck at knocking the door. He gave up after 10 minutes of constant banging. Was he not wanted? He did not care. He set his aching body down on the steps and rested his throbbing head on the door. The handle came in his way and he shifted. He clutched his clothes closer, hoping to feel less colder than he was. His eyes started rolling up into their sockets. They were more tired than he was. He started slipping in and out of slumber. He kept touching his pockets to feel the money. A habit he had recently picked. Soon he was asleep on the steps.
Well, it was an hour later, at 5.30 in the morning, that he was awakened by a voice that carried thro the cold air. "Why cant he plan his trips earlier? Its 5.30 and still no sign of him. Why does he never think we might be worried?". Now he is worried he might be discovered. He picks himself up and tries the bell again. This time he is rewarded by the appearance of a middle aged balding man. A smile on his face. He is not perturbed by the dress r the stench. "How was your trip?", he asks. He just smiles and waits for his dad to open the door. Glad to be home, for the first time in 3 months since he started living alone, 500 kilometers away.
As he shuffled down the street, he passed a rolled up mass of wool and cotton, dirty and stinking, basking in the heat from an almost non-existent flame. The local begger eyed him with pure suspicion and spite. It could have only be the dress he was wearing, drapes hanging from every inch possible, crumpled beyond recognition, that caused the begger to eye him with suspicion for a rival. But he is not flattered by another man's jealousy. He shuffled on. The dogs in the street, catching his scent from a mile away, look up from inside the dumpster and snarl at him as he passes. They sure took him for their a scavenger after their dump. He lauged at the dogs and said "I got better stuff...U guyz eat". He kept shuffling down the streets.
He paused at a coffee shop on the way. He called for a coffee and added the magic word "PLEASE". This immediately raised the shopkeeper's eyebrows. He suddenly demanded to be paid before he made the coffee. He smiled slightly and drew out a 10 rupee note from one of his many pockets and waited for his change while the shopkeeper checked every inch of the note for its validity. The coffee came in a steel glass and he gladly extended his gnarled palms to pick it up. The shopkeeper put the glass on a plate, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near him. The heat from the glass was not felt on his thick palms. He slowly rolled his fingers, painfully slowly, around the glass. It did not help him find the heat. He noticed that the cuts in his palms and fingers were not stinging anymore. It was an improvement. The back of his palm was almost filled with cuts and bruises. He sure has been toiling. He held the glass close to his chest, in an attempt to gather the heat, from the coffee, to his chest. It was not worth it. He preferred a hot coffee to a cold one. So he just started sipping at the glass. The heat of the watery coffee, instantly making him feel better.
He left the shop with the change from the transaction, jingling in his pockets as he shuffled on. He heaved a sigh of relief as he found the door he had been watching out for. He was tired, hungry and had not exposed himself socially in over 3 months now. He was worried he might not be so welcome. It was too early in the winter morning for anyone to be up. He was used to it by now, both the winter and not being welcome. He had stooped lower than this before for food and water, so, this was going to be cake walk. Just wake up a house of 3 and shove himself on them and watch them squirm in sheer loathing.
He rang the bell next to the safely locked door. There was no movement on the other side of the door. He waited out another 5 minutes, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Still no movement. He tried his luck at knocking the door. He gave up after 10 minutes of constant banging. Was he not wanted? He did not care. He set his aching body down on the steps and rested his throbbing head on the door. The handle came in his way and he shifted. He clutched his clothes closer, hoping to feel less colder than he was. His eyes started rolling up into their sockets. They were more tired than he was. He started slipping in and out of slumber. He kept touching his pockets to feel the money. A habit he had recently picked. Soon he was asleep on the steps.
Well, it was an hour later, at 5.30 in the morning, that he was awakened by a voice that carried thro the cold air. "Why cant he plan his trips earlier? Its 5.30 and still no sign of him. Why does he never think we might be worried?". Now he is worried he might be discovered. He picks himself up and tries the bell again. This time he is rewarded by the appearance of a middle aged balding man. A smile on his face. He is not perturbed by the dress r the stench. "How was your trip?", he asks. He just smiles and waits for his dad to open the door. Glad to be home, for the first time in 3 months since he started living alone, 500 kilometers away.
2008-12-13
FEAR
For once, I thought I would let people know what I am writing about, before hand, without them having to throw up of call me in consolation. The subject is simple, straight forward and completely common.
Fear is what drives man through his life. Because he is afraid to die, he lives. And when he is afraid to live, he dies.
Fear guides us to success. Because we are afraid to experiment, we stick to what we do the best. Whats the point in showing you are good at what you do best???
Fear instills in us, the two things that we all lack...FAITH and HOPE...There will be no temples if every one felt safe. Do we call these people religious??? I call them chickens.
Fear of fear itself is what causes some to instill fear in other for the mere pleasure of watching them wither. Terrorists are not all guts. They are all afraid of fear.
To me, fear is a motivator. Its more like a carrot to a donkey. I absolutely love fear for its immense control over me. I love calling myself the dare devil. I love fear for the adrenaline it pumps thro' my veins. Its fear that make me what I am. I ride a 185kg bike at nothing less than 50 on the streets just coz I am afraid to do it. I never studied for my exams coz I loved the fear it instilled in me. Simply, I love facing fear.
