As I was weighing myself at the gym today (72.8kgs... you didn't need to know that but it's too late now) the laundry guy who makes sure we all have crisp, warm, perfect towels walked in and began stacking the last batch of towels for the day. I had just showered so needless to say I was at a fairly vulnerable juncture. Anyway, as I look at the scales this gentleman decides to engage me in conversation. We will never know what it was, my friendly demeanor or the fact that I was naked but this guy decided to confide in me. "I hate this job... I hate my life... I should be at home... I have a wife and kids... you know what I mean... I left my son sleeping in bed and I come home to see him sleeping... I hate this job... this is not life... this is not how to live... I should be at home... I hate my life..." I really wanted to sit down with the guy and talk with him. In fact I did try to talk with him but I don't think he was in a listening mood. I was like "Hey man at least you're getting paid and stuff... some people don't even have a living." and "This isn't so bad..." etc but I kept feeling like I was walking in on a conversation he might have been having with himself while he happened to be facing me and looking at me. Trust me, I feel for the guy but it was fairly awkward.
Now my concern is this: I go to a gym with unhappy laundry people. I use their towels. Should this gentleman so choose he could launch a full on biological war on the entire gym. There's no end to the havoc he could wreak. He has a job which gives him a fair bit of potential to exact his revenge on the company while being discreet. You get the idea.
Now I'm not paranoid. I'm still going to keep using the gym's towels, but the seed of doubt has been planted.
So, postal workers, chefs, scientists and laundry people. You don't want to mess with these guys.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Long time.
Yeah, it's been a while.
Lots of ups, downs, ins and outs.
All of which you missed.
Uness you were part of aformentioned ups, downs, ins and outs.
Which you probably were.
So stop whining.
Lots of ups, downs, ins and outs.
All of which you missed.
Uness you were part of aformentioned ups, downs, ins and outs.
Which you probably were.
So stop whining.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Social Introspection
Some friends of mine noticed something about me that had never crossed my mind. When I introduce myself I pronounce my name differently than I used to when I left India. It has gone from straight "Manu" to a somewhat westernised version with too much stress on the last syllable, making it sound like I'm saying "Manew." I had not noticed this at all. Now I am very proud of my name, hell, it's my name for crying out loud. The fact that I have made accomodations with something as personal as my name seems to have been taken by my friends as an indication I have made compromises with my sense of self. I can kinda see the logical bridge they had to cross to make this conclusion, (albeit a shaky one, maybe even a poetic one.)
What's funny is deep down inside I know I am exactly the same Manu that left India. Hell, I've been exactly the same Manu since I can remember. Sure there are moments I look back on and wish I had never done whatever I did or said whatever I did at the time, but my sense of who I am has always been the same.
Conflict highlights and adds contrast to a lot of details we take for granted. This recent challenge from my friends has really resolved and solidified something I took for granted. Now I know it's there for sure, I feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's nice having a sense of self. You should try it sometime, I highly recommend it. I'm also beginning to realise how important it is to spend time whith people I wouldn't normally be able to stand. Like I said, learning about other people offers opportunities to learn about oneself in ways that go beyond introspection. Especially those that stir up any sort of conflict in oneself. This may even be an allele of love.
Social Introspection. I take comfort in that.
What's funny is deep down inside I know I am exactly the same Manu that left India. Hell, I've been exactly the same Manu since I can remember. Sure there are moments I look back on and wish I had never done whatever I did or said whatever I did at the time, but my sense of who I am has always been the same.
Conflict highlights and adds contrast to a lot of details we take for granted. This recent challenge from my friends has really resolved and solidified something I took for granted. Now I know it's there for sure, I feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's nice having a sense of self. You should try it sometime, I highly recommend it. I'm also beginning to realise how important it is to spend time whith people I wouldn't normally be able to stand. Like I said, learning about other people offers opportunities to learn about oneself in ways that go beyond introspection. Especially those that stir up any sort of conflict in oneself. This may even be an allele of love.
