tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4597590602114332212024-03-19T19:10:01.550+05:30SublimationSublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.comBlogger294125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-42174649073283417282024-03-03T00:22:00.003+05:302024-03-03T00:22:51.999+05:30THE PHILOSOPHY OF NOTHING<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0KduX-wYpCT7eesaHccXnXSEe2itimN-Nt_7RuHaCXeionXN6VtGWo7QvQX4jQymcV4HPIbxz-OVsRH8YiuFpO91PzYo_caJv7cNNq5to6Sy1s11W5Hx3aylMTSfhL3yU4j3QCb1iQzszmaNbWWr23pxXPLw_Qcqd0zOQc-GtBWbaMwcq0XCwBIcgFWT/s855/FB_IMG_1694922949546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="727" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0KduX-wYpCT7eesaHccXnXSEe2itimN-Nt_7RuHaCXeionXN6VtGWo7QvQX4jQymcV4HPIbxz-OVsRH8YiuFpO91PzYo_caJv7cNNq5to6Sy1s11W5Hx3aylMTSfhL3yU4j3QCb1iQzszmaNbWWr23pxXPLw_Qcqd0zOQc-GtBWbaMwcq0XCwBIcgFWT/w340-h400/FB_IMG_1694922949546.jpg" width="340" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">THE PHILOSOPHY OF NOTHING</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It all started last night when I was watching the Tv. I do not pay much attention to the ads, but this one caught my eye as the word NOTHING flashed on the screen. I realized that it was an ad for a mobile phone which was called ‘NOTHING(R)’. I never knew such a phone existed (and I mean Nothing existed) till I googled and found that there is such a phone made by </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Nothing</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Technology Limited (stylized as </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">NOTHING</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) a British consumer electronics manufacturer based in London</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> </span></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkF4x6g3GT-9LqnGVLt9zy6Gh8OuOJm1JnSfYLnPlc42l64OvcOmsgbaMCJngWZJFFmxQ7gvlWk1TkbHdHPTd-sIb7LCNJfJOGuCPbBLjsyLbNA6QF8Wgs24iOkyUO250dUj8gjw43CTOs_0Z-ZWO8R4boFsAxVhfbvuaDrElZyqla_k5EzqFqf27hDx4/s4080/20240302_144913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3060" data-original-width="4080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkF4x6g3GT-9LqnGVLt9zy6Gh8OuOJm1JnSfYLnPlc42l64OvcOmsgbaMCJngWZJFFmxQ7gvlWk1TkbHdHPTd-sIb7LCNJfJOGuCPbBLjsyLbNA6QF8Wgs24iOkyUO250dUj8gjw43CTOs_0Z-ZWO8R4boFsAxVhfbvuaDrElZyqla_k5EzqFqf27hDx4/s320/20240302_144913.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;"><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p>I was intrigued because only in the evening while on my evening walk on the beach road, I met an old friend (and I mean really old) and stopped to talk to him, and the whole conversation centered around Nothing. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“So what have you been doing all this while?” he asked since I was seeing him after a lapse of nearly three years. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Nothing”, I said.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“What do you mean nothing?”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Yes, it’s actually ‘Nothing’”, I replied.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“What do you mean? You told me you were writing a book”.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Yes, I am writing a book. It’s nearly complete. The name of the book is ‘Nothing’.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“My God!” he scratched his head in exasperation. “If it’s nothing, then what are you writing about?”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, it’s about ‘Nothing’. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Oh! I hope something comes out of your Nothing,” he said and walked away.</span></span></p><p><b style="background-color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Nothing much has changed over the years. Only the travails have resurfaced. But I was reminded of the lines from ‘The Sound of Music’ song ‘Something Good’ - </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Nothing comes from nothing,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Nothing ever could.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">So Something should come out of something. That’s why I decided to write something about Nothing. Well, that’s assuming that Nothing is actually Something-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">‘Pickles’ comic strip focussing on a retired couple in their seventies, Earl and Opal has been a favorite. I came across a strip which seemed to answer a part of my predicament-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">The Philosopher Plato once said-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing And that is that I know nothing”.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“How did he know that?”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“His wife told him.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">I wondered how one could write about Nothing. A project I knew was doomed to be a failure from the start. This was till I came across a book by Jenny Odell titled ‘How to Do Nothing’. It set me thinking. I searched for other books and I found another interesting one ‘The Lost Art of Doing Nothing: How the Dutch unwind with Niksen’. That was a new word and I looked up its meaning -</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">‘Niksen is a Dutch verb that means doing nothing which can be roughly translated as nixing. The noun Niksen is ‘The practice of doing nothing as a means of relieving stress, setting aside time to do absolutely nothing</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">As has been my habit nowadays, I referred the question to my grandson for his responses and this is what I got-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“Nothing and Perfection are two aspects, that people seek to define even when they know that they do not exist in reality,” (pardon me, but Perfection was a fallout of an earlier discussion with him).</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Needless to say, I was perplexed, as usual. This happens after every conversation I have with him.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Long ago when I was on a binge reading Sartre’s books, I had consciously pushed back his magnum opus ‘Being and Nothingness’ to the last on the list. Not only because it was bulky, but because when I browsed through the first few pages I could not understand anything or rather I understood nothing. Though I was successful going through all his other works, this remained untouched and was adorning my bookshelf till a few years ago, If you ask me what happened to the book? I can only answer that it is no longer there. Now if you ask me why, I can say that as long as it was there, it was ‘Being’ there, and the minute I removed it from its place on the shelf there was ‘Nothing there’. That was when wisdom dawned on me. Now every time I look at the space in the shelf there is nothing. And that’s how I understood ‘Being and Nothingness’. Simple isn’t it? I decided I did not need to read the book, and so decided to pass it on to someone who had nothing better to do. So you see, after all, Nothing had a purpose to serve.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Now if you ask me what I have been doing for the last couple of months since my last blog posting, I can only reply nothing, and this time it is true, I am not writing a book about nothing as previously alluded to, but simply doing nothing and feeling happy about it. But then I realized that something happens even when you do nothing. Your beard grows, even some strands of hair have grown on my bald pate, the wrinkles on my face have multiplied, and my stomach protruded (I had a paunch). And when I looked in the mirror, I knew that there was no looking back. And that’s when I learned that if there is one reality, it is that ‘Nothing’ can stop this process of aging and </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">if there is one thing that is eternally present it is ‘Nothing’.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Pardon me for this post. Of late when I talk to people my age and that is old, the common refrain when asked what they have been doing is, they have not been doing anything much. In simple words, it means they are doing nothing. But of course, doing nothing is also something. Well, if you are convinced that I have nothing better to do then you are spot on. Of late, it is true that I have been doing nothing and that is how this post originated. Well, if you feel you have nothing better to do, read on, and in the end, do nothing.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s not my intention here to turn this post into a philosophical discourse. But, of course, during my superficial forays into the realms of Indian Philosophy, I read that “</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Originally, there was nothing. In the beginning of things, what was there? Nothing was there”. I realized that the outcome of my efforts to understand philosophy ultimately amounted to Nothing, whether it be Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, or Existential Thought. But I ploughed on emboldened by the early Greek Philosophers who argued that it was impossible for nothing to exist. So nothing existed, confusing isn’t it? Well, that’s been happening to me very often now. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In all this there was a silver lining when I read a quote from Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ - </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.” </span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Well, I accept I know nothing and so………</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">….</span></span></span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-72503885399653350732023-12-17T17:34:00.000+05:302023-12-17T17:34:44.028+05:30SUBMERGED 2 - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK AGAIN<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQ6uOYVD4yOjrGMJNrTuo99hi0RC7nRzTpvmdZgh8SP6CvYLS2Y8JxP1kvfMYefIQCWvFdaIw8HSKDeLH3QD7RpH0mCQWRxpSZ03Clhp3dSqhk1_IBLz7_lHi1oQTCdpblWkxCope9Yppqa6fcRVWx8bUEd2i_IXDQKvpX1FqsYn8_PUYldljehAEYPv8/s1024/IMG-20231206-WA0030.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQ6uOYVD4yOjrGMJNrTuo99hi0RC7nRzTpvmdZgh8SP6CvYLS2Y8JxP1kvfMYefIQCWvFdaIw8HSKDeLH3QD7RpH0mCQWRxpSZ03Clhp3dSqhk1_IBLz7_lHi1oQTCdpblWkxCope9Yppqa6fcRVWx8bUEd2i_IXDQKvpX1FqsYn8_PUYldljehAEYPv8/w400-h300/IMG-20231206-WA0030.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tRpzjPRTFlt0p8FEiJqHz6tKPw5l3fpIQbCOcJPV_ndX4sOpDRws3DgHokLAVvP-3DK3Y1yKQvfUrmAgJ9tclN9Dr-K6HwkfyOrBuOvjwfZhjxonBFjPiKwXP-WLuIPCBLEzMFNHgl6eqHP2MdG7xbjJ1DHrin3AEReTw4dAXY-17LdfVvnWm7Q5GlO0/s1024/IMG-20231206-WA0020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="1024" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tRpzjPRTFlt0p8FEiJqHz6tKPw5l3fpIQbCOcJPV_ndX4sOpDRws3DgHokLAVvP-3DK3Y1yKQvfUrmAgJ9tclN9Dr-K6HwkfyOrBuOvjwfZhjxonBFjPiKwXP-WLuIPCBLEzMFNHgl6eqHP2MdG7xbjJ1DHrin3AEReTw4dAXY-17LdfVvnWm7Q5GlO0/w400-h373/IMG-20231206-WA0020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-020ac8f3-7fff-cb37-bb0c-4798bc0f83bc"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">SUBMERGED 2 - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK AGAIN</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It was in the first week of December 2015 eight years ago that Chennai was submerged by incessant rainfall, </span><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">the flooding in the city was described as the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/100-year_flood" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">worst in a century</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="background-color: black;"> due to the North East monsoon which hits the East Coast of India during November and December. I was in Chennai, marooned along with so many others, without power, and water (which had to be lugged from the sump on the ground floor to my first-floor apartment, one of the lucky few). One had to grab whatever was available in the surrounding provision stores. Luckily there was no flooding within the apartment perimeter or the surrounding area. In that sense we were lucky.</span></span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">When the power was restored after three days and the wifi turned on, I sat that night to write ‘Submerged - The Day Chennai Sank’ in my blog. That was my way of venting my frustration at what had happened and why the city was reduced to shambles. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">This year it was the cyclone Michaung which battered the city and dumped as much water or maybe more to leave thousands homeless and most of the population without food, drinking water, and power. The signs had been ominous at least a week before 4th December when it finally hit Chennai. All along the Met department was doing their job, tracking the course of the cyclone, and the others(?), were just watching without any perceptible movement on their part to take stock of the situation, and initiate measures to safeguard the city and the population. After all, they had eight years to implement these measures from the lessons learned during the last disaster. We were told that Rs. 4000 crores had been spent in implementing the infrastructure and stormwater drainage systems to prevent such an eventuality. Looking at what happened and how badly the city was affected it is obvious that all that money had literally gone down the drain or into —----(?). The lessons hadn’t been learned because there were more important priorities.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">This time around I was away in Hyderabad. Should I say that I was lucky I was not in Chennai? Though it is a fact, I still feel a sense of having run away from the scene. I have been busy listening to the coverage in the media and seeing the visuals and first-hand reports from my friends and relatives. The situation has been grave and as I write this I am told that there are still some areas where normalcy is yet to be restored. The scenes were very familiar, and 2015 was repeated with increased intensity. I thought that the best way to express my anguish was to repeat what I had written in my earlier blog. Though eight years old, it is still very much relevant, for nothing has changed, nothing constructive has happened. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Although the monsoon is an annual occurrence and cyclones can be expected during this period, this year also the city was in no state of preparedness. The lessons of 2015 had not been learned. At that time I had raised several questions and made observations as to who is to be held responsible for these recurring mishaps. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Reproduced below is a portion of my earlier post, for like everything my views remain the same -</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">‘</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Today when we look at what has happened by way of development, we find – </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">1) unauthorized, unplanned, and illegal structures have sprouted all along the banks of the rivers and elsewhere </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">2) there is only a very small fraction of the large number of water bodies that existed in and around the hinterland of Chennai still left, and encroachments have happened at such places hindering the natural course of water flow</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;"> 3) the real estate boom has given rise to the proliferation of housing societies built in low-lying areas where once a lake existed and (today most of them are flooded). This has been made possible due to the dangerous nexus between the unscrupulous elements in the construction sector, the land grabbing quick buck-making politicians, and the respective departments in the government who do not appear to have made a sincere and serious study of the feasibility and safety of such projects before giving clearances. The result is that a majority of the people aspiring to own a house have taken a huge risk investing in these projects. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">4) If a mapping of the entire region indicating the low-lying areas and lake beds has been done, it does not appear to have been made public, and the ordinary citizen is not aware, nor have the builders been transparent enough to reveal the hazards. Ultimately, one should lay the blame on the agencies involved for giving clearances. Who knows (or rather everyone knows) what considerations are involved. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">I could list out any number of failures and shortcomings of the administration. But have we ever asked ourselves the question why this is so? To what extent have we ourselves contributed to this sorry state of affairs? Isn’t it fair to admit that we also have a major share in allowing this to happen?</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Hopefully, this disaster should open the eyes of the ordinary man to the game being played. Though stormwater drains have been planned and implemented, they have not been fully completed and where completed, periodic maintenance is not evident. Roads are dug up by different departments like the electricity board for laying cables and again dug up by the water and sewage department for laying pipelines without any proper resurfacing of the road. The pathetic state of the roads is evidence enough. We already have large potholes and caving-in roads in some places, aggravated by this present spell of rains and I am sure some patchwork will be done immediately, which within a few months will once again revert to their pathetic state. No one is held accountable for carrying out such substandard and shoddy work. One hears that there was opposition to the proposal for relaying the roads with concrete. One can only surmise that if that is done the need for maintenance will drastically reduce and with it, the annual contracts for relaying the roads would diminish, and with it …… (No elaboration required I guess). It's ‘consideration’ and not 'necessity', that appears to be the rule for awarding work contracts.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">This disaster has brought to the fore the fact, that it is the ordinary man on the street, our armed forces, NDRF, and other voluntary agencies that emerge as the heroes of the day; whether it is rescuing marooned people and ensuring that supplies are delivered to the affected. People have thrown open their homes to house the affected. For the first time, I have seen Chennai rise as a single united force without relying on the unreliable support of the political class to battle the forces of nature and ensure the city's survival. Well, the politicians whichever party they belong to have engaged themselves in blame games, trying to garner credit for the rescue efforts that have been undertaken. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">What can one say except that the Elections are imminent and this ‘Disaster’ is an ‘Opportunity’!</span></span></p><br /></span></div>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-36860425415217208242023-12-08T23:13:00.000+05:302023-12-08T23:13:40.667+05:30A TRIBUTE TO MAMI (Smt. LAKSHMI RAMACHANDRAN) ON HER BIRTH CENTENARY<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilY8FuLRlvrirdGgu9ysl_uNuhdeVwiXmDXWYaZNAXeabvT-Eww1NHQE7y-POofGWNstYASv96S_NHFfUO8kyMXNeVzwrG0got6ny1z8P8h6c8VxB3MpxnaLgkhwjGX8k-g1Z00qwvBh2_CHef6oOfsTfXnqKxoi9g4cB1dPvaMojuNnZBvsJy4WmSmrP8/s1024/IMG-20200510-WA0007.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilY8FuLRlvrirdGgu9ysl_uNuhdeVwiXmDXWYaZNAXeabvT-Eww1NHQE7y-POofGWNstYASv96S_NHFfUO8kyMXNeVzwrG0got6ny1z8P8h6c8VxB3MpxnaLgkhwjGX8k-g1Z00qwvBh2_CHef6oOfsTfXnqKxoi9g4cB1dPvaMojuNnZBvsJy4WmSmrP8/w300-h400/IMG-20200510-WA0007.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A TRIBUTE TO MAMI (Smt. LAKSHMI RAMACHANDRAN) ON HER BIRTH CENTENARY</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It was in July 1977 (46 years ago) that I first met Mami, my future mother-in-law, Mrs. Lakshmi Ramachandran. As I set foot into the precincts of what was to become my second home, I was overcome by an aura of affection and compassion that seemed to permeate every nook and corner of the house. I did not have to look far inside for its source. There she was standing at the door to welcome me and my mother. A stately lady with a smile and eyes that conveyed a genuine human being. That was the moment when it dawned on me, that I belonged there and Revathi, her daughter, became my wife. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Like all her nephews and nieces and there were quite a large number of them, I called her Mami, but she treated me like a son. Many of the anecdotes I have listened to narrated by them and other close friends of the family, would dwell on the affection showered on them and the generosity of Mami and Mama. Invariably on weekends, there would be a congregation of people at the house and I have seen Mami playing the perfect hostess. She and Mama enjoyed having people around.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">They say that behind every man’s success, there is a woman, and Mami more than filled that role in respect of her husband. They were the ‘Universal Couple’ whose home was an open house. Mami was a strong personality, affectionate yet putting her views across to her children in no uncertain terms. You find the effects of that childhood upbringing so much so that all her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren still remain as a close-knit family supporting and being there for each other, lending a shoulder in times of physical and emotional crisis. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I was the only outsider mappillai(son-in-law), but soon became an integral part of the household. Unlike the others who were in Madras and had the occasion to interact with her frequently and be the recipient of her affection, we were the only ones who lived far away, in Gujarat, but we made sure to be in Madras during every vacation and attend all the functions in the family to bask in the warmth of the sunshine cast by Mami and Mama. My daughters eagerly looked forward to these visits to be with their cousins and be pampered by their grandmother and they all formed a strong bond among themselves under her affectionate care. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In later years especially after Mama’s passing away and her own failing health she still retained that smile and the twinkle in her eyes whenever she was in the midst of her near and dear ones. And when she departed it was as if a large banyan tree had fallen. Though its shade is no longer available, her memories continue to light up our lives.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A hundred years have passed since she came into this world, and when she went away to the higher realms, she left her indelible footprints for us, as if to remind everyone, that ultimately it is selfless love and affection that remain and that is what we shall remember of her. She was a Karma Yogi and on the centenary of her birth, we will be paying homage to her soul only by keeping alive the ideals by which she lived, spreading the word of Love, Compassion, Humility, and Commitment.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-311a836c-7fff-4e28-2a79-eddb08fef284"><br /></span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-17848225603712906212023-11-17T15:17:00.000+05:302023-11-17T15:17:45.159+05:30IN NEED OF APPRECIATION<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkwjIn140cx2737-rG0nyUfngl0wIP52dEauF3Ii-fvj9oPG4Vj4QIJXudHTiblBFnQd-KgGQP-Sn09iABebob7XAtc1W3RpE4cYVNrJyVYhb322Dh-NpYuVOT7Xev7QHB7atk8E0ej6ApuNl3B6t8K0u8WILtrIS_3nEYqzFH4GeaatOlNUE5yAlTsSX/s720/FB_IMG_1698291212719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="485" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkwjIn140cx2737-rG0nyUfngl0wIP52dEauF3Ii-fvj9oPG4Vj4QIJXudHTiblBFnQd-KgGQP-Sn09iABebob7XAtc1W3RpE4cYVNrJyVYhb322Dh-NpYuVOT7Xev7QHB7atk8E0ej6ApuNl3B6t8K0u8WILtrIS_3nEYqzFH4GeaatOlNUE5yAlTsSX/w270-h400/FB_IMG_1698291212719.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Painting by my daughter Maitreyi</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">IN NEED OF APPRECIATION</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“You can’t just write and write and put things in a drawer. They wither without the warm sun of someone else’s appreciation.”― </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Anne Morrow Lindbergh</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.05714; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Appreciation has tremendous power. A beautiful thing is not beautiful until someone appreciates it.”― </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Debasish Mridha</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.05714; margin-bottom: 9pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-63c43a3d-7fff-4849-b10d-674fcd919d9f" style="background-color: black;"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It all started when in the course of a conversation with a friend of many years I expressed, that I do feel demotivated, and a sense of disappointment when I find that the books I had written have not received the exposure they deserve in the public domain, he immediately looked at me and said-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“I find it strange to give comments in a public place, even when these are very appreciative ones, which as per the cliche, must be given publicly. Why? To encourage? No, I do not agree. you cannot encourage any creativity just by appreciating it publicly. You can only enjoy it post facto and hence, your appreciation of any creative work, is for your private personal consumption; you thereby wish to acknowledge to you and not to others or the author that you enjoyed that work of creation. Keep writing for the sake of expressing your creativity, your originality, and your special worldview; and all this for yourself.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Another good friend of mine over the years called to tell me that she had at last purchased my book ‘I am just an Ordinary Man’ and finished it within two days. She said she liked it. But when I asked her to make a review and put it up on the site, she had only this to say, “I have known you for such a long time and could connect with a lot of what is written there, but it is not possible for me to write a review, for it could be a very biased view and therefore not an honest one.” I respected her viewpoint and did not pursue it, but still, I could not understand her logic.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">I have often wondered why I keep asking people, mostly friends and close relatives whether they have read my books and if so, request them to write a review and post it on Amazon and similar sites from where they had purchased the book. I have done that every time I completed one and published it. Every time I write a post and put it in my blog, I share it on my social media and keep track of the number of views and comments posted. Suffice it to say that my blog has registered more than 100,000 views from 300 posts in the last 10 years since I became active with my writing. And to be truthful it has given me immense satisfaction and ego fulfillment. But is this what I write for? </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">I have asked myself this question many times and have not been able to answer it. Is it because I want to get across to others so that I am understood as to what I am, or because I am trying to understand more about myself? Is it because I am seeking recognition and adulation or want to be a commercial success? It could be a combination of all these. But I know one thing, I write because I like it. I also like it when someone says that they like what I write. I accept the truth that the integrity of any writing or for that matter any art form stems from an honest exposition of one’s own feelings. There is definitely a dilution in your expressions when you cater to commercial considerations. When a reader/ reviewer says that his appreciation is for his own private consumption and hence does not believe in putting it up in a public space, I cannot question, for this is an individual choice. But for me the creator it is my expectation that my creation reaches a wide audience, for there is a joy in sharing, a satisfaction of a need to be understood, and a need for adulation. This is especially true of any creation that is put up in the public domain for consumption. