Idyllic Thoughts

ಒಂದು ಕಾಲವಿತ್ತು. ನನ್ನ ಕಾಲೇಜಿನ ಸಹಪಾಠಿಗಳು ನನ್ನನ್ನು ಅವರ ಲೋಹಿಯಾ ಮಾರ್ಗಕ್ಕೆ ಎಳೆದುಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗಲು ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಿಸಿದರೂ ನನ್ನ ದೃಷ್ಟಿ ವಿರುದ್ಧ ದಿಕ್ಕಿನಲ್ಲಿ. ಆದರೆ ನನ್ನದೇ ಕೆಲವು ಸಿದ್ಧಾಂತಗಳಿದ್ದವು. ಅದರಲ್ಲಿ ಒಂದು ಮಠಗಳ ಸ್ವಾಮೀಜಿಗಳ ಕಾಲಿಗೆ ಬೀಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ ಅನ್ನುವುದು. ಅವರೆಲ್ಲ ಗುರುಗಳಿರಬಹುದು, ಆದ್ದರಿಂದ ಗೌರವಕ್ಕೆ ಅರ್ಹರಿರಬಹುದು. ಆದರೆ I was too proud. ಅದು ಆ ವಯಸ್ಸಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನಮಗಂಟಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವ ಸಮಾಜವಾದದ ಪ್ರಭಾವವೋ ಏನೋ. ಅದರ ಪಳೆಯುಳಿಕೆ ಈಗ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ವರ್ಷಗಳವರೆಗೆ ಇತ್ತು. ಹಾಗಾಗೇ ಅಪ್ಪ ಎಷ್ಟು ಸಲ ಪೇಜಾವರ ಸ್ವಾಮೀಜಿಯನ್ನು ಭೇಟಿ ಮಾಡಲು ಕರೆದಾಗಲೂ ನಾನು ಹೋಗಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಸ್ವಾಮೀಜಿ ಎಂದಲ್ಲದಿದ್ದರೂ, ಗುರು ಎಂದಲ್ಲದಿದ್ದರೂ, ಅವರು ಪೂರ್ವಾಶ್ರಮದಲ್ಲಿ ನನ್ನ ಅಜ್ಜಿಯ ತಮ್ಮ ಅಂದರೆ ನನಗೆ ಅಜ್ಜ ಎಂದಾದರೂ ಹೋಗಬೇಕಿತ್ತು. ಅವರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಅಪ್ಪ ಬರೆದ ಪುಸ್ತಕವನ್ನು ಇಂಗ್ಲೀಷಿಗೆ ಭಾಷಾಂತರಿಸುವಾಗಲೇ ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತಾಗಿದ್ದು ಅವರ ಚಟುವಟಿಕೆಯ, ಲವಲವಿಕೆಯ, ಕರುಣೆಯ ಮನಸ್ಸಿನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ, ಅವರ ಹೋರಾಟಗಳ ಬಗ್ಗೆ. ಅವರ ಚೈತನ್ಯದ ಬಗ್ಗೆ. ಮತ್ತೆ ಅವರನ್ನು ಭೇಟಿ ಮಾಡಲು ಆಗಲೇ ಇಲ್ಲ. Now it's too late. ಈಗ ನನಗನ್ನಿಸ್ತಾ ಇದೆ, ನಾನೆಂತ fool ಅಂತ,  ಏನನ್ನು ಕಳಕೊಂಡೆ ಅಂತ. ಈ ವಿಷಾದ ಇನ್ನು ನನಗಂಟಿಕೊಂಡು ಯಾವತ್ತೂ ಪ್ರತಿ ಹೆಜ್ಜೆಯಲ್ಲೂ ನನ್ನನ್ನು ನಾನು ಪ್ರಶ್ನಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವಂತೆ ಮಾಡುತ್ತದೇನೋ. 

Why is it that ideology is almost always at crosshairs with reality? Is a person's ideology just a remnant of his education and reading, which in turn are figments of someone else's imaginations? Why is it that a person's ideological thoughts are praised to the high skies but derided when he tries to bring them to action? Why is it that one person's ideology becomes another's nightmare? 

