The Lost Links

This is one of the blogs that I had been longing to write for a week now. Somehow I couldn't afford to sleep over it. I would like to start it from the dream that we all pledged when we were young and in school .Every one has a dream that they chase along to find a meaning for life. This dream is so fragile that many of us deviate from our plans as we move along the various walks of life. Fine. That is the way life brings intricacies as a form of battle to be fought for a win-win result. Now, if at all we chase our bubbly dreams, how well we position ourselves to shape the dream is a toughest question that we need to answer. For example, in school many of us had a dream to get into a good graduate school or a University. I assume, if we had this dream,we should probably think about the future of that dream in terms of longevity that we extend to that particular choice of career. At college, you would have probably wanted to escalate to a salaried position.  And when you hit job, you would seek and work towards a hike in salary or grade. Not of all of us had the courage to even dream of what we want to be in five years at school. The question is why didn't we dare to dream?. Answer is simple, at least in my case. Home. We weren't taught to dream. This might sound less pragmatic, but that was the truth. Fine. At school, we were asked to share our dreams with every one in the class, perhaps the question came from our teacher. But for what?. Nothing other than to wake the students from boredom of lecturing. Is this acceptable?. Can the power of dream be underestimated or overlooked?.Can a school in India, obviously the burgeoning super power, especially in education sector afford to engage in trivial questioning sessions when they are otherwise ought to produce valuable inquiries. Honestly, this isn't a toy story. This is serious business. And I am sure, not every one of us stand by the first dream ever, until the end. Fair enough. Always I had a feeling as a child that dreams don't drive you towards the life that you could accept and hug forever. Meaning, they pose many constraints. Three are the most influential things that I have understood and tried to quantify, when you dare to dream. Time, Money and love. You have to believe me, I am writing this through the product of my own experience in the past. And I am sure I was a loser when it came to execution of my own conscience. I didn't have a dream in first place. Fine. If I had able to propose a sincere dream plan, I would have said "I want to become a Cricketer, a batsman". This wasn't a silly dream. This dream penetrated in me, as a product of my passion I had for cricket, when I was in school.  A lot of Indians know the world of cricket. The first question I would like to ask myself is that "Do you have time to practice the sport?". Yes. I had lot of time, once I was back from school. A small story. My parents are a hard-working couple and they always wanted to see me as a well-taught individual with a career floating with a few degrees. They too liked cricket, but they wouldn't want their son to choose sport as a profession. Reasons. My father didn't want to spend 500 Rupees a month for coaching and nets. They thought they weren't able to see their son, reflecting through a sporty glass. Parent's love for me, spoiled my dream of being a batsman. But I knew in the bottom of my heart that this passion can never die. So when my mom said "Cricket is not a career for you, you should dream something that we could afford", I thought money also stifle one's dream. Love, obviously give challenges during the decision making times and not to forget it's ability to make things complicated on a broader sense as well. Now after a few years, I know that I had to succumb to the twists and turns. Eventually, every one will. But these underlying passions are significant residues in everyone's life. They are always there, staying at the bottom, staring at you. And you know that you are capable enough to ensconce these subtle indications of life. "I believe the beauty of love and aggression is that they make us tolerant and prudent. Most important, they strive to inculcate an ability to deal with them.They welcome you anytime with an invitation. Accessible and a cover against a rain of dilemmas". I would say if you feel that you have traveled faraway from the road, that you wanted or the one you should have taken, for good,  don't feel separated at any point of time. "There is always a chance to love, cry and fight for your own life". If you are reluctant to fight for your own dreams, you shall be forced by life itself. Terrible as it might sound, without passion you almost succeed to embrace faint-acceptance and self-denial. But this coercion can be painful. Rather create a battle field of your own. There are more opportunities to catch up with your own interests at a soothing level. The dynamics of pursuing these interests bestow us a new vision, a new dream and a new life ahead. "This moment always, is as good as it sounded a few hours ago. Time becomes a destitute of your thoughts, when you listen to your inner voice."  Keep listening to them until you become less freaky.                                 

