Sparks, Sparkles, Sparklers

lamps and lights
fireworks in the night
family, feasts and friends

Wishing you the Season's Best!

Words clawing at the inside of my head
straining to get out, to be said
Words that don't make any sense to me
words, twisting and turning, trying to be

Why can't I say them, why can't I see?

Book tagged!

What goes around comes around, and all that jazz....I-sa been tagged by the Axe, so here goes:

1. Book that changed your life: Richard Bach's Illusions and, funnily enough, the Merchant of Venice. I could not help but feel sorry for Shylock, and that started me thinking...perceptions, and prejudice, are sneaky little things! However, I must say that almost every book I have read (with very few exceptions) has had something to make me think. So, kinda hard to list them all :o)

2. Book you've read more than once: That would be just about every book I own...but I think the ones I cannot HELP re-reading are the Wodehouses and Pratchetts. Life is too short not to fill it with laughter!

3. Book you'd take to a desert island: Richard Bach's "Stranger to the Ground"....if I believe hard enough, I will actually fly (hey, if believing worked for Tink, it works for me!)

4. Book that made you laugh: ANYthing by Terry Pratchett...if you haven't read one, yet, you haven't lived.

5. Book that made you cry: Don't really remember crying for a book....movies, yes, books, no...

6. Book you wish you had written: Once again, too many to list...am not even going to try!

7. Book you wish had never been written: Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time (Book 1)...after all, that is where all the mischief started! 10 books down (or is it 11?!) the story is still going on and I have lost track of people, times and places... :o(

8. Book you are currently reading: Pyramids by Pratchett, No Full Stops in India by Mark Tully

9. Book you have been meaning to read: Les Miserables...bought the book and just keep staring at it, and then passing it by...it will take some serious offtime, loads of cinnamon-topped frothy coffee and a table by a window, on a rainy day, for me to actually start.

10. Tagging: Do I have to?! Really? Truly?

Secure that Lipstick!

Security concerns notwithstanding, separating a woman from her lipstick and migraine medicine is an open invitation for trouble!

Just when you think you have understood all the security norms, and have packed away all potentially hazardous material, something new comes up (BTW, I am curious to see how you terrorize an airplane with a tube of toothpaste or lipstick…threaten to brush your teeth mid-aisle, or smear lipstick on the pilot’s collar?!) …

“Madam, you have something in your hand baggage” said the wise old man on the security mountain.

I smiled at him, sagely, and shook my head “No, I have packed away all liquids / gels / creams / sharp objects in my suitcase”

“No” he insisted “there is something in your bag…please check it again”

What the…?!

I dug through the bag, holding up everything in it for his scrutiny.

“No, not that…not that…no…no…all that is ok…keep checking” he intoned.

I kept digging…papers, books, pens, visiting cards, keys, laptop (minus charger), mobile phone (also minus charger!), and tissues…what else was there?! I had even shifted my lipstick tube to my suitcase at the suggestion of the lady at the check-in counter (although the chappies at Bangalore let me bring it!)

“There is nothing else in the bag…only my tablets” I showed him the little case with my migraine medicine and emergency Digene.

Him bristling “Not allowed!”

Me incredulous “What?! I brought this with me through Bangalore security!”

“That was Bangalore…here it is different. Do you have a prescription with you?”

Now, when was the last time YOU carried a prescription for Digene!?

Me subdued “No”

“Then please pack it away” To his credit, he did not smirk at his little victory.

**Sigh**
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Just so this is clear, I have no issues with the whole concept of heightened security, or the associated restrictions. I understand the reasons and agree that the public should cooperate, in our own interest. My grievance is with the inconsistency of security norms...make up your collective, official, minds people!

Tag Heu? 'Er!

It looks like I have been tagged by Dents (No, not SRK, despite the title of this post! But Hope lives on!)...and poked as well, just in case I forgot that I was tagged! So here goes:

1) Say who tagged you - The One, The Only..The Doctor Denty!

