Into The Wild

A leopard died in Mysore, all thanks to the gross misconduct and negligence by citizens. The means that were used to capture it proved to be fatal for the animal.

People in their fear, sometimes hurt too badly. It's always a way of proving one's bravery.

Another leopard had died recently in Pune which had strayed in a residential area. After the post-mortem was conducted, grass was found in it's stomach. It was a hungry leopard, a starving leopard. That poor leopard in it's task of foraging for food found itself in a civilised area which then brought about it's untimely death.

Officials who are supposedly supposed to know the right method to deal with these strays are quite clearly doing an awful job. What makes one decide that animals are worthless and that it is okay if they get hurt and die?

The leopard obviously had no need to present itself in an inhabited area; but ultimately it is us who have signed it's death certificate . No reasons need to be given for that.

---- ---- ----- ---- ---- ---- ----

Yet again, another blast.

Yet again, lives lost in a senseless and mindless task.

Yet again, more bereavement.
Yet again, churned grief, anguish and torment.

Yet again, more cliched political commentary.
Yet again, a day for them (the fanatics) to make merry.

Yet again, time for political parties to raise their hackles.
Yet again, time for people to cry and wither behind shackles.

Yet again, more probes.
Yet again, lost hopes.

Yet again, another day. And yet again, another blast.
Tomorrow is another day. So yet again, another blast.

LANCE-He's Back!!!

I was woken up early on the 10th by my sister calling from America. I didn't answer the call as sleep seemed too inviting to wake up and talk. I gave the call a miss. I shouldn't have done that. Later after 15 minutes I logged onto the net and checked my mail. Awesome news awaited me. Lance was coming back out of his retirement to take part in the forthcoming Tour de France!!! Quelle surprise!!! My joy quickly turned into a shouting ecstacy and I muttered incorrigible rubbish at my mother who didnt even bother to make sense out of it. Sadly my sister was not online at that time and so I lost my chance to share the excitement with her.

It's true that the tournament lost it's lustre after Lance's retirement. I never saw another Tour de France after he retired. It did not seem to have excitement and the thrill that was induced just watching him lead the others in the pack. He said it himself that the pace of the Tour seemed very slow and so he is returning to jazz it up. And jazz it up, he definitely will.

So now he's the anti-cancer crusader is back at what he's doing best- screaming and swearing while rushing down the Alpines at 75mph with the American flag on his back and the star of Texas on his helmet...

RAMBLINGS

11.15 a.m.
Despite having a holiday today, I had to get up early in the morning for my French class. I was absolutely in no mood to go for the class preferring to snooze under the blankets in the cold chill.
But get up I had to. An awful bug called sincerity does bite me at times. I shed the quilt and got dressed.

Class was okay as usual. No spark of brilliance comes to me in French. My French though not high-quality does not at least hover on appalling. I try hard in and out of class. But invariably I become tongue-tied in class.

I'd promised mom that I'd be home by 11 in time to greet the BSNL officials when they come home to fix our internet connection. Our connection has fast acquired the reputation of being en fant terrible. Not a days goes without which I have to listen to curses and abuses hurled at the net connection. Just when I'm arguing with a friend as to the reasons as to why Lance Armstrong is one of the greatest sportsmen the connection goes kaput. All my words are lost and I lose the argument. My friend doesn't like Lance because he is
a) cocky and
b) he's got an attitude
I like Lance because he is
a) cocky and
b) he has awesome grit.

The word grit became very important while I was reading his book. Now whenever I'm down under I can think of him and stand up to tasks that I think are difficult for me to accomplish. He could win over and over and again because he had grit. Sometimes I like to think that even I have grit though not in a measure that he possesses.

So anyways now I'm home and waiting for the officials to come home and now the net had suddenly decided to behave itself. It connected fine and easily without any sign of struggle. Maybe it wants to embarass me when the officials come home.

