Saket, Steve and a satiating Sunday

And I'm back at Max, Saket. Dada is still not okay obviously but she's getting better every day. Touch wood.

I almost enjoy these little excursions to max now. Sitting in the 6th floor waiting lounge of the ICU wing, I can see a humungous residential colony on my right. From the main road it's impossible to tell just how deep it goes but from this height, it stretches all the way till my eyes take me. It's almost a slum, with exposed red brick structures going up five floors with no lifts obviously. The ground floor has the shops; chemists, fruit sellers, hardware stores, even a rental agency for serviced apartments. I'm not sure how these homes are capable of being serviced. Definitions vary, I guess. 

This is on the left side of the road. On the right is the humungous, uber fancy max hospital that I'm currently at. It's beautifully landscaped, with pink chinar trees (that come closest to resembling the Japanese cherry blossoms ;only the flowers are varied shades of pink hanging loosely on deep brown bark) and those pygmy sized palms that look like giant green flowers. As you walk inside, you can't help but notice how few Indians you see. It's as if all the metro-ness of Delhi resides here. The reception and waiting lounges are flooded with middle eastern and African faces. Even the ones who look distinctly Indian are not. The moment they start conversing amongst each other you know they're from one of the neighbouring countries. You can see wads of American dollar bills in their hands, all crisp and ready to fly. I'm sure each one has an interesting story about what brought them all the way to Delhi and what happens to those who can't take the journey. Morbid,yes? I'd still love to know. 

Yesterday was a really satiating Sunday. I woke up late but slept well through the night. Went to B block soon after, discussed the pending issues with dad, started the detox diet, and spent a few glorious hours at Lodi cafe reading the last bit of Steve Jobs. The bergamot and grape juice tea was just perfect, as was the music neither Shazam, nor I could identify. There are so many Regina Spektor clones these days. Studmuffin and I shifted base to Mashrabiya for about an hour after that and then drove back home to finish the second half of Crazy Stupid Love. What an awesome movie! It's as good a Love Actually that an American could've made. 

Time to grab some grub at the whole foods store downstairs. Goodbye, non-audience.

Kites in January

There is something
about blue doors
and green, moss walls

monochrome pictures
in long corridors

a drawer full of letters,
of castles in pencil sketches
for when the memory fades
but the love fetches

dust laden, moth-bitten
Uncles and Krackers

the Daisy smell
on rolled sleeves
of floral shirts long forgotten

What were those cosmic jokes
of five-pointed stars on erasers
similar signatures
the many coincidences

Did we love then?
Do we love now?

So long
Till we meet again
in another time
another fray

Old friends. New Friends.

Hanging out with school friends is always a pleasure. You don't even have to get along with them necessarily; so long as you can recall common memories, shared experiences and giggle at all and sundry. Real, current friends on the other hand are harder to come by, harder still to keep. Too high-maintenance.

Mussourie is on the cards in just a few days. I can't wait to hang around char dukan, rokeby manor, sip on warm lemon tea and freeze to near death. Fortunately I even have 3 books waiting to be finished! There's the Jobs biography, which so far at least has been like a really long gossip column on Jobs albeit with some really interesting perspectives on running a business.

10 days later....

Mussourie was sooo good! Sigh. I can barely believe its already over, even though its been 3 days since we returned to horrible Delhi. There was warm sticky toffee pudding oozing out caramel sauce, ginger tea, the lal tibba walk, Viktor's home next to the graveyard, and good old Berry, the St. Bernard!!

The dreams of course are still refusing to stop.  The latest one featured a new (not) face. I recognized her handwriting in his register of drawings. And then she came to apologize and tell me to be friends again. My knees wobbled even in the dream. :)

Such was the bond, that is now irreparably broken.

Such was the love. Albeit always unknown to them.