2) Say eight things about yourself - Hmmm...do you think you ready to know eight things about me? Oh very well, if you insist....
I travel a lot.
I try to write about my traveling, but don't always get around to it.
As a result of all this traveling, I tend to buy a lot of books at the airport.
So, now, I have a lot of books.
I take said books and then read late into the night (which is often why I don't do the write I mentioned before!).
Thanks to the reading, I invariably wake up late in the morning.
This is also because I MUST get my daily 8 hours. Or 10. Or 12.
And these 8 / 10 / 12 are in addition to whatever sleep I get when I am on board the 'plane / us / train.

3) Tag 6 people -
The Tag-Master hisself (add this to your self-tag, Dents...go Nuts!), Sujatha, Amreena, Mr.Vee, DiTtY & Axe (you shudn't have dissed the Dents!)

Lemmings?

Once upon a time, India was a secular democracy. Apparently that changed, due to popular demand, but some of us missed getting that memo. So pardon me if I stare at you blankly when you prod me in the ribs, snarling "Sing! Or Else!"...Sholayesque as that may be, I have no need to prove my patriotism any more than the next person:

"The HRD Minister's remarks that there will be no compulsion to sing 'Vande Mataram' is a sign of abject surrender to fundamentalists and anti-nationals who should rather have been told to leave India if they do not want to recite the national song," Malhotra told reporters here.

The BJP leader said the Prime Minister should intervene to ensure singing of the national song became compulsory in schools.

"Also, those who are refusing to sing 'Vande Mataram' should be booked for treason," Malhotra remarked. (Who died and made you King?)

Once upon a time, thinking was the rule, not the exception...apparently that has also changed! "Err...I did not think about that" states the rather befuddled-looking MD of the newly opened Hitler's Cross café, on National Television, when pointed towards the fact that some people would find the connection offensive, hurtful even!:

"I will not change the name. We are not promoting Hitler. My decor or products don't promote Hitler. It's just for the sake of the name " owner Punit Sablok claims.(This, with a rather large portrait, of the mustachioed Fuhrer himself , dominating the background!)

Why do I get this nagging feeling that the migration of the lemmings is underway?

BlogBang : Project Akshara Foundation

During November of last year, a group of bloggers from Bangalore came together to see how we could help the Akshara Foundation on a Reading Movement project they were undertaking with the Karnataka State Education Department.

Recently the Deccan Herald did a story on the 'BlogBang' involvement with the project...though they did manage to get my occupation all wrong!

There were more than 35 volunteers who were a part of the project, including Sujatha, Mandar, Akash, Surjo , Bhaskar, Pradeep, Anwin, Kelly & Shrabonti.

Hats off to Sujatha for getting this going!

Vande Mataram!

Vande Mataram...Happy Indepedence Day!

Blues, Greens and Shower Screens

If I have thunk it once, I have thunk it a gazillion times (and said it a few million times!), Goa is about colour, colour and more COLOUR!

The brilliant blues of the sky and the seas, the luscious greens of the flora, the bright yellow of the Sun and the muted creams of the sands....I could go on forever. I truly believe a colour comes alive, and into it's own, when seen in Goa. I believe colours live for that one moment, like fireflies waiting to spark, a brief burst that banishes the dark.

What brought this on, was my shower. Rather, the shower in my hotel room. Granite underfoot, scattered, smooth, pebbles and waving green ferns, and a blue'n'green tiled panel from which jut-eth the shower-head. A panel that reminded me of the wall of fountains that Tom Hanks built for Catherine Zeta-Jones in The Terminal (originally based on the 1000 fountains that Napoleon built for Josephine! What morance, I say!).

Yenivays, digression happening...coming back to my shower (YES, is MINE till I check out, tomorrow!)...this whole confection is OUTDOOR, and screened by a cunning little wall, topped with wicker matting, surrounded by ferns. All glossed by a fresh wash of rain...

***Sigh***

Midsummer Snows

Chronologically speaking, this is one of the more recent trips and actually last in the list of ones I have been promising myself to write about...but what the hey! We shall start here because I am in the mood for hot chicken momos with dallé chutney...*slurppp*!

