Close encounters of the cool kind

Two things happened today. My supervisor came back after 8 months, chemo-radio finished tumour blasted, looking as chilled out and ice-blonde as ever, padding around in customary ghostly fashion in the usual kurti-drawstrings-socks-sandals ensemble. Suddenly things are looking up. I just wish the bloody woman had kept everybody in the loop, instead of vanishing without a trace with no return address or number. Gah and double gah. I mean, for fuck's sake, I thought she was fricking dead.

High on this and engrossed in Paul Theroux's The Happy Isles of Oceania, I was leaning against a post outside King's Cross Station waiting for either the No. 45 or 46, when a Black Cab stopped right in front of me and a man hopped out. I looked up absently and behold! a certain Nobel Prize winning economist stood hardly 3 feet from me.

Needless to say, I stared. I caught his eye (not that he had a choice, my mouth was probably open and I was plonked right between him and the station).

I am happy to say, my dear readers, that my courtesy did not desert me. I dipped my head gravely, smiled and said "Hello".

So did he:-D!!

Amartya Sen was last spotted wearing a black mac and carrying a (was it brown?) leather suitcase, hurrying into King's Cross Overground Station at around 1830 GMT.

Unity in diversity

I have lived in Bloomsbury for many years, which is near the St. Pancras' church of the nursery rhyme in Orwell's 1984. As I was planning today's running route from Regent's Park back to Bloomsbury, I stumbled upon the Church website.

It said something striking:

INCLUSIVE CHURCH.net, A Declaration of Belief

We affirm that the Church's mission, in obedience to Holy Scripture, is to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ.... We acknowledge that this is good news for people regardless of their gender, race or sexual orientation. We believe that, in order to strengthen the Gospels proclamation of justice to the world, and for the greater glory of God, the Church's own common life must be justly ordered. To that end, we call on our Church to......... to celebrate the diverse gifts of all members......... and in the ordering of our common life to open the ministries of deacon, priest and bishop to those so called to serve by God, regardless of their gender, race or sexual orientation.

If you ignore the obviously religious bits, this is a rather remarkable and heartwarming assertion. It is a Church of England church, which is probably one of the most egalitarian and liberal religious establishments I have ever seen. I mean, they have women priests (hope that is the correct word), gay bishops etc. As far as I know, they welcome just about anyone inside their church, regardless of religion, unlike the Catholic and Orthodox Christian Churches. Rather like Buddhist temples, though I think Buddhists are the most tolerant of the whole lot.

I wish the Catholic Church, the Hindu religious establishment and the Muslim religious establishment had the basic human decency to say something similar. And as an Indian, I wish all those temples, mosques and churches in India had something like this posted at their gates or doors or whatever.

Now that would be a first step to solving a lot of problems.

Small pleasures

I have got through a lot of my days in the past 6 months by "muddling through somehow". Not efficient, but still effective.

My therapist (I have accquired one recently, hurrah! Now I can move to California) thinks I am mildly depressed or dysthymic. Dysthymic is a medical euphemism for miserable, btw. It means nothing and everything, depending on your state of mind on that particular day and how you look at the whole business of 'labelling' the human condition. There are many reasons for the misery, from my supervisor falling ill (leaving me effectively to sort out a project/programme grant: impossible) to my not being able to get along with a deeply unpleasant clinical boss. My psychotherapist thinks I set impossibly high standards for myself. And I can't figure out how to fix that one.

And so I muddled through today. But feeling miserable for no particular reason is not nice when it's time to go to bed.

So I tried the chanting machine in the bedroom, which is an Indian metal box with a chip inside that plays 16 different mantras. This usually helps me unwind.

Then I remembered that someone had asked me for a reference. So I settled down in the living room to write it before I went to sleep. Since I couldn't hear the mantra machine from here, I reached over and turned up the music system, which had been playing softly for a while . Almost without thinking.

The music that came through seemed vaguely familiar.

And as I listened, my whole mood lifted. It felt as if a happy smile had materialized from somewhere and settled on my mind.... soul?

It was Ravel's Bolero.

I hadn't heard it for years. And it is absolutely my favourite piece of classical music.