Social Introspection. I take comfort in that.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Stephen King, Fanatics and School Plays
A couple of days ago I purchased a ticket to watch Stephen King read from his new book and hopefully get my copy of the original Gunslinger signed. I got off work at five thirty on Tuesday and embarked on the fairly simple yet grossly unresearched (on my part) journey from Bond Street Station to Battersea Park events arena. The London A to Z ( I pronounce it "zee" as opposed to "zed" which seems to piss people here off, aka more fun for me) literally saved me about an hours worth of aimless wandering. That and the Indian girl nice enough to tell me which street I was on when I asked her for directions. She was handing out free newspapers. They do that a lot here. Newspapers like the London Metro and London Lite are free and they have people out in the streets purposefully handing them to you. It is really heartwarming, but one has to worry about possibly biased opinions reaching the masses for free. The papers are well recieved nonetheless.
A train, a bus, some walking and a phonecall to the Battersea Park police people for directions later I had made it. There seemed to be a decent number of people walking in. One guy asked me if I wanted his date's ticket. He had been stood up. I apologised over-empathetically and felt bad about highlighting his situation later but oh well. I picked up my ticket and that's when the bad news started flowing in. First Stephen King was only signing copies of Lisey's story. Second, my 15 pound ticket did not include a book or anything, not even food, which was too much to expect I guess. And third, my seat was in the very back.
But once things got rolling it was all good. The guy next to me was a Greek marine engineer who is writing a science fiction novel. His name is Dimitri and he is truly awesome, an all round good guy. He smokes a pipe, has worked on a ship for eight months and, well... just take my word for it, he's cool. Stephen King was funny and all, joking about politics etc. Once he was done reading from his book and answering questions... well actually half way through his answering questions a huge mass of people queued up to get their books signed. Stephen King was only signing books for an hour. There were about 1000 people in that arena. So the assholes who were shrewd enough to get in line despite disrespectuflly causing a rucus while Stephen King was on stage, talking, were the ones that got their books signed. That's life for you. Losers dressed as Carrie were weeping like babies. Boo fucking Hoo.
On our way out Dimitri and I stopped by the Waterstones stall to ask if I could return my book. While talking with the smug guys on the other side of the cash register this bony, bald jester-like guy walks upto us. He's got the nose, the earring... everything... except he's wearing a Waterstones T-Shirt. So this gentleman, whom I shall call the Jester of Justice, walks upto us and hands us signed stickers. He gave both Dimitri and I stickers signed by the Talespinner himself. Now I know this might not sound like much, hell I probably won't get anything for my sticker on Ebay, but that's not the point. The point is, the evening wasn't a waste. The wheel of Ka had turned. And my 15 pounds bought me this story.
Work today was no less exciting. I hardly had any till time and the short hour I was at the till I was visited by none other than whom I shall refer to as Paranoid Mental Shithead, or PMS for short. Mr. PMS had ordered a book, and I had placed the order for him, about a month ago. I infromed him the book will take upto 2 months to come in, being out of print and all, and that WE would call HIM when the book is in, but this guy... this guy... sigh. First he thinks the GOVERNMENT, yes the GOVERNMENT (That's how PMS says it, not me) is keeping track of everybody that reads this book through mind control. He warned me about it when he placed the order. Hell, he's warned everyone he's re-placed the order for the book with. Warned just us how this book exposes the GOVERNMENT and all it's CONSPIRACIES of MIND CONTROL. Sigh. Mind you, the first two times it was just us. Today however, while I'm on the phone with the publisher trying to see where the book is, today Mr. fucking PMS decides to tell THE WHOLE STORE the GOVERNMENT is out to get them. They are being MIND CONTROLLED and blah blah blah. I stopped listening after a point. I had to ask him to keep his tone down. That's when he looked at me, empathetically. That shared glimpse of empathy is why I am sitting here, writing about this, when I could be sleeping. I saw in that man's eye, something I haven't seen in a while. I saw a man drowning in his own version of reality, while trying to claw his way out. Drowning in a well with smooth porcelean sides. A well brimming with vitreous humour, drowning in his own glistening eyeball. This guy was messed up, yet cogent enough to remember my name and that I had placed his order a month ago. This guy was as sane as anyone that has walked into that store, the only difference being how seriously he took his own lies. His own convictions. He was just a guy that took himself too seriously.
