Let's delay the hurtful words of complicated overcast.

It rained earlier in the morning. My window panes can't seem to hide the telltale signs. It's a wonderful feeling, waking up to a distorted view of trees against the gray sky. I am trying and failing to remember something as beautiful as watching stale droplets slide lazily down a glass pane. There is fog looming over the horizon and the thought of it is sending shivers through me.

I went to bed with The White Tiger and I must say I was mildly surprised. This is not like any of the other Booker Prize winners I have read. Aravind Adiga has a way of surprising me with his humor. I don't think he was trying too hard to be funny there. The character of Balram is strangely interesting. Just enough to get you to lean in and ask him a question. But regret it the moment you have his attention. If I was in the same room as him, I would keep glancing nervously at the door, hoping for someone to intervene. And quickly.

Murder a man, and you feel responsible for his life - possessive even. You know more about him than his father or mother; they knew his fetus, but you know his corpse. It's the casual tone in which he reveals everything that scares me. He justifies and I let him. There is no resistance. No doubt. Whatever he says, is the truth. The right thing. Something that we should have thought of ourselves. And he knows that too. I have always had a weakness for psychopaths anyway.

He is a murderer who loves Urdu poetry. There is a quote by Iqbal that I really liked. They remain slaves because they can't see what is beautiful in this world. But what of those who are slaves to beauty? What about their freedom?

A friend from Germany will be visiting me today. Gianna. She is coming over from London. And her visit is going to bring with it an avalanche of Bremen memories. I miss the Bremen Starbucks from time to time. I miss sitting there with a steaming cup of Earl Gray and a strawberry cheesecake. I miss that little corner space that I used to occupy. That's where I started writing again.

I missed the bus and got splashed by a speeding car. I couldn't find a cab so I ran all the way to work. I was late and while I tried to meet deadlines I was slighted and provoked. And on my way back it started to rain. And when I got home I was soaked to my bones and freezing. But then you wrap a towel around me and hold me tight and so everything feels alright. And even if my life crumbles to the ground and everything I know to be mine is lost to the heavens it won't matter much because you are here. And we are together. But dreams have a way of shattering against the sharp sun rays. And I will try not to shed a tear. Or two.

I am thinking of Jamun today. Balram reminds me a little of him. It was good to have him around. A forty year old man disgruntled with life, on a self appointed mission to find his 'missing' father who died in front of his eyes. It's all good in a book I suppose. So safe. So disgustingly voyeuristic. I am not sure if I would want to meet someone like him. And so I won't make a hasty wish. I tend to regret those the next day. Groggy life, seldom loved. I think it is his sense of humor I miss the most. It's been a while since someone made me laugh. Way To Go by Upamanyu Chatterjee. Strange book that one.

I had my first class yesterday. The Business of Publishing. I didn't like how the subject stripped the illusion I had of the 'magic' of creating a book. And I also didn't like how my favorite publishing houses were reduced to embarrassing numbers. Welcome to the real world, eh? It's not an easy business, this publishing. Too vague for my liking. But I can't imagine myself anywhere else. Every hit seems to be a mistake here, as Mal Peachey so delightfully informed us.

It would have been five years today. Five. So much could have been sealed within these five years. But we got it wrong, we lost sight. I am sorry I wasn't in love. I wish I was. And it was by accident that I remembered. Blue October. My words, they won't come out right. But I will try to say I am happy for you. And I can't change this and I can never take it back. Mostly because I don't want to.