I have a pimple growing straight out of the centre of my forehead.
Booomp at the mid-point of my brow on an invisible median, like a secret beacon upon my bindi spot, straddling my ajna chakra. [gasp]
I almost feel affectionate towards it, ugly spot. I wonder if it means anything, spiritually speaking?
So much for meaningful blogging. ha ha. [and a third for Paddy Clark.]
M's right, the word 'blog' and all its super-clever derivatives are annoying. Idiotic. Poopy.
The sibling's gone, leaving a big-crater void that I didn't realise had space to grow. Yet again, this same year I am reminded that physical distances do matter. Bombay is not the same as New York. Delhi to KL is not the same as Kalkaji to Nehru Place. It's the distance between an email and a touch. A phone call and a smile. Tears and a hug.
Airports are loaded places. loaded with love, sorrow, pain and longing.
I hate airports.
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5 comments:
Hate airports?
or Hate love, sorrow, pain and logging?
=)
My friend, hang in there..
airports are nice if you're there to be received, or sent off. or if you're there to send off, or receive. if you just walk out and get into a cab, or get off a cab and walk in, airports feel like a mass of all the world's emptiness collected and put into one place. and there's no other place where you could be surrounded by people and still feel alone.
thank you OeCuPz DaNTa. I've been hanging in there for a very long time now. my torso has become distended from it.
NG, my family and I believe in visiting airports in full familial solidarity when a member of the family has to be waved off. we go. we shed copious tears. And we feel fulfilled in a robust sort of way.
But you're so right about airport innards. cold, steely, over-populated, boring, plasticy places that have about as much character as a sock.
im kind of used to the get out of cab and get into cab routine. and honestly, it kind of sucks when there's someone there screaming gleefully and running all the way to baggage belt to hug someone.
Nooooooooooooo! I've always dreamed of the placard, mala and hug routine [with big face-covering shades and a bouffant].
I've done that a couple of time for the sibling and the cousin. unfortunately they weren't quite as amused or touched. hmm. well.
But there's nothing like someone waiting for you with open arms. really. there isn't.
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