My Books

A day without reading some book or another is, for me, unthinkable. I need the comfort of the printed word before I can go to bed or I simply won’t unwind and sleep right. No matter how tired I am or irritable even, a good book soothes me so I feel relaxed. Obviously, the wrong choice of book doesn’t help at all although because I am an inveterate book-lover, I will still read an admittedly bad book simply because I respect the fact that the author took the trouble to write it!

I haven’t had a chance to read a good book in a while now and the need is almost a tangible void in my being. I am a little wary of new authors and don’t like to take much of a risk. I love my old favourites but sometimes even those authors disappoint. I used to love Marquez at one point till I had collected every work of his including a collection of his interviews and then I simply got tired of him. I loved “Chronicles of a Death foretold”, “Love in the time of Cholera” and “One hundred years of solitude” but didn’t like “In Evil Hour” or “Autumn of a Patriarch” much and that’s when I stopped reading Marquez – at least his newer releases. I love zany stories, non-mushy love stories and fantasy as well. I can read anything as long as it is engaging. I love Wodehouse but not too much of a dose at a time. I love Asimov’s Foundation series. I love Terry Pratchett for his humour. I love George R R Martin for writing excellent fantasy – way better than Jordan and almost as good as Tolkien. I love one of a kind books like “To kill a mockingbird”. I love sweeping sagas like “Gone with the wind” (no, I would never read its so-called sequel!). I love classics like “War and Peace”, “Pride and Prejudice”, “A tale of two cities” and “Treasure Island”. I love books that I can go back to time and again and learn anew at each reading.

I can read almost anything just to pass the time but the books I keep are the ones that are my friends. They are the ones that take me out of myself and far away on the wings of imagination. They linger in the mind long after the last word has been read. They subtly infuse my thoughts with their delicate flavour. It would be wonderful to write such words myself but I have a long way to go. Till then I shall be the eternal reader.

Dilemma

I have a curious dilemma before me. I have no idea how to resolve it and I am afraid that either choice will have repercussions that may lead to regret later. I cannot run away from making a decision however as the time is nearing where a choice is inevitable. How do I choose between making one child happier than the other? This then is the difficulty.

My little girl who is six is a bundle of energy, curiosity and unending chatter. Her feet never touch the ground and she floats through life like a little lily on a pond. She is extremely intelligent and loves challenges. My son who is ten is quieter and doesn’t float. He is always happy but hates to learn anything that requires effort. So they have different needs. I had put them in the same school for two reasons. The first is that I did not want to separate brother and sister – the second was that though almost everyone I knew told me she deserved better, I didn’t want my son to think that he was being discriminated against by being left behind when she changed schools. I knew that as he grew older, he would have to face a lot more isolation and derision. He would need his sister’s help and support to survive. If I split them up, would I not be giving the impression that they were indeed not the same to me? Would she make new friends who would make her feel her brother was an embarrassment? Would she start treating him with condescension? Shouldn’t my son have fair treatment at least from his sibling? And yet the current school is not enough for her. She needs to be exposed to more sports and a tougher level of academics because she revels in it. Wouldn’t she resent me for holding her back in order to support her brother?

There isn’t an easy answer. I know that each child is unique and has unique needs that need to be met but to maintain the fine balance between being fair and being practical is not easy. I want to be partial to the child who has a tougher time on a daily basis but that is innately unjust. It also meant that I did not have full faith in his ability which was demeaning to him as well. My children will have different paths in life inevitably but I simply did not want their paths to diverge so early.

In the end I come to a decision. He will stay back and she will move on. He will be happier in a place where there is more acceptance than anywhere else in Bangalore. She will go to another school that will improve her confidence and meet her need for challenges. I can only sit back and let them find their separate ways in the hopes that in the end, separate need not necessarily mean apart.