2.56 p.m.
Whipeee!!!! The net promptly shut down when the officials entered home. The man cracked his head for couple of hours and yet the net did not connect. He fiddled here and there, drank some tea, changed some wires and still the net refused to budge from its stubborn stance. I was glad. Then finally at half-past 1, the connection made a feeble attempt to survive. And it did. It's working fine now. I just hope that it lasts while it's good. So a whipeeeee!!! once again. My net connection is now working fine....Twoot twoot!!

Search

So, I'm still on monotonous search. Monotonous because the heart is not in it. Rewinding seems comfortable, easier and more sure. Sometimes the search leads me to places that make my heart skip a beat-again and again. Just when I least expected it but feeling that I'm going to find it, feeling it at the back of my mind. It happened right now. I struck gold, not at the Olympics. Found something that's blowing off my mind.

The rain is making the picture dull and dreary and more so. The sun shines intermittently but not on me like it used to. Nevertheless, I'm much more darker than before. I'm patient. The moon will cast it's gentle white light on me.

Sunday at the Market

When I was small, Sunday used to be a grand affair to which I would look forward to with great gusto. Sunday mornings with entail a visit to the 'Bhopla Chowk'- the Market Place at Pulgate also known as the Khadda Market since it is placed in a huge khadda.


It would be a thrilling start to the morning watching mom haggle with the sellers which would make me wonder whether I'll ever be able to bargain with her finnese. The most delightful part of the outing would be when the sellers would present me with a jack fruit or a grape or a cut mango piece hoping that by enticing me with these goodies I would influence mom to do the needful of stocking up her fruit basket.


I remember being dead scared of the free-willed cows that used to totter around the market place. My heart would get set in my mouth while mom would be busy. I would keep one eye on her and another on the look-out for those terrible cows.


Once mom entrusted me with the responsibility of guarding a few heavy bags while she shopped some more. She left me at a corner and left. I was frightened without her. The cows seemed stranger that day. I looked up and down for mom but she still seemed very far away. One bag had all the greens stocked up in it and this proved to be a luring factor for the cows and before I could gather my wits and move out from there, 2 cows were near me and eating away at the spinach and the fenugreek bundles. I tried to shoo them away but my efforts did not bear fruit as they looked dangerous to me. They ate away the greens and went their way and left a very sorry faced kid with an empty bag. Mom didn't tell me anything. She knew that I tried in spite of being scared.


Over the years I quit being frightened anymore. I started viewing the cows with bemusement. They still roam about freely foraging for food out of bags. I'm careful now.


Last Sunday I paid a visit to the market after a very long time. Previously I'd started dreaded accompanying mom to the market as it would eat up into my valuable time of lazing around. But this time it seemed different. It was raining heavily, the market-place was slushy mixed with mud, rotten vegetables, dung, people and the perfect market racket. It was a typical Sunday at the market. Nobody bothered or cared though. Everybody was accustomed to it. People were just set on their job on hand. I counted each and every step I took.


The mango seller gave me a piece of mango to taste. The jack-fruit seller insisted that I eat his jack-fruit. I laughed at them and then at myself. I felt nice. It's nice that these things don't change.

Food World

I can't believe that eating is making me so happy. I'm packed off to class with a huge lunch box comprising of 3 tiers + 1 accompaniment tiffin box + 2 more tiffins that make up my short lunch.


The major weight of my bag is now because of these eatables that I carry. My bag became so heavy that finally it started tearing at the shoulder seams (and it being a Reebok bag). I really carry a lot.


I'm usually the 1st one to commence eating in class and the last one to finish -always. During the lecture onslaught, I'm plagued with dreamy thoughts of the yummy goodies packed in my lunch and so usually when it's time for lunch I can't wait to start eating. Since I'm a good eater; meaning I eat slowly to squeeze out all the taste out of the food and to relish it all the better I don't have any option but to be the last one to finish my food.



My love for eating always turns the conversation during lunch to food. It's all about how nice that feeling is when one is full. I, at least derive immense contentment when I realize that I'm finally stuffed with grub. It makes me very happy thanks to the various hormones released because of the chow that I've consumed. I feel at peace with everybody and then the sarcasm thrown at me by my companions seems to bounce off my full belly with relative ease.