Two days ago, a deformed man sat begging in front of our house during the yearly car festival of the nearby temple. There was a huge crowd and the man must have collected a good amount of money. At night, when we were sitting out enjoying the lights and the festive atmosphere, he came to us and asked us if he could keep the money safely hidden for the night inside our compound. He took it back the next day after carefully counting the lot. We often deride such not-beautiful people saying that they are strong enough to work instead of begging. I agree most of the times. But today I realised that when beautiful people use their beauty to earn as in film industry, we laud them, follow them, praise their talent even when it's lacking. Some use their natural beauty to earn a livelihood, while others use their natural deformity. Isn't it the same?

After writing the previous post, I found out what Ayn Rand had said about the spark in all of us in her book 'Atlas Shrugged.' Here it is : "Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it's yours."

Everyone has a fire burning deep inside us. It is that fire which makes us feel alive, makes us rush forward, take risks. It never lets us rest. Today, while thinking about it, I realised why slavery survived so long in this world. They had let themselves surrender because the fire within them had gone out. There was no spark of life left within them. It took hundreds of years for the fire of life to be rekindled. And once it did, you could see how the world was transformed. Never let that fire in you go out.

On my way back from Bangalore, got down from the train at Mysore railway station. Standing there in the brightly lit station, memories started floating around me. All those intangible memories of my years in Mysore suddenly became tangible; things I could touch, feel and hold in my hand, looking at them with a new perspective. Standing there with memories whirling around me, a lot of complexities of my earlier association with the city started unraveling. Guess it happens to others too, that as years pass by, they understand things in clearer ways than before, feel them differently and finally learn to let go of nostalgias.

This world has gone mad. From ultra feminism to bigotry to Hinduphobia to anti-semitism to the theatre of diplomacy to casteism to fanaticism to hyper-patriotism to woke liberalism to faux-realism to whatnot. I am tired of reading news, watching news and hearing news. It's all just plain hogwash and bunkum and trash. None of it holds any true meaning to a person who wants to live contentedly in a peaceful society. It's just world gone mad and dragging us along with it.

We each have our own niche in this world. It is when we don't recognise or accept it, that discontentment starts simmering in us. Restlessness is good if it brings out productivity in us. Beyond that, it's just a thorny way to lead a life; you will neither be comfortable, nor happy.

ನನ್ನ ಹಳೆ ಪುಸ್ತಕವೊಂದರಲ್ಲಿ ನಾನು ಬರೆದ ಸಾಲುಗಳು. ಸರಿಯೋ ತಪ್ಪೋ ಗೊತ್ತಿಲ್ಲ: "ಓದಿ ಓದಿ ಮರುಳಾದ ಕೂಚುಭಟ್ಟ ಅನ್ನುವುದು ಸರಿಯಲ್ಲ. ಕೂಚುಭಟ್ಟ ಓದಿ ಮರುಳಾಗಲಿಲ್ಲ, ಅವನ ಜ್ಞಾನ ಉಳಿದವರಿಗೆ ಅರ್ಥವಾಗಲಿಲ್ಲ ಅಷ್ಟೆ."

Rains bring so many childhood memories as gifts every year. Its cozy pitter-patter makes me want to curl up and think about all the times I and my cousin, both very young at about 8-10 years of age, played 'maneyata.' I would be the husband once and she the wife. I would order her to make breakfast and eat it. I would act as if I was dressed in formals and carry a suitcase and go to office. She would act as if she cooked, cleaned and did household work till I came home for supper. Then the next imaginary day, our roles would be reversed. It would be my turn to be the wife and she, the husband. After two or three imaginary days of such routine, we would get bored and change games. I still remember our suspicion that our cook would spy on our games from the attic, the wooden floorboards of which had tiny slits in them, enough to peep and watch our games of innocence and laugh. I imagined for many years that he laughed at us and our games which started looking silly as we grew o

Ten persons, may be with similar nature, may go through similar hardships in life. But, the persons who emerge will be different. Each person responds to problems and sorrows in their own way. The lessons they learn as a result, and the person they turn into, will always be unique. Every person has his/her own crosses to bear and I feel it is unfair to judge anyone, despite our close knowledge of his/her tribulations. We never know, we only think that we know.

History always crumbles to dust. No matter how hard we try to cling on to it. I was watching the story of great kings and queens who once walked on this land, lived, loved, fought and died. No matter how greatly revered they were, their names vanish into thin air right in front of you. You can never hold onto them. That's how ephemeral greatness is, life is.

Reading 'Sophie's World' by Jostein Gaarder. He says, Thales is supposed to have said that 'all things are full of gods.' If I am not wrong, isn't our (Indian) belief of stones, trees, animals, birds and other beings as gods, a metaphor for the godliness of all things?