A QUESTION & A KISS

Mobile phone was silently whisking my table-top drawer. Too tired to stretch my hands, I reached to grab it between my fingers. Laziness, a by-product of body and bed, I thought. Phone's dash board displayed the message.

Martyn Hemmings

1 message

I opened my in box to read it. It said "Sud, If you fancy a pint in Kenilworth 2nite to c sarah off, b4 she goes to Spain, I can tak us & bring us back, am leaving at 8.00 p.m. fm martyn." The message was from my apartment owner, Martyn. He should be well above in his fifties. Obese, a chain-smoker and fanatic of chilled beer and chat. Its been just over a month in my new house, where I find myself to succumb to the fancies of life. I moved in single, in this deluxe apartment to live with other flat mates, whom I would say, still I barely know them, regardless of a month-long stay. Partly because Mat, a night-club manager spends all his day in front of x-box, Chris, Who just wouldn't give himself time to breath, while he talks, Sylvie, works in the university as a researcher in Molecular biology, and Anjjy, a German born, U.S Consultant spending her contract time here in Warwick ,working hard for her baguette and tropical juice, as part of her breakfast every morning. Now wait a minute. I forgot to talk about Sarah, the name you are familiar now, after reading that message from Martyn. Sarah, was working as a chief-chef in a hotel in Kenilworth, a classy little English town about a mile and a half from our place. I would have spoken roughly ten lines with her, after I moved in. Kind, smart and witty, she was working in nights, shift-based and looked exactly like a doll, in her outfit. Occasionally, she would bring her sister and boy friend to her room and watch serials to get herself a break during week ends. Honestly, in this room nobody cares, if you bring some one for a night, until you don't moan or scream and appear to have a child kicked off in a few months. She moved out about a couple of weeks back from our house. Martyn, our home-daily give us updates on every one while he cleans our utensils and empties our bin. Martyn is a wonderful person to be a property manager, with his people skills that he uses to invite people to move into his apartments. I remember what exactly he said after describing about his rental apartments. He said, "You should be a stupid, to not accept this offer." I was shocked to hear aloud his candid statement. Well, he meant the logic of my "Yes" or "No" to his offer, I hope. "My son is a stupid to not accept my offer", he added. I was relieved. "Alright Sud (that is the way he calls me), leave that brat." When are you moving in? He asked. I said in a couple of weeks and moved in finally. It has been a wonderful time, since then. Sarah again. Mat, Chris, Anjjy and Sylvie know Sarah well than I knew, which just triggered a question in my mind about should I really bother to attend the send-off, amidst my dissertation on a freaky theory in tribology. I was hungry about 6.00 in the evening and so went down to grab a pack of crisps and a cup of tea. Matt, was pressing his clothes, and Martyn, aloud in his ancient Nokia mobile, talking to Rachel, his sister in Northampton. I grabbed crisps and Martyn came to the living room and told, "alright guys, see you at about 8.00". I went quizzical. I asked Matt, "Are you going?". He replied, "We are Sud.". I just didn't want to say anything and went upstairs to shower and shoe up. All set, Martyn briefed on the plan. We went to pick Sarah from her place, in downtown Coventry. Benz, C 200 was our car, probably they are not in sale any more in any part of the world. Well, I don't have one yet. So I will have to be modest here. 6 of us in the car, almost anticipating a ticket from the cop-man, we headed to Kenilworth. "Queen & Castle", a restaurant chain with a pub, was where Sarah was working as a chef. Mood-lighting, few friends and colleagues already were in the song of getting satiated. As part of the social convention, on behalf of our house, Martyn gave the present and a card addressed to "Sweet little Sarah". She was happy. Martyn said "Everything is on me". Well I thought, what can I have that would possibly satisfy my tummy needs. "Nothing" was the answer. Finally went with 2 pints of Carling, served in the traditional pint glass. Sarah introduced every one of us to Managers and staff of the hotel, who were going to miss Sarah like every one of us. We were chatting. It wouldn't have stopped, if I had not intervened to ask Sarah, about her plans in Spain. She said she is going to meet her mother in Barcelona, and expressed that her mother badly wanted to spend time with her. Understood. And she was very happy and without any hesitation, she just hugged me and gave a kiss on my chin and started to kiss every one around, including Martyn, who just couldn't bend down as his waist was a skinny-wall built with beer, offering defense. It was over. The emotions. We wished "good luck in Spain" to Sarah and came out of "Queen & Castle". Martyn started his Car, with every one around with a vague disposition to converse, Martyn started. "It was a  lumpy kiss wasn't it Sud?." I said "Oh Yaah". "Have you been kissed like that before?", he added. I smiled and said "Yes", "But it was special, Martyn", I added. Martyn replied "It was that question you raised Sud.". It all went black, very much after that. I couldn't understand his statement yesterday. May be because there was "Carling" crawling inside me. But today as I type this, I know pretty well that "a question can answer a lot of things than the answer itself." All along people roam about without realizing the fact that they all have a purpose in this world. And that purpose is the same for many of us. "Love." She is not going to work as long as an year from now. But she needs some one who loves her unconditionally. Her "mother". It is 19.56 in my clock. I will have to take a shower to become less philosophical.

