Idyllic Thoughts

At last! 2009 is going to end. I was just waiting for this day. Whether we believe in it or not, sometimes customs and superstitions both make us vulnerable to emotions we otherwise shy away from. I don't think there are many people in this world, despite their religion or personal beliefs, who do not believe that the new year ushers in better things in our lives. Our hopes renew themselves on January 1. Everyone will secretly hope for the lost things to come back, for fresh beginnings and for stale things to end. I am hoping that this year brings back my loved ones whom I have not yet given up for lost. Let me keep my fingers crossed with a bright smile on my face.

Guess I am out of touch with everything right now, so no blog entry for many days. From many days, a question is bothering me. I haven't found a satisfactory answer yet. So I'll write it down here. Maybe anybody who reads this may know the answer. "Just because we are journalists, writers, opinion creators and thinkers, do we have the right to judge others? Either personally or professionally?" I think we don't have the right to judge a person, even if we are right. But as writers, we would have to judge others whether we like it or not. And it's very difficult forcing people to think, but that's what we are doing or pretending to be doing right? Another question: "How come life is so simple if you just let it live by itself without bothering much and so complicated if you try to manipulate it or even understand it?" Blessed are the ignorant. We who can understand everything, try not to let anything go by without understanding and thus miss the b

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Shakespeare in Macbeth. More than in English, I liked its Kannada translation I saw in a poster of Rangayana theatre repertoire in Mysore --- " ಬದುಕು ಕೇವಲ ನಡೆವ ನೆಳಲು ರಂಗದ ಮೇಲೆ ..." I will be back on the topic later.

Many people have called me beautiful, some very beautiful, attractive and so on... But I have a confession. I have never found myself beautiful except on very rare occasions when the light falling on the mirror reflected on me making my face glow. May be I have not yet found the proper definition of beauty yet. Should it be inner or superficial? Should it be natural or artificial? Whenever you ask anyone who is the most beautiful, the faces or names that come to your mind are those of celebrities with their engineered beauty. Obviously we don't remember the good-at-heart persons even though we preach about inner beauty. Is it just a topic for seminars which makes for a beautiful, catchy sentence to impress the listeners? And I have another question. What is the need and use of this beauty? To please the roving eyes of others? To get appreciative glances and feel as proud as a peacock? I don't know. I haven't found an answer yet.

Today I went to Kukkarahalli lake alone. I was very much disturbed and wanted to avoid familiar people. I sat on a stone bench facing the lake. The view was breathtaking with birds flying home in 'V' shapes. There were many trees full of migratory birds which was itself a treat to the eyes. I forgot all my sorrows and loneliness in the cool wind and sweet nature. There were many evening walkers on the lake bund . Why are they all in such a hurry? Why walk so briskly? To decrease your body's fat content? Or just because your doctor tells you so? I don't know. Maybe both. But I did not see anyone turning their heads to enjoy the scenic beauty of the dark clouds, flying visitors or the dark green trees dotted with red and yellow flowers. Out of the hundreds of people who walked in front of me, only two girls enjoyed it all, including the rapidly vanishing sun and its faint light on a part of the lake water. Maybe others were afraid they would waver from their path if they

Yesterday my mother told me of an incident, a small one, yet it disturbed me the whole day. Mom was standing at a flour shop waiting for her order. A poor woman came and asked the price of Wheat flour and Ragi flour very meekly with her body bent out of embarassment. The shopkeeper said Rs. 24 per kg for both. She bought half kg of flour each and searched for the money. She had some two rupees short, yet counted all the loose change and gave it to the shopkeeper. Then she asked for c hatnipudi . He said it cost around Rs. 18. She went away crestfallen as she did not have the money. It is unfortunate that it did not occur to mom until she went away that she could have bought it for her. By the time she did, the woman was gone. At the other end of the spectrum are the rich of our land who buy helicopters every year and cars every month and quarrel with the government for petty 'special' privileges. And they are readily obliged. Such is life. Who are going to help those people wh

I read an interesting argument that art should serve the society by expressing that society's aspirations and reflecting its achievements. If not, they must be disqualified from the realm of art. And I tend to disagree. If art becomes a mouthpiece for the goings on in the society, it would be similar to writing which has to straighten the crooked lines of the society through its opinions. Of course art should do that, in any form, but it should not be limited to that alone. Art is unique and unparallelled just because it has no fence, no rules and it need not even depict anything in particular. But it should be meaningful, its intend to be understood by persons as per their perspectives. And should be something beyond judgement, only a thing to be enjoyed, comprehended and followed in its full. It should be a path unto itself, not a vehicle treading down the path created by others, crooked or straight.

