Transit Reads

“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.”

Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus, Dutch humanist and theologian

Warning: This is yet another testament of my incurable obsession with books. Till I do something even remotely interesting like murdering one of my lecturers, this is what you'll have to put up with. If you're looking for an update of what's happening in my "Life", skip all the tripe about novels - there's a short anecdote at the bottom.

Today’s Anatomy Spotters Examination is definitely the most ill-prepared test I’ve ever sat for and frankly, it’s a bloody miracle that I scraped through at all (Sorry Mom, I sold my soul to Satan today just so I can make the passing grade).

Right after the paper, I decided to head somewhere to let off some steam and recuperate – so I visited all three of Manipal’s bookstores. Besides, I’m fresh out of reading materials and that long flight at the end of this month back to Malaysia seems mighty long to me without a good bit of literature in hand. Yeap, I’m one of those no-lifers who accessorise with novels and think that they look rakishly dashing engrossed in a book.

The first two shops were frank disappointments. Apparently, the local Indians’ idea of spiffing good reads is anything along the lines of;

• Salman Rushdie
• Dan Brown conspiracy theory clone babies
• Hawwy Pwotter
• Oodles and oodles of philosophical snobberies

In fact, the closest things that are readily available and appeals to my taste are those antique whodunits by Dame Agatha Christie’s – and thankfully, they came relatively cheaply (about 135 rupees per piece). My hostel room is practically carpeted with the stuff.

I guess the Gods of the Third Time Charm must have been beaming at me today when I found not one - but three particular titles I’ve been hunting for in that last bookshop I visit; B.I. Publications Private Limited. Well, they are not the books I was dying for but beggars don't get to choose. Here are my second-fiddle pretties;

Thanks to George Lucas, prequels are now in vogue.

Though I've read most of Thomas Harris’s gory psycho-fests, I have yet to develop any taste for this sort of entertainment. But I am strangely obsessed with brilliant psychopaths like the Joker, Mr. Ripley and Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal Rising is the latest in the connoisseur-amongst-cannibals saga. Since I’ve not watched the flick, I suppose I better get reading first. [Sigh], it is a cold sort of comfort knowing that Hollywood will never again emulate the greatness of Lecter the way Sir Anthony Hopkins did in Silence of the Lambs.

Agatha Christie was definitely not the shiniest marble in the bag when it comes to innovative book titles.

See what I mean?

Though I boast a rather extensive collection of the Poirot series, my ownership of the Marple series is sorely anemic. I am looking to remedy that with two of my other purchases; Agatha Christie’s A Murder is Announced and Sleeping Murder. The former was a title I’ve been searching for (after several reviews I’ve read hailed it as one of the classics of the genre) while the latter was recommended by a friend of a friend.

That’s all for now, folks. And if you’re not quite bored out of your cranium yet, rest assured that I’ll try harder the next time. I’ll be moving into the Acara Compound on Monday (or more probably, Wednesday, judging from my 1337 procrastinating powerz) from my university’s hostel cell. That’s my own small way of sticking it up the arse of those big capitalist blood-suckers.

I am definitely going to love my new home. It has a very ‘attic-ky’ sort of feel to it. One of my childhood dreams was to one day live in an attic (no, I was not abused). I’ll pen a weblog entry about it later - with pictures if I can make that happen.

Note to ingshan: Bugger you, those Biochem questions you quizzed me with today were way too easy-la. Now I’m all overconfident and won’t study. Die, Tomorrow sure die.

Biochem panic! Scream! Shriek! Fart!

Busy dying,
k0k s3n w4i