Stuff from here and there…

A crisp whistle at the workplace

It’s unusual, isn’t it? And once it happens, after a few seconds of numbness followed by confusion followed by exchange of glances, erupt sounds of tentative giggles that crescendo to full-throated laughter.
That’s precisely what unusual things do – they make too many things happen in too little time! And that’s why I love them and want them to happen to me all the time.

It the bizarre that peppers, sauces and oreganos my life.

My night of sacrifice

I made a tough call last night. I was sleepy, I knew I’d have to stay up the next night (which is tonight) and I wanted to watch the European Cup final. Beating away sleep wasn’t too tough; television almost always does it for me (It failed once, though. I snoozed while watching Lost in Translation!).
So that left me to choose between staying up the next night and watching the Barcelona-Arsenal soccer match. What to do? What not to do? I like football alright, but I am a clichéd Indian oblivious of all cynicism. I love cricket and I definitely want to watch the opening match of the India-West Indies series. For my craze for cricket, for some a dash of adrenaline in my blood and of course, for Mahendra Singh Dhoni (A little disappointed by a news report about him shooing a fan away when she asked for a photo with him. I give Goldilocks the benefit doubt; maybe the girl winked at him).
I dilly-dallied for an hour. Finally I hit the bed. The sultry summer night of sacrifice seemed worth. I know it wouldn’t be as hot tonight.

Three trips to the library

I like to make those little trips to libraries. Not those plush, air-cooled libraries, where the air smells like that in a shopping mall. I prefer those poky, dusty libraries that smell of books.
Three books from my office library were lying with me since eternity. This morning, I made up my mind to remember to return them and borrow new ones.
First trip, the library had not opened.
Second trip (after an hour-and-a-half), the librarian had not arrived.
Third trip, just the door was open. But I that was enough, I thought, and barged into the little room.
The librarian wasn’t around and the lights were not on. I switched on the lights and found that the place was messier that my last visit. I dug into dust and books for a pick.
It was fascinating. I was sneezing, my clothes gathered dust, but I it didn’t matter. I was doing all that for the love of the musty smell of books.