Shadow of silence


Shadow of Silence

The mind mirrors a hazy light ,

the day appears dark

I exist like a shadow,

seen but not to be heard

I am invisible,

I scream from an invisible world

Silence answers loud and clear.


The story unfurls

When the time is right.

The eyes that cannot see

Is seen by the soul

Invisible, yet not so.

Shadows remain in the dark

Constant but unseen.


Fake faces

disguised in smiles

the real and the unreal

unclear and unknown.

The mirror reflects me

in silence, invisible.

My cry remains

unheard, unseen

lost in the shadow of the dark.


My world hidden

as is the truth

I tell my story

to be heard in my silence

to be seen in the dark.

I cry out from my shadows

the one that cannot be seen

is only seen by the soul.

Zeena (19/4/2014)


Down Under XII – Of memories and the mind




December 30, 2013 at 2:09pm

Why is it that we remember some and forget others?

The world speeds by as we are lost in our hands- heads bent, fingers furious and hearing blocked-oblivious to what is there and what could be. The tired eyes, slouched backs, days and weeks spin, merging to months leaving us to where it all began – another New-year.

Do we remember what we did on any random date five years back or even a month back? As we constantly texts, call, talk and work or play, they are only in the moment. Everything fades leaving behind just bits and pieces.

Where did it all go? What do we remember? What is left to remember?

I remember. I remember shoes in my hands, drenched, the flow of the water and the pebbles as I walked home from school. Annual Sports Day- an eight year old anxious to win the’ Potato in the Spoon’ race and the disapointment that followed when my third position was nullified. (They only had prizes for first and second!).

Older and I thought maybe wiser, a fresh teen and an entire year of carrying books for my teachers, making myself visible as much as I could, getting wild flowers and spending extra time after school in carrying out class cleaning duties, I finally got me the coveted walk to the stage to receive my first, and what is still my last prize. It was then called “Helpfulness” but definitely wiser now; I can find other names for it.

Imagining the imagined, walks to the nearby park with my best friend looking for possible trees and anxious to find Silky or even Moonface, disguised only to fool ourselves, dreams of a world created in our minds, I remember.

I forget. I forget the disappointments of the spoon race as I now understand that winning doesn’t essentially mean that you’ve won and victory isn’t what you expected it to be. The disguise perfected, is now a mask. It is in creating a pattern or a design of all the disjointed memories that makes your mind remember what you do.

Moments are lost intrying to capture it; even a simple cup of coffee with friends goes incomplete without electronic interference, the present belongs to the future as we forget to live the moment. Nothing lasts forever, only memories remain.

The past behind, the New-year waits for a fresh new set that will define who we are to become.

Will you want to remember what you remember or forget what you remember?



September 27, 2012 at 8:08pm

Life- A mystery, revealed in installments.

Ups and downs,

every low has double highs.

Here I go and here I come

the journey never ends.

Broken hearts never mend

Time isn’t  always a healer.

A cynic, a non-believer

Life has little to offer.

Each day I live, I eat,

I sleep and exist.

Will this journey never end?

Peace I seek, a stable mind

as I move along

this poetry called life.

No hopes in the heart,

no joy nor sorrow

Alone- the warrior and me

hand in hand, yet alone.

People come and then they go

Leaving you a little wiser.

I wait- an endless wait

the fortunes that should be mine.

Every cloud has a silver lining,

the darkest night

brings forth the brightest day.

I await, the dawn of day

the silver lining

that will complete my circle of life.

The end to all

and an end to a beginning

yet a beginning to an end.

So here I come

and I will go.

The circle of life continues.

A New Day

November 6, 2012 at 7:35am

A new day beckons

the same emptiness.

Pain of loss and trust.

Questions like puzzles

that never fit.

Missing answers in the wind

blowing out of reach.


Life goes into a new day

to meet the same night

the endless circle that

binds you in a cycle.

There is no escape.


A ying has a yang

hope has life.

A musician and his dog

Their worldly possessions in a roll

play the music of hope

scattered coins on the road.

The homeless sit still

the streets a haven.

Love, a look, care

is more than the silvers.


People with empty eyes

lost souls in pain.

a child, a parent or a spouse

the loss is the same.

Survival of sorts

to live each day.

Rain in the heart

as sunshine beckons.


To each its own

Perceptions of life

is in the heart.

Sees what it wants

Lost in feelings,

Layered in mistrust

Blinded by betrayal.


