Another Sunday. Had been counting on the off day to carry out some domestic chores that had piled up over the course of the week. Started early and by afternoon I was done. However, I realised that the accumulated work comprised several small jobs that could have been done in jiffy before they became arduous due to neglect. Small bits count. Had nothing to do throughout the afternoon so read some papers and dozed off. Woke up late, resumed reading of Rebecca and finished it. The book deals with the complexity of human mind and seeks to dissect the cause and effect that dictate our interactions with other humans and the world. It was a nice and comfortable read, especially after the complex 93 by Hugo.

The brilliance with which the characters are portrayed and play their roles in this book reminded me of Maurier's earlier book that I read: Jamaica Inn. If ever there could be a favourite first paragraph, it would be the one written in the Jamaica Inn. The description of the impending stormy night in the Jamaica Inn captivated me so much that I finished the book in one go. The same is the case with Rebecca. Need to read her other works to find out whether it is her staple style or the emotions are so overwhelming that great words just pour out of her head. Talking about first paragraphs, I think even Dickens works like David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities have singular beginnings. Now that Rebecca is off the hands, I think I should read Vanity Fair. I tried my level best to lay hands on Barry Lyndon but it was either prohibitively priced or out of stock. Ever since watching Stanley Kubrick adapt Thackrey's book for the silver screen, I have been fascinated by the story of Barry Lyndon. Without it, Vanity Fair will have to do.

Planning on a journey to Kerala next month. It seems odd to me that I prefer the beach in Alappuzha over the Marina in Chennai. There are many factors that favour Marina but I have never felt like going there in my seven years in Chennai. Alappuzha seems like a sleepy town, left behind in the march to progress. The tree-lined streets, the cosy little shops, the Marine boulevard all go on to make the place inviting. Moreover, the beach is not jampacked with people like Marina. You get time to gather your thoughts even as a gentle breeze caresses your face. Another factor is the Arabian Sea, which has always seemed closer than the Bay of Bengal. The ride to Kerala in itself is a pleasure. The moment you are in the lap of the Western Ghats, the verdant beauty acts as a soothing balm, snatching away all worries and any sense of unease. I still remember the adventure of last time.

My elderly friend used to tell me that the three ingredients of a good life are a house to call own; an understanding life partner; and a job that you like. Of the three conditions set here by the man of wisdom, I have none. However, this does not mean that my life is a sorry picture of neglect. I enjoy whatever I have made of my life but desires are not your domesticated breed to tether to a pole. Hopefully my toil in the concrete jungle would pave the path for my dream life in the hinterland. Sustainable living is the buzz word mate. I find city life repulsive and not to my taste. God willing, the stay in cities would end soon and I shall have a farm to call my own. A home to call my own.