I wake up bone tired at 8:00 am . I finish my morning routine and then rush to make rava dosais for the husband before my meetings can start . I manage two eat two pieces of a dosa < almost a half> from what’s left of his breakfast before heading to my meetings . My lunch is a single Omlette followed by a cup of tea. Dinner is a single raga patty , because I don’t have energy left in me to make anything for myself . My head is pounding and my stomach is cramping.
Monday kicked off the second week that I worked from home . As day bled into night and Monday turned over into Tuesday , I moved from meeting to meeting , constantly on my phone , my thoughts and plans blending into mush and fading away. Today , in particular was harsh. I had a meeting from 9:00-9:30 , 9:30-10:00 , 10:00-11:00, 11:00-11:30 , 11:30-12:00 , 1:00 pm – 3:00 pm followed by a final meeting from 3:00 – 3:30 pm. My brain had half turned into mush by the 1:00 pm meeting but having exerted the remaining half during the 1:00 pm meeting , I was completely fried by 3:30 pm.
But the stories weren’t going to write themselves so I soldiered on , until I closed my laptop and crashed into the dreamless sleep like the dead at 6:00 pm. Still sluggish , I wolfed down what remained of dinner and opened the laptop to write the post on Sofia that I wanted to write , only to find that the words didn’t flow. My brain was fried , finito and wouldn’t take any more fuel , thanks to the PMS exhaustion that tired out my already tired brain.
Wisdom comes with age , but in my case it came with exhaustion. I am not a superwoman and I realized today that I shouldn’t pretend to be one. Working women have to bear additional loads during times like these, as our roles of primary care givers and career professionals intersect more often than not , and therefore its all the more necessary to take well timed breaks and naps as we focus on running a long marathon on two divergent tracks.
I make a resolution to plan my day better and take frequent breaks at home and speak to my husband about contributing a little more towards chores at home. I make a resolution to eat clean and conserve enough energy to make myself some dinner everyday. I get up to make a glass of Glucon D , but sit down , hit the publish button , hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.
An A.R Rahman album release is like Diwali , Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one. An album with 14 songs is indeed icing on top of the cake. So this weekend , I spent all my time listening to the album and writing a post . Half-way through the post I realized that it would be a gross injustice to cram all my thoughts into a single post and this evening , I had the idea to tackle one song a day.
Indulge me for a minute and imagine that you are sitting on a flight . Your seat belts are fastened and the flight attendants are making a final round around the cockpit. As the pilot announces clearance , the flight starts pushing back from the gate. The movement is tentative , with a lot of starts and stops. The plane pauses for a moment and then starts taxiing towards the run away. The going is smooth and slow , like a toddler walking . Then the movement starts picking up speed and before you can realize , the flight takes off , climbing that steep incline towards a random waypoint 30000 miles up in the sky. The buildings become smaller and smaller and smaller until all you can see are the amoeba shaped clouds of the day time sky. You are taken aback when the flight starts its descent . It is rattling towards land and all of a sudden , the wheels hit the runway , the brakes screech gracefully and the plane taxies towards the gate carrying an exhilarated and excited passenger. There – Are you done Indulging me? Yes , you are Well , thank you for indulging me and waiting on me patiently as I took you through an exhilarating joy ride on a plane through my words. Now , If I were to tell you that there is a song , that makes you feel like a bird , soaring through the skies on a chilly spring morning , would you believe me ? If i were to beseech you to close your eyes , put on your headphones and soar through the skies , would you listen? You would? All right , O Aashiqua is the song you need to listen to.
A Sufi style entreaty to humankind ,O Aashiqua gently chides us for living a life of quid pro quo and expectations and compromises with one’s belief systems and principles. The repeating Oh jiya , Tu Jiya, Tu Jiya , Agar aise toh yaara kya jiya , Oh Jiya , Tu Jiya , Tu Jiya , hisaabon mein yaara kya jiya makes you reflect on your actions and your belief systems even as you are soaring through the vacuum in which the only solid entities are the song and your soul , waltzing through the vacuum making you dizzy with joy.
The guitars , the keys , the percussion and Arjun Chandy’s splendid choral arrangement stun you and as the song breaks into the O Maa stanza , celebrating motherhood and the sacrifices a mother makes , your imaginary flight breaks the sound barriers and you become one with the music, or rather the music absorbs the essence of your soul. The song ends and you land gently , with a smile on your face and a lightness in your thoughts. What a stunning flight indeed.
