For reasons I'd rather not bother you with, this page has stagnated, with every post only serving to play catch-up with the events of the months passed since the last. Not too long ago though, I'd be serving dollops of unnecessary insights into the recesses of this insane mind, almost-senile reminiscences of a colourful childhood and imaginary plans of romances never to be. That wordiness hasn't died completely though, as unfortunate followers of my Twitter feed would tell you with some disdain.
These months of inactivity here have seen an inexplicable transformation on that other page where I bug the world; from incredibly nubile puns, via drooling over the occasional classic United performance and drawling over the state of Indian cricket, to remarkably unfounded theories of India's human development vis-a-vis China. The very formal turn of phrase that the previous sentence illustrates the change in state of mind I've been through. The interviews I'd been preparing for didn't go as well as dreamt, but they left a lad who barely touched the Sudoku and Sports page every morning, going through every news article and opinion on the Indian Budget over three newspapers, and what's more, giving his own two bits in 160 characters (Yes, Shreyas, I do notice the inherent anomaly in that!).
Thankfully, though, that lovely grant of eight grand a month from the HRD Ministry means I have an overflowing pending reading list. The Picador Book of Cricket, compiled by Ramachandra Guha (two more books of whose lie on the aforementioned list), is as romantic a book on cricket as it gets. I've barely reached the middle of the first volume in the book, which is all about the quarter of a century before and after Australia and England first locked horns in 1877. If I finish reading it soon enough, I guess I'll follow it up with The States of Indian Cricket by the same author. A shorter review for those who get it: these two look like perfect birthday gifts for dear Moh.
I'm yet to read two books I'd been gifted on my birthday this year – The Beatles: Stories Behind Their Songs from AP, and Gone With The Wind from the Angels. The former was a factual drag according to Ellen, but I guess I'll love the trivia. The latter should slightly lessen my regret of having not read too many classics, as much as I've consciously avoided them. It gives a warm fuzzy feeling, to see so many unread books in my room, although it's tough to keep them from catching dust. Not to mention, the prying eyes looking to borrow these (and never return until I harry them to death).
P.S.- Since I haven't told anyone, I'll have to tell you, at least: my love for the football field has increased manifold. And apart from that one goal I've scored there (which I keep telling myself to write about some time), that place will now be in my memory for a long, long time.
These months of inactivity here have seen an inexplicable transformation on that other page where I bug the world; from incredibly nubile puns, via drooling over the occasional classic United performance and drawling over the state of Indian cricket, to remarkably unfounded theories of India's human development vis-a-vis China. The very formal turn of phrase that the previous sentence illustrates the change in state of mind I've been through. The interviews I'd been preparing for didn't go as well as dreamt, but they left a lad who barely touched the Sudoku and Sports page every morning, going through every news article and opinion on the Indian Budget over three newspapers, and what's more, giving his own two bits in 160 characters (Yes, Shreyas, I do notice the inherent anomaly in that!).
Thankfully, though, that lovely grant of eight grand a month from the HRD Ministry means I have an overflowing pending reading list. The Picador Book of Cricket, compiled by Ramachandra Guha (two more books of whose lie on the aforementioned list), is as romantic a book on cricket as it gets. I've barely reached the middle of the first volume in the book, which is all about the quarter of a century before and after Australia and England first locked horns in 1877. If I finish reading it soon enough, I guess I'll follow it up with The States of Indian Cricket by the same author. A shorter review for those who get it: these two look like perfect birthday gifts for dear Moh.
I'm yet to read two books I'd been gifted on my birthday this year – The Beatles: Stories Behind Their Songs from AP, and Gone With The Wind from the Angels. The former was a factual drag according to Ellen, but I guess I'll love the trivia. The latter should slightly lessen my regret of having not read too many classics, as much as I've consciously avoided them. It gives a warm fuzzy feeling, to see so many unread books in my room, although it's tough to keep them from catching dust. Not to mention, the prying eyes looking to borrow these (and never return until I harry them to death).
P.S.- Since I haven't told anyone, I'll have to tell you, at least: my love for the football field has increased manifold. And apart from that one goal I've scored there (which I keep telling myself to write about some time), that place will now be in my memory for a long, long time.
