Intermittent

Intermittent

The Bombay suburban trains – colloquially referred to as the ‘locals’ – are a fascinating experience.

A strange, harmonious-amidst-chaos world in this city that is little-harmony-amidst-massive-chaos. They are a legend unto themselves, an embodiment of this city, a symbol of its liveliness, anarchy, and beauty, an icon. Maybe it is the innate desire for journeys that endears them to us, maybe the perfect cultural and socio-economic pot pourri that they carry each day, or perhaps it is, bereft of imagination, just the convenience of travel they offer in a city that is too large for its own good.

Just like this poem here, the following is something that just erupted on a ride I took on the suburban rail today.

Hope you like it…

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A New Deal

A New Deal (Click on the image for source.)

A New Deal (Click on the image for source.)

Each year, I believe, brings with it its own learnings. I don’t want to, as is my habit otherwise, to look past and reflect and write a quite incomprehensible memoir of what happened in the 365 days that just passed. What is the purpose of it? I am, just as we are all, very likely to make the same mistakes, enjoy the same shenanigans, and live the same truths again.

Nothing, largely, ever changes. Things just get draped anew.

So, instead, I’ve decided to look at the year ahead. While this is also in accordance with my habit otherwise, I think it is at least a tad bit more optimistic.

And a better way, frankly, of spending a month you’ve absolutely no clue what to do with or about.

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