I am supposed to start as a professional, on the last day of this weekend, for a change, and I'll do that soon.
Rode out early today. The phrase 'riding out early' (and its derivates) has seen rare use through two years. There hasn't been a single 'trip' to count for, since the pedal through Konkan coastline back in 2013. Since then I have been relegated to love, and my bike has been relegated to a curio piece in the anteroom of homes that we have switched over the years. How guilty I feel about Godiva being raised a city girl (or rather, enduring the city); she is made for a mountains, being an MTB. In some ways today was a commitment to make amends. Sadly my organism experiences new endings and beginnings every week, and claims to be very messed up in times and schedule, which when sorted, would also allow me to get her to taste some Himalayan tarmac. Oh, and fix her first - just a body part replacement and modest servicing needed.
The rainy morning was a great bonus. 'Rainy morning' sees rare use too, in terms of direct experiene. I had 'Delhi' all over me at the end of the ride. Delhi that came from left right, down, and top, in the way of water and grime. That Delhi was washed away in Liril and Fructus. The roads that get waterlogged invite dodging hence increasing the chances of danger. Thinking of that, I took a circuitous-but-good route (good tarmac that I could recall) that took me next to a large stadia and other large structures - like the Supreme Court, India Gate, etc - that constitute Lutyen's Delhi, followed with impromptu plans of a detour to the river Yamuna via Akshardham flyover, and ended with a topping on the cake called Barapullah.
Riding out in the chaos of rains was fun. Such days make even healthy organisms feel sick. My sickness was in the form of nostalgia. In the days of the early wars, when recording illnesses, causative agents behind diseases (like Meningitis) were rather inaccurately identified, a lot of sicknesses - and in some cases deaths - would be attributed to 'nostalgia' or 'melancholia'. Memories spilled out instead of sweat and coagulated instead of blood. The human humdrum, the rain, and the ride make for such moments.
A large cluster of kites (cheelein) occupied the skies of Nizamuddin. Slaughterhouses (cut) open early, y'know. Predators on wings encircling the city, watching with telescopic gaze to take a grab at the first piece of meat their eyes meet. Stripping out anthropomorphical/metaphoric context, the sight of these birds in the city is beautiful and welcome, but not the fact that abattoirs sustain them today. Also, a pity to see no vultures formed that large group.
Rode out early today. The phrase 'riding out early' (and its derivates) has seen rare use through two years. There hasn't been a single 'trip' to count for, since the pedal through Konkan coastline back in 2013. Since then I have been relegated to love, and my bike has been relegated to a curio piece in the anteroom of homes that we have switched over the years. How guilty I feel about Godiva being raised a city girl (or rather, enduring the city); she is made for a mountains, being an MTB. In some ways today was a commitment to make amends. Sadly my organism experiences new endings and beginnings every week, and claims to be very messed up in times and schedule, which when sorted, would also allow me to get her to taste some Himalayan tarmac. Oh, and fix her first - just a body part replacement and modest servicing needed.
The rainy morning was a great bonus. 'Rainy morning' sees rare use too, in terms of direct experiene. I had 'Delhi' all over me at the end of the ride. Delhi that came from left right, down, and top, in the way of water and grime. That Delhi was washed away in Liril and Fructus. The roads that get waterlogged invite dodging hence increasing the chances of danger. Thinking of that, I took a circuitous-but-good route (good tarmac that I could recall) that took me next to a large stadia and other large structures - like the Supreme Court, India Gate, etc - that constitute Lutyen's Delhi, followed with impromptu plans of a detour to the river Yamuna via Akshardham flyover, and ended with a topping on the cake called Barapullah.
Riding out in the chaos of rains was fun. Such days make even healthy organisms feel sick. My sickness was in the form of nostalgia. In the days of the early wars, when recording illnesses, causative agents behind diseases (like Meningitis) were rather inaccurately identified, a lot of sicknesses - and in some cases deaths - would be attributed to 'nostalgia' or 'melancholia'. Memories spilled out instead of sweat and coagulated instead of blood. The human humdrum, the rain, and the ride make for such moments.
A large cluster of kites (cheelein) occupied the skies of Nizamuddin. Slaughterhouses (cut) open early, y'know. Predators on wings encircling the city, watching with telescopic gaze to take a grab at the first piece of meat their eyes meet. Stripping out anthropomorphical/metaphoric context, the sight of these birds in the city is beautiful and welcome, but not the fact that abattoirs sustain them today. Also, a pity to see no vultures formed that large group.
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