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">I came across a quote of Marcel Duchamp that puts the role of appreciation of a creative work in the right perspective -</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">“The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">All great works of Art or literature would have remained undiscovered if they had not received the patronage or appreciation of a vast majority of the spectators. The great sculptures and the paintings of Michelangelo would not have been possible but for the patronage of the church. Or take the case of Van Gogh, his paintings would not have been available to us if not for the efforts of his brother Theo. Though, during his lifetime Van Gogh never sold a painting it was left to Theo to bring it out and let the world discover him. Yes, both Michelangelo and Van Gogh created out of the intense passion by which they were consumed. So is it true of Music and literature. I would not have read all the books that I have if I had not found them in the public domain. Whether I liked them or not is an individual preference. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">It was in this context that I asked my daughter (she is an artist herself in her own right and has been an experimenter in various art forms from Surrealism to the abstract) if appreciation is a personal thing, a one-is-to-one event and something that does not need to be done on the public domain? Isn’t it enough to create and find an avenue for your passions and be content and fulfilled with the end product? I reproduce below the response that I received from her -</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Art is a form of expression, not just contemplation. The reason it is shared with the world is the same as the reason you start conversations. To connect with the people who may resonate with you. Therefore appreciation and feedback, even a critical one... anything that starts a dialogue is most welcome. Anything that says that you were seen or heard by someone who wishes to engage with you. Otherwise, all the words could go unwritten and all the images can remain in the recesses of your mind without being brought out on the canvas. Not everyone finds the comfort in direct conversations and not everyone finds people who can hold conversations in the metaphors or imagery that they are comfortable with in their immediate circle. That is why they reach out into the world through art. That is why art is called a form of expression. Saying an artist becomes great when they stop looking for engagement is untrue. The art may become great but the artist stays miserable for lack of connection.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Lastly, I have to add that despite all those assertions of creating for one’s own passion and fulfillment which I have been trying to convince myself of, I have to admit that being appreciated is an important emotional need of the creator. It is a motivation that he looks for to help him on his journey of creation.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><br /></span><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-65729666696190716942023-10-17T20:20:00.004+05:302023-10-17T20:47:44.444+05:30DO YOU HAVE THE ‘TIME’?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDiG8n7noSDKBRhREmmW1TcfgESRdocAzZLgabvkRm_wnjRvNxjKXS5Qe5J05SB-88kVQlyEbBifJAZFZhbxQI8THKS4moMNHJ-QRVsBvTekAoPAbJRcCPBd6eJd6G1ardne3_lad8RLuXnDwVsYIKAKMy-KbOdsf3jiWUQ8e-xEKAls4zdujhsQnE_JL-/s229/IMG-20231017-WA0000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="229" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDiG8n7noSDKBRhREmmW1TcfgESRdocAzZLgabvkRm_wnjRvNxjKXS5Qe5J05SB-88kVQlyEbBifJAZFZhbxQI8THKS4moMNHJ-QRVsBvTekAoPAbJRcCPBd6eJd6G1ardne3_lad8RLuXnDwVsYIKAKMy-KbOdsf3jiWUQ8e-xEKAls4zdujhsQnE_JL-/w320-h307/IMG-20231017-WA0000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: center; white-space-collapse: preserve;">DO YOU HAVE THE ‘TIME’?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Last night, as has been my wont the last few months, I opened my laptop, sensing an urge to write something to end the drought of the last three years since I completed and published my book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’. And as usual, I kept staring at the blank screen as blank as my mind was at the time. So I decided to listen to music. As providence would have it the first album that came to my mind was Pink Floyd’s ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’. I realized that it was the 50th Anniversary since it was released. They have been one of my favorite groups ever since I passed out of college and when I started working this was the first LP album that I acquired. Years or rather decades later I realized that it had become a collector’s item.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">As I listened to the haunting music and the lyrics of their song ‘Time’ I was shaken out of a stupor that had gripped me the last few years. I am reproducing below two stanzas that started me off on this post (though I would love to have the entire lyrics of the song here for the benefit of my readers, this would suffice)-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: white;">Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And then one day you find ten years have got behind you</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Though I never did relish lying in the sun, the summers being hot in this part of the world and I never was an outdoor cat. But I did relish the rain, sitting by the window and watching the veil of water pouring outside, also I did not mind getting wet; rather I enjoyed it when there was a gentle drizzle caressing my face, like during certain evenings, when I was on my evening walk along the seashore. I was not young then, but one day I did realize that ten years had passed since those magic moments occurred. Since I was past the age of being in a race, it did not really bother me whether I had missed the starting gun. But looking back (when I was young and felt life was long), I realize that I had missed the starting gun through my procrastination. Three decades have passed by, and now I feel I have missed out on a lot of things, a lot of opportunities. Time does not wait, it flows and you cannot swim against the tide to return to where you left off. That brings me back to another song ‘Yesterday’ by The Beatles, another of my favorites-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/1433771/The-beatles-yesterday/Yesterday-all-my-troubles-seemed-so-far-away-now-it-looks-as-though-theyre-here-to-stay-oh-i-believe-in-yesterday" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Yesterday</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/1433771/The-beatles-yesterday/Yesterday-all-my-troubles-seemed-so-far-away-now-it-looks-as-though-theyre-here-to-stay-oh-i-believe-in-yesterday" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">All my troubles seemed so far away</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/1433771/The-beatles-yesterday/Yesterday-all-my-troubles-seemed-so-far-away-now-it-looks-as-though-theyre-here-to-stay-oh-i-believe-in-yesterday" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Now it looks as though they're here to stay</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/1433771/The-beatles-yesterday/Yesterday-all-my-troubles-seemed-so-far-away-now-it-looks-as-though-theyre-here-to-stay-oh-i-believe-in-yesterday" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Oh, I believe in yesterday</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Suddenly</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I'm not half the man I used to be</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/27089809/The-beatles-yesterday/Theres-a-shadow-hanging-over-me-oh-yesterday-came-suddenly" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">There's a shadow hanging over me</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://genius.com/27089809/The-beatles-yesterday/Theres-a-shadow-hanging-over-me-oh-yesterday-came-suddenly" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Oh, yesterday came suddenly</span></span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Now it appears that Yesterday did come suddenly, so much so I never realized it had gone. So will it be true for today, tomorrow, and the day after - </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Fifty years ago, I wrote my first few lines of poetry. It was listlessness then, and it is listlessness now. It was then an awakening, arising from observing all that was happening around me. Thrown out into uncharted waters from the relatively safe haven of an academic life, left to fend for myself and exposed to the realities of the big bad (good) world, choose what you will, but it was like waking up from a stupor. I have written this in detail in the Introduction to my first book, ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’. Suffice to say I wrote this four decades later in 2014-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Somewhere I hear a clock chime,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Marking the passage of fleeting time,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Somewhere I hear the motor’s whirr,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Slowly from my slumber I now stir.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Back in 1973, it was a wake-up call, an alarm set off, to remind me that I have a lot to express and say. I was young then and it took me 40 years to say it completely. Now I am 73 years old (funny how the figure 73 occurs in both). Now I am 5 books old (took me nine years to do that, in any case not forty years). Now it is not a crisis of conscience but an urgency. That is where the song by Pink Floyd struck a chord.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I look back and read what I had written in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ in the chapter ‘Silence’, nearly ten years ago, it was prophetic - </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been two years since I started traversing back on the road I had trodden. Now a certain lethargy has crept in and a reluctance to continue writing. It is nearly four decades (</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">now of course it is five decades</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) since that day in February 1974 when I first felt the anxiety of existence and a fear of death. Now the rumblings have started once again. Only this time it was an evaluation of all the beliefs I had built around me in order to remain in a self-imposed exile. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Yes the days get shorter and time is elusive, it slips through your fingers like sand. But something keeps pushing me saying that the song isn't over and I do have something more to say (unlike the last line of the above stanza of Pink Floyd). Remember Robert Frost’s famous stanza from his poem ‘Sitting by Woods on a Snowy Evening’-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 15pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -15pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 15pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The woods are lovely, dark and deep, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 15pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -15pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 15pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">But I have promises to keep, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 15pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -15pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 15pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And miles to go before I sleep, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 15pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -15pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 15pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And miles to go before I sleep.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 15pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -15pt;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 15pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Before I end this post I will return to the first few lines of Pink Floyd’s song-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">This was exactly what has been happening to me. That is why this post, to break the stranglehold imposed by my own procrastination. I do not wish to miss the starting gun once again.</span></span></p><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And the song continues.</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-25907958640927266592023-06-08T15:53:00.000+05:302023-06-08T15:53:26.493+05:30A PREFACE - THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY- PART 2 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tppjKYhitZLleFtZnXShO9WSmbtrg7rpJWJJrXR-0mt6yumeX8BZbT9cua8_GXr6LEBrXBEfHFV_UrS2vv8KbIhK4Xhj-Kq3-xAVo_z4h5ZyoG2ATmWOPhQpTE4TAUuNqUevmXlTU9cZdyDvP9KQDw9Tov0BocJbXhv5m4q15TYtPrh5lGYJRDfQZw/s1286/IMG_20190108_160124-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="917" data-original-width="1286" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tppjKYhitZLleFtZnXShO9WSmbtrg7rpJWJJrXR-0mt6yumeX8BZbT9cua8_GXr6LEBrXBEfHFV_UrS2vv8KbIhK4Xhj-Kq3-xAVo_z4h5ZyoG2ATmWOPhQpTE4TAUuNqUevmXlTU9cZdyDvP9KQDw9Tov0BocJbXhv5m4q15TYtPrh5lGYJRDfQZw/w400-h285/IMG_20190108_160124-001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY- PART 2</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">PREFACE</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Calamities have a way of throwing up questions that we have evaded all along and opening wounds that we have long since buried and forgotten lest they hurt us again. That is why, perhaps calamities or disasters happen, to reassess our role in this world. My last book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ ar0se out of the disaster that occurred during the floods in Kedarnath. Caught in the midst of this calamity Mrityunjay is forced to re-evaluate his life and move forward towards a resolution of the angst which had all the while enveloped him. He returns after his sojourn, a changed individual who learns to cherish what it is to live and what it is to love, having gathered all the wisdom from the cloister of monks who reside content in the knowledge that life is not only gathering knowledge of the self but that there is a deeper purpose which embraces humanity and giving back in the form of service, compassion, and empathy. I recollect a passage from Will Durant’s book ‘Fallen Leaves’ </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I know that life is in its basis a mystery; a river flowing from an unseen source and in its development an infinite subtlety; a ‘dome of many-colored glass’, too complex for thought, much less for utterance.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The Covid pandemic of 2020 was perhaps the greatest calamity to have happened to humankind in the last hundred years. What started as a localized infection spread its tentacles all across the globe threatening to decimate the population. Slowly did we wake up to the truth of our vulnerability to an enemy created by our own misadventures. Leave alone the number of people who succumbed, it left behind a trail of fear and uncertainty in the minds of those who survived. It left people without homes and drove them across the length and breadth of the country in search of sustenance. The migrant became the symbol of human frailty. As they trudged towards their homes, hundreds of miles away, clinging on to whatever transport came their way, the less fortunate pushed themselves on foot in a desperate bid to be with their dear ones. On the road, hundreds perished. For those who remained in the comfort of their homes, it was confinement and incarceration. The virus did not spare the rich and poor alike; no distinctions between the mighty and the weak. It was impartial. But the never say die human spirit once again shook off the shackles and slowly but surely moved towards resolution in containing this threat. As 2020 drew to a close a light flickered in the distance. The vaccine, a result of human endeavor, brought with it the hope that the enemy can be contained. This flicker slowly grew in size and towards the end of 2021, the virus could be contained though not wholly eradicated. It still lurks in the background, but we have learned to live with it and in the process brought about a change in our lifestyles to adapt to the new life order. This has led to our questioning the basic premises on which we had built up our lives. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I did not escape the clutches of the virus either, though it was mild, the circumstances and the surrounding environment did affect me to the extent that I found my mental faculties blocked and a sort of depression set in. I was not able to express myself in the only way I knew- writing. Though in the initial period of the shutdown, I found that the isolation imposed gave me the space to do some writing and that’s when my book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ was completed. From the end of the year 2020 for a year thereafter it was a shutdown for me personally. The year 2021 was a washout. 2022 started slowly and on a more positive note. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-right: 36pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I knew I had a promise to keep- Mrityunjay had given a glimpse of a sequel at the end of the book and this is where I restarted, to maintain the continuity and make it easier for the reader to connect. Mrityunjay once again finds himself in the midst of another crisis and the awakening that had occurred during his two-year sojourn following the Kedarnath disaster being reawakened. </span></span></p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-11f24134-7fff-a7bf-d5d3-93694b6c4b5e"><br /></span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-59953329722218763252023-05-02T14:09:00.000+05:302023-05-02T14:09:57.751+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS - PART 6 FROM ORDINARY MAN TO MRITYUNJAY <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIs24ksM5ZHzCV6X70x5eFZOMuXg5_2zWRwnmM-hfohbg3lHIeTco2Yz7wr2qU1CvYmi7KVEV9qq3EeeULB13Qj6nu-keZvYHp8DNy95e--GfRgcE-xemXGvfogi6CVIlHZDOmtrE2v9P_7f_ByhPnVamBoJS3FRbvYensZZ2uLtrhL_FYuSbAi6-qQ/s1080/FB_IMG_1683008356412.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIs24ksM5ZHzCV6X70x5eFZOMuXg5_2zWRwnmM-hfohbg3lHIeTco2Yz7wr2qU1CvYmi7KVEV9qq3EeeULB13Qj6nu-keZvYHp8DNy95e--GfRgcE-xemXGvfogi6CVIlHZDOmtrE2v9P_7f_ByhPnVamBoJS3FRbvYensZZ2uLtrhL_FYuSbAi6-qQ/w400-h225/FB_IMG_1683008356412.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-weight: 700; white-space: pre-wrap;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS - PART 6</span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">FROM ORDINARY MAN TO MRITYUNJAY </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I reproduce here a first selection of passages from my books- a journey of learning, an inquiry into life, and an acceptance of reality. It is through the characters in my books that I have tried to put forward not only my philosophy of life, but also what I have learned through my interactions with people who have been part of the journey. Ultimately the journey of life is one's own and the paths are many, but like the river finally flows into the ocean and merges with it we also merge with the undefined Absolute </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“In that slowly descending darkness as the moon ascended and a gentle breeze blew, I found myself enveloped in that stillness and a strange sort of bliss. I let lay the existential dilemmas somewhere within me for the moment and allowed myself to be immersed in that beyond.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“When you have stripped yourself bare like the trees in the fall season you will be standing totally barren with nothing to hide”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/42924765" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am just An Ordinary Man</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Learn to listen to the river and flow along with it. Its waters soothe and heal everyone. It does not distinguish between caste, creed, or religion. I have learned a lot from it, for the doctor’s duty is also similar- to soothe, heal without distinction.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Diary of Mrityunjay</span></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“He made me realize that life was not all darkness and that it can be dispelled with the light of hope. I learned the value of faith and loyalty in the conduct of one’s life, for that was how he led his.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“How can one ever write the story of one’s life when it has not ended? If he does, then it is an incomplete story. But isn’t it a paradox that one has to be alive to write one’s own story, a story which is never complete till he is dead”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/42924765" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am just An Ordinary Man</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“The most important thing I learned from my parents is that there is nothing like sympathy, it is only compassion that one should feel. My parents have given me love and I have understood what compassion is from them. That in the ultimate analysis has made me what I am. I am what I am; there is no other state I can be. There is no question of ‘If’ in my vocabulary. A majority of us spend our time thinking about the choices we have made in life and how things could have been different if we had chosen otherwise. We have made certain choices because they were within our power to do so. When we start thinking that things could have been different and maybe we would have led a better life than our present state, we start feeling unhappy and miserable. We are helpless when we start questioning our origins and why we were not born under more favorable circumstances. We question God and blame him for all the misery that we are undergoing now. There are no answers when someone comes along and says it is due to our Karma and we are atoning for our sins in a previous birth. All the same we are miserable. Most of the time, we end up blaming extraneous reasons for our mistakes and retreat into a shell of self-pity. If”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I have learnt my lessons. I have realized that the world is real and our existence a necessity. Life and death are certainties and so are all the gamut of emotions that we experience on our journey. The earlier we accept this, the easier would it be to live. One does not learn by moving away. One learns by sticking it out and facing the truth of our fallibilities and that alone is the only way to overcome them”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/85340562" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.48235; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 9.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">T</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.48235; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I stand exorcised of the ghosts of the past,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">That haunted and hounded me,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Through the corridors of the path I had tread,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And through the halls of time.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/85340562" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“For me the human condition is paramount, and asking ‘Why’ is not in my scheme of things. I have learned to accept what life throws at me because I alone can face it. That’s why I do not talk very much about a Creator, God, or a Supreme Being coming down to solve my problems.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/85340562" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“It is the impact that the poem had on my own thinking process and set the tone for the first and longest story in this book, ‘Autumn Leaves.’ Having seen around me the reality of aging and loneliness predominant, and the younger generation moving still further away and the older ones slowly learning to cope with being by themselves. This story traces the disintegration of families from what was once a joint one with a ruling patriarch and the other members strewn around not far away, to single units ultimately spread out in far and distant lands; the slow but perceptible shifting away in distance and relationships and acceptance of which as a reality was unalterable. The advancement in knowledge and the growth in opportunities away from home, contributing to a more independent individual learning to live life on his own terms, though desirable, has led to the splintering of families and in a sense an inevitable reality of being left alone as one aged.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/62946652" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Autumn Leaves : Seasons of Life</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I also liked to sit with a mug of beer in one corner of the room and watch the others. This was for the first time I realized that someone was also watching me. That happens I guess, for when we are bored with ourselves we watch others.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“The way a person laughs is perhaps the closest indicator to his actual self. “So”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">―</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“One finds one’s own answers to the questions in life, if and when they arise. They are as old as you are and that’s why I am slightly surprised at your question. You see I belong to another generation and it has not been easy to shake away all the beliefs that I have grown up with. But in the process I have shed a lot of the baggage of my predecessors and I am sure that my children are doing the same. I am awake to the demands of this changing world and what was God to me must be different now, though the basic questions of life will remain. You will find your own God and give him a new form. But why did you suddenly ask me this question?” “Sir,”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“It was strange but the name’s origin lies in a dream I had, the only thing of which I remember is of a woman who appears therein and when I ask her name, she replies ‘Amora.’ I do not know whether my subconscious was at work or whether hidden infatuations had surfaced.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/62946652" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Autumn Leaves : Seasons of Life</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“it is only the level of acceptance in a relationship that is a true indicator of its strength and determines its longevity. We have accepted and respected each other’s space and worked together for the welfare of the children and that’s how the family stays as a family. Compromise really does not work, for like a truce, it is a temporary call to end hostilities. It could break down any moment.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“As I watched him get into his car and drive away I was reminded of my own self thirty- five years ago when such questions on relationships and the uncertainty in our lives had also haunted me. But I had found answers for myself.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Looking back, I suspect a number of them did last as there was no other option. But whether then or now, it has always been the absence of empathy; insensitivity on the part of one and a weakness on the part of the other to recognize emotional and physical needs of each other that has been the reason for conflicts in a relationship.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/51431554" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness and Beyond: A Medley of Many Lives</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“As you grow older you come to appreciate those little things and laugh at your own idiosyncrasies. It is when you are able to do this, you move towards a total acceptance of the person that you are and life becomes easier and comfortable. Your relationships become genuine, for you do not hide much.