Misty Window Panes

The rains started sometime when he had fallen asleep on the couch, the hum of the air conditioner lulling him into an uneasy sleep. He nuzzled his head on the pillow, trying unconsciously, to cradle it into that sweet spot.
He was woken up by the distant rumble of the approaching thunderstorm,feeling a vague uneasiness. A throat parched and with a heavy head, he placed his bare feet on the cold vinyl floor and felt the chill run up his spine pushing him into the realms of wakefulness. He walked across the room and ran the water from the tap into his favorite jet black cup. He liked the cup. He drank half the cup, suddenly no longer thirsty, unhurriedly emptied the remaining half into the sink.Watching the water etch its way across the metal at the bottom, disappearing in a half murmured gurgled sigh.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light, he went to the window sill and pulled back the curtains,just a bit, and rested his head against the cold glass window. The sky was a tortured canvas of grey with the last rays of the sun, desperately trying to hold sway from the far horizon. The rays were fighting a losing battle. The lightning bolts streaked across the southern skies, lighting up the heavens in a flash of cosmic brilliance followed by the rumble that shook the glass against which his cheek rested. He stood there for a long time, staring unblinkingly at the rain drops falling off the sill. A steady patter almost in sync with his silently beating heart. He stood there until he could not longer see with his breath condensing in a translucent mosaic on the glass. He stood back and painted a squiggle on the misty canvas with his finger. He spent a long while admiring it,until the squiggle disappeared into a meaningless sludge.

He sighed and wondered, what if he had not taken the chances that he took, in the blind belief that whatever the outcome, he could rest assured that he did all he could?
With the benefit of hindsight, he thought ...it would have been easier not knowing.....

He closed the curtains tight and walked back to the couch and snuggled into its deep cushions hoping for sleep to wash over.

Of Fireworks and Crowded Metros.

Half of Sunday has already been spent in bed. Breakfast comprised of all of 4 chocolate chip biscuits and am contemplating my options for lunch. The newly opened Indian restaurant is bout 20 min on cycle from my place and the Pakistani joint is bout 10 away. The other option, the cheapest and by far the the most nutritious is to cook a meal by myself,but needless to say it's the most least appealing option.I am tired of surviving on Avalakki ,but yeah with the range of culinary skills at my disposal, I dont have the luxury of ticking off from a list of exotic dishes,what I plan to conjure today.

Yesterday was particularly tiring. We were not the only people who thought that the Asakusa fireworks were a good distraction from the grindmill of our daily lives. The place was like Chickpet on a day when all cloth merchants decide to give away their wares at half price.
We had to walk for a good hour before we found ourselves a 20 cm gap in the line for the couple of us to fit in.After an hour of staring at the sky at a particularly awkward angle owing to the barricades and a few boughs of a goddamed tree obstructing my peripheral vision, we decided to call it a night and boarded the overcrowded trains back to central Tokyo,nursing the back of my neck on the way home,sweating buckets...

Dinner was a doughnut and a Banana-something in Italian-Frappe at a Starbucks in Ikebukuro.

Finished a few more pages of the Bertrand Russell book on the train ride.

Of Lazy Weekends and English Weather

The past few weekends have been not too different from from what my more illustrious countrymen in white flannels have been seeing in the ol Blighty. More or less rained off .

In a desperate attempt to retain a sense of connectivity with the world where I come from aka where every one,including the overweight techie project manager(whose idea of exertion is a stomp on the aspirations and personal lives of the minions working under him) to the doodhwala, knows better than Rahul Dravid, who should be in the team and which shot to play to the ball pitched on middle and leg,swinging in and seaming out, I have been up quite late these last few nights following the progress of the Indian team losing the script of the "How to win a Series Victory in England" manual and occasionally finding a few pages.

Btw , in a moment of quiet reflection, I am sitting back and just wondering if the above sentence was the longest I've ever written in my life.
The story of my life these days..these Moments of utterly pointless mental excursions :)

Anyways watching Cricket in England has its own moments, the sartorially elegant crowd, with everybody from the village idiot to the mayor turning out in their best hats and ties to watch the progress with emotionless blank faces. Compare this with the atmosphere in Eden Gardens or Sabina Park, you know why there was/is/will be so much talk about the British stiff upper lip.

Have been reading Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy for ages now. It's a pretty heavy tome written in tight English prose. Anyway this is not light reading, and being a Cambridge grad, he has quite a reputation to live up to, so I will not complain bout the rather bland writing style . I must say that, this is pretty informative guide to the Western thought process.
Have Haruki Murakami's "Dance Dance Dance" next in line.

In other (rather stale) news, I fooled around at the Disney Sea Resort(got hold of some free passes from my manager here :) ) a month ago and went on another weekend jaunt to Karuizawa and pottered around a volcano. The 21 km hike had long lasting after effects
though.. Limped my way through most of the week after.

Have a weekend(a sunny one for a change) of lazy reading and train trips to central Tokyo in store.....Fireworks display in Asakusa tonite.

Schönes Wochenende
Cheers