Happy Independence Day, America!

Disclaimer: Gross Exaggerations and stereotyping coming up. NO OFFENSE MEANT. All in good humor.

America, Where Oil is the blood that runs through the veins of the motherland;
Where it`s no longer "My SUV is bigger than yours" but "My Hummer is better than yours".

Where no longer is it only drive-through fast food and coffee shops, but drive-through drug stores.

Where gun laws are liberal, 'pro-life' activists flagrant and Darwinism considered an ancient fairytale.

Where people blissfully live life 'Mac D' size, while politicians watch Russia from their front porch!

Where Friday evenings are a 'Budweiser-ish Blur'.
While Saturday afternoons bring Families together to 'A Prairie Home Companion'.

And then there are the Americans themselves. A distinct conglomerate of the incredibly bright, the incredibly dull, the incredibly warm and the incredibly honest set of people I`ve met; who make my life here, a dream come true.
All of that.
And Bush is no longer President!

Happy Independence Day to All my American Friends. May you soon breathe free..

God Bless!

Back in the US of A..

And I`m back, though not quite on track.
Thank you all, for remembering me in your prayers. I`m deeply overwhelmed by the surge of emails and comments, asking me to come back.
I am back. But somehow, it feels dry. Words abandon me. I know not what to write.
No one wants to hear sob stories of my life. No one wants to read sad stuff. And that`s all I have left now. Or so it seems.
It feels awkward in my own home. So quiet. So alone. Listening to my own voice for company. No horns blaring. No one shouting. No cows on the road. No water-logged drains. No jostling and shoving. No fighting to board a train.No children playing in the gutters. No wiping of sweaty foreheads. No cursing the weather. No smell of sweat. No Mainland China. Or the neighbourhood tea stall. No arguments over cups of tea. No homemade yogurt. No smell of fish. No walks in the rain. No candles burning. No smell of incense rising up in the air.
It feels strange. It feels distant.
But that`s not because my life has suddenly changed.
Just that it always feels this way to return back to a country I dont belong to, to people I dont belong to, to a place I have no right over, to a nation where I am a 'resident alien' reduced to a numerical.
Doesnt it always feel that way to return back from home?

The log cabin and view from the inside..

The Bridges Of Madison County - Part 1

No.This isn`t a post about the movie. Nor about the book. This is the story of our visit to the covered bridges of Madison County.
Yes, The G and I drove down 300 miles to Des Moines and from there, to the small village of Winterset,Iowa to create what will remain one of the most special memories we`ll ever have in our togetherness..
It was an overwhelming experience. Just as I had imagined it would be. Unpaved country roads stretching for miles into the horizon, lined by electric poles. Endless rambling of pastures. Cows grazing peacefully. Slow,sensual rhythm of the wind-mills,waltzing along with the untouched wind, unmindful to the passage of time. No one and nothing around. Absolutely nothing for miles except green grass, grey overcast skies and the two of us.
We took to the road, in what will probably remain the most special journey of our lives - in search of something undefined yet so clear.To explore the lonely existence of an Italian war bride; to search for any remaining vestige of the passions that stirred in her soul briefly and with such power; as also to search for everyday struggles of love, hope, disappointment and loneliness here in the middle of no-where . We went there looking for Francesca Johnson and everything that she once stood up for.
We ended up finding ourselves. Truly.
As we drove back into the sunset, there was only this feeling of intense relief. Relief that we had not passed by each other 'like two pieces of cosmic dust'. Relief that The G and I, drifting along the meandering flow of life, had finally managed to find each other.

This one`s for you, My Friend. Thank you for the fabulous surprise trip!

P.S - Posting images on blogspot sucks big time! :-(( I`ve posted a few in the next post. Most are of Winterset,IA. I`ve posted pics of The Hogback and The Roseman Bridge only, although there are 6 covered bridges remaining out of the original 19. There`s The G in one of the bridges and Me in the other(waving over my head or something!).. The last one is from inside the car - driving back home.

The Bridges Of Madison County - Part 2

Pic of The Day - Lil Ishaan with his Dad

Am posting One of my all-time fav pics! Shall post more pics of Lil Ishaan`s 1st bday bash soon :-)

Tales from New Jersey..

