There is something extraordinary in the ordinary every day. The ordinariness is like the ordinary blue glass bangle on the arm of the woman. Her orange cotton saree, with thin and broad green lines for a border; the saree is raised above the ankles. The hair is pulled back into a ponytail with loose ringlets peeking out from near the temple. And at the forehead, a significant lock of hair rests. A usual sight for a working woman in India. Nothing extraordinary. S he pulls as much hair she can collect into the ponytail and lifts her saree up t o avoid water soaking herself completely in her chores. Or to avoid stumble in her way she follows repeatedly while running inside her house: sometimes to fetch water from outside to inside, or to cook food, to serve food to her family members, or to arrange for water in her washroom for her family members. Seems like she does enough for the whole day, yet she was on my office premises now. She has been a regular sight fo
There are times when you can control the weather around you. Sometimes the mental affliction plays a role so predominant that one sails through the sweltering heat outside without complaining. Similarly, the euphoria blankets you and your environment and colours it the way it looks through those rose-coloured glasses. La vie en rose! Without frittering it away, let’s explain away the control over weather as an unfazed response to the mind under siege. And it is definitely a stroke of genius on a subtropical day with high humidity. He arrived at 12 p.m. Dot. I really don’t understand how one achieves this kind of punctuality. Did he first measure the distance between my house and his? Detailed all that could go wrong and cause delay and chalked out contingencies for each of them? He could do that! After all, the bond we have is worth that kind of effort. Or it is simple: the guy is punctual. We had talked about everything. The world, the country, the politics, the business ecosystem,