Gradually the threads dissolve, the strings come undone. We become footnotes in someone else’s life, remembered fondly in the middle of drying dishes on a warm Wednesday night. In the end, this is all we’re reduced to, this is what we’re left with. Glib laughter, and a very witty thing…
The good is rightly thought to be that at which all things aim. That was Aristotle by the way, not me. But if I asked you what you were aiming at, what would you say? Happiness? Identity? What defines happiness? What defines you? Or are they answers to the same…
Then, she was two years old. You were 26. Travelling abroad, alone for the first time. Her father had a thousand instructions, “Keep your eyes on the bags – Bombay airport is dangerous.. Hold on to her, she’s a kid – she’ll just wander off with a stranger..” Knowing him,…
