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I lay back lazily on bed with my dog-earred, yellowing copy of Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’ held firmly in my sweating palms. I’m reading absent-mindedly with my thoughts wondering to my dear husband who is hundreds of miles away on a long business at Ivory Coast. My eyes skim along the lines till they seem to focus on a particular line; it reads: “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars''. I…