And there he came towards me, ruffled hair,stained tee,bloodshot eyes (from not sleeping,I guessed),empty bottle in hand and staggering. I sat on the couch,watching him totter towards me and I wondered if I should get up to help. But I sat stil,watching. He looked around, trying to make some sense of it all. Then suddenly he lunged foward. And in the attempt, fell flat on his face. I stood up, unsure of what to do and what he would do. And then, in the coolest way possible, he steadied his head,looked up and smiled at me. The warmest smile I`ve seen in years. The kinds that made his eyes shine long after the smile had left his face. Then he steadied himself on his feet and walked towards me, arms open wide, rickety steps and that smile intact. And I thought to myself, " This is why people have babies.."



Hello People,

Those of you who`ve read my earlier posts, know that right now I`m at my sister`s place in New Jersey. Its a family reunion, with my folks down from India. And I`m having the time of my life! :-))

Shall try and give some interesting updates on Lil Ishaan, as soon as I find some time. Till then, God Bless!

I Lost My Heart In San Francisco..

No! Not literally. But as I sit back listening to Tony Bennett`s rendition of this song, I cant help
thinking, "Well almost!

San Fran has joined my prized and coveted list of possible places to live.

It has a great vibe, a trendy, boho-hippy and a downright weird feel to it with wonderful eclectic laid-back stylish people. Architecture amazingly coordinated and brightly coloured houses facing onto clean streets. Every moment was like being on a movie set as you hike up hills (And no, we're not talking lovely rambling hills, but steep gradients, mothers of mountains!). Where the houses seem to be sliding down in sync with the rhythmic clanging of the cable cars as they tango downhill.

San Francisco where the squirrels have attitude. And where the homeless bums are polite. Whilst I mutter stock phrases like "No I don't have any change!" , they respond back with a guffaw, "Credit cards accepted. Not returned though." I smile and shuffle off wanting to scream, I'm jobless and ‘country-less’ too and you think you've got problems... good ol` over dramatic me! They've even managed to make Starbucks outlets look quaint. Talking of which I had my first Starbucks experience out of Minnesota and for the record it was a disgustingly weak coffee!The only sad part was that we didnt have sufficient time for the whole 'Frisco Experience' to slowly seep in. Here`s a brief account of our visit. Not a travelogue ofcourse.Because we did not spend enough time for that. But just a brief glimpse of the few hours that we spent in the city.

First Halt at the Market Plaza and Embarcadero

Amidst the two tallest buildings in the city – Spear and Steuart Tower, there happened to be a carnival of sorts happening that day(lucky us!). A spectacular multi-cultural celebration that showcased the very best of what it truly means to be a part of this city. A great tantalizing array of music, dance and artistry slowly parading through the Market Plaza, to the cheers of millions of city-ites who had gathered to participate in the celebration. One awesome experience! Not that I expected any less of the city named after a religious fanatic, who shed his clothes, talked to birds and recreated himself on the far edge of spiritual bliss!

Next halt at The Fisherman`s Wharf and The Golden Gate Bridge

San Francisco is a chemistry of moods and colours, a sparkling mirage of blue and white and gold kissed by the crisp breath of the Pacific. Magical spirits hover in the wind over the Pacific waters. The first glimpse of the iconic structure stretching across the Bay, its yawning expanse emerging out of mist and low clouds is truly fantastic…

We pounded the sidewalks (how American of us!) of this city for 3 hours and my feet and calves are definitely feeling it even now! The first couple of hours we spent,walking around the bay area towards the Golden Gate Bridge through Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square, literally wading through the mass of humanity that congregates there for the first glimpse of The Bridge and The Alcatraz Islands. And quite unexpectedly, I did run into the very famous ‘BushMan’!

Took lots of mandatory ‘orkut-ish’ pictures everywhere.

(Not going into specific details about these places because one can google them online anytime.)

After that, The G and I hiked uphill all the way to Lombard Street, instead of following the other much more leveled route (thanks to The G`s expertise in map-reading! Hey wait a minute! Was that really ‘an honest mistake” as The G had claimed later, by way of explanation??!!). So Anyway, San Fran is built on 43 hills,the steepest being at 31.5degrees.....So much fun when you havent slept much, have been constantly on the move for the past 3 days, your backpack weighs 20million pounds and you dont know where youre going!! But I`m not complaining! The efforts were definitely well-worth it.