Facing fear is what makes you different. Decisions are difficult and challenging. Times are trying and tiring. But choosing the rough path makes success sweeter than it usually is. But most of all, it makes the easy path look worthless.
Fear has kept me alive. Not coz I am afraid to die. But more coz I am afraid I'd die without seeing the wonders of this world.
So for those who still wonder why I am so, please, I am no hero. I am just scared, and happy to be.
Fear is what drives man through his life. Because he is afraid to die, he lives. And when he is afraid to live, he dies.
Fear guides us to success. Because we are afraid to experiment, we stick to what we do the best. Whats the point in showing you are good at what you do best???
Fear instills in us, the two things that we all lack...FAITH and HOPE...There will be no temples if every one felt safe. Do we call these people religious??? I call them chickens.
Fear of fear itself is what causes some to instill fear in other for the mere pleasure of watching them wither. Terrorists are not all guts. They are all afraid of fear.
To me, fear is a motivator. Its more like a carrot to a donkey. I absolutely love fear for its immense control over me. I love calling myself the dare devil. I love fear for the adrenaline it pumps thro' my veins. Its fear that make me what I am. I ride a 185kg bike at nothing less than 50 on the streets just coz I am afraid to do it. I never studied for my exams coz I loved the fear it instilled in me. Simply, I love facing fear.
Facing fear is what makes you different. Decisions are difficult and challenging. Times are trying and tiring. But choosing the rough path makes success sweeter than it usually is. But most of all, it makes the easy path look worthless.
Fear has kept me alive. Not coz I am afraid to die. But more coz I am afraid I'd die without seeing the wonders of this world.
So for those who still wonder why I am so, please, I am no hero. I am just scared, and happy to be.
2008-12-02
HUDDLE FOR THE NIGHT
Well, this other night, I was thundering down my street to get home at the earliest. I had not eaten in ages and I was dying to sink my teeth into something hot and spicy. Trouble, it was 9.30 in the night. I was early from office today thanks to one of our vendors who agreed to meet me at the corner of my street. I was blessed to get out of office this early. It was just like any other day in Coimbatore. There was, however, one small change in the whole city. The city now had, to its pride, a proud owner of a brand new bullet tearing down its streets, kicking up at the gravel from the already worn out roads. If you cant place the lucky bugger, let me give you a clue....
Its ME....
But like any other normal night in coimbatore, the night was cold. The wind was stinging my skin. I had my eyes leaking from the chill in the air. There was a steady stream of tear running from the corner of my eyes all the way into the hair on the back of my hair. I was late for the meeting with my vendor. I had to drive from office. I did not mind the drive thanks to the beast I was riding. The bike was such a wonder that I did not realize I had taken twice the time I usually take to drive from work. No regrets.
Like I said, the air was cold. The wind was hard and my knuckles were white form the weather. I would not have felt any colder if I was naked. I finished my transaction with my vendor and turned to get home. Its difficult to notice anything when you are riding a bullet. But this just caught my attention so much.
There was a pink grilled landing jutting into the pavement from the front of one of the side shops. The pink grills held the cutest things I've noticed driving my BULLET. In the corner of the small landing, there were at least 15 of the cutest and smallest puppies I've ever laid my eyes on. They must have just opened their eyes coz they looked at me like the way I see things on a late Sunday morning. All but 2 of the pups had heaped themselves up into a pile, protecting themselves from the harsh chill in the strong winds. I stuck my hand into the heap and realized just how warm it was in there. It was a group huddle. A group of Scotties, Labs and Poms.
How can dogs, at this stage of their lives take to one another for their mutual benefit when, us, MEN, cant so much as put up with one another?
I am sorry that people cant hold each others hands even to relieve themselves from the cold.
Its ME....
But like any other normal night in coimbatore, the night was cold. The wind was stinging my skin. I had my eyes leaking from the chill in the air. There was a steady stream of tear running from the corner of my eyes all the way into the hair on the back of my hair. I was late for the meeting with my vendor. I had to drive from office. I did not mind the drive thanks to the beast I was riding. The bike was such a wonder that I did not realize I had taken twice the time I usually take to drive from work. No regrets.
Like I said, the air was cold. The wind was hard and my knuckles were white form the weather. I would not have felt any colder if I was naked. I finished my transaction with my vendor and turned to get home. Its difficult to notice anything when you are riding a bullet. But this just caught my attention so much.
There was a pink grilled landing jutting into the pavement from the front of one of the side shops. The pink grills held the cutest things I've noticed driving my BULLET. In the corner of the small landing, there were at least 15 of the cutest and smallest puppies I've ever laid my eyes on. They must have just opened their eyes coz they looked at me like the way I see things on a late Sunday morning. All but 2 of the pups had heaped themselves up into a pile, protecting themselves from the harsh chill in the strong winds. I stuck my hand into the heap and realized just how warm it was in there. It was a group huddle. A group of Scotties, Labs and Poms.
How can dogs, at this stage of their lives take to one another for their mutual benefit when, us, MEN, cant so much as put up with one another?
I am sorry that people cant hold each others hands even to relieve themselves from the cold.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)