I have started reading a new book , which is quite interesting it is a series of short stories titled Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. After a short break at my college it is starting again tomorrow , been a nice period of rejuvination actually , eventhough it has not been very productive.
So presently I'm suffering from a strange malady . Sufferred by almost everybody ,end of break blues if you can call it that anyways it is back to the grind for me.
I think I should start wrting some fiction . Its a good exercise I think since the lack of television has left me bored at most when I'am not studying or sleeping that is. I find myself sitting next to three band radio , listining to the BBC world service .We are doing up my house at present so I have moved into the garage.Its a modified garage we have equiped it with a Kitchenette and a bathroom . Its quiet quaint and cosy I have cocunut tree in the middle of my sitting area.

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hAPPy diwali!!!!!

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Sometimes I don’t know what to write, other times I know what to write but there is no where to write and on other times I improvise.
Sitting here I wonder. What am I doing sitting in front of this mirror reading what I write
I really do believe certain feeling can be converted into verbal focal points of writing.
But sometimes thought don't enter your mind, influences are lacking yet sometimes everything clicks and lights blink and you are on a role. Someone once told me that great artists convert their happiness and sorrows in to art and that art is a standing example of how they where feeling on that particular day at that particular time. That the driving principle behind me writing this blog.I think may be it will {blog goal} change tomorrow or day after or may be it will never change or may be just may be I may just stop writing.
MC DONALDS- I'am just loving it

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clicke here and feed a hungry child.
Just cut and paste the url in your browser bar
http://4wav.com/index.php

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I found myself to be a quite an alien , in my own country . Yes an alien , it;s living in a foreign country, a foreign culture..Even though I have lived here for a lifetime ,my lifetime to be exact , it never seems to amaze how of cultural different I'am from my fellow denizens. I think this alien thing at that it somewhat depresses me , my country has not had the same effect on me , or I have choose to ignore it, and left with this mindset , alien , strangely alien.I'am in a diifferrent dimension from people around me , it freaks me out sometimes.
I have found I cannot write this blog in certain places , I need a good location some cyber location don't seem to work for me.
At the start of the blog I was quiet conscious of other people reading it , but know the idea does not seem so bad now ..

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My Station: "I walk through the shattered glass, barefooted.The splinters piercing softly into my sole.The glass merges with body with crimson hue.Yet I walk continuously on the scorched baron earth.My blood dries away and dies, like everything around me.It begins to rain washing away the darkness in darkness,It flows every where washing away my now dry blood which burns,My foot cleansed by the pure earth lies scared yet I walk forward. Pain grows like a cancer this pain turn not to hatred but to poetry"

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268 steps,
I climbed a hill and came down a mountain,
Early last evening, college was over, or rather mine was.
I was waiting for a friend he had college for about an hour more.
Anyway a near by hill graces the campus, I had noticed earlier, a pair of steps lead to the summit of this green monster.
My old friend the sun was clambering about playing with the passing clouds, and a gentle breeze was blowing in a southwesterly direction
Time to kill, and boredom lead me in the direction of the hillock.
So I walked up to the monster and looked him in the eyes and all I could see was his tapering tongue leading me to his treasure.
Steps, a stairway to my heavenly hill.
I begin to climb his, old, worn-out, stone steps. Slowly, I ascend observing the slowly passing forest. I feel, like Indiana Jones just a few steps way (about 210) from the last remnants of a lost civilization.
I sit down on the side of these steps, somewhat out of breathe .I enjoy the cool air sweeping away the droplets of sweat from my face .I feel a coolness a sense of completeness, oneness and a strange soothing loneliness.
I began to analyze the reason for me to climb this hill. Was it that I had time to kill or was a strange signal from my subconscious mind that lead me to this deserted piece of land mass, or was it a act of god.
The answer to that I really don't know, may be nothing in this life is actually real, it all an illusion or everything is predestined and can not be change even if we wanted to.
Anyway I after questioning reality I return to climbing, somewhat perturbed I walk .On reaching the summit , I survey the land far and wide.
The small ness or the lack scale of object as seen from a height never amazes me.
Earlier, in my short existence I had lived on a seventeenth story of a building, where I spent hours looking down at my domain observing everything as a hawk flew by, soaring gracefully.
I finally reach the top, guess what I see?
Herds, buffalos grazing away, will solitary windmill played with the wind. I sat my self on a rock and assumed the position of the Rodin's thinker. The muscles in my eyes relaxed as I gazed into the eyes of the earth. The far away mountains and the open, wastelands of semi-urbanization, stared back at me.
The mountains, in the reflection of the sun looked, blue.
BLUE MOUNTAINS
Times flies quickly when you know you are alone , and have no where to go.

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