As the coyotes howled, Murli, his two daughters and I took to the streets. It was nightfall. We had parathas, succulent and dripping with the power of ghee. They were stuffed with fenugreek, some with cauliflower and potato. To work them off, we walked the streets near Chinguacousy.
Well, they weren’t actual streets to my mind. They were too new—not even developed because Murli’s neighbourhood is not full blown. Some houses have a sign that reads “Home Occupied” which means some in this burb are not. Those that are obvious are revealed by their interior luminations. Some exude garlic odour which reaches our nostrils. Garlic, for what it is, does not need a major exhaust to be detected.
Like most new developments in this area, a pond has been dredged. The geese, in good numbers, have sought this one out. I love it.
A park nearby was on our trail. The space accommodates a playground with a walkway the shape of an 8. “Eight gopis,” I tell Murli and his daughters. “Yes, eight is great,” I thought. Krishna has many friends. Among them eight stand out as faithful and confidential.
The clocks will jump ahead an hour, a minor austerity. For some of us on tight regimen, it means one less hour of sleep. Within minutes I’ll be away from here—in Florida.
May the Source be with you!