According to my calculations I should be able to go on a real vacation in about 20 years or so.

Counting the days... :)

KR Puram Bridge

My foot taps uneasily, break - accelerator - break. Vindicated blares on the radio. The sun beats down. My fingers tap along the steering wheel keeping time. Eyes watch through the glass, sometimes vacantly. Men, women, boys sitting on sacks, hanging out of the back of tempos. What's going through their minds I wonder, is it important? something trivial? Their faces, their expressions leave much to interpretation and the imagination. And then, traffic gives way. The road opens up and a cool rush of wind alleviates the burning heat and I zoom out into the empty space of the outer ring road. All else forgotten as the pleasure of the open road takes over.

Note to self-
Always walk with your head up and look people in the eye.
Makes the pretense of confidence more believable.

Life isn't fair
People are jerks, even the nice ones.
Accepting that makes it easier to live.

Even pigs can bleed.

Emotional dustbin

A circle of gold that promised forever is laid to rest
in a box of broken dreams.

Everybody has a place in somebody's life. You could start at the top and then get pushed down the ranks, or get shuffled somewhere in the deck or get reshuffled into a new deck altogether.
Every person is accorded a certain level of importance. Moving forward and backwards until the cards are finally put away.

The threads seek each other out, choosing from a multitude of colours and sizes. Drawing each one to itself, firmly weaving them into its own tapestry, cutting loose where the pattern ends. Working year after year, making mistakes, tearing out threads, repairing the fabric and moving on.
This is the tapestry of life, the great pictures whose end cannot be seen. Many threads, many lives, many colours of different shapes and sizes go into making our one thread strong and our picture beautiful. Even in it's tragedy, even in sorrow, the picture is always beautiful. And in the end it will come to rest in the great halls of the dead along with so many others who have gone before. Each life tells a different tale, many are similar, no two alike, like a fingerprint we leave behind the story of our lives , quickly forgotten, lost in the dusty archives of the annals of time.