Here came the height of Summer (or so it felt to my heat-averse self!), accompanied by much moaning for ACs and stronger sunscreen, and there came a travel request that needed me to be in Gangtok for a partner meet. Providential? Abso-blooming-lutely!

For the unaware, Gangtok be-eth the capital of the North-eastern state of Sikkim...which same means the Himalayas, snow, the Indo-China border, and all that. And I am strict believer in the fact that you can always pull on as many layers as you need, to keep warm, but can't take off enough layers to battle a warm climate. So give me a cold place any day...the colder the better!

Yenivays, coming back to my meandering path, I landed in Kolkata on Day One and met up with the rest of the folks traveling out for the same meeting. Now, I have never been to the East of our country before, and I really did not know what to expect. From the weather, yes, I knew I was going to get major flak (no surprises there...!), but I was looking forward to new food, a new city and meeting some new people. I must say I had my expectations exceeded(!) on all 4 fronts. Hated the weather (ugh..ick..yaagh!), loved the food (hot luchis with murgir pathuri...jinge aloo posto...misti doi...!), found the City a treat, for anyone who loves old architecture, and was very pleasantly surprised by the people.

Now, most Bengalis I have known in the past have been bent over double under the weight of their own importance; a state that just begs for being taken down a few pegs! There has, of course, been the odd exception to that...but as I said...odd. The people I met on this trip, however, had my jaw hanging on account of their warmth, joie de vivre (or should I say joie de manger ;o) !) and down-to-earthedness...and this when almost everyone in the group was meeting for the very first time. An eye-opener if any!

Nicely ensconced, in all this warmth and camaraderie, I boarded the Sealdah-NJP Special train that night all set to enjoy the comforts of 2-Tier A/C. While I can hold my own with the train travelers of the world, Sealdah station came as a bit of a shock....noise, crowds, humidity, and porters displaying the peculiar Bengali fondness for natakbazi! Which same means that over and above the usual haggle over pricing you will find layers of emotional blackmail being piled on both porter and portee! And I was treated to flashes of this kind of verbal dueling all through the 4-day trip, confirming that railway stations and porters have not cornered the market on this sort of theatrics ;o)

The train journey, itself, unfolded with its usual magic...so sue me, I find train journeys magical!...new-found friends, snacking foods that you would not give time of day to anywhere else, a harried trip coordinator, a completely confounded Ticket Collector, silly jokes, shrieks of uncontrollable laughter, clambering into my berth late into the night, and being hauled out by early birds who cannot stand to see another sleep a wink beyond dawn (well, maybe not dawn, but close enough!)...the perfect ingredients for a jhaalmuri of a journey! Oh yeah...jhaalmuri...I discovered that I can actually whollop 2 packets of fresh-made jhaalmuri, before breakfast, and keep coming back for more. Much to the utter shock of the Bengali men....I wonder why...hmmmmm (Again, for the unaware, jhaalmuri is the Bengali version of sukha bhel / churmuri / puffed rice mixed with chopped onions, chillies, masala, mustard oil, etc...)

Day Two kick started with our reaching New Jalpaiguri (NJP) station and herding into a pile of waiting Sumo and Qualis Cabs to start the long, uphill drive to Gangtok. Beyond a point, all the roads are managed by the Border Roads Organization (BRO), and you will find painted messages and slogans, and the suchlike all along the way, underlining the work they do. I could almost feel the pride levels in my blood rising...the thought of our intrepid men, out there, battling the elements, securing our roads, paving the way...the whole patriotic punch. I am a big one for My Country and Unifying Factors and there's nothing I like better than seeing people come together, driven by a sense of oneness... "All for One and One for All" and all that..quintessential Muskateering!

A long drive later, having lunched on some very forgettable food and having skirted the Teesta river that, by the way, is one of the really good spots for a bit of white water rafting, we drove into the Orange Valley Resort just before Gangtok. The drive up, coming after a long night's journey, had been hot and tiring...but the weather that hit us, as we dragged ourselves out of our respective cabs, was a splash of cold, sparkling water on a hot day. Anyone who has ever washed their face using a bottle of chilled sparkling water, at 2 in the afternoon in the middle of July, knows what I am talking about! (Yes, YES, I shall always go on and on about hot weather and hot days and all that...get used to it!)

