Sikkim anecdotes..

I was telling my cousin Ajay that I probably couldn't come to Lake Tsongmo with him and my parents because as a foreigner (U.S. passport holder, that is), I needed to have another foreigner with me to go - some funny Sikkim and Indian government rule. We were conjecturing why this might be and I told him what a friend of mine had relayed to me. She'd visited Sikkim a few years ago and had told me that their guide had told them that cannibalism was still alive in remote areas of Sikkim, which is one of the reasons for various funny rules and permits that they had. I told him that the government probably didn't care if a few Indians were consumed here and there, there being so many of them, but the foreigners needed to be safe and hence travel at least in pairs. He thought that was very funny. (The real reason for this particular restriction is that Tsongmo is a sensitive military base (almost at the Chinese border) and foreigners have been known to wander off on their own (the average foreigner being much more adventerous than the average Indian) and get lost in the past, during times of day when the area is closed to tourists).

Just before our day trip to the Pemyangtse monastery, I mentioned Guru Rinpoche to Ajay and he said 'O'h - now I see what that Havells ad means'. Apparently there was a TV advertisement in India for a Havells light bulb in which all these people keep prostrating before this young oriental boy who has a halo of light surrounding his head, chanting 'Rinpoooooche, Rinpooooche..'. The boy, wondering what everyone is up to, gets up and joins the crowd to do the same. Only when he does that do they see that the halo wasn't some divine light, but the light from a Havells bulb positioned far behind the boy's head. I thought that was cute.

Incidentally, Ajay came first in all of Maharashtra in the state high school board exams a couple of years ago, in spite of the fact that he has 20% of normal vision, and is now in the final year of his degree studying economics and statistics at Xaviers in Bombay. He's contemplating going to the London School of Economics next. Even though we were all sent the newspaper clippings and so on at the time, one forgets about these things. We shouldn't though, we should let it be an inspiration.

Land of Enchatment - Part 2

Ajay, Dad and Bikas - flanked by the Kanchenjunga range








Mt. Narsing resort













Shangri La (Mt. Narsing resort)






Rustic quarters - Mt. Narsing resort







Sudha and Kanchenjunga








Mount Kanchenjunga (methinks)











A couple of leeches had their fill









The Teesta River













Yak ride? (Tsongmo Lake)









Sudha at Tsongmo








Gangtok






Tsongmo - in all its glory (12400 feet approx)






Last but not least -
tea pickers - Darjeeling

India's own Land of Enchantment - Sikkim

Our retreat - perched on the edge (in Darjeeling - not in Sikkim yet)





Man at prayer - in Darjeeling











Outside the Ghoom Monastery - just outside Darjeeling
(Yours truly, mom, cousin and two handsome monks)










Bikas, our driver and guide, mom and cousin Ajay - outside prayer wheel at Pemyangtse Monastery - Pelling, Sikkim











Pemyangtse in full view










Ajay in meditation in front of pretty Thangka - in resort (Pelling)












Completely forgot my previous trip to the Himalayas and have been thinking that
the Blue Ridge mountains looked just as high.











Sikkim schoolboy Ashish (even 3-year olds walk miles to school on mountains' edges) with dad - on steps of roadside home.

Heidi kept coming to mind.







Dubdi monastery - built in the late 17th-early 18th centuries
(Yuksam)









Dubdi - checking for leeches













Making way on mountain roads

Nostalgia

The Diamond Cutter

Nothing Rhymed

A way to end

First breakups and soppy love songs

One of my later favorites

Planet of the Apes

My favorite sci-fi movie (yes, I am getting up there)






Can you spot my simian friend in my parents' garden?






On the fence

Thought for the day

The road to hell is paved with good intentions


And a couple of great interpretations of the meaning of this proverb.
http://www.answerbag.com/q_view/82392
from AntigoneRising and StableBoy.

Illusions

I tried googling Mrs. Susan George recently and found her. She teaches in a school in Delhi - or is headmistress or principal there. I knew it was her and not someone with the same name because the picture was of her. I wanted to see if I could get in touch with her. To thank her. For having picked out Richard Bach's Illusions to give as a prize to the person who won the high-school elocution contest one year at IPCL school. It has always been one of my very favorite books - and my introduction to New Age. And for being such a great teacher - the only good one I had at that school and one of the best I'd ever had. And she was the only teacher I thought (rightly so) that I would miss when I moved on to my next school. But there was no contact email. I'm sure I can find a number for the school if I really want to and get in touch with her. But that would be weird. So, here's the alternative. Maybe she'll do an ego search and find herself here, on this page, and then she'll know.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly." - from Illusions.