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/42924765" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am just An Ordinary Man</span></a></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It is very difficult to accept one’s own mortality. But that is the truth, one day we shall cease to be. I have never believed in divine interventions or an afterlife, for these only tend to distract you from the present reality – that we live and should every moment be aware that life is what you make of it. Though I have never been religious and do not look at the scriptures or the rituals as that ordained by a supreme being who sits in judgment over our actions, Karma Yoga appeals to me for it is a path of selfless action. I look at Krishna as an evolved being not as a God who through his Gita tried to tell us that one has to face the results of one’s actions. Buddha was a wise man who learned to cope with the miseries of the world and prescribed a path for the rightful conduct of one’s life and ending one’s suffering. While one was God the other was the Enlightened One. Both of them placed before you the promise of a better afterlife for rightful actions in this life. I have had a fair share of experiences in this life to make me realize that it is only compassion and empathy that ultimately leads one to fulfillment. I am not a scholar or have an in-depth knowledge of the scriptures and can never enter into a debate as to what is right and what is wrong. It is futile, for everyone looks at the world from his own view. We spend most of our life debating whether the world is because of divine intervention or just an accident. Understanding the world requires one to set aside prejudices and stop being judgmental. </span></span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><b>Autumn Leaves, Enigma (this is the philosophy of life expressed by the main character Atulya in Enigma the third story of the book)</b></span></span></p></li></ul><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-a7dc162d-7fff-4a84-eb91-89db1463053c" style="background-color: black;"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.7999999999999998; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-right: 9pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-caeae792-7fff-d2a5-2537-7abadd0eb283" style="background-color: black;"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-91835646546450907342023-04-12T17:49:00.000+05:302023-04-12T17:49:29.666+05:30COMING HOME a book by SMITHA VISHWANATH BOOK REVIEW<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvek5-_sH2JymRDYnqtUux8hrgT5IPBXHqfLZW-7P8XY7XSOJPS_TpB_hUwcrB0Bnt8VdhCaW3y3RjFVsDNQx1ba6wp0lhmJbAB6CHlxT34984BxujYo3o4KgEjiXh2nxQB-D_8cooist_NMSpEkDmIn0YKxWYhWgeV1j4yJz8bWsAH83vRGZeVH9A9w/s4095/IMG_20230406_173950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4095" data-original-width="2962" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvek5-_sH2JymRDYnqtUux8hrgT5IPBXHqfLZW-7P8XY7XSOJPS_TpB_hUwcrB0Bnt8VdhCaW3y3RjFVsDNQx1ba6wp0lhmJbAB6CHlxT34984BxujYo3o4KgEjiXh2nxQB-D_8cooist_NMSpEkDmIn0YKxWYhWgeV1j4yJz8bWsAH83vRGZeVH9A9w/w289-h400/IMG_20230406_173950.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">COMING HOME by SMITHA VISHWANATH</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">BOOK REVIEW</span></span></span></p><p><b id="docs-internal-guid-9f857b2a-7fff-1702-b3da-c7440c077c1b" style="background-color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">My introduction to Smitha’s writings was when I read ‘Roads - A Journey with Verses’ which she had co-authored. A book of poems that I had also reviewed and posted on my blog. I found her mellow and inclusive in expressing her feelings. She understands that change is the only constant in life. With a ‘never say die’ attitude, her writing is one of hope and courage. I have been an avid reader of her blog and poems.</span></span></b></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In one of her poems ‘Hesitate and seal your Fate’ she writes-</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: white;">Break the chains that hold you back,</span></i></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: white;">Shatter the walls that make you slack,</span></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: white;">Drop the baggage from your cart,</span></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: white;">It’s never too late to start.</span></i></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">This positive streak is reflected in all her writings and one finds ample instances throughout her first novel. In a preface to one of her poems ‘Hush Daddy! Don’t fear’ she writes ‘Taking care of a parent isn’t always easy. It’s a vicious cycle of guilt, duty, love, and responsibility. As for the parent, there’s no refuting that aging is an extremely difficult phase of life and a lonely journey’. It was necessary for me to reproduce the above so that the reader has an insight into the author’s emotional nature, her sensitivity to the situations she finds herself in, and in the ultimate analysis that’s what ‘Coming Home’ is about. This is amply evident from the responses of the protagonist Shanaya: the way she handles the trauma of her mother’s death and the resultant loneliness which envelops her father. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have always felt that the first novel of an author is to a large extent autobiographical. The need to understand one’s own life and pour out the innermost feelings which we have allowed to lie dormant within us, to hold a mirror in front of us to see our perfections and imperfections and in the end feel fulfilled. Whether it is through fiction or through a straightforward autobiography. That’s what Smitha has done, woven, a fictional story (that I feel) around her own experiences in life into a sensitive story covering all facets of human emotions. Call it a love story, or a journey back to her roots ending in self-discovery, there’s no denying the fact that the reader will find the book absorbing and remind them of some of the classics they have read before. While the book has romance for the romantic, for the discerning banker </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">her background as a banker is amply demonstrated in her descriptions of Shanaya’s work at the bank and the various situations she handles with aplomb. These are detailed and in no sense out of context and in a way will be of interest to the banker reader like me.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">The depth of Smitha’s writing lies in her ability to delve deep into the characters she creates, the sensitiveness with which she handles them and brings them alive, so much so that the readers find themselves woven into the fabric of the book and an active observer of the events. In fact, I found myself interacting with the characters while reading the book. Apart from the characterizations, Smitha has recreated the places and situations brilliantly with her eye for detail and the felicity with which she handles her words.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A combination of a banker, poet, artist, and now an author, is a rarity - one mundane and the other in the realms of creative excellence. Smitha is one. She is a prolific blogger. I have been an avid reader of her blog posts and an admirer of her paintings. Her growth as an artist over the last three years has been phenomenal as is evident from her various posts on her blog and social media. She has brought a lot of this artistry while writing her first novel. I am sure many more will follow.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">‘Coming Home’ is a book you will love. Read and review it on the book’s site on Amazon.in where it is available and don’t forget to reserve a place on your shelf. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">HIGHLY RECOMMENDED</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">SYNOPSIS</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">To Shanaya the protagonist, Dubai is the place where she grew up, studied, worked, and as such, that was her home till the traumatic event of her mother’s death brings her back. The first chapter gives us an inkling of what coming home is about. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Twenty-six-year-old, Shanaya, finds her idea of home and family ripped apart when she loses her mother. Her effort to drown herself in her job proves to be financially rewarding and her work is recognized by the organisation. But, even this is not enough to fill the vacuum in her heart or answer the questions, her mother’s sudden death had given rise to. In her quest for peace and the need to hold her family together, she leaves her job in Dubai and moves to India. The story finds Shanaya journeying across geographical planes and inner landscapes to finally reach ‘home'. Coming Home is a heartwarming story about self-discovery, relationships, loss, love, destiny, the choices we make, and how these choices eventually lead to what we are destined for. </span></span></p><p><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-20704491506554201692023-03-04T20:21:00.000+05:302023-03-04T20:21:11.837+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 5 IN SEARCH OF SIGNIFICANCE<p> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlxLRx1RbbQoS8fAjwiM2AzuAOsFRJ_fTY3IxkWhE5HSSRq1a4T_YwVKu3TuHIvPuLM4gG8Tc8qB6iv0bxsnDNq7VasS1l9NpEENosWpxxD8yOgtqAhHYDv-BmM86HwgDtyu6fzPmog1V4cvLRXlufXVSR6UUWskftgUmJXt_llpwYA8HJuEx4pFkPQ/s2048/DSC_8208.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlxLRx1RbbQoS8fAjwiM2AzuAOsFRJ_fTY3IxkWhE5HSSRq1a4T_YwVKu3TuHIvPuLM4gG8Tc8qB6iv0bxsnDNq7VasS1l9NpEENosWpxxD8yOgtqAhHYDv-BmM86HwgDtyu6fzPmog1V4cvLRXlufXVSR6UUWskftgUmJXt_llpwYA8HJuEx4pFkPQ/w400-h266/DSC_8208.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 5</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-996417b6-7fff-a7b2-73bd-f58ab4e4105b" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">IN SEARCH OF SIGNIFICANCE</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">While talking to my grandson on FaceTime a few days ago (as I do every morning), I complimented him on a poem he had written in school. In fact, I was astonished that a twelve-year-old boy could write a poem running to about sixty lines on the American War of Independence. I reproduce a few lines to give an idea of his thinking process-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Fighting and fighting,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Waging a war,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Wondering what it’s worth,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">What it’s worth fighting for.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In the years to come if the next generation continues with this mindset then I am sure that the world will become a better place to live in. What impressed me more was the quality of mentoring imparted at the school level in molding the thinking process of young minds.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">As the subject for the day centered around poetry, I asked him whether he knew what ‘Haiku’ is. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, it </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is a type of short-form </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">poetry</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> originally from </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japan" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Japan</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“They taught you that in school?” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Yes, we had a discussion on that,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I will read out a poem I had written, can you tell me whether it is a Haiku?” I asked. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I then read out the following poem to him-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In the shade</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">of the redwood tree,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I stood, a fly,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In time and space,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Insignificant.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“No grandpa, it is strictly not a haiku. It is a short poem,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“And why so?” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“We were taught in school that a Japanese haiku consists of three lines or phrases with a 5-7-5 structure of syllables,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“But it does have other important features of a Haiku, like it is short and contemplative and has an emphasis on imagery,” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, you can call it an English haiku,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">As I continued conversing with him I learned a few things myself, that it is never too early to understand nor is it never too late to learn. A few significant things arose from the conversation, though the keyword in the poem was ‘insignificant’. The most striking observation was when he said that ‘insignificant’ indicated ‘existential dread’. It left me groping for words. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“And where did you learn that,? I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“We had a discussion in school, and that’s where I heard about existential dread,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Do you know what it means?” I asked again.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Oh, it is something to do with anxiety and finding a meaning in life,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“But grandpa, no one is insignificant,” he continued “everyone is significant in some way isn’t it?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Yes, you have a point there,” I said and stopped.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I decided that it was time to change the topic of our conversation and veered off to more mundane things. I was afraid that we were stepping into an area that was far beyond the realms of childhood and disturbing the innocence that lay therein was not my idea of a conversation. He seemed to have touched a spot that had taken me years to understand and experience. I was also aware that he had only spilled out what he had picked up during the class. But he had touched a raw nerve when he talked of existential dread.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Several years ago (eleven to be exact), when on a visit to the US, I had the opportunity to visit the Muir Woods National Monument which is situated a few miles north of San Francisco. The 558-acre Monument preserves one of the last remaining ancient redwood forests in The Bay Area. Some of the redwoods are nearly 1,000 years old and reach heights of more than 250 feet. As I walked through the preserve I was overcome with a sense of awe looking at the humongous size of the trees: so tall and so broad around their trunks that you felt like just an insignificant dot in that landscape, for all purposes non-existent. As I found a place in a cavity of the trunk of one tree and stood there, my nephew who had accompanied me clicked a photo (the photo is attached along with this post). When I returned home to India and scanned through the photographs, this one stood out and I immediately penned the five lines reproduced above. At that time what went through my mind was how small I looked compared to the giant redwood tree. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is only now, years later, that the question of ‘Existential dread’ rose again (after the talk with my grandson). I had long ago felt the anxiety, the dread of melting away into ‘Insignificance’, like Antoine Roquentin in Sartre’s novel ‘Nausea’. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Throughout the novel, Roquentin grapples with uncertainty about his own existence and the existence of objects and people in the world around him. The seemingly impulsive act of picking up a pebble and throwing it into the sea overcomes him with nausea and the meaninglessness of his act. He is left searching for authenticity in his living. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">There is no general formula for tackling this anxiety of fading into insignificance. Each person carries his own burden and seeks out his own answers. Maybe that is why I found my way to becoming significant through my books. My first book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ arose out of this question of existential dread. Writing has given me release. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In other words, it is the aspiration to be something of ‘Significance’. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But like my grandson said ‘no one is insignificant, </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">everyone is significant in some way isn’t it?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-90939060455413215812023-02-07T18:57:00.000+05:302023-02-07T18:57:28.932+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 4 IN PURSUIT OF TRUE HAPPINESS<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuERTeVhvbSSgv9_432aIFlxJcznD3iTdeXjB7nCHesIrrbqjR8-xiq_Wt79KNniyN5I_NKcv91XepwC0XsQz0BeZkFZr6aAeXqZv4CcMhfEMFcaOkF7hulASoL05yZMDZ7yc4_ezmONvF7-0hHzoCq9IVm8lr_un9iHlXiqdfRSNQPkv86gv85Lv7jQ/s1440/FB_IMG_1672504497794.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuERTeVhvbSSgv9_432aIFlxJcznD3iTdeXjB7nCHesIrrbqjR8-xiq_Wt79KNniyN5I_NKcv91XepwC0XsQz0BeZkFZr6aAeXqZv4CcMhfEMFcaOkF7hulASoL05yZMDZ7yc4_ezmONvF7-0hHzoCq9IVm8lr_un9iHlXiqdfRSNQPkv86gv85Lv7jQ/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1672504497794.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 4</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">IN PURSUIT OF TRUE HAPPINESS</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“What is happiness?” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">He remained silent. When I repeated the question again, he said-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I don’t know.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">That was an odd answer coming from someone who was revered as a learned person and a Guru.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Then why do people say they want to be happy,” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I don’t know,” he again repeated. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“But Guruji, frankly, they must be speaking on a stage where they will be devoid of all miseries and achieve what they desire. Is that what they call happiness?” I persisted.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I really don’t know,” he said and then looked at me intently and smiled. He knew that I was getting irritated at not getting any positive response from him. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“When have you been truly happy?” he suddenly asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I don’t know,” I replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“See, you have answered your own question. You do not know when you were truly happy. Isn’t it because you really do not know what true happiness is?” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I am confused,” I said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, we can at least start at this point, that we do not know what happiness is. What we call happiness can never be defined. It just happens, you can never plan to be happy, for it cannot be pursued. Again, it is subjective. It happens to different people at different times. So what is the point of looking out for definitions, or seeking other people’s views on it? The closest we can try to understand is that moment when all other thoughts come to a standstill and you are totally immersed in that sensation of joy. ‘True Happiness’ is always ‘Is’ it can never be ‘Will be’.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“So Guruji, you said ‘sensation of joy’. Isn’t that happiness?” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, I leave it to you to answer that to yourself. I talked to you about moments and the sensation of joy. How many times have you experienced these moments?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I sat in front of him for some time, in silence. He smiled at me as I took my leave and left. I did not get an answer, but was left with a question, searching, trying to recollect those moments. They were only moments that passed away as we moved on in time and space, nothing everlasting. The conversation had left me in confusion. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I remember that during one of my early morning walks along the seashore, I took a break and made my way toward the sea. It was still dark and a few minutes before dawn. I stood, feeling the cool air and the rhythmic motion of the waves and felt them, caress my feet as they flattened out before withdrawing back into the ocean. It was a strange feeling: mystic. And as I gazed at the distant sky, I saw a faint glow starting to light up the horizon. I watched as if a spell had been cast on me as the sun arose, a red orb, and at that moment when it came out and kissed the horizon, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of immense joy. At that moment, nothing mattered, only pure joy. As the sun rose the spell wore off and the day dawned. That feeling of pure joy lasted only for a few moments. I did try repeating the process several times later, but the intensity of the first experience was never captured. Though I did feel joy, maybe because I knew what to expect, the exhilaration of the first was missing. I still enjoy the dawn break and the sunset, with the sky, a canvas painted in brilliant hues; it made me happy. But that initial moment of happiness happened when there was no expectation. That moment frozen to eternity would have been everlasting happiness. I realized that our life is spent in pursuit of such moments and to eternalize them. Sad, the truth is those moments pass and so does our life. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Way back in 2011 my wife and I went to the US to be with our daughter who had just delivered a baby boy. The six months we stayed looking after our grandson was one extended period of moments of joy. Every time I gazed into the eyes of the child I was carried away by the pure innocence, and when he smiled, it was sheer joy. And when we left I carried back the images of those moments. There is joy in pure innocence and happiness in experiencing</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have had many trysts with moments of joy and the resultant expression of happiness - these have been spontaneous moments, whether it was during a walk in the rain along the beach road listening to music from my iPod, or reveling as a child dancing in the rain and jumping onto puddles, These were never contemplated or pursued, it just happened. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have always loved to see the rainfall. At such times I would sit by the window watching the droplets dancing on the ground and listen to their patter. As a child, I remember making small paper boats and watching them move along with the stream of water. Who does not savor moments like this, especially with a hot cup of coffee or tea accompanied by hot pakoras or bhajjias. I know you will say yes. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The other day I met a friend of mine during my evening walk along the beach. Don’t ask me whether I keep on walking along the beach road perpetually. Well, this time it was evening, and no I don’t walk perpetually, for then I would have felt like Sisyphus rolling the rock up the hill to eternity. But seriously, I find it spiritually elevating with the waves and the sea and the sun, whether it is rising or setting. I find myself in the twilight zone, between reality and fantasy. Well, when I came across my friend, my conversation with the Guru was still playing in my mind, so the first question I asked him was “are you happy?”.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">For a moment he was taken back, maybe wondering how anyone could start a conversation like this, but then he looked at me quizzically and said-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Of course, I am happy. But why did you ask.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” I answered.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“That’s ok. I am just curious why you should suddenly ask that question,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“You see I was just continuing a conversation I was having with myself,” I said and laughed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, let me join in,” he said and also laughed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Ok. Were you happy yesterday,” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I guess so, maybe,” he replied with a frown lining his forehead.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Will you be happy tomorrow?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I hope to be. At least that is what I would like,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“So the only thing you are sure of is that you are happy now, isn’t it? I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Yeah, I am sure of that,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“What is it that makes you happy right now?” I asked again.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Well, I received news that I have been promoted as General Manager in my company. I was just thinking about how everything has worked out well for me. That made me happy,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Congratulations. May there be many more moments of happiness,” I said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“So what next?” he asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Nothing. I am done for the day. Since we have met after some time, let us complete our walk and have coffee at the stall there.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">We continued our conversation on other mundane topics as we walked and as dusk descended and the last rays of the setting sun disappeared, we said bye and headed home. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We usually connect happiness with the achievement of certain goals or aspirations. That is understandable. A parent feels happy at the success of the child in all his/her endeavors. We are happy that we have done well and achieved our targets and earned our promotion, acquired assets that we have long planned to get, and so on. Well, these are moments that we build up to with the anticipation that they will make us happy. That is true and maybe that’s what we would like to term as ‘in pursuit of happiness’. But true happiness is the spontaneous outburst of joy when all other emotions come to a standstill, a magical moment. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thich Nhat Hanh the revered Zen Buddhist monk says</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">True happiness isn’t found in success, money, fame, or power. True happiness should be found in the here and now”.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I recalled my conversation with the Guru who said “</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What we call happiness can never be defined. It just happens, you can never plan to be happy, for it cannot be pursued”. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">But perhaps one of the best quotes that I have come across and that lends credence to what I have said so far is -</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us." </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">—</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ashley Montagu</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I asked myself whether there is such a thing as perpetual or everlasting happiness, the kind that the saints and mystics spoke of, Ramana Maharishi, the Buddha, and others. The only thing I am sure of is that I am neither a mystic nor a saint, I am but a mere mortal in pursuit of happiness that will lessen the burden of living.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I reproduce a few lines from my poem ‘Moments of Happiness’ -</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">These are certain moments and they pass me by,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">They remain etched in my memory, as I try</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">To understand what is my quest,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">To perpetuate these moments, I try my best.