Hot coffee scalds my lips as I write this. The sun is shining and the breeze tousles my hair like a friendly lover. I am ensconced comfortably on this terrace café, in a cane chair, on plump cushions, slightly dazed after a heavy meal replete with dessert. It’s three thirty in the afternoon and all I have done till now is to wake up (at the unprecedented late hour of eleven), have tea, finish my novel, get picked up by Nkj, and indulge in a heavy lunch. And there are no specific plans for the rest of the day. And this is the third day in a row when I am doing this. To repeat the word, unprecedented. To use another word, blissful.
But things are never blissful, are they? The song playing in the background – Dire Strait’s Winds of Change – is eerily reflective of what I am thinking.
The intensely painful exchange of words with K….the sudden resurgence of V followed by the even more sudden bitter reaction…the two engaging, intelligent conversations with Shankar and Hema…the escalating quantity and quality of my interaction with DD – they have all been so unexpected, leaving me breathless with a cauldron of emotions – pain, anger, confidence, hope. There’s some pattern here, and the unexpectedness is just part of it. And it makes me certain that the tide is turning, that somewhere in the realms of the underground wheels are turning towards a direction I am as yet unaware of.
I will not try to indulge in either imaginative or intellectual forecasting, because it is of no use. Several of my previous posts indicate that I have been uncomfortably aware of these winds approaching. I am equally aware of the futility of trying to anticipate what the winds will bring or where they will take me. All I have are my basic anchors – my value system, my survivor instinct, my loved ones – and I shall go along making the best of whatever is thrown my way. And when I have reached (or rather, been taken to) some sort of destination, I will record it.
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