The classic unfolds with “Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself”. The fresh and inviting morning air when she bursts open the french windows, does not just stop at reminding Clarissa of a morning when she was with Peter Walsh, but drags you, my dear reader, onto the streets to be part of life springing out all around. Stay there with Clarissa as she smiles at the dancing girls and ponies, shopkeepers in their windows, and when she is being drowned in many a glance of admiration. Enter the park along with her and be a part of deeper silence around…Ah! to stay in the moment, a loose fragment of life  {a few shades of existential philosophy blended with her core thought… tempted to write a bit on Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of being…but,hush..later}   

“Peter could be tolerable, could be impossible; but adorable to walk with on a morning like this. If he were with me now what would he say?”

What’s so unusual about such thoughts and memories rushing over? Nothing, it’s just that they don’t belong to her husband… 

         ….we tend to entertain a gentle, yet frequent probe at our inherent fears and insecurities about having made the right choices in life, perceived then but ascertained as we journey towards something unknown. So, most times we do stare back at the choices we made and continue to wonder whether things would have been different, while not ignoring that  delicate anticipation of them possibly being better…then what happens, when we see  ourselves in a situation where we think that we have missed out on something that was  almost within our grasp, within a kiss ?….so, Is marriage a space where  a man and woman exist together, sleep together, but live in a non-overlapping subset that one chooses not to share, not to reveal…..?

….The tussle between reality and dream draws fine layers of embarrassment on her face, only to fade away among the delphiniums, sweet peas, bunches of lilac, masses of carnations, irises and roses, the delicious scent and the exquisite coolness ; every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds…

…When we rush between that annoying hatred and unquenchable love for someone, which one do we want the moment to win? Does this pattern vary time to time, as led by the situation?

Daily life freezes suddenly and buzzes back again in the Bond street and you desire to linger with Clarissa and the ramblings of her mind. But the new moment with deft a touch introduces you to the queer-looking  couple Septimus (suffering from delusions and hallucinations of his experience in World War I)  & his wife Lucrezia Rezia who struggles to hide her discomfort of having a crazy husband and to Maisie Johnson from Edinburgh who looks lost in the crowds…gently trudging, vaguely gazing, breeze-kissed company-squirrels perching and preening, dogs busy with the railings, sparrow fountains fluttering for crumbs, while the soft warm air washed over them…the received life something whimsical and mollified 

Virginia Woolf’s unconventional approach to introduce characters and intertwine their lives within a moment in the street leaves an average reader like me unsettled for a while. How often we ease the hectic pace of our rigamrolic existence and thoughts and reflect on the real beauty of life ? Is it true that we tend to do this more often than we could when we are in love ? I was made realise that We leave people in the streets. But at times, a few faces haunt us as a sweet memory, dnot they? Would we feel the same if we meet these faces again ? If yes, what’s the first thing we would say to them or we just walk past them ignoring their presence? Do we define the beauty of a memory or it’s the moment that never visits us again?

….Would like to thank Rakesh and *him for playing an influential role to focus my troubled energies and disillusioned system towards the Book Corner….

section purplised : my interpretation. I want this review to be a full-fledged case study*oh,how do I  shoo away the Advertising creature in me? Work In Progress. The italicized content represents the sentences I underlined in my book…I gloat over those dog-eared pages of my books…bad habit? yea so?  Greencoloured pauses are the links. I am still analysing the first chaper. Alok & Rakesh, thank you for writing in…are not we sharing slices of thoughts? Oh, am being sucked into the whole point of terror, WORK!