It's really hard to write on this computer

I will miss: the shape of the range of hills behind by house; the way it curved itself like a bowl, and on clear nights all the stars fell into that bowl.

This everyday lesson: the only way to tackle a steep pathway up a long hill is head in, ready, one step at a time, with willingness to breathe hard.

Rain

Tripta, who hugged me and cried.

The freshness of the air. It's a different kind of air up there, and the sky robed itself in glory on many many evenings.

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Now we are nowhere and everywhere, in between places, in between trains in one of the most populous cities on earth. We are the tiniest people in a great heaving, working mass, waiting for our train to take us away from here.