This appeared on gqindia.com today.
I might be slow on life lessons but have discerned that near perfect weekend mornings aren't an illusion. My new blueprint is here to stay until it gets old: divine savory mushroom crepes and tangy goat cheese salad for brunch, a modest bit of sun to warm up my face, Wall Street Journal’s weekend edition which is so heavy I can almost skip weight training, followed by a frothy drink to accompany me as I strut down the city streets.
I was gearing up for an 'everything exotic' afternoon last Saturday when abruptly the backdrop changed into familiar territory. God loving souls in a salmon soft cotton tee and matching dhoti with salmon powder smeared across their foreheads. Engaging a crowd. Imparting bliss. Allocating books. I took it as a sign from God that its time to buy the salmon shorts I've been eyeing at Zara (although I'm not entirely sure it'll complement my personality), read some interesting books (the profound ones have been neatly put away and I've read way too many breezy ones), replace my Lancôme sheer powder (Dr. Oz's bacteria detection tests on stale cosmetics have given me numerous nightmares about live stuff mooching off my bronzer. it's morbid) and mingle with new people (a competent geek, a fashion forward gay dude and a wonky writer is what I wish to add to the current mix of acquaintances). Mental notes made! I don't need next gen phones to remind me of notes I make on the fly. My brain never runs into space, capacity or performance issues despite storing petabytes of seemingly worthless information.
ISCKON followers sublimely dancing away in the trendy Haight Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco where hippies hold fort is not something I expect to see. Or for that matter on Filmore street which hosts the city’s most glam designer stores and chic restaurants.. “The soul transmigrates from body to body” is what fell on my ears as I walked by and all I could do was wish my soul would get the body of the girl on roller blades across from me (her, LA 10; me, LA disqualified).
Ubiquitous (ISCKON followers), yes they are. I should have known post running into them in Rio de Janeiro, London and Santa Monica in the months gone by. It wasn’t just them. I ran into a gypsy tarot card reader recently and received some mystical wisdom “don’t be afraid to open yourself to the world”. But I'm on Twitter! Then there was this Sufi Saint in downtown saying jumbled words. And my loan agent’s been insisting I use his astrology site.
All mere coincidences or is the universe conspiring to uncover a revelation to me? *Shudder*. If my caffeine addiction doesn’t kill me, this trepidation certainly will. But I’ll still blog from afar.
A link to the article on GQIndia.com: http://www.gqindia.com/content/sign-above
I might be slow on life lessons but have discerned that near perfect weekend mornings aren't an illusion. My new blueprint is here to stay until it gets old: divine savory mushroom crepes and tangy goat cheese salad for brunch, a modest bit of sun to warm up my face, Wall Street Journal’s weekend edition which is so heavy I can almost skip weight training, followed by a frothy drink to accompany me as I strut down the city streets.
I was gearing up for an 'everything exotic' afternoon last Saturday when abruptly the backdrop changed into familiar territory. God loving souls in a salmon soft cotton tee and matching dhoti with salmon powder smeared across their foreheads. Engaging a crowd. Imparting bliss. Allocating books. I took it as a sign from God that its time to buy the salmon shorts I've been eyeing at Zara (although I'm not entirely sure it'll complement my personality), read some interesting books (the profound ones have been neatly put away and I've read way too many breezy ones), replace my Lancôme sheer powder (Dr. Oz's bacteria detection tests on stale cosmetics have given me numerous nightmares about live stuff mooching off my bronzer. it's morbid) and mingle with new people (a competent geek, a fashion forward gay dude and a wonky writer is what I wish to add to the current mix of acquaintances). Mental notes made! I don't need next gen phones to remind me of notes I make on the fly. My brain never runs into space, capacity or performance issues despite storing petabytes of seemingly worthless information.
ISCKON followers sublimely dancing away in the trendy Haight Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco where hippies hold fort is not something I expect to see. Or for that matter on Filmore street which hosts the city’s most glam designer stores and chic restaurants.. “The soul transmigrates from body to body” is what fell on my ears as I walked by and all I could do was wish my soul would get the body of the girl on roller blades across from me (her, LA 10; me, LA disqualified).
Ubiquitous (ISCKON followers), yes they are. I should have known post running into them in Rio de Janeiro, London and Santa Monica in the months gone by. It wasn’t just them. I ran into a gypsy tarot card reader recently and received some mystical wisdom “don’t be afraid to open yourself to the world”. But I'm on Twitter! Then there was this Sufi Saint in downtown saying jumbled words. And my loan agent’s been insisting I use his astrology site.
All mere coincidences or is the universe conspiring to uncover a revelation to me? *Shudder*. If my caffeine addiction doesn’t kill me, this trepidation certainly will. But I’ll still blog from afar.
A link to the article on GQIndia.com: http://www.gqindia.com/content/sign-above
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