Run with that

I have a very good feeling about the project I am working on now. It is exciting and new and the team seems to be pretty friendly and affable; at least most of them.

On my way back from Mumbai today, I dozed off and was dreaming about pleasant things. While I can’t remember the dream itself, it was accompanied by very distinct tastes and tactile sensations. Like, I tasted the sugary sharp chewiness of candied ginger…or I felt like I was pasting ash between my forefinger and thumb. I have a hazy memory of wanting to remember something in my dream but not being able to. I am in a very contorted mental state because, well, having things on the tip of one’s tongue and nowhere useful is annoying.

That being that, I woke up in soporific giddiness. The lady sitting next to me (who was also sitting next to window, so she was sitting between the window and me – why do I care so much?) was snoring those fairytale snores. Gentle and blissful – unheeding of all that magic going on in the heavens. Jack must have snored that way while his beanstalks made serpentine pathways into the clouds. I put my bag of chips back into my purse. I didn’t want the cackle of plastic to disturb her.

Outside the window, I saw a very intriguing world. The hills were the color of wine and the rivulets coursing through their grooves shone like vermeil. It was a regular monsoony morning, of course. And while it is lovely in the ghats, the view I saw was a vision. Alternatively, the texture of the scene kept changing. Sometimes, it looked like a pattern of wet paints and sometimes it looked like stained glass. Sometimes it looked as if it was painted on raw silk and sometimes, it looked as if the motifs had been sewn on jute. Outside the window, I saw a sort of Dickensian contradiction – it was the best of times, it was the worst of times…it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…

We had everything before us…we had nothing before us…

I felt good to be going to work this morning – fresh and crackly, like rice crispies.

And while walking to the office from the bus stop, I got pelted by a mad woman on the road.

But that’s okay. The ghats were stunning.

There’s a joy in delirium that only mad men know. – Descartes (I think).