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">For these are goals that move away,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Before I can rest and have my say,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">And hope everyone finds happiness</span></span></p><p><span style="color: white;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-2b00724d-7fff-99e3-6841-f09545b12140" style="background-color: black;"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">On his way.</span></span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-82527532708793968262023-01-20T19:26:00.000+05:302023-01-20T19:26:58.064+05:30REMEMBERING MY SISTER<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMwoY5mGwXZmlfVlsPrys4m1LB4j2g6nSeq9ZpLqF9WD6mQKDS_A6XxAgQtfHLxDfyL7fuGLaqMbbUm8qe8YmHSMC4zCwYj7-tNmSftvZ_3NJwomMhPv1frWLcbRg7w8vmnxiocW7oYu5fQvvIPht648QfP07YGhfpV9FJrF3IfalviCgFNNgFmcZjg/s1024/IMG-20201129-WA0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="730" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMwoY5mGwXZmlfVlsPrys4m1LB4j2g6nSeq9ZpLqF9WD6mQKDS_A6XxAgQtfHLxDfyL7fuGLaqMbbUm8qe8YmHSMC4zCwYj7-tNmSftvZ_3NJwomMhPv1frWLcbRg7w8vmnxiocW7oYu5fQvvIPht648QfP07YGhfpV9FJrF3IfalviCgFNNgFmcZjg/w285-h400/IMG-20201129-WA0009.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">REMEMBERING MY SISTER</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A bubbly teenager, a pretty woman transitioning into a graceful elder, this is what stays in my memory. Though I would like to forget the last four, or five years when she suffered from the ravages of Parkinson's disease, watching the slow deterioration and increasing suffering of someone who was lovable and whom you loved. That was my sister who passed away one could say peacefully on 10th January 2023. We console ourselves that when the end came it was sudden and at home, but a loss is a loss that can never be recovered. Her mental faculties had not suffered despite the disease; at her age of eighty-three, she could converse on the phone, though with a distinct slur. </span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrgxqJzMObKRLV7aO6WIOrm1dy3QVYP9q7j0E09t9687HCfMrqkTqCp7C0TVTx6SFMCnifG7CZIF-JgjNYeSi1o072jm1l9-GnmZl5xFkgD0jxMMwZSY1TJescpMu59L97f3QLFVAA1gGe0rCzsLY9VFXRXUrLtsEye99cR7X3MeJ0f4eVfjtgEBW6g/s1600/IMG-20230113-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrgxqJzMObKRLV7aO6WIOrm1dy3QVYP9q7j0E09t9687HCfMrqkTqCp7C0TVTx6SFMCnifG7CZIF-JgjNYeSi1o072jm1l9-GnmZl5xFkgD0jxMMwZSY1TJescpMu59L97f3QLFVAA1gGe0rCzsLY9VFXRXUrLtsEye99cR7X3MeJ0f4eVfjtgEBW6g/w300-h400/IMG-20230113-WA0000.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">She was a very caring person, and that stood out in the way she interacted with people around her. I can still visualize her sitting by my side whenever I had my asthmatic episodes as a young boy, not knowing what to do except be there and by her presence afford some relief. She was timid by nature and I feel that could have been due to the fact that my mother was a very strong personality and was overtly overprotective where her daughter was concerned. A latently talented person who showed promise in music and dance could never achieve fruition. She was married at the age of seventeen as was the norm during those days and for a woman, the avenues for self-development more or less came to an end as she settled down to the duties of a housewife. Going away from home to set up her own at that age must have been very difficult, but things settled down with a supportive husband. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I remember that after my father expired, my mother and I along with my grandmother moved to Madras to complete my schooling. She and my brother-in-law were there to stay with us and help cushion the loss before they moved to Calcutta. It was there that she spent a long time with her family. She adjusted to the new life and found her bearings in what should initially would have been alien surroundings. She spoke Bengali fluently, and when I look back, I am inclined to believe that Calcutta did feed her with some fodder for her latent interests. I know she was very happy there, perhaps the best period of her life. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It was during my five years stay at IIT Kharagpur that I got to know her even better for I used to visit Calcutta at least once or twice a month during weekends and stay with her. I remember the puja holidays spent at her home. It was a very happy period. In my fourth year at IIT, I was down with typhoid and spent my recuperation time with her. I can never forget the concern with which she took care of me. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">She was eleven years older than me and so when she was married, I was only six years old. In a photograph sent to me by my niece, I can be seen sitting behind her during the marriage ceremony. It did bring back a flood of memories. Yes, I can still recover some of those memories though it was a long time ago. The marriage was held in our village Gopalasamudram and practically the whole village turned out and sat through the night to listen to one of the top Carnatic musician’s nadaswaram recital which was arranged on the occasion. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I can keep writing about her, but it is not my intention to write a biography. I have only touched on those recollections that came to my mind immediately and I do not want to dilute my remembrance of her with long-winded narrations. I still want to remember her as that bubbly teenager, a pretty woman, a graceful elder, and someone who exuded love and compassion.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">When the end came, though it was sudden she was blessed, since it was in the home of her son and while on Facetime with her daughter who resides in Chicago. It’s only memories that stay with us while she makes her way to the land of the Gods. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVWA38XTwqxF0n4CCHRlu9IrHBaVCfZyWKUXnH03YJuJjc8yTqu0x89NO1SOQyqQVRvkYuTCE6AMEIkMEaxQ-E5DSQGXwwdiH91pxO4sRoIpvVs-XK8a5MJzRX1ZwWI9EX-dJTJPE0sjvuOKU3E7I-cps3kwdBoglBDsk1P1IiIKnpajSQOJ7WW3tlw/s1024/IMG-20230113-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="473" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVWA38XTwqxF0n4CCHRlu9IrHBaVCfZyWKUXnH03YJuJjc8yTqu0x89NO1SOQyqQVRvkYuTCE6AMEIkMEaxQ-E5DSQGXwwdiH91pxO4sRoIpvVs-XK8a5MJzRX1ZwWI9EX-dJTJPE0sjvuOKU3E7I-cps3kwdBoglBDsk1P1IiIKnpajSQOJ7WW3tlw/w296-h640/IMG-20230113-WA0001.jpg" width="296" /></span></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-3189214946720228612022-10-07T10:31:00.000+05:302022-10-07T10:31:08.573+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 3 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1aXo6nbvjOUQlX_otTZQUlWzcSxMuau8dbJPtLorHGxgwrcIXvR56udiE6iMJMg0F4hT1nXmczM77-KA2ft5QnMbC77dx6TWbt74KeaMnkXQ5RHtp7P-QqLzHTQgsP0zFCKoW3JzrxTvINhfjq8w0zYwb7WdDhryXh7th9DhtYfWbz2RW1U8IzK_zg/s1255/IMG_20221003_194617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="631" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1aXo6nbvjOUQlX_otTZQUlWzcSxMuau8dbJPtLorHGxgwrcIXvR56udiE6iMJMg0F4hT1nXmczM77-KA2ft5QnMbC77dx6TWbt74KeaMnkXQ5RHtp7P-QqLzHTQgsP0zFCKoW3JzrxTvINhfjq8w0zYwb7WdDhryXh7th9DhtYfWbz2RW1U8IzK_zg/w201-h400/IMG_20221003_194617.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 3</span></span><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p><b id="docs-internal-guid-7b5173c4-7fff-9367-f17a-cd1da774e24b" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A few years ago while I was on my evening walk along the Tiruvanmiyur beach road, I met him. He seemed at least ten to twelve years elder to me, nearing his eighties possibly. Sitting on a seat by the sidewalk with the sea behind and watching the setting sun. For me, it was a poignant sight: who knew it could be me ten years hence, a preview. I have seen him there before, many times. At times he would be missing for a few months and that would set me wondering where he was or what had happened to him. That day I decided to talk to him, so I went and sat next to him and smiled in greeting, and asked him, “Haven’t seen you around for some months. Hope you are doing fine?” That was the first time I had spoken to him and introduced myself.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Thank you for asking. I am just fine; my wife and I have been away to the US to spend some time with our children and grandchildren. By the way, my name is Vishwam (a pseudonym which I have used in my book ‘Autumn Leaves-Seasons of Life’).”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Then started a conversation that ultimately became the backdrop for my book.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“You must have had a lovely time being with your loved ones,” I said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Yes, especially with the grandchildren. They are young and affectionate. They are also growing up and in a couple of years, they will also be busy and will have lesser time to spend with us. But I guess that things take their own course and that’s how it will be,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I could detect a hint of melancholy in the way he said that. He was talking to me but his gaze was far away directed at the setting sun. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I am sorry if I am interrupting your need to be alone. I fully respect that.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“No. It’s perfectly ok, and at times like this, the need to talk to someone arises. I am happy you decided to take a break from your walk to come and sit here,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I sat silently waiting for him to continue for I knew he wanted to talk. From behind us, a cool breeze blew in from the sea with the sound of the waves in the background and the setting sun, a red orb now in front of us, preparing to disappear into the horizon. There was still some light and the neon lamps started lighting up along the beach road.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I returned only last week after a six-month stay in the US. You wouldn’t believe it but during the last couple of months, I was exhausted from doing the same thing every day. All said and done even if you are with your loved ones, the stark reality is that they are busy with their own work and lives. My wife missed her temple and the celebrations that accompany each festival. I missed my long walks and daily interactions with friends and neighbors and the freedom to move out on my own. I missed my space. The funny thing is when we are here we are excited to be going there. The grass is always greener on the other side, isn’t it? We have had no thoughts about staying permanently in the United States; we never wanted to. I knew we would miss our home back here, our friends, the cultural ethos we are used to, and above all, it is here that we could be ourselves. Maybe one day we will decide to go when we are unable to withstand the creeping loneliness that comes as we age and our physical inability to carry on our own. It will not be an easy decision. There will be problems of accommodation and adjustment given the generation gap, but you are left with no choice. To a certain extent, the emotional need may be taken care of by having your own near you. But you will always be left with the feeling that you are a burden. Well, I speak for myself. Both my sons are abroad and I really have no choice. Lucky are those who have at least one of their children based in India; it’s a comfort. I know a number of my friends have moved over to Senior Living facilities, either because they do not want to go or because their children are not in a position to take them over. Well, I guess there is no universal solution for this. I personally cannot fit into this arrangement. In a sense, I have learned to be alone. I know that I am being selfish burdening my children with worry over our day-to-day welfare. I am seventy-eight years old now and maybe I will take a decision soon.” Vishwam said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I understood the dilemma of Vishwam. Our children staying out of the country themselves face a number of challenges. The foremost is having aged parents back home in India and worrying about their well-being day in and day out, apart from having to cater to the habits and lifestyles of their adopted country. Neither able to completely identify themselves, nor able to stick to their roots, they find themselves at the crossroads. Many parents opt out even if their children are in a position to sponsor them for a green card because they feel uncomfortable adjusting to a new environment where they may have to shed all those things they have grown up with. This is understandable; it’s very difficult to move out of your comfort zone, your memories, </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">family traditions, and cultural practices</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> So the dilemma is on both sides. Neither is to blame.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">We sat for some more time in silence and as the sun just disappeared over the horizon, I got up to go back home.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“I am also leaving, let us walk together. I will be going to the temple before heading home. That’s also a daily routine. My wife would have already finished her temple visit and will be back home, busy in the kitchen. We are used to this for so many years that any small change in the routine distracts us. So you can imagine how we would have spent six months in the US,” Vishwam said. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Aging is a process that can never be reversed. Acceptance of the fact makes it easier to carry on. As your children move away seeking their own pastures, they drift away to longer distances and that is the reality of life now. Gone is the generation when families stayed together and to an extent staved off the loneliness that accompanies old age. But this came at a cost. The cost of encroaching on individual freedom. We never learned to be alone. The distance in space and time brings with it its own dilemmas. Aging brings with it infirmity and loneliness; the reality of the present day is that most are left to fend for themselves. The misery is on both sides of the ocean. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Having seen around me the reality of aging and loneliness predominant, the younger generation moving still further away and the older ones slowly learning to cope with being by themselves. In my book ‘Autumn Leaves-Seasons of Life,’ I talk about this reality. The story traces the disintegration of families from what was once a joint one with a ruling patriarch and the other members strewn around not far away, to single units ultimately spread out in far and distant lands; the slow but perceptible shifting away in distance and relationships and acceptance of which as a reality was unalterable.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I end with an extract from my book ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life’-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“The advancement in knowledge and the growth in opportunities away from home, contributing ta more independent individual learning to live life on his own terms, though desirable, has led to the splintering of families and in a sense an inevitable reality of being left alone as one aged. ‘AutumnLeaves’ traces one such family’s travel through four generations. Krishnan finds himself sandwiched between his father Vishwam’s and his own children's generations similar to what his father had gone through; each moving away to accept new values and shedding old ones which had ceased to be relevant, to accommodate the changing world.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span></p><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.46618; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">TO BE CONTINUED</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-934900871522936672022-09-30T10:06:00.000+05:302022-09-30T10:06:19.990+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfMSr_EqF-IXNWi8C-Axv9zRWrR_0yVsrD4k0ALnKWPWdGy3yVYNOLkG7wucjz0BDPn-qA81DxeVAn5biKDJylmAwCBMniQxwLfVB9UODGTc5ErvzXPdIFrkTQfmhO13Iufj9qRlDavqhRYpIIuUAOOdXkb-s7-4UjEJ8zTHsFuk-enlVcbpI0YuKGQ/s1329/IMG_20220904_141411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="863" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfMSr_EqF-IXNWi8C-Axv9zRWrR_0yVsrD4k0ALnKWPWdGy3yVYNOLkG7wucjz0BDPn-qA81DxeVAn5biKDJylmAwCBMniQxwLfVB9UODGTc5ErvzXPdIFrkTQfmhO13Iufj9qRlDavqhRYpIIuUAOOdXkb-s7-4UjEJ8zTHsFuk-enlVcbpI0YuKGQ/w260-h400/IMG_20220904_141411.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 2</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-bc351722-7fff-6402-3529-51ca54ae4e52" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“The word 'listen' contains the same letters as the word 'silent'.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alfred Brendel</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ernest Hemingway</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stephen R. Covey, </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/6277" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful</span></a></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">This journal is a record of the lessons that life has taught me. I am still learning. I do confess that much of what I have written below are stages that most of us pass through or come across in the course of our living. I have been guilty of many of the transgressions I have dared to list. But I have learned and tried to correct myself. The purpose of sharing this is the fond hope that it helps us to introspect and realize where we stand. It's never too late to change and correct. In the end, our life is all about relationships.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Listen and be heard. Most of the time you are busy listening to your own voice so much that you are not sure you have been listened to. Most of the time you shout to make sure you are heard, but sadly the receiver shuts himself off rather than listen to the noise. In the process, you lose your authenticity and termed a loud mouth with no substance. You do not matter. More often than not, shouting is a defense mechanism to camouflage your own insecurities. Calmness results from self-assurance and from recognizing your strengths and more importantly your weaknesses.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Don’t keep talking about options and alternatives for everything. Of course, it is necessary to evaluate what is best for you, but too many options and too many alternatives for deciding day-to-day mundane activities will only end up getting nothing done. In the process, you will end up confusing not only yourself but also the other person to whom it is addressed. I am reminded of the book ‘Zen and the Art of Archery’. When you aim, too many options and alternatives will only serve to distract you and the arrow will never find the mark.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It is easy to order but difficult to execute. You may be master of the house but that does not mean you should expect servitude from others around you, especially your partner and spouse. It appalls me to see a chauvinistic male riding roughshod over his wife for trivial things forgetting that she has an equal or more than an equal right in running the house. It is time the spouse called a spade a spade and draws the line. Everyone has a value, the faster you realize it, the more conducive your relationships will become. Become a participant and add value to your partner. My wife and I have been married for forty-five years now, and though we have had our differences it was never anything major. I have never shouted at her nor has she lost her cool. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some time ago I was talking to my niece and the conversation veered off to the topic of male chauvinism. That was when I first learned that there was a word for it ‘Mansplaining’. Afterward, when I looked up the meaning of the word, this is what the dictionary had to say ‘</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to explain something to a woman in a condescending way that assumes she has no knowledge about the topic’. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The root of this word is traced back to a series of essays written by Rebecca Solnit way back in 2012 and most specifically in her book ‘</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Men Explain Things to Me’</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. She says -</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Men explain things to me, still. And no man has ever apologized for explaining, wrongly, things that I know and they don’t”.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“Arrogance might have had something to do with the war, but this syndrome is a war that nearly every woman faces every day, a war within herself too, a belief in her superfluity, an invitation to silence, one from which a fairly nice career as a writer (with a lot of research and facts correctly deployed) has not entirely freed me. After all, there was a moment there when I was willing to let Mr. Important and his overweening confidence bowl over my more shaky certainty”.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 14pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">While reiterating that credibility is a basic survival tool, she writes “Having the right to show up and speak are basic to survival, to dignity, and to liberty. I’m grateful that, after an early life of being silenced, sometimes violently, I grew up to have a voice, circumstances that will always bind me to the rights of the voiceless.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 14pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">While I can empathize with the feelings of Rebecca Solnit regarding male chauvinistic behavior, I find it equally true in same-gender interactions. It happens at the work level and relationship levels. I have seen, whether a male or a female, seeking dominance in interactions and mostly being rude and in a condescending manner. I have seen this happening with colleagues and more importantly within the family and that is where the damage occurs, many times irreparable.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Most such behavior stems from the ‘Know it all attitude’, not accepting the fact that the person you are talking to may be more than qualified to rebut your statements. I have found that such attitude can be traced back to childhood and upbringing. You spend most of the time deriding others forgetting the adage ‘the pot calling the kettle black’.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Stop commenting on other people's physical attributes you are not perfect yourself. Once when I commented to my daughter about her friend that she has put on weight and was looking fat, she looked at me and said ‘Pa, stopped body shaming. It really hurts. Hope she did not hear what you said.” That was when I learned what body shaming was. That was a lesson I learned, not to pass derogatory comments. Of course, now I tell my daughters to be physically active and look after their health. A more subtle way of conveying that they need to look after themselves. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perhaps one of the most important words I have come across is ‘dumping’. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have learned over time that most of what we acquire does not really serve its purpose. There is nothing wrong with wanting to own the latest gadgets, that is a human tendency-to own. I am at a stage where I do not know what to dump and where. The acquisitions have encroached on my space so the mantra as someone told me is ‘Dump it’. There is nothing wrong with acquisitions as long as they serve their purpose, and once that is done they are pushed to the side to be ultimately ‘dumped’. This cannot be carried to relationships. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went back in time to a period when as a young man much into music and newfound economic freedom (the aftermath of the first job) went about acquiring the things that I always wanted to have – a motorcycle, a stereo system, music LPs and ultimately a wife; for all practical purposes, it was in that order. The others have been dumped while the last one endures. That’s the point, in the end, what matters are the things that endure. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My wife abhors wastage of any kind and this has rubbed off on me. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The most grievous wastage is of food. One should indulge to satisfy one’s gastronomic urges once in a while. That should do the trick, but make it a habit and you are in for trouble with your health as well as your purse. More than that, most of the time unable to consume what you have got, the easiest way you find is to ‘dump it’. This is serious business for what you have dumped could have gone towards feeding a few needy mouths. Get what you want and get what you can eat. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Humor is an essential part of our living. It lightens the heart and enlivens our living. But not when you try to pass off sarcasm as humor. It is hurtful and dims relationships. I have also been guilty of such transgressions, till I fell a victim to such jibes. I have since become conscious of what I speak, but I still can’t stop hitting out at sarcasm with sarcasm. Maybe I shall in due course learn to ignore and move on. That could be an effective counter. But why the sarcasm? Isn’t it better to be straight than devious?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">TO BE CONTINUED</p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-63716543946777073942022-09-20T10:01:00.000+05:302022-09-20T10:01:30.349+05:30A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 1<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLo0kbTIkBofDdzYTr_HLte2CFoLZK0-a5SUayK117DvRxp5N-IYbe0UT1sPulpzYZuNDC78BAfbcqpU3Jwdof8URY3d6A9h3hHd0rH01QqI6Olzfhbvkz4caK1ZaG6r94nhyguG-6XigfljHlwijbS0Tm1-t6J_YFRLcqQCmBO4xjHynJD5JjomKdOg/s1329/IMG_20220904_141411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="863" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLo0kbTIkBofDdzYTr_HLte2CFoLZK0-a5SUayK117DvRxp5N-IYbe0UT1sPulpzYZuNDC78BAfbcqpU3Jwdof8URY3d6A9h3hHd0rH01QqI6Olzfhbvkz4caK1ZaG6r94nhyguG-6XigfljHlwijbS0Tm1-t6J_YFRLcqQCmBO4xjHynJD5JjomKdOg/w260-h400/IMG_20220904_141411.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A JOURNAL OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 1</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I don’t know whether to feel sorry or get angry. I realize that either of these emotions is not being helpful. But surely I feel concerned and that is something I cannot help. I know that now I am of the old(er) generation and marching towards being a relic to be confined to the cupboard at the corner of the room. Every generation has its own value systems and way of life suited to the ever-changing world around. And that is the truth and it has happened to my generation also but there are certain principles which are the basis of good living in whichever era you belong to. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Sitting in that chair at the corner of the room, I observe, for I have learned not to speak or sermonize lest it hurt the sensibilities of those around. So I let them be and work their own way through this maze of life and hopefully reach a stage of personal satisfaction. But I cannot let go of this concern. So I found that the best way to lighten this burden of concern is to write it down. Maybe you will read, maybe not; maybe you will agree, maybe you will not. Maybe I shall learn of my own shortcomings and accept and move on a wiser man; maybe I shall rant and remain where I am, self-piteous and not willing to accept changing perceptions. But at least now having written what I have felt like saying, maybe I shall have the courage to look at myself in the mirror.