Idyllic Thoughts

I missed blogging all these days. My fingers were impatient to write. But I was not sad, just enjoying the first days of married life, adjusting to living with someone, caring for someone and thinking about the needs of someone else other than myself. I am an impatient girl. But marriage is teaching me patience and softness. I did not care for somebody else's opinion as long as what I felt and said was right. But now I am learning how to be careful with spoken words so that they don't hurt somebody. My ego has taken a backseat and my love the driver's. I guess there are always so many things to learn from others in a lifetime. 

Going to get married in three days. Thinking about the emotions and feelings that will be going on in the mind of a bride at the time of marriage, I got to wandering about the mind of Draupadi, who had to marry five men on five days. How would she have adjusted her mind to marrying someone one day and subjecting herself to marriage with another the next day? It's hard enough to accept one person fully, and what turbulence would have gone in her mind thinking about accepting five men? Did she not want to cry out to let her take her own decisions? What would any other woman, a weak-minded one, have done in her situation? I don't believe in the oft-quoted answer that she loved all the five Pandavas. It may have been possible, but not at first. May be after learning to live with them. May be it would be like doing some things out of practice and the fondness that grows of being with each other for a long time. Some one once told me that of all the husbands, Draupadi's true lo

While on the topic of culture in my last post, I remember thinking about the so-called 'civilisation' of the British. Whenever I read some English novels written in the era of the Bronte sisters, I find quite a few references to the 'uncivilised' people of India whom the Missionaries believe their imperative to 'civilise.' Civilise in the sense of worshipping Christ, wearing long robes and full-body clothing as per their custom, speaking English, eating meat, drinking wine... the list goes on. This is like the age-old story where four blind persons touch an elephant and describe it as they feel it. Why should what somebody sees as the truth be the ultimate truth? There may be truth beyond our reckoning. The British did not stop to think about the moral values of the Indian culture, the systems prevalent here and the reasons (practical and religious) behind such customs or even the innate qualities of Indians. They just saw our colour, dress, habits and customs.

Modernity speaks about inclusion and the melting pot. Willy nilly, it celebrates loss of identity. Human beings and communities need identity which demands being exclusive in clothing and language and food and habitation. Are we willing to be ‘modern’ at the cost of ‘culture’ or are we willing to be ‘cultured’ at the cost of ‘modernity’? To say that there can be peaceful coexistence between the two is wishful thinking. -- Devadutt Pattanaik in one of his articles. As Devadutt asks, surely we are willing to be 'modern' at the cost of 'culture,' not only willing, but are already implementing it fully. And as for his next question, I find many people in my immediate surroundings who believe Indian culture is the greatest and should be followed assiduously, wear Indian clothing for functions and visit temples in row, take up fashionable yoga, readings of great Indian philosophers... but regularly follow pizza culture, wear foreign clothing whenever occasion arises, go on

Roads for transport, vehicles to carry us to our destination, spaces to park vehicles, layouts to build houses, parks to walk our pets, hangouts to get together and chat-eat even when we aren't hungry, theatres to loosen up our stressed minds, don't you think our whole life in an urban environment is kind of channelised and engineered to follow a set route? There is a predictability to living in a city, even though the city is well-planned and quite peaceful. There is a feeling that says, here is everything that is needed to make human life comfortable and not-so-challenging to the mind. Most days when I sit in the bus gazing at the long, broad avenues lined with trees I think that human beings are always on toes to do anything for their own comfort; despite the negative impact it has on other living beings. You know, there is quite a comfort in being predictable, in treading on the well-trodden path. But there is no thrill of the unexpected. And I am straying from my origina

Since I came to Mysore, I have been noticing one perversion in some men here -- taking photos of girls on their mobile phones in public places. Some auto drivers in Highway Circle and Hanumanthanagar in Bannimantap, some shopkeepers in Devaraja Market,... the list goes on. I do not know why they do that. And through this post I wish to caution all girls and women in Mysore about this matter. I have often avoided myself being photographed by turning away or standing with my back to them, but sometimes our attention would be somewhere else, and we would be unwitting objects for such perverts. So please take care everybody and be vigilant.

