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"I will be God"

"When do I make my mark in this world?" asked her mind. "Why do you need to make a mark in this world?" questioned a tiny voice from deep within her, trembling slightly as it's yet a child in the midst of towering consciousnesses. "Because I wish to be remembered for posterity," replied the mind, slightly irritated that a young one had bothered to question her, who is known for her age old wisdom and scientific temperament. "And then what?" the tiny voice sought to know, emboldened by now. "And then people will follow the path shown by me, my ideals, my thoughts..." the mind said proudly. "My thoughts will become their thoughts; my command their wish." "Later?" persisted the child within. "Later? What's there for later? People will idolise me and worship me for my knowledge and for bringing them onto the true path. I will be God," boomed the mind. "Then?" the child who did not wish

A point

A point and a series of points. One represents the end and the other continuity... while a dot has a finality to it, the other gives a hope that there is something to look forward to, beyond the end. It is the writer's prerogative to move the pen beyond the 'full stop' and engage the reader in intellectual conversations. 

Balancing words...flavour

I was a journalist till now. I would write/edit news and articles where my only cutting job was that of virtual sentences on the screen. Now, I have got something else to cut : vegetables. I am learning full-fledged cooking and loving it. Who knew cooking could be so enjoyable? From pen to knife is a major change which I am relishing right now. The sense of accomplishment that comes when you create an intellectual piece on the paper and one on the stove are quite delightful, as both are challenging and taxing; one to the mind and the other to both mind and the muscles. Balancing words and balancing flavour... so long. 

A chapter ends

Bid adieu to 5 year-6 month-12 days of journalism. Loved it and will miss it. But now, I guess other doors are open for me to enter, peek in all corners and explore -- sniff at life, taste it and widen your eyes to its delectability. I wish what lies behind those doors is as exciting as I imagined it to be. Once upon a time, I wished to be busy 24x7, with no time left to ponder on life's issues, troubles and tribulations. And my wish came true. Now, I wish to take things in a stride and enjoy what comes as part of the mystery package called tomorrow. Isn't it fun to guess what will happen tomorrow and be surprised when something which you would never imagine come your way? But it's also fearful sometimes when things manage to shock you and damage you irreparably. For now, I don't wish to bore myself and others. So sayonara.

What matters?

It was raining and mom was walking on the road. At a place where road work was going on, a one-year-old baby sat on the wet ground defecating on the road side. It was oblivious to the fact that rain was pouring on its head. A few steps further, she saw that an older child was eating puffed rice, unworried by the rain drops falling on the eatable making it sogged. The child went hopping and skipping to its father who was lifting soil along with his wife, took a handful of puffed rice and put it into his mouth, laughing happily at the ordeal. Aren't we just a wee bit too worried about our dress, our behaviour, our language, our hygiene, our wealth, our position, our showing off, our opinions, our attitude and our life? What matters and what does not? Why are we self-involved?

Ugly and happy

Three tiny tots climbed the sharing auto I was travelling in today morning along with their mother. Two of them were girls. Seeing their innocent faces and the whisperings of confidentialities between themselves as if it was a State secret, I sighed. How beautiful is childhood ! And I hoped that the girls would turn out to be ugly when they grow up to be maidens. I hope they don't get mired in this world of cruelty, uncertainty, fear and insecurity, and remain ugly and happy; may be disturbed only about their ugliness of face but not fear the consequences of their beauty. You think I am cruel? No. I just saw a photo of Aarushi Talwar and feeling sad. Such a beautiful girl lost her life for what? Who knows? If she had lived, may be she would have been an achiever. A life nipped young. 

Water. cricket

Two days ago, I was watching a Chinese film 'Shower.' It's a story of an old man and his mentally challenged son running a bathhouse. The old man's elder son who had migrated to city many years ago in search of fortune arrives one day. The misunderstandings between father-son, the love of elder brother towards his sibling, the younger one'e clear sense of right and wrong are a delight to watch. The old man narrates his wife's story to his children — a story of villages in China suffering for want of water. With very less water found for even drinking, the families in villages never take bath. However, it is their custom that a bride should take bath on the night before her wedding. The scene where the bride's father and little brother go door-to-door seeking water is heart-rending. They carry two casks on a mule, give one large cup of rice in exchange for equivalent amount of water. After going to so many houses, they manage to fill up the casks. It is sh

Rains and votes

Mornings and nights in Mysore are just wonderful. With hot and nauseating middays, it is a relief to come out at night and relish the cool breeze which seems to have a tiff with the sun as it refuses to meet us when he is present. The breeze peeps out to check if its archrival sun has disappeared, and slowly flows out. Early morning walk is quite enjoyable with no sign of commercial activity except for the long-drawn, oft-slurred cry of the woman who carries leafy veg in a basket, newspaper boys who would bring gold in Olympics discus-throw, men who walk wobbling on the road after a boozy night inside a ditch, daily wage labourers who arrive in city from various sub-urban villages wait for contractors squatting on roadsides... Though all these were a common sight to me every morning at 7.30, today it was quite different, delightful and clean. After a night of rain god's fury at its best, I was waiting to come out of the house and enjoy the bus ride to office. Fallen trees and scat

A stone, a sculpture

Many extol the virtues of a beautiful sculpture carved out of stone. They say that only when a stone endures the strikings of a sculptor's chisel and bloom into an attractive form can its life (!) be fulfilled. Don't you think its 'fulfillment' is quite unnatural? What the stone finally turns out to be is the dream of the sculptor, not that of the stone. The thoughts and aspirations belong to the sculptor. The stone, which though was 'deformed' earlier in the eyes of the beholder, had its own individuality and freedom which was lost when the chisel touched it for the first time. Did the stone want to become a beautiful, 'meaningful' statue? May be, may be not.

Ramarajya

At last, India has become a Ramarajya - no, not the ideal kind but the kind where a Sita who crossed a 'boundary' was banished, where an unsuspecting Ahalya was turned into stone, where a Draupadi who loved Arjuna was married to his brothers too, where a rape victim is blamed to be the cause for her ordeal; in sum total, where a woman's opinions are not sought or heard, where a woman is supposed to be the epitome of silence and subservience. Wonder what makes people to think that love is shown through body and not mind? I also wonder what made sage Uddalaka, who too lived in an ancient era alien to women's freedom and equality concepts, tell his son Shvetaketu that "a woman is free to do as she pleases" when his wife went off with another man. When Shvetaketu questions his paternity, Uddalaka answers, "It is not my seed that makes you my child, it is my love.” Who is great? A person whose confusions regarding relationships were given the name of dharma