"But he had already jerked straight round, stared, glared again, and seen but the quiet day. With the stroke of the loss I was so proud of he uttered the cry of a creature hurled over an abyss, and the grasp with which I recovered him might have been that of catching him in his fall. I caught him, yes, I held him-- it may be imagined with what a passion; but at the end of a minute I began to feel what it truly was that I held. We were alone with the quiet day, and his little heart, dispossessed, had stopped."

This Day's Blurb.

Ennui, and other de(s)serts

This is a public service announcement. Nothing found, for Things To Do in India. 

To live, is to vegetate. Q.E.D. Carry on. 

Irony will be the death of our kind. Done in by our own ergonomic keyboards, our ergonomic chairs, and these unforgivably ergonomic lives.