I wake up as the alarm starts chiming and I am in a rare mood. I am in the throes of a PMS migraine and am cramping severely and suffering from lack of sleep. But I wake up , take bath , make some kickass pasta and consume a ton of filter kaapi. I also make it a point to dress as if I was going to work. By 8:00 am , I am raring to get started.
Morning 9:30 am : My elaboration for the next release is complete with the exception of 1 story and I make it a point to brag about it. People sound cheerful over the Phone . I jump to my 10:00 am meeting followed by another meeting at 11:00 ending at 11:30. I set up follow-ups and send meeting minutes and I am suddenly out of gas and lie down for a small nap.
Afternoon 12:45 pm : I wake up a little refreshed and continue working.
Afternoon 1:30 pm : I jump headlong into calls. First there is an hour long covid-19 update call. We are working from home until we hear otherwise and we are not supposed to be coming into work. I check my twitter notifications as people keep asking covid-19 questions. The conversations make me happy . This is a group of people who are super serious about their cricket and its very refreshing to exchange tweets.
Afternoon 2:30 pm : I am hungry and want to sit this meeting out but they have a question for me and so I join in. 2:30 becomes 3 , 3 becomes 4 and 4 becomes 4:30 . My lunch has gone cold. I heat it and settle down for another call
Evening 6:00 pm : I step out of the house after a week. We take the car out for a spin with the intent to grab some takeout. But the NYmag covid piece that I read before stepping out is scaring me out of my wits and good intent. We drive around the nearly empty Phoenix roads for 20 minutes. It starts raining cats and dogs and the roads start flooding. Its time to drive back home.
Evening 7:30 pm : Bhajji for dinner. The smell of Besan , oil and fried bhajjis is intoxicating. Accompanying the Bhajji is the standard rava kesari . I have fond memories of this combination because in a bout of superstition , I had Amma make this for every single world cup game India played during 2003. It worked for most matches but when it failed , it failed spectacularly .
Night 9:45 pm : I dial in to what is supposed to be a 15 minute scrum call. The call runs much much longer.
Midnight 12:00 am : I start writing this blogpost and exchanging tweets and thoughts about test cricket with a bunch of fellow tragics. It has been a good day.
Google home keeps waking me up and I ask the assistant to cancel the timer and set a timer for five minutes after. All of a sudden , I’m back home in Coimbatore saying “Amma five minutes” or “Appa five minutes” before burrowing back into the blanket.
Morning 8:30 am : The alarm goes off for the nth time. I’ve overslept. I log in urgently and skim through my emails. By the time I go to take a bath and finish my morning routine , it’s time for my scrum calls. It is not as chaotic as yesterday was – It is a long call though. We are all getting used to the asynchronous working patterns. The call is done and I go about scheduling meetings and setting up touchpoint calls. I start listening to my work from home playlist and start typing away stories . All of a sudden , I feel like I am in prison. There is no one in the room , there is music playing and I am working but I can’t shake off a feeling of malaise. I also have a faint headache , but I keep pushing on because I am in the zone.
Morning 11:00 am : I have the first meal of my day. It is Maggi Atta noodles , three pieces of toast and coffee. I get the feeling that the headache will go away. I come back to my desk / bed and keep typing away. The feeling of malaise keeps growing by the minute. In a moment of desperation , I let my husband share our workspaces . Soon enough , there are more typing noises but sadly no human interaction. I decide to listen to podcasts and 81 all out comes to the rescue. The malaise decreases and all of a sudden , I am back home in Coimbatore , in our drawing room. There is a cricket running in the background. Appa and I discuss the game and I am nodding to what Appa says in deference to his age and experience that comes from having played the game.
Afternoon 3:00 pm : I take a second break – It has been a long working day. I settle credit card bills , get on twitter and rhapsodize about cricket. I was actively calling for the game to cancelled because of covid-19 but I am also missing the game or any sport for the matter. I read my emails and realize that people are calling for suppression until July. I WhatsApp a colleague who lives in the same community and we exchange notes on supplies. The apartment management sends an email requesting people to not flush wipes and other toilet paper replacements down the pipes as it may clog the ground floor toilet. We live on the ground floor and this is one more thing that I have to worry about.The faint headache is now a full blown migraine. I look at the period tracker app and realize that this is my regular PMS migraine. I know I have to take my pills but I don’t and I keep working on.
