Random rambles

No landline extensions at workplace. Is it because the client doesn’t want to use the competitor’s service? I don’t know... Client is a big-shot mobile-operator. Competitor is also the largest landline-operator.

Most of the people here work on laptops. They come to the office, take a random seat, connect their laptop to LAN and start working. The best way to locate a person is to call him at his mobile and ask him where he is seated that day. To stand up and shout the person’s name will be a less polite but more cost-effective way. Then again, I don’t think that these people, who attire T-shirts like his, would consider it impolite.

It was last Saturday that I played tennis. But, my knees still remind me about it, particularly when I climb that 45 degree steep near the office. May be my legs are tired of carrying the overweight me all my life. May be I am getting old. I AM GETTING OLD. Damn. I should start thinking about my retirement plans.

Last week I cut the back of the middle finger of my left hand. I got injured (Well... Some may argue that it is too trivial to be called an injury. I am going to ignore them) in a way other than shaving mishaps after a very long time.
Lesson learnt: Don’t chop onions while watching TV.

A few days later I cut the inside of the index finger of my left hand. It is a cute cut. It looks very much like ‘haath ke lakeer’ (Is it ‘ke’ or ‘ka’ or ‘ki’. I still repent sleeping through my Hindi Grammar classes) when it doesn’t bleed. I find to difficult to locate the cut when I want to proudly display it to others. It stays hidden among the ridges in the finger. It is easier to locate it by dipping my finger in after-shave. I don’t carry after-shave to office. So, I have now made a mark around the cut. As it is located right on the joint of the finger, I think it would take its own time to heal.
Lesson learnt: Don’t wipe the sharp edges of the scissors with bare finger.
Trivia: Though the two cuts are in close vicinity in adjacent fingers, I am unable to touch one cut with the other.

It rained a bit yesterday. The streets of Auckland smell funny after rain. It is not the smell of soil. There is no soil within the city limits.

The lady at the bank explained me in length about on-line banking procedure. She started with explaining what user ID and password are and went on to explain how to login, click on hyperlinks to navigate through web pages, do transactions, etc. I had this strong urge to casually remind her that I have developed such pages. But then, it is a great pleasure to make others feel that they have made you understand the most complex thing the human beings have ever come across. Anyway, she said that my handwriting looks good. Those words are worth the boring lecture I listened to. I don’t remember the last person who said those words to me. May be, none have ever said that to me. When people look at my handwriting, they generally have this puzzled expression on their face. I think that I used to have the same expression on my face when I studied Statistical Mechanics. Some question me why my handwriting slants towards the wrong direction. But nobody said that my handwriting looks good. Wait a minute... She asked me to spell out what I had written (which I did, with the usual difficulty I have while reading my own handwriting). Oh my God. Was she really appreciating my handwriting? Oh my good God.

Hmmm...

The day before yesterday I wished my rakhi-sister a happy birthday. She thanked me and reminded that her birthday is nowhere near. Well, memory has never been my strong point.

Yesterday we had a formal meeting with the country manager of our organization. After the meeting, I had a small chat with him. When I left the office, I had this odd feeling something was not right. Then I realized that I had addressed the NZ country manager as Stewart, and his name is Andrew. Stewart is the UK country manager. Andrew had introduced himself just an hour ago and the others had addressed him by his name during the whole meeting.

That is scary. Have I lost it all? The voice-inside-my-head has always said that I would one day end up in a mental asylum. I guess that day is not far away. Damn.

Slogging at the client’s office all day, returning late in the evening with head-ache, cooking the dinner, eating it, falling asleep watching the Late Night with David Letterman – I guess this routine is taking its toll on me.

I wanted today to be different. I woke up by noon. Cooked something with potatoes, green-peas, eggs and wheat bread. It was not repulsive. When S asked me what I cooked for lunch, I had no answer. What I cooked doesn’t have a name. As I couldn’t come up with a name, I ended up describing the recipe of what I made.

Shopped some groceries in the evening. Carried them for over a kilometer and a half. When I reached the apartment, I was glad that my hands were still in the places they are supposed to be. Then, played some tennis after over 10 years. It was horrible. I felt my legs very heavy. Most of the time I was wondering whether to move forward or backward. I realized that I have lost my decent serve and forehand. My backhand has gone worse. My tennis sucked a decade ago and it sucks big-time today. Some things never change.