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Posts Tagged ‘whim’

A year, gone

Been a while since I last penned down a post. After the peak in the number of visitors from my previous post, the stats have finally fallen down to baseline. But hey, I’m not writing here just for the sake of seeing more visitors.

Well I used to initially, promoting publicity with my blog address on my status message on every messenger client I had an account with, make it part of my signature while sending mails, add that to my notes on facebook, and ask people I knew everytime to look into my blog. Somehow they never seemed to work though – never had more than five comments on my post, and that too just ridicules from Ashwin (always welcomed though), the number of visitors never crossed ten a day, while I used to see a few other blogs and feel terrible looking at them. But stating this almost makes me feel like every blogger has been through this phase at some point of time. Even the Great Bong wrote about this in his 600th post (woah, that’s still a long way to go)!

Things have changed now. It’s been a little over a year since I started writing here, and now I’ve come to believe that my blogging is more for expressing my opinions, and to look back at several years later. I read a lot more than I write, gaining bits and pices of wisdom with every post I read. I see things with a wider perspective, and appreciate others’ opinions. <space to make clear that I have no clue as to how I could bridge the gap to provide continuity> So here’s wishing my blog a happy 1st anniversary (it’s late by about 2 months, but I’ve never been good in remembering birthdays), and a big thank you to all who’ve supported me throughout!

1stAnd special thanks to Ashwin and Nikhil, who’ve always been close to me in the blogsphere. Thank you guys, this post is dedicated to you both! Happy blogging!

*Picture courtesy microsoft clip art.

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Collision course

Sometimes we’re on a collision course, and we just don’t know it. Whether it’s by accident or design, there’s not a thing we can do about it.

On a thursday morning like any other in Bordeaux, three ticket-inspectors were chatting in the lobby of the Pessac railway station; a 15-year old girl was trying to finish her homework due that morning. At the same time, I was taking a shower before leaving for work. Meanwhile the girl had finished her homework, and put on her coat to leave, while the ticket-inspectors were discussing the prospect of France winning this year’s football world cup. By now I had gotten out of my dorm, and sprinted to the tram-stop outside my building and barely managed to get into the tram that was leaving as I jumped in. The girl was now halfway from her home to the bus station when she realized she had forgotten her bus membership card, but didn’t bother going back to pick it up because she was already late for school. The ticket-inspecters were still discussing football, smoking their cigarettes outside the entrance of the Pessac railway station. The girl was now in the bus, and the bus departed. Although she did not have her bus-card in hand, she didn’t bother purchasing a ticket just for the day. The tram reached the terminus near the same bus terminus as the bus left the place with the girl inside. I ran towards the bus, but it had left and the driver obviously didn’t notice a mad man running towards it. It was then that I decided to outrun the bus to the next bus stop. I ran down the nearest road, ¬†wondering if at all it would lead me to the next bus stop. While I was on it, the bus was stuck at a signal outside the Pessac railway station. Just before the signal cleared, those ticket inspectors standing near it decided to get in. In the meanwhile I was finding my way to find avenue Curie, where the next stop was located. The bus paused for an old lady to cross the road, while the ticket inspectors inside were arguing with the girl without her bus-card, and I was still running towards av. Curie. I finally got a glimpse of the bus turning into av. Curie. The bus driver tried to vouch for the girl, but the ticket inspectors had to ask her to get down at the stop.

If only one of the things had been different: if the girl had finished her homework earlier, if she had remembered to take her bus-card, if those ticket inspectors didn’t bother getting into that bus, if the tram I travelled in had reached later, if that girl had bothered to buy a ticket for just the day, if I had not bothered running to the next bus stop, if the bus driver hadn’t paused for the lady to cross the road, the bus would have driven by, and I would have had to watch it just leave again.

But life being what it is: a series of intersections of people and incidents, out of anyone’s control, the girl did get off at that bus stop, and the bus waited just long enough for me to get in. And as I walked into the bus, panting and my legs begging me to give up, I looked up and muttered merci.

Yes, I have shamelessly copied the narration style from The curious case of Benjamin Button. And here’s the irony in the incident: there was absolutely no necessity for me to rush to work that morning. It was a plain whim, which made choose a mad-chase to the next bus stop over waiting another 15 minutes for the next bus. But I must admit, the first two seconds inside the bus made all of it totally worth it!

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