Behalaey shedin

A Lazy Weekend at Home

this is particularly about nothing in particular. just a journal entry about a lazy summer afternoon spent at home.

family gathering at Thakurpukur

I met a long lost sister and brother in law on Friday. I cried the previous night before I actually met them, when I did, it was a happy tearless union. Bro-in-law cooked a delectable lunch and we ate together with another friend called Nini, on the bed with rain drenched afternoon sunlight bathing the space with light and good cheer. Maybe the good cheer and light actually flowed from our hearts. But then the other half of the great room looked so dark, we had to arrange to eat near the window on the bed. No Bengali in their right minds would ever allow rice to be eaten on the bed.

But we decided to break some rules that day. Like everybody started drinking right after 11 a.m. I was given my pineapple sherbet. But I put it back in the fridge as I was talking so much. I had it later with lunch while they had by then switched to rum.   After they have had vodka, which is what didi prefers. (Me, my mum and Anupam do not drink, most others in the family do).

That, and chilled sweet fresh summer Himshagor mangoes. I like to have sweet fruits with my rice and dal and fish curry. As usual Bapida’s dal was fragrant – I nearly always manage to kill the fragrance of the masala (spices while saute-ing, he always does it right). Many of their twenty six cats and kittens are dead.

There are seventeen now excluding the two tiny ones that are minuscule in size and doesn’t leave the wedge in the sofa where their mum hides them from the house-tease Khatash. They are about five days old. The house filled up with nauseating fish smell when five kilos of fish got cooked in large pressure cookers that are used only to cook their meal. And then Bapida had the bright idea to lift the lid to let it cool so the army could eat first.

This is the only household I know where cats get preference over human guests. Bapida Sutapadidi rock, Nini…

It has been a long time. Everybody said it at least twice. Including Nini who is otherwise Prof  Nivedita in her college where she teaches Bangla with one of my nephews. She said she had heard all the stories about me in the course of the morning, before I arrived around mid-day. How long now? Four and a half years since I left town.

Later, they filled me up with news about how Abraham Majumdar and Ranjan Ghoshal organized the Mohin after Thirty Three Years show without Bapida who used to be the singer in all of their old EPs and one the very first three original members of the group. He is very hurt. While we were eating this girl from the TOI called and he almost turned her down. We frowned in unison.

I suggested he follow his friends’ advise and meet The Times of India girl to clear things up. He finally relented and the appointment was fixed up.


The whole morning I spent hours on the net trying to figure out a way to get out of Kolkata to my workplace. All trains are booked to limit till June 6th! I looked up all possible break journey routes: via New Delhi, Jaipur, Mumbai. No luck.

The Director called up and said, fly out, she would loan me the money. Well, wish I could. But I have too much baggage. I wish to carry some of my stuff this time, books, utensils, clothes. And a stove. When I went there, I had gone there with a backpack. And stayed on for over two years. Cant come again soon as it takes two nights and a day for a one way trip in an express train. Nearly four hours on a plane. Agents are no help.

Partha suggested I but some ticket and later he would see if he can get it approved under the VIP quota, provided no VIP is travelling that day. Am not sure I like the idea. What if someone does? I will not be allowed to board and I forfeit refund, lose money, as it is one cannot cancel a Tatkal ticket. The extra 300 bucks you pay for that would also be wasted….. would try again tomorrow…..

Missing Link and Prachir

Tonight I watched young Shubho of Lokkhichhara interview these two bands on his Star Jalsha Gaan Bhalobeshey Gaan. The title by the way is a line from an album of the band Chandrabindoo. I had known Missing Link in it’s formative stage five years back. Later, they made waves winning the Bandemataram contest. This evening listening to the rendition of their songs I could not make out why they had won back then, the songs were that vague and sugar sweet and so totally unlike what they are known to do on stage.

Prachir surprisingly seemed more open to ideas and all the three songs including Bharatbarsho indicated considerable thought. I liked the sound of and lyrics of the song “Deher khonjey, Dhangshostoopey, Raatri naamey“.

However,  rolling the R too much isn’t the way Bengalis speak. Also, as they spoke while answering Shubho”s questions,  their English influenced stilted, corrupted,  broken Bangla shocked me.

Shoumya Prachir in Star Jalsha with Shubho in blue in the BG

Shoumya Prachir in Star Jalsha with Shubho in blue in the BG

A song is never truly of a language and culture unless you also capture the cadence of that language and stay true to the typical diction in your verses. If you wish to be angry you cannot use the English diction and mixx it up with Bangla.