Evening 6:00 pm : There is an argument at home that makes me lose my temper. I don’t react and walk away and that is making me even more upset . Then there is the migraine. I shut down my laptop despite not reaching my work target and stretch. I have to finish dinner prep. I have some tea and make Chole with the intent to have Chole and Patties for dinner. I check my emails , make some Amazon orders and get into the shower. I crash on the bed , close my eyes and get back to sleep lulled by that amazing bath.
Night 10:30 pm : I end up taking the painkillers and have to stay awake , waiting for it to kick in. I collect laundry from the dryer , plan the next day and update the blog post. I’m lined up for meetings tomorrow and I am actually excited to talk to people over the phone for an extended period of time.
The sun is still shining bright as I finally exit the building. The parking lot is empty and I wave to a colleague and start walking towards the car . Five minutes later , I roll down my window , tap my feet in rhythm with the song playing on the stereo and take the salty summer breeze in , which melds together with the AC still warming up to concoct a heady mix that reminds me of peak coimbatore summer with the whiny symphony air cooler.
Madison is a small college town but a minute later , I get hit by the Friday evening Traffic Jam. It takes me two signals and two loops of O Kalala to finally hit the beltline and then it is the weekend officially. Mom and Dad < in-laws> are chatting in the great room, sipping their coffees and ruminating about the days gone past and the days to come. A couple of parathas and paneer bhurji helpings later , the husband comes home and it is evident that he’s had a super draining day. I pour white chocolate liquor into the blender , add ice cubes and vanilla ice-cream and blend it all into a feel good cocktail that we sip as we go about opening mails , paying bills and activating cards . We make plans for the evening and the in-laws settle down to their TV.
The drive downtown is not super bad ,may be because its a Friday. We reach our friend’s apartment , make our cursory greetings to the parents and crowd around the baby , the newest arrival to our gang of work colleagues and significant others . Our phones and laptops lay forgotten , as we play with the little one , breathing in that new born smell and vying to change her diaper. Our bubble bursts when the little one needs to take a nap, and we get back to our laptops , phones , emails and timesheets . The TV drones on , with Jyothika preaching to teachers and students alike . Jokes and jibes are traded and I suddenly feel that this random Friday evening is not that random after all. I smile , close my emails and start writing.
My earliest cricket memory involving Bangladesh is a fine spell of pace bowling by Chaminda Vaas on Valentines Day in 2003 , in the first over of the game. The first batsman was out bowled , the second was caught and bowled and the third clueless fellow holed out to a future Sri Lankan cricket captain and followed the other two. It was and remains my favorite bowling spell from that tournament after Nehra’s 6/23 but a lot of people didn’t see it that way.
Every-time I brought up that particular Chaminda Vaas over , someone in the gathering would invariably end up saying “But that’s against Bangladesh yaar. What is so brilliant about a hattrick in the first three balls against Bangladesh !”. A few of them would nod politely , putting down my admiration for that spell as an eccentricity.
Such was the plight of Bangladesh in 2003 , that they couldn’t win a single match in the TVS cup that was hosted in their country. They didn’t win a single match that world cup , losing their opening game to Canada < a low even for Bangladesh> , before facing Sri Lanka and Chaminda Vaas in that opening over.
Bangladesh continued to be a part of my cricketing memories after 2003 , as a minor actor playing a minuscule role in the larger scheme of things : Gautam Gambhir made his ODI debut against them . So did Aavishkar Salvi who bowled a brilliant first over , took a wicket , promptly got injured and soon faded into obscurity. Ishant Sharma debuted against Bangladesh , so did Ramesh Powar , Joginder Sharma and this future Indian Captain and finisher extraordinaire by the name MS Dhoni.
In the mid 00s , a fixture against Bangladesh was seen as an ideal opportunity to hand out debuts to the youngsters knocking on the team door in an attempt to build their confidence. India often won these fixtures quite convincingly . Bangladesh won rarely if at all . There was that win in 2004 , followed by that world cup upset in 2007 and that Asia cup in 2012.They went on an emotional overdrive post their 2015 loss to India. Rohit Sharma was adjudged not out and Bangladesh as a whole cried foul. They won an ODI series soon after and that nascent switch was turned on. The Bangladesh of 2015 was way better than the Bangladesh of 2003 , 2007 and 2012 , but was so short of confidence that a third umpire’s decision caused huge outrage and an ODI series win resulted in celebrations of a rather unsavory nature.
