decay

the odd guitar riff reaches up and seeps into my dozing mind
- a silver stream of memory flowing on the black marble of an empty past - pink floyd's 'Pigs' - it brings to mind empty tubelighted corridors with doors on one side and the silent night on the other, littered hostel grounds and stark deserted vastness dotted with sun-burnt shrubs and dust.
The past holds so much promise . But only in retrospect
The empty wine bottles stand by the sink. The jalapeno peppers have been taken over by a visiting fungus. The vessels in the sink laden with yesterday's soup have become fair-grounds for horde of teensy roaches which run around the roach traps with enviable ease. Dinner has ceased to be the piping hot and wholesome affair it used to be and has become a bony scarecrow-like substitute made out frozen and thawed bread and plastic curries.
So it is with the whole place. Alice's secret garden has been taken by scrooges in cold glasses and shabby hands creasing their ledgers and motley fools in gaily coloured wear, of the big white rabbit there's no sign. Nor of the Red Queen and her quirky lines.
Today's dal holds promise - pungent, evil, and smirking wicked. The blackened red-chillie lends it character. The green chillies I threw in to keep it company provide a tangy freshness which promises to keep you on your toes. The coriander, of course, makes the whole thing look green and resemble a forest. Hurray for sambar.
Sanity's middle name is sambar.
And Wodehouse. Lemme see if I can get my hands on one ....