Street Scenes

Trust and a hand stuck out is all it takes to make it across the road.







They must be dressed snappily under there!













"Customers are kings and queens.
They never bargains." :-))




Miracles will get you there











Room for one more?

The way we are

Is it just me? Or does everyone do this? I find that the way I talk, enunciate my words, pronounce things, the parts of my vocabulary that I exercise etc. etc. etc., all change depending on who I'm with. When I'm talking to someone who speaks good English, has a large vocabulary and can understand everything I say, I find myself exercising my vocabulary as well and speaking a certain way. When I'm with people who speak a little differently, don't pronounce things correctly etc. etc. - I speak in a way that mirrors them. It's an unconscious thing - I don't make the effort to use words in incorrect contexts, malapropisms, use grammatically incorrect English or pronounce things in totally unpardonable ways! I've decided it's because I'm too nice (or maybe it's because I'm sort of like Sybil!). I want people to feel comfortable around me and I want to take myself to whatever level they're at (no matter where that is). But lately, it's been getting a little annoying. When people start thinking you don't know any better and start correcting you all the time and adopt a supercilious attitude on top of that (it's the supercilious attitude that gets you)- then it's time they were brought down a peg or two, or cut out of your life (okay - perhaps that's being a little extreme).

Addendum: Now, is this the same as being condescending? I don't think so - it's never done with a view to putting anyone down, insulting anyone or showing that I know better than them and am deliberately doing this, it's just that I lose the ability, knowledge, whatever, whatever temporarily - like I really don't have it. I can't for the life of me talk in the same way with my aunt who mostly speaks Tamil and very little English, for example and my aunt who mostly speaks English and with whom I mostly communicate in English. If I try, it comes out all contrived and weird. And people have told me I'm anything but condescending. But if you beg to differ and read this blog and think I am, then please let me know. Now, this is only with language that this happens, not with anything else (that I am aware of), and since the people who read this blog probably all are more well-spoken than me, I guess I'm asking the wrong people.

Things that lie in the recesses of my mind....

One of my all-time favorite poems, which a friend of mine scribbled on a letter to me two decades ago - I'm not sure in what context then, but now it seems like she was prescient.

A dream deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

If you build it, they will come

I've been meaning to make a go of this new career I had planned for myself - or at least part of a new career (the other part was to spend time doing random things - things different than what I normally did for a living, some of which would make me money, and some non-profit work). The new career was in energy healing - and specifically Reiki. I thought I'd set up a studio in Hyderabad - if not a separate thing, at least have a room in my apartment that I could work out of...

But no apartment yet. And no real plans. And some random writing thing sort of working out, but haven't started on it yet - and no real income can be realized from it for a while. And realized that I really have to make a commitment to set up this studio thing. But not sure if I want to take the plunge yet - I thought I was - but am reconsidering. And people telling me that no one's going to come to me or pay me here for this sort of thing unless I establish a reputation first. Vicious cycle.

But still. I thought I could at least try something that didn't really need an investment. Craigslist!!!! - they actually already have a listing for Hyderabad - so why not - put in an ad for Reiki under the therapeutic services category. Aunt and cousin offered me the use of a shed they have in their compound - nicely enough appointed. It's really a cute little den/office masquerading as a shed. We moved a bench (more than 60 years old) from their sit-out into that room - to function as the treatment table. And I added my healing books and certificates to the other books on the bookshelf. And I watched a request come in for the Reiki. But when the person called me, he asked me what sort of massage it was. I was slightly disappointed, but I explained what it was to him and he said he'd see if he needed that sort of a treatment. Then one more. And this person seemed much more interested after my explanation - and he showed up. We talked for a bit. My first real paying client! Though I have had a few relatives pay me a dollar or two in the past, as a token - this was different. And he was from Princeton, NJ - what irony. Six thousand miles from there and my first customer used to practically be my neighbor all that distance away.

