Everything seems to be going as per plan. Not my plan. Adjustments are being made every second. I arrive ten minutes late and something has changed. My eyes see what is meant to be seen, only ten minutes later. So many things are missed. So many opportunities lost, so many people slip under the rug never to be seen again. Everything goes according to this grandiose plan, a place that exists like a dream, a thought that exists always throwing garbage into your mind. The birds sing. Inconsequential as they are, they still sing. We ignore everything, we see nothing, we touch nothing, we feel nothing. All the pointers are there for a reason, I wonder which ones to choose and which ones to ignore. The time says 3:33 sometimes, and sometimes it says 11:11. I wait for the moon and that curious cosmic time in Benaras. When will Benaras invite me again with a freshly cleansed face, a face touched by Ganga, hands rising to Suryanamaskar six am in the morning just after Banerjee's Sohini echoes and ricochets in my brain. I am waiting for the final adjustment.I am waiting for another Yak to change my life.
