Songs of the not-so innocent

Considering it doesn't have much to boast about, it was rather a surprise to learn that Birmingham actually had a spring season. After having lived here almost 2 years, I can testify to the fact that there is a period of 2 months that carefully and quite hopefully gets demarcated as such. Officially fired off by spring break week, and pursued relentlessly by spring fest, blast, outing and thingummybob, its a wonder there's actually any time for summer at all. I actually feel sorry for summer, which has to creep in almost shamelessly and endure the curses of the local inhabitants since this state is going through what was supposed to be a passing drought. That was 4 years ago and it doesn't look like the drought is planning to 'pass' by any time soon. A typical spring week will begin with bright sunshine, constant 22 degree weather and a refreshing breeze on Monday. This generally cheers up any and everyone suffering from the Monday blues. All and sundry bring

The worst of times is at 4:00 pm on a Friday afternoon. I'm stuck in a windowless, narrow room with only the glare of the computer screen for company. Not 20 feet away, in the lobby, are large windows that almost sadistically point out that its a sunny, pleasant day outside. The kind of day made for cricket, football, or anything else that involves not being 'here'. There is not a person in sight because any and all sensible beings walking upright have cleared out for the weekend. The phone has not rung in hours and I know for a fact that it will not do so till closing time. I have trawled though websites and blogs all afternoon, reading desperately to quell my boredom and rising frustration. The only reason I haven't bolted for the elevators myself is because the over-zealous dragon passing off as the office secretary will kick up an almighty row if I leave a minute before 5:00 pm. I have a book that I can read, but the deathly stillness in the air and a rather hea

The precious few readers of this blog may have noticed my infrequent references to employment - basically how I'm about to complete my second master's degree (yes, I am the masochist as a certain reader has been advertizing to all and sundry) and how there are no real job prospects in sight. In the past, thanks to my talent for indolence and procrastination, I've been in the soup as far as deadlines for assignments and exams are concerned. Recent scenarios: Two 10 page assignments to be submitted on the morrow. Where is moi? Hard at work, drinking beer and reading a book of course. Repeat formula during exams. But all this sinful living caught up with me sometime around November, leaving me feeling rather guilty about neglecting my responsibilities (yes, I am guffawing helplessly...). A somewhat haunted feeling enveloped me... a worried frown would break out now-&-then and I'd find myself contemplating the view outside the window pensively. Rather like the sword of

Grandpa, or Bachelor no. 3 to you dear reader, is the poster boy for the school of though which maintains that age and wisdom do not necessarily go hand in hand. And, as grandpa presently looks like he's pregnant with twins at least, we are talking of a rather large / wide poster. None the less, he trots along on the marathon of life, blissfully unawares that wisdom or something resembling it is prostrate on the side of the road about 10 years worth of distance behind. Now, until I met grandpa, I always maintained that everyone has a 'few' idiosyncrasies up their sleeves. This man however, is the very essence of the words 'eccentricity' and 'idiosyncrasy'. Let me put it this way - these words in the dictionary are one day simply going to have his mugshot posted next to them. As a teller of tall tales, he has no equal in Birmingham. Initially, not knowing him as we do today, we guys even believed a few of his fishier ones. Eventually ofcourse, we realized tha

There are times truth sneaks up upon us and delivers that knockout blow; that perfect jab into the plexus that leaves us floored, breathless and clawing desperately at nothing. While we indignantly try to mouth the word 'cheat' or 'unfair', truth nods, satisfied at a job well done, notches up another one, and leaves. This is spring break week, the annual period that universities across the nation down shutters and take off. Most campuses, buzzing with activity right up to Friday, resemble a ghost town on the 1st Saturday of spring break. Texas probably even has the occasional tumbleweed. Anyway, this being Birmingham, there's barely any difference between spring break and the rest of the year. Allowed, this is hardly the university's fault... not even the city's. But, it does clearly elucidate a point, no, dear reader ? (speaking of which, who actually reads this blog, I wonder) Again, this being Birmingham, the day spring break is declared, the weather fore

MOD, our resident bachelor no. 4 (yes, Mr. Moong-daal himself) has been sleeping on the living room couch for the past week. When asked why he was doing so by Batman (about 4 days ago), he shrugged his shoulders and nonchalantly said something about needing a change. Admittedly, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with sleeping on that couch or any other, for that matter. I can personally attest to the fact that it is an excellent piece of furniture and carries out its duties without protest. Still, as readers may have noticed from previous posts, no action in the place I live in comes without its very own sinister meaning. Since I am the first to leave for work every morning, I am therefore invariably greeted by the sight of sprawled limbs and a blanket rising up and falling to the tune of tympanic snoring. Not the prettiest sight one can be greeted by at the crack of dawn or thereabouts, but, as I have discovered, wishes stubbornly refuse to turn into horses. At least this not-so-pa