Yesterday, I attended a very beautiful talk at a Literature Festival. My visit to the festival made me realize what I had been sorely missing out on this year. Although I attended just one session, was hugged by a known writer, and then walked around Bandra alone on a cool winter’s night, it was reassuring in many ways. That there were still so many of us hanging on to kindness (the talk was about the Dalai Lama), books, and a common cause uplifted me. I’ve also been reading some erudite essays/letters on writing, reflection, and the human spirit. I just wish I had more time to devour them. Some day, when I am not scribbling these blog posts in between meetings or before I crash, I should like to post links to those essays here. For starters, if you can pick Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, you must. He’s written some riveting letters to Franz Kappus. A very dear friend sent me the book, and I must read it again.
Meanwhile, things have been great. An honorary mention to the carrot and apple juice that I had yesterday. It was tinged with honey and ginger, and it would have been just as stellar even if it was soup without the baguette. Sometimes food transcends all definition. And sometimes, it finds itself masquerading as a healthy option, between my fingers in the form of Ragi chips, digestive biscuits, and green tea.
It’s the blog anniversary month, and so far, this year has been so fucking good, I could jump over the moon.
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