Hello to the saboteur of my panoramic lifestyle.
[we shake hands. I am reminded of “at laeva lacrimas muttoni absterget amica”]
I work in a haggard corporation that finds hard to produce an involving film in its mission to educate employees about the way they do business. Somebody should get paid to keep an attention span through such an abortion – a polished and sterile narrator, sterile suits in sterile environs sermonizing, and such affectation that can only hint at drug abuse (sans the fluidity and originality of thought). Between the bouts of sleep and the bouts of diahorrea, I barely manage to grasp the revelation that we are a customer-centric organization with a zealous streak to succeed and drive the market - that was new, I didn’t realize that earlier, I feel enraptured.
Seized by these flashing images of snow fields inside my head – not vast endless snow fields, but in patches, like after a light round of snowing, where the charred ground and mottled grass feature in equal proportions with the carpet of snow. That is the look most villages in upper Garhwal region would bear these days, when the locals desert their villages for more comfortable ones at lower altitudes (they live in a duality), and first snows of the season have fallen. Even their Gods descend down with them. Much of the snow – or old snow – I’ve come across has been of this variety. Yes, I do not get to play in it or eat it or make out with some girl wearing furs, but it gives you boundless reign of adventure. Thankfully, it’s no sea.
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