I treated him for a while and he went to sleep soon after we began. Then he suddenly started coughing and needed to get up to slip some Halls into his mouth - he aplogized - then he went "you're really good" and promptly went back to laying down again and I went back to working on him. We talked a while after we got done. He felt my hands to see if they were still hot as they had been during the treatment - not really. He told me about other people he knew who did this sort of thing - and about some other random stuff. Then he paid me - and tipped me as much as the session had cost. I have to admit it was weird - to charge for this sort of thing and then to be tipped; but I think it really should be charged for to be valued, and that if I want to spend large chunks of my time doing this, then I really need to accept money for it. I told him it wasn't necessary. But he insisted - so I told him I'd donate the tip. Gave it to aunt and asked her to give it to the charity of her choice. It's nice of family here to facilitate all this - they're all rooting for me, even though they thought this didn't have a chance. I'm sure that energy alone is plenty - and more, for me to make a start.

And then another email, and another. I'm not sure if it will go anywhere by itself. But I know now that if I get serious and commit myself, come they will.

Are you fit?

"Representative Assessee must sign the application if the applicant is minor/ deceased/ idiot/ lunatic/ mentally retarded"

That was in the instructions for how to fill in the application for a PAN (the equivalent of an SSN) in India. I read it with my mouth open. This instruction probably also applies to the people who drew up these instructions, or if that was very long ago, then to the people who haven't changed them yet.

Seeing the sights

Went to see the Chowmahalla palace in (downtown) Hyderabad recently - a set of 4 palaces in the same compound. This was the official residence of the Nizams (a dynasty of rulers whose founder worked for the Emperor Aurengzeb) of Hyderabad.

The taxi took us to the unimposing gates of the palace through the crowded area of Charminar (another famous landmark). Considering the area we had just driven through, with crowds thronging the streets, the strangest goods for sale, all sorts of pollution clouding the atmosphere and the roads, and various unpleasant smells assailing our nostrils, I didn't expect much. But once we entered the gates and paid the entrance fee for ourselves (and our cameras) I felt like I was Lucy and had just walked through the wardrobe. It was a different world. The gardens on the grounds and the various palaces and other buildings that form this complex are just gorgeous. No crowds, no garbage, just wonderful architecture, fabulous flowering trees and shrubs, a reflecting pool and quiet all around.

Some pictures from the trip:





It took up a lot of our time and energy walking around and wandering through the various palaces, leaving me little of both to take pictures of the even more interesting things outside on our way back. But some of the interesting things we saw:
-A little shop where they were making those sheets of ultra-fine silver foil that commonly go on top of Indian sweets. There were 2 or 3 men in there. One of them had a hammer in one hand and his other hand on what looked like a square leather bound book on the floor. He was pounding the hammer on that book very rhythmically, using the free hand to rotate the 'book' a little every time the hand with the hammer went up. He seemed to look everywhere else but down at that thing. I'm not sure that I would ever trust myself enough to do that, regardless of how many years I may spend pounding away with a hammer. He, however, had never made any mistakes, or at least no serious ones, it seemed. He even looked at me and smiled at me looking at him. Too bad I didn't ask if I could take his picture. But I guess there's been an end put to my eating any sweets covered with this stuff anymore. That leather bound book was pretty much that, cow hide (or buffalo hide, or something's hide) - I guess it makes sense to use that, but now my vegetarian brain will conjure up images of this little scene every time I bite into one of those things. I guess ignorance really is bliss, especially in these matters.
- A man with just 2 things for sale - again very deserving of a picture (but unfortunately there isn't one) - the hide of a sheep or goat laid out on the street to resemble the animal and the wolly hair from whatever it had been (probably a sheep) also laid out the same way. It was the day after Id, a Muslim festival during which people traditionally slaughter one of these animals in honor of Ibrahim's willingness to undertake the sacrifical slaughter of his son.
-A naked woman lying on the area that served as a divider for the street we were on. She was probably very poor and possibly mentally unstable. Such sights are not uncommon here. I didn't personally see this, but heard my aunt describing what she was seeing out of her window. It's sad that there are hundreds of thousands of people all around (ourselves included), just walking/driving/riding by and not doing anything to help. There are tons of organizations and many people trying to help, but it seems like the there's no end to the misery here. And for this particular one, I'm glad I don't have a picture.