The first thing I noticed about San Francisco, as we ventured up, were the distinctive homes. The city is filled with two-storyed wooden houses, in what creates the impression of the early 1900's style, just back in fashion.. Such symmetry can create both a sense of idyllic neatness or a sort of dull loathing. I can't help but wonder if the famous San Francisco earthquake of the early 1900's had something to do with the current look. The second thing ofcourse was the mind-blowing view of the bay from the top of the hill. And the final reward was the sight of a million cars trying to manoeuvre the crookedest street in the world, at eight acute angles!That was all the time we had, to tour some parts of the city. But I havent quite had enough. One cant, no matter how long a stretch of time one spends here in the city.

And so, as I sit here listening to Tony Bennett croon 'I left my heart in San Francisco', I think to myself," Well, not quite. But as the Governor of California himself said, - I`ll be back..!"

Today I did something I dont normally do.
For the first time after moving to the new place, I managed to reach my favourite coffee shop by myself! In an hour and a half(instead of the breezy 5 minutes bus ride from the old doorsteps). A half mile walk in the blazing afternoon sun, 3 bus rides and an unsettled tiff(with the bus driver) later. In one ragged piece. With drooping shoulders and a soaring spirit.
Why am I making this such a big deal? Because it is, to me.
Not knowing how to drive and never having ventured out alone into the city(5 minutes bus rides daily for the last 4 months dont count at all!), I found myself physically trapped in the Iona House. It hit me pretty bad. I could not stand it. I was feeling gagged. And today, I decided I had to try. And I did.
I acknowledge that this mental block about venturing out alone, is not a legitimate trap that I had set for myself. And that I had to reason it out with myself long and hard - that the reasons for moving out of the trap definitely outweighed staying in and how!
It took a while to come to terms. Well, better late than never I suppose!
The trip was mostly uneventful. But a strange thing happened when I boarded the 3 rd bus, which was the campus connector to the university. I hurriedly sat down on an empty seat by the window, adjusted my back-pack and looked out towards the door for the driver to start the bus, still slightly ruffled by the tiff with the previous driver. And then,there amongst the strange white and coloured faces of students, I saw this one Indian boy sitting quietly by the door, his ipod plugged into his ears and smiling at me across the aisle. And as our eyes met, I suddenly felt warm. Some kind of a reassurance that all was not amiss with the world. Here in another country, amongst a million strange faces, here was another fellow Indian, who had come many miles across the oceans, to live his life here - just like me. There was this momentary truth of a connection. And then he looked away - thoroughly amused by my very antiquated response to his smile - a wild and enthusiastic 2-minute wave of my umbrella , over the heads of fellow commuters! The reasons for doing so? Beats me! But then again, ask people who really know me - I am known to do really absurd things like these,once in a small while!

* Piper turns red with embarrassment! *

I reached the campus in another 10 minutes. But I couldnt help wondering. I have come across millions of fellow Indians during my stay here. Why did I feel(and act!) the way I did today? Could it be that I was feeling rather unsettled by the tiff with this driver who had refused to halt at my bus stop? Could it be that I was a little shaken up by this, it being my first trip out alone and all? Or could it be that I hadnt come across any *really* good-looking Indian guy like him in a long time?! :-)) (Amen!)

Details on the Frisco trip in a later..

Memorial Church through the arch of the Main Quad

Palm Drive

Hoover Tower and view from the tower`s Observatory

Main Quad

The Main Quad at Stanford U.

Palo Alto

Hey People,
The minute I stepped into San Francisco, contrary to my belief, I didnt get smothered by gays and Indians! Although I did come across a proud parade of desi families- interestingly smug mothers and fathers with a disinterested(and at times embarrassed) off-spring in tow -all travelling to Palo Alto, for admissions to Stanford! Shall write about all the different encounters I had at the Stanford campus. Should make an interesting read, I`m sure! But thats for laters,when I get back home on Monday. For now, I shall just post a few pictures of the Campus, just for fun. Keep reading for some fun 'desi' tales! :-))

P.S- The wireless connection at the hotel sucks big time! I`m not able to upload the pictures. Shall keep trying though.

It`s bright and sunny today.. The sky,bluer than a robin`s egg. The grass so green. The breeze pulling my hair back into a frizzled mess. Just like how a perfect summer day should be.

And I was walking back home from the bus stop (Yeah,Yeah the old empty home. I just cant seem to let go,can I?)

On the way, there`s a children`s day care center. You can hear the colourful voices calling out to each other,even before you spot the play pen around the corner. And as I walked by, smiling at the dirty little faces peering curiously from over the fence, one lil girl called out to me.

“ Are you Indian?”

She must`ve been around 5 or so. And I was stunned.