Yep, so that's that. Oh I also sat trough a friend's rehersal for a Diwali play or something she's putting together. It reminds me of whatever the Dude's landlord was performing in the Big Lebowski... it's really abstract. But as long as everyone believes what they want to believe, I guess it's all good.
Yep, it's all good.
A train, a bus, some walking and a phonecall to the Battersea Park police people for directions later I had made it. There seemed to be a decent number of people walking in. One guy asked me if I wanted his date's ticket. He had been stood up. I apologised over-empathetically and felt bad about highlighting his situation later but oh well. I picked up my ticket and that's when the bad news started flowing in. First Stephen King was only signing copies of Lisey's story. Second, my 15 pound ticket did not include a book or anything, not even food, which was too much to expect I guess. And third, my seat was in the very back.
But once things got rolling it was all good. The guy next to me was a Greek marine engineer who is writing a science fiction novel. His name is Dimitri and he is truly awesome, an all round good guy. He smokes a pipe, has worked on a ship for eight months and, well... just take my word for it, he's cool. Stephen King was funny and all, joking about politics etc. Once he was done reading from his book and answering questions... well actually half way through his answering questions a huge mass of people queued up to get their books signed. Stephen King was only signing books for an hour. There were about 1000 people in that arena. So the assholes who were shrewd enough to get in line despite disrespectuflly causing a rucus while Stephen King was on stage, talking, were the ones that got their books signed. That's life for you. Losers dressed as Carrie were weeping like babies. Boo fucking Hoo.
On our way out Dimitri and I stopped by the Waterstones stall to ask if I could return my book. While talking with the smug guys on the other side of the cash register this bony, bald jester-like guy walks upto us. He's got the nose, the earring... everything... except he's wearing a Waterstones T-Shirt. So this gentleman, whom I shall call the Jester of Justice, walks upto us and hands us signed stickers. He gave both Dimitri and I stickers signed by the Talespinner himself. Now I know this might not sound like much, hell I probably won't get anything for my sticker on Ebay, but that's not the point. The point is, the evening wasn't a waste. The wheel of Ka had turned. And my 15 pounds bought me this story.
Work today was no less exciting. I hardly had any till time and the short hour I was at the till I was visited by none other than whom I shall refer to as Paranoid Mental Shithead, or PMS for short. Mr. PMS had ordered a book, and I had placed the order for him, about a month ago. I infromed him the book will take upto 2 months to come in, being out of print and all, and that WE would call HIM when the book is in, but this guy... this guy... sigh. First he thinks the GOVERNMENT, yes the GOVERNMENT (That's how PMS says it, not me) is keeping track of everybody that reads this book through mind control. He warned me about it when he placed the order. Hell, he's warned everyone he's re-placed the order for the book with. Warned just us how this book exposes the GOVERNMENT and all it's CONSPIRACIES of MIND CONTROL. Sigh. Mind you, the first two times it was just us. Today however, while I'm on the phone with the publisher trying to see where the book is, today Mr. fucking PMS decides to tell THE WHOLE STORE the GOVERNMENT is out to get them. They are being MIND CONTROLLED and blah blah blah. I stopped listening after a point. I had to ask him to keep his tone down. That's when he looked at me, empathetically. That shared glimpse of empathy is why I am sitting here, writing about this, when I could be sleeping. I saw in that man's eye, something I haven't seen in a while. I saw a man drowning in his own version of reality, while trying to claw his way out. Drowning in a well with smooth porcelean sides. A well brimming with vitreous humour, drowning in his own glistening eyeball. This guy was messed up, yet cogent enough to remember my name and that I had placed his order a month ago. This guy was as sane as anyone that has walked into that store, the only difference being how seriously he took his own lies. His own convictions. He was just a guy that took himself too seriously.
Yep, so that's that. Oh I also sat trough a friend's rehersal for a Diwali play or something she's putting together. It reminds me of whatever the Dude's landlord was performing in the Big Lebowski... it's really abstract. But as long as everyone believes what they want to believe, I guess it's all good.
Yep, it's all good.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Done, for now.
Well, the exam went alright. I could go on and on but the bottom line is I felt good walking out of that room this morning. So that's that.
