dunjams lingwood...
this is the name as it appeared on my e-ticket to india.
it quite aptly described the way i felt after 36 hours
of up, up and away..
the shower at a-dam airport helped a great deal
but by the time i arrived in bangalore (bengaluru)
with furry teeth, wiggly-piggly legs,
flattened bum and saw-dust eyeballs..
i was dunjams..
no doubt, honey!
reading material on flight:
the curious incident
of the dog
in the night-time
a novel by
mark haddon
movies on board:
no reservations
evening
the simpsons movie
apne (barely bollywood)
i was gifted miles by a generous flight attendant,
was on the plane with a yoga teacher
i knew from seattle,
and did not sleep a wink!
just call me dunjams!
4 comments:
Dear friend Dunja,
My daughter found your blog somewhere--funny how these little miracles occur! I have wondered how/where/who you are many times in past years since the maelstrom of life has blown us apart. I am glad to hear of your latest adventure. Margaret says I'm not the only 57-year-old doing unusual things--I'm in my third (last)year of French studies at Evergreen! Lots of love to you, my friend. Your bff, even though we may have lost touch for many years, you have never been out of my thoughts. Mary Catherine (Hammons) Pace
o my o..imagine my delight and surprize to hear about your francais self!
i am in bangalore studying some yoga postures with shamila, patabhi
jois grand-daughter, at the francais alliance..
oui, oui!
Dear Dunja,
I found your blog a few days before you winged away for India. (Little did I know what you were contemplating after your long march.)
Reading it brought back memories of white lilac, fresh-baked bread, cold mornings, incense, the stretch, bend and twist of the bodymind with the contented feeling of being all-of a-piece afterward, my dear old friend.
When I learned you were back in Anacortes teaching at the studio, I thought of calling, but I'm a still a little bunged up at present with a fractured wrist and a torn meniscus. (In astonishlingly good shape despite how bad that sounds on the face of it.)
I thought of writing to you care of your mother's address, but Thanksgiving intervened and a cold, so here I am today, begging bowl in hand, hoping for a handout of your email address. ^__^
Love and peace.
Judy Martin
Nothing is written unless we write it.
Jexia6@gmail.com
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