Today , Bangladesh lost because of a splendid Rohit Sharma knock and some brilliant bowling by Bumrah at death. The bowling figures of Bumrah read 10-1-55-4 and he ended with a brilliant last over , taking two wickets in the last two balls , stranded on a hattrick.
The 48th over was and will remain one of my favorites from this world cup tournament and my preference for this spell will not be put down as an eccentricity , because Machi , Bangladesh could have won it ra but Bumrah came back after that injury scare , and bowled that peach of an over to keep Bangladesh out of reckoning . India beat Bangladesh in yet another world cup match , only this time , Bangladesh was not some 2 bit minor actor playing a side role in a tournament heavily favoring the big three. They came , they fought and they conquered hearts.
The Bangladesh of 2019 is a far better side than the Bangladesh of 2015 . They have won the games that mattered and came pretty close to winning a few others. They are no longer intimidated by huge targets. They have Shakib, Soumya and Litton in their ranks and a quiet confidence in their hearts.
Bangladesh were a champion side this world cup. They beat South Africa and West Indies convincingly and came very close to beating New Zealand and India. Bangladesh knows how to win and has started winning frequently. This is a side that takes its defeats and rain-outs in stride without resorting to national outrage. This is a side on the cusp of bigger and better things to come.
On New Year’s day , I woke up to five hundred unread messages on WhatsApp . Five hundred impersonal , generic and formulaic bursts of white noise that I wanted to ignore but couldn’t because they were from people who mattered to me and people who once mattered to me.
As I replied to those inane bursts of goodwill with generic and inane wishes of my own , boredom set in and I dreamt my way across to January 1 of the years gone by , where New year’s day meant something significant.
January 1, 1994 — We did not have a phone at home and therefore we sent greeting cards to our near and dear , following a process that almost felt like a ritual. Sometime in December, Appa would buy a bunch of greeting cards from the stationary shop and a shortlist would be made. Amma would then copy the addresses from the diary on to the envelopes and then attach the stamps using mashed rice as glue. The four of us would then sit in a circle and sign the cards one by one and once we were done , the cards would be slipped into the envelopes and off to the main post office we’d go and slip the cards into the slots meant for the various cities the cards were addressed to. My seven year old self used to shiver with excitement as she dropped the envelopes off , wishing them a speedy journey to their destination. Our wishes arrived the same way — signed greeting cards dropped at our doorstep in pairs , containing warm wishes expressed in the crooked handwriting of the elders and cousins . Birthday cards , at times made an early appearance , causing that extra bit of suspense and excitement as I opened an envelope .
January 1 , 1996 — We had a telephone connection with STD facility that year. Greeting cards were sent out as usual , but that year , we called our relatives that had a phone to wish them in person. Calls had to be short for the STD rates were still steep and conversations were limited to the four of us playing phone relay with every person at home on the other end to wish them a happy new year . Nothing else was discussed < We still couldn’t afford those longer calls> but hearing the wishes in a loved one’s warm voice was something we cherished.
January 1 , 2000 — The Y2K year where writing 00 on the year column of my notebook gave me a secret thrill. The year where we stopped sending em greeting cards and moved on to e-greetings sent to the NRI cousins via the slow and moody dial-up connection we had at home. The mandatory happy new year phone calls were made and we lingered over the phone discussing odds and ends thanks to our upward mobility and lowered STD rates. The excitement of wishing someone had gone away and the calls had become mere formality.
January 1 , 2005 — My first cellphone and the first time I sent out wishes on my own. We stopped congregating as a family to wish people and sent fancy SMSes out well before January 1 . It felt pretty cool to do this. It made me , all of eighteen , feel like an adult . It made me feel that I was coming in to my own , independent enough to make my own decisions.
January 2014 , 2015 , 2016 , 2017 — These were the glorious rinse and repeat years where I partied into the wee hours of January 1st , sent my whatsApp wishes semi-drunk and woke up late in the evening , lamenting the end of the holidays and making elaborate plans to keep up with my resolutions .
