Spaghetti~thoughts

Not because the topic merits a post, but because I have nothing else to write.

Every Dutch national owns, at the very least, 1 piece of clothing of white and orange colour each. And doesn’t hesitate to wear all-white anytime. And they do it with such gusto, Jeetendra is left miles behind. No kidding.

Also owns a bicycle each.

And a dog. Sometimes several.

The shops all close by 6 on weekdays.

Dutch people love to whistle. All the time, anytime.

Obviously due to their fascination and dependence on cycles, every single person is lanky. I mean, the average height here must be 6′2″. This causes all ceiling, window-blinds, light fixtures in any apartment to be tantalisingly out of reach.

These people LOVE bread, and to a slightly lesser extent, cheese, and this forms a major part of their diet. And they gulp a quart of milk during lunch. And eat fruits for dessert. An american would starve within days hours of being stranded here.

The dutch have their own take on the concept of a ‘child-seat’. This one is a bicycle attachment, and is generally found attached to the cycle handlebars, or is a carrier behind the seat. Or sometimes both. Lil kids go to school, or grocery shopping with their mums’,while happily perched on these seats.

Alright folks, that’s all for now… will update this as and when i find more such interesing facets.

A dutch colleague who’s learning hindi (or trying to, not that we help him any) was asking today the hindi words for good afternoon, and good evening. Which got me thinking .. and thinking.. and thinking… Finally, I just told him, we use the english greetings.

Which got me to thinking.. does the lack of proper greeting equivalents in our language (and don’t try to offer me a ‘namaste’.. it doesn’t really count! ) mean that we, as a community, have evolved ‘rudely’; we don’t feel the need to greet each other; we, don’t have time for frivolities?

Whaddya think?

I have this corporate webmail setup (Lotus Notes if you must know) which has the following mail options for replying:

reply
reply without attachments

Which got me thinking, plumb in the middle of a busy workday, whether the second one could also be called ‘reply with detachment’ – specially useful when you need to take a mental step backwards before replying.

Yes, I do suffer from bouts from craziness. Just in case you were wondering.

Another year’s past.

Happy Birthday to me!

Paris. Fashion Captial. La Ville-Lumière. The most romantic city. A place can have many names but not live upto them. He mused often, and long, especially on the love-epithet bestowed on the city.

She was a pretty young thing. He, was just another painter, waiting for his big break. She was on a sabbatical, travelling across Europe. He was awaiting his big break, right on the banks of the Seine, painting potraits of tourists. Walking along the Seine, she mused about how perfectly was Paris appelled ‘the city
of love’. Halting every now and then to admire the sights, she wandered upon the group of painters sitting together.

‘My lady, come over. Let me paint your potrait’. ‘you look as pretty as a princess, no, a queen. do sit for me’… smiling at them all, she drifted over to a corner of the group where a shy-looking painter was sitting. He smiled back at her. Impulsively, she asked, ‘will you paint my potrait?’

The sitting wasn’t long, only about an hour. He fell in love in about half that time. She chatted about the places she had visited, what she loved about Paris (Tour Eiffel, just so beautiful), what she disliked about Paris, where she was going next and so on. Her hands caressed the air, her hair, she played with her earrings. She blinked against the light, and dimpled at his smile. He soon realised all his lifelong grouses againt Paris were over.

The moment he finished the painting, she came over to inspect and took out her purse. ‘For you, it’s free.. would you like to have a cup of coff.. ‘ The mobile tweet interrupted him. ‘Claudio.. where on earth have you been? I have been waiting here for ages. *pause* Ofcourse we are going on the cruise. Just wait for me,
I’ll be there soon.’ Click. The phone shut out his thoughts. A dimple again. ‘I would love to have coffee, but my boyfriend, he’s waiting for me. Next time I visit Paris, maybe. Thank you so much for this.’

P.S. Finished this off hastily, not as good as I would have wished.

One such was left on the doorstep of my new apartment in the netherlands, by the lady living in the apartment below mine. It was a letter, dripping with both sarcasm and honey, expressly typed out and signed by hand, just to inform me that we (the roommate and I) make too much noise for her liking.

I have never received a single such complaint even when I was in the US for 3 years, and where I had people dropping in at all times of the day, and where it is the norm to call in the police when your neighbours’ parties won’t let you sleep. This letter, from this lady, irritated me no end. She pointed out, among other things, that when we walk around, it sounds like a ‘bunch of horses running up and down the floor’; that because her bedroom is located below our bathroom, she was forced to wake up at 7.30 (yes ladies and gentlemen, she noted the time as well! ) because someone in our place used the loo. She also signs off, hoping ‘I’m not annoyed by this note’. Like hell I am.

So what do I do? I take a very uncharacteristic (for me) step – I reply to her love letter with one of my own.
I mention that in the apartment above ours, there are a bunch of teenage guys, who are college students – a group which is generally makes more noise than two girls. I mention that our waking times are different from hers, but I really can’t stop going to office (or the loo) because it’s only 7.30 yet -Well, I didn’t put it in those words exactly but you get the idea – and I carefully type it and sign it and drop in her mailbox. And I feel like that has been a job well done.