663, 662, 661, 660, 659, 658
It's now been a week since I last wrote. Some stuff that has happened:
1. Rains. Gorgeous rain. Arijit Singh on youtube and grey skies and happy red roses in the neighbor's balcony. Black tea with a little sugar and ginger in my cup. Yes, I'll get to work and become cross-eyed with exhaustion...but you let a few moments of peace make you grateful, even if it is for a little while.
2. A couple of days ago, I returned at 3:00 a.m. The night before that, it was 2:00 a.m. You know what was good? That I would come home with a craving for something decadent and really unhealthy. So, anyway, one day I deep-fried some potato wedges (the frozen ones) with sharp mustard oil. Had some tea with that too. Also, one day, I melted a whole bar of Dairy Milk in milk. Then I shredded chapatti and added it to the milk, letting it get soaked, soft. Then I scooped up tiny bits of it and enjoyed it slowly and was very, very satisfied with it.
3. Read some really good books. I finally read 'The Kite Runner' by Khaled Hosseini. It reminded me of Bombay. Hassan reminded me of Bombay. Kabul reminded me of Bombay. That sharp pungent whiff of what I've loved, how I've lived, when it will all come together...that book was a potpourri of all of that. It makes me cry. That book. It's fantastic.
4. Also read 'The Elephant Vanishes' by Haruki Murakami. This was my very first Murakami. I liked some of the stories very much. There ought to be a word for the special ache one feels for reading Japanese authors (or authors of Japanese origin). You know, it's a soft miasma of emptiness, peace, and love you feel for all...umm...vacancies in life. I don't know how else to put it. There's a short story in here called 'Sleep'. It is poignant and beautiful. There's another story of a brother and sister and one of a barn-burner. There's another one simply exploring a man's memory of when he'd met his first Chinese. And as soon as you get memory into the picture, there will be a trippy, wicked wonderland experience.
5. Much earlier I'd read 'She's come undone' by Wally Lamb. Actually, I re-read this book. The second time I appreciated it a lot more - maybe because I think I have accepted some parts of myself more now, I identified more closely with Dolores Price. I love bildungsromans. (Is that the word?) I love 'coming-of-age' stories. We become heroes in such fragile ways.
1. Rains. Gorgeous rain. Arijit Singh on youtube and grey skies and happy red roses in the neighbor's balcony. Black tea with a little sugar and ginger in my cup. Yes, I'll get to work and become cross-eyed with exhaustion...but you let a few moments of peace make you grateful, even if it is for a little while.
2. A couple of days ago, I returned at 3:00 a.m. The night before that, it was 2:00 a.m. You know what was good? That I would come home with a craving for something decadent and really unhealthy. So, anyway, one day I deep-fried some potato wedges (the frozen ones) with sharp mustard oil. Had some tea with that too. Also, one day, I melted a whole bar of Dairy Milk in milk. Then I shredded chapatti and added it to the milk, letting it get soaked, soft. Then I scooped up tiny bits of it and enjoyed it slowly and was very, very satisfied with it.
3. Read some really good books. I finally read 'The Kite Runner' by Khaled Hosseini. It reminded me of Bombay. Hassan reminded me of Bombay. Kabul reminded me of Bombay. That sharp pungent whiff of what I've loved, how I've lived, when it will all come together...that book was a potpourri of all of that. It makes me cry. That book. It's fantastic.
4. Also read 'The Elephant Vanishes' by Haruki Murakami. This was my very first Murakami. I liked some of the stories very much. There ought to be a word for the special ache one feels for reading Japanese authors (or authors of Japanese origin). You know, it's a soft miasma of emptiness, peace, and love you feel for all...umm...vacancies in life. I don't know how else to put it. There's a short story in here called 'Sleep'. It is poignant and beautiful. There's another story of a brother and sister and one of a barn-burner. There's another one simply exploring a man's memory of when he'd met his first Chinese. And as soon as you get memory into the picture, there will be a trippy, wicked wonderland experience.
5. Much earlier I'd read 'She's come undone' by Wally Lamb. Actually, I re-read this book. The second time I appreciated it a lot more - maybe because I think I have accepted some parts of myself more now, I identified more closely with Dolores Price. I love bildungsromans. (Is that the word?) I love 'coming-of-age' stories. We become heroes in such fragile ways.
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