Monday, November 12, 2007

Scribbles from darjeeling.

Love small steam-train that breaks down in the middle of nowhere and seven men pour out of the carriage wielding only a hammer because it’s all they have.

Love that the train is moving again in five minutes and all seven jump in with their hammers and look out the window like this is perfectly ordinary.

Love losing phone signal and looking out the window at Everest thru the clouds, like shards of mountain bits tearing thru a white cloak, and the hint of rain hanging in the air.

Love small miracles and how easily one finds perfection.

Like snow.

When you're expecting rain.

4 comments:

W H said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
W H said...

btw.. why did you delete that post on less popular careers..
I thought that once you write something, it ceases to be your creation and starts a life of its own.. theoretically speaking (or maybe philosophically speaking, or maybe I'm dreaming I don't know)..

But the internet is a funny thing.. what you delete may reside in google's cache or in other people's rss feed readers.. :)

I don't know what happens when you write something in pen and paper, but the moment you put it on the internet, it appears, that it DOES begin to have a life of its own (practically speaking)...

Kaushik said...

Very nice. I never rode the Darjeeling train when I went. Perhaps I should've.

You know perhaps as,
Pinky.

compos mentis said...

@w h

Ah well... a friend of mine saw that post and turned it into a recruitment ad :D truth truth! And I've taken it off the blog till I know what's the status on that. Do hope it falls thru tho cuz then I get to post it on the blog again *evil laugh*

@pinky

Ola my cumulus one... greetings to thee, and a pot of masala tea.