“Yes, how did you know?” I smiled back.

"Parents mustve had a racist conversation over dinner", I thought.(Shall dwell on the racism thing in another blog.)

“ You`re wearing red paint on your hair,like Sid`s mom does,” she said matter-of-factly!

(Referring to the ‘sindoor’ I use. )

My sister doesn’t use sindoor anymore. Lotta people don’t. Some use a red paint,like a nail paint or a lipstick – supposed to be convenient and less messy. Others use designer ones,like the ones you see in the Ekta Kapoor serials on zee tv! I stick to the regular form,along with the traditional bong style ‘shakha pola’ –Weird as it may seem to people who know me (or hardly!)- this bold,outgoing persona that I project – I`m basically timid at heart(??!!) and scared of experimenting on this one!

And as I stood there chatting up bull with the lil kid, there loomed in front of me, a huge,wobbly apparition clad in a worn-out, ill-fitting garment straight out of Salvation Army`s thrift store(I usually don’t comment on people`s clothes or looks but this one really got on my nerves. You`ll know why).

With one hand on her oh so generous hip and the other dangling menacingly in front of my face, she asked me what I was trying to do with the kid! As I stood there,trying in vain to explain that it was the lil girl who stopped me and not the other way around, she refused to take any explanations whatsoever. She continued to bare a crooked, yellow set of teeth and snarl at me.When I saw her turning purplish-blue in the face(pbly hypoxia due to continuous shrieking and forgotten gasps of breath, thought my medically trained brain!), I decided I needed to back-off before she fell to the ground,dying.Death caused by sudden rupture of a cerebral vessel in a fit of rage!! And suddenly I was glad I`m still not allowed to practice medicine in this country!The idea of doing a mouth-to-mouth nauseated me! And so, off I went. And it was only once I turned around the corner,about a mile from the play pen,that her booming voice faded into the distant air. And I allowed myself a breath.

Of all the things I have been misunderstood to be, a psychopathic child-picker wasn’t ever one!!

The incident shook me up pretty bad. I can understand a person being protective of children, especially in a country like this where we get to hear crimes of the sort,everyday on tv or through the newspaper. But some level of discretion should be exercised, some judgement should be made about whom to suspect and whom not to. And if we are to go by looks or body language or whatever it is she went by, I`m sure that by any standards, I would have to try really hard(and still never succeed) to look more "suspicious" than her!!

I kept thinking about it,getting more and more angry by the minute. Until I remembered an incident that occurred when I was posted to J&K in the Year of the Lord 2003.

I shall continue in another blog. Until then, feel free to comment ;)

Hey People!

And here I am again, roaming around the quiet streets alone. Like a lost soul. And for all I know, I may just be turning into one.

Officially it`s Summer. The semester is over and the students have all gone away. That’s why the quiet streets, the deserted coffee shops and a grey gym. It comes as a surprise to me – this uneasy feeling inside.I`m not able to grasp it completely but there`s something I don’t quite like about this. Probably because I`m still so not over the chaos back home. Perhaps I wander around,looking for familiar sights, smell or sounds. Or atleast the familiar chaos that wrecks havoc on Kolkata streets, esp under the sweaty summer sun.

But today,I feel happy. ‘Raising T’ has left a warm comment on my blog and believe this or not, she made my day :)

It may sound a lil weird. But then again,it may not. Because I`m sure all of you who write,will understand the kick one gets when one knows that there are people out there in the world, who are probably going through the same phases in life. And who consider my musings interesting enough, to devote 5 minutes of their time,to read what my mind writes!

For as long as I can remember, I have forever wanted to write. I have spent many a happy afternoons, imagining myself to be a well-acclaimed author! The “ I wanna be Jhumpa Lahiri” phase! :)

But like they say – Life is what happens when you`re busy making other plans! And so here I am.. going about doing what I am supposed to do. Playing many roles,but the one I`ve always longed to. And all the while, tenaciously clinging onto my dreams. Like a lil girl,clutching her favourite doll. And up until now,I never realized how much I valued it. Until ‘Raising T’ left a comment on my blog.

It thrills me no end, to open my blog page and see the comments( I wont be running out of fingers,counting them!!) and the profile visits. It gives me a kind of a kick, that even a double shot espresso does not!

