I was not at home on Saturday and Sunday. I was staying over Birdie’s house.
My supposed meeting with that publisher didn’t happen as I thought it might on Sunday. He stays in another city in Kerala – he could not come on Sunday and will be coming tomorrow. I hope to meet him tomorrow or day after.
I sent the manuscript to Birdie yesterday – she said she will make what changes she feels might be good and send it to Do and I for approval.
Ah, that sounds all very businesslike. Which is not how I intended to begin this entry with. Tuesday afternoon here. The sun is beating down. Patches of blue sky roaming through on their own will. I wish I could be a cloud. Wandering free. To roam the horizons of this world. If clouds could speak I wonder what they would say. It would really be a bird’s eye view of the world, wouldn’t it? Would they not see how foolishly we manage our planet? Ah, to talk to a cloud. There was a movie, wasn’t there? “A Walk In The Clouds.”
But I am not here. Nor am I there. I just don’t know where I am. I did get something done yesterday though. I started writing that collection of short stories from my two stays in China. Perhaps all of this memory dredging takes its toll somewhere. I had a bizarre dream last night – bodies falling down from four storied buildings. Ugh.
I realized something – the sun makes me unhappy. Strange, isn’ t it? I feel great when the weather is gloomy – dark clouds seem to lift the dark clouds inside me.
I admired the way Do worked in sending me the mails. What brilliant organization it must have been. My mind wanders even in the simple act of writing a mail. I write this and as I write I see that there are 13 mails in the Drafts section. I think – 13? What could that be? And I see one mail like this. Just nothing else but this. There is no sender in the subject line.
Let your love flow outward through the universe,
To its height, its depth, its broad extent,
A limitless love, without hatred or enmity.
Then as you stand or walk,
Sit or lie down,
As long as you are awake,
Strive for this with a one-pointed mind;
Your life will bring heaven to earth.
Strange. I don’t know if I wrote it. I doubt it very much. I don’t know who wrote it. Would it be someone who wrote to me? Is it something a friend wrote? Or something I liked on the Net? Even as I puzzle over it, I realize just how many gaps our memory is subject to. Why do we forget what we ought to remember?
Sigh. I am just not in the best of moods today. Oh God, do send some dark dark clouds here. Here, I send some pieces of white clouds to fall through the blue sky and touch the rim of the floor where your window meets the sun.
PS: Part of my sadness arose on Sunday when I desperately wanted to have liquor filled chocolates. The melt in the mouth kinds. Nowhere in Bangalore could I find it š
