Yesterday I went to town, to the Fort area—and came back, all in a span of three hours thanks to the local “fast train”. Even in the non rush hours, the trains were full. Which is why this new train corridor seems interesting—Colaba Bandra SEEPZ…all of this 33.5 km underground. They forecast 13 lac passengers/ day by 2016. Given the terrain differences-- the city is a chain of islands joined up, and part marsh land, part sea—  construction would be quite challenging, I think. But anything that takes pressure off Western Railway and the expressways would be a lifesaver.

In my compact apartment where every square inch is precious, I have a ledge-garden and a sill-garden too, recently prettied up with containers from fabfurnish…Here’s this lovely  garden from Japan, via apartmenttherapy.com.

 littleyard.exblog.jp

Delighted to announce publication of my story, Regent, in the “unofficial unofficial biography” of Catherine the Great, from Pure Slush. What an interesting, powerful woman...tough life.

http://pureslush.webs.com/atasteofcatherine.htm

Today I sat in bumper to bumper, inch by inch, pouring rain traffic for all of twenty minutes. Thank you Dhanno rani aka Miss Blue for behaving so well despite mostly being driven in gear1.

Watching the names of the missing roll by on TV to the backdrop of an inane dance reality show , it sinks in…the entire country has been flung into a state of mourning, not one state left untouched… all “our people”. Yes, manmade disaster as my friend S says.

I pick fallen flowers on my morning walk, and a collection of red-white-orange sits in a glass bowl on the dining table. The next morning I take them back, and get new blooms. Something inherently satisfying, something that connects you, binds you to the earth in this search for blooms.

A few days  ago I went all the way to Tao gallery, Worli (in pouring rain, which is a great deal since I tend to remain glued to my seat in this weather) for Somenath Maity’s exhibition at Tao art gallery. Impressive work – all structures. Lovely space, perfect setting for the canvases.  His style has evolved, more bold strokes, larger canvas, simpler forms. A sufi shrine by a lake, lapping waters and a psychedelic yet perfectly calm night sky. A fort in darkness except for lights by the parapet, and above a deep night sky with the stars twinkling messages in morse, or huts  in the foliage on a hill; take your pick. Huddled buildings holding in their secrets, even the windows barred. Modest homes take on a glow from the festive lights around, lights that seem to light up the sky…These were my favorites, and returning home I watched the dark waters lapping Samudra mahal and the mosque; as well as the sheer intent energy of the waves hurtling on the sealink… and I wondered what Somenath sir would have made of these…

Re Twitter and writing:
"When I think about Salinger in his later years—literally half of his life—I feel exasperated by this withholding and the elevation of silence into the highest virtue. And I also feel that there really is a wisdom in this attitude. We live in a transparent age, and yet there is much of value that happens in the opaque quarters of our own ambivalent minds, seen by no one else, and seen by us only after a long period of concentration and looking."

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/06/the-ongoing-story-twitter-and-writing.html

Rain. More rain. Even more rain.

Couple of days back, I began walking in the morning—even in the rain, raincoat +umbrella etc.

Drenched, along with the green.

Life looks so much brighter after.

Acharyaji, the park garden expert, created a lovely cactus display for the planter tray I’d bought from Fabfurnish. 

Last night, timepass channel surfing brought me to DD Bharati and the tail end of a documentary on one of the country's foremost poets, Ramdhari Singh Dinkar. Where the v/o went on about how he is being forgotten, even in his home state.

I recalled lines which I'd learnt in 1980, word by painful word for this non-Hindi speaker... how can someone with such a legacy be forgotten?

उद्देश्य जन्म का नहीं कीर्ति या धन है
सुख नहीं धर्म भी नहीं, न तो दर्शन है
विज्ञान ज्ञान बल नहीं, न तो चिंतन है
जीवन का अंतिम ध्येय स्वयं जीवन है
- from Parshuram ke updesh

My sympathies with the Taksim square protesters.
More gardens, less memorials please.
in the ALM park, the kailashpati are in bloom. 

Last week, the powers-that-be chopped blunt the decades-old trees in my colony. I hope next lifetime the tree-maulers are reincarnated as trees.

So over the weekend the monsoon announced its presence. Big bang style, furiously, sheets of water and all.
I dusted off the music system and made a color coded pile of the books I've yet to read. 
Not only because someone seems to have appropriated my old leaky black umbrella for themselves, but also because this is the first working day of the week so one must seem busy, and also because I'm not sure if the subways would still be flooded,and what about parking, and truth be told whether Miss Blue aka dhanno rani (with me at the wheel) have the requisite skills to negotiate our bumper-to-bumper expressway, I'm not at a friend's book launch this evening. And feeling guilty as hell about it. Not attending a book launch is a mean, dirty and underhand kind of a thing to do...I agree, Sorry, Icy.

Anyone who can think up a business model to address the needs of the old, with offspring abroad-- is going to make a ton of serious money. 
Forces one to think of one's situation too, a decade or two down the line.
last few weeks have been busy.
too many unexpected things. travel, travel, travel. And work interspersed.

the markets have been skittish.

after the first rainshower, nothing yet, but coming soon soon soon...gray tinges the outline of huge clouds spotted thru picture glass windows.. The full power, thundering monsoon...we wait....