Chocolate and more

My new philosophy seems to be working quite well. Live in the present, look at the good things. Keeps me happy, mostly. Not thinking about the future means few disappointments. But for a dreamer like me, it's quite hard. I mean, I see stuff so clearly in my head, like a film, but it never happens that way, does it? Does it ever happen the way you dream of it? Maybe. Maybe not. I guess the key is to dream, and be happy while it lasts, and then forget about it. If that's possible.

Anyhow, the 'worst' months of college seem to have past, now there's good stuff ahead! We had our Diwali Mela on Thursday, (yes, I know there's still a month to go for Diwali) which turned out to be quite fun. Bab was slaving at a stall, and she gave me free stuff. Now it's holiday time, lots ter do, but still. Holidays are holidays. And knowing me, I won't do half the stuff I'm supposed to. But come what may, this time I shall NOT make a list.

I've been wanting to watch Mamma Mia forever, and my plan has been made and cancelled some six times. Today college was technically open but no one turned up for classes, though a few of us had research work (atleast, that's our alibi. Sounds scholarly, doesn't it?) After a wild-goose-chase for a tall girl with kohl-lined eyes who had a book I needed, trips between libraries and a 'meeting', me and Bab rickshawed our way to a nearby cinema to finally watch the movie, whereupon we were informed that they were no longer showing it. I'm telling ya, it's jinxed. 

And now for the chocolate. Did I mention I'm addicted? Chocolate gives me a high. And don't say it does that to everyone, because in the last few days I have interacted with 3 people who...are you ready?...don't like chocolate. Anyway, I just finished reading Chocolat by Joanne Harris today. Loved it. It's delicious! It's got a feel to it...bright and yet dark, simple and yet mysterious...the brightness and joy not camouflaging the darkness, but inviting it and transforming it. And to top it off, someone left a bookmark inside it, with this poem on it:


It belonged to the book, almost. Seemed symbolic, somehow. I left it in the book for the next reader to find.