I am going home... it is Asthami! There is a beautiful dawn breaking.... home is where the heart is.. heart is where home is :)

I am sitting in my room... it is bitterly cold. A gloomy evening is giving way to a gloomier night.. HRI is where work is.... work is where HRI is!

You would be amazed to know that I take refuge to pathetically silly Hindi songs to get rid of the gloom at times. Sometimes good music can make you think. Here you would not want to think, especially if you are not in the best of moods. Here you also would not want to write.... but I am making a sort of trade off... bad music and self indulgent writing...! A4 sheets of paper are looking at me though the curves of my bed partner... a red red quilt!

The train picks up speed... the wind lashes into my face. I have been told that I should not be standing at the doors of trains. But between the love and the concern of words, there is always that call of the wild, the call of the wind.... I love the sound of the train when it runs to Howrah through Bengal.... I love that wild wild embrace of the wind.. cold mornings near home.. near, but not quite there yet. I am recording my conversation with the train.. it is a one-way one though. I am not talking... and the train seems to be saying the same thing to all the rest of the people. But you are not me. You can only hear what the train tells you. And she tells me more... :)

The wind loves playing with my hair...

"They call the wind Maria"

Someone should tell Maria that I have chopped off my hair... and bring back that pearl from her eyes........ would you?