While some might find this unnatural and say that they write for themselves, as an outlet vent to their innermost selves. I completely agree. So do I. But after all, I`m only human. I love to be appreciated! :) So, to all of my readers(I`m hoping there are a few atleast!) – I may not be your idea of Jhumpa Lahiri, but hey! I`m trying..(!!!) I`ll try and write some interesting stuff from now on

More later..

Coming Back Home..

Well, for starters, I managed to stay at ‘home’ today. Which means that I got some unpacking done!

* Piper pats herself and does a jig around the room! * J

The living room is looking more presentable than I had thought ( Thank God for small mercies!). Its probably the huge hand-painted wall-hanging that one of G`s students got from China. More updates on the full décor later.

There`s something else on my mind today. Mom Dad are going to be here in a month`s time. I`m so thrilled! I`m sure they`ll love it here. Like I did. I remember how I would roam around, wide-eyed and awestruck! Everything looked so new,so different, so clean.. I remember doing a recce of the grocery store in stunned silence. What first caught my eyes are the huge white onions,of the size of half a water melon back home! :)

The milk came in handy cans,instead of the plastic packets. The potatoes were huge,red and clean!! The passer-by`s were warm and friendly and always greeted you. The men would hold open the doors.There were no car horns honking away,as we whizzed along the roads at 60 mph. There weren’t any annoying pedestrians,trying to get themselves killed by the cars,as they cruised a busy lane.You get the drift…little things like that. Life comes to you,easy and clean here. America`s not ceased to amaze me..even now!

So what is it about good ol` Kolkata that I still miss so much?

Crazy as it sounds, the noise ,the chaos, the din, the pushy people. And bicycles,cars,buses,people,dogs,cats and cows – all in one crowded lane. Traffic jams,sultry weather, the smell of sweat, the kids playing with paper boats on muddy,standing waters of Central Avenue streets on a rainy day in summer.The municipality hand-pumps. The swish-swash of chappals in the sloshy fish markets.The putrid,choking smell in therel. The loud voices,bargaining with the vendors on Gariahat. The sea of people surging along the busy Sealdah station. The cat fights and the gossips in the women`s compartment of the 6 o`clock Barrackpore local. The sneering comments of the ‘muhallah’ guys. The roadside tea stalls serving tea in earthen cups. The crowd at Dakhinapan. The khadi salwar suits and ‘jhola’ bags. The jostling, the pushing and the rush to reserve seats at the metro stations. The fact that Park Street is the only metro station where the doors to the platform open on the left! The taste of fresh Ilish Mach (Hilsa fish). Biryani at Shiraz. And come September ,there will be stacks of bamboos lying by the road side,waiting to be fortressed into a magnificent puja pandal. Thousands of incomplete clay idols lined along side lanes.Some with a half painted face. While others still in the process of being sculpted into a scared figure.

Colourful faces and interesting hair-dos at Durga Puja pandals.The smell of incense,the sound of “dhak”(drums) and the ‘dhunuchi nach”(a traditional dance form in Bengal).The songs of Malalaya floating through the air at 4 in the morning,laced with some unknown,unacknowledged sadness. And ‘jilipi’ from the local sweet shops at break-fast on the day of Mahalaya(officially the first day of durga puja).

The smell of Ma`s cooking. Fresh, homemade yogurt.The family meals and the evening tea.

All of that. But most importantly,I miss the feeling of belonging. I miss the ease of mind that comes from knowing that this is my land. My nation. My country.This is the only place in the world I can roam around, without the worry of having forgotten my passport or a photo id. This is the only place I will be treated as a rightful occupant and not a “resident / non resident alien” with a number!

Would I then,trade places with anyone back home?? I guess not…

* Piper backs off sheepishly and tries to disappear! *

So much for Big Talk!

So seriously if you ask me, I do miss home. A whole lot and more. But I`m happy being where I am and dreaming about returning home some day.

Its like the story of this lil girl who is feverishly excited about returning back home from a holiday. So her mother asks her,

“ Which do you like better? Going away on a trip or coming back home?”

To which,the lil girl replies, “ Coming back home,ofcourse!”

So the mother says to her, “ Well honey, if you like coming back home so much, we wont take you along, on our next trip.”

Puzzled, the lil girl says,

“ But Mommy, if you wont take me out on the road, How will I ever come back home?”

