A blue umbrella, sudden rain and almost getting wet, all lush green and splashes.
Cut to the core, life is good.

My landlady’s apologetic about having to ask me to move, but there are major issues with the circa 1964 walls and flooring. They will also vacate their first floor home. She’s given me her dua (blessings) that I’ll find the right place, and as much time as I need.

Yesterday was the first anniv of the commuter train blasts.
Sat shocked. again.
Peace.
In security terms, nothing much has changed.
Our esteemed neighbour to the west is now learning firsthand the disadvantages of allowing fanatics and terrorists to fester.

Suddenly, deadlines of all sorts.

So your CT scan is clean, Papa. Worth the four round trips to-ing and fro-ing on Saturday. Still doesn’t explain why you lose weight and why I worry about you, hassle you and gain weight.

Cheeni Kam is very good. May the tribe of door to door DVD libraries increase. Tabu is superlative, great dialogues and etc almost par for the course (how she manages to keep such long silky hair without tangles is something I’d really like to know, I have to keep mine, non-silky and scraggly,all braided up). Crisp dialogue, fast paced. AB is charming, believable in an exacting role which could easily have turned ludicrous. But was I glad some of the dialogue was too fast paced for you to follow.

I will need to begin looking for a good, decent, honest, dependable real estate agent for a place to rent- scary- in the next few months. Is there such a thing?

Page one, main lead of the TOI, Mumbai edition, features a photo of a woman marching, a gift of a washing bat and bangles in hand, dressed in what we politely call inner wear. In super-conservative Rajkot.

Why is she doing this?
To draw attention and force police action to her complaint of dowry harassment.
She is just 22, with a year-old baby.
And no, the police just wouldn’t listen or take her complaint earlier.

Did it work?
Yes, so far. Her in-laws, presumably greedy and clawing as per stereotype, have been arrested.
The police, in all its infinite wisdom is now considering taking action for indecent exposure.

What action will it take for the commissioner’s dereliction of duty?
~

I spent most of day-before at airports, wondering at the weather God’s wisdom first in delaying a 7.20 am flight to 2 in the afternoon; and then a 2 pm international flight to 7.30 the next morning…how I wish NRI kids were a little more considerate about old, not-healthy parents traveling to the distant west coast US in atrocious weather compounded by terror threats in the UK. If they are so affectionate, why dont they pack their bags and come back?

Eight things
From mago at 63mago.blogspot.com.
I’m not tagging anyone.

I don’t drink. I get awfully gloomy when I do, so I don’t.

I hate liars and lies. And I don’t forgive. I shun. Have the &^^ to give me the truth no matter how horrible it is.

I can take a lot of nonsense, make allowances and give leeway, more than the norm perhaps. But I have a superb temper, when pushed beyond a point. You don’t want to try that.

Even if I trust you, one part of my brain is watchful; checking and comparing all the time.

I take refuge in food. Explains the extra kilos. And I’m not apologetic.

The one thing that really scares the hell out of me is my mind breaking apart.

I need to see the stock mkt numbers and my astrological forecast everyday. Pathological.

I vacillate between being very communicative and clamming up, wanting people around and wanting to be alone, sort of all’s right with the world, and blues.

Another deluge. Water in the house, about a foot, all the rooms.
At this rate I will perfect the art of singing oh la dee, oh lah da life goes on...
Which is what I sing at times like these.
We’re ok now.
Again, something told me to “move!” and I did.

That distant hill sheathed in rolling rain-mist is charcoal-white, a Japanese landscape. You rush for the cell, but it pours, a minute too late.
Now there is something to this but I forget what.

No, I could not find it online.
Have been singing it in my mind these past few days; and this afternoon, aloud, surprised to get the high notes right. After so long- twenty seven years.
The school prayer?
Antara mam vikasit karo antara tar hay/ Gurudev Tagore

It has taken me so long to even guess-fathom what it means.
Maybe now the setting is right for comprehension.

Shredded green papaya sizzles in the wok.
Intrigues. The first time I’m ever making this. Not the usual “get-it-done-now” auto-mode.
How our minds crave something new. That sense uptick. The anticipation.
Even in micro doses from apparently unconnected sources.Interesting.

Noticed: Asopalav and gray sky mirrored in a glass-like puddle.
Yet an image is at best, an image.

Maybe I was kidding. Half joking.
Maybe not. Best if you don’t know.
But you almost choked on that morsel, Baba.
Startling reaction. Wow.


An almost saucer-shaped moon floated lazily in a milky halo past a starless-sky.
A rare sight for the city-sky. Rare, given the looming monsoon. Touched.

Yesterday was spent watching.
First, the rain and that step outside the gate, waiting for a noah-like deluge to rise to just-above-THAT- step level. After which it would rush into the house.
But thankfully it didn’t.



Today has been spent watching.
First the skies.
For the gale that the met dept promised but hasn’t happened as yet.
No high speed winds. No pelting rain. Just standard-issue clouds.
I could use some drama.
Some fireworks and thunder.
Been such a weird, strange, awesome day.
Goddamn strange.
“Oh really??!” Wild-eyed quality strange
Thanks.
In that karmic cycle that governs your life and mine, I owe you majorly.

If there were no dust on the mirror, there would be no driving need for it to be.

Something reminded me of that eventful year in class 4 when I went away to hostel, cajoled wheedled pleaded, but in a sense ran away. In the years after I’ve learnt that other skill- taking it, not answering back and staying quiet and staying the course. Both have their uses. Trick is to know when to use which particular trait. Half my life done and I still haven’t figured that out.

Stupendous thunder. First you think proud of the utilities and aircon at the beautiful plant building, the anthem-rumble of rough industry. But no. huge drops of rain. In the distance a temple on a lone mountain-like hill, lit afire by thunder, its flag flutter, the proud temple town of champaner. Or so you think you see, and surely it must be there, for one sees what one wishes to.Exhilarating lightening rips apart the sky. Lights up the expressway. Rolls of thunder. Just beautiful. Silver quick, too smart for the camera. Taillights and wet crs are all that’s captured. But what an exciting ride. Charged!

Below: the squalor of the 60 ft road, Dharavi.
Above: a peepal glitters over a rain- wet tin shack.
A canopy of madhumalti, red and white and green interspersed.
Cobalt blue sky. Freshly cleaned. Cloud streaks like a kid’s finger painting.

Dharavi. Asia’s largest slum, under redevelopment; luxury towers and bare flats for the slumdwellers will coexist on precious real estate a few years down the line. A black billboard says: Strike on the 18th. Fight for your rights. A 400 sq ft flat a must! Can’t help wondering, a year or two down the line, the slumdwellers will return, and the laws of Darwin will play out, and some will own several flats, some none.

The prayer meeting. Silent. Except for the drone of the rotating fan.
Dignified. Outside, a gentle rain glistens on the road and you walk skipping past puddles as you make your way home. Thoughtfully.

Jasmine strands for sale. White and orange, in heaps on green plantain. Starkly beautiful. Heady perfume. Why does it seem cloying, stale, fit for the dustbin the next morning?

First the dust storm, fine dust swirls brushed off the trees and buildings, the chandni and the lemon tree by the corner. Somewhere, a window slams. Sundry pieces of paper race on uneven concrete. A change in the air, a different smell, the smell of first rain. Thunder. Great big plops of rain splatter on gray, an art deco pattern. And then the downpour. Everyone rushes out to splash and get wet. Fine spray held with wonder on palm and face.

Continue with the thought thread on word-tags, meaning.

I watch her hobble.
The walking stick makes a ratatat sound on polished marble.
I watch her bent form stop-go and shuffle across the room.
I watch him by her side. Gray-haired, worried. Alert to every move she makes.
They’ve been together since 1945.
Ups and downs. Almost rags to, well, good.
No, the doctors don’t know why she’s ill as yet.
From one corner of the window, a golden temple spire is visible. Siddhi vinayak.
On the far horizon, the bandra-worli sealink cuts a lazy line across silver.
What will be will be.

My angel-mother’s b’day today.
She taught me how to smile. How to walk.
Beholden.
Thank you, A. mummy.

~
S. gave the group a treat y’day. Vada pao.
His niece cleared the 12th boards with 80%.
College, dreams. A fighting chance.
Kuch bhi ho sakta hai.
S stays in a slum.
India Shining!

Comprehension.
Not the connecting of disparate clues for an out-of-the-box conclusion.
Nope. Not the Eureka! sort.
Simple stuff, you know?
Like not having to think about the way you take to work everyday.
Or what a word means without having to force- think.
Not rocket science.
And that child with a learning disability is taken on a merry ride all over the suburbs, a normal Rs. 40 fare ballooning to Rs. 150.
Because he can’t.
Humbling.
Much to be grateful to the skies about.

You talk about randomness, Chinese philosophy and life events, but it is intrinsic in the brain wiring to look for congruence, patterns; a forced alertness is futile. Stupid too.

Overhead a storm breaks.
A mist washes over a distant hill. Lush wet.
One grimaces at unit processes. Like one did, long ago.
Drying, milling, blending, crushing.
Life processes?

A deadline looms.
Then it compresses.
Good.