Thursday, April 30, 2015

Chandni Bloom

Peter Francis Mackay figured out a chaos theory from the midst of  the Dublin System that Joyce's Bloom and Dedalus voyaged. When I was out with my wife in the midst of Chandni Chowk (chaotic, hot, dangerous, gastronomic-where the exotic and the quotidian waltz), I could hear that damned line buzz, "Wait . . . Half a mo. Maximum the second."
Half a mo. Maximum the second.

Bloom gives way to oddities. The male herd crosses path with a lone woman. The urban pug marks stain the wall that regiments each kind of movement. I capture the moment in transition. It seems momentous. Every moment, movement, momentous in (the) transitive.
The Momentous in transitive


Contradistinctive is the word, the red-lined word in MS Wor(l)d. The whole acquires a distinction in the contrariness of its parts.



When did you stand up to weigh down on a scale? I mean last time. How would it feel to know you are being watched being weighed? How would it feel to be watched by someone informed and ill-formed? Simultaneously?



postscript:
And finally, food: Enter Ballimaran by walking on the main road towards Fatehpuri from Sishganj, cross the joota/jooti wallahs and sit on bench. Ask for food. (Mutton Korma: Rs 80; Chicken Korma: Rs 70; Buff Biriyani: Rs 40; Rice and Romalis available.) The korma is bloomicious.

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