Been busy at work, trying to cope with a few hindrances – an egoistic boss whose critical attitude is matched only by his cynicism, and a superlatively lethargic colleague who regards procrastination as his motto. In spite of all my desperate efforts, I see my enthusiasm peter off thanks to these obstacles, though I must say Venky (that’s my boss) is really creative and could have been a good mentor if only he had been endowed with a more liberal dose of empathy and patience. But reality isn’t always so simple, so for now I have to bravely withstand the steady censuring barrage of criticism hurled at me.
Noticed that though my nickname reads ‘The Utopian’, there’s barely anything that can be termed as utopian. Every person (that includes myself), every thing around has some fault, something amiss. I wonder why I have this obsession with things being perfect and faultless, and why I expect everything that I do to have no glitches (that none of my work is blemishless is another matter altogether). I wish I could understand Kerubino’s theory of perfect imperfection though it seems conveniently idealist and encourages escapism. But I conjecture happiness is the ultimate goal of life and every person charts out his own route to it.
Pride and Prejudice
Hooked on to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice at the moment. While Austen did regale me occasionally with her intermittent cynicisms, the book in its entirety has been a drag – I’m still on page 84 after almost a week. I guess classics (??) don’t really appeal to my taste with their verbose narrative: I find myself backtracking through every third line… okay that’s an exaggeration but honestly an edited version of this long-drawn novel wouldn’t have been half as long as the original.