It’s the first time that I am writing with a grey pen – a pen with grey ink to be precise. I have had many grey pens before – but they never had grey ink in them. Grey is such an encompassing colour: it represents all that is in between; shades of grey – is a concept in itself. Think of a phrase in the English language, and there is always an unmistakable degree of uncertainty to it. Grey skies, for example – ignore the dull influence, consider the uncertainity of this colour for a minute. Even grey matter, for that matter, we all know it exists, but its exact function and degree of its exact use is a grey area.
I recently moved to a new house, as some of you may be aware, from the Valentine post. Apart from the usual basket of associated excitement and setbacks that are a part of the process of making a house a home, one major irritant has been the delay in getting my broadband shifted along with the other stuff that I have decided I can’t live without. Work seems to get by, with some difficulty; life, however, seems to have come to standstill. The eLife, actually. Regressive technology like the disgusting dial-up is like SRK with a mouthful of dialogues, hoping that can he can outdo the Big B who just has a nod in the entire dialogue. It is wrong for people to compare broadband with dial up. Like comparing superstars. Probably not the best analogy, because I will use dial-up when I don’t have access to broadband, I doubt if I will substitute an (apparent) SRK hit movie (would that qualify as an oxymoron?) when I want to see Don (Hope you know what I mean, the “original Don”, not the wannabe)
But don’t get me wrong, being forced to live without a ‘proper’ Internet connection is a blessing in disguise. I got a whole lot of non-e things done in the last few days, like managing to read a book without one eye darting back and forth between email alerts and RSS feeds. I talked with people (the phone, somehow, moved with me, thank TDMA for some useful progress).
I seem to have more time for myself; not every thought needs factual confirmation from Wikipedia. The frustration of dirty dial-up allows me to sleep earlier than usual, and therefore wake up earlier than usual. I’ll admit, I have seen more consecutive sunrises, if you allow that light through the clouds to count as a sunrise, than I have ever before. I am listening to music – I mean – listening – rather than it being an arbitrary auditory presence as I click all over the www with tense fervour. I hear more words and notes than I ever did before. I seem to have a context. Even when I listen to Che Soave Zeffiretto.
This is also the first time that I am writing a post meant for the blog on paper before I actually post it. Seems like a long drawn affair. But I enjoyed it – almost cursed my fingers for the handwriting that is so unfortunately and uncharacteristically mine.
It would have been easier to scan the page and upload it, but the printer/scanner is yet to be unpacked, and hey, you forgot – I am on dumb dial-up.
My obsession with coloured micro-tip pens is resplendent in this post (the paper one, i.e.); each paragraph showing off its own plumage and possibly a good representation of the frame of my mind (even if you did draw conclusions about my earlier deleted post)
All’s well, irrespective.