Friday 14 April 2017

Follow the path that is no path, follow your bliss

It is such a nice feeling when a friend tells you that he has been reading your blog in order to catch up with what is happening in your life. Not only does it convey a sense of caring but it also puts a smile onto your face. You throw a few sentences in the air, juggle with some words on a blank sheet and someone actually takes the time to go through the lines and comment on them with warm consideration in the voice :)
Meeting Zyad is always such an absolute pleasure. He had just turned 20 when were first introduced to each other and 17 years later the rhythm of our relationship has not changed that much. Same tempo.Same beat.

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My car has gone temperamental these days and I have sent it to the mechanic for repair.It is never easy to part with a vehicle which has served you faithfully for years but I guess sooner rather than later I will be left with no other options than purchasing a more reliable car and bid goodbye to my old mazda. It will be a sad moment. It is not as much the car itself as the souvenirs attached to it; road trips, laughter, confidences exchanged on the back seat, adventures galore...

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Exactly one year today since the breaking news of Viraj's cheating on Vimla and the latter's life taking a spiral downfall. Out of this chaotic mess, long drives and reconnecting with nature helped in saving our two lost souls. What has life tried to tell us this past year? That it is indeed a mystery to be lived and not a problem to be solved, that good things do spring out from bad situations, that everything happens for a reason. We went for a cup of cardamom and cinnamon tea at Pamplemousses this afternoon. We talked about our failures,our sense of shame towards life, towards people. Acknowledging my faults and weaknesses and voicing out my sense of guilt surprisingly did not make me feel as bad as I would have thought. It was quite liberating actually. I never talk about these things out of fear that it might affect my self esteem too far without hope of recovery. Today I realized that finding the right ear to pour it out to just made me feel lighter. Someone knows, someone is aware, someone understands.


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I am reading a novel that Boris gave me. It is an evocative and moving tale of a young woman making a new life for herself after the passing away of her husband gone on a mountain trek.I don't want to finish it too early as there is a restrained beauty to it. It is the type of novel you wish to never end, more because of the prose than the story line.
Extract:
I sifted through my mind for whatever I could retrieve of him, reconstructing our years together; the way I pretended to sleep so that he would bring tea to our bed each morning,tugging a tuft of my hair to wake me.How we would eat omelettes day after day because we had failed somehow to shop or cook.
I longed for the simple joy of being married to him, and to have him there to confirm my memories - was our cupboard black or brown?Did the neighbors really have a dog called Simona?Where was that bouldered and scrubby place we went to, the day his motorbike was delivered after weeks of waiting?He had driven very fast and we were wildly gleeful, like children who had escaped school.






Douze petites minutes

Quatre rues séparent ma maison de C hez Ram où trois pains maison chauds chauds  m'attendent tous les matins. Cinq minutes à pieds pour ...