Transit

The prodigal son returns to central Ohio. Dear readers, Delaware, this time of year, is muggy and enervating. Luckily, however, classes haven’t evolved their usual predatory fangs just yet.

Just a quick update: I left Karachi with monsoon rains ravaging the city, spent a few liberating days in a recovered Islamabad, then five dark hours in load-shedded Lahore. I then took off at four in the morning for JFK, where, when I arrived three hours late and sleepl deprived, I scraped by Homeland Security and customs in a measly six hours. Next, an hour and a half subway ride with three large bags to Manhattan’s Upper East Side. A good night’s sleep later, I was in a Chinatown bus to Boston, from where I trekked up to Cambridge, home to Harvard and, currently, my brother and his wife. They’ve just produced a son, a gem of a boy named Babar after the intellectual Mughal conqueror of a fragmented India, with whom I developed a healthy uncle/nephew rapport. The next night I was back in New York after three hour delayed bus, just in time to catch my onward flight. On an average day in average weather with an average of 10 pounds of overweight baggage, I arrived, a little bewildered, in Columbus.

As you can imagine, dear readers, I’m a little physically and intellectually drained at the moment. However, weekly updates will be up and running very soon and OWU will be viewed through the very lethargic eyes of a senior. Happy reading.