Day 462 Crispy Canary Wharf & A Taste of Dried-Fried Mango

I carried around my laptop at Canary Wharf all day, but haven’t managed to post the blog I wrote yesterday. Starting up in Greenwich I was given a private concert by a great friend and at the same time a great composer after a session of styling and engaging in encouraging dialogs about our believes and faith in the believes we have. Friendships as such flourish when watered by respect but wither when bittered by jealousy. I know I am safe in this friendship and will never be attacked by a sudden outrage. There is a lot to learn from the true wisdom of those who are called to be compassionate.

I had a really good time in Canary Wharf. I love its classic buzz with a numeric upbeat through wireless deals from millionaire bailouts to contactless sandwiches. It is a place of getting lost in the private pool of financial mystery and being touched by the hand of the great illusion of success. And those shops in the malls luring the suits with the promise of aiming to satisfy some of the needs of the retrieving desk-bound efforts, energy bombs in the shape of sparkling diamonds, the feel of fine fabrics, touch-screen romances tacked away in a compact floating island on the sea of cafes. 

The contrast of that further out in town the honour of being invited to a Bengali home and served with a delicious meal of samosas and curries. The laugh around the table as we tried to eat with our hands and the turmeric colouring our hands. Tasting small pieces of dried fried mango with salt and the delicious Jabeli, my favourite Asian sweet. Friendships between people of different faith flourish when watered by respect. And respect has always been going a long way since the beginning.