Travels, books and music

God and the sky He paints, and his repertoire of colors, the size of his paintbrush, and the color combinations on his palette are infinite. He paints by drawing the sun across the horizon; he paints by sprinkling the sky with a handful of clouds; afternoon, as usual, is an orphan; it belongs to no one; so he also has a siesta, rising up to paint the evening sky with wonderful hues. and the scene, the hue, everything changes by the seconds—if you have blinked your eye, you are going to miss the symphony. I like the evening sky more than the morning sky—huge molten pots of gold, from yellow to brilliant red—he brings out his whole paintbox. The morning sky is more benign—meditative, still rubbing its eyes as the gentle morning breeze plays with the clouds, arranging and rearranging them like a jigsaw puzzle. While the evening sun before settling down to sleep always sheds a tear at the follies of humans with the promise of a better tomorrow, Clouds come floating into my life, no l...

Literally brewing a storm in a tea cup Make everything simple. I still weed out the condensed milk that settles on top of the freshly brewed hot tea, as I did during my childhood. had a health problem—could not tolerate milk—it was filter coffee for me or nothing—no sugar, no chicory, no milk—pure filter coffee made in South Indian style—the aroma was heavenly—it wafted around every corner of the house—the taste was male, brutal—the effect—all senses fired on all cylinders. The taste and the aftereffects were so addictive that I was sometimes ready to sacrifice my night's sleep after a nice post dinner cuppa . My health got back to normal, and I tried to venture nimbly into the substances I had omitted during my illness—tea and milk. My journey with tea began with the herbal, green, and infusion teas; it required an acquired taste; it was horrible; if you do not want a guest to come back again, it is the best tea to serve; and I have doubts about the healthy benefits that the...