The binary scheme of the lord’s seasons, his daily eccentricities. It is a metaphor strong but without reason. After rain there’s shine followed by the flood (the last bit only in my city which never sniffles but only howls). On my lap im holding an urn warm and plenty, round my neck obviously the albatross. This is the time for anthropomorphic god slander, the rain god, who at least in hindu myth is a shifty deity. But im not saying this. All I have to do is to wear a pinafore, a raincoat and rihanna’s umbrella on my head. She for all the love that’s gone to her head was clearly not speaking universally. English officers of the law posted in cherapunji were driven to suicide by the rain. Not all of them, but quite a few. Hence the expression every cloud has a silver lining. It was after all this strength of the English constitution that ensured the longevity of the crown dominions in asia.
Among other things as parnab would so sententiously say im very domesticated now. At home in a world of my own. When the prelude to this update was written it was raining. Now it isn’t and im the happier for it. Evenings are a golden weave. In deshapriya park squatting on the grass with Persephone i saw the embryo of the fair to come. The rides were being put together. The giant wheel and the pirate ship. Theres a thievery corporation song called spliff odyssey. That’s what the days to come remind me of. It is in a very dramatic oxymoronic way a memory I have of a time to come. Not in the sense of the debauched and wasted but in the way the luminosity and the throng would engulf in a haze. Incense and the smell of jute. And the smell of new in everything. Everywhere it’s the skeleton of the festival trying out clothes. I too did my shopping. Not wholly or in full measure but very substantially.