Speak Bangla the way Bongs do for Gossake! What the kids ought to realize is Bongs do get angry and they laugh and cry. It all can be done in Bangla using the rhythm and tone and pitch and modulation that Bongs would typically use.

Till that happens,  you are not rocking in Bangla, kidos. But good to know Star is now interested. Bangla alternative music is at last getting the attention that has been long due to it, I guess.

slow and melodious

Dust Unsettled tagged me to do a post on my favorite slow melodies and here it is – the first Tag post of my blog-life.

The first that comes to mind off handedly is “Bachpan ke woh din bhula na dena” . This never fails to inspire nostalgia in me. It transport me to those days of carefree moonlit nights when we sat on the terrace in the dark after dinner around our grand mother and sang and listened to tales from far away lands. The dream like trips were never forgotten.

The second one that haunts me when am walking down the streets is a song from the old classic Mackena’s Gold Ol Turkey Buzzard, the opening song that sets the mood of the film transporting you to another world far away, I find that very romantic :

Ole’ Turkey Buzzaarddd…
flaa-yin’, flyin’ hii—ghh

Watin’ for someone down below to die
Ole’ buzzard knows that he can wait
for every mother’s sons’s got a date
with him…

gold gold gold
people are dyin’ for
gold gold gold
people are fighting (killing) and dying for gold

The other songs I love listening to is Yara Sili Sili , Kesariya Balma and Qatra Qatra Jeeney Do
Qatra Qatra Miltee Hain,
Zindagi Hain, Bahney Do,
Pyasi Hoon Main, Pyasi Rahney Do Na

before going to work and on the way back home.

And then Babooji Dheerey Chalna/ Pyar Mein Zara Samhalna (tread carefully Sir, while you are in love…) on moonlit nights on the terrace with the kids, cousins and family contentedly lying on the mattresses around yaking through the night and that song playing followed by Faza bhi hain jawan jawan from the film Nikaah which makes me remember Andamans and the foaming sea waves and blue skies and then Tu Fiza Hain from the film Fiza.

I like to wake up to the sound of a Rabindra sangeet, Subhro Probhatey and going to sleep with Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Me to the End of Love” or Pink Floyd’s “Wish you were here .

When am tired, I like Ay Dilein Nadan from the film Raziya Sultana which addresses the heart of a lovelorn young lady asking her what dilemma overcast that pensive mind….

am basically a wanderer at heart and all of these songs give me wings, take me away to some place else – I love the trips because the old familiar seems lovelier with every instance of coming back…..I go away so I can come back I guess, nothing is sweeter than the journey back home even if that ‘home’ only be an idea in your mind

explanations that I think are due to you

I made some changes to the appearance of the Front page of my Log. You must have noticed that you cannot see your URL anymore, the Blogroll only features Paul, Ian and the WP standard.

I also pasted the Blue Ribbon Movement logo right at the top as I support the movement from my university days and feel all right thinking individuals and organizations ought too, if content and right to expression is important to them. I do believe these are crucial to the survival of a ‘people friendly’ world order and must not needlessly be politicized or stuck in grooves of petty, narrow domestic, regional interests.

I recently learned to use the text box in the side bar feature on WP, where you can embed widgets. I used to stare at the lovely little things on people’s blogs and wonder how they do it, when I chanced upon it by accident (with a bit of nudging by Sushant) although, as you can see, I could not embed “where you come from” Map of the world. But I was very happy to see how little alphabet like signs transformed themselves into fun little pictures that moved and danced.

I played around with it for a bit 🙂 like a child with a new toy – it still doesn’t fail to excite and amaze me how that little blue button down at the bottom of the page ‘knows’ how many people are reading the page! How does it do it? It is so tiny and only a colored button!!! I wish I knew.

Anyway, I recently got some query about my favorite subject for discussions – Bangla Bands, regional ‘rock’ (well not all of this contemporary stuff is that, but the kids like to call it that 🙂 ) music. I realized am supposed to keep people posted. So, like Ashok who writes the absolutely hilariously serious blog called “Doing Jalsa Showing Jilpa”, I made space for the Bands in the side bar – as you might have noticed, so you can easily find them all at one place, now, the links to the website of all the Major Bands.