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started my life as an ordinary man and retired to a satisfactorily normal life except perhaps passing through periods of extraordinariness that I could never sustain. I am not being vain but that is the truth. In my book “I am just An Ordinary man’ I wrote </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have lived an ordinary life. I have done all that the others have done and at the end of the day when I evaluate my life, I find I have not made any lasting contribution’, but that is not the entire truth. Maybe I am judging with different yardsticks. To be true when I look back at my life I am satisfied. My wife and I live a normal life. There were wants but not great ones and they were fulfilled. A modest salary by today’s standards, a good career and by the time I retired, our children were educated and married. A decent amount of savings and pension from the bank and a flat which I was wise enough to invest in, way back in the early years of my career, ensured a decent retired life, again underlining the fact that our wants were simple and few. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">So what are these principles which are the basis of a good living, whichever era you belong to- </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The first and foremost are relationships. We are social animals and it is through interactions with our kind that we derive empathy, the satisfaction of our need to relate and be recognized, compassion, and love. There should always be reverence, and humility in our approach, for that apart from creating respect enhances our self-esteem and acts as a mirror to recognize our own distortions.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I came across a passage from Will Durant’s book ‘Fallen Leaves' - </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">‘Children and fools speak the truth, and somehow they find happiness in their sincerity’</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">‘Watch him, and see how bit by bit, he learns the nature of things by random movements of exploration. The world is a puzzle to him; and these haphazard responses of grasping, biting, and throwing are the pseudophobia, which he puts out to a perilous experience. Curiosity consumes and develops him; he would touch and taste everything from his rattle to the moon. For the rest, he learns by imitation though his parents think he learns by sermons. They teach him gentleness, and beat him; they teach him mildness of speech, and shout at him; they teach a Stoic apathy to finance, and quarrel before him about the division of their income; they teach him honesty, and answer his most profound questions with lies. Our children bring us by showing us, through imitation, what we really are.’</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">We think we know what our children want and what they should do. Listen to your child. If only you can cast aside your ego and listen, a child has a lot to teach, for in its innocence there is truth, and the truth is what we avoid as we grow older for we are afraid to look at our own failures, our weaknesses. In trying to shield your shortcomings you try to impose them on the child. Remember our children bring us by showing, through imitation, what we really are. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Children are sensitive so don’t shout at them pointing out what you think are their faults. Don’t shame them for they are sensitive and will carry that in their psyche. I have seen parents shout at their children in front of others. This is the worst kind of hurt that you can inflict on the child. I remember that I was never shouted at, or have I shouted at my children. Maybe I carried over what my parents did to me. It is good to teach your child to reach for the sky, but ask yourself whether you ever did reach the sky. Respect a child’s capabilities and accept that he is good as he is. It is better to teach the child that it is ok to be rooted to the ground first, he will learn to fly later and maybe reach for the sky in his own time. We ultimately pass on our values to the child, so introspect and set your values right if they need to be set right. Telling your child to be a good person is the best value you can instill. Remember many a child prodigy has faded away as they grew older because of the pressures and expectations that they have been subjected to by their parents primarily. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="color: white;">TO BE CONTINUED</span></b></span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-17586119114294155992022-09-08T10:32:00.000+05:302022-09-08T10:32:24.068+05:30IMMERSIVE MONET & THE IMPRESSIONISTS<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnVyx5kmuib7RzBbTOkzz78y_EDKWiT4mIGaA7LB7JWg-KkY9-yTTYzFgXy7_qAXyUUxv_WDGuE63GjHVzBL5OKk1O2gFPjkwr7BTShZ8ORbw5hp6MFO1TvcjWTZkmKgjsPEeIuBoQyc5WDsZet-bPnsDhabbCYHJUZ99wNia0hsJuyIHP34qbsoofg/s4160/IMG20220901125929.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3120" data-original-width="4160" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnVyx5kmuib7RzBbTOkzz78y_EDKWiT4mIGaA7LB7JWg-KkY9-yTTYzFgXy7_qAXyUUxv_WDGuE63GjHVzBL5OKk1O2gFPjkwr7BTShZ8ORbw5hp6MFO1TvcjWTZkmKgjsPEeIuBoQyc5WDsZet-bPnsDhabbCYHJUZ99wNia0hsJuyIHP34qbsoofg/w400-h300/IMG20220901125929.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">IMMERSIVE MONET & THE IMPRESSIONISTS</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-fd5b100d-7fff-af20-432c-795e0245aead" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the 1st of September 2022, I found myself submerged, not in the water, but in the paintings of Monet and the Impressionists at the Lighthouse Artspace Chicago. The Show was ‘Immersive Monet & The Impressionists’. As I stood in the center of the hall and proceeded to walk from room to room, I literally walked through the paintings of Monet, Renoir, Degas, Manet, Toulouse-Lautrec and Pissaro, and a few other Impressionists. When I stood on the upper floor and watched the paintings come to life on all the walls, the floor below, and the ceiling, it was magical, to say the least. In fact, when Monet’s ‘Water Lilies’was on display, I could see the water in the pond and the lilies on the floor, making me want to touch it. The highlight for me was looking at Monet’s ‘Impression Sunrise’ with the changing hues as one watched them on the walls. Monet’s ‘Woman with a Parasol’ most probably depicts Madame Monet and her son, and ‘La Gare St.Lazare’ is a depiction of the Paris station, which Emile Zola described, “One could hear the hum of the trains and see the smoke overflowing into the galleries.” And that’s exactly what I felt- the train moving and the smoke coming out seemed to overwhelm the gallery. There were many great paintings of the other Impressionists, some of whom I could identify- Degas’s ‘Ballet Dancers’, Manet’s ‘</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Le Dejeuner sur l’herbe’, and Renoir’s classic ‘Bal du Moulin de la Galette’ which is a simple slice of life of the working class Paris. The use of light and color in all these paintings creates a movement in our minds which stay forever.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMekN616ecNOReCa97K0XzHWd0ExpaClxJQwnaNUNBC1pvlzOURHFESrW72O7Ss6RpvvVVuYkiHYn1Rvy-3uEmMs7XvLTLW9uy6sK2LmKjLy3hK5tX-EJLofSBia6dtuFvjSiTi5FqAx8GVGWLBU5z6sVRd9-cigmIJ6bUW-7pi31FDxNAzI5TsmJEw/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMekN616ecNOReCa97K0XzHWd0ExpaClxJQwnaNUNBC1pvlzOURHFESrW72O7Ss6RpvvVVuYkiHYn1Rvy-3uEmMs7XvLTLW9uy6sK2LmKjLy3hK5tX-EJLofSBia6dtuFvjSiTi5FqAx8GVGWLBU5z6sVRd9-cigmIJ6bUW-7pi31FDxNAzI5TsmJEw/w400-h300/IMG-20220901-WA0027.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I had a similar feeling when in Paris I was at the Musee d’Orsay and as I stood there in the halls surrounded by the paintings of Monet, Manet, Renoir, Sisley, Cezanne, and other impressionists and Van Gogh it was a pilgrimage fulfilled for me.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4sGLfbSYaCG-89UeOzeb-cQ4CdXzf7IdlfxQaL-fagcSifEaNusl5aM7LChb_GPvI_ApZN-jkN6m_WNpJ6tgI29jOxFH5YwD18gz6-5NIs-X1Q00B0xhj-cDv9PpGhcXXZIXaOaozWzD_VoX-Ejcfh4gDcN-9w8b7nuEOeMQJiHiGFyK9zGZ1xgPTw/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4sGLfbSYaCG-89UeOzeb-cQ4CdXzf7IdlfxQaL-fagcSifEaNusl5aM7LChb_GPvI_ApZN-jkN6m_WNpJ6tgI29jOxFH5YwD18gz6-5NIs-X1Q00B0xhj-cDv9PpGhcXXZIXaOaozWzD_VoX-Ejcfh4gDcN-9w8b7nuEOeMQJiHiGFyK9zGZ1xgPTw/w400-h300/IMG-20220901-WA0039.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">There is so much to be said of Impressionism, but I would rather start with the words of Claude Monet, “It’s on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpRZTFAz2hWNN2l0DMZPco2VXGkChWrlMP7YQOxmvRUpOfBKl_OlhnMWYCN7Ezf-BONlaQVDq7w3_IAmeaD5M3pXbsNkUz_VfhTrjK4O3wz6Q0Hc07OCHhIqTvp-Dbl8L2wJLMeZ9j73Na6mhvK5eMMmCgydKDo-REfcNg_x0WJHCZP2tb865Ell5tg/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpRZTFAz2hWNN2l0DMZPco2VXGkChWrlMP7YQOxmvRUpOfBKl_OlhnMWYCN7Ezf-BONlaQVDq7w3_IAmeaD5M3pXbsNkUz_VfhTrjK4O3wz6Q0Hc07OCHhIqTvp-Dbl8L2wJLMeZ9j73Na6mhvK5eMMmCgydKDo-REfcNg_x0WJHCZP2tb865Ell5tg/w400-h300/IMG-20220901-WA0038.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">if you take the paintings of Claude Monet, he lays emphasis on the changing effect of light on the subject and visible brush strokes. This is very much seen in a series of paintings he made of the sunset called ‘Impression Sunrise’. It is from this painting that the word for the movement, Impressionism evolved. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflN4qEoHTd71kNAp9TKdIJ6xDefGcukLb1RSLokx--J8g3zP1limh76AuYVWgdNfDWL4kKcvn175I35pNbEH30KcS3cE726-GLGy5SJrRcNW2jXgzPT3PPaYT69iYEzE1N2Z-QbvDD1E8VXAdyaod9Mt8Lezx7fECcBcG7ZMUo1ugQuLyQqYEMRmH2w/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflN4qEoHTd71kNAp9TKdIJ6xDefGcukLb1RSLokx--J8g3zP1limh76AuYVWgdNfDWL4kKcvn175I35pNbEH30KcS3cE726-GLGy5SJrRcNW2jXgzPT3PPaYT69iYEzE1N2Z-QbvDD1E8VXAdyaod9Mt8Lezx7fECcBcG7ZMUo1ugQuLyQqYEMRmH2w/w400-h300/IMG-20220901-WA0026.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">But perhaps the forerunner of Impressionism and the Expressionist movement in art is Turner (Joseph Mallard William Turner 1775-1851), Though he and John Constable (1776-1837) were exact contemporaries, their approach to depicting nature deferred. While Turner sought to capture emotion, perpetually aiming to be extraordinary, Constable sought to capture the grass, the skies, and the British countryside as it was, with its farms, churches, and bridges as they were. Turner was referred to as the Philosopher while Constable was the scientist. Turner preferred to paint outdoors and was so obsessed with natural illumination that his final words were, "The sun is God.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORhyUzvXRzNP5oHajCQW3O74KiFUJAhyBAqRvUoPVkH1ZafpPeHpASxgHhRfOBPNXc7uvS-dovQTHLkQY6cIDbz_skvW3PblVL_hqW7Ud7Zpj7_OLJ-c25Q99tutUARCwYGrUxWAqGXQPnF_2k7q1DClZLQwUjguDJaj3nFGe5yTP2VwOhT-KVWmUNQ/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORhyUzvXRzNP5oHajCQW3O74KiFUJAhyBAqRvUoPVkH1ZafpPeHpASxgHhRfOBPNXc7uvS-dovQTHLkQY6cIDbz_skvW3PblVL_hqW7Ud7Zpj7_OLJ-c25Q99tutUARCwYGrUxWAqGXQPnF_2k7q1DClZLQwUjguDJaj3nFGe5yTP2VwOhT-KVWmUNQ/w300-h400/IMG-20220901-WA0041.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">If we look at the impressionistic painters such as Claude Monet we see the effect of Turner in the way they depicted nature. But you find their tones are much softer, but the similarity in style can be seen. The powerful and overwhelming nature of Turner, can be seen in the expressionists like Van Gogh.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGN3pcdmJJ6xjIGSosiFau8J-9aWaDD67RqbB4-BqOccNarSgyAfig8p9ZWRAoZMA52OptDFaW5YUZhfPazX342ZaOuDelANJecHAh8qG6DRwhc_KfW1DtrCaCki2J0Rv6q8AdD0pmRcwGu38TWBFiCYDAEk06xaWsR8MEWdguli1uLjOTBf6z1-5Uw/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGN3pcdmJJ6xjIGSosiFau8J-9aWaDD67RqbB4-BqOccNarSgyAfig8p9ZWRAoZMA52OptDFaW5YUZhfPazX342ZaOuDelANJecHAh8qG6DRwhc_KfW1DtrCaCki2J0Rv6q8AdD0pmRcwGu38TWBFiCYDAEk06xaWsR8MEWdguli1uLjOTBf6z1-5Uw/w300-h400/IMG-20220901-WA0029.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The Impressionists like the Romantic landscape painters did not seek to control nature, they sought to capture the fascinating, ever-changing, and unpredictable moods of it through scale and treatment of space, brushstroke, and new relations of color to tone. They often sought to capture the sublime, with a strong emphasis on sensation ”. The impressionist painter is concerned more with the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effects of light and color.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk19srudzPISxH-onuPLgFUbeFbA0lL-I7-cPR1y4wfXJw3C0dOUOTmGmOdByABzfSPk0h6-UfIGK-pyePL6P_ln_Sx3kEKg5_YDB1y_8D0WpqlvVTMnDHLn1uUQZSlfEb9tYiYalbPuLrhdDlI6bpnkklQL7aM_9Nx-shCi2b6N5W6bciXHRg3bhoQ/s1024/IMG-20220901-WA0031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk19srudzPISxH-onuPLgFUbeFbA0lL-I7-cPR1y4wfXJw3C0dOUOTmGmOdByABzfSPk0h6-UfIGK-pyePL6P_ln_Sx3kEKg5_YDB1y_8D0WpqlvVTMnDHLn1uUQZSlfEb9tYiYalbPuLrhdDlI6bpnkklQL7aM_9Nx-shCi2b6N5W6bciXHRg3bhoQ/w400-h300/IMG-20220901-WA0031.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">So it was, as I stood in the midst of all these moving paintings capturing the moments as seen through the eyes of the painter, I was transported to the sublime world of the artist having the quality of such greatness, magnitude, or intensity, that our ability to perceive or comprehend it is temporarily suspended. To understand Sublime, I have not found a better painting than the painting ‘Wanderer above the Sea of Fog’ by Casper David Friedrich, the German Romantic artist. The painting draws attention to the smallness and insignificance of an individual in comparison to the untamed and possibly hostile natural setting. In it, one can even sense the immensity of the mysteries before us. When we stand on the shores and look across the oceans, we are struck with wonderment and also a sense of fear at the immensity before us. The awe is beyond definition. The same sense prevails when we look at the night sky, the stars, and the world beyond. One would want to merge with this immenseness. This is exactly how I felt. It was a sublime feeling standing in the midst and being transported into each of the paintings that were on display. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi805PW3jrtcYGps-5iUOfRaUEyzn0ye2EG3JFAiU4c6rn9JKIyOAtI_DqwyV2kNQbasPbN1tGit-rUcOmFNHyKg2MQojWPXWDShsupLi5B8xpBJ4YqNMkWzlj8ZncM_uour1SJD0vi4WEM_Zj3fQcLsSzVO1ruGTT3Xzml6PhujusTe_7xfantVuUYuQ/s2931/IMG_20220907_232610.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1989" data-original-width="2931" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi805PW3jrtcYGps-5iUOfRaUEyzn0ye2EG3JFAiU4c6rn9JKIyOAtI_DqwyV2kNQbasPbN1tGit-rUcOmFNHyKg2MQojWPXWDShsupLi5B8xpBJ4YqNMkWzlj8ZncM_uour1SJD0vi4WEM_Zj3fQcLsSzVO1ruGTT3Xzml6PhujusTe_7xfantVuUYuQ/w400-h271/IMG_20220907_232610.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkf63V7NiM5y06Tq3lmZK4dld-VqzIzVQq3WPo7VwO7A57k_8zO1Dw8a7JZnfNjbErp1eeZCJLIqcPHT_Q5GA8ed95tVwzRgK_1UpuDwaaLSxUoCWvtU5tCMNTiwP-NGjR29H35ymglh9J7JmmW7gt9Jo-4dcSze6kr_QRcKDYG1k2mBERKsOpgoU-MQ/s2675/IMG_20220907_232456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2225" data-original-width="2675" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkf63V7NiM5y06Tq3lmZK4dld-VqzIzVQq3WPo7VwO7A57k_8zO1Dw8a7JZnfNjbErp1eeZCJLIqcPHT_Q5GA8ed95tVwzRgK_1UpuDwaaLSxUoCWvtU5tCMNTiwP-NGjR29H35ymglh9J7JmmW7gt9Jo-4dcSze6kr_QRcKDYG1k2mBERKsOpgoU-MQ/w400-h333/IMG_20220907_232456.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlYn5WZ5oQgqH94j1TG3Ev3l1auUxHr8SE6xTJjik3hVuUwInu0d8VmaPptwRg4TOzhFjih7Lh87cNddZhGfKb50FA1fG9fWu_igP97xCLIPJvP51newjc46ak4uTFphinJmpMDiZhx3enjbnGXO39RQ0rFiBPmRrvVksXgJMl_6FBPQVC-8MHeYB0w/s2316/IMG_20220907_232425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="2316" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlYn5WZ5oQgqH94j1TG3Ev3l1auUxHr8SE6xTJjik3hVuUwInu0d8VmaPptwRg4TOzhFjih7Lh87cNddZhGfKb50FA1fG9fWu_igP97xCLIPJvP51newjc46ak4uTFphinJmpMDiZhx3enjbnGXO39RQ0rFiBPmRrvVksXgJMl_6FBPQVC-8MHeYB0w/w400-h360/IMG_20220907_232425.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-87934229247108833262022-09-05T09:42:00.000+05:302022-09-05T09:42:28.958+05:30FINDING MY CITADEL: MY MIRROR AND ME<p> </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">BOOK REVIEW</span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">FINDING MY CITADEL: MY MIRROR AND ME</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">by HARI BASKARAN</span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">When I went through the Author's Bio I was amazed at what Shri Hari has achieved after attaining the age of 60 taking up cycling as a hobby and physical activity, culminating in a 250 km ride dedicated to children affected by cancer, to trekking in the Himalayas up to a height of 5000 meters. At the ripe age of 70, he went on a Cyclothon from Chennai to New Delhi a distance of 3000 km partnering with HelpAge India to inspire Senior Citizens. It has been necessary for me to summarize the author’s bio mainly because the reader will be able to understand and appreciate the person behind the book. Obviously, such a person has to be a leader and successful in the Corporate world where he spent most of his working life. When you read the book you travel along with him on his journey, his trials and tribulations, his overcoming self-doubt to faith in his abilities, and this sets him apart from the crowd.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Chapters 1 to 7 trace this aspect of his life. For me, the book really starts from Chapter 8 - Finding Me. It’s here his spiritual journey starts when he says that finding oneself is a lifelong journey to seek the divine within you. The passage - ‘The starting point of the journey is to have a deep desire to understand the fundamental questions of who we are and what is the purpose of our lives is explicit enough. One can understand his attitude to life ‘Every moment is an opportunity to learn and grow and then when we break out of an excessive concern for ourselves, and with innate compassion reach out to help as many people as possible, every moment of our lives is then an opportunity to create value and to sow seeds of happiness around us. Shri Hari Bhaskaran comes out as a very spiritual person and believes that the simple act of faith showed him the power of sincere prayers. He talks about Relative Happiness and Absolute Happiness and is a believer in NIchiren Buddhism and quotes from Daisaku Ikeda the third President of Soka Gakai that Prayer without action is just wishful thinking and action without prayer is unproductive.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In all, I would classify this book under the self-help category, written by a person who has seen both sides of the coin. Except for the fact that some misspellings have crept into the narrative, the book is a sincere attempt to bring out the lessons learned during his journey of life and share them with the reader so that it can be both helpful and a positive guide to self-actualization.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif;">https://www.amazon.in/Finding-My-Citadel-Joy-Mirror-ebook/dp/B0BB7YWSBB/ref=sr_1_1?crid=9TYMJMBJ8FLX&keywords=finding+my+citadel+of+joy+my+mirror+and+me&qid=1662349629&sprefix=Finding+my+citadel%2Caps%2C197&sr=8-1</span></span></p><p><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-62165004568008621352022-08-20T07:03:00.000+05:302022-08-20T07:03:10.545+05:30SIGNS OF THE FALL?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHh7MiIq5Cgj6jKbBa8cf71IftlXuliqdCBOPkPtSfoRyRWdPGR-cTPgOzmb6liZSW9QGQl1kngJ4eGq695k5vFuPnXwAGZDSEjXKiCBq4k7L5pHvdkbFqtDW5zjc6qMuc_Gyv-l5g2zb2o_0EKkrKbVtoFdrpEQg_9dXlyo7KwT2Wu1f24ddcgiPHA/s2597/IMG_20220819_091216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2597" data-original-width="1800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHh7MiIq5Cgj6jKbBa8cf71IftlXuliqdCBOPkPtSfoRyRWdPGR-cTPgOzmb6liZSW9QGQl1kngJ4eGq695k5vFuPnXwAGZDSEjXKiCBq4k7L5pHvdkbFqtDW5zjc6qMuc_Gyv-l5g2zb2o_0EKkrKbVtoFdrpEQg_9dXlyo7KwT2Wu1f24ddcgiPHA/w385-h400/IMG_20220819_091216.jpg" width="385" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I looked through the large arched window at the red of the Japanese Maple tree with the soothing green of the lawn spread in the background. From inside the house, it looked as though I was looking at a large landscape painting. My previous visits were during the Fall and going into Winter. This time we landed at the beginning of May in what is supposedly Spring - Summer, but we were welcomed by a cold, windy, and raining Chicago. Since then, there have been bouts of sunshine, rain, and thrice even a tornado warning. But for the past month, the weather has been warmer and even hot for a week reminding me of the weather we had left behind in Chennai. While here we were told that it is very hot and the weatherman (who is pretty accurate in his forecasts) warned that exposure would make one susceptible to heat strokes, I felt cold inside the house aching for the sunny outside. The best part of the day has been the morning walks around the neighborhood, feeling the tender warmth of the sun and gazing at the cooling green of the trees and the grass that embraced the surroundings. My wife and I enjoy this part of the day, for apart from the physical activity it is the peaceful surroundings that act as a massage for the mind (you come across only half a dozen people who greet you with a hello and pass you by). </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-8327da8a-7fff-abbf-0579-e8c7135c1ccf"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the past few days, there has been a perceptible coolness seeping in, a nip in the air you may say, which we felt during the morning walks. Here and there the ground was strewn with yellow leaves, and as I looked at them a faint glimmer of hope arose that Fall could come earlier this year. Maybe it was my wishful thinking for the images of the Fall of 2018, when I was last here, are still fresh in my mind. Exhilarating as it was, Autumn has always reminded me of life’s glories and decadence; </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the leaves of the trees went through their complete cycle from several shades of green, then from yellow to orange, and finally to red</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and then brown. I reproduce a passage from my book ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life'</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I watched as the leaves fell from the tree near the balcony, once green, then golden yellow, brown, and then on the ground. The tree stood barren and stripped; waiting for winter, to be covered white with snow, the rejuvenation in spring, and glory in summer to once again the fall. The cycle continues. Isn’t it very similar to the processes we undergo during our lives? Then would winter signify the hibernation we undergo after death to be rejuvenated and born again during spring? </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Usually, it is towards the second half of October that it starts and stays in full bloom till the first week of November. This time I knew I was going to miss it as I was due to return to India by the second week of October. But it was as if I was willing it to happen earlier so that I could carry back with me once again the images of life in its full bloom.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, as usual on my morning walk I was absorbed in the greenery and looking at each tree to see if there was a speck of color creeping in. All that I found were some leaves turned yellow, some brown lying around. Suddenly I saw a speck of what appeared to be a piece of colored paper on the path ahead. When I stooped to pick it up, I realized that it was a maple leaf. My joy knew no bounds as I looked at the various shades of green, yellow, red, and a small portion of brown. It was as if I was holding the whole of Autumn in my hand. I brought it back with me and placed in a copy of my book Autumn Leaves. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know the colors will fade, but that moment of joy will remain.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I would end this post with a quote from Stephen King</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous a** as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you." — </span><a href="https://parade.com/1045940/npond/stephen-king-movies-ranked/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stephen King</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Salem's Lot</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-12490598234994899052022-07-13T09:51:00.000+05:302022-07-13T09:51:09.787+05:30THE MIRACLE THAT IS BABA<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6SF35HtMvio1bihBhkHnzN0XexnRGyb-QTmO0wdMeHp9F-PTMlotc7yLlbkzlMpPn5ihzRPc5LZEhQtkltCnbMkK6XBlMdpr_8dI5T6zZ6IWeHb9onxWIWIJ0y0J23BxT9qtUxoAWljZPheVX5yMVJputY0EHYPZoCYJ1LBBk1ZgwhnSA_Y7gybWhw/s648/FB_IMG_1603351061275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="481" height="473" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL6SF35HtMvio1bihBhkHnzN0XexnRGyb-QTmO0wdMeHp9F-PTMlotc7yLlbkzlMpPn5ihzRPc5LZEhQtkltCnbMkK6XBlMdpr_8dI5T6zZ6IWeHb9onxWIWIJ0y0J23BxT9qtUxoAWljZPheVX5yMVJputY0EHYPZoCYJ1LBBk1ZgwhnSA_Y7gybWhw/w352-h473/FB_IMG_1603351061275.jpg" width="352" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">THE MIRACLE THAT IS BABA</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In a previous post ‘The Silence of the Sage’ I had written about Ramana Maharishi, a great saint and a realized soul. His was the language of silence, the silence of the soul. The constant refrain in Maharishi’s path to Self-Realization is contemplating the question ‘Who am I’ and turning inwards to find the answer.</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“More than the books about him what had an everlasting impact on my mind was the photograph and the eyes that spoke so much, that words were not necessary to commune with him. I remember I was so fixated on the glow in his eyes that I ended up sketching a portrait of him, and the minute I finished, I felt he had looked deep into my soul. That moment brought a satisfaction I had never felt before. I felt fulfilled.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Much later, perhaps a decade and odd years later, I first came to know of another great saint who had lived in the town of Shirdi during the nineteenth century and early part of the twentieth century. Sai Baba was a fakir they said whose origins were unknown. There are many stories about him, that he was a healer and a miracle worker.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I was not in search of saints to solve my problems. It just happened, whether it be Ramana Maharishi or Sai Baba, that I came to know of them, the former when I was a child and the latter as a youth. Their impact on my life took its own time. It crept on me slowly but surely and by now it has completely absorbed me.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It was sometime during the winter of 1974 that I accompanied my brother and family on a road trip from Mumbai (then Bombay) to Aurangabad and Ahmednagar primarily to see the Ajanta and Ellora caves. On our way back to Nasik we had a brief stopover at Shirdi. It was late in the evening when we reached and proceeded to the samadhi of Sai Baba. For me then, it was just a part of the tour and we did not plan to spend much time there. Shirdi then was a small town and the Samadhi itself was a simple structure. There were not many pilgrims. The dimly lit surroundings and the quietness prevailing lent an aura of sanctity and peace. We did not stay long and left for Nasik. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Though at that time, for me Baba was just another saint among the many, in hindsight, I feel I carried something back with me which found its fruition many years later. Forty-eight years later as I sat down to write about what Baba means to me, I heard my grandson whistling in the next room the Arathi song of Sai Baba. Slightly taken aback, I went and asked what made him whistle the Arathi. He replied that it just came to him and for no particular reason. For me at that instant, it was as if Baba was urging me to write. You may call it a coincidence but to me, it was a sign, one among many that I have experienced over the years.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">This post is not about the story of Baba or his miracles. There are enough books written on these and I do not feel qualified to write about them. Mine is just experiential. Some may dismiss it as coincidences and once upon a time even I had judged them so, whenever I heard or read people narrating their own experiences. Ultimately, it is all about faith and that is an aspect that made a doubter into a believer. You may ask how come this transformation? Well, that’s where my story begins.