Dream.....because sometimes, they come true.

Dreams.

Most of the time, they give us no chance either way - they make us think (obsessively, sometimes) of places way beyond us; and having once caught us by the scruff and captured our imagination, they never leave us - they haunt us sweetly. We're caught without a chance either way.

By definition, dreams stretch us. A dream isn't, by definition, easily achievable - if it were, it wouldn't be a dream. For who dreams of what is easily within his reach? I don't know what people mean when they speak of "small dreams". I have none. All my dreams (and I suspect, everyone's) are eternal ones. Seemingly unreachable ones.

If you have a dream, hold on to it with all your heart. Don't let anyone deter you from it. Why do I say this? Because, by definition again, everything within our experience and reach tells us "this is impossible". And we mock ourselves. Sometimes cruel blows fell our dreams. A dream shattered is a tragedy beyond human comprehension (of course, we can discount the "dreams" of the wicked) - one of the greatest consequences is a crushed and broken spirit.

But dreams have a way of coming true - sometimes we work with all that's within us and spend all we have to make them happen; sometimes they just lead us, tripping merrily along, to their blossoming. Not all dreams come true; but don't stop dreaming because of that. In fact, all the more reason to dream!!!! I'd say - dream, because they sometimes come true.

Abhinav Bindra, perhaps, had a dream. Perhaps, in his dream, he even thought of the other few billion of us; perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he just had to prove something to himself. But now the future is forever changed; this will be an eternal reference point for the history of sport in this land of ours.

Whatever Bindra did today, the brightest light in the diamond was that he had held on to his dream with all he was; and walked steadfastly towards it, one faltering step at a time.

Don't ever forsake a dream. You will, in a sense, forsake yourself if you do.........because our dreams never forsake us.

Where......the river flows - I

Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour. - John 4:6

Jacob's well!! Jesus sighs. A story of a thousand years and five hundred comes tumbling back. Years rolled away, to a clear, clear day. I was there!! A thrill of remembrance.

For everyone else - Jacob's name is but a revered memory. Just a foggy memory - they told me about that old man in the synagogue when I was a child. They told me about Joseph too - some tale of jealousy, a doting father and a journey to Egypt. Just a story....who knows. They say this - this is the well. At least the water hasn't run dry...... who knows whether Jacob really existed? Who cares... a thousand years and five hundred anyway. And the story has certainly run its course, surely it's over.

Townspeople walk by.....who is this handsome stranger? He looks like a Jew - so what does a Jew want here?

Jesus......runs his hand over the stones. Yes....Jacob. Israel, actually, that's the name I gave him - what a man he had been! No one remembers or cares, but this whole story started there, in one sense. Actually with his grandfather Abraham. "Descendants like the sand on the seashore", I told him. Hmmmmmm. A thousand years and five hundred later.....here they live, walk and make their lives. My promise has long been forgotten - the 'descendants' are here, but they don't know a thing about their past, where they came from.

Does anyone really dare to think the story's not over yet? For the few who believe, no it's not over...not till eternity, no..... the 'seed of Abraham', well, they're not all here yet. They will come from the farthest corners of the earth. All through the ages. They will be one. No one but me will be able to count them. Abraham will see it!!!! In years to come, they will be tourists here....and they will remember this day. They will tell the story to their children, to their children's children. This well...... will be revered.

That's all later. For now.....let me play my part. Let me WRITE history.

I'm bushed..... let me sit down here, and remember my son Israel and my son Joseph. What a sweet memory! How dearly Israel loved Joseph! I kept Joseph in the palm of my hand - my wings overshadowed him all through. Israel....will see him again. He isn't dead! He's in my hand.

Memory lulls my tired head....to sleep. Let me put my head on these stones. Israel will remember that so well!!!! A stone pillow.

My little fluff-ball

This little fellow gets no press.

But that's just it - he wasn't meant for any. If you saw him, you best just watch him bring peace to your own soul. You don't (really) (necessarily) go out and TELL anyone you actually saw him.


In any case, no decent Indian lists worth the name have much to say about this chap. Oh yes, listed he is, but sadly, he is migrant. He doesn't even belong here most of the time. He just spends the winter here. So.....most people here don't even know him.

