A few yahoos, condensed:

1.One of the things that translating has taught me is sheer, cussed persistence. I’ve tried to capture this in an essay just published on Talking Writing, Balancing Words in Two Languages.

http://talkingwriting.com/balancing-words-two-languages

2.Thanks to the weekly exercises on Practice group, a story’s up on Pure Slush as part of their Hobbies theme. I'm particularly proud of this one, have treaded that path often.

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

3. Earlier this month, Footprints in the sand, a story about cultures, and a cultural potpourri was published on Looseleaf tea

http://issuu.com/looseleaftea/docs/looseleaf_tea_issue_1.3

Read a brilliant, incisive story by Paul Theroux y’day. Was reading as I prepared to doze off for my precious Sunday siesta, but by the tale’s end I was sitting up straight, all neurons afire. An interview with the author is here: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/09/this-week-in-fiction-paul-theroux-im-the-meat-youre-the-knife.html

Funny thing at the temple yesterday, in our chanting group—a minor tiff over seating escalated to nasty abuses (quite disregarding the diety); both the gentlemen are well in their seventies. O boy. An eye opener.

Caught the beginning of Rajnigandha (1974) on one of the DD channels. After I gaped at the empty roads, zero traffic and larger than usual apartments, got tired of the pacing. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajnigandha

Haven’t been this unwell in years.

Yet last week I unearthed my ayurvedic medicine for fever in a strange city. And managed the flight back without getting sick. Held myself together with twine.

Yesterday I began an antibiotic for a stomach bug.

 When will it stop raining??

Miss Blue did me proud by effortlessly zooming the kilometers, the first I've driven these speeds.
Which is why losing my purse this morning is a shocker-- not much money in it, but my licence...
I think of the ancient images in the rock caves that I visited yesterday after a walk in the forest, and wonder how many ups and downs they've encountered.

The taxman visiteth.
Like many , I have received a notice asking for details, details, details...
from two years ago, when I bought the tiny house.
given that every transaction was thru the banks, and every damn transaction out of salary income, what do they want?
they'd find it worthwhile to chase a) their service kin b) politicoz of iridescent hues c) assorted businessmen 
Why the eff pick on the small woman going about her own day?

funny thing, getting older. One tends to look kindly upon missteps and meanderings, one’s own and other’s, learn to keep the past in the past, realize that karmic debts repaid could well be a result of one’s misdemeanors, acts of one’s omissions and commissions. And that done is done. Next year I start a new decade, no more of hiding in the late forties…for once I begin with something like hope.

This was my world, last year...

A part of my brain looks at story arc, plot, characters. 
Regardless of what I'm reading.
Sometimes, it forgets to do any of this.
Yesterday I had to force myself to put the book aside and cook. To eat. To sleep. To function and not stare out of the window.
Been ages since I've read something as solid.What a tale.
What writer can bring forth this sort of interest for her 41st novel*!
And I'm only half way through.
(*Lakshagrah/ Varsha Adalja)

Infibeam delivered my copy of Varsha Adalja’s Lakshagruh yesterday.

A quick narrative, free of  convoluted passages and double meanings to trip one up…

Engrossed. After so long!

Am I glad I pushed myself to the movies, to watch Madras Café.

What an immense movie. Brave.

Tough as hell. Panoramic. Colossal.

Solid story line, if too close to the truth.

Splendid casting. Acting.

The scale of it all!

The constant drone of the helicopters that hover over the “usual everyday hello this is Sri Lanka” scenes—that drone still resounds.

No wonder I was glued to my seat, staring at the screen like one possessed.

No wonder there were not more than 5 people in all the theater.

But what a movie.

http://www.firstpost.com/bollywood/a-journalists-review-despite-factual-problems-madras-cafe-is-worth-a-watch-1060193.html

http://www.hindustantimes.com/Entertainment/Reviews/Anupama-Chopra-s-review-Madras-Cafe/Article1-1112074.aspx

Delighted to announce publication of two stories on Star 82 Review. 

http://star82review.com/1.3/contents.html

Free time. On a Sunday. What a luxury…I stacked unread n’papers and discovered a few steals like Shekhar Gupta’s Second Draft about IPKF’s foray on foreign shores, not to be missed. Not for the faint of heart.

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/such-a-long-lankan-journey/1167330/

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/dead-men-talking/1167902/

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/uncovering-the-war/1168571/

Also watched Bhag Milkha Bhag, so sharply scripted and made.

yesterday was ganesh chaturthi.

the hymns at the Ramakrishna Math still resound.

tsomoriri, hemis, the dunes in jaisalmer, that strange sense of déjà vu at patwa haveli that drew me back there just to gaze at the façade when the moon was high in the skies; the tree walks, birding trips, the stillness of lakes and a bird flying high…. among the million and one things that I said thanks for. Unimaginable, wonderous things.

I need periodic doses. Of lush green. Of the wind in the trees. Of  the wind etching waves on  water. Of birds, mostly unknown; and making their acquaintance the first time via the camera.

I’m back from three days spent at a farm somewhere in the middle of Maharashtra. So remote that you cant find it on googlemaps. The insistent call of the babbler resounds. Is there anything more plaintive than the peacock’s plea?

A dose of still peace.  The bonus this once was hearing the life story of some one who lives his life on his terms, making the transition from corporate to animal breeder to farming and niche tourism. Very inspiring.

Stepped on the porch of author Gauri Deshpande’s  house… what a vista…do homes carry the imprints of people who lived there long after they’re gone? My despair at not knowing Marathi, the language she (mostly) wrote in... but what a lineage, THE Iravati Karve's daughter... Yuganta!

“Did anyone say ‘Thank you’?” The rickshawalla said, navigating tricky traffic....

“When it didn’t rain all these religious folk held prayer meetings, pujas… churches, everywhere… but this year did anyone say ‘Thank you’?”

Know you see why I like using public transport. 

You never quite know what you’ll find.

  

Sometimes, miracles happen.

Sometimes, you get a chance, an outside chance, at a dream. And can barely breathe.

Sometimes, a lot of deadlines rush in at the same time, clamoring for attention, hurtling on your mind with their fists, seeking attention, pushing, shoving, demanding to be heard; dreams are like that.

And you take a deep breath.

Sometimes miracles happen

ok. Ok. A’bad has nicer roads. And lesser crowded buses. Yet.

I still think it was nicer twenty years ago. The roads, not the people. they are the same to same. Uniquely nasty.

I still haven’t gotten over my disapproval at having my requests for directions (in clear Guj.), answered in HINDI. What jokers.

And yes, I'm mad. Every damned second word changed in the tx? What d'you need a translator for?

On Independence Day, a salute.

I ration watching these images to once a week. 
How can ten days make you homesick for a place. How.

Images from the Leh Palace.

A shadow of its past self, like these barely-visible images on the walls

To get the real import, stare, decipher these with care.

Very interesting:

http://www.rinpoche.com/stories/ladakh.htm