Tuesday, July 07, 2009


Are you the sort of person who builds and freezes cities in your imagination, stealing largely from all the literature/trash that was fed to you when you were a child.
Bombay is the city of dreams, Delhi - the majestic capital, New York- fast, snobbish and dizzyingly glamourous.
London is the city of old books, of History, the centre of the created or real past that I learnt .

London is the only city I've been to that has kept its promises. It is as if Dickens died yesterday and Enid Blyton had a huge tea including hard boiled eggs and strawberry shortbread with me just now. As i walk the (in my imagination) cobble stoned paths of this university in Central London, I can feel the ghosts of Literature walking with me.

As I sit in the library, I can hear loud thunder, it is pouring but NO. It is not gloomy and grey with old men in long grey coats walking around purposefully.

Londoners are fashionable in an easy unassuming sort of way. People smile at you on the street. In the neighbourhood where I am staying right now, old british men whistlle and sing as they walk with thier grand children on their shoulders.

And in betwen searching for lunches below £1 , Dickensian London and Real(not Indian) Chinese food..I will post more ..