Artist like, most of these guys are not bothered about such things as beating their own drums. They are too happy to be able to make music and live on their own rocking terms. So these sites suffer from neglect – they need a vigilant secretary – someone like me to keep at it I guess 😉 but I don’t think any of them are listening…

At least, for those that are interested, now, you would get ‘some’ information about them in their own words, their album listings, labels, press, band members names with their email ID and contact numbers from the sites.

To make space for these guys, and fit in all the links of my own friends, I created a whole fresh new page for my Blogroll separately. The list of people I wanted to be able to view and go read at will, was expanding by the day anyway, the space had to be bigger.

I made a new blogfriend called Mike lately, a wonderfully grounded, amazingly affectionate and warm and family and life oriented geek, that is so much fun to read and get to know. He just loves his life so much, it is a pleasure to hear him talk, in his blog. When I had said I wish to understand why men go crazy about Linux Ubuntu, he went and did a whole post about it and made sure it was NOT geeky at all so I could ‘read’ it!

He is a bit like Priyank and Vee and Alok and Crazy Sam and Sunny and all these bright young people I happen to know, who light up your world with their zest for life and freshness of being.

I also discovered Anchal Tyagi, a feisty woman of my age, who thinks the world is her oyster when she is in a good mood – love the way she thinks and writes and loves her beau 😀 and writes her blog, recently she was into the pink chaddi movement in a prominent way too.
And found Doug at Open Salon and discovered Open Salon. I had stumbled upon Doug Moran on EBlogger last year, when he had done that spit-out-at-the-world post on “why bloody should it matter to the State if my friend is a Gay or Lesbian and how does their marriage affect mine”. Now he has moved to OS, I have updated his link. I like OS by the way – you could check it out when you have time.

Through Rambodoc I discovered a great ex Army man that does ‘cool’ posts on exercise regimens and diet, would have to link him up here for you, but I would like to ask him first, feel a little shy right now…but would get him here for you sometime, so you can sometimes enjoy his blog too, if you are curious about such things, that is…

Also, read a wonderful piece at dated Navratri…she says, one has to go away sometimes, to come back stronger! Really loved that. It is as poignant as Priyank’s post about that nine year old alter-ego of his had been…

With no TV, stereo and the VDO drive on computer not working, no friends or family or boy friend here in this strange city of Ahmedabad (feel uncomfortable socializing with ‘colleagues’ being basically a shy person), I blog surf like crazy these days. So that list of fav-reads continues to grow. Some of you are such amazing writers, you take my breath away. I am very fond of words. Even now that am grown up, they still conjure sound, sight, dreams for me and transport me the way nothing else but only love can!

So, then, hope you would let me know if there is any other way I can shift things around to make my space a little more roomy. Haven’t heard from Odzer, Vee, Alok, Priyank, Ashes, Lakshmi in a long, long time. I really miss you guys. I know I haven’t posted anything nice to draw you here, but am sure we are friends enough, now, for you to come and say a virtual “hi” now and then?

a Spring evening in Kolkata

She looked around. Could not see him.

The couple sitting on the table across from theirs caught her attention. The woman wore a lovely red-yellow-brown Shantiniketani batik silk saree,  her hair was pulled up casually in a loose bun behind her shapely head.  Strands of black curls that just wouldn’t stay tied-in, framed her face. It was a typical Bengali face, slightly heart shaped, with dreamy large black eyes that made one think of the bottom of a dark inky black well. She had creamy olive-brown complexion and a very straight, slightly oily,  shiny nose, the end of which resembled the chiselled tip of a bamboo flute.  A large maroon dot adorned her little forehead. It was a tired but kind face that looked like it could break into a smile any moment.

Her mate looked pensive and he had a face that was hard around the edges, but it shared the same quality of easy gentleness with hers. These people looked like they had never ever slapped anyone or screamed or uttered a word of profanity ever in their lives…they made a fascinating stareable picture together – like a Subrato Gangopadhyay illustration…

But where is he?

Ever since her divorce years back, she hardly ever saw anyone. Reason being, her profession.  She was naturally prevented from meeting unattached  men.  The people she met on a typical day would be parents, teachers, computer professionals and domain experts. They came, they did what they had to do, called her “Madam” and then they left and that was it. She never ever saw any of these people again.

He had been a different story. The first day they had met in the library, she had been excited, they had discussed Contact, a Jodie Foster film she had watched the night before. Turns out that’s his favourite actress too.

