Idyllic Thoughts

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.    ...

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?