home and work

meeting t, here for visa purposes, i couldnt help but wonder why i cling to the places i know, the people i consider mine and the things, the dratted things, that for some reason anchor my life. leaving it all is easy, or is it?
about a week ago i dreamt of gandhi in stone, sitting placidly bare-bodied amidst fallen leaves in the biting cold of a london december. a glimpse of the familiar bespectacled bald head triggered a warm rush of affinity through my body that seemed real even in the dream. k the monkey and i were wandering through the skeletal trees of winter at tavistock square battling the chilly wind as it cut through our many-layered clothes.
for me, seeing gandhi was like finding home in a faraway place. and i guess people like the girl in true story-1 and t like everyone else, find bits of home in each other and in other places.

then there's this thing called purpose and it's so much nobler than needing to feel at home. watching p on tv this afternoon, filled me with an unadulterated pride i never knew i was capable of feeling. she was somewhere in haryana investigating a story on a 15yearold who'd been bought by a poor man and his son because they couldn't get women otherwise. she'd done such a damn good job of the story. it reacquainted me with the first principle: that a life is only as valuable as the lives it enhances or impacts in a positive way.
thats what k the monkey's trying to do as well, i think. help out somewhere, somehow. connecting with the rest of the universe. and in my own homebody kind of way, i guess i'm trying, however lame the attempt, to do the same.

this has to be the most muddled post ever. but i've promised to write everyday, even if i'm only adding to the junk on the internet.