Parts I want to remember. Random.
Good to be back at my desk. Reports, newspaper stacks, result season and all. The suits continue to be as sweet, asking one thing and meaning another, interesting.
Recovery is slow and gradual, though his RBC is worrisome, his spirits have lifted skyhigh with the return home.
“On Golden Pond” is beautiful, shimmering gold. Velvet greens. Blue violet waters with the mist rolling in. Katherine Hepburn is amazing. A darlin.
Chatting with the niece. SO smart at eighteen. What about? Crushes and boys, and Money. Seriously smart kid, at mindboggling 12th board percent. I see stars in the daylight when I hear the cut off. Biology is much better anyday, and quicker too than medicine. Hello S’pore, GO girl, go!
Walking through Alkapuri with the stash from Crossword. Sukhbodhanandji. Sudha Murty. That’s for Papa. Celebrations in Silence/ Sri Sri Ravishankar. More. Splurged. BUT another Amrita Pritam Autobiography, Aksharon ke saye. And Gulzarji/ Raavipaar. Lovely, I’m rich! Are there times when its right, as in apt or fitting to read a particular author? The earlier once with Rasidi Ticket,the background to that reading, and now this book and the background to this.So reassuring to read through, like a smiling touch on the shoulder.
Read the story behind “ ye kahani nahi”, everything IS grist to the mill. What a terrific sense of gratitude and end-of- the- road futility she’s conveyed with so little said.
Some stories you will never touch to translate. Sir’s “Vandevtaa”,and Amrita pritam’s “ye kahani nahi”. Adding ones own little slant , shading the words as one if forced to do, prone to do, would be a sacrilege. Best to leave be.
The houses in Alkapuri, Kunj and Arunodaya in particular, are any day better than any JVPD bungalow. With gardens that are proportionate, green creepers over the trellis, and a sense of history. This city will always be the center of my universe.
That soles burn when you step to the terrace in the harsh afternoon sun, there is a strange bravery in withstanding this, even a frisson of pleasure.
Swaad panipuri, now with a new name, is still right there at Racecourse, with the white capped ninety-one year old Chachaji still watching over his customers. His grandson’s a chartered accountant, he tells me proudly. Was nice talking about the vast properties that lined this road, now a busy mall lined city hub with lousy traffic.