Days in Delhi are getting colder, not yet the unkind, and evil sort of, but slighly uncaring and lost in its own thoughts, sort of. Tossing in my bed for around thirty minutes, got up at six and headed for the neighboring deer park, developed to create the illusion of a forest in the middle of the city. I love the park better than the standard ones with manicured lawns, reminds me of the past, of the time in class VII wading through the real forest in Hasimara, a small town close to Bhutan, with Tulsa river running by the side of the Airforce colony where we lived then. It was a picture postcard township and a picture postcard life. Coming back to today, sat thinking about how time passes by, particularly in the later phase of life as the birthdays supposed to mean something more than what they did in the earlier phases, whiz past like lonely, moffussil railway stations on the route of a superfast non-stop train. Forty passed by, and I didnt noticed, pushing back the exercise regime w
I am a Worshiper of Words. I ponder, I think, I write, therefore, I exist. A Blog on Literature, Philosophy and Parenting