77, 76

I am very very tired.So emotionally exhausted. Really I am getting by by just taking a walk and noticing a flower here, a stream there,  etc. I think I have to take it slow now.

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Some happy things have been happening. Feel excited and happy. Lots of work. Had an accident. Hurt the leg but it's okay. Watched Raabta. I liked it.

Need to get more orderly about my work. Will make a list and work steadily to stroke off each topic in the list. It should be good.

I have eaten some really good stuff lately. Very good pork and meat stuff at Boteco.

Went to the coin museum at Reserve Bank of India. Was wonderful. I love many, many things happening around me now.

Things will only improve.

95, 94, 93

I am a little conflicted about people. Around me, I see people try. I think overall, people try to be good. When they slip up, they do not know how to forgive themselves and I think they pass on that pain and hurt to someone else. 

Every day, every single day, old friends - friends you are fond of - family - nodding acquaintances - your city, your world - will give you plenty of reasons to get angry, reject them, shut them off. I think it is important to soothe yourself and remember that we are part of a collective.

Some days this is tough.

96

It is a time for deep, very deep breaths. Back hurts somewhat and things are good.

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A more efficient way to pack for trips between Bombay and Pune is required.

Yesterday I was texting someone about a strange event - of when I had had an eerie experience at the Race Course. Maybe my mind started playing tricks but I got the scent of stables. Reminded me of the line from Richard Bach's 'Illusions' where he says something along the lines of why it's futile to miss friends. Because as soon as you think of them, aren't they already there?

Some sweet things are happening.

Also, I was just thinking that we don't remember when we were born and then we don't know when we are going to die and how can we think of anything that happens in between as reality?

Interesting that I thought of this after citing an observation from 'Illusions'.

101, 100

quick scribbles in lower casing. mutton biryani. there was kheer cooked for a couple of friends - cashews and vermicelli. the milk was boiled with ground cashews to thicken it. it was so superb.connected with some really nice people online. was informed of bira beer. will try it soon. started reading power of the subconscious mind. time to clear up a lot of stuff so gave away a few things to my neighbor. i feel that lots of good things will happen.

102: It was such a day that from the furnace of all that was difficult, I will pick out the flowers.

I had a fun conversation with my friend, J. It was about work but it felt so good just connecting with her - looking forward to the time when she comes to Pune and if she has her way, we'll look for a place to live in KP. It will be so nice!

I went to check out two homes in Pune, where I will be moving to. One is a friend's home. Humble, slightly darkly lit, almost unfurnished, kitchen is hardly set up, no curtain rods. It may be nice to go really simple for a while. Also, I would be living with a boy. That, erm, will be a change of pace.

The other home has three other girls living there with a HUGE terrace. And by huge, I mean HUGE! It got my attention and my fancy. Had a lovely chat with the main girl who put up the post. It was nice. I like living around girls. One of them seemed grouchy and if I shift there, I think she and I will be the one that will have the most in common together. But man, that terrace!

On the way to the first home, I passed by a little lane where the flowers were pretty and purple! And so purple! The petals just seemed to be filled with all colors wanting to be purple! They were purple like existence and they were purple like aspiration.

My heart felt very heavy. So I went to Peter Donuts for a hazelnut coffee, which I love! Hazelnut cappuccino is my coffee equivalent of khichdi. Very feel-good.

I went to Crossword where I bought the book on the sub-conscious mind by Joseph Murphy. A friend really recommended it highly. I went to the Crossword in Aundh where the greatest mysteries are usually written on the faces of the assistants when you ask them where to get a particular book. This time was no different. I thought they were out of it. But then, a huge carton was unpacked filled with this title! It's some marketing if you get the universe to conspire! :-)

What other things are nice?

Had really tasty poha and tea for dinner.

Had a very nice, chilled glass of pomegranate juice.

Read a status update where a friend's brother is going on a pilgrimage with his wife. Felt really peaceful when I read that.

Parents are safe. Spoke with them.

Fit into a skirt comfortably that was tight some months ago.

Feels like the story will change.

103

Last two were rough.

