Wives and Daughters

It has been just what was expected of it - a nice and calming read. And the reviews were right, its one of the most impressive works where character sketching is concerned. I think the book was something special because the author was able to create such amazingly real people, not good, not bad, just people, products of their circumstances.
I have quite enjoyed it, but will remember it forever because I so much looked forward to the build up to the end, and then was rudely told that there wasn't one. Elizabeth Gaskell died before she could write the last chapter. I was like :-o Unbelievable! The editors wrote what she had planned with the last chapter, the whole ending spread out like threads, cloth, scissors, needles and the embroidery frame. Its impossible to see the whole picture, the beautiful creation that only she could have designed. Without her hand, the raw material is is just that, life and meaningless.
Now that I have read two of Mrs Gaskell's works (Cranford and Wives and Daughters) I am convinced I will go back and read more.

Look what I found!

I have been looking everywhere. Have waited patiently for it. Have sought it in the daytime and in the evenings and found near misses and close lookalikes... but not the real thing.

Until today! And see what I found - not just the rainbow, but a cloud with a real silver lining!

Maybe there is still some hope after all...

Why am I here?

For that matter, why is anyone here? What is the purpose of life? T had asked me this a couple of months back and I had been sure of my response back then. I had said that we live for small day to day pleasures, the tiny highs and lows, the learning of a skill, the reading of a book, the happiness and sorrow of relationships and the bigger pursuit of blissful satisfaction through smaller, everyday events. I know I was very sure of what I said then and at one level it still makes sense. But only just about. Because I am lost just now, lost for a meaning, a purpose, a goal post. Increasingly the irritating question is beginning to eat into the assurance - the question that pales everything else into insignificance - What exactly am I doing here?

The answers in my head are making but little sense. A, my dear wonder drug, has stopped trying to rationalise this mood and gives me hundreds of hugs in one day, hoping to almost physically squeeze the negativity out. What would I do without him, my one super blessing.

I am hoping the upcoming bank holiday will help restore some peace and quiet. We're planning to get away from it all and hide ourselves in a tiny apartment by the river in Oxford. Five days to go...

Its nice and sunny, and spring's visible charms have smitten everyone. Can't wait to be bitten by the happy springtime bug.

The voice in my head...

... is that of Abida's. Many a time I don't understand what she says. But its music which touches a chord, time and again, without fail. The barriers of conventional language no longer exist when you find yourself singing, urging, praying with her. Isn't that the cruz of sufism regardless, to transcend boundaries of social constructs, to find your inner self?
This is what I have been singing silently all this week:
तू जो ऐ जुल्फ परेशान रहा करती है
किसके उजड़े हुए दिल मे है ठिकाना तेरा
ले चला जान मेरी रूठ के जाना तेरा
ऐसे आने से तो बेहतर था न आना तेरा

Nesting

Lately, we have had several discussions on this issue. A believes that I have entered the 'nesting' phase of life. I want to knit, crochet, bake, embroider and learn how to make quilts. Plus the urge to get teapots. All of this, according to A = zeroing in on the home = nesting.

So, what a pleasant coincidence it was when we came across a beautiful couple in the thick of setting up their nest. And we stopped and stared, and watched, and smiled and continued to look and be amazed. It is one of the most wonderful sights ever, the perfect partnership. You had better see for yourself and decide. I dare you not to melt just a little bit, and re-think your priorities.

News from the week gone by

It has been a week of unexpected discoveries. On my way back from work Thursday evening, I ran into an animated, giggly crowd. On looking about for a possible source of such excitement, I saw the Armani Exchange showroom display stripped of all the mannequins and instead inhabited by young men in nothing but their briefs. I must admit, I smiled, and walked on. But went back immediately to take these pictures solely for your benefit ;-)

And then there was that eureka moment yesterday when I realised why I like research so much. I love the feeling when amidst darkness, that tiny spark helps you throw light on the area that you are looking to understand. Its that 'Yeah I found what I was looking for!' feeling that makes me go back to work every single day. Its the job of a treasure hunter and I love it.

Plus I went book shopping and helped myself to My name is Red from Pamuk. And discovered fantastic crochet guides on You Tube. Brilliant stuff. Also knit one foot of a pair of booties for a friend's new born baby. The next foot is planned for tomorrow.

As things have shaped up, it is likely that I shall be able to write more frequently than has been the norm lately. Looking forward to some quality time with my computer in the evenings.

of insignificantly small things that make me smile

On my way back home yesterday, I decidedly put the book in my hand back in the bag. With a slight rush of nervousness preceding a new or long since unpracticed activity, I gazed out of the train window. It was just the day for such an exercise - 6:45 in the evening yet the right amount of light from the setting sun.

Friday evening, a week well spent behind you, the prospect of a good dinner with friends ahead - is there really anything more that one can ask for from life? As I contentedly planned the weekend ahead, the train screeched into Wimbledon. On the platform, there was a young girl sporting blue jeans and a black jacket, not interested in the 7:02 train to Shepperton, buried in the yellow book in her hand with a slight sweet smile on her face. I strained to see what she was reading. She looked so understandingly absorbed in and mesmerised by what she was reading, I wanted to know what it was. I bent forward in an attempt to catch the name, much to the wonder of my fellow travellers. The train's doors closed and I knew I had only seconds if I were to find out... I panicked slightly at the thought of living with the mystery. I had to find out - please God help me just this once and I shall never ask for anything else ever, promise!

The wheels turned slowly and my heart started sinking. It is not to be, I thought, I will just have to go to Waterstones and look at all the yellow books and see which one matches that particular shade of yellow... despair... dismay...please please please... and she lifted the book just that tiny bit to change the page... and I caught the unmistakable words as the chug chug of the wheels picked up speed and she went out of sight - A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini!

I smiled my way back home. Its one of my favorite books, a present from a distant friend, and I have loved every moment spent reading it. Good choice, girl in blue jeans and black jacket!

squeaky clean

shiny taps

singing mirror

new car smell

champagne flute

blue sky

citrus perfume

floor boards

spring cleaning

flared skirts

fruity soap

fresh wipes

green tea

silverware

new book

Diary of a Nobody

Brilliantly hilarious, a surprise winner I must say! Never thought I would laugh out loud on the underground thanks to typically dry english wit. And sometimes it was the sheer eccentricity of it, the obviously funny in the dead serious.

Loved every bit of it. Highly recommended for endless train or bus journeys - they are a breeze with this one!