Idyllic Thoughts

Appa was always in a hurry. He lived his life in 2x mode. I felt he was like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, scurrying here and there forever. He never stayed anywhere for long. Always on the move, and we moved with him. He was the first one to arrive at any wedding, even before the bride's family, waking up the wedding hall staff. He was the first one to leave.  He left this world too in a hurry. Never imagined, I guess just like any other child, that my parent too will leave us so soon. Guess a parent's death is always too soon for a child, it doesn't matter what their age is. For us, they are supposed to be there forever.  Yesterday was his first death anniversary and I still feel he will come back someday, call me out of the blue. This grief is eternal.  

All my childhood, I loved being alone. My solitude made me think, about anything and everything under the sun. It made me happy and contented. I was never bored being by myself.  Now, that same solitude makes me restless and sad. It brings back all the memories of my dad and in each such memory, I find something to be guilty about.  I can no longer sit for hours thinking about nothing, and enjoy it. I need to be surrounded by people, so that I can push away the memories and the pain they bring with them.  I can no longer write because I can no longer think. 

 When my dad died four months ago, I cried continuously for four days. I cried not just because of my love for him and the realisation that I could no longer see him, but also because I couldn't get rid of my guilt in not being there for him. My guilt trip was stronger than any other emotion then. Then my aunt, who watched me silently for four days, told me to control myself. She said my dad will not be happy if I send him off crying. She said even now, years after her husband's death, she still felt guilty about all the arguments they had; that it was guilt which makes our emotions go out of control. It was only then that I could clearly see how self-absorbed I had become, that I did not acknowledge my mother's and sister's grief. It was only then I could find the strength to take responsibility for things to be done. They both looked upto me and I was on my way to fail them by being miserable when I had to be strong. I still feel guilty, but I know now that I cannot l...

ಬದುಕುಗಳು, ನೆನಪುಗಳು, ಒಳ್ಳೆತನ, ಕೆಟ್ಟತನ, ಆಸೆ, ತ್ಯಾಗ, ನೋವು, ಹಠ, ಅಹಂ, ಭಕ್ತಿ, ಧೈರ್ಯ ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಕಾಲದ ಬಿರುಗಾಳಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹಾರಿ ಹೋಗುತ್ತವೆ ಅಲ್ವಾ? ನಮ್ಮ ನಂತರದ ಎರಡು ಪೀಳಿಗೆಗಳು ನಮ್ಮ ನೆನಪಿಟ್ಟುಕೊಳ್ಳೋದೇ ದೊಡ್ಡದು. ಹೆಸರು ಉಳಿಯೋದು ಕೂಡ ಇತಿಹಾಸ ಬರೆಯುವವರ ಪೆನ್ನಿನ ನಿಬ್ಬಿನ ದಿಕ್ಕಿನಿಂದ ನಿರ್ಧಾರ ಆಗುತ್ತೆ. ಹಾಗಾದ್ರೆ ಈ ಬದುಕಿಗೆ ಅರ್ಥ ಏನು? 

 Death of a parent is the most unique, tragic lived experience we are subjected to, as Jordan Peterson says. The grief that seeps deep into our soul stains us forever, burns us forever. We all take life for granted, those who live for us for granted. The thought that I will no longer see, hear the person I have known since birth flits across my conscious mind, refusing to stay long because it seems quite unreal. It has not really been understood by my mind though I know the facts and I have acted accordingly for all practical purposes. There just doesn't seem to be a way out of the pain, guilt trips I take constantly or the horror of the reality I have not yet found the courage to face.

  One of the least discussed, most neglected and cloaked topics in our cultural discourse is menstruation. Since childhood, we learn to avoid the topic and skirt over it as an embarassment to be dealt with in private. In such a social scenario, 'Menstruation Across Cultures' by scholar Nithin Sridhar is one of the most important books in today's literary circles that should be read by all Indians -- men and women, Hindus and non-Hindus -- so that one of the most basic misconceptions in the Indian psyche can be dispelled. It will make further discourses on a variety of associated social issues like entry to temples like Sabarimala and others by women of menstruating age, more knowledgeable and logical, instead of the biased and theatrical narrative it has become.  What is inherently wrong with the Indian system of discourse about Hindu practices is that it has been painted over by non-Indic thoughts and practices which were illogical when seen through our cultural and script...

Whenever we read an author for the first time, we are curious to see if the book caters to our pre-conceived expectations about the author's work. Ashwin Sanghi is well known for his thrillers mixed with mythology, history along with political twists and turns. His book 'The Vault of Vishnu' reads on well as a thriller interlinked with Indian history. However, for readers who grew up on western thrillers and expect the fast pace of such a genre, some sections become a bit of a drag.  My interest was piqued when I saw that the Chinese monk Xuanzang's journey to India was similar to that of the book 'Journey to the West,' the serialised Chinese version I had seen long ago and loved. The author's narration of the monk's journey is interesting. However, a good thriller seems to be lost among a huge amount of research. I feel the mention and explanation of the places which the monk visited during his journey were not necessary in so much detail in a thriller....