We Sit Here Stranded

It is the end all over again. I just completed reading my 50th book of the year and here I am clueless as I was at the beginning of the year. It's the same old story, all over again.

Every year only a few remarkable days stand out. This February I had the opportunity of meeting a woman from Germany. Strange as it may sound, I seem to have forgotten her name. I'm good with faces but I'm very bad with names. She is a visual artist and I learnt more about Germany and the Fall of the Berlin Wall in those two isolated hours I spent with her than history books ever taught me. She herself had taken part in the revolution and was there when the Wall fell. She was 16 then.

In April, I was there at the International Jazz Concert in Nehru Park. A night I'll remember in the days to come. I was there at the High School Reunion this year. I was there at the War cemetery. I was there at Ghalib's resting place in May. I was there at Alexandra Georgiana Skinner's grave and  marveled at its beauty. I was there at Begum Samru's palace. I was on the road. I was in the streets. I stayed up one October night and composed 79 Haikus. I woke up at 5 and ran for two miles each morning throughout December just to catch the sun rise over at the lake. Such days to remember!

And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing 
He's getting ready for the show 
He's going to the carnival tonight 
On Desolation Row.

— Bob Dylan