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">What are we without faith, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">A rudderless ship on stormy seas! </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In search of hands to steer us through, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">In a quest to reach that distant land, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">of promised calm and peace,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">To place our faith in his hand</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">To cross the turbulence of the stormy seas.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">So, what are we without faith but a rudderless ship on a stormy sea?</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The first sign appeared (which then did not in any way alter my perception of Gods and Gurus except that they were there for people to cling on to escape the reality of life) one afternoon as I fell asleep on the couch next to the window. I don’t remember what I dreamt, but that afternoon I was in a pensive mood wondering about my future and what lay in store. This was soon after my visit to Shirdi. I was woken up by something falling on my chest. I woke up to find that the postman had just thrown an envelope through the window and it had fallen on me. It was addressed to me and as I read the letter stating that I had been successful in the State Bank probationary officer’s test and asking me to appear for the interview for final selection. At that time I felt no connection, they were isolated incidents.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It was only much later as I sat down to recollect, after certain incidents which I could not dismiss as coincidences, that I felt the connection.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Baba drew no distinctions and did not preach or recognize religion. Anyone who came to him was equal in all respects. This was what drew me to him. Like Ramana Maharishi, to him the realization of the self is paramount. Discarding attachment to worldly things and concentrating on doing your duty echoes the Bhagavad Gita. His was a simple philosophy of love and forgiveness, charity and contentment. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">While Ramana Maharishi stressed asking the question ‘Who am I?’ to take one on the path to self-realization, the two cardinal principles of Baba’s philosophy are Shraddha (love and reverence) and Saburi (Patience and perseverance). These two are enough and a must for an individual to overcome obstacles in the course of one’s life and move towards a state of realization. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I have always believed that there are no miracles and that things do not happen the way we want them. There are no shortcuts; one has to undergo the full play of life, the way of destiny. Well, that is an easy way of shifting the onus for the ills in your life. No one knows the future, destiny is an afterthought when you find yourself unable to tackle the problems of your present. So how does one tackle the present? Accept the reality of the present and move forward and the future will take care of itself. This is where Baba becomes so relevant. Shraddha and Saburi in the conduct of one’s life will help you to accept, understand and overcome and that’s where the miracle happens. You are no longer attached to your present and will find it easier to move forward without regrets. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">As I moved from place to place and house to house, I would always find a Sai Baba temple nearby, given the fact that over the years since my first glimpse of Shirdi the devotees of Baba had increased manifold and temples had sprung up all over, it was nothing strange. Without fail, on my morning walks around the neighborhood, I would stop by a Baba temple, go inside, say a short prayer and resume my walk. There was nothing intense about it since it had become a part of my morning routine. There was no deep devotion. But it slowly happened and I felt uneasy if I missed the routine. Slowly I felt myself being drawn into his fold. I did not pray because I wanted something to happen, it was just the sensation of peace and fulfillment when I stood in front of Baba’s idol. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It happened slowly as I started looking up to him for support during times of personal crisis, whether it be concerning my health or anxiety. As always, I did not expect miracles to solve my problems, but I soon found that things would get sorted out. Faith in Baba had helped me face and overcome these situations. Maybe not all my problems were solved, but faith gave me the necessary strength to face and accept the outcomes. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">There have been certain incidents that I have not been able to comprehend or dismiss as coincidences. These have invariably happened during my daily meditations. To narrate two of those intriguing happenings - as I sat in meditation one day the question crept in whether all this was a futile exercise and whether Baba had heard me. Precisely at that moment, the clock started ringing, though the alarm was set for 6am. It was strange for the time on the clock showed 10 am. Well, you can always say that it was a malfunction and a coincidence, but for me, it was a sign.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">The second incident was even more intriguing. As I sat in meditation that day in a disturbed state of mind, I received a phone call from a friend. He said that he had just come back from Shirdi and brought something to give me. It was a scarf worn around the head of the Sai Baba idol at Shirdi. He further added that when he stepped out of his home to go to the office in the morning, something urged him to give the scarf to me. He sent it later in the day to me. To this day I have the scarf at home. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It is very easy to label these as coincidences, but for a man of faith, it is a sign.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">It’s not my aim to indoctrinate or sermonize. Sai Baba’s philosophy is universal, embracing all religions, believers, non-believers, and those who doubt. It is all about faith, patience, perseverance, and commitment to the conduct of one’s life. Baba does not promise miracles, but he is there to lend his hand to pull you out of entanglements that life weaves around you. And that is a miracle. Yes, Baba is a healer and a miracle worker.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">Through all the trials and tribulations that life throws, there is a silent confidence that Sai Baba is there to take care of me. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><br /></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-6534448942936283042022-06-28T08:20:00.000+05:302022-07-31T09:46:01.639+05:30THE CLOCK<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: arial; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KiFgTw3EHtTkJ9myd12cCG3P7TsleVP1kpLIxJ4NolIt1MQ1BjlUNr5JojCUAJSPD8Ih8qAq49onxDuo5vaXxz-Lc6fWfJ3BpKLUXqPhzVOUbXgBJFJnamG_lFrUZlE6thKVjRj5cmZaf_2sM_seWpnocXxDUUzfppaP5wJCu88PCZJR11nFCHRhtg/s4160/IMG20220612133517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KiFgTw3EHtTkJ9myd12cCG3P7TsleVP1kpLIxJ4NolIt1MQ1BjlUNr5JojCUAJSPD8Ih8qAq49onxDuo5vaXxz-Lc6fWfJ3BpKLUXqPhzVOUbXgBJFJnamG_lFrUZlE6thKVjRj5cmZaf_2sM_seWpnocXxDUUzfppaP5wJCu88PCZJR11nFCHRhtg/w361-h481/IMG20220612133517.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">THE CLOCK or TIME?</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-e0a18ef8-7fff-a26f-7e59-081475a8cc16"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">I should acknowledge the role and contribution of my grandson in making this post possible. I had not written for a long time and one excuse was that my laptop had become very slow and in fact, it was crawling. I recognized that it was at the end of its tether. But perhaps the more important point, I was at a loss as to what to write. So I let my laptop, which had become too heavy for me to carry, lie where it was, back home in India. It has been with me on my journey through all five books and I thought it was time to give him some rest. So, he must be back there, wondering how I was coping without him for company. It was difficult, so I thought of getting him a younger companion. Please note that it has never been my intention to (dump him). But with my growing years and slowing speed, I had no choice. So I bought myself a Chromebook which I thought would serve my purpose, lighter to carry, and of course lighter on the purse. This needed a reorientation and that’s where my grandson comes in. All of ten years old, he taught me the basics of all the control functions on the keyboard, he the teacher, and me the student, separated by six decades. That perhaps was the defining factor between the new Chromebook and my old Laptop. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">Having finished teaching me the basics, he asked-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">"Grandpa, what are you going to write about?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well, it’s been such a long time since I wrote something, I am still at a loss what to write about,” I replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Oh! But there are so many topics you can write on,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Can you suggest one, since you seem to have something in your mind?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“If you can write about your conversation with a cat, why can’t you think of a conversation with a clock?” he laughed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">For a moment I fell silent. That was a wonderful suggestion I thought and offered immense possibilities. He added that time is an undefined cosmic element that is relative in nature (I don’t know from where he had picked this up) and ended by asking me to add Philosophical humor. I was flabbergasted, a child barely eleven years old suggesting this. It made me feel proud, but left me gasping. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well, that’s a good one, I think I shall do it, Thank you,” I said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">Easier said than done. I realized it when I started to write. My grandson looked over my shoulder and said-</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Grandpa, are you going to write about the clock or time?” he asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Why do you ask? Aren’t both the same?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“I just asked,” he replied.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">MY CONVERSATION WITH THE CLOCK</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">For some time now I’ve been having conversations with non-human entities, be it my beard, the chair, or the cat. It always happens after midnight when the others are fast asleep. You may even call it my nocturnal excursions, but I should admit that I have found these conversations profound and elevating, at the end of which I have been left pondering. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">Last night, it was the Clock. At the stroke of midnight, the grandfather’s clock in the room chimed. For the first time, I heard its booming sound, something I had not paid much attention to till now, and taken it for granted as a part of the paraphernalia. But last night it was different. It sounded unusually loud and I was sure no one else in the house heard it. It appeared that this was for my ears only, and as if it was beckoning to me. So I got up and went down to the living room and stood in front of the clock and stared at it. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well, well, I see you heard my call and came down here. Let me assure you that it was for your ears only, the others are fast asleep in their beds. For a long time now (well that is what I keep isn’t it, marking time) I have felt the need to talk and who better than you to listen. I have been witness to your midnight conversations with the chair, the cat, and even your beard and thought you were the best person to whom I could unburden my innermost thoughts,” he said. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">I could no longer refer to the clock as ‘it’ for it sounded very much human. I continued to stare at him, not having recovered from the shock of listening to a clock. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Why are you standing there staring at me? It will be some time before we finish our talk (assuming you will respond). So why don’t you pull up a chair and sit, and make yourself comfortable. After all, you are still the master of this house,” he continued.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Sorry, that was an initial shock since I thought you folks usually went ‘tick-tock’ or ‘ding dong’”, I replied, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of him reconciling to the fact that it was going to be a long night ahead.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Ha, ha, that’s our native lingo, but it does not mean that we cannot converse in a different tongue. See I have been listening to you people for such a long time, in fact for decades, that it is but natural I pick up your language. In fact, I am quite fluent and could teach you a thing or two,” he said.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“But do you realize?” he continued, “it is that same tick-tock and ding-dong with which I have kept track of your life, your growing up and growing old. All your past and present is already here and your future also belongs to me. Your whole life is contained within my domain. I was then, I am here and will continue to be.”</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“That cannot be. You must have a beginning and an end just like us mortals. I have aged and so have you. Maybe your life span is greater, but you have to acknowledge that when you run out of energy because your pendulum has stopped since it is too tired, you require my intervention to start you off once again. So you are as mortal as I am. You have a beginning and an end,” I said.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well, there’s a catch. If you are talking about my physical manifestation, yes. I came into your home a hundred and fifty years ago when your great grandfather bought me from one of the renowned clock makers in the town. He was impressed by my grand looks. I am awake to the possibility that you may decide to sell me off as scrap. That will only bring to an end my physical existence. But whether I tick-tock or not, whether you keep resetting me or not or sell me off as scrap, you can never take Time away from me for that is my Essence. You will agree that you cannot live without my essential Being, that’s why you keep resetting me to keep track of your present existence,” he replied.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“That’s ok, but isn’t re-energizing and resetting you, is like reincarnation,” I asked. </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“That’s a thought and a good one. But it’s interesting that you talk of reincarnation. So you do believe in it?” he asked.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well, it’s a comforting thought isn’t it?”</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“It is. For me, there is no reincarnation. I am always and will always be,” he said.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Scientists say that you started with the Big Bang, what do you have to say to that?” I asked.</span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Ha, they say a lot of things. They even say I will end with the Big Crunch. I am not bothered by what they say, maybe you understand them better. But let me tell you that there have been many Big Bangs and Big Crunches. I have been through them all. They will continue that’s how this universe functions. You know Space? You should have a talk with him someday. He is everywhere, all-encompassing, and I am there with him always. We both determine the reality of your existence, all your past, present, and future.” </span></span></p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">How could that be possible? I thought. I have seen the years pass me by, from a child to youth and now an old man. Physically I have grown and changed, as age catches up I find myself deteriorating, and one day I will break down into non-existence. When someone says the time has flown, so many years have passed. And that is time, isn’t it? I cannot accept that my future is already known when it has not happened. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“If as you claim that my future is known, can you tell me about it?” I asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh! That is a cosmic secret and will remain so. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t help you even if I want to,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“That’s being evasive. Why don’t you accept that you don’t know because it has not happened?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Whatever. Can you tell with certainty when the universe began? You can only speculate. While one says that everything including me started with the Big Bang and another says I am an illusion, whom will you believe? The more you think that you have found the answer more questions arise. The truth is The Truth is out there. I am there and so is Space. There are no boundaries,” he replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">By now I was totally confused. Everyone talks about The Truth but when it comes to answering they say it’s the Absolute, All-encompassing, the Brahman, and so on. The only thing they say is that what I conceive as change from past to present and future is only in respect of my physical manifestation but beyond that, is my Essence, which is always there, indestructible. I knew I was treading into realms that seemed out of bounds for an ordinary man like me who accepts that I begin and that I end. But it is indeed a comforting thought ‘You may sell me off as scrap but you can never take Time out of me for that is my Essence'.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Well I can sense that you are getting somewhere, but I can also see your eyelids droop. Feeling tired, bored, or sleepy? In any case, it’s ‘Time’ you went to sleep,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“I guess that I am all three - tired, bored, and sleepy,” I replied.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“So should I say good night or good morning,” he asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Whatever,” I replied and started to move. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">I am sure that I heard him chime as if to say ‘bye’.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">It was around eight in the morning when I was woken up by my grandson. As I opened my eyes, I found him staring at me.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Grandpa, did you finish writing your blog?” he asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“I hope so. Well let us see,” I said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">There it was, my first post on my new Chromebook. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“Let me read it,” he said and proceeded to do so.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">“But grandpa, I cannot understand anything you have written,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Merriweather;">I smiled at him and said, “neither do I”.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></p><div><br /></div></span>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-31319045592468766662022-03-08T16:16:00.000+05:302022-03-08T16:16:10.150+05:30A NEW AVATAR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDbklGXe_2tFZNX4pvTS_tGJWiIDmWfjtitZ7SS-5MB6CvNr7-wPyBmshPcqlvr1La_yEf7MBEtWbRgE-VNhyudIBdHr2M6xEBeGhk1KbVPPeYH3PGlDy8a3I1s1ybxhSMtk_6XtDrjYikmyIzUyHF_hMeiXzUX8mXafjjsKRAnLCkDBCAGnxcquekqg=s4096" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 14.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3106" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDbklGXe_2tFZNX4pvTS_tGJWiIDmWfjtitZ7SS-5MB6CvNr7-wPyBmshPcqlvr1La_yEf7MBEtWbRgE-VNhyudIBdHr2M6xEBeGhk1KbVPPeYH3PGlDy8a3I1s1ybxhSMtk_6XtDrjYikmyIzUyHF_hMeiXzUX8mXafjjsKRAnLCkDBCAGnxcquekqg=w304-h400" width="304" /></a></div><p> <span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;">I reproduce an excerpt from my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ where I talk </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem; text-align: justify; word-spacing: 1px;">about my association or rather the relationship I shared with my motorbike. Later, when I read Pirzig’s ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ I could fully relate to what I shared with it. It had become a member of the family so much so that my daughters also shared the same feeling. Today when I read my younger daughter’s what I would call A Motorcycle Diary did I fully realize the impact it had on her growing up. I thought that I should share this on my blog because it sensitively recreates those years and the reality of the present. It was all the more amazing that she wrote it all, sitting in the showroom waiting to take delivery of what she calls the new Avatar, a memory reborn.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><i style="border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49);"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">‘My longest association has been with my motorcycle which was with me for nearly twenty-two years. It was a year older than my elder daughter, so she did travel in my wife’s arms on the pillion till she was old enough to sit between us. That went on for five years till my second daughter was born. After this, my wife had to manage with the elder one sitting between us and the younger one in her arms. This carried on till the younger one was old enough to sit on the petrol tank. We made a pretty picture, the four of us. This went on till my younger daughter’s hair grew long enough to obscure my vision as I rode the bike.’</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><b style="border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49);"><span style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><a name="m_-498132732899484267__Hlk97585741" style="border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49);"><b style="border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49);"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">A MOTORCYCLE DIARY</span></b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">A few years ago, when my partner was eyeing an old revived classic bike with mixed emotions, I promised, if Yezdi ever comes back, we are getting one. I have seen him pining, even as he calls it an unnecessary indulgence and an encroachment of space in our lifestyles. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">Both our dads had Yezdis and my loyalty to it was cemented since the time I was tiny enough to fit on the petrol tank and pretend I was the one in control. That was my space, my place, and no kid ever came close to taking that away from me. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">As I sat and watched my dad tinkering away on the motorcycle, explaining spark plugs and engine parts and exhaust, to a six-year-old me, I dreamt of a day when I could be big, strong, and smart as dad and drive and care for a monstrous motorcycle. But more than my grandiose daydreams, my love for the thing was born out of a feeling of being protected and a feeling of home. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">For a little girl anxious to get away from the maddening crowd, there are no sweeter words of comfort than "your dad is here to take you home".</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">In a world before smartphones and GPS tracking, there is no sweeter sound than the <i data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-size: 0.916667rem;">dhub dhub dhub</i> of his steed that lets you know he is just a mile away. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">But the absolute ace was the feeling beneath your feet that accompanied the sound. The reverberating drum that calmed your racing mind with the promise of home. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); caret-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; height: auto; line-height: 15.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto; word-spacing: 1px;"><span data-originalcomputedfontsize="14.666666984558105" data-removefontsize="true" style="background-color: black; border-color: rgb(49, 49, 49); color: white; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 0.916667rem;">Silent tears were shed behind closed doors when my dad decided to sell the old boy after all those years, making way for changing lifestyles. Today, when the legend is back home in a new avatar, there will be tears, but no one will talk about it. I may not be the anxious kid, I once was but I still have no chill or the muscle tone required to ride the monstrous motorcycle. I am not tiny anymore to sit on the petrol tank, but I still have my memories of comfort and security.</span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-30071839794688233272022-02-10T20:29:00.000+05:302022-02-10T20:29:51.112+05:30THE SILENCE OF THE SAGE – RAMANA MAHARISHI<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEGFPw26ZZ-7bKghw1FZENehXxR7jDyXNAUqz8VcBa4ZUNfzmscC8TgYyoxU8s171PRxpHrIIyICwKK5NkBnSghTHOzXt1YcPjLcGmHoRA22cEyhE8qYCtUgjFLctqWS8Pcx3Hsa9wt9PsIUc-J7x4jjYNIIWlKdJkEGshmjHfs6WeLTDWpBugmNeFiw=s808" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="692" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEGFPw26ZZ-7bKghw1FZENehXxR7jDyXNAUqz8VcBa4ZUNfzmscC8TgYyoxU8s171PRxpHrIIyICwKK5NkBnSghTHOzXt1YcPjLcGmHoRA22cEyhE8qYCtUgjFLctqWS8Pcx3Hsa9wt9PsIUc-J7x4jjYNIIWlKdJkEGshmjHfs6WeLTDWpBugmNeFiw=w343-h400" width="343" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">THE SILENCE OF THE SAGE – RAMANA MAHARISHI<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“Who is that,” I asked my father, pointing at a
photograph in the puja shelf, one among many there. What attracted my attention
was that out of all the pantheon of Hindu God pictures in the shelf this was
all too human – that of an old man with benign eyes and a graceful smile. The
photograph had been there always but this was the first time I was drawn to
notice it. I was a boy ten years old. The puja shelf was filled with images
of various Gods. At that age, I could relate to most of them from the stories
told me by my parents and the numerous temples which we visited and offered
prayers. It didn’t matter there were so many of them, after all, they were our
guardians and they were our Gods. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“That is Bhagwan Ramana Maharishi,” my father replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“What is a Maharishi?” I asked<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“He is someone who is full of wisdom,” my father replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“Is he a God also?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">“Some believe him to be so, but that does not matter. He
is a Sage who lived in Tiruvannamalai. Now his ashram is situated where he
lived at the foothills of the sacred Arunachala hill,” my father replied. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%;">At that age, I did not have further questions to ask, for I
assumed since he was in the Puja shelf, he was also a God. Ever since Ramana
Maharishi became a constant figure in my metaphysical meditations. As the years
passed, </span><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I came to know
more and more of him from the various books written about him and his
philosophy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">More than the
books about him what had an everlasting impact on my mind was the photograph
and the eyes that spoke so much, that words were not necessary to commune with
him. I remember I was so fixated with the glow in his eyes that I ended up sketching
a portrait of him, and the minute I finished, I felt he had looked deep into my
soul. That moment brought a satisfaction I had never felt before, after finishing a sketch or a painting. I felt fulfilled. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">The constant
refrain in Maharishi’s path to Self-Realization is contemplating on the
question ‘Who am I’ and turning inwards to find the answer. The first few lines
in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ express my dilemma and feelings of inadequacy
in trying to answer this - “Sir, you asked me who I am. What shall I say? I
have been asking myself this question for quite some time and reached nowhere.