I am reading V.S. Naipaul's "The Mimic Men " after trying so many times and not going beyond a few pages. Not because the book is difficult to understand, but because I need a particular mood to read any book; it is sometimes like climbing uphill, so strenuous and energy consuming. When I have the right mood, the book becomes so easily readable. Anyway, just wanted to share a sentence from the book. 'Once a man is stripped of his dignities he is required, not to die or to run away, but to find his level.' But we always try to run away, either from life or from its problems. And finding one's level, after losing one's dignity, may not be such an appealing idea to think about, but it is the only practical solution I have ever heard till now. Do you agree?

What is life? I was thinking about it on my way home. Then it flashed. Walking on a lonely road, with your head raised, looking at the sky and getting lost in the sky is life. Taking a deep breath of cool air is life. Drinking a glass full of water when you are too thirsty is life. Eating delicious food when you are dead hungry is life. Nothing else matters. May be emotions are not life. They just mar the beauty of all these things that are life. They take us away from life. Takes away our capacity to enjoy life. Don't you agree?

Perhaps the real and the hyper-real are inextricable components of the same merry-go-round. As a modern scientist put it: "Reality is what we take to be true. What we take to be true is what we believe. What we believe is based upon our percepts. What we perceive depends on what we look for. What we look for depends on what we perceive. What we perceive determines what we believe. What we believe determines what we take to be true. What we take to be true is our reality." --Jug Suraiya in the Times of India. No comments from my side. But is it?

"You can get caught in the day-to-day grind. It's like never lifting your head up to look ahead a year, a month, or even a week. It takes all your energy to get through each day. You become short-sighted." I read this paragraph in a book today. I had not thought of it like this in a long time; of losing ourselves in trying to make a living; in trying to make us a future, we lose our future. Just sit for a while and think of your dreams in your childhood about your life ahead. And what you have become now. I suppose not many people would say "Yes, I am doing what I wanted to do in my childhood." And even those who did realise their dreams, may be a disappointed lot as their dreams do not match the reality, of the grinding daily struggle. I, for one, dreamt of becoming a sleuth (inspired by Nancy Drew & Hardy Boys novels), joining military, becoming a great scientist and getting Nobel Prize for my groundbreaking invention which would help the world (I had even

When in Jog, I heard two ghost stories as can be heard in most Ghat regions. A place called Mavinagundi at the start of the Ghat. And a spot of many accidents and deaths. And, of course, said to be the haunt of many ghosts. A car driver who feared travelling the route at nights, had to go on that road one day at night. After some time, he saw a woman waving for lift. He stopped, fearing. She climbed behind him. After some time, he turned back only to see a headless body sitting behind him. In his fear, he drove very fast without looking back, reached home, stopped the car and ran inside only coming out the next day with fever.The car driver's friend, who also came on that route alone one night, started hearing conversations from the back seat of his car. Some times the talk was muffled, some times louder. He too drove his car in a frenzy without once looking back and reached home only to wake up the next morning with fever. The locals don't travel that route alone at night,

Last week I had been to a wilderness famous for its beauty, Jog. It is an entirely different world, with its silence as if trying to hush us up with a secret, distinct in its never-ending, closed forests, which makes us, city denizens, fearful of what may lay beyond. The forests close in on you, yet make you feel free of everything you possess in this world, feel like not caring to lose for whatever you held dear earlier and live there forever. They beckoned me and I wanted to stay there, in a hut with no mobiles, no messages, no TV, not even a radio and no contact with the outside world. How beautiful it is to live calmly. And then it happened... I came back to city, the ever-present jungle of sound and opinions.

