Oh Child, things are gonna get easier.

There were plans made.. but somehow nothing seemed more important than lazing in bed. A nice warm Sunday. Went out twice, just for the heck of it. Listening to music, drifted into the good old 60's and Jazz. The Ray Charles, Drifters, Dylan sorts.

A book to read, a pack of smokes, the sunlight through the only french window lighting up the room, the occasional rattling of the leaves and some really amazing music to hum along to. Nostalgic for a moment. Memories of an aging g'pa delicately getting the gramophone to play the record, whilst me holding onto g'ma tight.. cos it was only a matter of time before he'd come to know that I had broken one of his records.

Back to reality. It was quite a pleasant weekend. Working on Thursday and Friday, Bond out of the country for a whole week perhaps it's safe to say that I can look forward to a relaxing week ahead before I head to Pune on work for a good two weeks. I'm excited at the fact that I don't have to see Bond's face for the rest of the month.

Treating myself to some good old Whisky. A reward for being good as I put it. More than 10 days of abstinence, a shot or two should be the right reward if not the whole bottle.

Days like these, I tell myself life ain't that bad after all. I'll drink to that. Cheers!

The Stranger

Last weekend, was perhaps the most fruitful of many a lazy boring weekends spent, as much to my surprise I discovered this little treasure trove of a bookstore. Like a kid lost in a huge toy store, I remember making my way from the fiction to biographies to history and management shelves, running my fingers on them books feeling them and getting excited.

The storekeeper was quite enthusiastic, when he saw me drooling over the biography of Kurt Cobain. He quickly came over to me holding a book in his hand- The catcher in the rye. I smiled and told him that I had read it only to have my ex girlfriend who was in town (thanks to her, this discovery was possible) verbally recollect the after effects of me reading that book as I tried to hush her up.

Yeh, I still remember the times when I went around town asking every person who knew me to call me Holden Caulfield. That was one of my early adulthood phases, as I put it.

A little later, this dude walks back to me with a book in his hand- The Stranger by Albert Camus, insisting that I read it. I was in a mood to experiment as I had already made up my mind to pick up a fiction (the over hyped Ken Follett, John Grisham kinds that never really impressed me so far) and somehow convinced myself to accommodate The Stranger as well.

Having finished reading the book, which initially started off on a very boring note only to get interestingly boring (in a nice way) towards the end, there was a faint resemblance to the Catcher in the Rye.

This ain't a book review but rather the thought that hit my head soon after I finished reading. What made this bookstore guy so sure that I was gonna like reading it? I was certain that the noise made by her weren't that audible to him. And i'm quite certain that I didn't quite reveal much about myself to him. I think i'm a sucker for such kinda reads, where the central character has a detached self centered attitude devoid of any feelings, something which has always intrigued me. The more I dig deeper into this the more paranoid I get about where i'm heading to. All said and done i'm quite pleased for having let myself read this title as it goes into my tiny collection of books.

For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate. Monseiur Meursault, The Stranger.

On to the biography of Mr. Cobain.