The emotions removed

Pain disguised.

Hands reached out

Hope welcomed.

Beyond the night

A new day awaits.

Life is Beautiful!

A Better Life

March 11, 2013 at 10:46am

Dreams and hopes

And false promises,

Credit and loans

English skills tested

The journey begins.


The better life!

Degrees and experience

Is to be left behind

New pastures to be explored

As you wait for the gold.

Cleaning and cooking,

Waiting and standing,

Any job justified,

For a sponsor or citizen.


Days roll over into seasons-

Business, Hospitality, Accounting

Diplomas and then advanced,

Books and work

Striving to strike the balance.

Twenty hours to work,

Another twenty to school

The week has more than forty

So much to waste.


Home is a memory

Families a blur

Friends are on Facebook

As memories fade away.

This year becomes next

As the sponsor awaits.


Seasons end as does the day

the heart grows weary

And then the mind.

July brings in winter

a new set of rules,

the student remains!

PR and sponsors

Now a distant dream,

New courses, more jobs

Lawyers and money

The circle moves on.


A better life

Is this it?

Away from home,

Diplomas and certificates

Standing, sitting, waiting

-the dream is so close


Yet out of reach.

Rome is not paved with gold

Nor is it down under,

The grass is green here

But so is it there!

A broken dream is sometimes better

Than a better life.



The sky is dark and grey-
Betrayal at its best
People are not what they are
Friends are in the name
Masks on and smiles too
The rains start.

The colors gone
Literally to bring in winter.
Shades of grey
The heart rejoices
Seeing clarity
In how things are meant to be.

What is seen
Is not always what is there
What’s there is
Mostly not to be seen
Layers of secret
Hidden in smiles.

Betrayal, love, hate
Constant as change
Constant as the seasons
The weak occasional sun
Hope remains, mask removed
Nothing lasts, the colors return.

April 3, 2014 at 1:50pm

DOWN UNDER-I : Here I am, Melbourne

MY first day

Down Under-I

HERE I AM Melbourne

July 10, 2012 at 9:04am

Forty kilos in a bag, a suitcase and a trolley was the summary of my worldly possessions to the start of a new adventure. With a heavy heart mingled with a sense of excitement, I boarded the flight that would take me to my destiny.

The transit in Kolkata loomed ahead until I met another passenger who had a similar transit time before she headed to Dubai. We hit off immediately, found a transit room and spent the next twelve hours swapping our life stories and comparing notes. I got so carried away that I almost forgot about ‘check-in’ and rushed only to find myself at the end of a snake- like line. All trolleys taken, I had no option but to drag and kick my bags every time the line moved only to be told at the end of the wait, what every traveller dreads- a two hours delay!

My seat seemed a perfect haven to rest my aching feet and a sleep deprived mind until a group of noisy, boisterous; ill- mannered “Thomas Cook” business men decided that the aircraft was a tea-stall. I mean, did they have to scream at each other across aisles “Hey there, are you ok’? “Seats saab theek hai?” As if getting the last aisle seat in the economy wasn’t bad enough, the loudspeakers were also my neighbours! The party continued until the whisky took its effect and I had peace as long as I ignored the snoring. The person sitting next to me, who was a part of that gang, seemed a little weird. He kept muttering ‘I’m sorry mother’ throughout take-off and I couldn’t help wondering if I would live long enough to get off the plane.

The two and the half hours were spent in trying to block off the offending sounds from my surroundings, wondering if my immediate neighbour would suddenly take out a gun or knife and worrying about missing my connecting flight but for the last part I needn’t have worried.

The moment I stepped out of the aircraft in Bangkok, I RAN. There was two ground staff at the door, holding a placard with my name, who seemed delighted to finally see me. One of them even politely asked me if he could help me with my trolley. Wow! I was impressed and further impressed when the other offered to help me with my ‘Harrods’ bag leaving me with just my laptop bag. But the fun was just beginning. The moment my load was lightened, the two of them started to run with mumbled explanations in what should have been English, of the other flight supposedly waiting just for me.

I had no option but to follow in a run. Growing up in the hills, I would 600123_10151028387412431_1668848816_nhave thought that I was a decent runner but after no sleep, a narrow escape from a possible axe murderer and torturous snores, running didn’t seem a very interesting prospect. Even then I ran, through all the Duty Free shops that I had imagined I’d visit, through scores of escalators and people staring. (Did I look like a Film star or a convict I’m not sure). I kept running even though I seemed to reach nowhere….I was now crawling.

