Settling in

One of the worst things about any vacation is returning to the old routine at the end of it. I return after a week spent in Sringeri to queued downloads and half-written drafts I cannot make sense of, and a room that is slowly rising out of the initial strangeness with which I found it shrouded. There’s a suitcase to be unpacked, clothes to be sorted and separated into piles of clean and unclean, mobile phones to be charged, switches to be on-ed and off-ed to see if they still work. My CPU sits black and unblinking like  an unadorned lingam waiting for the morning shift to come spruce it up. In stark contrast, my modem is winking happily (Seems I forgot to turn it off, oh well, a couple of blinking LED’s can’t add much to the power bill, I’m sure.) A chance look at the mirror tells me I am still fitting in, that there are still poses I must go through before I can adapt to the room’s habitat.

The only constant so far has been the pinging of my cell phone whenever Vodafone chooses to spam me.  

I think I’ll go see what’s on TV now.

Addendum: 

What doesn’t suck about returning from travel is new mail. Snail mail, that is. I came back to a brown paper parcel waiting outside my door which made me pause for all of 10 seconds before ripping it open to find a copy of Octavio Paz’s collected poems and Harold Bloom’s How to Read and Why along with a set of moleskin (I’d rather believe these pages are wrapped in genuine moleskin, thank you. Please do not cure my delusion by pointing me to a wiki) notebooks and a couple of neatly written letters. Thanks much, Aditi.