26 January 2011

Today I ate sushi for the first time. At a proper restaurant in Geneva. We st at a large oval shaped counter. And along the top of the counter the restaurant had a sushi train. With little saucers of sushi, which we picked off. After a couple of drinks the train became hypnotic. We spent a lot of time watching the train, and talking about what might next appear on it. it was fun, as often things we wanted would go off, and then we had to wait, other times new and exciting stuff would appear, and we could be the first to get them off- racing people to the saucers of their choice.

This evening was another milestone because it was the first time ever (in Geneva) that I went to a restaurant and didn't look for the cheapest thing on the menu. I sat down, and took the fun option, didn't stress about the discounts, and didn't think twice about how much dinner would add up to. It was nice. Really really nice.

The weather cooperated as well. Geneva is very lovely on evenings when you can discuss interesting work, buy a skirt, eat out with good company, walk home without it raining and giggle about boys. Life should have more evenings like this.

(Today's alternate post- which I did not write, included a rant about Montek Singh Alhuwalia's Padma Vibhushan, the PDS, the drudgery of a steady 9-5 job, and worries about weight. All that was wiped out by the lovely evening that followed. I shall think about the PDS tomorrow. And I'm sure there will be many a future occasion to fume at Montek Singh.)

emo behaviour

when your last few months can be described by a series of garbage songs life hasn't been very kind as you need to take a chill pill.

stop listening to garbage and renew your acquaintance with the dandy warhols.

or find someone new like beirut: you can stop relating your life to every song because none of them seem to hang together, nothing is more tragic than it is beautiful, and since the words are hard to catch you can't miserably wail along (drunken or otherwise).

this is the path to happiness on your ipod.

baby steps. soon we can extend this to other parts of life.

Priest at large

My mother asked her physiotherapist if he had a priest in the family (because she imagines that any Malayali named Austin must have at least one relation in the church, and because he said he liked to have Sundays off).

He looked at her aghast and said: Ma'am I never allow priests to enter my house.


This blog is an exercise to get me to start writing again. I shall aim for 5 lines of sense three times a week. Though two times a week is also ok. And sense is optional. So on days like today, this is all you can expect.