"Let the little pleasures continue, they have always been the only ones."

Afternoon sunlight on the mosaic, night-rain that is heard but not felt, grey mornings that later turn gold, sauntering crabs, catamarans in the horizon, reading on an armchair under cloud laden skies, first drops of rain on the face, mann-vasanai, jogs on foggy mornings while the world sleeps, sudden breeze that makes me close my eyes, unfettered short hair.

Careless Medusan curls carefully fashioned by nature, twinkling eyes, tinkling laughter, singing children, innocence of dimpled cheeks, pouting lips, the sound of fondness, private endearments, indulgent smile.

The soft glow of the monitor, the sound of typing, private circle of reading light, the moment before sleep, the first luxuriant yawn and lazy tears of the morning, swollen eyes after 12 hours of sleep.

French toast, coffee and The Hindu in the morning, bitter chocolate, ripe guava, seedless grapes, maavadu before being pickled, sitting on the kitchen Medai, munching Roti flour, watching Amma create perfect circles, sound of sauteing, whistle of the pressure cooker, aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, succulent cooked cauliflower, hot rotis, mango milk-shakes on hot desert afternoons, sour buttermilk that brings a grimace to the face at the first sip.

Neat haircuts, turtleneck sweaters, naughty one-liners on BITS T-Shirts, cotton pants with huge pockets, divided skirts, pearl earrings, Chinese collar, slip-on sneakers, backpacks.

Bicycles, side-lower berth in trains, a seat in a crowded bus, perfect meter-reading in a Madras auto, the jerk of the train that pulls away from the station after an half hour stop.

Chasing crows, sound of sozhi, remote controlled trucks, smothered mate & king-queen forks, silence of the school chapel, prolonged assembly prayers that eat into the first class of the day, parallel bars, sliding board, bouncing basket-balls, shuttle-cock that gets caught in branches of the neem tree, white curtains, wooden staircases, smell of polish, "Silent Night" during Christmas, Diwali crackers.

Geometry, algebra, physics, an elegant piece of code, Star-Movies, HBO, Discovery, National Geographic, Sound Of Music with Su, movies on big screen, comments from the back row of the Audi, crosswords in Sky Lawns over Pappu's Gas coffee.

Second hand books, smell of yellowing pages, losing myself in a maze of endless racks of books, my name on a book, feeling of contentment after the last page has been turned.

The climax of Grapes of Wrath, Maugham's cynicism, Larry's search for God, meaning of life according to Philip Carey, Yorkshire moors of Wuthering Heights, Japan of Ishiguro, Jem, Scout, Dill, Atticus, Nabakov's play with words, R K Narayan's Mylapore, the maths of Swami, Plum, Bertie, Jeeves and folks at Blandings, Howard Roark and Dominique Francon, "Rapid Precision" of Rand's writing, Jiddu Krishnamurthy's active inactivity.

Pencils, Lines, Brush strokes that merely suggest, Thatha's handwriting, Sayee Periappa's letters, Taste of camphor-laced water of Perumal temples, MSS' Suprabatham, John Mayer, AR Rahman, Vairamuthu, playing guitar with the violin, writing that makes me want to write, photographs that freeze eternity in a frame, swinging legs over the parapet and explaining Gravity to a 10 year old, cynicism of a 16 year old, verbal meditation, a mind full of possibilities, moonlight, stars and...

Life, Universe and Everything.

[Quotable Quote of the Title by Mahesh]