The hardest thing about living outside a bustling town is the lack of noise. On, we have the occasional urban all to arms with ambulances and fire truck but for the night - it lacks noise. This doesn't mean I want Monaco every day but there is something comforting about a car that passes by in the small hours of the day.
Those of you that know and understand insomnia will be convinced that routine helps -turn one's room into a place to read and sleep - soften the lighting and make sure the sheets are clean and ironed. A hot milky drink may help: sadly not if you are over 50 - for women it brings on hot flushes and for men it it gives whole meaning to the phrase keep the knees crossed.
i always slept well in Calcutta - the combination of the air conditioner, the durwan downstairs chatting to his pal to pass the night away. I loved howling at the moon at a quarter to four in the morrning, It was never peaceful even then. As we found our way home we would see the truck arriving with the beggars on board ready for another day. Oftentimes we would see them being loaded back up as the evening mist began to fall and the cinemas and the the New Market shut for night. Most of them lived under one of the pylons under Howrah Bridge.. I imagine their masters did well but what choice to the very young have to be children. Sometimes when I can't sleep I see their faces pressed against the car window. It doesn't help at all.
Writing is the one thing that truly helps so now that I am nice and sleepy - goodnight xxx
ps - It won't stop me dreaming about those kids with their arms bent back so that their soft muscles would deform into a begging injusry, or even the beggars with leprosy - holes where their noses should have been. Or saddest of all the babies doped with opium to stop them crying.
Come to think of it maybe a quiet night counting my blessings is best after all.
i always slept well in Calcutta - the combination of the air conditioner, the durwan downstairs chatting to his pal to pass the night away. I loved howling at the moon at a quarter to four in the morrning, It was never peaceful even then. As we found our way home we would see the truck arriving with the beggars on board ready for another day. Oftentimes we would see them being loaded back up as the evening mist began to fall and the cinemas and the the New Market shut for night. Most of them lived under one of the pylons under Howrah Bridge.. I imagine their masters did well but what choice to the very young have to be children. Sometimes when I can't sleep I see their faces pressed against the car window. It doesn't help at all.
Writing is the one thing that truly helps so now that I am nice and sleepy - goodnight xxx
ps - It won't stop me dreaming about those kids with their arms bent back so that their soft muscles would deform into a begging injusry, or even the beggars with leprosy - holes where their noses should have been. Or saddest of all the babies doped with opium to stop them crying.
Come to think of it maybe a quiet night counting my blessings is best after all.
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