The Pleasures of Back-seat Driving A Cab

Me: The Ola GPS is asking you to turn left, but we will go right

Cab driver: Right? How will we reach your destination by going right?

So I gave him the route we will take, explaining that the traffic is more free flowing on that route, and added: You’ll be able to drive in the 5th gear too.

A Conversation With My Boss

GM.
I’ve been trying to contact you since so long.

I am with you.
This scattered scared mind that you are experiencing – that is also me. There is literally no difference between me and you.
Do not seek me. Experience your self. That is where I am.

Me and A Cab Driver

I had booked the Ola using Ola Postpaid. So no cash was due. I only had a Rs. 20 note in my purse. I handed it to him…

A River Within and Without

What I experienced on the river was of course soothing and exhilarating at the same time, but what I experienced on the ride back in the van – that was utterly sublime. That in-the-van experience makes that trip so memorable, so precious.

To The River And The Mountains

We are immersed deep into the quiet now — the quiet of the gurgling river and the humming crickets of the night, the moonlight dancing peacefully as silver varak on the water as it navigates the rocks and pebbles, the mountains rising high in the backdrop, black in the night, but not pitch black.

The Joy Of Work Well-done

A piece of work well-done, boulders and roadblocks broken down (technical roadblocks, in my case), is reason for much joy. If I was working from home I would have stepped out of my room and gone and hugged mom. Since I am working from a co-working space right now, this post is the alternative. But… Continue reading The Joy Of Work Well-done

Fiction continued: The Wise Wild Woman

As the morning opened into its full light, she saw a mud hut with colourful paintings on its walls. A short wooden pole had a wooden board nailed to it, which said in rough carving – “Wise Wild Woman”.

A gentle voice was singing inside to the strumming of a string instrument. She bent down to enter through the low door, propelled more by curiosity than anything else. Sitting at a low wooden table, a young girl, seeming sixteen years or so, was singing to her heart’s content, strumming on an Ektaaraa. Somewhat paler than the people of this region, she wore shorts and a loose cotton top with short sleeves. Her short hair was tied up into a bobbing pony-tail.