In the beginning there was god and then there was man. It is written we are all same.
We the prodigal children who walk this earth in search and in search we go.

I sit in a large vestibule, moving. I look at life through the side window carefully concealed behind soiled curtains. Air flows out in to the room through a complex labyrinth of vents and condensers and compressors but the effect is not different form cooling actually thinking back it is cooling.
The room moves, sometimes stops, turns like it has mind of it own. Not knowing I later I find out it has a mind of another.
My room, stops or at least the mind decides to stop. Silence is my fellow companion in this room. Lights are incident on me from overhead at the command of the mind. I look around me and proceed to a tiny opening, which has opened from what was formally wall. Metal steps extend magically to the ground as I step down. The wall reappears as magically as it disappeared and the room moves on leaving me quiet stationary.
AND stationary I am

Another week has ended , another Sunday I have spent alone in the out-house I call home. I have tests to study for , assignments to submit. Waiting as the new week prepares yet another onslaught.
The past week I have read Lovely bones by Alice Seabold , Its an excellent book . I'm sure the book has changed me in some way but I cannot put my finger on it.I enjoyed reading it and am sure If I ever find an another book by Alice Seabold on a bookstore. I'm sure to buy it .Yah and I got myself a new book , looks like I'm becoming a bibliophile , the new Jhumpa Lahiri novel , Namesake . I like her writing but I have noticed she has restricted herself to writing about bengalis and more bengalis . After reading a entire book of short stories on bengalis now reading a novel on bengalis is beginning to irritate me . Enough of eating Mach (fish) and talking about CPIM. I know you cannot get hilsa in Boston so stop complaining.
Note to myself - I should read Nikolai Gogol or Aleksandr Pushkin next time ..Or some scifi .. im pretty sick of breakout fiction.
-I'm sliding against the chicane , sparks fly up into the sky