Letters to a Friend – XII


The dense South Downs forest in Hampshire, the county I lived for eight years prior coming to Brazil,

Shielded the air so much so that the amplitude of radio signal was reduced by several folds;

One could spot people with their handheld devices on an signal hunting  expedition,

just as the gold prospectors do so with a rod like device with a magnetic disk at the bottom end of it,

to look for gold on the beaches of British coastlines.



D and F kindly gave me a lift to Guarulhos last Friday night;

We had a nice meal at the arrival lounge at an Arabic restaurant called Adab.

Baba Ganauj, Folha de espinafre, e doce também.


It was sad to leave them behind at 10:25 pm

and only carry a memory trove as treasure;

D had to drive back to Campinas and Monsieur F

would go to Jundiai, to his girlfriend’s place.



And no sooner I got into the plane at the stroke of midnight

Than I fell asleep, listening to the cacophony of voices from the Brazilian air hostesses,

all women they were, serving dinner at 1 am to the ravenously hungry souls travelling to London;


One could see the First Class holders sipping their Champagne or

eating their Haagen Daazes much to the chagrin of the economy class travellers

who were just boarding the flight;

There was this little boy of mixed race, who took a vow not to sleep the whole night

And to dutifully torment his young mother, a blonde she was;

The Argentinians sitting next to me did not speak much and the Portuguese words

that I uttered was not comprehended by them;

Such quick conclusions I arrived about Argentinians;

That they speak Portuguese;

 I uttered myself.



J arrived promptly on time at Terminal three at Heathrow Airport;

An officer asked me of the volume of luggage I was carrying,

And I wanted to say to him that it is no larger than the volume of a coffin;

but I dared not to say it for one never knows how the response of a customs officer would be;


Monsieur and I had a quick drink at Café Girafe; Less crowded it was;

A lukewarm coffee and a flapjack to satiate the hunger;


The sun was sinking low; I realised that London was three hours ahead of

Campinas; The Sun has mellowed, less harsh on its compatriots;

Coldness descended from country hills and lampposts to take mercy on the autumnal leaves.



With the imminent trip to Sweden,

Many a thing need to be purchased;

 Today was the turn for the Down jacket that can be rolled into a small bag;

Soon a manuscript or two will be submitted

and new presentations shall be made for undergraduate students at Chalmers.


Elsewhere, at LEMeB,

The week commenced like normal but with a little change;

Senhor A no longer need to sit at the alcove of the sala;

He shall occupy the place that  Be-at-O occupied,

and then by Victoris Raghavinsky and now our own Mr. moURA, after he

returns from Hollywood.

Mutirao and seminario will happen on the dot,

and our lives shall move on in the direction it

has decided, with its jubilations, triumphs and downs…



Letters such as these have no end;

So much I want to share with you the beauty of the country side or the

politeness of the Swedes or the Britons,

that one gets soaked wet in one’s own emotions.

Each country indeed has its charms…



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