Winter...is almost over. Gone are the days when we wore thermal stuff. The town thaws. Trees lose their leaves. Everything's bare. Gone are the first iced-out mornings when you passed by a lovely green thicket and heard a "tchuck". You looked. You craned your eyes. But never one did you see. This endearing little fluff-ball is hard to see. But he lets you know he's there. That "tchuck" is one of the most comforting sounds promising a snug winter. And the Blyth's Reed Warbler........forages industriously through the thicket.


And God alone knows from where he comes. He's been halfway round the world, surely.....Iceland, Alaska, Finland.....Argentina perhaps. Or even Australia. Should ask someone to lay in wait for him on Christmas Island. And then come winter and he's back here...to his favourite thicket. Another of life's miracles just unfolded.......

Come April, he will leave again......back halfway across the planet. To another thicket, another moor... somewhere on this planet.

Come back soon, my little fluff-ball!!! I'm gonna tend that thicket very lovingly.....for you.

Meat-deprived foodie cravings (don't look in my eyes now)

It's gonna be a crazy, crazy day.

But early enough, a sweater, jeans and a jacket. Pastrami on rye and a large pickle. With a hot pot of coffee. And no one around in the Deli. Early morning light streaming in through the windows. Not many people about.....

That'll do just fine. Can take anyone on after that :)

Sometimes a crazy craving for pastrami on rye so consumes me.............. No decent deli worth the name in this 'ere town :(((( !!!!!!!

If you're awake at four.....

It's time to go now. Don't have to sit and wait.

The pieces never were made to fit. It's one of those crazy jigsaws in which a few essential pieces are lost in the years gone by, with some pieces only waiting for years to come. Either way, don't lose your hair......yes, there is a picture but you can't get all the pieces. You can't imagine how beautiful it is just yet. Don't really know if you have what it takes to see that.

And yet, it's 4 in the morning. The darkest hour is almost here. Everything seems distorted, nothing in perspective. Thoughts, racing through with open swords. Memories, ripping through the lower reaches, where the bleeding never stops. Tears.....are for children. I don't have any tears. They had their day. This isn't day; it's night. And there's no one on this side of the planet. Funny how well you can remember people after they leave. Funny how this all seems familiar; it's all I've known. Do people actually sleep through that hour.....four in the morning?

"The finest hour that I have seen
Is the one that comes between
The edge of night and the break of day
It's when the darkness rolls away."



I was led to believe that my father comes in the morning. He apparently waits for me, with hot breakfast on coals, in the clear, hazy light of morning. By the seashore. I was also told that he's got something to ask...... It's a mighty good thing he comes in the morning....I was beginning to sink. And I'd waited FOR EVER!!!! Can't even stay awake anymore.

This time I want no words. No more thinking about it. No more waiting. I'm ready now. It's time to take my father's hand. It's time to have breakfast and look forward to the light of day, and another. And another. Always. And it's time to look into his eyes, and say YES. To anything he asks. AND FOR MY OWN SAKE, DO IT!!!

It's time to leave the pieces to themselves. I've got to stop making them fit - look, see my hands. That's blood that's stopped to hurt. I don't remember any hurt. Funny!! Must have hurt sometime - that looks nasty now. But I can't remember a thing. And look here - that's clotted. Dried up. THAT CERTAINLY HURTS now....

Those pieces; if you look at them for what they are, there are sharp edges you can't play with. But I don't remember those edges; they just seemed nice to hold and have. Can't even remember when the toy broke and the pieces began. I have to tell myself the truth and stop lying - they're all I have and I have to give them up now.

My father says I don't need my toys anymore.

Gotta sleep. Don't wait up for me at four.

Evening. The Fourth of May.

The great abbey was visible through the trees, still, serene, unmoved in the soft evening light.

"A few minutes and I'll be there", Somerset thought.



Amazing, when it's all over.....how little time there is to think about it. Lay down arms, lay down arms.....tomorrow is another day. If tomorrow comes. We never have time to think through our low moments.....life never eases up.

Ride hard. Ride hard. Edward looks for me. Edward? Actually saw Richard riding off after the fleeing Lancastrians. It matters little - here's the abbey. Refuge. The lap of God.

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What a lovely evening!!! See how the light plays on the grass. The sun gently soothes wounds to bring healing.

Slowly, painfully, it all comes back as the wounds are tended - we were so hopeful today!! Exhausted, but hopeful. We all knew this was the day....when it all ends. That upstart Edward would face his treason today!!! Our beautiful, wronged Margaret......would smile. In many, many years. The wrongs of many years - righted for ever at sunset.

