Idyllic Thoughts

A happy man passed away ! That's what I felt as I watched the news of Dr. Abdul Kalam's death on TV. Many news channels aired his interviews, interactions with students and lectures. The one common thing that could be seen in all these videos was his childlike smile and quick wit. His eyes looked happy. His whole demeanour showed he was happy. Wherever I looked, I could no longer see a celebrated scientist, a thoughtful teacher or an illustrious President of this country. I could see only a happy man and a patriot. RIP to the man who made me want to take up basic science and dream of being a scientist. 

Names. Surnames. Initials. The 'A's and 'B's and 'C's of X and Y and Z. Aren't we all quite proud of ourselves, our parents and grandparents? It does feel funny to read a wedding card where by the time you finish negotiating the initials and surnames, you would have quite rightly forgotten the bride and groom's names. It happens to everybody that we go to a marriage and look clueless when somebody asks the name of the bride or groom. Wouldn't it be easier on the mind, tongue and the ego if we were just known by our names? Wouldn't there be zero ego in such a case?

Which great writer lived in the cities to write? Kuvempu lived in Mysore, which was and is quite unlike Bangalore; Poornachandra Tejaswi stayed in the middle of nowhere; D.R. Bendre was in Dharwad; Shivaram Karanth in Kota; Vaidehi in Kundapur and Manipal... After all, how can the concrete jungle seen from one's window inspire us or take us to our own dream land? How can honking replace the twitter of birds? How can smog represent the cool breeze that slips stealthily between trees carrying the scent of the woods? It is amidst nature that our fantasy takes flight.

The world looks so beautiful and crystal clear in this rain. Not even the angry roar of a thunder can disturb its beauty and I have, as usual, fallen in love with nature again. Then, how can I write? After all, sorrow is the inspiration for great writing. Isn't it? As Shelley said (or wrote), "Our sweetest songs are those that tell of our saddest thought." No.I'm not asking for sorrow and I don't hanker to write great literature. I just want to write what I feel, and connect with emotionally. May be that's why I'm unable to spin out reams of articles.I don't know.

There is something cozy and crazy about rain, thunder, lightning raging outside while we sit in the relative comfort of our homes watching the sky open up. On Monday, it was pouring cats & dogs and I went to an old stone temple (unlike the modern ones designed in tiles giving them a bathroom-like feel) where rain water was gushing in. Yet it felt good to circumambulate the sanctum in the rain, matching our tread to the beats of thunder, listening to the pitter-patter of rain drops on the roof and later, sitting there silently wondering about the ultimate question that every human being asks within oneself -- is there god? And finally, giving up and walking home, satisfied with the answer I see reflected in the faces of the believers present at the temple.

When I was a journalist, Mysore hosted an army recruitment rally and while preparing the news item, I got to see the photographs of the youth who had come to join the army. From one glance it could be seen that they were from the economically backward section of the society. They had come there with a hope to aid their families financially. Most would return unemployed from such recruitment rallies, unable to pass the physical fitness tests and other criteria. And those who get selected, would return laden with the hope that now, their families would eat three square meals a day. It is heart-breaking and thought-provoking when the peace-keeping forces including the military, para-military and the police forces face serious problems in extreme weather & inhospitable conditions. Do such circumstances lead the personnel to take the extreme step? Today, I read that one CRPF soldier commits suicide every three days ! About 6,000 soldiers left CRPF in 2014, while 4,186 left in 2013. Ev...

Ask any woman who wears the quintessential attire of the sub-continent -- the saree -- about it and she will look at you scornfully and let out a hmmph! which conceals a long, resigned and tiresome tale of draping the 'six yard (now down to five-and-a-half) wonder' as the blissfully ignorant call it. At first glance, it seems so easy. A long cloth draped around us ! So simple, yet so graceful. Only those who have battled with the stubborn beauty knows how it has defeated them time and again. They are aware that a saree has an independent mind of its own and looks upon its possessors with contempt. As they are smiling confidently that they have successfully pinned the pleats, a naughty one will slip out of their grasp bringing tears to the eyes. Successfully dazzling others with a saree is by no means a lesser feat, which teenage girls, newly introduced to the saree, will be well aware of as are older women with even half a century experience.