The invigilators were somewhat annoying though. They made a lot of noise about one student coming in late and the lady actually dropped the clock she was using to keep time, distracting everyone. Hardly standardised conditions, but what can one do. If you're doing the BMAT exam try not to pick the Middlesex University as a center is all I'll say.
I'm watching more House, M.D. than is good for me. I'm playing more Quake 4 than is good for me. The first person story is actually boring as all hell. I now play it on God Mode just because I couldn't care less. I just want to see what happens in the end.
Tomorrow promises to be fun, I have work from nine to nine thirty with a four hour lunch break during which I will be volunteering at the hospital. I'm not being sarcastic, I really enjoy working 12 hours. It makes me feel like I've done something worthwhile before going to bed... you know... like I've come closer to finishing (or reverse engineering?) a lego spaceship complete with moving parts.
Ahem... poetry time (because I'm in the mood)
Wouldn't it be nice
If every time we thought of someone
Their ears actually did turn red.
Wouldn't it be nice
If I stopped wasting time
And actually went to bed.
Later.
The invigilators were somewhat annoying though. They made a lot of noise about one student coming in late and the lady actually dropped the clock she was using to keep time, distracting everyone. Hardly standardised conditions, but what can one do. If you're doing the BMAT exam try not to pick the Middlesex University as a center is all I'll say.
I'm watching more House, M.D. than is good for me. I'm playing more Quake 4 than is good for me. The first person story is actually boring as all hell. I now play it on God Mode just because I couldn't care less. I just want to see what happens in the end.
Tomorrow promises to be fun, I have work from nine to nine thirty with a four hour lunch break during which I will be volunteering at the hospital. I'm not being sarcastic, I really enjoy working 12 hours. It makes me feel like I've done something worthwhile before going to bed... you know... like I've come closer to finishing (or reverse engineering?) a lego spaceship complete with moving parts.
Ahem... poetry time (because I'm in the mood)
Wouldn't it be nice
If every time we thought of someone
Their ears actually did turn red.
Wouldn't it be nice
If I stopped wasting time
And actually went to bed.
Later.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Exams
You'd think that as someone who has had to do some sort of exam at least every three weeks of one's adult life I would have learned my lesson by now. But no. Here I am at fucking two in the morning rewising for my BMAT and wishing I had been more regular. "Small bits over a long period of time..." the whinny voice on my shoulder cries, "... is all it takes!" Fucker.
Kablargh. What's especially bad is running into material I have studied since my I first got zits and still not remembering it. For instance, I knew the resistance of a wire is directly proportional to its length and inversley proportional to its cross sectional area. Hell I used to be able to derive the fucking formula! But noooo at the opportune moment Manu Gupta has to forget this minor detail.
Man... maybe I should call it a night, get my rest and hope for the best. I keep telling myself this test is just one factor in a whole plethora of details that go into a med school application. I have been revising these past few months, don't get me wrong, but it just wasn't enough. It never fucking is. Oh well, all's well that ends in a well.
Kablargh. What's especially bad is running into material I have studied since my I first got zits and still not remembering it. For instance, I knew the resistance of a wire is directly proportional to its length and inversley proportional to its cross sectional area. Hell I used to be able to derive the fucking formula! But noooo at the opportune moment Manu Gupta has to forget this minor detail.
Man... maybe I should call it a night, get my rest and hope for the best. I keep telling myself this test is just one factor in a whole plethora of details that go into a med school application. I have been revising these past few months, don't get me wrong, but it just wasn't enough. It never fucking is. Oh well, all's well that ends in a well.
Monday, October 16, 2006
It Begins
Hello all,
So today, after browsing through the "Rough Guide to Blogging" at my store and realising I would have to be a complete moron to not be able to do this myself I decided to begin blogging. I have always been a strong proponent of keeping my thoughts to myself but in my quest to do something more productive on teh intarnets I shall now start a web log. So sound the horns, bring out the elephants and bathe the eunuchs, it's time to party.
So today, after browsing through the "Rough Guide to Blogging" at my store and realising I would have to be a complete moron to not be able to do this myself I decided to begin blogging. I have always been a strong proponent of keeping my thoughts to myself but in my quest to do something more productive on teh intarnets I shall now start a web log. So sound the horns, bring out the elephants and bathe the eunuchs, it's time to party.
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