ongoing

hmmm so where do i continue, am here in a place i also call home. home as in people...and the absence of my parents is challenging to say the least. The jet lag is surely taking me under early evenings and I donot rise until 12 hours later, and it is easy to blame my inertia on that..inertia of the body, not the mind. My mind is bordering on the sad ghosts and new memories I am to make.

The new experience of silence so far has drawn my attention to the sounds.. and its like any other place in the world. Not Unique. people, cars, cabs.. vehicles of life.

On a side note, it was fun to be in Heathrow airport after 10 years.. the last time I was there, it was as a 20 year old, a "young" 20 year old, not wise to the world, quite naive and yet burning with the potential to be someone else given the chance and awareness. I remember being very cautious about changing terminals, holding on safetly to my carry on and forcing myself to NOT talk to strangers- all because of my father's request. He knows me pretty well, and probably knew that I would strike up a conversation with some eccentric nonetheless..and Yes I did do that. She was an enigmatic and an odd East Indian woman travelling from Calcutta to Toronto. And in terminal 3, while daring to approach a cafe kiosk and ordering a hot chocolate (I use the word "dare" coz I was not familiar with kiosks, or pounds, or the unfamiliarity of the concept of airports, or food courts or people waiting in transit... soooo foreign a scene that it was safer to just keep to myself, but as always complacency just bugs me and pushes me to do something I am sure my parents or anyone I know would not do! hmmm it is interseting how this same observation made by my esteemed mummy about me irritates me to bits, while its quite alright when i say so myself..) I glanced around to people watch and caught sight of Mrs. K. She was overtly dressed in indian garb and looked gaudy. Normally I would have looked away but her eyes were clever. She smiled and then looked down at her young son pulling at her saree. I assumed he was her son by their interaction, and yes she confirmed it later on.. but at that moment I saw the boy and he looked caucasian. I assumed the father of the child must be caucasian as well, and yes she confirmed this later on as well, and was fascinated. Yes.. this was back in the day when I had not met any mixed race couple, or their offspring and I wanted to know her story! I didnt want details of how they met or how their life was... but wanted something that I could not define or categorize. I just hoped she would tell me.. Mrs. K did have a story- an eccentric one ofcourse- but I will protect her anonymous privacy by not delving into it.. I did write it all down in my journal while on the plane to Calgary because I knew I would most likely not meet someone like her again..so yes she was my chosen stranger on my maiden voyage..
Quite the side note, eh? Brevity aint my style tonite!

India india indiiiiaaaaaaaaaa. so fascinating that it borders on mundane. If everything about it is stimulating, how can one experience the stimuli?

i love writing in my blog because it talks to me. As I type each word, I confirm what i feel/think..

Am off to Varanasi soon, in 2 days.. and will meet some friends from another home. But today, I will visit the therapeutic community I worked with a year ago and spend the day there.. I cannot wait to see them.

I miss my mummy and pappa. it is what it is.