Keeping the faith

It's kind of late

to start again

but then, what's the option?
Things look rosy in the rearview mirror
but in your heart of hearts you know
that they looked different when they were up ahead
and that it would be the same if you turned around
So you ride on
hoping the scenery changes
or that something inside does
as it did once before
so that what lies ahead
or behind
doesn't really matter anymore

On first name terms

So I took the train to Hyderabad after all and it was alright, though I think I’ll use the train only for shorter distances from now on. It would have been better if there had been fewer roaches crawling around. I’m sure this isn't the norm in the more expensive air conditioned compartments, but this wasn't one of the better super fast trains, just an express, so this sort of thing is probably to be expected. The young man sitting on the seat opposite me complained to the conductor about the roaches and received the response that this was a common problem in the air conditioned coaches. He was not too happy with the response – he said that the conductor could have said something that conveyed that he gave a damn, such as perhaps that he would let people in the yard (where trains are taken to get cleaned) or someone else know so they could better address the problem. He also said, ‘imagine if there are foreigners on this train, what will they think?’ I thought to myself, I could care less what anyone else thought, but I could tell him a bit of what I was thinking.

I exchanged email addresses with him. He was into computer graphics and animation – that’s what he did for a living. He only had a first name – no last name. I asked him how that worked, when he applied for official documents and such. He said that so far he had been able to get away with it and on the rare occasion when official type people insisted he needed to fill in his last name on a form, he split his only name into two. It seems he was named that way because his father did not want anyone to have an inkling about what caste they belonged to and so on and use that as the basis for discrimination (negative or otherwise). So to all those who deny that problems such as these exist in India (and of course they need to have their heads examined), it seems they are alive and kicking.

He also asked me where I lived, what I did and all the usual questions – and when I told him that I lived abroad (‘O’h so you are an NRI?’) and was thinking of living here for a while, he told me he would never leave India. He said that he had not even applied for a passport, even though his father had suggested he should on several occasions. He said he that he did not believe he could live as freely anywhere else as he could in India. Other than that elsewhere he would always be viewed as a foreigner, where else, he asked, could one freely throw garbage wherever one wanted or drive or ride a vehicle with a total disregard for any rules that existed, on any side of the road? I asked him if he thought that was a good thing – and he said it was total freedom – he hadn't thought about whether it was good or not. He then promptly proceeded to remove the plastic wrapper on the lid of the water bottle he had just bought and throw it on the floor. I asked him if he was just exercising his freedom and he retorted that well, it was not like there was anywhere else he could throw it, since the windows could not be opened in these compartments! I pointed to the dustbin in the little alcove outside of the doors (of course I’d ended up in a seat at the end of the compartment closest to the loo) and said what about there? It was ultimately probably going to end up just being dumped somewhere anyway, probably get thrown all together outside the train by the person who emptied it – since there is really no system to get rid of garbage yet in India, but at least the process would be slightly delayed. And it’s probably easier to address mounds of garbage than individual bits and pieces all over the place. He grinned sheepishly but from then on used it and complimented me on my powers of observation (to the people who think I don't have those - see?).

He was telling me that he owned a flat (aka ‘condominium’ in the US) in Hyderabad and had moved to another city for work and was now moving back. He lived with his sister, who was a couple of years younger than him. She, too, worked in Hyderabad, though they were from elsewhere. So she had been living there alone for the past few months while he had been away. I was quite impressed, considering that she was probably only 22 or 23. When I asked him how he commuted to work, he said he had a motor bike and when I asked about her, he said she used an auto (autorickshaw) to get around. When I asked him how come she did not own a scooter or a moped or something to get around, he said he would not allow it. He said it wasn't safe, he’d seen so many accidents. She was free to do whatever she wanted after she got married, but until then, he said, he wanted all her limbs intact. I thought that was very thoughtful of him.

I got to read only a couple of pages of the book I had carried to keep me company (Family Matters – Rohinton Mistry) thanks to this fellow. But I guess your horizons can be expanded any which way. I also left the book on the train. Probably the universe letting me know that there are better sources of entertainment here.