The Graceful Attachment.

I could hear voices from the kitchen and corridors in my apartment. There were a few, whom I know since I moved into this accommodation eight months back. The first time I saw them, I noticed that they weren't anyone with whom I can hangout, I thought. Reason??. Matrix accommodation and a new place to get up from tomorrow. When I started to complete my application for on-campus residence, they had something which I thought was a crazy question. The application form said "Would you like to prefer Matrix Accommodation?". I was in India and all attempts to reach the accommodation team to inquire about that freaky word went futile. Supposedly, they had meant the International Residential preference. It means, you can decide, if you want to stay with international students, (even they had provisions to choose mixed residents, i.e, no gender bias) rather than a native resident from India per say. As in every tough question while writing an exam, I chose matrix scheme at random and then eventually I was posted with ten others who were actually from almost four continents. Interesting. When I moved in with a heavy suit-case into my accommodation, I saw a number of fellow-students arriving at their residences. The first change. When I climbed stairs, I crossed a girl, who was supposed to move in to the same apartment as mine. She also had a huge suit-case, with a package hanging and dancing, cantilevered on the top of the main case, as she was ascending to the first floor of the apartment. As a usual thing, when you see someone struggling, you would want to offer some help. Help in progress. She quickly introduced herself and went in. Suddenly a wave of emptiness. I was expecting her to ask a few more questions or share some experiences while she came all the way from her country to England. Greedy. Suddenly I went to Chennai. Imagination. Every time, When I come back home from a trip, my mother or father, used to walk me from the entrance to our house, followed with a session covering questions about my last night's dinner menu, Southern Railways promptness in avoiding delayed starts and so on. This time, I had moved in from India to England, and there is nothing, but a table swamped with pamphlets and manuals on accommodation. Boring, I thought. Living room actually resembled a god-forbidden place. Chennai is heaven, I conclude. Seemingly, not bothered to show interest in answering back, I displayed a typical ruth, aged 24. Funny. My father would then continue his role play to test my patience. Occasionally, I failed in his tests. Resenting, I would shower to prepare myself for the day at the most uninteresting place called "Work". It wasn't "Work is Worship" in my case. Nevertheless, I had to succumb and act, like I did to convince my parents on religious duties as a Hindu Brahman. Table. Suddenly, I felt aloof and restless. Just a day before, I did everything I could to come here and now that I had hit this solitary hell, I had no body to call and pull a prank, shout at vendors/suppliers, which was part of my archaic job role and my mom, whom I call to say that her Onion Saambhaar was just on top of the world. (A South Indian Recipe, often mixed with Rice and served with Vegetables) Settling. I was suspicious about the size of the kitchen and so sneaked in to explore and critique the power of adverts and Campus snapshots. To my mind, they both overlapped. I thought it was fine. There were neighbors strolling the corridors of prison (Truly this is not exaggeration. The corridors look like corridors of a rehabilitation centers or an asylum often sreenplayed in movies. Almost, If I jump or lift my head, I could break the false-ceiling and do some visual inspection) to get familiar with accommodation services. Curious, I went for a walk around the block and noticed that the place was serene. Back in India, when I hit the street, It would be crowded, buzzy and noticeable. In contrast, this place was all less attractive, but idyllic.   They were looking like themselves, and everyone is ought to look like themselves. Simple. Retrospecting, my first conversations with them, during which I started to acquaint with everyone around, I felt like they are just usual, ordinary and strange. If I could elaborate further, they were special to me at that point of past, as inmates. During the first few weeks, I hardly spoke to them during my visits to the kitchen. If at all, the exchanges would be the usual starters like "How was your day ? or How do you find your course ? or How is everything getting along ?. Mere attempt to ease off, while being present in the dining room. Months passed, when we got to know each other more and more on all levels.  Like in every other relationship, I enjoyed sharing every thing with them, and there were a few occasions, to dance, to rant and to make fun among one another. Congruency. The transition from looking at them, as a stranger faded towards the phase, wherein we all became a family. The sharing surpassed and would slip through a few topics and we would talk about problems, issues within the University or modules or professors and a lot more. Suddenly, now when I look at them, they are no more new to me. I don't see anything that could possibly satiate the desire to explore more with them. But they look beautiful. More real. I sense that the communication has become more expressive. The way my eyes perceive them has radically changed. Now, it is just a matter of days, and I am moving to a new place. This cycle of strangeness would repeat itself again and again. It feels like none of them around is in reality a stranger. Ironical. It is all differentiated just by a word of mouth or a glance at them. Some how I sense there is an attachment with every thing, if you yen for that longing sense of connection. An attachment. "A graceful attachment". 

