I woke up, very unusually at 6:00 am. The weather generally being overcast, it was dark outside. Very reluctant to get out of the cozy warmth of the blanket, I decided to give myself half an hour more. No point getting up when its not even light out, I reasoned. Didn't really fall asleep, but had a daydream, partly fueled by the events of the past few days, all the while dreading the 30 minutes counting down on the cellphone.
Dragged myself out of bed, cleaned up, picked up the book and looked longingly at the bed. After all the warmth I had invested, it seemed like such a waste to leave now. Even though reading in bed, especially in the early morning has been fraught with danger for me, rationality lost out to comfort. So passed another hour, reading - but not quite, and drifting off a few times. Finally the conscience kicked in, and I extricated myself out of the bed, pulled on my socks and made my way downstairs.
It wasn't a bright and cheery day, and I am a person who needs my morning tea on the best of days. So I found myself in the kitchen, looking at a daunting array of shelves and cupboards. I'll make do with the tea bag version, I decided, not wishing to make the inevitable racket that accompanies a good exploration of a drawer full of steel vessels. As I sat down with a hot cup of water and two bags of Taj Mahal trying their best to give it their everything, I opened my laptop and logged in to google reader.
Being Monday, The New Yorker had updated its feed. And I happened to read this. I smiled at the coincidence of situation I had been in not 10 minutes ago, but the theme of the piece triggered exactly opposite emotions in me. Home is far away, but a place very close to home is something I hadn't imagined I would find here. Even if its just for a weekend, I am made to feel right at home, smack bang in the middle of my comfort zone. Whether its raiding the fridge or spending a day in front of the TV writing code, its just like another day at home.
But perhaps what made me shake my head at Jenny Allen in disagreement was a remark by my cousin to his mom saying that she's got one more son now.
Dragged myself out of bed, cleaned up, picked up the book and looked longingly at the bed. After all the warmth I had invested, it seemed like such a waste to leave now. Even though reading in bed, especially in the early morning has been fraught with danger for me, rationality lost out to comfort. So passed another hour, reading - but not quite, and drifting off a few times. Finally the conscience kicked in, and I extricated myself out of the bed, pulled on my socks and made my way downstairs.
It wasn't a bright and cheery day, and I am a person who needs my morning tea on the best of days. So I found myself in the kitchen, looking at a daunting array of shelves and cupboards. I'll make do with the tea bag version, I decided, not wishing to make the inevitable racket that accompanies a good exploration of a drawer full of steel vessels. As I sat down with a hot cup of water and two bags of Taj Mahal trying their best to give it their everything, I opened my laptop and logged in to google reader.
Being Monday, The New Yorker had updated its feed. And I happened to read this. I smiled at the coincidence of situation I had been in not 10 minutes ago, but the theme of the piece triggered exactly opposite emotions in me. Home is far away, but a place very close to home is something I hadn't imagined I would find here. Even if its just for a weekend, I am made to feel right at home, smack bang in the middle of my comfort zone. Whether its raiding the fridge or spending a day in front of the TV writing code, its just like another day at home.
But perhaps what made me shake my head at Jenny Allen in disagreement was a remark by my cousin to his mom saying that she's got one more son now.
1 comments:
come on you crazy bavarian winter, i don't fear you... coz i am going home!
i will get all the fatty insulations needed to fight you from there. they serve nice food.
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