This week has been heavy with weariness; A kind of insiduous tiredness that takes hold of you so slowly - you don't even realise the exact moment when it seeped into you and decided to stay on, virus thrilled at finding unsuspecting host.
The tiredness was wrought on, I suspect, from too many sources for me to even adequately catelogue and allot percentages in a nice, orderly fashion.
There was the cold and arbitrary sneezing at all wrong moments, caught from my dad perhaps.
Then there was the rain, loads of it, that threatened to enter the house from both ends, doorstep and grill-covered-well. To a mind that has seen unending television footage of the Tsunami, the Mumbai rains and the Katrina disaster, all in the space of one year, such rain can seem terrifying. The rains left behind a house steeped in darkness, emergency lamp struggling to hold on for the forty-eight hours till EB officials saw fit to attend. I suspect I am turning into a whiner now, but forty-eight hours without electricity was not romantic, not inspiring, not one of those How-I-got-to-know-my-family-again-without TV things. No it was awful. There was no washing machine, no refrigerator, no mixie, no motor...And whats life without those? (Ok, the family was safe and sound, but you get the drift).
Finally, it looks like the bad news just doesn't end. Beyond my own little gripes and snipes, there is real bad news. The blasts at Delhi are terrible. Not much is clear right away. So I don't want to say anything beyond what a tragedy it is, for those affected and their families. But I am appalled at absolutely senseless coverage on some channels - dismembered body parts and everything shown with gusto, though there is a frantic presenter standing alongside saying how awful it is.
I can only hope next week offers us all something better. May this Diwali bring everyone of us better things.
The tiredness was wrought on, I suspect, from too many sources for me to even adequately catelogue and allot percentages in a nice, orderly fashion.
There was the cold and arbitrary sneezing at all wrong moments, caught from my dad perhaps.
Then there was the rain, loads of it, that threatened to enter the house from both ends, doorstep and grill-covered-well. To a mind that has seen unending television footage of the Tsunami, the Mumbai rains and the Katrina disaster, all in the space of one year, such rain can seem terrifying. The rains left behind a house steeped in darkness, emergency lamp struggling to hold on for the forty-eight hours till EB officials saw fit to attend. I suspect I am turning into a whiner now, but forty-eight hours without electricity was not romantic, not inspiring, not one of those How-I-got-to-know-my-family-again-without TV things. No it was awful. There was no washing machine, no refrigerator, no mixie, no motor...And whats life without those? (Ok, the family was safe and sound, but you get the drift).
Finally, it looks like the bad news just doesn't end. Beyond my own little gripes and snipes, there is real bad news. The blasts at Delhi are terrible. Not much is clear right away. So I don't want to say anything beyond what a tragedy it is, for those affected and their families. But I am appalled at absolutely senseless coverage on some channels - dismembered body parts and everything shown with gusto, though there is a frantic presenter standing alongside saying how awful it is.
I can only hope next week offers us all something better. May this Diwali bring everyone of us better things.
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