Just think back into the past happenings in your life. As you breeze through the events, you will find that each event will be somehow connected to another random-seeming event that happens sometime later. The previous event would be a precursor and cause to the next event, and the next... If the 'cause event' does not occur or if we change it, the 'result event' which occurred would never happen. A single event may thus change an entire sequence of happenings. A single decision taken by a single human being may thus alter the fate of another event happening anywhere in the universe, acting as a trigger. I thought of all this when I watched 'Final Destination' movie and realised that most things that happen to us now are the results of an event that would have happened in the past, a day before, a month or years ago. I don't know why but I feel it's like a card touched makes all other cards to fall.

My friend told me a story today while we were travelling in bus. It made me think of human emotions and the ways they are manifested in relationships. On Monday, my friend got into her bus as usual and sat on a vacant seat near an old man. He was bent with age, possibly carrying the life's burden. After a while, he started talking to her, asking about the time and her destination. When the city bus stand came near, he said he had to go to Sayyaji Rao Road to buy dosa, come back near Town Hall to buy churumuri and go somewhere else for some other eatable. She just nodded thinking why he was telling her all this. He then said it was all for his son. My friend asked him what work does his son do, to which he replied 'nothing.' He is well-educated, with good computer knowledge and intelligence enough to work. But he never steps out of his house and this aged dad works for a living, not only looking after his grown son but also cooking for him and lovingly serving him by trudgi

I feel marriage is the ultimate acceptance of a person, with all his/her emotions, dilemmas, habits, beliefs and other such idiosyncrasies apart from their physical attributes. How can you accept a person so completely without the feeling called love? What will become if there is no such acceptance within a marriage? How can people live with each other just as a formality or out of long practice? Isn't this when tempers flare, patience and tolerance lessen? I was thinking of all this on my way home in the bus some days ago when I happened to glance out of the window. I saw a sight that always makes me smile: An aged man in his 80s was helping his aged wife to climb down the stairs of a building, holding her hand and her bag in other hand. It is a sight which always makes me think -- about what a strange feeling love is which never diminishes with age, outer influences and time; about how even if forgotten for years, it can be rekindled with a single glance and touch. I am glad t

Galileo Galilei once said: "All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." The statement itself seems contradictory to me on one side and also reasonable on the other. Apart from the 'understanding' part, my question is, do we really have to know about the truth at all times? And why? Sometimes, it would be better if we are unaware of the truth. And why should it be discovered? Apart from practical purposes, what do we get in terms of psychological benefit? Enlightenment? About what? And how do we know that what we believe to be the truth is the truth? What is the ultimate truth for some may be the ultimate lie for others. And how do we 'discover' a truth? By what means? Through meditation or following a guru in terms of spirituality? Through seeking and questioning in terms of practicality? How?

I am always surprised at the gaping imbalance in the world. A scene from a Hindi serial haunted me for many days where the rich, after a party, throw their food onto the streets where many hungry kids stand waiting to gobble it up. Looking around me, I am drawn into the eyes of the women and children on streets. I start imagining what ordeals they may have undergone till now, in a struggle to live. I wonder where they sleep at nights, worrying if some person molests them and they have no protection. Walking on a road in city after 10.30 pm is terrifying to me, though the area is peaceful. Then how do these beggar women, some in teenage and very beautiful despite their appearance, survive? A reassuring mail I got just now reads, the difference between the rich and the poor is not that they have food, clothing, shelter or any such. It is just that the rich never smile, while the poor do. I have seen such smiles on the faces of young kids who play on roads dressed in tatters, not carin

On my way to my engagement in Udupi on Sunday. Now a thought recurred to me: We as humans have to trust even strangers completely when such occasion arises, as in drivers in rented cars on long trips. We would know nothing about them, but trust them with our life and belongings. Can't write more in dark, so will continue tomorrow. 

