Travels around the reality

I have been reading Terry Prachett's books on Discworld.

It has been some kind of an addiction.

Mr. Prachett was introduced to my by his writing partner Mr. Gaiman, whom I met accidentally in one of the public libraries in Finland where I was looking for Bruce or Clark to hang out with. He took me - actually, gave me a visa and a set of unimited open tickets - to Discworld.

And I have been dropping in, ever since. They are all flawed in one way or other, they behave uncannily like some people I know or some people I could become, and they are all fighters in their own way. They do not wimper ( may be except for Angua ) when they are down and out, they fight, and if all hope is lost, they go out in style ( Unity). They understand that doing the right thing does not necessarily mean doing the nice thing.

I had a short stop at Chicago, to meet Vilma and Roxie. After the musical, I have resolved to earn up and spend money on such experiences more. Them too, fighters. May be not as moral as Captain Carrot, but valiant fighters. I like them too.

Like Mr. Vims and the Black Ribboners, I too am taking it one day at a time, one step at a time. And I plan to channel my inner Esme, especially when it comes to matters of ridicule.

Ours is not to reason why....

... but we can always wonder why.....

People always assume that anyone not following their life choices are making a mistake ( or at least missing out on what life has to offer).

So many otherwise impeccably dressed men here think having their hair styled like the rest of the guys in a birds nest style make them stand out.

Petite girls mostly have Labradors, German Shepherd's and Huskies, while men who make the Rock look like a wimp have pocket dogs in pink collars.

We are not willing to give what we would like to receive.

We lie when their lies fall apart around us so easily.

We insist on absolutes when we live in a relative world.

- On that note, goodnight folks!

Walk in the night

I am a huge fan of walks in the night.

The roads glow orange. The streets are silent. The pathways show insomniac bunnies hopping away. There are not too many bugs to crowd around your head. The ducks and migratory water birds all sleep, their head tucked in between their wings and floating gently like diyas with the fire put out.

In a night walk, you can share the silence or reject a conversation. Words and feelings flow more freely, may be a bit more than what you would have been comfortable in the day light. Life is more clear, decisions come to you fare more easily, when you sit upon a cliff and look up at the stars.

Every step you take is an adventure. There are no lights, only shadows, and you feel your way around than seeing it. The wind is chillier and more sneaky, finding its ways to be closer to your body despite being fully covered.

The city lights reflect on the low clouds. One the walk back home, you have a little more time to think about the strangers who speed away on their vehicles, think about their stories.

And old songs come back to you, which you sing enthusiastically off key, comfortable with yourself and with the sweet mite of a girl who is a new friend.