Unconditional Love: part 2

When my parents visited me in London in 2012, it was their very first trip abroad. They stayed with me; I gave them my bed while I slept on the floor on an inflatable mattress.

At the time, I was renting a house with three other friends. None of us liked the house, so our plan was to find a new place and move as soon as our 6-month lease was over.

The house had four bedrooms, and we split the rent unequally based on size and other factors. I paid the least because I picked the smallest bedroom (featured before on this blog). It also had a lumpy mattress and no attached bathroom. It had nice light though, which counts for a lot.

I was working at a law firm, and could easily have afforded one of the "better" rooms. But I reasoned that since I didn't like the house anyway and planned to move as soon as possible, I may as well save some money.

I was recently going through my stuff and found a letter from my mum, which she left on the last day of their stay.

It says:

Bugai, [my nickname]

We tidied your room as far as possible. We cleaned the microwave oven too. Your phone SIM is under the white cup on your table.

When you shift, please don't choose the most inconvenient room. We want you to have a good life for yourself. It was no problem at all for us, but at the end of a long day, you should sleep in a nice room, on a nice bed. Next time we'll come for a longer holiday.

—Mum

Blog notes:

• Here, in case you missed it, is Unconditional Love: part 1.)
• In 2023 I wrote more posts than any year since 2015. I think 24 posts a year (two per month) is a good number to aim for. Let's see if I can keep it up.

The Mirik Cormorant

When we were in Darjeeling, my friend and I went on a day trip to the nearby hill-town of Mirik to visit another friend, Gaurav. As we walked around Mirik lake, Gaurav pointed out a solitary cormorant.

These birds typically spend the summer months in Mirik, migrating to the plains in winter. Four summers ago, it seems that this particular bird got injured. Gaurav said he can still fly, but not for long distances. Unable to join his fellows in the winter migration, he stayed on at the lake.

Local people tried to catch him, hoping to nurse him back to health. But each time someone got close, he would dive into the lake and evade capture. After a while, they gave up trying.

The cormorant has now spent four years in Mirik, catching fish (of which there are plenty) and apparently not too bothered by the winter temperatures. Once a year, his friends fly back to the lake and he hangs out with them. Then they fly off again, and the Mirik cormorant is on his own.

Perhaps he likes it this way.

Three Species of Annoying Song

There are songs which I almost love, which makes them more frustrating than songs which I don't like at all. I have identified three such categories.

1. Songs which have a small part which I really like, but I don't like the rest of the song.

Example: Dissect the Bird by John Craigie. I love the chorus – "Oh, you're doing it wrong / Dissecting the bird, trying to find the song" – but that's about it.

2. Songs which would be perfect at 3-5 minutes, but stretch out for longer and overstay their welcome.

Example: Taylor Swift's All Too Well (10-minute version). She has recorded shorter versions of the song too, but they don't have my favourite verse ("And you were tossing me the car keys / Fuck the patriarchy key chain on the ground / We were always skipping town / And I was thinking on the drive down, any time now / He's gonna say it's love").

3. Songs where I like the writing and composition, but not so much the rendition.

Example: If We Were Vampires by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit. Luckily my friend recorded a really nice version accompanying herself on piano, so I can listen to that instead of the original.

A bonus fourth species – though this is more of an annoying artist (as opposed to annoying song) situation. My friend Rajasi, who is an excellent amateur singer, recorded a version of Aashiyan. Approximately once a quarter, I try to coax, cajole or emotionally blackmail her into recording more songs, but no luck so far. "It's a lot of work" is her usual excuse, or sometimes she just deflects me with "haha".

Caterpillar Rescue on the DHR

Fourteen years ago, I travelled by train from Siliguri (120 metres above sea level) to Darjeeling (2,045 m) – a seven-hour journey on the magnificent Darjeeling Himalayan Railway.

Last week, I took the DHR from Darjeeling down to Siliguri. (A separate trip. Don't worry, I haven't been stuck in Darjeeling all this while.)

The train, as you can see from this photo, passes alarmingly close to houses and shops.

Much of the route is forested, and the train also passes alarmingly close to trees, frequently brushing against leaves and branches.

One such branch had five caterpillars who were scooped onto the windowpane. We were worried that they would fall onto the road and get crushed by vehicles, so when the train stopped midway as it sometimes does, we decided to try and rescue them.

My friend picked them up with a boarding pass. I got off the train and ferried the caterpillars, one by one, to the trees on the other side of the road that runs alongside the tracks.

Another rescue-related anecdote, while we're at it. One of our university colleagues in Singapore is part of a food rescue initiative. Except sometimes, the food rescue team can't distribute all the food in time, so they request me and my friend T to help finish or distribute the food before it spoils.

T and I call ourselves: Team Food Rescue Rescue 😎