She had talked – he had listened quietly. Later, he had asked, “Have you read Atlas Shrugged?” That had seemed to her to be irrelevant and absurd at that time. No, Fountainhead. “Well, you would like this one, I would get it for you”. With that he had disappeared from her space.

She had seen him again six months later. One cool dry spring morning as she walked into the staffroom, she had seen – no, not seen, she isn’t good at seeing people, she senses them or at best perceives their presence with her peripheral vision, so, she had sensed this young man there, and  had raised her eyes to give him the customary polite good morning. He had silently handed her a battered copy of the classic with an almost inaudible “your book” in English.  What?

She had frowned….

Is he making the ice-cream or buying it?

It has been a year since then. Phone calls had followed, but were rare and far between, they hardly ever spoke at work – he was extremely careful not to push, or break into her (sense of) privacy.  This is what had endeared this young person to her. Eventually, they had had a few long silent hours together, so comfortable that he had blurted out one day that hearing her over the phone felt like being wrapped up in a cozy warm kaantha on a holiday winter morning! She had laughed to hide her confusion.

Then she saw him, walking tall, striding easily across the grounds of the Nandan Film Complex, towards her, with a couple of cones in each hand. He held her for a couple of minutes with his eyes even as he continued walking.

She broke away from his gaze, got up from her seat, walked over to the parapet towards the roadside, and hitched herself up on the broad wall. Perched there, above the heads of the milling film festival crowd below, they ate their cones, silently watching, until the sun set.  In the purple darkness that followed, they noticed that couple walk down towards the snaking line in front of the entrance to the main auditorium.

A thin kid in a crumpled white shirt with rumpled black hair standing in a group nearby, forlornly watched the lucky crowd now entering the hall. When the breeze rustled the leaves of the deodar where they sat, a couple of leaves shook loose and fell where the kid stood.  For an instance the kid looked up. He looked puzzled when he had spotted them. Their eyes met.

He turned towards her once and then took out their passes from his back-pocket, raised his left hand slightly in a beckoning gesture. He held up their passes.  The kid looked away as if he hadn’t noticed anything at all and pulled his friend closer and they seemed to have a quick consultation. They looked up, at them now. . A moment of hesitation, then the kid walked over. He reached down and handed him their passes.

The kid dropped his eyes, murmured thanks and looked up at her; the look in his eyes didn’t say “we are grateful”.

She didn’t care.

He hesitated for a moment, then his lips twitched and he flashed her a smile. “Aapni shundor” ( “You are nice”). His friend, waved at them from where he stood. When the kid reached him, both of them walked together to the entrance of the auditorium. While the usher checked their passes, the pair had turned back for one last look at the silhouette of the young man and the woman perched on the wall.

He glanced at her. “Do you know how you look right now?” She ignored him. He was far better looking than she was. He always complained about how she neglected to take care of the way she dressed or let her skin go dry and chapped in winter. He held up his hand and pointed. She looked up. “Exactly like those.” He was pointing at the straight-back slender Asopalav trees skirting the grounds, covered with new-born-frail-pale lime green leaves, swaying gently with the cool February breeze. The baby leaves shone, like sparkling happy eyes, in the neon lights of a city getting busy with its evening chores. What? The leaves? The tree? She was puzzled. What did he mean – good or bad?

He watched her as she studied the trees thoughtfully, then everything around her, really taking in the scene now.

He felt something stirring deep inside of him, clawing at his young heart that made him want to get down from that wall and run. But he didn’t budge. He knew he never could bring himself to tell her. She turned to him.

He knew she could not read the expression on his face in the darkness.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

She stared, unsure. She would not exactly call them pretty – they looked good together, that couple…if that is what he meant.

He shrugged and gave up. “Well, if I hadn’t said that, would you have looked? Or have noticed how beautiful they look when the wind blows?”

Well, probably not. For a minute she hesitated…

What??? The bad – bad man! So, that was about those silly trees? And she almost thought for once he was going to….O well, never mind….she flipped her hair impatiently and turned away. He is only – well, he is just him. He isn’t her date or anything.

He watched her frown gather and then disappear. He lifted his hand in a sudden jerking motion, that jolted her a bit, waving it over her head, fanning the air in front of her face and legs – brushing imaginary mosquitoes away from her. Her face doesn’t quite look right. Stupid woman. Impossible woman. Who is going to waste time with someone like this? His suddenly felt tired inside of him. He fidgeted. Without looking at what he was doing, he drew her bag close to him. It felt warm and nice to hold on to. So he hugged it and held it close and looked away and watched the night traffic.

