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Who are these people they show watching movies in multiplexes of the cities? I really want to meet some of these for real.

Who are these people they show watching movies in multiplexes of the cities? I really want to meet some of these for real.

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Crap from those who return

Excuse me Professor, but, you don’t “end up in Berkeley” or Yale or Boston or those lovely sounding American cities of ordinary Indian dreams. Chances are there was a big deal of shoveling - time, money and all tactics from the book to grab that student visa to US - that was done to reach there. Your examples, experiences and recollections seem to begin and end with America. Your own country of birth comes up only when you got to talk of low life here and mundane stuff like sanitation and water. While you are entitled to do that, it amazes me how your examples are so strikingly void of experiences from the country of your birth where you have lived three-fourths of your life.

If only you’d stop making it sound such a desired land, promised land to folks… 

Couldn’t help digging at that casual from-America attitude this morning. 

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"She wants to know if I love her, that’s all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there, like new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet."

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (via larmoyante)

(Source: larmoyante, via icecoldpalms)

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"Eight sentences, ten uses of “I”. Hmmm. Looks like my theory might be on to something. Oh, but good for you, realizing those jerks were the perfect receptacles for your decisions and your responsibility. Hey, it couldn’t possibly be you that was the problem, right? Nope, nopity, nope, nope. It was always them."

Some super cool writing from bloggers at judgybitch. That’s some real intelligence and wit. Not the phony, dull, drab, pretentious … academic writing with ivory tower selves. 

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Cloud play this evening. That childhood past time of “rocket watching” has made subtle entry into adult life. And stays. Days are spent in a room, but heart’s always outside of it with eyes set on the window. 

Cloud play this evening. That childhood past time of “rocket watching” has made subtle entry into adult life. And stays. Days are spent in a room, but heart’s always outside of it with eyes set on the window. 

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"Long ago in a New England village one of the villagers received a revelation from God that every one was to do exactly as he wished. Sadly, with exemplary rambunctiousness, the villagers took of their clothes and ran around on all fours like animals, making animal sounds. No one had a better idea."

— Reading Margaret Mead’s Male and Female

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"You may have noticed students who just try to remember and pound back what is remembered. Well, they fail in school and in life."

— Munger wouldn’t fail you. Look up and he has got a kick already retracting.

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"I’ve written this before but it’s worth repeating: that the gutter between consultant-as-change-agent and corporate whore is littered with fat bonuses and broken dreams. Making money is easy. What you turn down, the money that you leave on the table defines you more than what you take. This is a timely moment to reflect on priorities."

— Wondering where that timely moment lies. 

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A burst of evening sun. Try spotting the sun as the day ends, and you could salvage a hard day, bad day, dull day, any sort of a day…  Also, at any place - bus station, railway station, airport or just road. 

A burst of evening sun. Try spotting the sun as the day ends, and you could salvage a hard day, bad day, dull day, any sort of a day…  Also, at any place - bus station, railway station, airport or just road. 

Photoset

icecoldpalms:

I know 99 ways of dreaming on and the best of them is to leaf through an Atlas. Countries and continents have been bookmarked. The list is getting longer by the day and Walter Mitty calls up every once in a while when the full moon’s shining bright. How do we pack all of this up in a single lifetime?

Saturday and Sunday afternoons every week were eagerly looked forward to. For it were these two afternoons that helped his curiosity and attempted answers that his school never could. It never did in all the  years that he sat looking out of the window from the classroom. This is about libraries, books and maps that wallpapered his childhood.  There was this boy who would tuck a small notebook in his pocket, a pen in his shirt pocket and walk across the house blocks, over the perimeter wall, jumping the railway tracks, sometimes waiting for a train if in his hurry he ever caught the distant drone of the rail ngine. He would climb up on to an open stretch of ground with a few tamarind trees and date palms dotting that stretch. On the way back somedays he would sit perched on one of the tamrind tree’s branch. He had a favourite branch too. The perch was his escape from ‘earth’ as he would like to imagine. There was a good deal to pay attention to in that little stretch which led on to a wide road with several old and large buildings on one side. Among the many stately, high walled buildings was another one which housed a library. That building was the destination at the end of this little hike that the boy took every week. It remains as vivid, as though he visited it just yesterday. Red coir carpets lined the entire floor in strips. In the middle, an aquarium with a little school of fish always sent bubbles of air up on the surface. It was up to the boy to feed the fishes whenever he walked in. Over time he had come to regard that exercise as a necessary ritual before he began his library explorations. 

He would walk on the red carpets and among the dark spaces between ceiling high book shelves introducing himself to one author at a time. It is uncertain and rather irrelevant to ask how much he understood of the books he held in his hands. Then there was a large shelf with colorful books with titles like “People of the World”, “Tell Me Why”, “The Book of How”, “Famous Adventurers” and very many atlases. Between them, the set of atlases seemed to have a map of every region, every continent and every country. The countries often had those many cities that he would hear of either in the news or come to know of from the year book’s world at a glance section. Many a times he would try to locate the countries to which he knew that the men from his neighbourhood went as peacekeepers. They all served in the army. Such places were mostly in Africa. Sierra Leone, he heard often. Somalia and Lebanon came next. He would look up these places and try to estimate their distances from India. How far would they be and what do the neighbourhood uncles who went there do as peacekeepers. These were the fragments of conversations that he would hear around him and bring them packed and intact with him to the library visits.  That is where the love for atlases began. It continues all these years later. 

Moreover, he sat on the floor looking at the maps pretty much like that person in the pics. Cross legged, on the floor, turning a map at a time. 

Tags: maps travel