Two days ago, I was trying to cross the busy road near bus stand in Mysore. A girl too was there carrying a heavy bag. Then she saw me and came near me so that we could cross together. The same thing always happens to me while crossing the road. There would be somebody else and we would look at each other, then cross together. For a brief moment, we would be stranger-allies against the onslaught of traffic. While travelling to Orissa recently on train, a middle-aged man who couldn't understand our language brought us water in bottle whenever our bottles emptied. He did not know us and yet helped us. Somebody helps us in bus by keeping our heavy bags on their laps, others by leaving the seat to an elderly person or a woman with a child. In all these incidents, there is no need for words, a glance, a gesture is enough. And sometimes, it was just mutual understanding without any kind of gesture. After alighting from the bus, train or crossing the road, we are strangers again.

Bertolt Brecht says, " Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are." This is my most favourite quote on change. I believe change never happens suddenly, it is gradual with many small, seemingly insignificant events leading up to it, causing it just like years of boiling lava finally erupts as a volcano. But sometimes people do change quickly, for better or for worse. And why is that? Their thoughts, beliefs, ideals, outlook towards life and way of living, everything changes. Do outer influences have more power over human mind than his own thinking? 

I wonder how every tiny little piece of puzzle fits right in when the time comes. I used to wonder whom I would marry and who would live with me all my life, tolerating my eccentricities, short temper, impatience... Now the puzzle is solved and I am surprised. Fate has brought me someone who was my first and last crush since childhood  When I was in primary, he was in high school and then college. Very handsome then. I was shy of him but adored him unknowingly. Over the years, we lost touch as roads differed and each went on our own path. But I always used to wonder where he was and what he was doing, may be married with two kids and not even remembering the tiny little me who once tormented him. And then one day, I felt like searching for him in Facebook. Then hesitatingly sent a friend request imagining I would just be his friend and it would be great to renew old acquaintances. And one thing led to another. I still can't believe I have met him again after 16 long years and fate

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both.... Then took the other, as just as fair... Oh, I kept the first for another day! I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. --Robert Frost We had this poem for our degree English syllabus and I don't remember how many times I have read it, enjoyed it and pondered over its kaleidoscopic nuances. When I was young, like all I too used to wonder where the road takes me. I would wonder about the stones, thorns and flowers strewn on my path; the shelters I would get; my fellow travellers and how they would treat me. I used to wonder who would lift me up when I slip, who I would meet round the bend, who would push me further down the crevice. I had no hope that the road would be smooth; but knew I would not be afraid of the weeds along the way. I was not hesitant to meet fellow travellers; in fact there was a mild curiosity as to who would be drawn to me -- to be my friend, soul mate 

On most days I thought nothing ever happens in my life, that it is dull and stagnant. Now, since three months, it seems life is moving too fast. I feel I am on a roller-coaster which is throwing me to its sides; hope I won't fall off. And I am happy after a long time. They say no reason is needed for happiness, but you need a reason. There is a difference between being calm-happy enjoying a good breeze and exhilarating-happy for a reason. And I am experiencing the second one, which I hope lasts longer than a good breeze. It leaves you dazed, smiling at everyone. It makes you uncaring for criticism and tolerate even the meanest person. Wish there were more such days in everybody's life.

When we surrender ourselves fully to something or somebody, be it god, human or a cause, it becomes quite difficult to tear ourselves from it. It is like a baby tearing itself from the womb of its mother, resulting in rupturing and bleeding of the womb wall. But does that surrender also make us blind to the outside world? Does the process of pulling ourselves away give birth to a new vision, life?

A Chinese curse says 'May you find what you are looking for.' In the same way, I heard someone say, 'May you be free,' meant as a curse. Freedom here means the availability of choices. And when there are choices, you are bound though you are free. You are bound or obligated to make a choice and live as per the choice you made, along with its repercussions and consequences. But when you are not free, free enough to make choices, then that is when you are really free, free to follow the single path in front of you. I am being reminded of this whenever I see what is happening in the country of freedom, of democracy. We have too many choices, and not educated about the good and bad choices. And we always end up choosing the rotten ones. Making a blind choice is as dangerous as not having one, and being compelled to walk on the single available rotten path. I just wish, we all gain enough intellect to choose rightly. And only then will 'May you be free' turn into