We basically closed Day Two with the usual, token, introductory presentations followed by dinner. The high point of my dinner were the Chicken Momos, though the much advertised Dallé Chutney failed to make an appearance, that night. Dallé are little, innocuous-looking, cherry-like chillies that will blow the top of your head off if you approach them from the wrong side (not that there is a right side with Dallé...you are dead anyway. They are also, locally, known as ‘Fireballs’…go figure!). I was too knackered to continue beyond that, though I am told major adda took place (you need to be Bengali to sufficiently explain that term, so I shall give it a miss!) marked by much singing and the suchlike, so I retreated to my room for some much needed shut eye. The day had been long in the tooth and just as short on my patience. And I knew the next day had goodies in store, so I could afford to snooze :o)

The next morning, after a breakfast I can only describe as rollicking, we climbed back into our cabs...though in a more organized and predetermined manner...this time we were headed for Tsomgo Lake and thereabouts. What's in a lake, I thought...more scenery and local flavor (which same, till then had failed to hold any flavor beyond the momos. I have been thoroughly spoiled by Ooty, I must say!). Until we reached the waterfall. Words abandon me, and so shall let the pictures do the talking...

...I was pushed into tasting some of the clear, fresh, water (at that time, my jaw was dropping too much for me to worry about who 'certified' the water as fresh and clean and all that jazz), and I swear to this day my innards are still frozen! As I downed the Drink I could just about feel the freeze moving through me, following in the path of the water I had just swallowed...BRRR!

Now, big D-jango that I am (no, I haven't misspelled it...I know Django...this is not that. This is D-jango, which starts with the chopped off D sound before you move onto the jango part of things. Courtesy Papa K) I had set out dressed only in a cotton dress. Frankly, I wasn't even feeling the cold, until the Drink. Once the Drink hit my system, it was like the sensors popped open an eye but could not quite decide whether to wake up or not. Until, of course, we reached the lake. And the snowline. With a cold wind blowing. And no loos in sight. Anywhere. Ever. Suffice it to say I went to Hell and came back without the benefit of being warmed by the burning fires. In my case, Hell pretty much froze over, and there were no Eagles to herald the event. But like I said, just about when all this started, we reached the lake. The Lake that I had been mentally sneering at (more fool, I!)...see for your self....

T'was like God froze a part of the Heavens and set it down on a mirror. And that was just the beginning! We drove up past sleepy-looking Yak to where we were tossed out into the snow. Remember I was still in my own, personal, Hell, as I got pelted with snowballs, skidded over patches of ice and had snow shoved down the back of my dress. (Boss, I shall forever remember that you ordered the attack...).

The only saving grace was that I had been talked into pulling on Gum Boots, for the frolic in the snow, before we left the lake. If any of you attempt this trip, as you darned well should(!), you can rent gum boots, and jackets and gloves and other protective gear from the many lean-to shops edging the Tsomgo Lake. And if snow's not your thing, then the steaming momos (veggie, per force, as the Lake and its surroundings are supposed to be Holy), chased down by hot coffee/ tea, might hit the spot. (BTW, if you ever hit my brand of Hell, talk to the nice lady at Shop No.40).

Yenivays, after much playing in the snow, and many momos (this time with THE chutney!) and cups of tea, we started for the resort to try and make it back in time for lunch. Now, all of this area around the Lake is within the Army limits, and a few tosses away from the Nathula Pass. So, there are many barracks,units (or whatever else is the correct terminology) and Army jawans everywhere. We stopped to give a few of them, who were off on their two-month leave, a ride down the road towards Gangtok. Tummy filled, Hell banished, extremities frozen and camera primed, I happily snapped our descent from the Heavens. What made the ride even better was knowing that we were now a small, but definite, part of the lives of those soldiers on their way home to their families.

