Reputation

You know you're creating a name for yourself when,

At work:

• You are always the first to place the order for the evening snack.
• The peon knows this and gives your order pride of place on the list.
• The juniors in the office call out to you whenever there are left over snacks.
• The other Engineers switch to your brand of cream biscuits -- *talk about taste.*
• The store around the corner stocks a particular brand of cream biscuits just for you.
• Your colleagues use you instead of the "Spelling and Grammar tool" -- *for their emails.*
• The watchman is surprised to see you leave early.
• The watchman is surprised to see you arrive early.
• Your colleagues start copying your excuses for arriving late.
• You're busy at work and still end up as the first person being signed up for the day's game of cricket.

At home:

• You go home after a tiring week to find the following menu for Sunday lunch -- Potato sambaar, Potato poriyal, Potato kurma, Potato chips and Sweet potato for dessert, and you have no complaints at all.
• In the middle of the Sunday noon movie, there's an ad for a particular brand of cream biscuits on TV, and the kid next door, who's just dropped by, looks at you and smirks.
• The sister curses you on finding the biscuit box empty on Monday morning.
• Dad always has a clean pair of socks to spare as you rummage through your cup-board for your own on Monday morning.
• You ask for the auto to come by at 8 AM sharp and he always, always reports at 8.15 AM, just as you shove that left foot into the shoe and are about to leave.

In general,

• Old friends are reminded of your blog -- instead of you -- whenever you meet them.
• Old friends remind you gently when a post is due or when they're bored.
• Old friends can recognise your comments even when you comment anonymously -- *this is bad; must devise alternative style for comments and drop the obsessive, compulsive double dashes.*
• You post two posts in a day and then none for a month.
• This and the guy in it remind you of somebody you're very familiar with.

Would we?

And when our night is suffocated,
Will we still sleep?
Will we still not awaken?
Would we breathe life into vacuous dreams
When all around
There is but the clear day?

And when our words run silent,
Will we still speak?
Will we seek refuge in our insipid sounds?
Would we strive for the inanity of meaning
When all around
There is but drowning vacuum?

And when Truth burns us inside,
Will we still lie?
Will we bind our septic wounds?
Would we be exhilarated by fleeting beauty
When all around
There is but bleeding existence?