Mysore haunts me even after a year of my estrangement from the city. The roads where I walked and waited all those interminable hours for that elusive bus, the marble Swami Vivekananda statue which stood forlorn and forgotten in the circle until one day it was discarded in a nearby park and replaced with a huge bronze one, the amphitheatre (Vanaranga) at Rangayana where I spent many a lost evening, the University paths where my sis and I collected gulganji seeds and searched for knowledge among the old buildings once frequented by the greats of Kannada literature... I miss all but one part of the city - the so-called litterateurs and intellectuals who claim to be an authority on all and sundry under the sun. I once asked a colleague about the books written by a famous 'litterateur' of Mysore and she replied she didn't know. Nobody knew. I searched the net and found the titles. They just talk, talk and talk. Why?
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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