--------------------(More later....am dying for some breakfast!!!)---------------------

Snapshots from the City

A traffic policeman, at one of city's busy intersections, waving vehicals on with one hand, while absently twirling a long-stemmed flower in the other. Hustle, bustle, honking horns, clouds of exhaust, and in the middle of it all the creamy perfection of the gentle bloom...

...being greeted by the attending guard at the airport security check, and being asked where I have been and how I am doing as she hadn't seen me, on her shift, in a while...

...impatient motorists, waiting for the lights to change, suddenly being pelted by twigs, leaves and fruit by a monkey swinging from the branches overhead. And seeing everyone, after the initial startlement, sharing sheepish grins...no matter what their income, status or size of vehicle, everyone one made equal by a bored monkey with a half-eaten mango in his furry little paw!

...just few snapshots that remind me of the human (or should I say simian!) face of the juggernaut that is this city! :o)

Song for Anna

There's a funny thing we do over here,
not sure if you've seen it or know it clear ;
It's something that is our very own,
a special way in which our feelings are shown.

When we are happy, or sad, or mourning a loss
we mix in some anger and give it a good toss;
some stones, some fire, some shouting too;
we add these in to say "I cry for you".

You must not mistake it for something it's not,
this is how we mourn ; violence is all we've got.
So, you see while Death takes Dr.Raj away,
Bangalore burns to keep the tears at bay.


We lost a great man yesterday, and it is entirely shameful that a City that revered his Life is mourning his loss through so much senseless violence. How dare we put our impatience and intolerance first? How dare we think we, and our idea of how things should be done, are more important than paying our respects? How dare we dishonour his memory in such a manner? For Annavaru to rest, Bangalore must rest too.

(Crossposted on 'Everyman's City')

Delirium

It's a race to see who gets me first. Rather, what gets me first.

Some days, it gets so bad, I dread the dark, the fall of night. I have to pull myself away from the familiar, comfortable environs of the office, or the shopping mall, and gird myself up to step out and face the unknown.

Only, not so unknown.

I know that feeling of the walls closing in, my breath burning in my lungs, the air wrapping itself moistly around my face, setting the blood thundering in my ears and making my vision blur.

I know the feel of the bloodsuckers. Them, I know so well.

I feel their vile sting even when they are not really there. They materialize from nowhere, as though a part of the night itself, to torment me and steal my peace.

Yes, it's a race to see which one of them get me first - the relentless onset of summer, or the manic mosquitoes.

Delirium, here I come...

Cut the Crap, Seize the Day

Oh joy. Women all around smiling coyly, simpering, and thanking people for wishing them on the occasion of International Women's Day. Lots of bonhomie happening, and everyone taking care to highlight all they can about what Women Have Achieved. What a party! What crap.

Me, I refuse to join the 'celebrations'.

Why? Because I find having one day, out of 365, kept aside for 'dem wimmin' insulting and quite frankly grossly insufficient. Women are not the idiot cousin who just learnt the spoon goes in the mouth and not the ear. We do not need the perfunctory PR and 'Woo Hoo!'s. Save your bells and whistles, today, and instead keep handy your cooperation and common sense the rest of the year.

As far as I am concerned, every day is a woman's day. There is not much a woman cannot achieve, any time any day, if she makes up her mind. Moms, daughters, sisters, wives, girlfriends, collegues...step up and take ownership of everyday. For you choose how the day shall shape your Life.

Carpe Diem, for every today belongs to you.

Stranger to the Ground

I write this as I am headed back home after one more successfully executed event. The relief is immeasurable, and much thanks given that Murphy kept his laws firmly in his back pocket this time!

What with the increase in my traveling, over the past few months, I am learning more about myself, and perhaps a little about the people around me as well. Sitting in the airplane, looking at the clouds scudding by, squinting in the unadulterated sunlight, I am in a state of bliss.

It's official. I love flying. I love everything ABOUT flying. Not be mistaken for the common interpretation of flying, i.e., the act of boarding a commercial airliner for a dash across the country / globe at breakneck speed, being waited upon by a variety of stewards / stewardesses.