The Road

I couldn’t believe it was 10:30 in the morning as we drove along the winding roads from Baghmandala towards Pannathur. It was all a forest area and I had passed through the same road during different times and different seasons but never in the morning and never on an unusually rainy day in September. The road was hardly visible except for about eight feet ahead because of almost fog-like conditions and it was winding along in a decidedly curvaceous manner. I was craning my neck trying to spot any possible vehicles speeding from the opposite side in an attempt to aid Sushant but was failing miserably because I was so enchanted by the surroundings.



The road was narrow and a steep drop marked the left side. Tiny little cataracts had magically transformed into beautiful waterfalls cascading from the mountainous side to the right. Greens of every hue that beggared description greeted the eye from all sides. Bamboos formed shady archways. Impossibly tall trees broke the skyline. Mist hung in the air and a fine drizzle showered on us throughout. Mountains were visible in the distance shrouded in mystery and the very sights that I had gotten used to after innumerable trips looked like they had been magically transformed.



The air was so invigorating after the stale air-conditioned stuff we normally inhale that my fastidious husband actually let the windows be rolled down despite the mild showers. The children were enjoying the scenery in a way I have never seen before and they were so pleased at seeing the mini-waterfalls that we had to stop and try to take pictures. But no picture can capture that moment of hushed awe at beauty so sublime it just takes your breath away. I can’t find the words to explain how blessed we all felt at that moment – one of those precious moments you can lock away in memory and take out to relive over and over again ...

My rains...

The rain is most insistent. It will be heard. I sit by my window listening to the raindrops fall where they would. I have varied reactions to the rain – some days I cannot get enough of it and I can dream away watching the rain. Some days, however my spirit is bogged down by the sound of continual downpours. Today is one such day. I need to see the sun out after a period. I need to get out and go for long walks in the evening. I need to see the newly washed greens and smell the delicate perfume of the soil. Having to sit out the evenings at home makes me rather cranky.

I recall my childhood in Kerala (well, part of it anyway) when the monsoons would herald what seemed like endless dreary days. We would have a tough time getting clothes dry or going to school, for the first day of school always marked the first day of the monsoon as well. I remember squelching through muddy roads to get on to overcrowded buses where we were prey to any wandering and probing fingers. I remember being schooled by my more experienced friends about how to use my elbows and rolled-up umbrella or as a last resort, a safety pin in order to deflect the single-minded hands. The last phase of our school commute involved walking beside a busy road and occasionally getting splashed with dirty water sent spurting by over-speeding buses. I did so hate the monsoons.

In college I stayed in a hostel and so the rainy season was less of a bother – we would get wet inevitably on our way to the mess hall and back to class (despite the umbrellas) but we could always find ways to manage. During my engineering college days, the hostel and the college were a lot farther apart and it was also a co-ed institution and getting wet did have a lot more repercussions than I bargained for :-). Looking back on the endless monsoon days I truly wonder how it was that all of us adjusted so easily. We would even get out on the terrace in the pouring rain and dance just for the sheer joy of being young and together. Now I am so picky that a drizzle will send me scurrying back indoors. I feel that the change is not merely due to an increase in inflexibility – rather its more to do with the loss of a carefree spirit. One day I might yet feel young enough to dance in the rain again ...

Elusive sleep ...

The hours pass slowly but then the hours of pre-dawn pass slowly for anyone who cannot sleep. I lie on my side trying to close my eyes and shut down my chattering mind. All that I do during the day to avoid thinking really doesn’t work in the dark. But then I am used to this lack of sleep – what I find difficult to cope with is the fact that the number of worries that plague me seem to be growing and not diminishing.

I am not a passive acceptor of this entire scenario though I am guilty of worrying more than can be good for me. I have embarked on a process of self-discovery in the hopes that some inner core will give me the strength to simply get through some days. I have often wondered whether having an escape valve of sorts would help. If I had but two days to be just about anything, to do just about anything with no lines drawn and no one to look over my shoulder even metaphorically, would I feel free? What would I do given the freedom to simply be? Knowing my routine-bound self, I would probably read a book and not go over to the wild side but the idea that absolute freedom, at least for a little while, now and again, might be in my power opens up possibilities I have never considered.

The problems ahead do not faze me as much as the feeling of being tied down permanently by responsibilities that no other can share. I have wonderful friends who sympathize – some even have a considerable degree of empathy. I have siblings who are ever ready to reassure. I have a spouse who is wholly involved with the family. Despite this, there are days when no one else can do what I must or even feel what I do – it is a universal truth no doubt and not something that is exclusive to me. Everyone has problems and mine are as ordinary to others as theirs are to me – all I want is the power to distance myself from them once in a while so that the pain can ebb and flow instead of throb heavily every moment. That is not too much to dream of I think. When I was a little girl, I had lofty dreams and plenty of sleep – now even my dreams do not have the power to fly and sleep is as elusive as a good cup of tea in Bangalore ;-)

Soul mates

I can understand why a person who has led as sheltered an existence as I have would not be able to define true love. I even doubt its existence. I know security and a kind of love of course but I have never experienced the kind of magical, sweep-me-off-my-feet kind of love. I adore my husband and children but I have never been able to let go with anyone ever. I always seem to hold a piece of myself back which witnesses my interactions with my loved ones dispassionately. I have no clue why this is so and I don’t think there is another soul who even understands what I am talking about.

There are people who could not be more different in tastes, attitude, exposure or inclination compared to me but they too still seek true love. Some of the more cynical feel very superior when they declare that the majority of the world confuses love with lust. It is not that simple. While lust is a healthy by-product of attraction, love and lust need not always be mutually exclusive – they are separate entities but inextricably intertwined some of the time. Imagine an entire world full of people in search of their soul mates. What are the chances that they go beyond the immediate radius of friends, home town, state or at most country? Given the enormity of the population, what is the guarantee that the soul mate would be of one’s own culture or race? How is one supposed to actually find this soul mate? The sheer impossibility of such a task should fill one with disbelief.

So most of us settle for what we can be comfortable with rather than what would perfectly complement us. I see nothing wrong with that. It is not part of nature to endow soul mates with some sort of identification badge. The more important task for any living being is survival and of course procreation. Love isn’t necessary for either and so is not an essential part of life according to the laws of nature. Years of conditioning by means of stories of eternal love has left in every man and woman an inexplicable yearning somewhere deep inside. It is of course true that very few act on that yearning but yet it rules most of our expectations. Therefore whether we have arranged marriages or love marriages, we secretly yearn to know whether what we have is the love that dreams are made of instead of the routine sort that actually makes the world go round.

Choices

What is a person’s life without passion in it? I often wonder when I look around and see a number of people going around leading lives which to me seem purely mechanical. Everyone seems obsessed by a need to do something. Most often that something brings them neither happiness nor satisfaction. Of course they do make money but ultimately does simply making money satisfy your soul? It cannot. You can justify almost anything you do but if you are unhappy as a result, there really is no point.

Of course, everyone tells me that it is impractical to expect every single person to be happy at their respective jobs. I am also frequently told that many do not have the luxury that I do of simply taking time off and lazing around waiting for inspiration to strike. They are right. I have no clue where I am going in my life but I do know that I will find my way when the time is right. I could compromise like I tried doing off and on for years but I did not want to. It meant a smaller income. It meant frustration of a different sort. It also meant that I did not have the company of people to stimulate me for most of the day. It was not a very easy decision for me to make and I have always been tortured by self-doubt but in the end the choice had to be made. I had to follow my own star, vague and distant though it might appear now.

A passion is essential to live life to the fullest. Imagine getting up every morning full of vigour and looking forward to the day with joy. The idea that you are doing what you were meant to do, what you were born to do and what only you can do very well is compelling. It gives you a sense of purpose quite apart from the daily round of duties and responsibilities that fall to everyone’s lot. When you follow your passion, you are no longer merely someone else’s wife or mother or daughter, you are just you doing the thing you were created to do. I get that feeling only when I attempt to write – I say attempt because I have not yet been able to put down my thoughts the way they are in my head. They seem profound and beautiful in imagination and clunky when put down – I assume because of my inability to capture them correctly. Yet I continue to hope to have that passion rule my life one day.