My baggage carriers might have been professional runners as they sped ahead of me, turning back every now and then to cheer me on. So it was, the first one with my trolley looking back and asking me to run, the second one politely trying to make sure that I ran and not crawled. I couldn’t care less as I huffed and puffed and I was at the point of giving up the race when we fortunately reached the security check-in counter.

Two stupid ladies looked suspiciously at me as they x-rayed my bag and seized my bottle of water. I had no breath left to argue so I quickly drank all the water before glaring back at them to hand over the empty bottle. To my horror, as if to take revenge they asked me to hand over my ‘Vaseline’, as well as ‘face cream’ as these items were supposedly under ‘dangerous goods’ violation! (If you know me, you know what Vaseline is to me). I begged, pleaded but it didn’t move them. Exhausted I shouted at my ‘ bag carriers’ that I hated stupid Thai people and I would never step in Bangkok ever again( rather childish behaviour I know). I don’t know if they understood what I was saying but it felt good to vent out my anger on someone. As a sign of defiance, I stopped running.

Yes, I started walking very slowly. At this point, I didn’t care if I never reached the stupid aircraft or Australia. Finally, to cut a long story short, I did manage to catch the flight. I felt important and puffed up to have kept an entire aircraft waiting for me but once I was inside nobody even bothered to ask me why I looked so red and bothered so my moment of glory was not to be. My seat was in the middle of amongst two gorgeous hunks but with tired legs and brains that no longer worked, I refused to sit with them. I actually found an aisle seat next to a snob who eventually refused to let me borrow his mobile phone to call my brother.

It was an eight and a half hours of trying to find the correct posture or position to sleep. Each time I felt myself dozing, an adjacent snore or my pillow falling off or a baby crying woke me up. I gave up after a while and decided to, instead, practice staring into space. The in-flight entertainment system with touch screen and loads of buttons looked frightening to the weary ex-cabin crew, the lights were too dim for reading so the only other way to entertain and keep myself sane was to wait for food or watch the Fashion Parade by the female cabin crew. Each service was brought in a different outfit (Or was it my imagination?) but I am sure they changed uniforms three times (each uniform as tight as the other).

We finally landed into Melbourne where the waiting began again as the snake like line moved like a snail towards immigration. Being of respectable height, I squeezed myself amongst the taller beings (they couldn’t see me at my level) into one of those lines and ‘crane-like’ (on one foot, two feet, one foot), I started my first steps into the city which was to be home for the next eighteen months. (At least)

One hour later, I was stamped and allowed to look for my baggage. Now, just as sure as I never win a lottery, my bag also is usually amongst the last to arrive. Alphabetically, I am used to the last roll calls, last seats and last of everything but baggage?? How unfair can life is? Belts and belts of black bags, red bags, green bags and none of them were mine. After a while I even forgot what my bag and suitcase looked like and I hopped to and fro across three conveyor belts when I suddenly remembered that my bags had White security ropes tied around them (courtesy Kolkata airport). It was easy now.

I made a dash for the Exit before I once again found myself in the middle of another jam, sorry I mean line. This was the x- ray queue; our poor bags had to ONCE again go through another screening. Another hour of a break-dance standing, it was my turn. Finally!!

Even though I had filled in ‘ nothing to declare’ in the immigration form, my word was not trusted. In went all five and the trolley came out as the suspect. Reds, whites, blues….. All my carefully folded clothes were scrutinized; the ‘Kalimpong lollipops ‘ (sweets made of caramelised milk and sugar) had to justify their make and origin. Even my certificates were checked to see if I was who I was (by that time I’m sure I wouldn’t have remembered my name). On and on worked the gloved hands, my cheeks were now a disgusting red but she wouldn’t give up until , until she found a packed of cashews. Thrilled at her discovery and success she brought back my form and showed me a clause which read in ‘small print’ that ‘nuts’ was also under the ‘goods to be declared list’….she would let me go but I’d better read instructions next time. Next time I would kill anyone who dares to give me nuts to eat on the plane! And moreover instructions reading have never been my forte, especially small prints which have been purposely made small so that nobody reads them. How crazy is that? I had left behind all the bottles of ‘Dalle khorsani'(Fire balls chilli) and other pickles to avoid all this bother but a packet of stupid cashews let me down 😦

I was welcomed by icy winds and freezing room and my brother of course. Bust settling in is yet another story.


