Saturday, September 27, 2008
It reminded me of something. Immediately after the accident episode last year, my two-year old cousin was made to stay in our home so that my mother could take of her while her own mother recuperated from the leg injury sustained due to the accident. My cousin stayed with us for about a week. It was during those times that I really used to look forward to coming home and seeing her, however worse the day was. It was like being a school child all over again, eager to come home and start playing, despite home-works and punishments at school. There is no love comparable to a kid who comes running to you with outstretched arms and a wide smile…
The other side of the coin, huh?
I just finished seeing a wonderful documentary about how Jim and Jennifer got stuck in the middle of snow and cold and went without automobile and food for close to ten days and still finally made it. Along with that small kid that they had with them!
I then took up the novel which I am currently reading: Life of Pi. It seems to be a true story of a small boy who finds himself in a life boat with a zebra, orangutan and hyena in the middle of Pacific Ocean. And yes, there was a Bengal tiger too!
Some time later I started blogging about the day that was and the phase of life I was undergoing. To do so, I had to think about what to express and what to mask and yet ensure that when I look back at the post some couple of years later, I know exactly what I was enduring. This was my story.
When we watch movies, we are seeing different stories picturised. When we read books, we see the world through the author's stories. When we read blogs, we are catching up on stories of our friends. When we meet up with old pals or call them up, we catch up on each others' stories. We see social networking sites and check out friends' albums to update ourselves of their stories.
I realized then that life is all about sum total of individual stories that sometimes intertwine with others, sometimes made public but most times die out without real publicity. And needless to say, all stories are fascinating in its own way.
And that’s how it all ends eventually. Just a story in which each one of us has played a part unknowingly…
Sunday, September 21, 2008
That’s the car which killed my grand parents.
Isn’t it so convenient to blame what happened on an inanimate object as a car? But why to blame in the first place? Isnt it said that we all deserve what we get? The so-called Karma. Is it really true that a counter is kept to count the right things and count the wrong things and be punished for the wrong things?
At the time of funeral, so many nice things were said about my grandmother, as to how she used to donate sacks of rice to so many people without telling anyone. And few can beat her devotion to the Lord of the Seven Hills. And yet such a gruesome death she faced with that sharp-edged rod having pierced her forehead and her blood having gushed out of the mouth onto the Tirumala-Srikalahasthi highway.
Why do I keep thinking of death? Why do I keep thinking about my grandparents? Why do I keep blogging about them even after 1.5 years? So much so that my first conversation and even my first chat with my wife involved this topic. Is it because it was the first time Death was so near me, just 3 generations away? Or is it because they meant a lot to me? The more you hear of Deaths, the more it is near you. All my grandmother’s sisters had passed away, and most of her friends. When that happens, I am sure, you would be feeling ‘I am next.’ So much so that you are anxious to get over it instead of suffering common man’s life’s miseries which comes with old age. You crave for it.
Couple of my batch mates have succumbed to natural death already. Its really sad to die at an age of twenties when you are supposed to enjoy the most and live life to the fullest. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that my turn is nearing too as my aged folks are dying already but it really makes one think that one moment you are there and another you are gone. Pooof!! And that’s it. Death is nothing but absence of life. I am reminded of Lynds* every time I think about Death.
This month for Hindus is a month in which all the departed souls – not just the near and dear ones - are honoured by offering rice. Invitation to 3 such Rice-Offering ceremonies in consecutive weekends for me.
No wonder I am thinking so much…
*Lynds: Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, champagne in one hand, strawberries in the other, body all worn and used, screaming “Whoo hooo!! What a ride!"