I see him everyday, bent and tired of this world; a blank expression at the paving blocks, beedi in hand. I don’t suppose he has another set of clothes- the weary plastic mug laid front of him, waiting endlessly; I wonder what he must be thinking.. what his life in the past must have been like- what amazes me most is how quietly he rests on the footpath.. Sitting right across sukh sagar, how could he not look up at the food? I do not want to live his life, but I want to study it. His old eyes seem so controlled and calm that it amuses me. Not today, though- there was emptiness in that busy corner of Mumbai.



I am beginning to like the gill font better than courier font. It is time for change, again.



“Love your work, not your job.” Wise fellow.



A Spanish girl will be joining my office soon! My office is more like a zoo; people from all possible races with painfully different accents converge at RMA. The guy from Chennai takes three seconds per word to follow the new Zealander- the American cannot stop giving me gyaan on how differently ‘vet’ should be pronounced from ‘wet’. Our mallu accountant sometimes blinks at gujrati words smuggled into hin-glish. It is even worse, when the American is trying to speak in marathi, and the new Zealander in gujrati. I can only think of replying in tamil. Not so long ago, we almost hired a british chap- and for the life of me, I could NOT (desperately tried, but failed to) run with his fast lines. I mean, what’s with the hurry?? I was utterly disappointed when we rejected an architect from Rome- not good enough, they said. For now, make space for Spain, people- here she comes!