Things that go bump in the night
I've spent twenty minutes typing the longest rant only for it to be accidentally not saved. Blah!
I'm listening to M.S. and remembering music lessons with pattu teacher. I don't miss hot, balmy Saturday afternoons spent in post-lunch stupor trying to remember swaras or sangatis. Yet, we had so much fun.
I can't sleep. I've had a nice Sunday: Kathak in the morning (which felt sluggish and unproductive, but we actually learned and interesting paran and an irritatingly fabulous ladi); lunch with cherubs in Pret; a fabulous nap, which lead into a lazy evening with Vivien and David in front on the T.V. with a nice dinner.
I'm feeling greedy. I want to learn Sanskrit. And French. And Hindi.
These past few weeks have been event-filled and sociable. Last night I actually caught up with Bis, Krishan and Zub. Nine months since we last met up. Wonderful dinner at Pasha in Islington. Yummy! ;)
Dance-India ... that requires a post of its own.
Brussels was surprisingly romantic this time. My time with Velliamma and Jan felt complete. Not nearly enough flowers or battery power, but their dog Beyko made up for anything else lost.
I'm imagining a Jatiswaram in Karaharapriya. I already want one in Karnaranjani. Listening to Okapari. Have just spent the last week teaching Bhavayami Raghuramam. It really is a delightful composition. I particularly like the Natakuranji and Mohanam sections. And I've not had so much appreciation for Saveri or Dhanyasi. The done-to-death jatiswaram ruined it for me initially, I suppose.
I'm wondering how people are doing in Perth. Milos complains I don't call enough. Shame we're seven hours apart. I write, though, and when I do his responses are useless., really.
There's a mouse in the house, and I'm worried that he will come through the gap under the door into my room.
Been watching more T.V. than I truly care for. You know, I'll refrain from taking life advice from anyone who thinks rice and chicken curry constitute a balanced meal. And white bread is junk food.
I've shared a youtube clip of Malavika Sarukkai on FB, and I'm feeling particularly wretched about my BN. It's weird how these things can either inspire you or throw you into the pits.
My natyarambam is dry, and my diditei's are lacking spice.
I think I'm falling in love with kudittu-mettu adavu. And the dhola is the sexiest hasta.
I wanted a bookshelf, and a new wardrobe, and a new bed and mattress. But they're all proving too costly. Instead, I would like more space. My own space, perhaps. At what cost, I ask in the mean time. Nothing is affordable in London unless you earn a six-figure income. Nothing I seem to want, that is.
I wonder about friends who seem to have it all. I wonder a lot. I'm always wondering. And I'm plagued by an over-active conscience. Mostly in retrospect.
Someone said about me: He's living and wasting himself in London. I'm finally grappling with some semblance of identity in this city. And this is what it amounts to, apparently: a waste.
Hari .. hari .. hari .... tumaharo janakibhee ...
Meanwhile, Sharmilla and Ram are married. And their photos are yum yum yum. There's a particular blue saree Sharmi's in that's just moosh-worthy. The sexiest paisley in black over a rich silken sky blue.
My Jia kutty will turn nine months soon. Her parents hardly have time for anything. I've asked for photos and video clips, hardcopy. But they haven't come. And Amma complains that I don't keep in touch. I think people who have babies forget that the world outside still goes on. I don't begrudge them their happiness. I wish they'd be willing to accept that not everyone shares in that kind of punishm.. oops, I mean happiness. Still, I wish I could see her more.
How will I make it to India in December? And I must visit Laura next year.
Meanwhile there are times I wish my grandparents never left India. It's not fun feeling so displaced all the time.
I need to clean my room. Clothes remain un-ironed and folded on my chair. My wardrobe needs sorting out.
Namashivaya ... I enjoy the sound of the pakhawaj. I wish I'd learned to play an instrument. I like the sound of the name Durga.
Sleepy now.
I'm listening to M.S. and remembering music lessons with pattu teacher. I don't miss hot, balmy Saturday afternoons spent in post-lunch stupor trying to remember swaras or sangatis. Yet, we had so much fun.
I can't sleep. I've had a nice Sunday: Kathak in the morning (which felt sluggish and unproductive, but we actually learned and interesting paran and an irritatingly fabulous ladi); lunch with cherubs in Pret; a fabulous nap, which lead into a lazy evening with Vivien and David in front on the T.V. with a nice dinner.
I'm feeling greedy. I want to learn Sanskrit. And French. And Hindi.
These past few weeks have been event-filled and sociable. Last night I actually caught up with Bis, Krishan and Zub. Nine months since we last met up. Wonderful dinner at Pasha in Islington. Yummy! ;)
Dance-India ... that requires a post of its own.
Brussels was surprisingly romantic this time. My time with Velliamma and Jan felt complete. Not nearly enough flowers or battery power, but their dog Beyko made up for anything else lost.
I'm imagining a Jatiswaram in Karaharapriya. I already want one in Karnaranjani. Listening to Okapari. Have just spent the last week teaching Bhavayami Raghuramam. It really is a delightful composition. I particularly like the Natakuranji and Mohanam sections. And I've not had so much appreciation for Saveri or Dhanyasi. The done-to-death jatiswaram ruined it for me initially, I suppose.
I'm wondering how people are doing in Perth. Milos complains I don't call enough. Shame we're seven hours apart. I write, though, and when I do his responses are useless., really.
There's a mouse in the house, and I'm worried that he will come through the gap under the door into my room.
Been watching more T.V. than I truly care for. You know, I'll refrain from taking life advice from anyone who thinks rice and chicken curry constitute a balanced meal. And white bread is junk food.
I've shared a youtube clip of Malavika Sarukkai on FB, and I'm feeling particularly wretched about my BN. It's weird how these things can either inspire you or throw you into the pits.
My natyarambam is dry, and my diditei's are lacking spice.
I think I'm falling in love with kudittu-mettu adavu. And the dhola is the sexiest hasta.
I wanted a bookshelf, and a new wardrobe, and a new bed and mattress. But they're all proving too costly. Instead, I would like more space. My own space, perhaps. At what cost, I ask in the mean time. Nothing is affordable in London unless you earn a six-figure income. Nothing I seem to want, that is.
I wonder about friends who seem to have it all. I wonder a lot. I'm always wondering. And I'm plagued by an over-active conscience. Mostly in retrospect.
Someone said about me: He's living and wasting himself in London. I'm finally grappling with some semblance of identity in this city. And this is what it amounts to, apparently: a waste.
Hari .. hari .. hari .... tumaharo janakibhee ...
Meanwhile, Sharmilla and Ram are married. And their photos are yum yum yum. There's a particular blue saree Sharmi's in that's just moosh-worthy. The sexiest paisley in black over a rich silken sky blue.
My Jia kutty will turn nine months soon. Her parents hardly have time for anything. I've asked for photos and video clips, hardcopy. But they haven't come. And Amma complains that I don't keep in touch. I think people who have babies forget that the world outside still goes on. I don't begrudge them their happiness. I wish they'd be willing to accept that not everyone shares in that kind of punishm.. oops, I mean happiness. Still, I wish I could see her more.
How will I make it to India in December? And I must visit Laura next year.
Meanwhile there are times I wish my grandparents never left India. It's not fun feeling so displaced all the time.
I need to clean my room. Clothes remain un-ironed and folded on my chair. My wardrobe needs sorting out.
Namashivaya ... I enjoy the sound of the pakhawaj. I wish I'd learned to play an instrument. I like the sound of the name Durga.
Sleepy now.