Fly me away / Fly me home*

Daily prompt:  Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.


A 22 year old who had never before travelled long distance without her family, stepped on to foreign soil. She parted company with her travelling colleagues – they had made the international flight together and bonded despite just having met at the departing airport; bonded in the way only those can who know they are about to spend the next 22 odd hours travelling and that to do so without any company at all would be utterly lonely. Now their ways separated, each on to his or her own domestic leg of the journey, some to the hinterland in a straight flight, some via a hop to another city. She had a hop, and a skip as well. Two breaks before she reached a city that was to house her for the next 2 months. Home was behind, what was ahead was a new place, both exciting in its possibilities and terrifying in its unknownness.

She bid farewell to her fellow travellers, saw them off on their flights and waited for her connection. Sitting, observing, seeing fellow travellers, fellow countrymen, foreigners; nay they were the localites now and she was the foreigner. And then she boarded her flight, and realized that it contained not one of her numerous,omnipresent countrymen. All around her were  white/pink faces, the loud tones and cadences of Americans, the accents totally strange to her, the flight announcements in an English almost undecipherable. And she suddenly realised exactly how far she had travelled from home, how far she had left everything familiar, how unknown to her all these people were.

Since then she has visited a few more countries, a few more places, with or without friends and family, but has never felt as far from home as she did on that very first flight alone.

* The airlines she flew on on that trip had baggage tags which said ‘Fly me away’ or ‘Fly me home’. Hers said ‘Fly me away’.

How is the new so

Another DP challenge:

Click over to your favorite blog, and pick out the 4th and 14th words (that aren’t “the” or “an”). Drop them into this phrase:

“_____ is the new _____.”

There’s your post title. Now write!

I had  open, and I picked up ‘How’ and ‘so’. So the post’s new working title was ‘How is the new so’. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense.  So in an attempt to inject some sense, I came up with the following post.


“How is the new so-fa?”


“Deep like the sea?”

“Deeper. It’s a black hole, only very visible. Keep things at your own risk. They go in, and never come out. Only yesterday we lost the TV remote, Sue’s tiny clutch doll, Miriam’s penny purse and Jake’s plastic horse figure. And that was its 2nd day in the house.”

“Hahahaha. Well, what happened next?”

“You can’t imagine. Miriam started bawling because her pennies were in the purse. Jake acted all heroic and jumped up on the sofa to punch it and make it return his horse. He also told Miriam not to worry and he would tell his horse to pick up the purse on its way out.”

“And Sue?”

“And Sue being ever practical, watched her siblings and lay down on the sofa. And before we realized it, she fed her arm to the sofa, right upto the shoulder. And then came out clutching her doll, hair mussed up for being in such an adventure.”

“Sure is an adventure. What happened to the TV remote? Did she get that too?”

“No, we told her to leave it in. Now whoever cries about not getting to watch their favourite show gets to walk down to the TV and switch the channels.”


Someone might write, or may have already written, why this is THE must watch movie for this year, so what the heck, here’s my own compilation of ten unbeatable reasons you should watch Gravity and be awed by it. You don’t find me glorifying a movie, any movie, too often so when I do, you better sit up and take notice.

1) The 3D visuals. There’s a reason they are top of the list.
2) The tight editing. There are promising movies that somehow go overboard. And others which are tightly reined in, keeping you on the edge of your seat, hand to your sliently ‘O’ed mouth.
3) Sunrise over the earth. And countless other shots of Earth seen directly, indrectly, in visor reflections, through port holes, you name it. The blackness of space. The silence. The gravity and lack of it. The constellations. The ‘night’ sky. Essentially, all things space-y.
4) Matt Kowalsky’s sense of humour. Whoever dreamt up that guy and gave him dialogues and breathed life into his character deserves nothing less than an Oscar. Make that 10 oscars. Goerge Clooney might have been wasted in that role, but hey, you can’t imagine anyone else doing that role with such panache either.
5) Sandra Bullock. And her awesomely fit body. The guys can go drool over her and we women can all sigh and hope to attain that perfection. What. a. body. Although, too bad Clooney didn’t get to show off any.
6) When Sandra B gets cut adrift. When George C gets cut adrift. When things don’t get cut adrift.
7) How much you root for Dr. Ryan Stone to get back and get out alive, until the very very end.
8) Sharrif going very very briefly “Mera joota hai japani”. Genius touch, though invisible and unapparent to the non Indians out there.
9) The fire extinguisher scene. It is just genius the way the extinguisher is used, and you totally don’t see it coming. If I told you more I’d have to erase your memory and that would make this list totally pointless, wouldn’t it?
10) The visuals. Unless you are a multi gazillionaire, this is the closest you will come to getting into space.


