If for some reason we had 2 extra hours in a day..

When Lamartine wrote Le Lac (The Lake), he pleaded with all the forces of nature to suspend time, to let his beloved live a few more hours, to immortalize their ephemeral human love..

Thus driven forth forever to new shores,

Born toward Eternal Night and never away, 

Sailing the Sea of Ages, can we not

Drop anchor for one day?

....

Suspend your trek O Time! Suspend your flight

O favoring hours, please stay!

Let us pause, savoring the quick delights

That fill the dearest day.

All in vain. Vicious time! Time wasn't kind to the greatest Romantic poets that ever lived. Why would I be so fortunate to have two more hours in day? Perhaps time wants me to persevere on the poetic path like Lamartine did even after it was brutal to both of us. 

So I'll take advantage of the fact that I'm studying literature in Paris and go to Café de la Flore like Simone and Sartre did. Over the cigarette-smoking, high-heeled shoe wearing, wine-drinking Parisian chaos, I begin my introspection. How is me studying Literature in France going to help my country? I'm going back to India in one a few years. Will the country care for my literary dreams? Will someone accept my proposition to create an artistic salon like Diderot? How will I convince ferociously driven engineers and doctors to contemplate and exhibit their artitic selves? My thoughts wonder to the spot where I left my heart. Goa. Home. Yes! maybe here I could welcome everyone to my forum of spiritual reflection, artistic, literary, economic and political debate and exposition! 

But wait! Where would I build my Salon? Is there still a clean spot left on my coast? Is there a surface by the sea where I can wriggle my toes in the soft sand, take a nap and be sure not to wake up drugged and raped? Is there still a Goan who hasn't succumbed to his greed and let an international hotel chain raze off his architectural heritage? 

Goa? Paradise lost! 

For now my beautiful plans penned down while drinking Café-Crème far far away from the shores of home will stay safely among the pressed flowers in my journal. Maybe someday I will read through these words and bring my project to fruition? Will I find the courage to confront powerful vices and people who build colossal polluting structures on my coast and convince them to embark with me on an artistic adventure? Maybe. Or maybe this too will fade into oblivion like the dreams of so many artists and writers. 

If I had two hours, I'd finally write an Eulogy to Socrates. I haven't got down to this because I procrastinate "I haven't had the time". Socrates wasn't just an ordinary cat, he was my little mafiosi! He had his ear ripped in two, his fur torn off his neck, his whiskers and bits of his tail missing but he was still handsome. He stayed for 12 long years, and loved us. Wholeheartedly. I know it broke his heart when I left home. He refused to eat, he was lethargic all the time and one day he was just gone. 

Dear God, do you have this vivacious-calm ball of orange fur?

He's name is Socrates, he has soft paws and a gentle purr.

His quiet presence is all the comfort you need on a bad day,

If you feel sad, he'll cheer you up with his amusing cat ways.

He won't ask much of you God, maybe just a bowl of cream in a dish;

Although for lunch, he'll really love it if you gave him fish.

At dusk, he turns in his warm heart and like an assassin he'll crouch into the night,

He and his consorts you will see, their green eyes, smouldering bright.

Then dawns comes and he's back at your doorstep witholding cat secrets,

You must let him in and give him a warm place to lay his head.

He's so adorable as he sleeps, dreamily and calm.

Like me you can't resist, you'll pick him up and let him sleep in your arms. :)

On to a lighter note. I talk a lot of nonsense. What does a girl love to do when she has two extra hours to indulge in nonsense? Why, plan a wedding of course! (Well I'm not sure I'll take the plunge because I'm too skeptic about the whole institution). However I love the idea of planning a nonsensical wedding like this one by Marc Chagall. There would be a nonsense party, with a nonsense groom, nonsense people, nonsense food, nonsense dancing to nonsense music played by nonsense musicians. At the end the nonsense bride and groom would live nonsensically happily ever after :)

“Talking nonsense is the sole privilege mankind possesses over the other organisms. 

It's by talking nonsense that one gets to the truth! I talk nonsense, therefore I'm human” 

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky