Back from the Bog

It's been a long time since I've written anything... I guess I've been wallowing in a morass for the last four months. Most of this wallowing has been on foreign ground: central London, mostly. And a few days in Paris. During those four months, I visited several ancient hallowed churches: at Oxford, Burford, and Salisbury in England, and the Notre Dame and Sacre Cœur in Paris. Was I secretly hoping for an ablution, perhaps?

Anyway, here I am, back in Bengalooru - the act of returning to my hometown was the abluting, after all :)

Now that the juice has started to trickle again, here are the topics I plan to write about in the coming weeks:

- The Barfing Ladies and other Short Stories: Tales from my observations and experiences on Hosur Road
- Sustained little Wishes: On the pleasures that come from altruistic indulgences
- Receiving Blessings - A How-to Guide: This may actually work in practice
- Ruhe Sanft Pranayama: This does work in practice
- The Quiet Joy of Fasting: On the subtle feelings that arise during fasting
- Introducing Mrs. and Mr. Tweedy: Any similarity to persons living is intentional ;)

Poignant Graffiti

The elevator in my apartment had been graffiti-free. No love exposed, no budding artists appreciative of the female form, pretty boring actually. But yesterday, someone had broken all rules, and had to release their pentup emotions - on the elevator door. He (presumably he) has written: girl was poison.

How striking. One can only imagine what was going on through this guy's mind. The fleeting glance which sowed love in his mind. The yearnings, the long nights of dreams and fantasies, all the desires of wanting to be united with his love... of wanting to brush her quivering red lips against his own... of wanting to embrace and feel their hearts thumping in unison...

But then suddenly reality struck. He is devastated, betrayed, and bitter. The budding love got slashed, Uma Thurman style. That fragile creation in his mind was in fragments. The sutradhara has switched on gravity and he has crashed to the floor. Whom can he share his feelings with? Who can sympathize with him, and offer solace for his grieving mind? Who else, but the residents of the floors 2,3 and 4 of my apartment block.