Baba’s third death anniversary y’day. The day was peaceful. Watching the baby gurgle and turn on Thurs. has helped bring me to a place of acceptance, this cycle of life.  Yet, that memory of the airport bus, that pinging so much like a ventilator’s. Somewhere these memories reside in  your nerve endings, surge to alert life at a hint.

I am Kalam… what a brilliant movie. Must watch. And Gabricha Paus in the award winner slot at 11 PM of which I watched half an hour. DD is outdoing itself these days—for movies like these, I can sit though ten reruns of the Dove/ Sunsilk ads.

What is it with youngsters/ not so youngsters and money? You have to cut the coat according to the cloth, Baba used to say. I keep thinking of the shift from chauffeur-driven by Shankar to moped, and how cheerfully and matter of factly he made the shift. Once when the moped broke down he’d hitched a ride on a bullock cart.

Look up, see

The nagkesar are in bloom

A vine, purple decked, has made the beal its own

Reaching for sunshine