Chiffonesque

I woke up early this morning and continued to read 'A Perfectly Good Family' by Lionel Shriver. It's a very necessary book. She's a very necessary author. Anyway, here's a list of books I want to read before I buy any more books: 1. A Perfectly Good Family by Lionel Shriveral 2. So Much for That by Lionel Shriver 3. The Post-Birthday World by Lionel Shriver 4. Joseph Anton by Salman Rushdie 5. Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie 6. The Alchemy of Desire by Tarun Tejpal 7. Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth 8. Mumbai Noir (assorted writers) 9. Yuganta by Irawati Karve 10. Maximum City by Suketu Mehta 11. Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse 12. Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut 13. To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolfe 14. On Beauty by Zadie Smith 15. Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo 16. Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra 18. Two Lives by Vikram Seth 19. The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru 20. One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

I'm back from a two-week trip to Denver. In my time there, I worked much, walked much, ate much, and loved much. Every time I shut my eyes for a little bit longer, I see them - the trees, the skies, the pinecones and the soft flurry of snow that danced through the streets at downtown. There was an exhibit of Da Vinci's machines that captivated my imagination. I saw a huge parade of elks during a new moon night. I saw the Rockies trimming a fabulous horizon. One morning was perhaps the most magical. I woke up. That sunrise,  my soul drifted off my body and led my life that day. It led me to the town of Boulder. Such a butterfly of a place that is. Small, quaint, energetic, and bursts of flowers and fruits everywhere. A colleague took us to his place, which is a lovely home in the mountains. There's a dirt road that leads up to his driveway. There's a birdfeed outside his cabin that feeds fuzzy little sparrows. There's a firplace and little vase that has strands

In my last job, I often used to wait back late. One evening, a friend and I were havinga  quick snack at the office canteen. It was raining and the sky was really pretty. We decided to take a rick to Bandra and have a snack at Moshe's. Even in the wet dusk of magenta and oranges, we could imagine sipping hibiscus tea watching string lights sparkling on to Hill Road. She then told me of her days in advertising. She had left those days behind and she didn't miss it. Although this essay is not written by her, it could very well have been her voice: http://www.lindsredding.com/2012/03/11/a-overdue-lesson-in-perspective/  

I like my share of Vogues and GQs , Marie Claires and Elles. I like the shiny paper and manicured squares with pretty people and stylish clothes. I like those bubbles-on-a-page blurbs that tell me that ‘purple is in’. I pore over expert advice that inform on how ‘black’ is the new ‘white’ and something else is therefore the ‘new black’. I love the clarion call in those pages urging one to promptly sell one’s kidney to buy off the latest bag in quilted leather. In the shade that is the new white or black, of course. But before one dismisses off such magazines as pedigreed vacuousness (or ordinary vacuousness for that matter), I must insist that that is not always the case. Sometimes, a magazine on skirts and suits can introduce you to a lifelong love. The way Vogue introduced me to Lionel Shriver. Vogue had a picture of a pretty woman with a rather stern expression. Her eyes were sharp. Her chin was set to convey, ‘Understand me. I dare you.’ Maybe it was that expression that got