indoors

i find it is possible to consume experiences. they are often quite satisfactory and rather filling.

i spent a rainy afternoon having a lovely read in a plush red sofa in 'shaw library'; yep, g. b. shaw founded it, or paid for it or something. it's also called 'founder's room'. this is a biggish den on the 6th floor of my alma mater's 'old' building. it is full of red cushy sofas, some double, on moth eaten carpets. it has woodworked ceilings here and there, wooden cabinets full of mostly old and out of print books, and ottomans to rest your feet on. it is the preferred location for sleep deprived students to catch 40 winks between classes. one can also eat lunch here, provided one is quiet with one's myriad wrappers and does not mind snoopy sniffy looks at one's food. thursday afternoons the library has 50 spindly chairs facing the piano stand, where sundry performers, pro and amateur, belt out classical music of every kind imaginable. there have been chinese duets, carnatic vocals and bass viol recitals. sundays however, most students forget abut it, having, no doubt, their own private parlours to retire into.

that's when it becomes fun for your typical (and favourite) bedraggled destitute budding urbaniste. the lift wheezes up to the 6th floor and pops its solitary occupant onto a deserted and dark landing. a far off light signals that there may be hope yet. down the anthropology corridor and past some no-cellphone signs - ta da! it's open... and empty. my only possibility, today, due to a concatenation of circumstances, of escaping a dank drizzle, and a nice possibility. i deposited myself in the red sofa closest to the window with the timber seat around it. couldn't take the window-seat itself since london weather was dripping away merrily onto it through a rotting wooden cornice. some experiments with lighting, a beef goulash and an essay perusal later, it hit me that there was no catch. no one would come and move me along, chide me for insolently defacing (by my presence) this hallowed hall of english academia. i had pretty much full access rights to it. and it was a moment to be savoured, quite headily in fact.

i live like this, collecting these bits and pieces of everyday life, with meanings, some obviously pithy, some banal, some obscure to all except the many voices in my head. and even though some of this will soon be over, i have at least learnt here that i am a born chiffonieur - collector of artefacts, on the margins of society (footnote: walter benjamin; paris, capital of the 19th century; 19xx).. and i shall keep on collecting.

too bad it ain't really a paid profession. baudelaire, benjamin and that lot were all rich, no?