It's getting to be very embarrassing now since my friends finish their food way before me and then they wait for me albeit in a very impatient manner clucking their tongues against their teeth indicating their increasing annoyance at my habits. Their actions dilute the happiness a bit but then ultimately who the hell cares. I'm happy and packed.


But now I'm wondering about this sudden craving for food. I've always been a great fan of ingestion but lately I seem to have taken up my standards to new and higher heights. I'm eating like never before. I tried my hand at analyzing this sudden behavioural change in me and could not pin down any good excuse.


Eating is making me very glad- so does this mean that I'm actually sad? Food is what my world seems to revolve around these days. The only good thing I believe is that at least the food doesn't stick to my body. I'm still providentially slim if not thin. But then I really wouldn't care if I add some pounds to my body. I'm eating as long as it makes my happiness more and more fat.

Sleep Fighting

I'm sitting in class waiting eagerly for the lecture to draw to a finish. I feel dumb and listless, too lazy to even look at the numbers indicating time change on my phone.


Just 8 more torturous classes to attend and then...But no I won't be free of this blighting madness. College reopens the very next day. Talk about living a painful life.


I can think a number of a number of interesting things that I could have accomplished if it hadn't been for these classes which seem highly logical and relevant during the lectures but now they seem to dumb even to pen down.


My eyelids are becoming heavier and heavier, I'm fighting off the sleep as valiantly as I can, the teacher's sonorous voice becomes a soothing dull lullaby. I can't sleep right under the bloke's nose. That won't do at all. (Try as I might, I'm not punctual enough bag a seat on the safe back-benches and so I'm confined to the recesses of the 1st bench which, by default is always under the teacher's nose).


The dust from the board covers my table and so to keep myself awake I try blowing it all out on the teacher's face. This task sees me awake for 3 minutes maximum. I try nodding my head but I realize the futility of it and cease immediately. (Nodding provides a pleasant rhythm and brings on sleep faster).


The fan above my head makes a sleepy sound as it whirls in the heat. I can feel that my scalp is wet with all the sweat. I can't make sense of what the teacher is telling us. All I want is to lie spread-eagled on a bed.


Now I can't help it anymore, I just shut my eyelids for an extra-long blink. The blink turns into a wink but but but they don't turn into 40 winks. Just as I feel my head drop off on the bench I start, shudder and come back to wakefulness.


Now I'm as alert as a leopard waiting on it's hunches for it's prey to walk past. Yes I'm finally awake. The teacher ignores me but now starts talking about how sad it is too sleep in class. He/She /It knows about my struggle with the sleeping fairy.


More half hour for the lecture to get over and history repeats itself.

Moonlight Musings

As usual I was wide awake during the journey when all and sundry are likely to sleep. It was 2.45 in the morning. The bus was on it’s way to Bengaluru. The wayside was cast in an unnatural glow by the moonlight. My musings were just about to begin, I could feel them soliloquizing in my head running around in circles, looking for a vent in the form of inconsequential thoughts. I quite like Rowling’s idea of thoughts having a silvery-white colour and like wind made solid and light made liquid. When I read that line I felt a melancholic sadness because I felt so deeply that one wouldn’t ever be able to see thoughts in that form ever. It still seldom fails to make me dismal and casts an unfriendly gloom over my solemn features.

I saw the moon meander it’s way across the sky back and forth though the road seemed not to twist and turn. But it never left my gaze. I travelled a bit to the past, a year to be exact. It was 2.45 in the morning but that time I was comfortably curled up with a blanket in a train on the lower-berth looking out at the moon’s reflection in the dark, still and silent waters that were barely visible but for the moon’s glow. And suddenly a mist springing up from nowhere meandering like my inconsequential thoughts, those water-side weedy marshes harbouring unfamiliar perils and the green taking on a dark grey colour, reminiscent of ghosts slithering in the light but steady and cold breeze. How I wished that I could just touch all those once, wash my hands with that eerie ghost like moon-light as the train wound it’s way through the Siliguri corridor. Sublime beauty. I consider myself to be very fortunate to experience this sanctified splendor. Yeah, I was lucky once upon a time.