Down Under-II: A Week Down Under

Down Under-II

A Week Down Under

July 12, 2012 at 8:29pm

The wind was icy as I found myself stranded in an unknown street, alone, cold and hungry. In the middle of our shopping, my brother was called to work so he told me “This is the city, you can walk around” and left me on my own for four hours. I normally wouldn’t mind exploring but with my sense of direction and a heavy laptop bag and a phone not yet activated and dangerously low battery, I stood at the same spot near the car park for a good one hour.

After a good self counseling session and reminders of being an ex-cabin crew, I reluctantly left the safety spot but not before memorizing the places nearby. I quickly took a couple of pictures and walked to the left, got back to the spot, then to the right and back to the spot. I was terrified that my brother wouldn’t know where to look for me and equally terrified that I wouldn’t know how to get home. So I kept circling the same spot with a few breaks every now and then.

I still don’t know why I hadn’t left the laptop bag in the car….I not only did look un-cool but I was tired of lugging it around. I was hungry too as I looked around for something to eat but the mental conversions told my freezing mind that everything was expensive. I found a Mac store, just a few steps where my brother had left me. I went in, looked at a few gadgets while I quickly put my phone on charge. I had just enough time for a green bar to develop when a salesperson came my way. OMG…with hardly a few dollars in my pocket, I put on my best convincing act. But it was unnecessary and he had come to inform me that the store would be closing in 10 minutes. It wasn’t even 5pm, but this I would discover later on is how business is in Melbourne. All stores, shops and malls close by five or six maximum except for Thursday and Friday.

Once again I found myself back in the same place and I quickly made a call to make my whereabouts known. Afraid that I wouldn’t be recognized in the dark, or my brother might forget that he’d left me standing four hours earlier, I patiently froze and cleared my throat every now and then to disguise the grumbles that were revolting against the lack of required nutrients and waited. All is well that ends well; I was collected and delivered home safely.

Now as I was going out yesterday, I met my neighbour, an old lady in a walker who asked me, “do you know garbage?’ For a moment I thought I had misheard, why would someone ask me about garbage? Of course I know garbage but Lois mistook my confusion for ignorance and capitalised on the advantage to educate me on the topic.

I was subjected to the different colours and what they signified and the combination days in which they would be collected. All three green bins were separated by their types and most important, their lids. The half hour lesson left me more confused than I was at the start of the conversation.

To add to the muddled mind, I was given a brief history about the English language and an offer to give me free English lessons. Was it my accent or her hearing problem? I would have liked to think that I spoke reasonably well or if I may boast, pretty well. Totally demoralized and a mental note to pick up the Aussie accent as quick as I could, I excused myself in whatever English I could remember before and ran home.

And now on to tales of losing and getting lost- Last night I got lost.

I mean how imaginative could the architect have been, building the same kinds of houses and streets? He must have really hated me because no matter how hard I tried, I went round and round in circles trying to locate “Flinders Street’ from RMIT, Le Trobe. My desires to look good with my new boots back-fired and my foot neatly squeezed in the new confines were not very happy.

Getting to my college had been easy. I caught a tram with my brother and he left me just outside one of the hundreds of buildings. The explorer in me didn’t have to work too hard as I was standing exactly where I should be going in. The problem was in the return. Armed with a map I had no idea how to use no matter where I turned it, I began my supposedly short walk back. With my brother constantly on the phone to guide me, I still took a good one to stop using ‘Seven Eleven’ as a landmark (there was one in almost every street!) and second, to stop moving round and round in circles.

I couldn’t help wondering whether it was me or is it women in general that are terrible when it comes to directions? I mean we can multi-task home, careers, children, husbands but when it comes to directions, it’s like..huh? Left? What is ‘left’…were the children left? You know what I mean!

I was thrilled when Sudeshna came to meet me a day back. A week in Melbourne and supposedly better sense of direction, we took the Tram 35 (Free Tourist Tram) for a city tour. The first stop was the Melbourne Aquarium. Remembering my old crew habits, we quickly clicked pictures and then decided that we were not ready to pay a rather high price to see fish swimming in water. I’d grown up seeing plenty of fish, in and outside water, and I didn’t think they were any different in the paid water. And moreover, Google and You Tube would supply the necessary visuals in case we were really curious to compare the fishes.

