One of the prominent characteristics of growing up is to start to find inefficiencies in the world around, and *stop* to try to fix it yourself.
No my statement above doesn't relate to any distant political satire, but rather to my home at Lavanya Apartment, which I most groan-ingly complain to my parents as "Kya kachra pada hai" (what rubbish is lying around). The term kachra here relating to open electronics, extension boards inter-wiring circuits like black plastic neurons, naked MCBs - one from my father's antique sound system, another from my college robotics kit, unfinished engineering problems - like a self-made-from-scratch aquarium hood, bundles of life-saver gluing tapes, then opened razor blades, switches and plugs that silently say "Beware dawg".
So for long I searched for a 'why' to explain this, helplessly giving up every time.
Until that one day. Standing at the junction of the drawing room and bed room, I glanced at the scattered items, and suddenly they didn't seem scattered at all. Opened boxes with internals safely encapsulated in their open cases reminded me how once these lay hidden in deep caves that even we were not aware in our home. Whether it be the bed box or the small shelf above the door, there was always an unwelcome presence of items. And we never questioned them. Unless if it's time to move home, or a random cleaning drive until when they would rot and decay. And then we'd discard them for a newer them. And soon the newer that would find it's place in the same cave which it's late successor possessed.
Until that one day. Standing at the junction of the drawing room and bed room, I glanced at the scattered items, and suddenly they didn't seem scattered at all. Opened boxes with internals safely encapsulated in their open cases reminded me how once these lay hidden in deep caves that even we were not aware in our home. Whether it be the bed box or the small shelf above the door, there was always an unwelcome presence of items. And we never questioned them. Unless if it's time to move home, or a random cleaning drive until when they would rot and decay. And then we'd discard them for a newer them. And soon the newer that would find it's place in the same cave which it's late successor possessed.
The scatter was no longer ugly. It was a naked reality. The real Inner API.
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