What I love is the sensation of leaving the ground and rising up in the air. There is a moment, during the ascent, when your heart seizes and releases with a pure burst of I-have-no-idea-what-but-will-call-it-happyhappyjoyjoy (My blog, my word!). I love happyhappyjoyjoy. I live for that moment, whenever I travel. And I am learning to live with the fact that this is irrevocably linked to sitting in a seat that is too uncomfortable for words, with armrests built for pygmies (and with my height, this is really saying something!), eating food that should be freeze-dried and launched into deep space, far away from the sphere of human activity.

Coming back to flying, or FLYING as my mind insists on the capitalization(!), I have learnt that the width of the grin, and ensuing happyhappyjoyjoy, is directly (if not exponentially!) proportional to the speed of the airplane as it hurtles down the runway, desperate to severe all ties with the ground.

I love peering down at the ground, watching the airport, the city, the people, the Earth grow smaller, and disappear like snow in summer, as we bank and head for the Sun. I also love watching them come closer and grow bigger, filling my sight, as the airplane comes in for a landing. Call me an idealist, but it actually makes me like people and places better. How can you not like anything that looks so good from way up in the sky?!

I have learnt that flying above the clouds is a discovery of a whole, new, world where anything ugly is incapable of existing. Looking past the tip of the wing, to where the white of the clouds contrasts sharply with the clean, bright, blue of the sky, with the Sun burning a spot on the whole canvas.

I have learnt that my latest burning ambition in Life is to fly one of these babies. Or if I can't have that, then to atleast be a part of the busy anthill of activity on the tarmac, as ground crew, involved in getting an airplane set for takeoff. That way, I am a PART of the grand thing that is FLIGHT.

I realise that the whole time I have been devouring Biggles & Richard Bach (yes, I am one of those who actually went way past Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and Illusions), I have been living vicariously...getting off on someone else's pleasure. And now, I want more.

To be a stranger to the ground.

**sigh**

The Georges from Jeddah

Well, technically it's the George Matthews from Jeddah, but that just ain't as musical :oD

Yenivays, point being that Renz has started up his own blog, out of Jeddah. Funny story that...Renz is not someone I had pegged as blog-inclined. And right I was! This is all thanks to MSN (and most other such community sites) being blocked in the KSA, where photographs are concerned.

So this is Renz's way of getting pics of him and his family and, while he is at it, some thoughts as well, out to his friends. Write on!

You know what I hate?...

...the term 'just a gentle reminder'. Hate it, hate it, HATE IT! There is no such thing as a gentle reminder...you either remind, or you don't, gentleness has nothing to do with it.

And DO NOT remind me, before whatever deadline you are looking at hits, assuming that I have forgotten. Remind me IF I forget. Until then, just shoo...

GRRR!

..and the Keyboard ran away with My Brain...

Well, maybe not exactly back in the well, but definitely getting there. I am only left with a nagging cough that, when at it's performing best, convinces most people I am on the last legs of Life as we know it **exasperated sigh**!

Am right now at the airport, waiting for a flight that I never thought would come. Oh no, not delayed, it isn't. Just the result of 'a series of unfortunate events'...starting with a 40 min traffic hold-up, going on to missing my flight by about 2 minutes, turning left at the Wait-list desk and missing the next flight as well, accelerating past a multitude of other airlines as they turn down my requests for a ticket with a "Sorry but the next flight(s) is/are already going full, ma'am", hanging a breakneck U-turn at the "Simpli-fly" desk, who could not help me simply fly as their Credit-Card-swipy-thingy machine (yes, YES, I know it's called a POS terminal!) had simply died and they could only accept cash, and then, FINALLY, braking to a hard stop in front of the Kings of Good Times as they finally manage to make room for me. If all goes well, I will board in the next fifteen mins. If not, I shall probably walk to my destination. **More exasperated sighing**

Yesterday, between juggling prep for the event that triggered off today's Scenes from the Airport and trying not to die from the skull-cracker of a headache my sinuses were tangoing with, I was also out shopping for Maamu's baby's birthday. Hmmm...I liked the sound of that sentence...almost an alliteration! Hey, and that one too! Yenivays, I sleep-walk....coming back to the shopping...I realised that it is no mean task to buy clothes for a kid.