She relaxed, the sound of his voice felt like a caress to her restless soul. He was wearing a loose warm flannel shirt – it flared out when the wind blew and broke the bite of the chill in the wind shielding her from it. It felt cozy and warm to be near him. She sat still, looking completely at ease with the world around her.

Everyone was inside by now although the grounds were not entirely empty. The chai wallahs wandered lazily about with a large kettle propped in the crook of their left arm and the right holding styrofoam cups arranged in a long white pillar. One looked up at them expectantly but moved on when they smiled down at him.

This was Live – a concert under the open sky, a show they had thought might turn out to be much more interesting than what was in an imported Made in Italy can, inside.

A whiff of breeze blew his hair over his head and his face became fully visible as it caught the neon light of the post in front of them. He is so…quiet and young and clean and like a little bird… lovely – she smiled  – as one would, when a huge round full moon, suddenly sails into view in the summer sky.

there he comes rolling into view!

there he comes rolling into view!

d up

Masakalli Masakalli Udio Na Dariyo

Warning: Rant post on the eve of cruel May

Ah well, ok, ‘on the eve of the V-day this Feb’ if you please…

The more these other girls try to chat this natty man up, the madder he gets. Not about them. At them. They remind him of her. Of course, she is not at all like these other people. She is SHE:  different.

Their presence underlines her absence so intensely that he loses it completely and explodes.

Flaming words of sarcasm fly burning holes into goodwill. Only at unguarded,  perhaps alcohol drenched,  moments. People driven up steep walls lose it too and open fire.  He gets back as good as he ‘gives’ – so he broods about it less now. But still.  He can’t help realizing how UNFAIR this senseless mardon ka world is. For, what she can do, he cannot? He COULD not –

Aye,  Masakalli Masakalli/ Ud matakalli matakalli /Zara pankh jhatak gayi Dhool atak aur lachak machak kar Ud Masakalli…kar le puri dil ki tamanna

Hawa se jud, ada se ud…Masakalli…

Cavort with the Wind Masakalli

Cavort with the Wind Masakalli

No, that was not –  what he would have thought – but then, well, she isn’t a bird  –

Udiyo na Dario

Kar mandmani  !!

Badiyo na – Mudiyo

Kar nadaanii – bas,  tthaan le tu

Jaan le tu – sananana  hawa

Masakali matak matak matak – Hawa se Ud,  ada se Ud…

Go get to know the Wind

He was well aware that she wished he had said that : especially,  that part about “kar le naadaanii, Jaan le tu – sananana Hawa”.

BUT – was this – could this really be the GREAT BIG cause that drove him away? Her hawa se judna ? Her little flight over horizons he seems to have walked like the backyard of his own house.

On the Edge

she would never know

She doesn’t know. She never would know. Ever.

He didn’t either. He thought he did – but he knows if he allowed himself to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn’t KNOW. And also that she scares him. Drives him mad with her unpredictable ways. Of course she is not really unpredictable.

Thoughts of  ‘unpredictability’  – it absolves him of some responsibility of what happened. It is easier to overlook his own cruelty to her.

She did ask him enough number of times – as many as was permissible within graceful limits.


she worries

Sometimes, in the dead of sleepless nights,  he  knows,  she worries – about how he could be laid up somewhere with a broken arm or a leg – or worse still, cozily ensconced in the arms of some hoori that drives him crazy with “lotsasex” and lovely guile… well, he can’t – he would not deny,  it kind of  – does nice things for his – well,  ego.

He  knows that she sometimes stares at a very bad stupid  picture that  is all of him that remains now – with her, that is. The rest of him is somewhere so bloody far away she can’t even hope to reach him there in her imagination.

he knows she never could reach him

he knows she never could reach him

He tells himself that she has been up and down this slope so many times already.  She knows what it is like.  She KNOWS that it would pass.  She knows she would finally get away and be free. Till that time there would be  licking wounds alone in a hole in that breathless state when every minute is like a year.

He also knows that there would never be forgetting this one.  At least,  she wouldn’t forget him.  And that he would walk the earth wherever she treads. He knows that.  But it doesn’t bother him.

Life would be the same  – petty – insignificant – one track ram rod straight zooming into each unknown day – bumbling along – for her. For him too.  The same as ever.

as ever?

not love

He knows this is NOT love – only,  it could have been.  It is just that,  for her, he realized with great difficulty that he had been the one she had been looking for all her  post millennium year life.  That he had been her dream unfulfilled.

could have been?

could have been?