As far as I can remember, I have been jealous on two occasions in my life. Once, when my sister was born; she was more beautiful than any doll, with the fairest skin and honey-coloured microscopically thin silky hair. Everybody adored her and I, being a five-year-old, went and complained to my uncle that everybody loved her and cuddled her and all had forgotten me. He said a golden sentence, "You too love her like everybody else." That was a lesson I have remembered all my life and when I feel she is getting more attention than me, I too bestow my attention to her and go to cuddle her. From then on, I never felt neglected. Another incident happened one day in high school when I sat watching a girl of my class dance. She was so graceful that it looked like she was born to dance. I felt I could never dance like her. It was a fleeting moment of jealousy seeing everybody admiring her. Then suddenly I remembered my uncle's words. I stopped the onslaught of jealousy and joine

ಜೀವನ ಮುಂದೆ ಹೋಗುತ್ತಾ ಇರುತ್ತೆ, ಯಾರಿಗೂ ಕಾಯದೆ, ಆದರೆ ನಾವ್ಯಾಕೆ ಕೆಲವೊಂದು ಸಲ ನಿಂತಲ್ಲೇ ನಿಂತು ಬಿಡ್ತೀವಿ? ಬರದೆ ಇರುವವರಿಗೊಸ್ಕರ ಕಾಯ್ತಾ, ತಿರುಗಿ ನೋಡದೆ ಮುಂದೆ ನಡೆದವರ ಒಂದು ನೋಟಕ್ಕೆ ಕಾತರಿಸುತ್ತಾ? ಚಿಕ್ಕವಳಿರುವಾಗ ದೊಡ್ಡ ಬಂಡೆಕಲ್ಲೊಂದರ ಮೇಲೆ ಮಲಗಿ ಗಂಟೆಗಟ್ಟಲೆ ಆಕಾಶ ನೋಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆ. ಆಗ ಈ ಪ್ರಪಂಚದಲ್ಲಿ ಯಾರೂ ಇಲ್ಲ, ನಾನೊಬ್ಬಳೆ ಅನ್ನೋ ಭಾವನೆ ಬರ್ತಿತ್ತು. It was a wonderful feeling. ಎಲ್ಲೋ ಕಳೆದುಹೋದ ಹಾಗೆ, ಆ ಅನಂತತೆಯಿಂದ ಕಣ್ಣು ಕೀಳಲು ಮನಸ್ಸೇ ಆಗುತ್ತಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಒಂಟಿತನ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ, ಇಷ್ಟ ಆಗೋ ಏಕಾಂಗಿತನವಿತ್ತು. ಭೂಮಿ ಮೇಲೆ ನಾನೊಬ್ಬಳೇ ಆದರೆ ಏನು ಮಾಡಲಿ ಅನ್ನೋ ಹೆದರಿಕೆನೂ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಅಂಥ ಏಕಾಂಗಿತನ ಈಗ ಹೀಗೆ ಒಬ್ಬರೇ ಹಾದಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಂತು ಎರಡೂ ಕಡೆ ನೋಡುವಾಗಲೂ ಇದ್ರೆ ಎಷ್ಟು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿರುತ್ತಲ್ವ? ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಒಂಥರಾ ಶಾಂತಿ, calmness, ಇರುತ್ತೆ. ಗಡಿಬಿಡಿಯಿಲ್ಲದ, ಧಾವಂತವಿಲ್ಲದ ಶಾಂತಿ. It's beautiful.

I don't remember if I have written a post about this. I am always surprised by people who love to sit in air-conditioned rooms with locally circulating stale air but close the windows when fresh, natural air gushes in happily. Why do they go and play in artificial water parks which re-circulate water and in which hundreds of other people bathe (in addition to releasing their own bodily fluids) when they curse pure rain water pouring from heavens and run towards shelter. They look at me incredulously when I walk in rain and one woman even took her child who was staring at me inside so that my influence would not make her child want to get wet in rain. I don't understand why people hate nature so much but love the artificiality created by them. They then beaming say that they love nature because they went to a man-made resort in the middle of forest for the weekend. Why do they forget that resorts are made after killing so many trees and destroying the surrounding ecosystem so t

I may be silly and childish but I tell what I feel. Is maturity all about feeling what can't be told and telling what can't be felt? Or is it taking every happening as an opportunity to live more happily?

