Waiting for Improv tonight
So much to do. So many books to read. So many mountains to climb, literally. Durant’s Story of Philosophy waiting, American humour waiting, Woody Allen’s plays waiting.
Then training, running, swimming, cycling slopes. Trekking as well, in deep, juicy forests.
Then salsa of course, so that it’s not all fresh air and adrenalin, but sway and charm, footwork and flirting with the mirror. And not just with the mirror.
Life’s too short.
A person I knew of, Suzanne died. Fell into a crevasse while leading a mountaineering expedition. “She has done more living in 34 years than most 60 year olds," said father Timothy Allen. "She was loved by a lot of people on a lot of continents."
And then design, branding, logos. Giving a look to ideas. Loved the racebook of MTB Himachal. The icy blueness of the Himalayas cut through. No rigid grid and columns yet extremely neat. The text seemed to scale up cliffs.
So much inspiration around the corner. So many places to aim for, so many dingy pubs, roads on different seasons, cultures and sub-cultures.
It’s just this weather. The day begins sitting with a tea-mug at the balcony, facing little Tibet. Or that’s what I’d like to believe. Slums atop each other, climbing up on a slope on the Mumbai hills. All covered with blue plastic overnight, after the first showers. It even seems misty, or is that just Himalayan nostalgia.
OK, someone just came to my desk. Interrupted. All story lost. Maybe I should just concentrate on how we can use Saif to promote stuff.
(and oh, i have decided to put up a pic of whatever Google first throws up on searching the blog-title)