Dear lord; I am getting old. As I have said multiple times here before, I had juicy tidbits of a promising post, simmering away in my mind. But as it happens a lot of late, I had been away from my (or any) computer and couldn’t put down my thoughts. And now, all thoughts are gone. All that remains is a sweet, tranquil emptiness, edged with joy and happiness.
I am in Delhi now. Had forgotten how cold the felt. Or, how amazing it is to write with a pen, on paper. Like, the words already are, and my fingers just hold, like one might hold the tiny, cute, chubby hands of a toddler, and facilitate the pen to slide on the “marked” path(s) making visible, that which was till now invisible. Just as Michelangelo had said in that book (Agony and Ecstasy) that the sculpture is there already, inside the marble slab; he just chisels it out. Or was it someone else who said that. I love writing with a good pen.
The cold, yes, the Delhi cold; it’s not as bad as I faintly remember, not yet at least. I used to wear multiple layers of woolen stuff earlier. Now, not so many, not as yet.
Having Hummus has been a disappointment, in Delhi. I love Hummus, and it such a simple thing to make; and they go wrong with that. Tut! Had it at two places; The Oberoi, Gurgaon and Café Turtle, Khan Market. Bad. Especially, Café Turtle (Khan Market), food there was overall pretty bad. It’s a very cute, cosy place though. Perfect for hangout, but not a place to spend one’s hard-earned money on food.
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