You wake up every morning deciding that this day you are going to be happy, care-free and not haunted by memories. It's like being a child. As the day goes by, it seems each and every event, small words or things bring back those memories which you would wish to forget. You just shake it off and move on to the next work at hand. I guess our resilience holds out through everything that seems to be ready to break us. This is the human spirit I have learnt to admire. But when it doesn't? 

“ What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” -- Jack Kerouac (American Poet and Novelist) From what I have seen and admired in humans, they are eternal optimists. Goodbyes seem to break us, but we straighten up and walk, holding our head high, blinking away our tears. And as regards the specks of people dispersing, when something moves away, something else comes near. Guess that's how laws of nature move. If a time comes when nothing else comes near, it's when we will become really alone; alone to live and love life without any reason, taking the next step forward.

Through this post, I wish to thank all my friends for congratulating me on winning an award and for being happy for me. I have never met many of you, but I am surprised at the wishes that showered on me by strangers. Many people wished me on Facebook, many elderly people phoned me to my office and wished me (even now many are calling up), even those who came to office on other works, called me and expressed their happiness. They were all utter strangers. That is what surprises me. Thank you once again.

Religion existed to control society, to monitor those without the capacity to think things through for themselves, to provide promises and shimmering images in the sky, so that the urges of the masses could be calmed and regulated.  - The Death of Vishnu by Manil Suri. It may be true that this was the original purpose of religion. But, what is happening now is just the opposite. Religion is making even those with the capacity to think, lose their intellect. It is making them lose their hope. It is creating waves of urges in the masses which, instead of calming them, is igniting them to frenzy. It is making them believe in the fake - look at the scene at Nityananda Ashram on Guru Poornima day. What is causing such madness? It is a disgrace to religion. Whatever Kundalini power may have meant, it surely was not that.

ಪಾಸು-ಫೇಲು   ಶಾಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಫಲಿತಾಂಶ ಹೊರಬಿತ್ತು.  ಮೇಷ್ಟ್ರು  ಹೇಳಿದರು ‘‘ನೀನು ಪಾಸು’’  ಹುಡುಗ  ಕುಣಿಯುತ್ತಾ ಶಾಲೆಯಿಂದ ಹೊರ ಬಿದ್ದ.  ದಾರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ  ಹೀಗೆ ನಡೆಯುತ್ತಾ ಹೋಗುವಾಗ ಒಂದು ಮರ ಕೇಳಿತು... ‘‘ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನೀನು ಹತ್ತ ಬಲ್ಲೆಯಾ?’’  ಹುಡುಗ  ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ.  ತಲೆ  ಕುಣಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಹೂವಿನ ಗಿಡ ಕೇಳಿತು ‘‘ಈ ಹೂವಿನ ಹೆಸರು ಬಲ್ಲೆಯಾ?’’   ಹುಡುಗ ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ.  ಅಲ್ಲೇ  ಬಿದ್ದಿದ್ದ ಸೈಕಲ್ ಕೇಳಿತು ‘‘ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನೀನು ತುಳಿಯ ಬಲ್ಲೆಯ?’’ ಹುಡುಗ  ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ.  ಮುಂದೆ  ನದಿಯೊಂದು ಎದುರಾಯಿತು. ಕೇಳಿತು ‘‘ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನೀನು ಈಜಬಲ್ಲೆಯಾ?’’ ಹುಡುಗ  ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ.  ತೂಗಾಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದ  ಮಾವಿನ ಗೊಂಚಲು ಕೇಳಿತು ‘‘ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನೀನು ಉದುರಿಸಬಲ್ಲೆಯ?’’ ಹುಡುಗ  ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ. ಎದುರಾದ  ಬೆಟ್ಟ ಕೇಳಿತು ‘‘ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನೀನು ಏರ ಬಲ್ಲೆಯ?’’  ಹುಡುಗ  ‘‘ಇಲ್ಲ’’ ಎಂದ.  ಬದುಕು  ಹೇಳಿತು ‘‘ಹಾಗಾದರೆ ನೀನು ಫೇಲು’’   ಇದನ್ನು ನಾನು ಓದಿದ್ದು ಬರಹಗಾರ ಬಶೀರ್ ಅವರ ಬ್ಲಾಗ್‌ನಲ್ಲಿ (ಗುಜರಿ ಅಂಗಡಿ). ಅಮ್ಮಂಗೆ ಓದಿ ಹೇಳಿದಾಗ ಅವಳು ನನ್ನನ್ನು ಛೇಡಿಸೋಕೆ, ನೀನೂ ಜೀವನದಲ್ಲಿ ಫೇಲ್ ಅಂದಳು. ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ನಾನಂದೆ, ನಾನು ಫೇಲ್ ಆಗೋಕೆ ಸಾಧ್ಯಾನೇ ಇಲ್ಲ, ಯಾಕೆಂದರೆ ನಾನು ಬೆಳಗ್ಗೆ ಸಿಹಿನಿದ್ರೆಯಿಂದ ಕಷ್ಟಪಟ್ಟು ಏಳೋದನ್ನು, ಬಿಸಿ ಬಿಸಿ ಸ್ನಾನವನ್ನು, ಹಸಿದಾಗ ಹೊಟ್ಟೆ ತುಂಬ ತಿನ್ನೋದನ್ನು, ಬೆಳಗಿನ ತಣ್ಣನೆ ವಾತಾವರಣದಲ್ಲಿ ಬಸ್

