In the satchel, she slides a few white sheets of paper, a box of tall neatly sharpened pencils, the satchel buckled, hung on the shoulder and walking on… the anthropologist… the philosopher… the poets of reverie. Not anymore about empirical descriptions and precise documentations, but it’s about our Wanderings… our ceaseless wanderings under the bluest of Manipal skies. Tripping in the “slopes of reverie” and meanderings, descend into ourselves –
“…the world of totters
When from my past I get
What I need to live in the depths of myself”
Poof! And let us slip out of the walled labyrinths, slip out as barefoot philosophers, with our satchel, with dazed reveries walk into the diurnal splendours of this little south-western coastal town… by the day, clenching buns from Anna’s Place and chai from Annapoorna, by the night a ‘choti goldflake’ and ‘ek quarter old monk’… talk.