In the interim:  I listened deeply at the Kabir festival, recorded fragments of a concert by Mukhtiyar Ali at Shri Suresh Wadkar’s music academy, took a bus to a concert in distant Borivali and listened to the greats – Shri Prahlad Tippaniya, Shri Mooralala Marwada and Shri Mukhtiyar Ali sing from the heart ,the simple words the poet saint Kabir wrote all those centuries ago.

One weekend I trailed along with the Tree Appreciation Walk, gaping at the palms in Hiranandani Heritage Garden, touching the textured bark from time to tine and listening to stories about them.

This weekend I was back home, watching a young one get engaged in much opulence, wondering how a simple ceremony that traditionally was marked with the sharing of jaggery and coriander, become as formal, big ticket.

And I’m becoming much better at jumping on and off buses and trains.

I still haven’t sorted through all the photos from Jaisalmer- Jodhpur, I’m still shocked at how many there are—but I will.

Thank you for your patience. Am reading and writing, head above water and just as determined.

I’ve been thinking of the fossil park. 180 mill years ago an entire forest stood tall. Now the place is barren, thankfully distant from Jaisalmer so that only the most intent make it there. We were the only people in the park when we went there—it was eerie and beautiful…One is a mere speck in the continuity of time.

And I’ve been thinking of the Patwa haveli. This madly beautiful series of 18^th C carved stone mansions that took 60 years to create, a proud signal of having arrived, from a man whose thriving business in gems, opium, spices and silks spanned 250 countries. A man who’d financed the king-- thrice. The mansions are exquisite, sheer poetry in stone. I’d gone there all alone one late evening, just to look at the façade in the partly floodlit moonlight. Shut your eyes and it is easy to imagine neighing horses and placid camels tied up at the entrance, and a great deal of hustle-bustle as gold sovereigns are exchanged for the fine things in life… each mansion has five floors and two levels underground.

I stared at the pigeons fluttering at the carved galleries... and my anger evaporated, as understanding settled in.

Delighted to announce publication of my essay, Light, in Annalemma.
This is about classical music lessons I and the kid sister took ages ago.
And how I stopped singing once she'd gone.
Funny thing, this--making 1500 word essays out of personal histories.

Ok…now that the sheets have been changed, the furniture dusted and floor cleaned, the plants brought back from my friend who was babysitting them… it almost feels like home. In good news, my Aadhar card is in—the postman called me to let me know he’s putting it in the mailbox (surprising how much a diwali baksheesh can matter… ), the first issue of New Yorker courtesy the US State Dept is in, though it seems read, but all that reminding for my prize for SPAN’s competition seems to have helped, or maybe this is a, token gesture… my tax papers are in, so last year is finished and done.

I began looking at the 1350 photos from the trip, and realized there is no way I can upload all of them, so will begin to share snippets with photos asap, and in no particular order. Shortly.