I miss the complexity of the book and am tired of the predictability of people. Reading each page of a book takes you to a different realm, and often surprises you with its observations. I agree books are written by people, but why do people remain predictable in life and unpredictable in fiction? 

Received journalism award, was congratulated by hundreds of people, talked on Akashavani... All these are good encouragement to anybody, especially youngsters. But I feel after all this, the one thing that matters at the end is answering the question if what we write as journos bring any change not just in the minds of the people but also practical result? I know it is our duty to write about the wrongs done, but who will set them right after we write? I don't know. It is frustrating to see that we can't do anything. I wish there was a task force which enquired all investigative reports that appeared in the Press and tried to solve them and provide justice.

I think there are abstract books just like abstract art, if you know what I mean. And though I am not very fond of both, I am reading the book 'Room' by Emma Donoghue and really liking it. It lingers. More later.

Sorry. I forgot to include the most favourite lines from Omar Khayyam's Rubayyat in the last post: The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.     Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate   I rose , and on the Throne of Saturn sate ,   And many Knots unravel'd by the Road ;   But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate .

Nothing begins and nothing ends That is not paid with moan; For we are born in another's pain, And perish in our own.                                        - Francis Thompson. The hills of Georgia in sombre night are veiled, Below, the swift Aragva purls its song, My wishful mood is light, my sadness is elate, To you my melancholy thoughts belong...              - Pushkin. It isn't life that weighs us down, it's the way we carry it. The snob's error is to put good taste before a good heart.              - Joseph Epstein. The Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them unto you. A lot of good things have come from dreaming.                             - Arthur Miller. Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.              - Percy B. Shelley No one can ride your back unless it is bent. Yesterday, I was searching something in all my purses and came across an old purse which contained two paper chits on which I had written these l

It seems like a long time since I wrote in this blog. Seems like ages passed and many things happened. But the only things which I can reveal are my experiences on my Orissa trip. Two nights and one-and-half day were spent on train. It was the first time that I spent such long hours aboard a train and it was both fascinating and surprising, apart from being extremely hot. It was so hot that sitting on a seat for 10 straight minutes seemed to scorch my skin. I kept washing my face and neck but you may imagine how it would be at 45 degree celsius. It was fascinating to see all those people, utter strangers and unaware of each others' existence till now, metamorphosing into a great big family all of a sudden. They walk around in banians and lungis, chudidars without dupattas, brushing in front of everyone, sleep like they are at home and not in front of hundreds of strangers, and most surprising of all was the helping and sharing nature without even knowing each other's languag