After all, I am no saint to throw away everything that I have and go in search
of an answer. If I had, I would have been a saint. Don’t you agree?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">It is always
enlightening to read the experiences of aliens to our culture. People who have
come to sincerely understand our philosophy, culture, religion, and the secrets
that define who we as a people are. Their views and findings are bound to be more
authentic and critical when they come with an open mind freed of the prejudices
that had been painted in their minds of a country of snake charmers, faqueers,
fake magicians, and fake godmen who hold sway over a gullible population There
have been many who have written on Eastern Philosophy which has been more
academic than experiential. Our own accounts are bound to be influenced by the
familiarity with the secrets of the land we have been born in.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Of all the
books I have read about Ramana Maharishi, two stand out – ‘A Search in Secret
India’ by Paul Brunton and a number of books by Arthur Osborne on the Teachings
of Ramana Maharishi. Both of whom stayed back to be in the close proximity of
Ramana Maharishi, since they found in him the Great Master.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">‘Remote from
the haunts of men, deep in the jungles to which- or to the Himalayas- the
holiest men in India always return, Mr. Brunton found the very embodiment of
all that India holds most sacred, The Maharishi- The Great Sage- was the man
who made the most appeal to Mr. Brunton.’ From the foreword to the book. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">From the book
‘A Search in Secret India’ in Paul Brunton’s own words-<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">‘I can say
only that in India I found my faith restored. Not so long ago I was among those
who regard God as a hallucination of human fancy, spiritual truth as a mere
nebula, and providential justice as a confection for infantile idealists. I,
too, was somewhat impatient of those who construct theological paradises and then
who confidently show you round with an air of being God’s estate agents. I had
nothing but contempt for what seemed to be the futile, fanatical efforts, uncritical theorizers.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">‘This faith
was restored in the only way a skeptic could have it restored, not by argument, but by the witness of an overwhelming experience. And it was a jungle sage, an
unassuming hermit who had formerly lived for six years in a mountain cave, who
promoted this vital change in my thinking.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Nothing
describes ‘The Silence of the Sage’ then Brunton’s first interaction with the
Maharishi-<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">‘There is
something in this man, which holds my attention as steel filings are held by a
magnet. I cannot turn my gaze away from him. My initial bewilderment, my
perplexity at being totally ignored, slowly fade away as this strange
fascination begins to grip me more firmly. But it is not till the second hour
of the uncommon scene that I become aware of a silent, resistless change that
is taking place within my mind. One by one, the questions which I have prepared
with such meticulous accuracy drop away. For it does not now seem to matter
whether they are asked or not, and it does not seem to matter whether I solve
the problems which have hitherto troubled me. I only know that a steady river of
quietness seems to be flowing near, that a great peace is penetrating the inner
reaches of my being, and that my thought-tortured brain is beginning to arrive
at some rest.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I have chosen
to talk about Paul Brunton because his is a fascinating search through the
length and breadth of our country to find the real master through this
labyrinth of holy men, some self-styled and some genuine, who could guide him
in understanding Yoga and the purpose and meaning of life. His meeting with the
Paramacharya of Kanchi himself a great sage, is the turning point in this
search, for it is he who directs him to meet Ramana Maharishi. When Brunton
asks him where he can find the real master, Paramacharya tells him –<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“He lives in
the interior, farther south. I visited him once and know him to be a high
master. I recommend that you go to him. He is called the Maharishi. His abode
is on Arunachala, the Mountain of the Holy Beacon. Promise me that you will not
leave South India before you have met him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">After meeting
Ramana Maharishi for the first time Brunton continues his travels throughout
the country and ultimately returns to the abode of the Maharishi for in him, he
is convinced he has found the true master.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Again and
again, I become conscious that he is drawing my mind into his own atmosphere
during these periods of quiet repose. And it is at such times that one begins
to understand why the silences of this man are more significant than his
utterances. His quiet unhurried poise veils a dynamic attainment, which can
powerfully affect a person without the medium of audible speech or visible
action.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Since I Paul Brunton’s words have struck a chord and deep inside me, something stirs when I look
at the picture of this great sage. The eyes say so much, so much compassion and
so much silence. This silence speaks directly to the soul. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I have been to
Tiruvannamalai years ago. I have had the opportunity of experiencing the
silence and stillness in the hall where once the Maharishi sat gazing into
infinity at the same time looking into the soul of every person assembled there
just to be in his presence. The Arunachala hill stands behind, as silent and
still as the Maharishi, a beacon lighting up the darkness in our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"> </span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-49835536585811915442022-01-27T15:48:00.011+05:302022-03-08T16:01:33.312+05:30THE CHAIR<p> <gwmw style="display: none;"></gwmw></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXH_7bZyCp35DNRtUdh-PETT2gmoqHrq6aCu8oNS7mOQJMuxbEpSa5WfU_ql4X5uN1LXpwiDuBnPvPvIm9AxZAoHygO4GZH44pE0HmnpjpQSbzgz3ivEvu34g6Y5kvA6-ydFbueF2a5cccovMIWmecwdNgCJnb40I4ZvNDayO-gTaGwcHMwd2o9qWF4g=s897" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXH_7bZyCp35DNRtUdh-PETT2gmoqHrq6aCu8oNS7mOQJMuxbEpSa5WfU_ql4X5uN1LXpwiDuBnPvPvIm9AxZAoHygO4GZH44pE0HmnpjpQSbzgz3ivEvu34g6Y5kvA6-ydFbueF2a5cccovMIWmecwdNgCJnb40I4ZvNDayO-gTaGwcHMwd2o9qWF4g=w313-h400" width="313" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif;">There is a
story everywhere, if we only care to look around, listen, and learn. This is
one such story. The Chair’s story is an allegory of the human condition, the
process of aging, and the discarding and destruction of things that once we
deemed precious. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">THE CHAIR <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">When I sat
down, the chair creaked as if protesting my weight when I suddenly descended on
it. I couldn’t understand, for this has been happening quite often over the
past few days. I had, in fact, checked it thoroughly for any cracks on its legs
but it seemed in perfect health. Today this worried me, for the sound was
louder as if it was letting out a cry of pain. This was again late into the
night when I sat down to write. <a name="_Hlk94173330">I still cannot comprehend why this always happens to me in the middle of the night, whether it
be a conversation with my beard or a conversation with a cat. But this was for
the first time the interaction was with an inanimate object: Or so I thought.<o:p></o:p></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I remember my
wife telling me the other day “why do you cling on to this chair still? It’s so
old and does not gel with the other furniture in the house. For example, that
new writing table and chair you bought last month. The new chair is lying in
one corner of the bedroom and you still continue to sit on this old junk”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Don’t call
it junk. You are witness to the fact that I have written all my books sitting
on it. It has been a companion and helped to make my creative juices flow.
Moreover, you said it is old. Yes, it is, that’s what makes it special. It’s
older than my grandfather who got it from his grandfather and now passed on to
me, a legacy. It must be at least more than a hundred years old. It has
withstood the ravages of time and seen many a person perched on its lap from
time to time. You know, my grandmother wanted me to have it, especially since I
was her favorite grandchild. She said that grandfather would have wished the
same. After I got it polished and done up, you used to show off whenever your
friends came home, saying that it is an antique and valuable,” I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“I did so in
the beginning, but slowly as we went about refurbishing the house and redesigning
the interiors, this became an eyesore. One of these days I am going to call the
carpenter and ask him to take it away for whatever price he offers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Don’t ever
do such a thing. You know I already had the carpenter in when I asked him to
look at it and polish it. Of his own volition, he told me ‘Saheb do not ever
throw this chair away. We don’t get such furniture with all this craftsmanship,
nowadays. One more thing Saheb, it is made of Rosewood. People don’t make
furniture with Rosewood now, it is very costly, one of the costliest woods. If
you ask me, it is an antique. You know how people go to auctions trying to get one
of these antique furniture which they can keep in their Living room as an
exhibit. So, take my word, don’t sell it’”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Ok. It’s
your decision, but don’t blame me if one of these days it gives away and you
find yourself on the ground,” my wife replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">That was the
end of the conversation. But today when it creaked again, I got up and shook it
to see whether it was indeed in its last throes. What my wife said earlier was
still playing on my mind. So not wanting to take chances I pushed it to one
corner and replaced it with one of those plastic chairs to continue my writing,
but I found that I did not feel secure. It felt strange as if someone who had
been with me for such a long time had suddenly left. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Don’t worry, I am still here,” the voice emanated from the corner of the room where I had
left the chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Who?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Who do you
presume will talk to you at this hour of the night! I am your Chair,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">As I
continued staring at him, he continued “You heard right, I did creak. It’s old-age,
I guess. It happens to everyone, even you. I heard you talking to your wife the
other day and what she said about me, that I am of no use now and occupy only
space in the house. Well, I will not deny that I felt hurt, but I am grateful
to you for taking care and refusing to part with me. It proved that you still
value our relationship. But today I noticed an inkling of doubt creep in when I
creaked. I am not sure how long I will be able to continue like this. When I really break down one day, you may utilize my parts whichever way you want. You
know I am still valuable as a deadwood. Till then I hope you continue to treat
me as a revered antique. I don’t mind remaining in this corner”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I stared at
him. Like I said before, it was nothing strange for me to talk to things, be it
a cat or my beard and now a chair. He must have sensed my discomfiture.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“You only
know me as being handed over to you by your grandmother saying that I was
ancestral property and so valuable. I was an heirloom. But you do not know my
origin. So let me tell you a story.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Two hundred
years ago, I was born in a forest somewhere near a river in South India. At the
time the area was densely forested and a lot of us thrived. My parent was one
of the largest and cast his seeds all around. It was from one of them that I
sprouted and had the first peep into this world. There were many of us and in the
midst stood the parent tree. It was only later that I learned we were called
Rosewood. You know, I belonged to one of the most exclusive species of flora in
the forest. We were hardy, tall with a wide girth and veneer. We were a
privileged lot. I later realized that maybe because of these qualities we were
ruthlessly mowed down to cater to the greedy needs of your species. My saddest
day was when I watched my parent who was already a hundred years old cut down
and transported away from the forest. That was to be the fate of all my
siblings as one by one vanished. I was perhaps one of the last to go. I was
fifty years old, stood tall, and had all the inklings of a fine specimen when
they came and cut me down. I heard them talking among themselves that I would
fetch a good price. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Thus ended
one phase of my life. I was forced to leave my roots behind and s taken far
away from the forest and kept in one of the warehouses where I found many of
our kind already lodged there. Of course, not all of them were Rosewood, there
were others. Only then I realized that I was special and kept separately along
with other royalty. To cut the story short, each day some would disappear and
others brought in. Then one day I overheard two men talking. The gist of which
was that the king of that province wanted new furniture made out of the finest
Rosewood available. Soon I was picked up and taken away to a carpenter’s shop
and there began the painful process of splitting me into different sizes, then
sawing and cutting me into different shapes to suit their needs. What was whole
was split into parts, but I survived by whatever name they gave me – Chair, Cabinet,
Table, Bed, or other furniture as per their needs, my soul however is still intact and I
am still Rosewood. Now you own one of my many avatars as a Chair. My other parts
in whichever form I exist I believe are still around somewhere occupying pride
of place and now maybe suffering the same fate as mine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I was a part
of the furniture in the King’s palace. You should feel privileged that you have
for so long sat where once the King sat. When the palace furniture was replaced,
I was given away and picked up by one of your ancestors, maybe around a
hundred years ago. Ever since I have been with your family and occupied pride
of place. Though I now find misgivings about my place in the changed scenario.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">If now some
of us have survived still as a tree, it is because now it is illegal to cut us
down. We are an endangered species. But human greed does not stop. But I have
to tell you that Karma has its own way of paying back and that’s what is
happening now. Unless all that talk of protecting forests, Flora, and Fauna is
taken seriously, I foresee difficult times ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Sorry for rambling
on for such a long time. And it all started just because I creaked. I know it’s
now time for you to go to sleep. But before I also sign off for the night, I
should confess that I am quite comfortable where I am now, but I know things
will not remain as such and one day I shall have to leave. Maybe I shall take a
new form or be consigned to the flames. Good night.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I did not go
to sleep for a long time after that. The Chair had touched a chord deep inside
me. Whether as a royal Rosewood or an ordinary tree that one finds strewn all over the roadside the process is the same. Only how privileged you are, differs. I have also lived my many
avatars – son, brother, husband, father, grandfather and now as an antique I know
I am precious. But at the root of all, I am still ‘I’. <a name="_Hlk94173781"><o:p></o:p></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">There is a story everywhere if we only
care to look around and listen and learn. </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"> The painting reproduced here is</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="im" face="sohne, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #757575; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; text-align: center;">Van Gogh’s Chair (1888) by Vincent van Gogh. National Gallery, London. Source </span><a class="bu in" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vincent_Willem_van_Gogh_138.jpg" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: sohne, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;" target="_blank"><span class="im" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Wikimedia Commons</span></a></b></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-8662317777955401072022-01-19T23:59:00.000+05:302022-01-19T23:59:32.344+05:30A CAT’S LIFE - CONVERSATION WITH A CAT<p> </p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgI7gKKpxDvj_C7N1CEZokwATEd0t_TnPW6oMACETMp4Y7TKXI0DuN7tC7WH_CmojAHbvqogI0_VlyjRivxyulC8h_XGeGmgWyhlcVATSxMfCIZYSdNnt8br8_NKgM3sXt-XW56Dk5clLa2hBmIHmKrT6ahPY1s5nkeCiWTLwc0_E7WvAU2R0JTUkHnWg=s4160" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgI7gKKpxDvj_C7N1CEZokwATEd0t_TnPW6oMACETMp4Y7TKXI0DuN7tC7WH_CmojAHbvqogI0_VlyjRivxyulC8h_XGeGmgWyhlcVATSxMfCIZYSdNnt8br8_NKgM3sXt-XW56Dk5clLa2hBmIHmKrT6ahPY1s5nkeCiWTLwc0_E7WvAU2R0JTUkHnWg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">A CAT’S
LIFE</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">After a lapse
of nearly a year, I have ventured to write and post something on my blog. For
that matter, my laptop has been craving for attention. I dusted of the cobwebs
and started to write. I had been bereft of any constructive thought and it had
taken me this much time to summon up enough courage to break through this period
of freeze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">It had taken
a cat to wake me from my slumber. During the last three months here in my
daughter’s place I have learned, interacted and in the process found a new
friend, to the extent I started speaking to him. Well, how does one speak with
a cat? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">If I could
speak with my beard, why not a cat. Readers of my blog will recollect ‘Conversations
with My Beard’. But he (my beard) has not spoken for a long time. Maybe age is
catching up, he has turned completely white. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">He (the cat) has
a name but I shall address him only as a cat respecting his need for privacy.
Even now as I write this, he is sitting near the door, wondering what the hell I
am up to. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a name="_Hlk93438096"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"> </span></b></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">A CAT’S LIFE - CONVERSATION WITH A
CAT. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I must have
dozed off on the sofa while watching the TV which often happens. Why must have!
I had actually gone to sleep when I was woken up by a scratching sound, the
sound of something scraping on the upholstery near my feet. I knew what to
expect, for this has been happening quite frequently. I looked down and gazed
into his eyes and said “Hello, there is still time, half an hour to go”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Meowww!” he
purred and started rubbing himself against my legs and looked at me pleadingly.
That was the final straw. My daughter says that is emotional blackmail, don’t
give in, let him wait till it is time for his feed. As it is, he is putting on
weight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">It was
approaching feeding time and he was very punctual as if there was an alarm in
his stomach. Well, I gave in to his entreaties as he went on meowing. When I
got up and walked towards the shelf, he ran after me and then sat looking up
expectantly. Once his bowl was filled, the external world was lost to him as he
set himself to fulfill his gastronomic urges.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">It was one of
those nights when I went to sleep early. I woke up suddenly around midnight as
I felt something (couldn’t have been someone since there was no space for two
heads) sitting on my pillow and tapping me on my shoulder. I turned to look and
there he was staring at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Meowww” and
then he purred as if he did not want to disturb the other person in the room,
which happened to be my wife.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Don’t you
have anything better to do than to wake me up from my sleep. You have been
sleeping nearly the whole day. I have read somewhere that cats sleep for nearly
fifteen hours a day and watching you I believe that is so. You could have
reserved a major portion of it for the night and let me get along with mine,” I
murmured.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“You see I do
not get enough time to talk to you during the day, not that you are busy. In
fact, I see you dozing off on the sofa with the TV on. There is not much
difference between us,” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">For a moment
I was taken aback. He was speaking and very clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“What! I
never knew you could talk. All the while I have only heard you meow”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Who said we
cannot talk. We do that when we need to. You see I have been privy to all the
conversations you have with the others in the house. With all that cacophony
around me, you think I could not have picked up the language. It is better to
keep quiet and listen, that’s a lesson I have learned. You know, sometimes I
also need to get things off my chest. But there is no other cat in the house.
The closest thing I found was you. I have been observing you for some time and
I came to the conclusion that you are the cat I have been searching for”. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“What! I am
not a cat. If you ask me, I can only say that ‘It’s a Dog’s Life’. I would have
loved to be a cat though. After all you guys have nine lives”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“What bunkum! Do you believe that? Just because some Willy guy said that you take it to be the
truth. I guess it’s all because you take things literally without trying to
understand. Well, have you heard of an ancient <b><a href="https://www.wonderopolis.org/wonder/do-cats-really-have-nine-lives"><span style="color: black;">proverb</span></a><span style="color: white;"> </span>t</b>hat claims ‘A cat has nine lives, for
three he plays, for three he strays and for the last three he stays.’ That’s
closer to the truth. It’s true for you also. So why all this fuss about nine
lives. If you look at your life you will be having many more,” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">That made
sense, I thought. Of course, I have played and strayed more than I have stayed.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“I always
thought that your ilk does not carry any worries. Very evident from the way you
sleep, all curled up, so peaceful. The only time I see you all worked up is
when it is time for your feed” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Well, that’s
what you presume and never really try to understand that we also have feelings.