People say Michael Jackson was ugly, a child abuser, a pervert... Even though I didn't know much about his life earlier, as was my wont, I gave him the benefit of doubt saying no human being is entirely bad. Those who talk of him, mostly derogatively, know nothing about him other than his choice of dress, his much-hyped face and the controversies on child abuse. Of course, we gullible public believe the media and what it chooses to tell us. And it chose to tell about Michael's devil side (?) hiding his angel face very effectively. How many of us know that he broke sweat to help the underprivileged children around the world? That he supplied food to them, gave them medicines, entertained them, made their lives much easier? How many of us arm-chair debators know he founded Heal the World Foundation? Poured millions of dollars from most of his events and albums to poor children? And almost went bankrupt because of it? How would I, you, feel when we are not believed by the whole wo

Well yes, its us Asians. Gook is a disparaging term for an Asian person (especially for North Vietnamese soldiers in the Vietnam War), though now used for all Asians. I found this in an article by columnist Nikhat Kazmi, "The gooks shall inherit the earth." In the article she gives a few statistics on how the Asians are rapidly turning out to be the determining factors in the world economic, cultural and society scene. Of course, though not so lightly as illustrated by her, India has created 300,000 jobs in the US, according to our Commerce and Industry Minister Anand Sharma. Here is some gobi manchurian for the Americans to munch on before they open their mouth to say Indians lessened their job opportunities.Sharma also said that 'Indian foreign direct investment in the US is more than America's FDI in India.' Isn't it something to dwell on? I guess it's time for the Americans to think on the brighter side of the third world countries and their 'dirty

I am retracting with some satisfaction my statement that our Cabinet is old. To me it doesn't matter which party comes to power, as long as the persons in power do their job. And I presume it is the same with the majority of educated people in the land who care to have an opinion about politics. The young have entered the Colosseum of politics; they may choose to look in the eye of the lions called corruption or hug them as allies.  Most youth leaders like Agatha Sangma (daughter of P.A. Sangma and youngest Minister), Sachin Pilot, Praneet Kaur (wife of former Punjab CM Amarinder Singh) belong to political families. It is to be presumed that they are well-versed in the political game. Our eyes and hope must reside on new entrants like Shashi Tharoor. But once entered, he too may get sucked into the whirlpool of diplomacy. We, the ever-hopefuls, wait for change; it doesn't really matter which party brings it, with good intentions of course.  

I was reading Chetan Bhagat's 'One night @ the call centre' this morning. He has used some interesting words and phrases in his book. His observations are also quite interesting. He wonders why politicians never commit suicide when housewives, businessmen, employees and even film stars commit suicide. He himself answers that people commit suicide when they are hurt. But politicians never get hurt because they have no feelings. And this country is run by people who don't feel anything at all. Interesting. Why should they feel nothing? I presume (!) they are human, because a person who was in the midst of us yesterday entered politics today. It is not that they do not have feelings. It is just that when dealing with lakhs of people, they just turn into figures and statistics, to percentages without a face. How can you feel anything towards a graph or a percentage, a mathematical figure? How can you give birth to a feeling towards a faceless, body less mass? It happe

Yesterday I watched the swearing-in ceremony of the new Cabinet for 15th Lok Sabha. I waited after each Minister swore in that the next one would be a fresh, young face. Well, I was disappointed, so also the other million people who watched it, I presume. One Minister was in a hurry, may be fearing he may miss the chance or the high command may change mind, and even forgot to sign the registry after the oath. Another was in crutches. He needed help, how can he lead a country?; The third was bowing profusely to the decision-makers of the party. She never stood straight till she sat back in her seat. If they do not have the capability to stand up and face the audience at a simple ceremony, how can we expect them to stand up and lead against enemies, internal or otherwise? They are just slaves of a few in power, how can they be the masters? All those who took the oath yesterday were old, with wavering voice, stooped shoulders and tired and cluttered minds. Our country doesn't have th

I read a lot. In fact, my family and some of my teachers used to tell me it was too much. The few times I refrained from reading were while sleeping (of course) and bathing. I read while eating, travelling, walking on the road and even while watching TV. It's a form of obsession, I guess. Even if I don't find time or opportunity to read, there would be a book in my hand. I once finished Jane Eyre in a marriage hall, sitting in front of the ongoing marriage ceremony, oblivious to the din around. Now, the latest book I finished reading (and worthwhile mentioning) is Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. Saying that it is a wonderful book is an understatement. It must be the first time in my reading career that I encountered a book I didn't despise because of rousing emotions in me, making me cry. I liked classics and read them but also secretly dreaded them because I hated my own emotional reaction afterwards. This book was, however, something I couldn't hate and couldn'

One of our former Chief Ministers stayed at a village home as part of his ' Grama Vastavya ' programme. The local leaders had urgently constructed a toilet room at the house before his stay. Now, after he stayed there for a night and left, the residents have removed the toilet and converted it into a pooja room. They say they don't need a toilet inside their house and they are used to using open area. Anyway, they are right in a way. It is part of their lifestyle and having a toilet inside their house is against their beliefs.  Why should we consider what is followed by us (majority) to be true and universally applicable? Why is it considered that we are civilized and those who do not follow our culture is uncivilized and pagans? They may be more civilized than us for all we know. And what is civilization? Is it wearing trendy clothes, high heels, sophisticated talk, leaving the food in the plate even when we are hungry, drinking alcohol just because it is protocol....?