It's been a day of melancholy. My mind is numb and I can't seem to be able to think of anything else. Our own journalist, my senior and my first guru in journalism passed away yesterday. M.R. Shivanna, or MRS as we all called him, was the most dedicated journalist I have seen in my short journalism life. But what I had seen was enough. He worked 24x7, literally. Many days together, he never went home. We came at 8 and went home by 5. He would be writing in the desk with head lowered and pen held as if it were his sword even before we came, and he would still be at it when we went home. In between, when we went for lunch, he would be writing, and would be writing when we came back from lunch. His pen never stopped moving. I learnt how to write news from MRS and Meera, our Chief Sub-Editor. He was a walking, pen-wielding encyclopedia though he had just studied PUC. Ask any question, MRS would answer. He never said 'I don't know.' To me, a new entrant to journalism, h

Yesterday I got wet in the sudden torrent that poured upon me as if some naughty child was standing above the cloud, hiding with a bucket full of water and pouring it on those he liked to see wet. I say this because when I looked up at the sky, I could see only an umbrella shaped cloud right above us with clear sky beyond. You know that feeling when you feel the moon stalking you everywhere you went? The same was with the cloud. It went wherever I went and seemed to relish following me, winking with brief flashes of sunlight. I clutched my bag and hoped that all the people who were staring at me from the shelters of shops and homes as if I was a strange Venusian come down to earth, would not see through my joyous intention of getting wet and trying not to become a see-through. A mother who came out to show her child the rain, looked at me walking leisurely in heavy rain and went inside with disbelief. I wished for tears so that at least once I could cry without being afraid of others s

Yesterday I was thinking as I walked home alone, and passed a temple. We tell stories of fairies and goblins and fictitious prince and princess to children, but don't believe in them ourselves because we think we are too smart and know that they are just mythical characters. When a child thinks that a tooth fairy or a Santa Claus will come, we laugh at them. But we stick onto our beliefs that god exists, though no one has seen him. And we go to great lengths to appease him or influence him. Are we not akin to the children we laugh at? Do you think some one greater than us would be laughing at us, seeing our silly beliefs about a non-existent or mythical god who may not exist, who may be as fictitious as a fairy?

For thousands of years, intellectuals, leaders and philosophers have tried to change the world and the ways of the people. But the irony is, people who started following them attracted by their ideologies, later started worshipping them. This is how an ideology slowly metamorphoses into religion, which ultimately defeats its very purpose. And with the new-found rituals, the parent ideology and the person who was its advocate slowly evaporate, leaving behind the residual meaningless or symbolic rituals and practices and persons.

At last! I am both happy and sad. We were successful in shifting the man lying outside the city bus stand in Mysore to hospital. I called up the District Rehabilitation Centre and they said due to the recent deaths at the Centre, they have been ordered by the DC that they cannot admit any old person directly. So we called up the Police and they shifted him to K.R. Hospital. The sad part is, whereas normal people who are poor don't get treatment in that hospital, how many days will this man survive?

  My Chief Sub-Editor told me to take a picture of an old man left on the pavement outside Mysore City Bus Stand. No one has bothered to take him to hospital or the District Rehabilitation Centre even after a fortnight. I called up the Rehab Centre who said they are not allowed to take beggars or old men anymore. We are even trying to inform the Police. But is he invisible to the authorities? Here is a picture of the ailing man who may die due to vagaries of nature and neglect. Hope somebody does something soon.

Writing is a passion for me. The urge to write comes so strongly like a wave that it never lets me rest. But most of what I manage to write are never seen by anybody because I write on pieces of paper I find in my bag, on the back of a visiting card or a bus ticket, on a small notebook I keep in bag which is torn in every possible way a notebook can, with a sheet lost every time I open it, in my mobile notebook and in a diary. Even the diary has become a journal of not just personal feelings but also a collection of thoughts. Most of my thoughts get lost because before I manage to get my hands on a piece of paper. And I write in bus, auto, walking along the road trying not to bump into some one else or an oncoming vehicle. It really is a torment writing on the road. I wish the roads would have more people than vehicles. Once I even managed to bump into an electric pole in a bid to quickly note down what I was thinking in my mobile; and on another occasion, I was so engrossed, that I d