Backwards and Forward

Kokila (the maid) told me that she does not accept the gently used cotton saris my mother has offered her, not because she does not like them, but because she wears only synthetic saris. When I asked her why, since the cotton ones are so pretty, she said that it’s hard to pull the pallav (or the part of the sari that’s left hanging over the shoulder) of a cotton sari over her head and face when in the presence of her father-in-law, brother-in-law or other ‘elders’ in her home – since it is so thick. The Hindi phrase she used for this act translates to something like ‘removing her shame’ or ‘taking out her shame’. As usual, these things always amaze me, that people in this day and age live like it was a hundred years ago (or at least 50 years ago). When I asked her if she did not know that this was the year 2008 and why people still clung to customs such as this, she said that that is just the way things are and there is nothing one can do about it (though my mother assured me that her father-in-law was a really nice man and would probably never object if she did not ‘remove her shame’). I continued talking to her saying things that I hoped would emancipate her (though it is totally none of my business) while thinking that for myself, perhaps it would not really be a bad idea to go even further and acquire a burqa (one of those long garments, usually black, though people are lightening up on the color these days, that you wear to cover your body and your head – with only an opening for the face or slits for the eyes) to wear when using public transport. It would be so freeing! I could wear whatever I want to and ‘take my shame out’ along with myself without having to worry about being groped or stared at!

The Virtue of Selfishness (not sure why I'm writing this and who would want to read it)

I remember reading a book by this name when I was very young – maybe 11 or 12 – I was in this phase where I was reading everything written by Ayn Rand – Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, The Romantic Manifesto and We The Living among others, thanks to the influence of fans of hers at home. I overheard someone in the family once say that I was being spoiled by all these books and they were influencing me negatively. They certainly did influence me and for a very long time I kept comparing people I met to characters in those books – immediately falling in love with people who seemed like Howard Roark and John Galt and hating anyone who seemed in the remotest like Ellsworth Toohey, promoting mediocrity. I sometimes secretly wondered if some of my behaviors were I more like Toohey’s than Howard Roark’s or John Galt’s and even occasionally despised myself if I found they were. I totally agreed with Rand’s philosophy and everything she said – it all seemed to make sense to me. I wanted to be like her heroes and live up to the ideals they held. And I totally agreed that there was nothing but virtue in selfishness.

But when I’ve looked at the things I’ve done and how I’ve lived my life to date, though I’m sure observers consider me very selfish, never seeming to have the interests of those around me at heart, they probably don’t realize that I didn’t have my own interests at heart either – and so never really excelled at anything I did. I never sat and thought about what I wanted and so never conducted my life according to those needs – in any sphere – I just kept doing what I thought was expected of me – by anyone and everyone (usually just random ‘anyones’) but me – in the end giving life to that nagging little thought that perhaps I was more like Toohey after all and just by the nature of the way I behaved encouraged mediocrity in and all around me. I think some of that was taught to me by adults around me, who constantly kept trying to teach that one shouldn’t be selfish, one should consider everyone else etc. – those things may be fine as far as, say, adjusting the thermostat in the room or making sure those around you are physically comfortable etc. – but beyond that, if you start conducting yourself based on everyone else’s needs, then unless that’s really what you want to do, it serves no one.

But Toohey was never who I aspired to be and he’s certainly not my ideal. I think I am so fortunate to have this time to regroup and reflect on my life. My intention going forward is to be selfish – very truly selfish – and that has nothing to do with material things or money or anything like that – just making sure that every step I take and every thing I do serves my interest and where I think I want to go – hopefully, where I know I want to go and must go. If that selfishness leads me to do something that actually helps others, that’s just great, but to just do things thinking that that’s what others want or what’s expected of me or is the noble thing to do and then resent everyone around me will in the end be a disservice to everyone else.

The things that currently drive me nuts

The same old things, every time. They only seem to get worse. After a while, you get used to them again - I haven't gotten to that point yet on this trip:

- Not being able to walk outside without my heart in my mouth, bumping into hundreds of stray dogs within a couple of miles, sometimes vicious looking packs of them (not only does this city have to deal with its own strays, but apparently some genius somewhere decided that strays from other cities were to be dealt with by transporting them here and releasing them - there are hundreds of thousands of stray dogs - India soon will have not only the largest population in the world but already has the largest stray dog population in the world).

- Having to listen to some of those dogs fight amongst each other and bark all night long.

- The narrow, unnatural, 30-40 mile creek that runs by (well, not immediately by, but some 50 feet away) my parents house, beginning at one river and emptying into another, carrying tons of sewage and God knows what else and emanating all kinds of smells at times ).

- Various people throughout the city, including in this locality (middle class people with proper houses, sometimes cars and all kinds of other luxuries - but with pea-sized brains) burning their garbage in piles outside the gates of their houses (including plastics and God knows what other noxious fume producing substances) - they seem to think that this is the state-of-art-way to get rid of your garbage.