And WHOOSH — my mind wandered back to 2019 as the husband kept poking me continuously . I looked up from my phone , eyes and fingers fatigued from typing replies and messages . With a Sheepish grin , he asked me if I could reply to his whatsApp messages too. He didn’t quite know how to manage the deluge of wishes on his WhatsApp . Shaking my head I left the room , wishing that the glory days of 1994 would make a come back.
P.S : I want to write physical letters and postcards this year. I’m not sure that there are people who would like to receive them . But if you are one , and you would like to receive a written post card from me sometime this year , do drop me a note/comment with your address. Let me see if I can surprise you .
Love can be one-sided but a love story always has two sides. A man and a woman will have different things to say or have different ways to say things , at least in real life.
That , unfortunately is not the case when it comes to our films. More often than not , you have a man fantasizing about how he would like a woman to respond and 99 times out of 100 the response will be in a tone that that borders the servile. Women do write beautiful lyric but they don’t get the same space or footing and therefore their voices get drowned out in the din. Thankfully , 96 breaks the precedent . The album is nothing but a conversation between a man and woman on equal footing , where their views are given equal space and importance.
Karthik Netha waxes lyrical about love in Anthaathi , elevating the emotion to an omnipresent entity . To him , love is a dance that your mind and heart indulge in as you go about the world , a never ending search that remains your constant companion through life , adapting to you as you change to the rules and roles dictated by love. In Thaabangale , Uma Devi picks up from where Karthik left off . Love and desire have a form and shape she says . They tell their own story she adds , a story in which the racehorse of time takes you to that time and place in the past where echoes of a similar desire and love can be felt.
Yaen is a role reversal of sorts where Karthik gives voice to a woman who is clueless and hurting. Look at the way he paints her portrait by describing her surroundings – The skies are grey , the clouds are missing , life is a puzzle and the path through it is drenched in tears that are prayers to find the missing. Her eyes are searching for him for he has left the city , but the heart keeps dissuading her search as he has forsaken his roots. The imagery is so vivid that you can envision a woman trying to soldier on despite the pain.
Uma Devi , on the other hand compares separation to a wasting spring and a long stretch of never ending distance among other things. She compares the woman to the waxing moon of love and that comparison immediately took me back to the famous “Veramendrol valai negizhumme koorai thozhi yaan vaazhumaare” lines that speak so eloquently about separation angst. Vasantha Kalangal is all about Chinmayi and that brilliant guitar in the beginning , but once Uma’s lines take hold , they hold your heart in a vice grip and never let you go.
Take a look at the uvamais in Iravingu Theevaai. Karthik hails love in Anthaathi, and feels that a content life is one where love is present in some form of other. Uma on the other hand , feels that a life without her lover is worthless , memories and love be damned. Her comparison of the woman to a lotus isolated in a pond sans her life line is poignant . Her comparison of the man to the sun who’s roasting in his own heat amidst the darkness is equally poignant .
If at all Karthik gets an edge , it is in “Life of Ram ” where his words paint the story of the male protagonist , a man who’s learning his lessons late in life . A man who is a slow learner, but keeps learning and keeps moving on. Karthik’s words help us paint a picture of the man and his past , his present and his hopes for future. In the larger scheme of things though , this piece does not influence the larger conversation and for that I am super happy.
I set out on a mission to write about the music of 96. It is the best soundtrack to have come out of the Tamil Film Industry so far this year. It also has the distinction of having provided the same scope and space to its male and female vocalists . That in itself is a rarity. Govind then goes one step further and sticks with a single male voice and a single female voice for a major part of the soundtrack. The tunes are lovely , the guitar , flute and violin are soulful and dreamy and yet after multiple repeated listenings , it is the lyric that stands at the forefront – so much so that I am unable to look beyond them. One day , I will write about the music and singing for they deserve their own post. Until then , I am going to lose myself in this conversation and its words.
I am a self confessed lazy bum and home bird. I don’t get out of bed if I don’t have to . I don’t step outside home if I don’t have to . Therefore , I thought that this self isolation thing was easy. This was on Friday , when the work from home routine started.
Morning 6:00 am : Google home keeps screaming . I wake up , thinking that I’ve overslept but I have not. I check work emails , take inventory of the refrigerator and log onto Amazon Fresh. They have the items I need in stock but no delivery window for the next three days. I try a multitude of websites before giving up my search and placing an insta-cart order , keeping my fingers crossed that the store I ordered from would have inventory. I look at the clock and it is 7:30.