Hours of walking around aimlessly had me limping again. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we knew where we were going. It was the case of the blind leading another. Yes, I know I promised not to wear boots again but the new boots were bought at the chemists…they were supposed to be special boots which are NOT supposed to hurt! I spent 10$ on buying special toe protectors (again from the same chemist), I even carried spare shoes in case things went out of hand 🙂 And the boots, my dear friends didn’t let me down……I mean I reached Hilton, with a proper impressive limp and very red and angry looking feet:) I hope I have learnt a lesson.

Tomorrow is a brand new day, a day to meet with my counsellors in college. But first of all I have to find where building 59 is because that’s where I will have my orientation classes. Finding one building from a hundred shouldn’t be too hard. Anyways, wish me luck. I might come back with more stories.

End of Part-2

Down Under- III Cardigan Street, Building 98

Lst at RMITDown Under- III

Cardigan Street, Building 98

After a highly stressed out day, I came home to find my ‘English-teacher neighbour’ busy in conversation with another neighbour. There was no way I was going to listen to her ‘garbage’, so taking advantage of the dark, I quietly sneaked in only to find a leaflet containing garbage classification instructions from her stuck to the door. Whew! What a narrow escape.

I was late for my 11 O’clock orientation class today. The train moved with a mind of its own and I had to literally run to my university. But as luck would have it, I seem to have misplaced my university map. The library had run out of stock as well and I was frantic until I finally caught hold of some Chinese student who kindly let me see his map. But as I reached building 98, I ran into whichever classroom that I found first, only to realise that the class had already started. I walked in and apologised only to realize that I was in the wrong classroom.

I muttered a second apology and walked into the nearest available lift and went to the first floor (as directed on my brochure) but that floor had a haunted look. I went up another floor but in vain. I reached the first floor and then only did I see the reception and a receptionist on the phone. Fifteen valuable minutes later, she finally got off the phone and was surprised when I showed her my letter and asked her about the orientation. There was no orientation scheduled for the day!

I was sent back to the library to meet the same helpful Nigerian RMIT friendsgentleman who’d helped me register a few days back. He joined me in the confusion and sent me back to another building. After taking a ticket and forty five minutes later, I proceeded to Desk No.1 who listened patiently and so very politely apologized about the miscommunication and disappeared. My time was over and all I had was a name and number “Diane” who advised me to go back to Bldg 98 and meet Alice.

Muttering and mumbling, forgetting that I was no longer in India I crossed at street at red and was almost run down by angry cars. I reached the reception and the girl was again on the phone. I finally asked to speak to Alice but she said there wasn’t any Alice. Frustrated, I called Diana who spoke to the girl. She then asks me if I am looking for Elise or Alice. If I chose Elise, she was Elise. How dumb! She then went on to again to politely apologise for all the miscommunications.

Alice or Elise or whatever, gave me a list of courses to choose from. It was like asking me, “do you want adkhnlknn” or “ausholkmasi”. It didn’t make any sense so I picked whichever came first. The next step was to go to ‘THE HUB’ to register my courses, so armed with my map I went looking for building No.12, which after going round and round in circles, was actually in the same ‘library building’. A professional now, I quickly took a ticket and looked around to see students, mostly Chinese and of Asian origin, either talking on the phone or with friends. (Statistics: almost 90% of the people here have i-phone 4 which is a very significant wake up call for me and a valid reason to upgrade myself too and yes everyone here also carries a i-pad and not a laptop!)

I tried to give a professional ‘come talk to me smile’ but nobody even bothered to try and strike a conversation with poor me. The students at the help desk gave me a free ‘RMIT logo’ water bottle which kept me happy for about fifteen minutes while I waited for my turn with a ticket number which read – 247.

I was hungry, and all I could see were beeping, glowing, pay fridges (or whatever you call them). I looked at them very closely, as if I was wondering what to buy, whereas in reality I was trying to figure out how to operate those monsters without making a fool of myself. I finally gathered enough confidence to put a five dollar bill and was rewarded with some change and a bottle of orange juice. Half an hour later, I once again put in a two dollar to buy a packet of some exotic chicken chips but the machine gave me back 40 cents and no chips. I just hoped that no one saw me…it was so embarrassing. I quickly became anonymous among the crowd.

It was two by the time my name was called out….sorry, number was called out. I reached my Desk No.3 only to realise that the details I had wanted were already in the folder that I was carrying. Stupid! Stupid! I wasted two hours for that…if only they’d do away with this stupid queuing. I suppose you have to take a ticket even if you want to ask them where the toilets are located.

