In the last few days I've found myself oscillating between different pieces of writing. I have an unfinished poem describing the comforts of using reason in daily life, a little scene from Independence day, a note about people from the North-east India and even a post on bindis. Where is all this writing, you may wonder.

When the mind isn't at rest, it finds no solace in completing anything that isn't immediately alleviating its worry. Without alarming any one too much, I'd like to stress that I am only a teensy bit worried and I'm doing very well. In fact, during this time I've come up with my own special concoction of green tea laced with a tiny portion of rum to keep me happy while I keep shuffling between various books that I am trying to read. The job will come when it comes, I've decided.