The Unusual Place of Motivation - Kitchen

Lying on the bed, thinking about a few tasks that I have to accomplish for the day, I move the curtains to get replenished. Somehow hunger strikes me early. 10.00 a.m. Ironical. Showering appears to be moved to the later half of the day. The unwashed black cereal bowl reminds that I have to sort the utensil mess. Dressed up, I head to the kitchen to make a bowl of rice crisps, smoothies and nutties with milk to fill myself. The first question for the day.It was the kitchen cleaning lady. I dont know her name yet. There was Sally in the kitchen, one of my inmates in the apartment. As usual busy with her breakfast preparation. Question was raised. "Did you have the kitchen kick-off meeting along with your residential tutor when you moved in??. There were the two of us in the kitchen. This is the only time in life, when you are talkative, people appreciate it. So the result is that I answered her, after a short pause. "Yah, I am the kitchen representative for this flat.". Generally, like many of us, I like to catch up with people through casual coversations, with whoever the person might be. But, the question, really is why did I have to pause a moment, when I have to start answering to that easiest question. Three months back. There was a kitchen cleaning lady, named Marie, who was the nightmare for all of us in my apartment. She is so fat, that bath tubs have to be made of soft material to allow expansion. Or else,even the tub would capsize. Now that was not a joke. During our first conversations, while she figured out that, I am the flat - rep, she filed minor complaints about the spreading of utensils around the table, failing to remove the rubbish bin and etcetera. I had posted notes informing the inmates that we will have to be weary next time. Of course every one around did their best to enjoy a tidy cooking room. Nevertheless, cooking pans were looking like remnants of a miniature prison cell. During which, the accomodation team would notify us, using kitchen do's and dont's posterized on the notice boards inside the kitchen. "Accountability". In a flat of ten, you can hardly identify this word. Marie would try her best to shout every morning, until you know that it is late to rise from bed. There were times, when my door was knocked every morning at 9.00 to seek justice for the messed kitchen. Marie and I, slowly progressed to become the inseparable duo, when it comes to warwick accommodation. One morning, I still remember, when a grill was thrown like a spear, out of anguish, which after leaving the dexterous hands of Marie, hit the kitchen floor producing a raucous echo. Now what is the occasion??. Marie got mad, because supposedly we had messed the pans. After this we were really worried about our heads, which could get slithered by yet another outrageous throw from Marie. Psychotic. The right word to use for someone who is behaviour is characterised with unusal rant, fretful dialogues or a unique mental pre-disposition to make others get off their seats. I really had wished to have a surrogate cleaner. Connection. Present day. 09.06.2010. The pretty cleaner said, "When I came in today, the kitchen was tidy." I exchanged glances with Sally, who was flummoxed. She continued, "It was all straight and clean. It makes our job easier, when you try to wipe and clean your own mess."She gave a hearty smile. Kind and sensual. We didn't have anything to reply back. I said, "Thanks, we do try to keep this kitchen neat." It was motivating. I don't want to put myself down to underestimate the value of appreciation. Had Marie sounded this way, even when she was petulant, I mean, we would have tried harder. She was boorish and boring from the start. Once she said, "If you see stains on the pan, you have to clean it". I thought WTF!!. But remember, Marie was huge. If she slaps me in reply, my ears can never hear again. Of course, you cannot hit the wall with your hand. I feel that some thing has come up. A lesson. " The smallest of efforts you put in some thing, is definitely the road towards expanding your results out of it". Plausible it seems, you might not get the result, that would be appreciated in the first few attempts.But, certain is the day, when you shall be looked upon. Now, this small appraisal was fresh in the morning. She smiled and left the kitchen. Sally is missing and that is usual. Break-fast time.

