A seven-year old boy

A seven-year old boy walks away from the flames which consumed his orphanage. He is recovering from shock. He moves as if in a dream. Hours later he comes to a small suburb of Moscow.

In the following months he had nightmares in which his burning rage inexpressible in words had caused the fire. He had been accused of arson, arrested sent to Siberia where his fiery personality melted permafrost. He was forced to use his power for the local mining industry. He becomes president of Gazprom.

It was in fact arson- only not caused by the boy. The owner wanting to collect insurance had it burned to the ground. He didn’t want to hurt anyone so he planned it for when the kids were going on a trip. Of course he did his planning like he did everything else: sloppily.

The few kids who did not go on the trip were being supervised by the nurse. Overworked, understaffed, desperately trying to do her job despite the lousy working conditions and ridiculously long hours, her solace was a single shot of the national medication: vodka. Her prescription called for one before bedtime. Also one with meals. Supplements were required for stress and anger management.

She miscounted the children. Lucky for Vlad. He was always wandering away. Today he just got lucky. He was wandering just before the fire started. The others perished.

The old man is leaving his farm to get seed. His sons have long since left. His is the only privately-owned farm remaining in the vicinity. It will be gone when he dies. He is productive but bitter. After his sons left, his wife of 40 years divorced him. She a doctor what did she need with his paltry, pathetic self-sufficiency farm and the few rubles he saved from selling surplus. Didn’t he know the world had moved on. That jackass of a husband of hers was living two hundred years in the past.

The youngest son, like his mother was an ophthalmologist. The oldest was a podiatrist. The middle son was a drinker. Not quite a drunkard, though his card games were fueled with generous helpings of vodka and a few pickled onions. Each son had two children. These grandchildren visited the grandmother and both the other sets of grandparents. The farmer was just too bitter. Uri felt he had no life. No life except for the farm. The tiny, insignificant farm. Up before dawn every day, there were always a million things to do. Why couldn’t his family understand? His compulsivity put food on the table while his wife went to medical school. While his sons went to medical school. Katrina complained not only was he hopelessly out of date, but they he had no feeling. No true feeling. What the hell did that mean? He felt!

Anger, most of the time. Pressured was another thing he felt. Once in a blue moon he felt lust. Okay so most of his emotions were negative.  It kept him going. He was 61. Strong like ox. No friends. Eh. What did he need people. Someone to bury him when he died. Puh! As if he should care at that point let the dogs have him for dinner. He believed in recycling. Ha.

Moscow’s Kremlin built in 1137 by Prince Yuri- long rrr fortress Center of origin like all Russian cities’ Kremlins are where men met to defend against enemies

India -

Dharamshala in the northern state of

l'Himachal Pradesh.

Little Lhassa a welcoming place for the Dalaï-lama

Aliya

Learning mountain culture

Linguistically, horticulturally

Helping to feed the world in sustainable ways make forays into mkuntdu

Ahmedabad in northwest India is the most outstanding city in Gujarat

Six million people live there among historic

architecture

Bangalore, capital Carnatic is quite dramatic

With its parks and nightlife

And legislative seat: Vidhana Soudha,

Was it known to Buddha?

It may be down latitudinally but it’s far up there technologically

wedding!