Life in a newsroom can get interesting at times, with diverse views and different takes determining the orientation and leanings of the final product. It's a melting pot of ideas, ideologies and idiosyncrasies.

The other day I had a raging debate with my colleague about the importance of words and the impact they had on our daily lives. The trigger was using the words 'ruling party'. My stand was that using such words to denote a democratically elected government suggested colonial hangover. How could one define a body of representatives as rulers when they, in reality, only governed a particular region as part of segregation of societal chores. When we blur the wide line between 'rule' and 'govern' through injudicious use of words, we essentially float, establish and fortify a master-slave relationship with far-reaching ramifications. The debate ended minutes after it started as deadline was approaching. However, the short conversation set me thinking about the way words affect our psyche and go on to determine the future and reality of a generation.

Work is getting tougher by the day. I feel sapped the moment work is done and just dream of reaching home to a warm cup of tea and a movie. Movies have become an integral part of my existence. I feel a little ashamed to admit that when I started my literary pursuits, I was a bit wary of associating myself with people, who were into movies. I had my reasons, though flimsy in hindsight. I believed that most of the movies were based on books and when a director called shots on what was to be included in the two-odd-hour fare, I wondered how could he ever do justice to the myriad themes and subplots that made a book an insightful dissection of human emotions and sentiments? When people used to talk to me about movies based on books I had read, I would scoff at them.

I think it was Akira Kurosawa's Roshomon that made me fall in love with this medium of expression. After watching masters and their craft, I came to understand that a director was just another reader and his execution of somebody else's imagination was just another take on the story, which could or couldn't hit the same wavelength I was roaming on. With this issue sorted out, my movie watching spree began. My collection of movies, just like books, is increasing and I'm falling short on space. Need to address the issue or else I would have to forego this pleasure as well.

93 is progressing well. Hugo takes you on a whirlwind tour of human emotions, mind and politics. Great writers have a way of separating themselves from their mundane lives and finding a story from the wilderness of thoughts to transform it into a carefully curated exotic garden. Hugo manages to do all this and more. I did take Caesar for a walk but came back a bit dejected. Was thinking of those two puppies that met a sad and painful end just because we humans could not let nature determine its course. We had to intervene and rob a mother of its children. Spirits plummeted further when the antagonistic in Cape Fear poisoned a dog to strike fear in the hero's heart. Till that time I felt that the villain was justified in planning to wreak vengeance. However, the dog's death swayed my sentiments.

Had a slice of pizza as late-night dinner. Don't like cheese and meat anymore. Seemed as though I would vomit. I think greens and fruits are the only stuff my brain and body accept as proper sustenance. Anyway, it's getting late. When nothing noteworthy transpires, mind takes a philosophical turn and pans out in every direction. This meandering, sometimes, helps quell the urge for meaningful action, an avenue hard to find in a concrete jungle.