Idyllic Thoughts

Sunday mornings are a time to sleep, get lazy and relax for most people. But for me, it is a time to enjoy the tranquility of empty boulevards, empty buses... there is a sort of peace in getting up early and travelling when most are cooped up in their cozy homes, watching TV and drinking morning coffee.  Today morning I saw a young woman from the window of my bus, who looked mentally imbalanced, walking on the footpath. She suddenly jumped onto the road and started rolling beneath the footpath, laughing to herself. I wondered what went through her mind which prompted her to do that. Next I saw a group of footpath dwellers, mostly labourers, who live near the City Railway Station, squatting on the road side. A little away from them, a beautiful baby was placed on a mat. It was covered in blanket. It was turned over, playing to itself oblivious to the world. I wonder what she will become when she grows up. I wonder what ordeals she will have to face when she stops playing and ...

The future is where we will live tomorrow. Whether you will live in it all alone, or with someone new walking in after every act, only to leave a short while later, still a stranger, or with someone who will hold your hand and walk with you till you both drop off the horizon would depend on you asking the right questions as you explore a new relationship. Reading the above lines in an article in Sunday Indian, I feel not all the times can the right questions sustain a relationship; sometimes you don't even need to. All pieces of puzzle fit perfectly some time though we don't know when and remain impatient and restless till the time comes.

ಹುಲ್ಲಾಗು ಬೆಟ್ಟದಡಿ ಮನೆಗೆ ಮಲ್ಲಿಗೆಯಾಗು ಕಲ್ಲಾಗು ಕಷ್ಟಗಳ ಮಳೆಯ ವಿಧಿ ಸುರಿಯೆ ಬೆಲ್ಲ ಸಕ್ಕರೆಯಾಗು ದೀನದುರ್ಬಲರಿಂಗೆ ಎಲ್ಲರೊಳಗೊಂದಾಗು – ಮಂಕುತಿಮ್ಮ I don't know why I remembered Kagga again. This morning I felt like reading all the kaggas and ruminate on them. How consoling they are! Just by reading those lines, I feel like I get answers to all my questions. Just felt like sharing this pearl from Mankuthimmana Kagga. Reading Kagga is like taking a headlong plunge into the memory pond to a time when I vociferously read those lines to soothe my mind. Even the plunge does not cause a ripple in the waters of mind, instead it calms the mind. 

Living a life is like walking on a tight rope above Niagara Falls. If you slip, you may survive the fall into Niagara, but there are no survivors in life. Everyone eventually slips and falls into the oblivion of death.

A harried experience: Love for language or...? @ http://penfolio.blogspot.com

Courtesy: Wikipedia My heart was dancing yesterday as I woke up and came out. It was such a blissful weather with cold breeze which threatened to lift me up and carry to my beloved, that I wished to just stand there and feel it forever. Walking on the beautiful, yet mud-spattered road, I wished that it led to a serene valley where there was no stress, rat race, worries, emotions that leave you drained and hunger. What would I do in such a place? I don't know, may be lie back on the ground among the flowers and gaze at the sky till it darkens, and lights up again, darkens, and lights up...

Once upon a time when I was a kid, I lived in perpetual fear that my handwriting would be ridiculed by my teacher. As I wrote in very small letters, mom always used to tell me to write in larger size and even teachers told me to write bigger in exams. I would spend the exam time anguishing over how many additional sheets of paper my classmates would take to write answers, whereas mine wouldn't even fill the book or sheet given at first. Though I got marks on par and sometimes more than others, I always envied their ability to write in larger size and use up many additional sheets enough to make a book. My handwriting too would be beautiful at sometimes and crooked at others, depending on my varying moods and interest. Today morning I saw a college girl standing in the bus and reading her notes, perhaps for exam. Her handwriting was very beautiful and I remembered the pressure our generation used to face from our parents, teachers to write beautifully. All that apart, in this age...