You know, every time you guys go out leaving me alone at home, I feel lonely
and a sort of depression descends. That’s when I feel the absence of another of
my kind. But I should admit I am well looked after. You feed me on time and
sometimes play with me, cuddle me and call me all sorts of endearing names. I like
it. But don’t you realize that I have not seen the world outside the walls of
this house. This does stifle me sometimes and that’s when I feel low in spirits.
I often wonder what the others of my kind, especially the outdoor ones do. There
must be a lot of excitement in their lives, hunting for food, meeting other
cats, and learning to survive in a hostile atmosphere. How would you feel if you
had been locked up inside the house, not going out or meeting people, working
to sustain yourself? That would have been an exciting life. But I have watched
you for some time now, the only thing you do is eat, sleep, again eat, sleep,
watch TV sitting in one corner of the sofa. I at least walk around the house
and chase flies to keep myself fit. I have seen you go for days without a bath.
We never allow such a thing. You would have seen me grooming myself when not
sleeping. We are more organized and disciplined. So don’t say ‘It’s a Cat’s
Life’ you are leading. I am much better than that. Though I do sleep a lot as
cats normally do, I am still agile and alert. That reminds me of the time you fell
down and landed on your butt, it never happens to us. We always land on our
feet: in that sense, we are well-grounded.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I listened to
him in silence. There was really nothing much I could do to refute or say something
in my defense. I realized that I had indeed become what he said. But I could
not give up without putting in a word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Well, if not
a Cat’s life, at least a Dog’s life?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“I have
nothing more to say. You keep comparing yourself with beings other than a
human, which you are. I don’t blame you. You have willed it and you are turning
into one, may it be a cat or a dog. It will not be much time before you say you
are leading a Pig’s Life. You can wallow
in the dirt and mud and feel happy about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“Well, it
seems you have now got all that off your chest</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />, you must be feeling relaxed now?”
I said.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">“For the
present yes. But I will be back periodically to wake you up and pour my woes to
you. As it is you are the only cat around with whom I can talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I watched him
as he got off my pillow jumped down and made his way to one of the chairs and
retire for the night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"> </span></p>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-8063791160415929912021-02-11T22:19:00.000+05:302021-02-11T22:19:24.222+05:30 A STORY RETOLD – PART 2 SEASONS OF LIFE<p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVppnYICAGQm79HunLShKNtdNIwsMGEfrFzah2oILCxN7dJiusSejN7dfuF9eKxJlcVWBE9NwzSnb__LGzCPANWftBtPqU2rfcCGWWqwo75nMUQ4BgJbvI1chBzLr2pUe75H3ESKPKsqk/s2048/Autumn-Winter1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVppnYICAGQm79HunLShKNtdNIwsMGEfrFzah2oILCxN7dJiusSejN7dfuF9eKxJlcVWBE9NwzSnb__LGzCPANWftBtPqU2rfcCGWWqwo75nMUQ4BgJbvI1chBzLr2pUe75H3ESKPKsqk/w400-h225/Autumn-Winter1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> <b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">A STORY RETOLD – PART 2</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">SEASONS OF LIFE<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Write what you like, then imbue it
with life and make it unique by blending in your own personal knowledge of
life, friendship, relationships, sex, and work. </span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">Stephen King</span></b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">While the
first part of ‘A Story Retold’ covered ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ and ‘Darkness
and Beyond’, here I continue my journey through ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life’
and ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">The colors of
Autumn has always fascinated me. I first had the opportunity to witness and be
a part of it in October 2011 when we went to the US to be with our daughter and
the newly born grandson. I did not have much opportunity to go out. I had the
first glimpse of the colors of Autumn, though it was only towards the end. The
colors were still there. When I looked from the balcony at my daughter’s place,
I saw a lone tree with all its leaves turned yellow standing as a lone
testimony that autumn was still there. I later learned that it was a green ash
tree whose leaves turned yellow and slowly to brown and fell as winter set in.
I watched daily as the leaves fell one by one, strewn on the ground. The first
inklings of winter appeared, and as the chill breeze blew, the remaining leaves
fell. And when the snow came, it was for the first time that I was
witnessing it. Though it was exhilarating to watch the snowfall, it was for me
an ominous sight to see the tree outside stand bare and its branches holding
the remnants of the snow that fell on it: stripped completely of all color and
the ground around it covered with a white sheet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">The next time
I went, I saw Autumn in full bloom and was enraptured by all the color that
surrounded me and this time when winter set in, the same feeling of despondency
overtook me. It was while listening to Nat King Cole singing ‘Autumn Leaves’ in
his hauntingly captivating voice capturing the poignancy of loneliness and a
lost love, that I decided to translate those emotions into the written word in
my book ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">I recalled
the poem ‘The Human Seasons’ by John Keats, which I had studied in school. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Four Seasons fill the measure of the
year;<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">There are four seasons in the mind of
man:<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">In Keats’s
poem there is an indication that man is aware of every stage of life, he finds
himself in, but never really accepts the transition from one to another for he
foresees that at the end – <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">He has his Winter too of pale
misfeature,<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Or else he would forego his mortal
nature.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">With the
younger generation moving further away and the older ones slowly learning to
cope with being by themselves, the disintegration of families from what was
once a joint one, with a ruling patriarch and the other members strewn around
not far away, to single units ultimately spread out in far and distant lands,
and the slow but perceptible shifting away in distance and relationships and
acceptance of which as a reality was unalterable. The advancement in knowledge
and the growth in opportunities away from home, contributing to a more
independent individual learning to live life on his own terms, though
desirable, has led to the splintering of families and in a sense an inevitable
reality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Krishnan tells
his daughter (in my book ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life) – ‘When I was young,
no longer a child, I used to listen to my grandfather’s narration of his childhood. How he spent his holidays in that small town where his grandfather lived
as a patriarch of a large family. The house was filled with uncles, aunts, and
cousins. He would say that he missed those days spent playing with his cousins
on the banks of the river, the temples, the gods, and most of all the festivals
which looked more as a celebration of life than mere rituals. As he grew old
and shifted away, all these were consecrated to the shelves. He had accepted
the changing times though reluctantly. As we grow older and see the years
slipping away, we tend to grasp on to things that we have left behind us. We
slip into our own fantasies as to how things could have been different and regrets
do arise”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Over the
generations, the freedom of the individual to choose has only grown. It has
been a natural process of evolution. I have also learned to accept that my
beliefs will go down with me to be replaced with different beliefs and value
systems and a different way of life. I can already see it happening around.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">But despite
all that moving away somewhere deep inside lies buried an ache to understand
who you are and where it all started. It is best described in the words of Anu,
Krishnan’s daughter who goes to the land of her ancestors to discover her roots
– “Two years ago, I had undergone a period of depression. Maybe the result of
doing the same old thing day in and day out, a Sisyphean situation. I needed
answers to pull me out of this angst. I decided that it has to start with
understanding myself and for that, I needed to go back to where it all started,
my parents. And that was what took me to India, to search for the great Banyan
tree under whose shade generations had come and gone, the sacred Peepal under
which the Buddha attained realization, the burning ghats of Varanasi where one
understood the meaning of life and death and the heights of the Himalayas which
promised a peep into the unknown”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">It was a strange dream, </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 11pt;">the only thing of which I remember is of a woman
who appears therein and when I ask her name, she replies ‘Amora’</span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif;">I thought that was a unique and lovely name
sounding like ‘Amour’ the French word for love. I do not know whether my
subconscious was at work or whether hidden infatuations had surfaced. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather, serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Adolescence
is that time of growing up from a child to adulthood. The onset of puberty
brings with it, apart from physical changes in the human body, a need for
exploration of one’s sexuality. This is a time when one does not distinguish
between love and infatuation. Infatuation is a passing phase that we realize
only when we move away. For some, this takes a long time, in the course of which
they exist subjecting themselves to procrastination and in the process
unfulfilled. Even what we call love is a fixation that accompanies us as
long as we believe it exists. Once it ceases to exist, we are shattered, for
there is always an expectation of reciprocity. A sense of betrayal of trust is
predominant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Aparajit finds
himself bound between two women ‘Amora’ (love) and ‘Maya’ (illusion). Unable to
initially accept the truth, he ultimately realizes that relationships are based
on understanding and acceptance and that alone is permanent. When Maya leaves him for the second time she
says - <a name="_Hlk510817913">“What for Apu? The moment we both wanted has
happened. We both understand each other as we are and that is more important.
We have met after a long time and we meet as friends. There are no goodbyes or
farewell this time. I shall only say ‘We will meet again”. But it is Amora who sums
it up, “<i>Growing up is wiping off the
cobwebs of the past and moving on”.<o:p></o:p></i></a></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Atulya was
an enigma. Once considered a maverick but a brilliant one and life was to be
lived to the full was what he believed in. It is when he confesses to Amol, his
dearest friend and alter ego after emerging from a long hiatus during which he
undergoes a life-changing experience, you realize that the maverick in him, at last, finds his authenticity and meaning in life. In his confession to Amol he says -<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">“Once I
used to think that the world revolved around me. That’s no longer true for I
have now come to accept that there is another world, a world in which you are
also an inhabitant. Amol you belong to the other world. I remember saying that
you live in a cocoon, but I realize I have also been in one. I now yearn to be
the butterfly emerging out to explore the freedom that awaits. Soon Amol, you
will also realize that you have to break out from the world you have built
around yourself. Real freedom lies in understanding the world as it is. In a
sense, though we have been different in our approach to life, you will agree
that together we have been in harmony. We needed each other but now I am in
search of yourself within me like I am sure you will also do in course of
time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">I have hurt
many people during the course of my journey through this life. At this point, I
can only say I am sorry. Sorry for what I had been. But I learned my lessons
and, in the end, I shall be leaving with no malice or regret in my heart. I
have only one wish that I should continue to be useful even in death. For it is the only thing that will ensure I continue to exist in the hearts of those
I have touched while alive and will touch others after death. In the end, when I
go, I wish to go as one who lived life so as to perpetuate the basic goodness
of humanity and leave this world a slightly better place to live in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">I wish that
just as I have tried to be useful during my life, I should also be useful
thereafter. I have registered myself as an organ donor and wish that after my
death this wish be fulfilled. Maybe it shall ensure the prolongation of the
life of another human being. It will be difficult for my family to accept that
it will be just a shell they are cremating and that my soul will not attain
salvation. Forget all that, for me, this will be salvation.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Beyond all
that austerity and the accumulation of knowledge in our search for
self-discovery Mrityunjay realizes that there is also a life where the reality
of our existence in this physical world must be accepted. Our emotions are
real, our needs as human beings are real. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">It is more
important for me to live this life rather than speculate on the origin and
existence of a higher power, of rebirth and redemption. It is more important to
recognize values and live a useful life. Whether it is the Bhagavad Gita’s
Karma Yoga or the Buddha’s Eightfold Path, the message of rightful action and
rightful living is a universal message. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">Mrityunjay
concludes “I have learned my lessons. I have realized that the world is real and
our existence a necessity. Life and
death are certainties and so are all the gamut of emotions that we experience
on our journey. The earlier we accept this, the easier would it be to live. One
does not learn by moving away. One learns by sticking it out and facing the
truth of our fallibilities and that alone is the only way to overcome them. I
have also realized that relationships are pure when there is understanding and
acceptance. Relationships are based on trust and empathy, to support each other
and being there for each other”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;">My journey
does not end for I can still see the road ahead and wonder what lies ahead. It is
Hope that has brought me so far and it is Hope that will take me forward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-extension-definitionpopup" style="display: none; left: 365.43px; top: 231px; z-index: 2147483646;"><gdiv class="ginger-dp">
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-content">
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-title"><gspan id="dp-title">hope</gspan></gdiv>
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-description" id="dp-description">a specific instance of feeling hopeful</gdiv>
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-more">More <gspan>(Definitions, Synonyms, Translation)</gspan></gdiv>
</gdiv>
</gdiv></gdiv>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-459759060211433221.post-90856373782049881682021-02-05T21:50:00.000+05:302021-02-05T21:50:21.436+05:30A STORY RETOLD – PART 1 FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYemCbGbHy5CahDa7W_thxYgBVdnaE7rkmCO9NUIIsFB2Qx4ub0siu5EacriHEuNQY76ShFiwbJFhqOpvmCedwui0c6rg1fBCbga39CA-On7mYnRUiSbdzF4VHDfeOWmtrv9SqHQqfIMr/s2048/DSC_2322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYemCbGbHy5CahDa7W_thxYgBVdnaE7rkmCO9NUIIsFB2Qx4ub0siu5EacriHEuNQY76ShFiwbJFhqOpvmCedwui0c6rg1fBCbga39CA-On7mYnRUiSbdzF4VHDfeOWmtrv9SqHQqfIMr/w400-h266/DSC_2322.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">A STORY
RETOLD – PART 1</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">FROM
DARKNESS TO LIGHT<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">My friend
asked me why my writings are always on the darker side and felt that maybe if I
shifted my genre to something lighter, I would find a larger audience. I
understood what my friend was trying to convey. Accepting reality is not easy
and we would rather read to escape the daily anxieties that surround us and enter
a world of mystery and romance. True, these keep you occupied without leaving
lingering effects of angst. Two questions arise here – why we read and why we
write. While I can answer for myself, it will differ from reader to reader and
writer to writer. As a reader, I have read all genres and as I aged it shifted
and settled down to an exploration of life itself, a peek into reality, the need
to understand before time passes by. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">In his book ‘Why
I Write’ George Orwell says that one cannot assess a writer’s motives without
knowing something of his early development. <a name="_Hlk63437068">If he
escapes from his early influences altogether, he will have killed his impulse
to write</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I told my
friend, that at this stage it is not possible for me to write something that
takes me away from my desire to see things as they are. I have long since known
that my writings get across to a minuscule of the large audience out there and
this fact has steered me away from the thoughts of commercial success. More importantly,
I realized how true Orwell was when he said ‘If he escapes from his early
influences altogether, he will have killed his impulse to write’. There are
people who read, there those that connect, and for me, it has been a journey of
life through my books and it is still on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">And as I once
again travel through that journey, I have taken a slight pause to recapitulate
and look at the road left behind. That is why I call it ‘A Story Retold’. For
those who have read my books will recognize familiar words and passages as
I have tried to tell this story by culling out portions from all my books and
stitching them together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">The first
part of this story covers the journey from ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ and
Darkness and Beyond- A Medley of Many Lives’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I am a
passionate man. I am a hopeless romantic and I have remained like that ever
since I remember.<b> </b>I have my life, my experiences, and above all, my
fantasies. I have my own world to which
I retreat and seek my own answers about life and death; after all, both the
ordinary and the extraordinary merge at the point of death. It is my journey
and I have traveled it<b>. </b>I continue to question and the only way I
release my angst is by writing letters to God, who I am not sure is reading
them or is listening to me. The
journey of self-discovery that started with the lighting of my father’s funeral
pyre was still on. But I have traversed a long distance since then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">If you ask me
whether I believe in Karma, I will say yes, but at the same time, I have not
acted in a manner with the expectation of better things to happen as a result
of my good actions, for that would have been selfish. I have acted as per the
callings of my heart and not by the machinations of the mind. I do not want to
be judged by what I have done. I would rather be accepted for what I was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif;">I have been a
dreamer and at times travel back to that village on the banks of the river
Thamirabharani. I had always wanted to
live in a small cottage beside a stream, with the hills in the background and
the lush green paddy fields in front, and as the gentle breeze blew across,
causing ripples on the sheet of water, I would watch the paddy dance, a slow
waltz. I would read ‘The Solitary Reaper’ and listen to the song of the lonely
maiden waft across the fields. I would wake up to the morning sun just peeping
out from the hills and the chirping of the birds on the trees in my backyard,
and then the milkman would arrive with the milk, fresh and undiluted straight
from the udder. Then in the garden sitting on my rocking chair with a steaming
cup of coffee, breathing in the freshness of the morning, and then off on my
morning walk to the village nearby, being greeted by friendly faces. The
unpaved street cleaned and sprinkled with water mixed with cow dung, and kolams
(a form of drawing that is drawn by using <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rice" title="Rice"><span style="color: windowtext; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">rice</span></a> flour/chalk) adorning the front of every house as if reminding
one that the street was the canvas on which every house let their creativity
flow. The only mode of transport, the bus, would make its visit twice a day to
keep you in touch with the outside world. The newspaper, at least two days late
ensured that you were always behind what was happening out there: not that one
was really bothered about being out of sync.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Then I would wake up to the reality that this was a dream, a distant
dream and would remain as such.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I have learned a lot from my encounters with people; they stayed in my
mind and their lives touched mine in a way that opened my eyes to the fact
that each one is a piece without which this puzzle of life can never be completed.
I realized that it is essential for me to know from where I come in order to
look ahead and see where I am going. I remembered my grandfather and the little
village where he lived and the values he had passed on to his progenies. I
understood the meaning of ‘Roots’. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">My chance encounter with an old man made me see ‘Hope’. His parting
words still ring in my ear “I believe that there does exist something beyond
this darkness and that is the hope I carry with me”<b>.</b> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Soon after his mother’s death, I met Ambi to offer my condolences. His mother
had been bedridden for a number of years and he had looked after her as much as
he could during her last years. His words were poignant “We are also growing
old and my wish is that when I go, it should be just like that, in a flash. I
dread becoming a burden on my children. Despite all the love they have for me,
they should not be put in a position where they feel that it would be better if
I passed away. It is a reality that we have to accept”. Yes, I said to myself,
the reality of it all is stark.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">It was during my college days, a youth full of energy and aspirations
to make it big in life, that I came across Satyajit an idealist and a rebel with
a cause. His life and his travails in the course of sticking to his ideals and
the resultant suffering was a lesson that the authenticity of life can be
realized only if there is a cause, no matter what the odds against you are. Years
later after I had graduated and settled down comfortably, I had the chance of
meeting him again. Though physically he looked weather-beaten his spirit was
not. His eyes still shone with that same old fire and purpose. During the course
of our conversation, he told me –<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“I still believe in my ideals and what my father taught me - the
equality of all human beings. I believe that exploitation takes place because
of the deeply ingrained feeling of subjugation and inferiority inculcated over
centuries of class and caste domination. Violence will only lead to another
type of domination. But I did learn a lot during those five months I stayed with
them; a commitment to a cause and a sense of sacrifice to achieve their goals.
I was surprised to find a number of them belonging to what we have usually
termed as the bourgeoisie. They had thrown away a comfortable existence to join
what they thought was a just cause. I did talk to a few of them to understand
the reason for their doing so. I have arrived at a conclusion that theirs was
an existential problem. Most of them faced with the absurdity of routine
existence not knowing where they were headed to, found rebellion and revolution
as an outlet to authenticity. The majority of the people in general, do not
want violence to upset their lives forever. Even the peasants who had initially
been at the forefront of the uprising are slowly withdrawing themselves due to
the uncertainty in their living. The police persecution on one side and the
violence unleashed by the Naxals on the other side. It is as if they have been
caught in the crossfire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">You see at last I feel vindicated that my belief in educating people
and raising their awareness and making them believe in their own strength will
one day bring about a radical change in society and not through violence, is
proving correct. A number of those people I know who were part of the
revolution and survived have themselves settled down to the bourgeoisie life
against which they had fought. I am happy that despite all the tribulations, I
have been able to remain as I was and that’s my success and the meaning of my
life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Whether it be the visually handicapped Raghav, the patriarch Periachamy,
Swami Ekantananda, or the child widow Rajam, all showed me that darkness
can be dispelled by the light of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I understood pure love when Jyothi talked to me about her relationship
with Raghav <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“What attracted me to Raghav was that he could connect directly with my
innermost feelings and he spoke to me through his violin. His physical
disability never came in the way of how I related with him. But I knew that he
was always hesitant because he thought that he could be a liability in a
relationship. His parents have played a great role in making him what he is
today. He can take care of himself and he has had them with him all along. His
parents have shown him the way and like he has brought happiness into my life,
I am sure I can bring a bit more light into his.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Periachamy attributed all his success to one person <b>– “</b>Arumugam
was the first person in my life who made me feel that I was valuable, and like
I told you before, he gave me shelter when I needed it most, but above all, he
was a father that I never had. He made me realize that life was not all
darkness and that it can be dispelled with the light of hope. I learned the
value of faith and loyalty in the conduct of one’s life, for that was how he
led his”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">But perhaps the most poignant encounter was with Rajam, widowed in
childhood and the dark days she faced before she found her redeemer in
Parvatham. She told me – <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“It has been ten years since Parvatham passed away, but I still feel
her presence guiding me, telling me that there is no such thing as eternal
darkness. Though she was only fifteen years elder she was more like a mother to
me, for it was through her that I was reborn. She found me when I was just
seventeen years old and parted fifty-three years later. I still believe in God
for he has created people like Parvatham, her father, and others who have made
it their life’s mission to lead people like me from the darkness into which we
had fallen to light. They have shown that there is a purpose in life in the
midst of all the adversities one is surrounded by. They have been beacons of
hope in what would otherwise have been a hopeless world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I have often wondered how traumatic life must have been during those
dark periods of a patriarchal society<b>. </b>A woman was dependent on the man and
hence his property and hence on his demise continued to remain so. The shackles
imposed on her through the institution of marriage held her in bondage till her
death. The widower still remained a free man. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(To be continued)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Merriweather",serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></b></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Sublimationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561426211416097425noreply@blogger.com1