There was a time when we used to frequent my granny's house every weekend and holiday. Being young, I had no other companion of my age group except my young sis whose idea of playing was planting a flower and watering it, watching it every hour to check if a plant has grown out of it. My friend was the nature around me. I would lie on the huge boulder and watch the skies for hours, imagining that I was alone in the whole wide world. I would walk thru the woods, climb trees, pluck cashew apple and indulge in its juicy pulp and searching for wild fruits like the maroon Karjikayi or the tiny white Bemmaralu. And now, I'm back amidst nature and it calms me and makes me happy to watch the flowers bloom amid green leaves, tiny insects crawl out of them after having their fill of nectar, leaves sway in the mild breeze and glow in the mid-morning sun. I love the early morning ritual of watering the trees and plants, with glistening droplets falling on me; making me proud that I'm a part of their growing up.
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
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