I was unable to give word to those images conjured up by that night and I still believe that I fail to do justice to them. But the moon beams in the night made a few words tumble out never-mind the fact that it took it a year to do so. This journey showed me plain barren land with a few dry shrubs springing up never so often but far and wide. Though the landscape was not so distasteful, it was probably the reason for me to give word to images of a year gone by. This dreary background had seemingly strong trees near the road covered with dull grey flowers like a sheet of lace and the road seemed to journey fast. There was beauty here too.

But this treacherous heart vanishes a-plenty to rest in that unfaithful beauty. It put up a pretty show once for me and how the heart wishes again and again…

And It Rained Today

I like driving in the rain. Mom said that it would rain today. Mom knew right. And the rain lashed like a fury and how! It tore the leaves down and strewed them across the roads like a carpet along with branches and flowers separated prematurely from their stalks. The water bore down across the roads like a river unleashed and tossed and turned us like flowers being blown by a very furious wind. It was just perfect. Just the thing that I was yearning for since a year.

Driving in the rain is truly enjoyable as long as I’m set with decent rainy wear, my helmet and of course my bike which sloughs on faithfully against the rain beating it from all the sides it has.

Today I had a friend along with me so the bike was heavy enough not to topple over because of the blustery weather. The balance was perfect. We screamed, we sang, we laughed and we didn’t cry. People viewed us quite accurately like two lunatics who ought to be taken up to task but we cared not.

The rain made me full and pleased with pure delight. I could laugh at the people waiting on the roads for the rain to cease all because I had my rain-jacket. But my superiority over them was only to make me feel better. I was completely drenched after all in the time that it took to halt the bike, to get the jacket out, to struggle and put the zipper on. Each second was slow and as soaked as the sea. Nevertheless, we managed and it had a curious wet charm of it’s own.

We had just filled our senses with cold-coffee with thunder rumbling over our heads warning us, hinting at us the gift it was going to present to us. The thunder joined us in our laughter. It was pretty wise.

I usually don’t look forward to the rains as it conjures up horrid images of muddy waters mixed with the all the grossest stuff on the road, sticky wet clothes, no electricity and the usual rut. However, now those images seem to have faded in the background no longer threatening me. I quite like the rains now. Though this feeling will vanish in the coming months that I’m sure of.

The last time I got wet in the rain; I cried. The time before that I was overcome with contentment along with a squiggly–wiggly feeling in the tummy and this time I guess I’m glad I got wet in the rain. Like I said, I like driving in the rain.

Yellow Flowers

From where I’m standing and looking down, I’m taller than the tree. I can see the top of the tree. It’s covered with yellow flowers and they look so beautiful. I just want to scoop up all the flowers in my hand and hold it against my cheek. I can see all the branches sway when the wind blows. It sways in all the directions. The flowers seem to jingle then from pure pleasure and thrill and that’s when I feel like swaying too.

That tree seems so wise. It seems to tell me a story each time I look at it. About the thousands of flowers it has borne, the numerous birds it has sheltered among it’s boughs, the pieces of vagrant fabrics stuck too it but never too often, the leaves that have been shiny green on it and then fallen down, turned yellow and withered away into dust, the countless raindrops that have seeped and filtered through it drop by drop..

But what I’m more interested in are the flowers because they seldom fail to send me to the heights of ecstasy. They just make me so happy. My heart feels warm then. I hear the sound of cheerful bells each time they sway. They sway with so much joy. It’s as if they are yearning to kiss the wind each time it passes above it. They seem content to be their right there, on the top. The highest flower can see so much from up there.

I wonder now and then whether the tree thinks about me. Many a time I feel that the tree now welcomes me by making all the flowers on it dance with wild abandonment. It’s as if the tree derives pleasure from making me happy too.

Very soon summer will pass and the tree will turn bare with dusty brown leaves leaving only an illusion and a whispering silence that will haunt me and remind of the beautiful yellow flowers of a golden and brazen summer. The rustling will never stop echoing in my ears the promise of a more splendid yellow summer next year.