PN: Pictures sourced from the Internet copyright with respective owners

Chair, Person or his AIA?

well, which one? do I respect? the Chair, the Person, or his Ability-Inthe-Abstract?

what does each stand for? vamos, let us take a closer look at each one in turn.



Sheer Ability

–  sheer Ability in terms of a man’s  understanding, effectiveness, skills. what colour he is, what colour he represents doesn’t matter two hoots, when we simply consider whether this man has the ability to deliver us from evil and lead his folks across stormy waters to safety.  famous example from History, Hitler?

young Germans didn’t care what he represented or  looked like or even stop to question his methods or ideals. what they saw in a land swept with depravity, moral weakness and political indecision, was this little big man with Ability to Effect Change! that’s all mattered – then…

they saw in him a leader that could take them somewhere, where to, started to matter – BUT,  much later.  and then obviously  – there was a turn around as Time stands witness to.

the Person

the nice person that always smiles

the nice person that always smiles

you like the look, in their eyes,  when they look at you,  the way they treat you, the tone of their voice when they speak to you, the sound of passion and conviction in it, and you decide you like it. You like this man. He is somebody – a friend, a brother, a compassionate fellow that understands your life and times.

when I feel that, what he represents, what colour he is, where he is leading me to cease to matter.  swayed by complete trust I follow him – even if it be to the centre of the Earth – to possible death. famous example – well, the Pied Piper of Hamelin?


the Chair

Hot Seat

Hot Seat

– stands for Authority in the Abstract. no one man or woman in particular, but a position. who ever bloody sits on that Chair has to meet certain expectations, deliver certain basic goods, measure up to certain ideals. doesn’t matter at all who they are in their petty little personal lives, or of what colour or creed they are, as long as they do what is expected of them – by virtue of that Chair.

they are EXPECTED to lead us out of danger, to safety and prosperity – so, expectation is – you had BETTER DELIVER buddy, or else?

well, buzz off, we will pull him down, force him to abdicate, sack him  – make sure we  get some one else who would do the job!

So, now then folks, which one of the three am I going to give importance to? Obviously to the one that  is a safer bet,  I  have to get work done too.

and we all bloody well know, we can’t do it all ALONE by ourselves.  We do need someone out there up on the tree, looking ahead (the quintessential Leader) and getting someone (your Manager) out there with a map help (the Executives/Doers) to clear out the path with a hatchet so I (Domain Specialist) can pass on to the next phase to do my bit, yeah?

my boss

often reiterates, we mustn’t expect children to obey or oblige or plead allegiance because of authority.  In effect, not the Chair, go for the Person or at least Ability.

since I respect her a lot I contemplated.  And as you can see, I considered it reasonably closely, wouldn’t you say, in the light of human History and Literature…right here and now.

looks like the Chair gives one better options, empowers one in a way that the Person or his AIA cannot.


with the Chair, one isn’t EASILY at any one’s mercy – not really, with People and their AIA perhaps one isn’t that safe,  as an individual I run the risk of getting trampled upon nearly all the time?!

do you see what I see?  Or, well, what do you see, or have to say about the matter?

Lines – mean Space n Peace

there are lines that separate, divide, demarcate the limits as it were and defines them…and then there are lines that warn, and threaten and cause wars and destruction

there are other lines though that DEFINE, gives shape to stuff, eases a mass of life into some recognizable form

it becomes easier to deal with life then. you know what is where, what should and what should not be perhaps. it also releases time, for you are not tied up to all of it at once. I do think Lines have a way of freeing one in some ways. especially, Lines that came to be because of consensus, consideration, and were forged with care.

am not scared right now. I actually feel thankful 🙂 it is like new grounds. new territory is usually unsettling, landing usually is fraught with those terrifying jerks of rubber making contact with hard concrete, but you have managed to do it well – it looks like it is going to be actually smooth landing – to where? Home I hope.

I do like this phase of my life. when I stand back and look, my life looks neater, tidier than before. and I go to sleep in peace.

it is a bit like after P has cleaned code helping me fix my blog page. it makes the messy mass look nice somehow (did I ever say thank you? I wonder, if I haven’t, “thanks” re)

yeah, Lines can be nice and comfortable. Lines mean peace. Lines create space to fly in and out of 😉 . I like the people who stopped by, to do it for me. thanks.