Idyllic Thoughts

Bliss is sitting on the cold stone bench in park, watching as the world passes you by, imagining lives around you, kids playing, mothers happy with the break, elders lumbering along listlessly as they finally feel aimless, men and women gossiping, relaxing for a moment in a world not their own... I feel disconnected, as if I am an entity not related to this world, watching people in their various moods. Yet, I feel contented. Everyone tries to live to the best of their ability, keeping themselves healthy, happy, purposeful. They like to believe their work is worth something, their lives and their struggles mean something. Is it really?

Sometimes I think to myself, what else is left to write? All lines have been written, all paths walked upon, all emotions felt, all truths discovered. What can you think that hasn't yet been thought of? And then people surprise me. They show me that there are still unexplored paths, unwritten emotions, hidden truths.  

Appa was always in a hurry. He lived his life in 2x mode. I felt he was like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, scurrying here and there forever. He never stayed anywhere for long. Always on the move, and we moved with him. He was the first one to arrive at any wedding, even before the bride's family, waking up the wedding hall staff. He was the first one to leave.  He left this world too in a hurry. Never imagined, I guess just like any other child, that my parent too will leave us so soon. Guess a parent's death is always too soon for a child, it doesn't matter what their age is. For us, they are supposed to be there forever.  Yesterday was his first death anniversary and I still feel he will come back someday, call me out of the blue. This grief is eternal.  

All my childhood, I loved being alone. My solitude made me think, about anything and everything under the sun. It made me happy and contented. I was never bored being by myself.  Now, that same solitude makes me restless and sad. It brings back all the memories of my dad and in each such memory, I find something to be guilty about.  I can no longer sit for hours thinking about nothing, and enjoy it. I need to be surrounded by people, so that I can push away the memories and the pain they bring with them.  I can no longer write because I can no longer think. 

 When my dad died four months ago, I cried continuously for four days. I cried not just because of my love for him and the realisation that I could no longer see him, but also because I couldn't get rid of my guilt in not being there for him. My guilt trip was stronger than any other emotion then. Then my aunt, who watched me silently for four days, told me to control myself. She said my dad will not be happy if I send him off crying. She said even now, years after her husband's death, she still felt guilty about all the arguments they had; that it was guilt which makes our emotions go out of control. It was only then that I could clearly see how self-absorbed I had become, that I did not acknowledge my mother's and sister's grief. It was only then I could find the strength to take responsibility for things to be done. They both looked upto me and I was on my way to fail them by being miserable when I had to be strong. I still feel guilty, but I know now that I cannot l

ಬದುಕುಗಳು, ನೆನಪುಗಳು, ಒಳ್ಳೆತನ, ಕೆಟ್ಟತನ, ಆಸೆ, ತ್ಯಾಗ, ನೋವು, ಹಠ, ಅಹಂ, ಭಕ್ತಿ, ಧೈರ್ಯ ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಕಾಲದ ಬಿರುಗಾಳಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹಾರಿ ಹೋಗುತ್ತವೆ ಅಲ್ವಾ? ನಮ್ಮ ನಂತರದ ಎರಡು ಪೀಳಿಗೆಗಳು ನಮ್ಮ ನೆನಪಿಟ್ಟುಕೊಳ್ಳೋದೇ ದೊಡ್ಡದು. ಹೆಸರು ಉಳಿಯೋದು ಕೂಡ ಇತಿಹಾಸ ಬರೆಯುವವರ ಪೆನ್ನಿನ ನಿಬ್ಬಿನ ದಿಕ್ಕಿನಿಂದ ನಿರ್ಧಾರ ಆಗುತ್ತೆ. ಹಾಗಾದ್ರೆ ಈ ಬದುಕಿಗೆ ಅರ್ಥ ಏನು?