Do I buy something marked for a 2-year old? What if this kid is growing faster than the 'average' 2-year old? Should I then buy something for a 3-year old? Hang-on...that category don't exist!! Right after "2 YRS" come the "3-4 YRS". Errr...isn't there something missing here? These clothes look way too big. But then, I don't want to gift her coochie-coochie toys...and she is a tad too small for me to be buying books...I think. Maybe that is the problem...I should just stop thinking and buy something! URK! Whoever said it is easy to shop for a woman, should be shot! Forget shopping for a grown woman, I can't even shop peacefully for a pint-sized woman....and I AM a woman! BAH! (Vee, do you go through this for Aditi??)

Speaking of Vee, she and the Bioswami and the Baby left town last night, headed back to Singy. I was supposed to go see them off, (read that as MEET THEM for the first time this trip). Needless to say, that did not happen. Why? Because I think I managed die sometime around then, and barely dragged my headache and fever home (No, not body...by that time, the headache had taken over till that is all that existed). Mebbe we shall actually manage to meet before Aditi starts a blog of her own :o(

I remember thinking I must be delirious, on the ride home yesterday. Two things prompted this...one, my Honda, and two, the Moon.

For starters, my Honda. Yes, I insist on calling this the HONDA, and not the Activa as everyone else in this country call it. Why? Because I am still in denial over the fact that the only HONDA I own is NOT a mean, low-slung, street-hugging, high-speed monster. The only thing it is is, is BLACK (hmmm...too many is's there?). Yenivays, I keep riding the rogue roads a la Rose...lost in the dream that I am actually gunning one of these:

















Coming back to my delirium and the Moon. 'Twas a huge, yellow, moon...lying low across the horizon, silently tracking my every move. The kind of moon I am dead certain stories are written about, but which I cannot recollect at this time, for the life of me! It just hung there like a fat, yellow, stage prop, silently lighting up the sky around it. For some odd reason it had me thinking Unseen University, Saidin and Subtractive Magic. **shudder**

And speaking of Saidin, am re-reading Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time...currently in the first few chapters of Book One. I remember picking this very book up at a second-hand bookseller, off of a footpath bang opposite Mom's clinic some years ago. At the time I had no idea I was letting myself in for a a few years of concentrated reading and chasing of Rand al Thor across the an entire landscape, harried by a few million, constantly changing, characters and plot twists. I initiated Hem into the WoT world sometime back then, when he was just entering college, and he has kept pace with every volume of this story along with me. In fact, better than me! Me, I barely make it from one book to the next, remember who and when and where and why! Too much of a time gap between the books being published (GRR!), atleast later in the series.

I envy those who can go through a 10 volume series, over as many years and more, and NOT have to re-read and backrack to check their facts. I discount looking up the details on the Web...that is just plain laziness and smacks of cheating. What kind of a reader needs the blooming Internet to follow the story (not my kind, atleast, as has is proven by this entire point)! So, its back to square one and then forward again...

If I stopped making sense a couple paragraphs ago, the title of this post DOES warn you....and as the sign post at the 26th hair-pin bend up the hill to Ooty proclaims,"You have been sufficiently warned". Plus it's past midnight, and I started writing this post a couple hours ago, and have been adding as I go. So I shall now cease to wax and shall instead wane...g'nite

The spirit is willing...

...but the flesh is on antibiotics :o(

There's tons to be told...my cruise experiences (so who cares that it only lasted about 2 days!), more observations from my seemingly incessant traveling, .... and more stuff that my brain tagged as blog-worthy, but which now seem to have spiralled away.

So, in the immortal words of the Terminator, I'll be back! (must imagine this being said in Arnie-like voice)

UPDATE: Not exactly back, but getting there. I can actually hear, discern scents and speak, without being mistaken for a broken foghorn, again! The magic factor seems to have been the dhumbi-rasa dad plyed me with...naturopathy nosedrops, if you will!...burns from here to Hell and back again...AARGH.

Happy Holidays!