May Day is devoted for the working class around the world. Now, all everyone does on the day is close their business, go home and relax. Some demonstrations, protests and rallies are held symbolically and that is it. I don't see major resloutions adopted or changes brought about in the workers' lives. They are back to drudgery of their work the day after. Major industrial establishments declared holiday yesterday but the one of the real working class- the postmen and women went about their duty cycling in the scorching sun. To them, improvement came after a long time by means of bicycles in place of walking miles. Those postmen and now even women have been taken granted for so many years by us all, even grumbling if they did not arrive on time, not seeing the hot sun, rain and cold they had to endure. A middle aged postman used to come to my house for some time. He used to ask us to call down those who resided in the first floor for signing registered posts. One day, when mom

I am happy because I voted today. Those who have voted must know that it is an exhilarating experience, atleast, for me it is so. I feel some sense of satisfaction that I have done a duty and can rest now and watch others do theirs. Don't politicians feel that they too should do what is necessary for the land they are governing? Do they feel the sense of fulfilling when they do their duty? They should, in fact, feel more worthy because their duty to the land is more important and responsible. I want to speak to the netas and try to know what they feel when they do something good from which lakhs of people benefit. Do their hearts surge with pride? I am (may be you too) waiting to know. Isn't it a great feeling when someone felicitates you and awardes you not because you are a neta, but because you have done something productive?  Shall we vote those who work productively despite their party affiliations?

I was reading about life in prisons and the fear that lurked there, fear of guards, of fellow prisoners and even the fear of life after prison. A thought struck me. If there is no fear, just plain indifference, what would be the result? Not just in prison, but in life also. What would you feel if you don't feel the fear of anything, and especially death. Because, once you lose the fear of dying, you would lose fear towards most other things. Losing fear could only come from indifference, towards people and their actions. What would be the outcome if someone tries to punishes you and you just don't care. I guess that would be the last nail in the coffin of punishment because once they know that it doesn't matter to you whether they hurt you or not, then they would see no point in hurting you.

After what seemed to be months, I got the chance of getting wet in rain yesterday evening. It rained heavily with hail stones right at the time I started from office. It was heavenly. I was waiting every evening with eager looks at the sky and was rewarded yesterday. When everyone ran for shelter, I walked leisurely and got bemused looks from the shivering, sheltered men and women. At home, mom anticipated my soaked condition even before she opened the door. My luck with rain, however, ran out today, for, the sun has refused to make way for the clouds and is shining brightly making me want to push him from his place and bring the rain clouds in. Speaking of rain, I learnt the farmers were happy with the rain whereas the city-dwellers are a grumpy lot. It is funny to see that the very city people who lived in villages earlier and used to be happy when it rained, make a lot of fuss and grumble now when it rains

In bus, two thoughts came to me, both contradictory. One may sound silly. Anyway, I will tell you the silly one first. There are many cows sleeping on the roads where I walk to bus, chewing whatever they get their teeth on. But you should see their faces. They look like wise sages of the epic era, contemplating on the origin (or the end) of universe. I am happy as long as they are lying down. If they get up, I start shaking in my bones because till date, two buffaloes and one cow have chased me in separate incidents till they got tired. I am mortally afraid of cattle. After all, one can't know what makes them tick and when they start thinking, "Oh, here is a girl. Let me just toss her around and see." If only I could understand what they were thinking !  Yesterday I read that Stephen Hawking is ill and has been admitted to hospital. I really revered him. Not because he is a scientist, but because he is a human extraordinaire . I admire his mental strength and determinati

It rained after what seems to be a long time in Mysore. After the sticky heat, the cool morning seems to be a welcome change. I was reading a book as usual in bus to office. When I looked up, Jhansi Laxmibai Road looked beautiful. It was like riding through heaven. Felt sad when the road ended at Railway Station and had to get down at the next stop. And my joy at the fresh weather turned into a big disappointment when some strange stench hit me at K.R. Hospital stop. Until then I din't want to reach office. Then I just wanted to run. See how pollution mars the fresh mood.  Speaking of roads, well... have to go. Tell you about Mysore roads later.