Morning 9:00 am : I complete my morning routine of bath , prayers and filter coffee. My husband and I chart out our work territories. I work from the bedroom and he works from the living room , at-least for now. I connect to spotify from google home and start replying to emails and queries.
Morning 9:30 am : Scrum Call . My network is patchy , but I make a concentrated effort to listen carefully and give precise updates. The VPN keeps logging me out because Cox Internet keeps throttling my service. Frustrated with this , I tether internet from my mobile device thankful to my privilege and pay check that allows me to have this functionality.
Morning 10:00 am : Insta-cart notification – Of the 18 items I requested , only 3 are available. I am defeated and somewhat angry. The rational part of my mind reassures me that I did the right thing by not hoarding supplies and that I would have to address this on a day by day basis.However the emotional part of my mind chides me for not hoarding supplies and anticipating this day. I shut my emotional voice up , chalk it down to anxiety and continue working.
Morning 11:30 am : I’ve been on phone with Cox trying to get my wi-fi back and ready to tear my hear out. My father in law comes back from a morning excursion that I was not aware of. He has been to three grocery stores and has been able to gather some essentials . We finally have enough Milk to last the week and some veggies. I’m extremely grateful that he did this and extremely angry at the same time. He is in the 70+ age bracket and has underlying health conditions. I ask him to stay at home and he brushes away my concerns , gently. I send out an angry tweet at Cox and continue working
Afternoon 12:30 pm : No music , patchy internet and stalled progress makes me a grumpy girl. I run a load of laundry and notice that we are running out of Laundry Detergent , Soap , Shampoo and Conditioner. I start looking online for supplies . Cox offers to send technicians home but I politely refuse , stating that I have senior citizens living with me. I keep writing user stories. The internet comes back and so does the TV . We keep hearing news about restaurant closures , shop closures etc . The leasing office sends an email and drops a notification that all amenities are being shut and requests that we only raise emergency requests and that if we are sick and have an emergency maintenance , they would have to work with Department of Health to determine how to address the same. Non emergency requests are put on hold. If you have one working bathroom , you are lower on priority they say. I completely understand and am appreciative that they are taking these measures. But thanks to the numerous dystopian and disaster fictions I have read , I feel dread creeping in . The husband starts watching Contagion and I munch on salad and keep writing them stories.
Afternoon 3:00 pm : Dial into a meeting. We make jokes about foraging supplies. We disconnect from the meeting and I make plans with the husband to go for a walk and get some air.
Evening 5:00 pm : Mother-in-law works in retail and Father-in-law picks her up. They make a target run and bring back tide. I order shower gel , shampoo and conditioner online. Husband is still watching Contagion. I still need tide and toilet bowl cleaner , but suddenly I am bone tired. I go to sleep , knocked out only to wake up much later.
Late Night 10:00 pm : Dial into offshore scrum . We discuss status . I share a pic of empty store shelves. A friend of mine has doodled Hermione Granger today. I seek her permission and update display pictures. I settle down to hunt for Dishwasher liquid and toilet bowl cleaner . The former I find on amazon and the latter on target. They will be delivered on 03/27. I order them anyway , hoping that my existing supply would hold good until then. I chide myself for not buying one of all supplies when the whole world was in frenzy but the rational part of my mind says that I did the right thing then. Its okay I’ll be good.
I write a stream of consciousness blog post , even as the husband starts watching yet another virus disaster movie , this time , the outbreak.
I hit the post button and move to make myself some coffee so that I can get some work done. Day bleeds into night and night bleeds into day as I settle into self isolation like Dravid used to construct an innings on a vicious pitch. It ain’t easy but with grafting it would become comfortable. I vow to write everyday and I sigh.
I’ve been fighting the fight , weaving in and out of that imaginary line to avoid punches , keeping my head down , waiting for the eye of the storm to pass .
Today , as I walked out of my work cocoon , mentally prepping myself to walk that imaginary line dodging punches , I stopped and stared because the world was aglow with this otherworldly light .
I sat in my car , played a song and waited for the sun to sink beyond the horizon . The skies continued to glow silent and peaceful . Then came the blinding brightness , followed by the stealthy and silent night . The skies were no longer pink , but my horizon was and as I turned the ignition on , I thanked Mother Nature for lending some warmth and light . I drove on as the fire in my heart glowed and glowed bright.