sajith: (Default)
..

So I was sent to Paris during the glorious French winter of 2009 for a job training. Quit the previous one in September (they moved from center of the city to a ghetto in the outskirts (own space, but what do I care about that), thus my commute became sitting four goddam hours in a car from what was a fifteen-minutes stroll, and this became the mythical final straw that broke the camel's back), took a small break which now feels like a haze, and joined this new one in November. In no time my new employer figured out that I'm absolutely useless without some serious training, and thus I landed in their Paris office.

While in Paris, I managed to not to do much outside work, except for the obligatory tourist gig on a weekend. What follows is the result. Obviously there's much, much more I should have done other than staying curled up in the hotel room. But like always, there's a next time. There ought to be, and, note to self: when that occasion comes, dude, you better be the master of your own schedule.

picture dump )
sajith: (Default)
hotel room chronicle

Shoo, po!  Bloody nuisance! Not interested!  We aren’t done with the old year yet! 

We still aren’t done with all the nothing we wanted to do in the last year, err, this year… err, whatever.

sajith: (Default)
street scene

Do we have a fable here, Aesop? Do we have a haiku, Basho?

I for one don't want no quotidian business around here. The hen could grow, grow immensely, snatch the dog and fly away. Fly over white clouds on a deep blue sky, over blue mountains overlooking a gorgeous valley. The closed shop shutter could be hiding a magic caveway to a magic castle. The xerox machine could be no ordinary xerox machine, it could be a magic xerox machine --

Wait, this must be the effect of watching too many Miyazaki movies. I usually sleep a dreamless, memoryless sleep, but last night in the dream I was looking at myself in a mirror. Most hair was gone. There were bad, big, dark, green warts on the skull. A few odd patches of hair remained. Eyes, I don't remember much about them --

Right, there's something called too much Miyazaki.

In Madurai.

Oct. 9th, 2009 08:08 pm
sajith: (Default)
two friends

In Madurai,
city of temples and poets,
who sang of cities and temples

Here's a poem, A River, by A K Ramanujan.

Here're a bunch of pictures, by, err, me. There should have been more, given that this is Madurai and Madurai is the kind of place that is full of people and things and sights that a camera can devour. But I have grown lazy to carry a camera all the time, and grown shy to poke that thing on people's noses. So it happens that insentients get most attention, willing sentients get some attention, unwilling ones not so much. As it happened in the final edit, the more interesting pictures are that of sentients.

What a conundrum.

Profile

sajith: (Default)
sajith

Style Credit

Syndicate

RSS Atom
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags