hints, allegations and things left unsaid...
Requiem for trees
Jet Lag is the result of our primitive biological clock's inability to adjust to fast changes in time-zone. You get up at 3:00 in the morning with strange frenzied activity in your head, while your body insists on catching a few more hours of sleep. Matters are compounded by hunger-pangs, the sort of queasy sensation you get in your stomach when you skip two meals in a row.
E-Mail lag is the result of our highly evolved mode of communication's ability to inundate your inbox. You return from US to find 600+ unread e-mail clamoring for your kind attention. Hitting delete is usually not an option at least not without impediment to your peaceful work life.
A queer consequence of these two lags is that you work both time-zones once you are back. Day - keeping yourself awake with copious quantities of caffeine (and because you want to induce fatigue for better sleep). Night - you are supposed to sleep, but you are not sleepy - might as well catch up with some work.
This probably explains, to some extent, the lack of activity on my blog for past three weeks or so.
Never before has chopping of trees had such adverse, turbulent impact on me. Perhaps because it never happened so close to me. This time it was different. There were two, tall, lush Ashoka trees in my apartment complex. I returned from office to find them chopped. Shabbily cut in the middle - beheaded. The tumultuous rustle of their leaves on a cool breezy evening suddenly replaced by melancholy murmur of foliage left after carnage. Gone are the shrill squeaks of playful squirrels jumping across the trees. It still rains, but there is no music. The soaring branches, swinging and jiving in night sky, I used to stare at and gently slip into sleep's lap, have left a void, firmament, which I am scared to look into. All this because someone wanted a little extra sunlight in his balcony.
Time I am sure would eventually heal, though not without a scar.
E-Mail lag is the result of our highly evolved mode of communication's ability to inundate your inbox. You return from US to find 600+ unread e-mail clamoring for your kind attention. Hitting delete is usually not an option at least not without impediment to your peaceful work life.
A queer consequence of these two lags is that you work both time-zones once you are back. Day - keeping yourself awake with copious quantities of caffeine (and because you want to induce fatigue for better sleep). Night - you are supposed to sleep, but you are not sleepy - might as well catch up with some work.
This probably explains, to some extent, the lack of activity on my blog for past three weeks or so.
Never before has chopping of trees had such adverse, turbulent impact on me. Perhaps because it never happened so close to me. This time it was different. There were two, tall, lush Ashoka trees in my apartment complex. I returned from office to find them chopped. Shabbily cut in the middle - beheaded. The tumultuous rustle of their leaves on a cool breezy evening suddenly replaced by melancholy murmur of foliage left after carnage. Gone are the shrill squeaks of playful squirrels jumping across the trees. It still rains, but there is no music. The soaring branches, swinging and jiving in night sky, I used to stare at and gently slip into sleep's lap, have left a void, firmament, which I am scared to look into. All this because someone wanted a little extra sunlight in his balcony.
Time I am sure would eventually heal, though not without a scar.
posted: 6.8.03
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