It rained after a long time yesterday night in Mysore and I missed it. I was fast asleep and woke up to find the earth cool and oozing a beautiful scent. I love to see the roads after rain in the mornings. There is no word in English which adequately describes the serene beauty of the wet leaves and bent trees which look so happy that they seem like a fair maiden who has just returned from visiting her lover - shy and yet knowing, lost in memories and oblivious to surroundings. The empty roads look untrodden and we seem to be trespassing. Walking alone, I get the same feeling I used to get when I lay on the very huge rock near my grandma's home. Looking up at the sky, I could see only the sky everywhere and got lost for hours, imagining myself to be alone in the whole world. The world down looked tiny, the compound walls looked like faraway territorial boundary of a castle and the setting of the sun, like the sun setting on an empire. Sometimes knowledge stands in the way of enjo

Mysore mornings are very cold now. It was so chilling a few days ago that we would shiver from feet up, to the very tip of our lifeless hairs. And I hate sweaters, jerkins. I start for the Press from home at 7.30 am and shiver all the way. After reaching I take a minute outside in the sun who too seems to radiate cold rays and fails in his duty to warm us up. It is fun to get warm and cozy after braving the chilly air. Nowadays, however, only the morning chill remains, as the day and night are getting warmer.

I travel in bus everyday and buses are a treasure trove for those who love to study the twists and turns in human behaviour. Today I saw two incidents which I wanted to share here. At the first instance, the bus was full to the roof and everybody was half on top of another. A man accused a college boy of trying to steal his mobile phone from his shirt pocket just because the boy's hand accidentally brushed against his shirt. All men (!) threatened to thrash the boy though he said it was unintentional. The second incident happened a little later in another bus. A man told the conductor frantically that someone had stolen his money, new currency notes just got from an ATM, and even recited off the serial numbers. The conductor ordered the doors to be closed and told the driver to take the bus to Police Station. After a few minutes, the man found his notes on the floor. When a teenager got down, all started pointing fingers at him saying that he must have been the thief, of course wi

Art is never chaste. It ought to be forbidden to ignorant innocents, never allowed into contact with those not sufficiently prepared. Yes, art is dangerous. Where it is chaste, it is not art    - Pablo Picasso. Though I don't agree fully, it is true.

I read the below four-point solution for Africa's poor economic, social conditions: a. adopt as binding the principle of dialogue; b. ensure society's participation in public life; c. observe fundamental human rights; d. begin democratization. Now my question is, or rather my dilemma is, that as the above four points have failed in effectively changing the economic and social conditions of India, will they be able to change Africa? It is much more complicated with thousands of unique and entirely different, isolated tribes hostile to each other. I will explain in terms of India: a. we sure have dialogues, but they have failed in bearing practical fruits - whether in issues such as Kashmir or the north-eastern States; or in addressing problems such as naxalism or poverty. b. society's participation in public life is quite active, despite all the pessimism we feel in not being able to change the bureaucratic mindset through public participation, as a journalist I see

I normally don't write about the films I watch. Because most films fail to impress me. I feel films are like the maneyaata we used to play when we were young; someone plays the character of husband, someone wife, others children, servants, each day a new story, eating, sleeping, working, talking... They seem just dramatic and nothing else. But here I feel like talking about wo films. One was suggested to me by a friend - Spring, summer, fall, winter...spring. A simple almost-silent story of how life moves in cycles and how the inevitable always happens. It's better to watch it than read a review of it. So... Another very recent film is No one killed Jessica. I cannot write a review because it's not a story, it's too real to comment about - a full life gone waste. But I can surely tell one thing about the direction and acting. It's simple and genuine and undramatic. If you are searching for dramatics, you will not find it here and if you are thinking of a documenta

I have great interest in psychology. And here I will tell of two small, insignificant incidents that are quite opposite. A person, who is well-off, found that the ink cartridge at his home printer was empty. He told his office boss about it and a staff was sent to his home to install a new one. The person who installed it had bought it in his own money. The office said it would not pay for it and the beneficiary is not ready to pay, though it was for his personal use. This is how the rich behave. Living off others' money. Yesterday evening I and my friend went to a roadside vendor to eat golguppa. The boy gave us 6 and we ordered for a plate of sukha puri. Along with the plate of sukha puri, he did not forget to give the normal 1 sukha puri that is usually given at the end of golguppa. We did not ask for it and let it go because we already got a plateful. But he gave us what we had paid for without hesitation, even if it was a tiny puri. These incidents may look small but I have