This is cheating, yes, backdating a post for the date, but just look at it - doesn't it look like a prisoner counting off the days and throwing convention out of the high grills of her cell and, instead of crossing out the days in packets of five (why five? why not a week at a time?) - one, two, three four and a diagonal slash for five - confuses herself with the slippy lines, all exactly alike. Or a slowly-building army, close-pressed and impenetrable, a forest of days before the year's done. Or the shadow tomorrow throws on today, darkening it before it arrives.
Let me tell you about the first decad of the new decade. I write every morning, revise in the afternoon and read. Evenings are for the kid and for friends, many of whom are visiting. It's colder than it's been for years, like Delhi used to be in the winters: all bright colours and the tang of oranges. Even burning leaves smell good. There are concerts, plays, book releases; dinners to attend and statehood to discuss.
Vidyaranya High School turned 50 and they had a two-day carnival. We listened to Prahlad Tippaniya. I met Amitav Ghosh and carefully avoided bringing up the Dan David Prize. I listened to economists talk until my ears threatened to bleed. I got mildly drunk on wine and the cold. My car's tyres were cut to ribbons (of steel) and had to be changed. We shopped, ate gajar and mooli, blew into our hands in the early morning. I piled my newly-acquired books beside me on the bed, grateful that I had it all to myself. I walked for two days, did yoga for two and then gave up on all forms of exercise.
We eat less, eat raw food, talk more, sleep more and worry less.
It's a good start. I refuse to bite my tongue.
(Oh, and this is what I'm listening to these days.)