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haiku maybe ?

instantly mortified the mind, timeless

winter's truth is dread self-defeating

now the expected sunrise, stressed out symbolism

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Don't get lost in heaven

There are things a person can do when presented with a 3-day weekend, one of which is to take an out-of-town trip to some charming spot where the hand of man has never set foot, in an attempt to get away from the daily hubbub of the metropolis. Only, it seems like everyone else and their dogs have the same idea. Ergo, you reach the previously mentioned idyllic paradise only to come face to face with a heaving mass of holidaymakers, many of whom are from your city and, if you are truly jinxed, from the same neighbourhood. It tries the soul, no?

Which is why I find the idea of coming home to Pune a splendid one. Apart from the comforts of home food, regular availability of drinkable tea and coffee and the delight of simply staring out the window, I don't do much. Of course, the pater usually has a list of errands to be run and I'm happy to roll up the sleeves and help out. Every now and then, friends make time and I fire up the old Kinetic and visit them. Basically, it's a …

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Someone very dear to me passed away in March leaving behind an emptiness I'm still struggling to come to terms with. She was 84 and a part of me tries to use that as a modicum of comfort. Another reminds me of the many tragedies, trials and tribulations she experienced, suggesting I be inspired by her courage and strength of mind. While yet another reminds me that I will never again taste the dishes that formed the bedrock of my childhood and epitomise comfort food.

The arc of my life and memories are dotted and sometimes defined by her. A 1-RK house with speckled tiles, me lying in a lap that is covered by a cotton sari softened by repeated washes, the fragrance of 501 soap permanently embroidered into the fabric. A hand roughened by work, caressing my forehead and teasing my hair into different patterns. The same hand patiently pouring a karandi of vettal koyambu into the center of a pat of cold curd rice in my palm. The feet I would be asked to massage the weariness and pain a…

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Dear Reader,

History will boldly testify that your favourite blogger is usually slow on the uptake, a state of affairs that's blooming with each passing year like a reverse-Revital. "Why this self-harshness, G", you may ask? Well...

I've been doing the Bom-Pune-Bom trips for 9 years and it's taken about that long to accept that MSRTC Shivneri, still the best bus service of them all, simply cannot (or, realistically, will not) cope with 3-day weekends. Since my job profile does not allow me to plan my travel in advance on said Fridays, I land up at Dadar, view the queue of potential passengers snaking a long way from the ticket window and mentally prepare to arrive home at the hour of morning reserved for sheepish teenagers and dacoits. The Expressway doesn't help anyone's cause thanks to truck drivers spreading themselves generously across 3 lanes and clogging the Lonavala pass to a point where the traffic jam is about 3 km long. A stretch that would tak…