Came across a video on Facebook where a girl who has escaped from North Korea is telling us about the life there.It is an international convention of some sort. She says that while they were crossing the Mongol border, ready to die if need be but escape North Korea nevertheless, they were stopped by Chinese guards. This girl saw her mother raped. People clapped.

A long, long time ago, I had seen a video of Bipasha Basu in the US. She was there at some Independence Day function organized by an NRI community there. She took the mike and said that on the way to the function, a group of the organizers had molested her and had behaved really badly with her. She was on the podium with a mike. She was wearing a white salwaar kameez. It was Independence Day. In the US. She had a mike. She was on the mike saying all this. People around her clicked pictures and were cheering her. It came to a point where someone in the group told her something and she qualified her statement saying that she did not think that all NRIs were like that but a few were. She had a mike. They were clapping.

I finished reading Milan Kundera's 'Identity'. It's the first Kundera, I read. Liked it. It is excruciatingly slow, soft, and sad. You sense the decay of the couples' relationship he is writing about.

The boy - that producer's son. What will he grow up thinking of his mother - the one his father has blamed in his suicide note? He wrote a post. On killing himself. They liked it.

I ate lychees yesterday.

104

Today I heard the news of a Marathi film producer who had committed suicide after putting up a Facebook post about ending his life. In fact, he also got riled that people were liking the post but not reaching out to him.So, he apparently chastised his followers, consumed poison, and died.

What struck me is that a couple of days ago (or was it yesterday), I had put up a post asking for some kind of prayer to help me get through the news of the raped girl. One friend sent me a hug. I got several views on that post but no comments. Since I have been on social media, especially blogger, for a long while now I know that views don't really translate into connect. In fact, in every office that I have worked, people have read my blog but never come right out to say that they have read it. Even for the posts where I  expressed distress, etc., the people who read my blog by night and made eye contact with me by day did not reach out. I wonder if they were embarassed. Anyway, I think that when you write to express something, the expression itself must be the coping mechanism. When the anxiety is out, the strength unspools. It is best not to expect commiseration.

I feel really sad about the producer. He had reached out. 

woke up

Last night was disturbing on account of what I had written on the blog. But a friend on facebook sent hugs.Someone else on FB picked a fight so the anger also helped. But I read a few pages of 'Course in Miracles'. I don't understand any of it but I have resolved to read through this, this year.

I think sometimes, even if stuff is gibberish, it just helps to soak in words that feel healing.

I like the Course in Miracles, though. It feels strong, dependable, and kind.

May the girl go home to love and light. 

106, 105

Today is Mother's Day. The day started off well. I procrastinated a lot. Got the house cleaned somewhat. Reviewed a course as I sipped my black coffee and looked at grey skies. Went to Koregaon Park to meet a couple of friends. After one of my friends had left, hung out with the other friend for longer.

Came home. Cooked some spaghetti with soya bean, mustard oil, and channa masala.

Sipping cold water now. 

Came across an article that talked about a man raping a woman and tearing out her food pipe. I am now stumped. I do not know how to pray for her. And I know that unless I pray for her, I will not get peace - not even the fake, flimsy sort of peace that will let me sleep through the night and wake up tomorrow. 

I am scared because I do not know what to do when I read about something like this. I am scared because I do not what kind of a prayer will do. 

I am searching for a prayer tonight.

It rained tonight

107

Am writing a blog post now because it will be a late night tonight. Am in Starbucks, Horminal Circle,  biding time. Next to me,  two young men are talking. One of them, I think, has asked the other guy on whether he should move to Malaysia for a job. His friend has launched into a summary of Breakout Nations. At the end of all this,  he says,  "I can't make your decision for you. " The best part is that he says that very sorrowfully. 

People really do want all kinds of power over others. 

108

A quick post then.

I want to write ghost stories. I don't know why I am so fond of ghost stories but I am. I think it is the ultimate love story. It is the ultimate story of longing and ache. Also, nothing is stronger than the pull of unfinished business. I think the notion of unfinished business is what draws me to this genre. There is a facebook page called 'Pula'. It's a Pune's Ladies group or something like that. I had put up a question there asking about ghost stories. One lady wrote about her friend's experience. Apparently, she fell in love with a boy at the bus stop. They would meet every day and over time, they decided to marry. They were both from different castes and they knew that the parents would not agree. So they made plans to elope. But on the day that they had decided to run away, the girl's family came to know. The girl had already left home by then. They tracked her down at the bus stop where she was found weeping because the boy had not turned up. This angered them further. So they tracked down the boy's house. The boy's family was surprised. They said that the boy had been dead since the last two years. In fact, he had passed on at the same bus stop where the girl had claimed to have met the boy. The girl's family left the town and they moved elsewhere.

