Chiffonesque

Something happened last night that at some point, I may or may not write about. This morning, I woke up. The right side of my face is swollen because of a toothache. I haven't taken any painkillers yet but through salt-water rinsing and application of clove oil, the pain is manageable. Or just by way of being human, I am getting used to it. I get into the bathroom and very tenderly brush my teeth. It's really bright outside. The shadow of a pigeon perched somewhere falls on the wall I see through the bathroom window. It coos. Suddenly, there' sound of gushing water from a flat close by. It stops. Then I hear a trickle of water somewhere else. The water gushing from the tap inside my own bathroom is noisy. My head throbs so I close my eyes. I wet my fingers and rub my temples. I go out and sit on the bed. There are different noises. I look out and there's a tree that looks like a bottlebrush tree but may not be that. It has clumps of thorny, bristly, pointy sharp

Around 9 p.m. spoke to mom. Had started feeling feverish by then. Then the searing pain around the tooth started. In a couple of minutes the ear was hurting and one part of the throat was sore. While driving back, my hands were shaking on account of the pain. In a 10 minute drive home, had to stop twice because I couldn't steady. Reached home and fumbled endlessly for the keys. Clamped the affected tooth by mistake so I was immediately brought down to my knees because of tha ... t blinding pain that zipped through my spine. (Just what all is the tooth connected to anyway?) That's the impact of pain in one tooth. ONE TOOTH. Nothing seems worse. No existential crisis where you feel empty. No heartbreak where you think you've lost your one true love. And I don't care about all that stupid poetry and those doofus lamenting songs. If you can write poetry and SING...you aren't in all that much pain. So, in case I live through tonight, here's an ode to a lesson I l

Massive toothache. The day after I slurped many glasses of white wine at Malaka Spice after nearly six years of no alcohol, I think, caused the body to rebel, revolt, and just give up. The toothache is really bad. I am very averse to painkillers so I haven't taken one yet. Thus far, I've relied on salt and warm water rinses and pressing clove oil. Late night, it was so bad that I woke up trembling and very frantically tried to remember what I'd learned of EFT. I still remembered the sequence of the tapping so I did that. There was slight relief so I could sleep. Still hurts badly though. 

To wake up in the morning every day, to see how the day goes - in whatever fashion...this way, that way, or coagulating like a time clot in a small little rut, and then to see it end. It's not a small thing. And every form of life does it. Every frame of phenomenon does it. Feels good to be a speck in this massive tide of courage - the tide that begins something knowing that it will end. 

Knotted through the days, Slipping through the hands, With a sea on the standby, We waited for home. Ships crossing by, Skirting green lands, With mountains on the alert, We waited for home. And home came slowly, Bloody, tear-soaked and grand Our fortress against time, Our castle in the sand.

He looked tired and signed book after book. Sometimes he'd look up to give a wry smile to an eager reader. I have been an eager reader but I was not in line to have any of the books signed. I was on the second level of the Crossword store and felt bemused at this person who signed books, it seems, with effort and exhaustion.  I remember reading his books and feeling so close to him. His stories had this 'gather around' vibe and every time I read a story, I gathered around. My favorite stories of Jeffrey Archer are: 1.   The Prodigal Daughter:   There is a part where the stern governess is returning to her hometown after having taken care of Abel's daughter, Florentyna, for many years. The governess has been stern and distant in the early years, softening only to drive Florentyna to be better read and better groomed. Yet, the when the train pulls away, this governess says a proper goodbye, goes inside her coach, and sits down. Outside Florentyna runs on the pla

You know what I'd like to do? Just travel everywhere, share meals with people, maybe walk with them, and ask them and record their insights on how do they cope? Really. How do they do it? I was in Bombay over the weekend and the weather was scrumptious! Rainy, moist, fresh, clean and the Powai lake lay before us like tear-filled grey eyes. Then something happened at night and I was sad again. How or why does it happen? This sharp swing of moods? But now, on looking back, even though the night was sad the day had been spent well. I think it was Marquez who'd said, " No one can take away the dances you've already had. "