Why had we to fight? We could have waited, slipped away.......to lie in wait another day. If only we had made it across the Severn! Why did Wenlock not follow us? It must have been treason.

Now it's over, there's nothing left, but to wait for what tomorrow brings....Margaret, bound for ever, her spirit broken, never to hold her head up again. Prince Edward - cut down. Youthful hope - crushed like a blood-red rose. King Henry - God rest his soul - he would be released. For ever. But he would be king no more. His blood - poured out like water. Never again would his blood course through a king of the realm.

And what of me? Somerset mused. Must get across the Severn. Must find Jasper. Must not give this up. There'll be a new day, a new battle. Edward must die!!!

As evening fades away into night - the last Lancastrian day ends. A bloody entry in the portals of history. At the abbey, the sun sets - over a few red roses in the gardens.

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Two days later...... more blood.

The abbey's closed now - to forget, if possible. To forget that men could come to God for sanctuary, and be spurned. That men could seek refuge, only to be dragged to their deaths. For centuries, the abbey stood - a refuge. A safe place. Hallowed portals, where many entreaties poured out age after age, many million dreams...asked of the Almighty.

Now....blood lay on the stone floors in great crimson knots. Could not be wiped away. Grim death clung to the cloisters. No one came to pray. For many a year. The tide of blood had not ebbed. Somerset....lay headless in the town square.

Today, the abbey stands. Men still come to pray - for ageless things. Not for mere roses. Do they remember that bloody May evening so many years ago ? Perhaps not. Most don't.

A few red roses.....grow in the gardens. Some white ones as well. When evening comes, the sun still shines on both.

"Wish You Were Here"

Summer 1986.

Ravi Shastri lists Fleetwood Mac as one of his favourite music acts. And I wondered what Fleetwood Mac was. At 15. The name rolls off the tongue well, doesn't it. Anyway that's where I heard about Fleetwood Mac for the first time. (Actually, didn't find out what the name meant until very recently. Actually didn't quite care:))

Then, in the summer of 1986, this song at the end of a friend's compilation audio cassette. Cassettes (and LPs) were all we had then - no CDs, no computers, nothing. CERTAINLY no mp3s. So, if you got what you wanted down at the cassette shop, good....otherwise you just forget about it and wait till the cassette shop gets a hold of it. And if that didn't happen while your teeth stayed in....well.

A malnutritioned, sickly, music-starved, gawky, mawkish teenager in India...in the 80s. Add morose. Everything was a big deal (and still is :):)) Up until that point I was so straight-laced musically - only choral stuff. The only half-way decent pop music I'd heard was ABBA. But I was impressionable, willing to try stuff......and desperately wanted into what the hoopla about ROCK music was. The mawkish, folkish teenager wanted.....some more than he'd already heard.

"Wish you were here" was the perfect thing for me. It was boring, straight, unremarkable, sad-sounding and morose. It was also the only material I had, "rock"-wise. Christine McVie's voice sounded dubious to me - couldn't make out whether this was a guy or a girl!!!! I liked that :) The song also had just enough chord stuff to tickle my fancy - that second chord ("all this distance between us") was sensational because I'd never heard ANYONE do that before !!! It sounded dark, lonely, mysterious, and WONDERFUL. I absolutely LOVED the chords, I LOVED what John McVie was doing on the bass..... Then I discovered Lindsey Buckingham's guitar at the end of the song. And the piano workout. And I was hooked for life.

Lindsey Buckingham's guitar solo still rings true - a soaring rock'n'roll workout. It was the ONLY rock'n'roll I'd heard till then......and along with Christine's piano in the end, the song was etched in my memory for life.

Now, after 20-odd years......I know a lot more. I know that the song is from the Mirage album, which is surely nowhere near Fleetwood Mac's greatest. I heard Rumours in 1991, and "Wish You Were Here" became a distant memory, a lost link with my long-gone adolescence.

I'd have to say, those impressions, those memories, those indelible links - I never really lose them. And now, I wouldn't recommend "Wish You Were Here" to a teenager. But I love the song anyways. I know what life was then.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkAarMnkeYs

There's still no reliable video.....this is one of the Mac's forgotten songs. No matter :)