In the comments section, there were several women who said that they had heard similar stories along various bus stops near the Kolhapur highway.

Anyone has any ghost stories to share?

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I think now, for a couple of months, I need to absolutely be a lot more diligent about recording my thoughts. Must write every day. Hopefully, will. 

117

What I find generous is how people may either commit or endure brutality (or do both) every day, yet collaborate to work on something fine.

Never thought I was a people's person. I surprise myself often this summer.

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For mona who wanted the dalia recipe. (Dalia is broken wheat.)

Chop lots of onions and some green chillies. Boil and cube some potatoes separately. It's not absolutely necessary but you could take dalia and pressure cook with daal (like khichdi). Add some turmeric powder, salt, and chilli powder when you pressure cook. While that is cooking, in a separate pan, heat some oil or ghee. I personally love mustard oil but the taste is strong. You could try it if you like things pungent. When the oil is hot, add some cumin seeds, mustard seeds, chopped onions, dried red chillies, and green red chillies. Sautee until the onions start softening. Add the potatoes. Toss them about until they are coated with oil and start browning slightly. (I don't add tomatoes or peas but you could, if you wanted. What does taste really good are soya chunks. Soak them a few minutes before in hot, salted water for 10 minutes or so. Add them to the mix and cook them.) There is a meat masala (it's all vegetarian but it used for meat preps) that I also use. You could try with pav bhaji or some kind of biryani masala if you like. Add the daal and dalia khichdi to this. Sprinkle some water as you cook in case the dish is going dry. Taste to see that the masala has spread evenly. Cover and cook for some time. Eat with curd and pickle. You could drizzle some ghee or butter also.

Other things that happened:

There is a FB page that I am part of - Pune Eat Outs. I made a comment on there - and it was a fairly innocent one, I think - on the trend of food reviews being fairly descriptive. It's an interesting trend. My comment was something along the lines of how all food reviews are now written like drama - it actually has a 3 act structure! Anyway, I think the admin guy didn't like it. For some reason, with a deluge of smileys, he insinuated that I was getting a lot of 'footage' on his page, and how he thinks I have now gotten enough coverage to get writing jobs - or something like that. It's funny when admins start getting touchy about their own pages. But actually - no not funny, I suppose it's natural. I was working some time back with someone else who was putting up posts for his workshop but he got some negative reviews and then he blocked the person or something like that. Online is a fascinating place. Rejection is sensed and responded to in so many different ways. What I don't quite get is the use of smileys through clenched teeth. In fact, there should be a smiley like that - the tight smiley - where you don't really want to smile but you have to because you want to show nonchalance and the ability to take the high-road.

A friend of mine is in Paris. She shared some pictures of the paintings that she saw in the Louvre. Stunning they are. I love, love, love the way the shadows and soft pools of light have been painted around the human figures. Maybe those painters had their squabbles also. Terse disagreements with strangers. Snarky attacks from the offended. But they went and painted. This is why I think art will save the world.It is the only thing innocent and strong and random and cheeky enough to pull you into an everyday nobility.

I want roads to move and twist and become grey hairs on my head. My thoughts will be potholes or cars or shrubs tough enough o grow through pavements. I wonder if my birthday will come again. I mean I know it will come but sometimes I imagine my birthday to be upholstered on a rocking chair and I can sit and rock myself to that specific day any time. I am in Bombay and I generally work near the kitchen. But the light bothers my mummy. So today I am sitting and working in the library on the ground floor. I had bought Tamerlane by Justin Marozzi. But then inexplicably it got misplaced. I searched every where - nearly ten times! Today I sat in the library and was led to open the book case in front of me. Tamerlane was there.

Living in magic. That's what I am doing. That's what we are doing.