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7s and 8s

We are growing up now. The blog has embarked on its 8th year.

No profound words of wisdom here, just a little wish and hope that I continue to find the necessary impetus to write. And that readers continue to visit. And that they bring other visitors with them. And I might as well throw in a wish for world peace.

Some of the above things may actually be possible, you know. ;)


Expecting someone taller

Book review time.

This was apparently Tom Holt’s first humorous fantasy novel (Dewdette, love, did I ever thank you for introducing me to T.H. ?). I was about to insert a wiki link here for the plot synopsis, but desisted. You may search and go read it if you wish, but I wouldn’t advise that; it’s too cut and dried an article and doesn’t do justice to the book.

T.H. writes humorous fantasy in a way reminiscent of P.G. Wodehouse’s. While PGW never wrote fantasy (that I know of. He did supposedly write romantic fiction once upon a time, go figure!), what is similar is the madcap way of story telling. Odd notions and implausible events tangle with each other and form a thick knot. The characters stop, meander, think, stop thinking and generally create a ruckus in their own lives. Yet the author manages to unravel it all in the end to general satisfaction (and that includes the characters’ satisfaction too)

As this doesn’t seem like a book review so far, here’s a little bit of the plot to keep the fastidious readers’ happy. An average guy who has never excelled at anything in his life and has been overlooked and ignored by the world and his family for ever suddenly becomes the master of the world. Worse, it’s an unrecognized job as no one he knows, knows that he is responsible for the world’s well / ill being. How he manages the world and resolves his love life and other nasties is what this is all about.

The badger twisted its head painfully round, and looked at him in silence for a while. “You know,” it said at last, “I was expecting someone rather taller.”
“Oh,” said Malcolm.”Fair-haired, tall, muscular, athletic, without spectacles,” went on the badger. “Younger, but also more mature,if you see what I mean. Someone with presence. Someone you’d notice if you walked into a room full of strangers. In fact, you’re a bit of a disappointment.”

Reco : Go read if you like humorous fantasy and brit humour.

These Boots Were Made for Walking

Shall I tell you about the warm, fur lined boots I wore in winters few? They were nice and comfy and picked up cheap to face my first snow, but I couldn’t walk comfortably in them. They sure saw a lot of the wall behind the shoe closet. Or shall I tell you about the casual slipons I picked up for even cheaper, but who stayed with me miles? They covered a lot of ground, and I with them. Or how about the stilettos I daringly bought, doubting I’d wear them at all, but I did, inspite of the sharp click clack of every step on the uncarpeted office floor? And the shiny golden sparkly low heels, meant to be worn for festivities, picked up because inside every sensible woman resides a little girl who loves all the fancy glitter?

Do you want to hear about the annual pair of functional, no nonsense ‘rainy wear’ that’s a must for every Indian monsoon; it doesn’t throw up mud, you know? And the numerous other non monsoon pairs, utilitarian and plebian? Why? Only because they help a girl run and catch a bus to the places she’s going. Do you want to know about my first pair of adult sneakers, still languishing in a closet somewhere? I never could throw them out; is it because we have memories together, them and me, of traipsing in foreign places, collecting odd dirt and flotsam on the way?

Can I cuss the formal black pair that fell apart on me in a strange country where no one else seemed to wear my shoe size? Oh the superglue that I depended on for long! Or those wonderful looking sandals that turned traitor the moment they came home with me, and gave the worst case of shoe bite in the history of all shoeland? Or those delicate strappy things that always look so good but should come with a warning “Do not walk with these on, you’re sure to break something.”

Or how about we speak of the countless other pairs that are not mine, yet? They lie on the shop shelves, waiting for me to journey with them, to places we have both never been yet.

Written for the daily post’s prompt: These boots were made for walking.


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