It's really hard to write on this computer

I will miss: the shape of the range of hills behind by house; the way it curved itself like a bowl, and on clear nights all the stars fell into that bowl.

This everyday lesson: the only way to tackle a steep pathway up a long hill is head in, ready, one step at a time, with willingness to breathe hard.


Tripta, who hugged me and cried.

The freshness of the air. It's a different kind of air up there, and the sky robed itself in glory on many many evenings.

Now we are nowhere and everywhere, in between places, in between trains in one of the most populous cities on earth. We are the tiniest people in a great heaving, working mass, waiting for our train to take us away from here.