Sodium Memories - A Chemical Alter - ego

Is the title weird?. No.You will find it out, when you read further. I started to write this blog, mainly because I happened to suddenly remember some incidents in the past. Memories. Fine. Then what does Sodium signify in this context??. Simple. It happened under a Sodium Vapour lamp of my household, back in Chennai, India. What is so special to ace a blog??. For me when I share things, they proffer motivation. I am right now living in an apartment, in a county in Central England. Incidental, as it may sound, I have a well-lit sodium lamp, whose light is translucent through my bed-room window. It gives me a ride to the past, that could be called as ancient enough, as I was on my high-school vacation. Very Young. Pro-active. Possessive. I lived in a neighborhood, that attracted the young ones to play games of all sorts. Outdoor. Every evening, soon after dusk, we meet to chat, to shout, and to involve in all types of frivolousness. I still remember the fact that I never had a goal. A focused path to take life, out of high school. Careless. Concerned all about a job, which I would get to make my parents happy, but not too sure about the fact that whether, would I fancy a living like my mother or father did that time. It sounds like a good long-term goal, for an high-school kid to forebode a career. Blunder. I wonder and realize now that if you feel that your life is smooth, without you having to necessitate your decisions, the righteous ones, the ones that you are confident in shaping a career, then there is a possibility of dead-lock. Never create these instances in life. Result is contrition. Fortunately, in my life, I never had time to sit and regret. Counter-energy, helped me to evade such events. I went to a job. But I figured, I cannot extend my services, after a while. Reasons?? Plenty. Boredom, Servitude and Corporate Coalitions were the bullet reasons. If you think, you always have better options to choose from and you are pretty sure that you would never regret your choice, go for it. Come what may. Hesitation is injurious in life. It is a disease, it eats you slowly and you start to limp, when you are supposed to run behind things, that awaits your passionate flow of energy. There weren't either dilemmas or confusions. Of course, they aren't to be expected. But, they churn you the best decisions that you can make from a list of choices. Handed resignation. That was the best choice and sadly, the only choice. You cannot excel in something, that you are too tired to do on a Sunday morning. It could be anything. A 20-20 match. A sandwich. A trip chart. For me it was my job. There is something important that I wish to share here. Interpretations and observations about life definitely helps in building a strong conscious career. They are intertwined.  The field you intend to work , has to be the best reflection of your creative expression. I am ought to be cautious, when I mix them. But in a number of occasions, there are people around, who could mix it up for you. Precarious. You might find that it doesn't taste good. The mixture could mess up. I went inside the room. Locked in. For the first time, wholehearted, a decision sprouted from the seeds of a swamped mind. I felt brilliant. Charged. Not for the courage. But I found out the weakness that has been dreading me for years. Art of decision making. It cannot happen, you have to make it happen. Orthodoxysm limits an individual's ability to attain fulfillment. Ironical, paradox situations are built around them. If you allow the former, the latter is inevitable. If you cannot even draft your imagination, would you be able to innovate or find inner peace??. No. I don't succumb. Not anymore. It is a mistake, if it is the first time. It is an attempt of suicide, if you sense repetition. Pause. The sodium lights are off. It is morning. Past is starting to fade. Light has taken it's dominance. This light is natural unlike the Sodium. Memories are again resting.               

