I feel like saying with Salieri that I'm the king of mediocrity. Everywhere there are people gushing on trite poetry, triter prose, sloppy photography, crap music and crappier films. Gah!
My room (read bed) is a mess. I promise to clean up after I shift to a new place (a new mess, more likely). I have wayyy too much stuff (esp. books) for the space allotted to me. And can't download movies. And now with the bookfair round the corner... Waaah!
Yesterday was nice. Spent a lot of time sitting on a sun warmed park bench with a friend licking at our (respective) ice cream cones, occasionally feeding bits of waffle cone to the passing chipmunk. The chipmunk was carrying a load of fluff (possible coconut coir) in its mouth and preening the stuff like it was his/her own daari! So my friend renamed it the sikh-munk.
I am pissed at having to spend 3 days in Lucknow (the temperature at least 6 degrees lower than in Dilli) and not being able to see a thing (literally: 'cause of the fog) or get a whiff of chaat. However attended party with free booze flowing (had red wine, vodka and old monk: not mixed together) and slept in a four poster bed in a house with two dogs (Pugli the pug and Kabuli the Afghan hound)and things dating back to the nawabi antiquity. Shit! I just remembered I didn't take a snap of the delightful stained glass chandelier (similar to, but grander than the ones at Khidderpore in what remains of Wajid Ali Shah's Calcutta residence). Naaah (and other words ending in 'ah')!