Patchwork Sunday.

Patchwork is a form of needlework which involves cutting out & sewing together different pieces of fabric - varied in colour, shape & size. I like the metaphor because a patchwork pattern may have a repetitive design, or it may be a "crazy quilt": random shapes forming "crazy" or non-repeat, asymmetric compositions.

Today was one of those patchwork days. The weather went from sunny, to cloudy, to rainy, to misty, then back to sunny, with a short sharp hailstorm thrown in between for good measure. The company was motley: a heritage expert, a housewife, an anthropologist, a financier, a painter, a bureaucrat and a sleepy dog. The food eclectic: maa ki daal, biryani, two chutneys: an envy-green one & a Ferrari-red one, patra ni macchi, pasta, chapaties & raita. The dessert was equally multifarious: sewiyan, chocolate mousse, gur-ki-shakker & ghee on hot roti! (Guddu, you man of parts, take a bow).

I rambled from Willows to my friend Sanjiv's beautiful home in Kasumpti and then ambled back satiated by great food & even better conversation. The best part was hiding in Billy's den to catch a chapter of the madly fascinating adventures of Amir Hamza.

The pictures below may give you an idea of how the day went:

Farhad says this poem by Emerson is most appropriate:

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
I, in my pleachëd garden, watched the pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I, too late,
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.