Le terres de sommeil

We'll be off to Delhi in a few minutes from now; me for the second time in four days. The last trip had the experience of a lifetime- something I must post about sooner rather than later. But, it was no ordinary run through the capital- it was a walk of life in the place where we used to live, through the tunnels of love, past private investigations, culminating in two songs on the city, which I hummed all through that fateful Sunday. I thought I'd miss R-land, and be longing for the warmth and comfort of my three pillows in G-104, but Flats 173- A to F, Paschim Vihar had something else in mind. And that's precisely why irony happens to be my favourite literary device, even with all my love for metaphors, alliteration and onomatopoeia.

I've just come back to earth after a marathon session reading the original Purple Cow, and am genuinely overwhelmed by the man's greatness. He's been blogging for about four years, now, leaving us blessed with scores of bites of heaven to browse through, and, boy, is it divine, or what! Leaves you wondering if practice can make you perfect, no matter how subjective the term may be.

We should be on a bus now, on our way to the capital. But, sleep is seductive. Sleep is sensuous. Ah, sleep is unrelenting. Sleep has too much in common with Chandramukhi! Sleep seems to be casting its spell upon me, now. Trinkle after trinkle of those silver anklets...

P.S.- No, Kondy. I did recall the phrase rather than looking it up on Google again.