Awaiting the boarding announcement for MI467 to Singapore, I sat in the almost-empty slowing-getting-crowded gate#3 of the minimalist Nedumbassery International terminal reading ‘South of the border, West of the sun’. The first half of the title alludes to a Nat King Cole song. No surprises here since Murakami owned a jazz bar ‘Peter cat’ between 1974 and 1982 and music has been a common factor across his novels. The second half of the title describes ‘piblokto’ or Artic hysteria. The main protagonist, Hajime, succumbs to this hysteria and I drew parallels. His life remains mundane till the reappearance of his childhood friend, Shimamoto, an only child just like him, and me. I closed my eyes and contemplated and that’s when I heard a strain of Hari Kambhoji waft its way toward me. It completely took away the ground from beneath my feet. I was rendered lifeless. Just when I was getting into LA mode I was sucked back into the cushy comfort of home. ‘Uyire’ was playing in the eerie silence of the terminal at 11 in the night. I remembered a conversation I had with a friend some days before the departure day, my lamentations on Bekal fort, my yearning to go to Kasargode since 1996, all the recent conversations rolled by. I had met my nemesis in ‘Uyire’. The choice was simple, I could chose not to board the plane leaving behind everything I loved by boarding. Like Hajime, my mind turmoiled at the burden of the impending decision. I was deeply disturbed. The hour that passed after listening to ‘Uyire’ and boarding the plane was one of the toughest hours in my life.I am writing this while catsitting for my professor in La Brea. Leo is running about the apartment (another weird Murakami connection)! I traverse from this world to the other, with skype conversations, chats and mails. Sometimes, there are good things in life and other times, there are just hopes of what-could-have-been. Life is eternally filled with choices and you have the choice of rewriting everything that is written.