If I try tracking one thing I've been consistent with in the years since I got out of college, it is - drumrolls - reading. If you were certain it was either among cycling or trekking, then I won't be surprised. Yes, I have been doing both, but inconsistently. Since my public face is limited (thankfully) to the context of wanderings, one could obviously be lead to think that's what I've been about, only NOT.
Besides the wanderings, are also the meanderings, times which I spend in either thinking about the phenomenology of survival and modalities of morality, or - better - flicking the imagination/mulling switch from 'broadcast' to 'receive', to read a few sincere books instead ['sincere' with the exception of "The Monk who sold his Ferrari" by Robin-something, a book I could gladly see being turned into recycled tissue paper, instead; a book which forces me into Chrome's Incognito Mode (better known as the "P0rn Mode") to search, so that my regular search history isn't polluted].
Where was I... oh, about reading consistently enough to make the fact visible (not that I had it hidden). Well, and in the continuing tradition comes "A Free Man" by Aman Sethi. To show how mature I am at making selection after all these years of reading, I picked it up at seeing the mere mention of Gary Shteyngart among the reviewers. All the more maturity reflected in the fact that I didn't even like G.S. that much, having merely read "A Supersad True Love Story". I didn't like it raving-mad types, but to guess, it was in that aura a general sincere text creates before fading away from memory, that I stumbled into reading G.S. review elsewhere and made a purchase decision based on that.
This book (AFM) had long acquired a "lost" status, it arriving (through Infibeam which-is-generally-cheaper-than-flipkart) at the time Gulmarg happened, and Ma - who was visiting - having kept it somewhere in her caring ways, and then left back. [for some reason she had to hide it so well that the book would've survive even a holocaust] It was only today, when handling a pan-residential search for a pair of binoculars for an upcoming trek in Nepal, that I found it!
I started with the book in the afternoon, and closed it after a few pages. I didn't find it boring, but I found something distracting instead. A perfect opportunity came cloaked inside a social appointment later, that needed me to travel across the city, taking the Metro for an hour's ride to some other adaptation of 'loathsome' that Delhi offers, giving me at least 40 good minutes of read either side. The book started in a very cliched joint session, but soon grew out of that, and - coincidentally - to be about Delhi. I was living and experiencing a city, while reading about someone's fictionalized/experienced version of it; nice. It vividly details on the heart of Delhi, and its fascinating 'mazdoor' populace. The dialog forces you to work a translation in Hindi, which I think is a bother?
Besides the wanderings, are also the meanderings, times which I spend in either thinking about the phenomenology of survival and modalities of morality, or - better - flicking the imagination/mulling switch from 'broadcast' to 'receive', to read a few sincere books instead ['sincere' with the exception of "The Monk who sold his Ferrari" by Robin-something, a book I could gladly see being turned into recycled tissue paper, instead; a book which forces me into Chrome's Incognito Mode (better known as the "P0rn Mode") to search, so that my regular search history isn't polluted].
Where was I... oh, about reading consistently enough to make the fact visible (not that I had it hidden). Well, and in the continuing tradition comes "A Free Man" by Aman Sethi. To show how mature I am at making selection after all these years of reading, I picked it up at seeing the mere mention of Gary Shteyngart among the reviewers. All the more maturity reflected in the fact that I didn't even like G.S. that much, having merely read "A Supersad True Love Story". I didn't like it raving-mad types, but to guess, it was in that aura a general sincere text creates before fading away from memory, that I stumbled into reading G.S. review elsewhere and made a purchase decision based on that.
This book (AFM) had long acquired a "lost" status, it arriving (through Infibeam which-is-generally-cheaper-than-flipkart) at the time Gulmarg happened, and Ma - who was visiting - having kept it somewhere in her caring ways, and then left back. [for some reason she had to hide it so well that the book would've survive even a holocaust] It was only today, when handling a pan-residential search for a pair of binoculars for an upcoming trek in Nepal, that I found it!
I started with the book in the afternoon, and closed it after a few pages. I didn't find it boring, but I found something distracting instead. A perfect opportunity came cloaked inside a social appointment later, that needed me to travel across the city, taking the Metro for an hour's ride to some other adaptation of 'loathsome' that Delhi offers, giving me at least 40 good minutes of read either side. The book started in a very cliched joint session, but soon grew out of that, and - coincidentally - to be about Delhi. I was living and experiencing a city, while reading about someone's fictionalized/experienced version of it; nice. It vividly details on the heart of Delhi, and its fascinating 'mazdoor' populace. The dialog forces you to work a translation in Hindi, which I think is a bother?
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