So I was sent once again back to the library to get a log-in password and register my courses. That was again another story, I had to answer everything except my time of birth and also answer questions I had no clue about. Another two hours later (after a lot of help from the red-shirt IT guys), I was again back to THE HUB. (The Hub, by the way, is a large room which looks like different flavoured chewing gum; it is literally a hub, where all the action takes place).

Another ticket, 252 was my number and the screen showed 220 at some desk. I almost gave up. I was tired, hungry, my back hurt and most of all there was no one to talk to or share my anguish. In India, we take certain things for granted and its only when you are out you realise the importance of ‘human touch’.

Around 0530, I finally had my photo taken and was given an instant ID and a diary. (The whole process took around 7 minutes). I was free to go home. Something that would have normally taken maybe an hour, took me seven long, agonizing hours. Welcome to Melbourne!

The lesson is, if we think India is slow in paperwork, come here. At least in India, we can shout and threaten, make a hue and cry, get noticed but all that doesn’t work here mate unless the computer or the ticket machine is used as a punching bag. If you gotta wait, you gotta wait!

P.S: Today my boots got a much deserved break and I decided on my old friend, my old trainers.

End of Part-3

July 14, 2012 at 10:35am


Down Under- IV

My Neighbour at No.4

July 19, 2012 at 11:13am

I woke up to a bright and beautiful sunny morning and Louise, my ‘garbage’ neighbour. Today was garbage collection day and like a good citizen, I had both my bins (to be on the safer side) out for collection. I heard Louise mention something about No.3 (that’s my house no) and I was like ‘no way…what did I do now?’ After trying to close my eyes again (despite the sunny sun), I could not help but hear her loud voice saying something about the garbage.

I decided that I had to get rid of this garbage business once and for all so I went out. Louise’s faced brightened brighter than the sunny morning on seeing perhaps a perfect candidate in me. After re-explaining things again (now it has become clearer, the green bin with the yellow lid was to be collected NEXT week :), I got talking to her.

She displayed her mittened-fingers to show that had never married. She’s a typical Enid Blyton lady. Lives alone with three cats and one of them is named Tabitha. She suffers from arthritis and hence she cannot walk or bend much but she can drive 🙂 Yes, she has a Toyota and she drives herself around the neighbourhood to collect her groceries from “Coles super market’ and also the laundry. But she needs to call a taxi to go to the Doctor.

Lois is 73 years old and has been living next door since 1974 and she owns the house. Can you imagine living all alone like that and with arthritis? I asked her about help. Yes, the council sends in one person to help her but ONCE in a fortnight which means twice a month. And if that day happens to be a public holiday, she misses on that day too. People back home are so lucky to have support, families and friends that we take for granted. Louise has no one except her three cats, nobody ever visits her. That is what loneliness is truly about….but loneliness with dignity and self sufficiency.

(I wanted to take her photograph but my battery let me down. I must catch her another time when she is on her way to the laundry, somewhere during lunchtime when she is able to find easy parking).

Looking at our houses or units as they call them, one can never think that these houses are so old. It all goes to show what proper maintenance and discipline can do. I am impressed by the cleanliness that prevails here and the traffic……all boils down to disciplined awareness and civic sense, together with a united wish to keep their surroundings clean. Everything is so organised, there is no yelling or shouting or any form of noise pollution. Sometimes I feel as if I am living in a dream, one of the lands of the “Farwaway Tree’, I expect to see Silky or Moonface any moment 🙂

The weather makes up for all the peace and quiet…Melbourne is famous for its four seasons in a day. If you thought “Darjeeling’ weather was unpredictable, one has to come here to know what that word actually means. Nothing lasts forever, or for long….a sunny start can lead to rain (it doesn’t rain for long, just short showers for about 10-15 mins) followed by a rapid drop in temperature and completed by wind. Cold, icy winds. Winds that can blow away anything unattached or sometimes even attached. So an umbrella, warm coat and light clothes are all a must for anybody venturing out for a day.

So I am off now to take a sleepy ride on the metro to just walk around the city. It’s hard work being unemployed. Classes were to start from the 24th but yesterday I received a mail from my lecturer stating that Tuesday’s class stands cancelled. Oh God! Why me! Will I ever get educated? 🙂 LOL