Regent Park & Camden Town - A Blessed Evening.

Huge park upfront. The map would definitely need a compass. Serpentine meadows. Daffodils. Typical array of flora. Banana running campaign. 3 mile run. But no support from the crew, with which I traveled. No worries. They were the coolest bunch. The three knew that their priorities were straight, clear and well-managed. Simple and crazy feeling for me to try running a three-mile cancer campaign. I liked the color yellow. The lions. Many cricketers, who follow IPL would know that I hail Chennai Super Kings. We walked because we thought we would just walk. No special plans. Simple but a sweet decision. Pinky striding followed. I was admiring a park after a long time. Why so??. I don't have answers. Perhaps there weren't attractive flowers. Or the eyes didn't notice them in the past.  

Leave that. Irene wanted to visit Camden town. We didn't have a clue about it. But it was the gayous town. Gay. A feeling after all. It is the part of  the gender taxonomy. So do we encounter strange things on our way to Camden Town. Not sure. Might be. We headed to the Camden Town. I always wonder, when we travel to destinations, that have special attractions, how do we connect with them. Obviously not the physical connection in Camden. But the beauty of the place to attract the straighter ones. I mean how do we get the tinge of it. For that we planned a coffee. Sounded ancient, at least in Central London. Fine. The answer was to get a beer. Corona Extra. Extra strong??? To get acquainted with the taste of Camden. I was not sure. But the bartender repeated himself again and again. I thought we were starting to hit these special off-shoots of Camden. He said "Extra-strong and believe me it is crazy and perfect". We headed off to the terrace-top. 

I  already noticed a french couple (Of course they were gay. Why is a couple always a man and a women???)  I spotted the differences. It was like playing a "spot the six differences" puzzle in newspapers. Ear rings. Blue tainted upon the Grey hair. Crazy chit-chats. Sounded. It all sounded weird. The ordered Corona wished good evening to all the four. Opened the beer bottle. It overflowed. The feeling. The completion of yet another milestone in the history of gender. Photos. Chips aside. The evening sunshine. Mario gazing at the map. He expressed his sense of fulfillment like every time he does after a sumptuous meal. It ended well. The journey.       

 

Oxford - Charming City.

Yes. We were in Oxford. It was mid-day, realizing the fact that we had to carry back-packs all by ourselves, while walking around the city. I had to have burger, which was terribly prepared. We never had a clue about the must-see places in Oxford. The Usual way that I get with, was to ask a few strangers. Try to grab their fullest attention. Though they would have had queer revenge inside, during the chat, I never really bothered. So with a few pamplets in the hand provided by the local city council here in Oxford, we saw we were nearing "The Ashmolean Museum". The first museum that I had visited, which was nothing but mammoth display of artefacts, statues, carvings and figurines spanning atleast half of history,that existed in this world.

A perfect place to start a day. We were four in numbers when we entered, and in a while, there was a girl, probably in teen, speaking  french taking an  engrossed look at a mummifying process flowchart, right next to me. Suddenly I was alone. But the realization was seemingly delayed. A few rooms shocked me in terms of captured information, based on archeaological and objective evidence. I thought history is all, that is old and righteous.


 
Predominantly roman, greek and european civilisations were captivating the most, for it was immense by size and meticulous by detail. Honestly I enjoyed every inch of it, reading through them, inscription by inscription, bullet by bullet and badge by badge. Some thing inside me, took my attention from  the nataraja statue (Lord Shiva, The Hindu god, authority for destroying) with his dancing legs touching a circle all around him. I suddenly figured out. While I was in India, about an year back, I never really bothered to visit a museum or a memorial. Justification would tell that I was otherwise busy. But the resonating truth was the opposite. I had time, but not the virtue. I mean the virtue of realizing the value of things, when they are around you. It is a subtle indication that I overlooked simplicity. I walked past without acceding the fact that I was missing them. But now,I know that I am enjoying it. Nevertheless it was a visual feast, of value embedded within every piece of the colossal art rooms inside the ashmolean.

