thaumaturgist

Hey everyone, this is definitely one of those dear diary moments. It is my first blog post from the Blogger application on my mobile, so three cheers to that. Well, the reason for my doing so is because I am on a 'Sex and the City' marathon on my laptop and did not want to open a different window to type this one out and multitasking is the modern equivalent of efficient, right? I have always claimed to be a city girl, as you all know, I have flourishingly managed to stay afloat 5 glorious years of my adulthood in the Indian Capital and I do hail from the former Indian capital but since my move to Dresden I have, slowly and unknowingly, got detached from big cities. Don't get me wrong, half a million inhabitants is not small by any means (in Europe) but when your public transport is rarely 5 mins late, it loses its big city status. Unless you are sweating with worry, looking at your watch every 2 seconds, running across streets in a frenzy to reach your appointment in tim

It is 11 a.m. on a dark, rainy, cold 'autumn' morning in October. The husband is well on his way to yet another office trip and I have managed to a steal a day from my German-ridden week. Not that it is a first but today feels slightly ceremonious. My breakfast sits on the bedside table- a soft mauve yoghurt bursting with flavour, lightly specked with crushed blueberries, and on the bed I have the latest acquisition of a book that actually is signed by the author herself, a very dear friend. I feel rather guilty for beginning to read it so 'late in the day', but to be honest it is this book that has made me break my spell of inactivity on the blogosphere. It has nothing to do with the book per se although it is the use of adjectives and the detailed descriptions in the book that made me want to describe something as well, something I have been feeling so strongly about the last couple of weeks. Today I am writing about one of the simple joys of life that for some turn

Once again I found myself walking the wondrous streets of Paris. As if in a haze, I walked by the grandeur of the buildings and their gorgeous french windows. It seemed to me as though they were longing to be opened by someone coming to smoke the last cigarette in his pack while watching the world go by beneath the wrought iron railings or perhaps yearning to have new lovers murmuring sweet nothings, sharing a coquettish grin with martinis in hand. The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes. Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it f

Intelligent Conversation- Something that is very close to my heart; something if you are only able to have once in the entire year you can consider yourself lucky, very lucky; something that is as rare as hen's teeth. You know why? Because the art of conversation is lost, because we don't converse anymore- we are too bloody busy to have a chat. But, if I were to have an intelligent conversation, I would have all the ingredients ready at hand only to realize that I don't have the oven. Okay agreed, very bad metaphor-- but I mean the 'conversationalist', your partner in crime, your adversary, your best friend and your worst enemy all at once. These days I only dare to bask in conversational glory through books that use the literary means of irony, sarcasm, hyperbole, rhetorical questions, jocularity and double entendre. It is best achieved with the intelligent reactions of the listener. It is fun, invigorating and discursive. It is what keeps human beings alive, it is

It is just another day of the week. It's 9:20 in the morning and I am cozily perched on my bed, a hot cup of coffee is resting on my bedside table the grey steam of which is filling my room with aromas that awake the senses. Morning is the best time to quietly sit and open oneself to the possibilities of the approaching day. But the beginning of the day is normally so rushed that one hardly has the time to to be philosophical about it. My mornings aren't rushed but even I can't be bothered to extrospect on a daily basis. The last few months have been busy with regular classes leaving me only the weekends to sloth about. We did manage to go on our vacation during the Christmas and New Years despite flight disruptions and it was a vacation in the true sense of the word. We relaxed and breathed fresh air by the caldera. The tranquility and solitude of Santorini was rejuvenating. I also managed to complete an 800 page book that filled me up with a great sense of achievement! A