That sums it up, I guess… :)

The House at Iona Lane - edited to add

Hi Readers,

How sanctimonious of me to assume that people across the globe would actually spend time reading my blog!! :)
I hope you all do..
Anyway, for those of you who read the previous blog - I`m sorry I had to remove the pics I posted. The Goltin is paranoid about posting pics and revealing identities over the internet. He nearly asphyxiated when he saw the Iona home pics flashing all over my webpage. I know because I could hear the loud gasping amidst his frantic attempts to convince me to remove the pics forthwith! I actually felt sorry for him. Poor guy has too much on his mind already,what with a hectic work schedule and a neurotic wife. He probably doesnt deserve to worry about some psycho getting an access to the home or whatever it is he is scared of!
Anyway, so considering how sorry I felt when I heard him hyperventilating and trying to rant away about security and stuff, I removed the pics forthwith. Needless to say, there wont be any more of them, no matter how much I`d love to share.
I dont necessarily fancy the idea of trying to resusciate an asphyxiated Goltin all by myself! :)

Unpacking

There`s so much work at home. We haven’t yet unpacked. And it’s a little uneasy to be living out of suitcases and packed cardboard boxes. The Goltin as always has been terrific about this too. He`s patiently waiting for me to finally settle back in here,so we can pick up the threads of life from where we left.

The reason we haven’t unpacked as yet is because The Goltin has to attend the U – has a paper deadline on Friday. And I am too scared to stay at home alone. In broad daylight! If that seems a little peculiar, that’s because it is I guess!

So,the only time we have for unpacking are late evenings, by which time I`m dead tired –just by roaming around deserted university avenues and coffee shops and surfing the internet in an empty ,forsaken home for 9 hours at a stretch,waiting for The Goltin to finish work! And The Goltin,dead tired by the never-ending juggle between an over-committed work schedule and a nagging wife!

Anyway.

So, last night,The Goltin and me started talking and he asked me a question that set me thinking.

“ Since when did you start feeling scared of being alone? Was it since any particular phase in childhood? Or was it forever?”

He was probably trying to play Freud!

Well, I really cant seem to remember. Maybe since forever now. I have always been scared – really scared of being alone,on my own. And that ,coming from a doctor! Who served the Indian Army for the last 6 ½ years and who`s seen it all!! Believe me,I`ve really seen it all – from the underground bunkers at the Line of Control between Pak-occupied Kashmir and India. To cross-border firing between the two estranged nations before cease-fired kicked in. From inhuman living conditions without running water or electricity. To handling tons of battle casualties, regular as well as the fatal open gun-shot wounds in ambush encounters .And I`ve been alone. By myself. Without the luxury of cell phones or landlines. Without the luxury of a television to keep me company. Without the luxury of the internet. Without a home to go back to,at the end of another gruesome day.

Looking back, I wonder how I survived that phase.

Was I scared back then? Oh Yes! Ofcourse I was. But there in the wilderness, all of us, officers and troops alike, would huddle close - as if our togetherness could build a fortress of strength within each one of us out there. A fortress of strength and an unflinching will to go on existing and the hope that someday we will be living our lives and not just struggling to exist.

Those were amazing times. I`ll be eternally grateful for having had the priviledge to see this aspect of life and to know what 'living on the edge' really means. Not everyone gets that chance. But do I want to return back? Do I ever want to repeat the experience,just to remind myself that life has dealt me a great set of cards?

Well, lets see...uummm....NO?!!!!!!! NEVER AGAIN!

So,coming back to the point I was trying to make - Its strange that I should feel scared of being alone - scared to pathological proportions. Strange because I left home after high school and have been out there in the world, living on my own for the past 12 years now!! And yet, the thought of staying at home alone in the day time,when The Goltin goes to work, really scares me! Its not the fear of ghosts or lizards or any of the normal fears that normal people have. The fact that the backyard is lined with trees, so I really cant see beyond our own fence line, bothers me. The fact that the home is in a very quiet neighbourhood,with hardly any people walking by,bothers me.The Goltin says that here in the U.S, the sign of a safe and good neighbourhood is that there are no strangers loitering around. That is something I will have to learn to accept. Because, isnt that exactly the opposite of what I have always been trained to be aware of ,back home? Never to venture into quiet places alone. To always try and be near a crowd or a public place to avoid unnecessary hiccups? Well, whoever taught me that,obviously forgot to mention that it was only when I`m on the road. And not about residential neigbourhoods!

Amongst all the lessons driven home to me through kind words,yells and sometimes even brick-bats - this was obviously a lesson I never forgot! Its safe to be in a crowd - (even at home though???!!!)

Gotta run.. more tomorrow.