We didnt agree on any particular spot, to join after the trip inside the museum. But before we entered, we shelved our bags in a cloak room, in the lower basement level. I rushed to the cloak room and found that a few lockers were out of keys, which meant that the rest of the crew was inside still digging history to the deepest roots. Attacked by mood-swing, I walked tired out of the main lobby and saw Irene, one of my friends trying to capture an image on her camera. It was photo-session time. We were just nitpcking and clicking a few shots facing the road side view of the ashmolean. It was getting dark. Still a two of them were inside. A restless feeling cramped us. But patience was also a virtue. Also we thought, we can afford to wait until they return. They came smiling, natural and we were trying to get to an waiting agreement immediately after a few exchanges about the heritage of the museum. Two hours of historic, captivating and sensual experience, that was so rich in flavour to have served us, quiet well at the end.

Oxford, supposedly, one of the oldest towns in England, was dense on the streets and the city centre buzzled with rampant exuberance of young and the teens, spending a day-off in Oxford. Appallingly less modest among the four of us, I initiated a question to a stranger, about getting around Oxford, with a tourist point of view. He replied "Well. There are colleges in and around Oxford, that you might try on". Honestly I was pre-occupied with a thought that Oxford University had a main building or a chapel or memorial building to glorify the ancient Oxford heritage. I was wrong. He continued his opinion on touring Oxford and said "You should go to Churchpark College, for it is nicer with a riverside front. Also has a church that is popular among the oldest Baptist Churches in the England. So we walked past the bazaar road and headed straight to a cathedral in fornt of a moor fenced on its edges, bordering a river.

 I knew for sure that I already wanted to go inside the church. We inquired and got student offers for entry tickets and we were in front of a massive square garden immediately after a few steps inside the college grounds. The buildings were very old, but for the crowd that gave the visits every day, year around and every year. Irene was already taking the camera, and we were ready to pose for a few clicks. Photos. Memories. Puristic Feelings. Blah Blah. There were inscriptions on the walls signifying religious stories about Christ. Nice shadows cast the inner facades of broken glass, reinforced with cemented walls. Silence. Candle lights. The next wonderful moment was when we were standing in front of the Harry potter's majestic dinner table inside the chapel hall. Photos. Peace. Awe-struck. Next was to walk by the river side.

Crazy thing happened. After we did exit, we walked a few yards to cross a stream of the river oxford. Swan is not extinct yet. There is proof, apart from the baltic sea photos. Crazy thing. We asked a man, as to whether there was anything that could be considered after ending a day in Oxford. He had beer can in his left hand and a strapped pet dog to his right. He said something about a similar place in proximity. But he didnt leave. He asked us to donate him some money. Sorry that was lame. He begged. He said he was starving. WTF. With a beer in his hand??. I thought poverty at its pompous exhibition. Mario, one among the crew commented. "If they say something, they ask something in return". Favour. It is not travel guidance. It is business". Mario was an enterpreneur back in his country. He liked business. I mean deal-making, discounts and selling. That is his forte. But he was right.

We kept walking until we saw a sliding array of steps descending down to the oxford river. We sat there. Blissful. Fulfuilling. Heartened. Photos again. But the less fanciful ones.

Sensual capturing by Toliq, Our "Chemical brother". Sorry it is not the musical band. He is our funding partner. Very patient, composed and intelligent. I was once again hit by the ripples of the rivulet. A perfect place to start your dream. Manifestation is that, If you have a dream, a motive, it is tough to screw yourself. Better have one. Might be the silliest, but not the toughest at all. Enjoy traveling. Walking. Strolling and much more. Take the opportunity to explore. Every hour. Every minute. Don't look way forward from you. Happy Journey.!!