- Groups of people (usually men) milling around idly everywhere and staring all together whenever a female form passes by.

- All the people who you sometimes vent about these things to, who live in swanky localities, get driven around in air-conditioned cars and only see the insides and the outsides of the nicest places in India wondering why you're complaining and what you're talking about. They should all do substantial time here, with none of their accouterments.

- A feeling of total frustration and helplessness that nothing can ever be done to improve things here (not that I have ever seriously tried - always started something - if only in the smallest way - and never really stayed long enough to follow through) and sometimes disgust.

- Diwali season (which means fireworks everywhere - everyone buys fireworks). The pretty ones are nice to watch when they're set off, but when rockets tend to almost land on your head or eyes and blind you as you are walking on your terrace, you don't take kindly to either the season or to the idiots who are heedlessly firing these things that travel in a short arc and land, while still burning, on the ground or some one's terrace, head, face or other body part as they're standing or walking outside or the authorities for letting such things be manufactured and sold. Only slightly better than this sort are the 'bombs' - 'atom bombs', 'nuclear bombs' whatever - that go off and usually take your ear drums with them for a while. With a pounding head all I can think of at these times is that I'd like to, as in those Tom and Jerry or Road Runner cartoons, shove these bombs up the backsides of the people setting them off and see how they like it then.

- That there are so few columnists like Tavleen Singh of the Indian Express who actually tell it like it is - everyone else seems to be pulling the wool over their own eyes and just talk about how everything here is the best, the first, the greatest, the whatever - or just don't talk about any of this at all - or just talk about it as if it's all normal

One bright spot:
The ear-splitting noise from constant revelry in open air tents or the street where the not-so-fortunate people hold their weddings or the mullah's call to prayer at ungodly hours over the loudspeaker at nearby mosque no longer seem to be a problem - people seem to be obeying some new law of no noise over loudspeakers between 10 at night and six in the morning or something (or it could just be that I'm here out of season).

I hope I can help in some way, no matter how small and doing no matter what, towards mitigating at least one of these issues - already on it. If nothing else, at least then I can complain a little bit louder.

Bicycles everywhere!

Kokila, the maid who comes once a day to my parents' home to cut vegetables (that's right - her sole job is to cut vegetables for the next day morning's meal - strange job, but they employ her because she wanted the job and they want someone around so that if the regular maid who does the other housework doesn't show up or they need a temporary cook if my mother is indisposed, they'll have someone else to turn to) has a regular day job at a school. She's part of a crew that keeps the school clean. The school is about 3 kilometers away from where she lives and she walks back every afternoon. Today, she was telling me how tired she gets walking back every day - there are no buses that run at the time she and her colleagues leave and they really can't afford an autorickshaw or anything else - in spite of the fact that on her days off from the school, she works at a factory (where she gets paid for about 9 hours of work about Rs. 50 - RS. 50! - that's pure exploitation as far as I'm concerned, but it's the going rate per what she says - that's about $1.10 - now I know things can't be like in the developed countries and people can't get paid even a dollar an hour or anything like that, but come on, it should at least be Rs. 100 for the whole entire day).

So she's going to learn how to ride a bike (she's about 36 and has been widowed for many years now, with two teenagers to take care of) - something that for whatever reason she didn't get to do as a child - and then buy a bike so she can use it for transportation to her school.

Now, in all good conscience, it's going to be impossible for me to take the plane (http://notesfromalongjourney.blogspot.com/2008/11/planes-trains-or-automobiles.html), when I know that if I take the train, I can save enough money to buy her a brand new bicycle (at a cost 0f about Rs. 3000 at the most) and still have enough left over to take my next train journey somewhere. A conscience can be a pain sometimes - but this time, I guess I'll listen - since I really don't have to be anywhere in a hurry and if a few minutes of discomfort can really help make someone I know's life more bearable, then I guess I can put those in a different perspective. Now, ideally, of course, one would take the plane and buy the bicycle. But if I start doing too much of that, then before long, I'll probably be needing a bicycle myself! Now, if I start analyzing things like this every time I travel, everyone I know who needs a bicycle is going to end up with one!

Choose what shows up

(Getting closer to a new profession - writing inspirational greeting cards!)

It's probably been said before in many different ways
Where the words sit
Makes a difference
In how you view your days
If you can't have what you want then don't think that it's the end
Try wanting what you have and then begin again