of memories and pride...

All my childhood memories have traces of granny's presence. Like all fond things, I could gauge her worth only after I lost her. Her tenderness has seeped so deep into my being that I can still feel her touch, I remember the earthy fragrance around her, I can recall the taste of the many varieties of food she prepared for us with love. All this even after 10-11 years of her passing away! Every evening, she used to take me to madhwasangha for pravachana. While she listened to profound discourses inside the hall, i used to stand near the gate and dream away to glory. I used to first finish all the toffees she bought me and plan the possible escape routes if someone kidnapped me. I used to run to the main road only because I was forbidden. Ajji came out often to check on me. I had calculated the gap between each of her visits. The calculations went horribly wrong at times and I used to get caught wandering on the road. It always ended quite dramatically. She would drag me inside; I would cry aloud drawing all the attention there. That meant I could break the queue at the end of the session to reach the speaker and was of course blessed with an extra kallu sakkare (sugar crystal?) most often.

Ajji didn’t go to madhwasangha to while away her time. Nothing that she listened to disappeared in thin air. She put it all down in words. She read extensively. She compiled all the information she knew and gave it her own colour. The 10-11 books that she wrote speak for themselves. She started writing very late in her life. Not many knew that she could write. She didn’t undergo schooling. After all the hardships she underwent and emerged victorious; she wasn’t compelled to write. She had already proved her point as a woman. But she set her own standards. She has earned praises from eminent scholars. I didn’t have to go looking for ideals. There she was, in flesh and blood; here she is, still alive, in my memories. Books, plants, and children – they all earned a special place in her heart.

Her very first book just got reprinted. It is titled “Sri samanyarige Mahabharata”.

Life is a quotation

Most of us live within quotes and die within quotes.

Dream, we sure do. But do we dare to get out there and do what is needed? We all choose our little comfort zones and stay put.

Compromise is probably the way of life.

Life is mimicry, they say. And that to me is the scariest part of life. If all that we can ever be is a fragile copy, then why live at all! Our thoughts reflect others' thoughts, our opinions guided by others', our taste is determined by that of others', the grand choices and decisions of our lives are ruled by others. Their reality becomes our reality. All in all, we are under the spell of this anonymous larger-than-life 'other'.

Passion, freedom, originality - are they all mere myths?

“Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.” Franz Kafka

and so I turned 20...

“I am blasphemy and religion, pure and impure;

Old, young, and a small child.

If I die, don’t say that she died.

Say she was dead, became alive, and was taken by the Beloved.”

Those were my exact thoughts while I was reflecting and introspecting my life so far. That’s how I want to live my life. What if I were dead this minute? Can I still say ‘I was taken by the Beloved’? I wasn’t sure. So rarely do we recognize that ‘death is an integral part of life’. And such a recognition always happens to me on my birthday. As gloomy as it may seem, I wanted this birthday to be special. I wanted to spend the last few hours of my 19th year all by myself. But I didn’t have anything in particular to do. I had to keep myself awake till 12’o clock. So I picked a book from my shelf and started reading. It was Murakami’s ‘Norwegian Wood’. The protagonists in the book also turn 20 and that’s how the book interested me. Their world didn’t reflect any bit of mine. But I kept reading, I was curious. Before I knew, I had finished half the book. I skipped my dinner thinking it’d eat up the precious last hours of my 19. I was listening to beautiful songs composed by the celebrated Daasaru. Some of the lines effortlessly sum up my life as though that’s all I’m worth – 2 lines!  I was playing ‘kemperit ambaradi’ on loop and played Swarathma’s ‘duur kinara’ every now and then.

The song claims to have found a story. I have made several such bold claims too. Time and again, I have cried at the top of my voice that I have made it HOME. I’d see a door and say ‘I’m home!’ before finding the keys to the lock. Some other times I’d say I’m home looking at an unlocked door which is latched from inside. I’d violently scream to have the door opened but I’d hear not a whisper from inside. My life’s been full of such experiences.

I was sleepy. It was not not even 11 yet. I went back to ‘Norwegian Wood’. The narrator was faintly trying to inspire the reader to think of beauty and happiness. I kept looking at the clock once in a while.

With a mattress in hand, I sneaked out to the terrace. I lay there in the chill looking at the almost-full-moon. The more I looked at the sky, the more number of tiny stars revealed themselves. I was hoping to catch sight of a falling star to make a wish. I waited patiently. I heard dogs howling at a distance while my stomach was growling in hunger. I got up and went back to my room. Tears had long dried up. It was 12:07. I curled up in my bed. ‘My clock is ten minutes fast’, was the last thought to pass by before sleep crept in. and so I turned 20. Happy Birthday to me.