I am currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden. It’s a best selling Novel, Which is now a Major Motion picture
(2005 film), according to the information on the book cover. It’s a fast read
and an engrossing book. I found it more like a CHetan Bhagat( add more of metaphorical
or lyrical prose) kind of book than a serious literature.
Memoirs of a Geisha tells the story of a young girl,
Chiyo, who is sold into the life of a geisha.Geisha are classical Japanese
entertainers, who perform various dances or musicals. They are more Tawaifs in
Indian term, more like Madhuri Dixit in Devdas, and not prostitutes in real
sense.
Courtesy Wikipedia -Their purpose is to entertain their
customer, be it by dancing, reciting verse, playing musical instruments, or
engaging in light conversation. Geisha are regarded as prostitutes by many
non-Japanese. However, legitimate geisha do not engage in paid sex with
clients. Their purpose is to entertain their customer, be it by dancing,
reciting verse, playing musical instruments, or engaging in light conversation.
Story starts with a young girl who is sold off by her
father, owing to the reason that they are extremely poor and his wife( Her
mother) is dying of bone cancer. She is taken away to a distant town Kyoto,
which is a bustling city and how the girl copes with a new but harsh life of servitude,
encircled by extreme difficulties in the form of jealous and offensive tenants, to finally become the most famous Geisha.
It’s an intense and interesting book, (though I have read
only 80 pages) and highly advocate to read it if you haven’t already. Ciao.
All of a sudden the pain started. It was not too bad in
the beginning, but gradually it became so bad that he limped when he moved. It
felt as If his hip bones were being scraped with a jagged knife. And shortly,
he couldn’t move.
It was the most agonizing pain he had experienced in his
life. No, he remembered. He corrected himself. He had experienced worse.
Memories came rolling, like a cinema on a screen. Two
years ago, one day, he got up with a dreadful pain in his right knee. He
couldn’t walk. He tried; it felt the pain would kill him. He lifted his pajama;
the knee was red, tender and puffed-up. It felt so soft-similar to touching a
new born baby-but it hurt as if a sharp rod had been inserted through the sides
of his knee. Soon the redness, puffiness and puffed-up-ness spread to all his
joints. He could bend none of his
joints. He walked, literally, like a robot.And then coughed. A dry cough.And
then he coughed some more, but with stains of blood this time.
Blood tests, Liver function tests, whole body CT Scan,
MRI, Colour Doppler. Finally a Thoracic Biopsy. His lymph nodes were enlarged.
Spleen and liver were enlarged.ESR reading was through the ceiling- indicating
high levels of infection or immune activity.
“ All results show signs of something major in your
system”, Dr. Krishnan announced.
“Lets keep our fingers crossed. Only thoracic biopsy
would provide clues. What I feel is, My guess is, that sarcoidosis, lymphoma,
cannot be ruled out, Though its the worse case scenario I mentioned. Lets all
pray, keep your hopes high.” Dr.Krishnan said, in his unsettling,
matter-of-fact tone.
His first surgery. A thoracic surgery. His neck was going
be gashed, and a tube would be inserted, which would travel all the way to the
chest lymph nodes. Very close to heart, lungs, liver, and spleen. The surgeon
explained in detail. If, in case, they weren’t able to reach the lymph nodes
through the neck, then, they would try open-heart method.
“Lets all pray that that never happens. It would be a risky
and lengthy surgical procedure.” Surgeon Nandakumar explained.
The day of the surgery. Admitted to the hospital in the
morning. Surgery to be performed in the evening.
“Only have a light breakfast.Try to have it before 8. And
nothing after that.”Doctor Nandakumar.
No hunger. A disheartened world. A philosophical mind.
Aching body.
A visit to Ganapathy kovil adjacent to the hospital in
the moring. Once a skeptic, now a believer. How can he be not?
Admitted to the hospital at 8. His parents waited beside him. He looked
through the window, from his 5th floor hospital room. Cars, buses, Students,
old women, Ladies on scooter, bikes, cows, cowdungs.
Will-I-see-the-world-again thoughts. Will this be the
last time I see my father?
Whats of me, if the surgery becomes unsuccessful. In case
they punctured my heart by mistake. Human error! Is this the last time I am
seeing the world? The tree, people, cars, bikes? What about future? This is it?
What about 2010 when I thought I would have a kid. What about marriage? A
house! A Car! Happiness! This is it? Unlived life?
Operation theatre! Bloodcurdling! Inhuman! Monstrous,
large, lights! Tubes dangling everywhere! Science fiction movie like computer
monitors! Sterility! Blue cloths, masks, cloves, scissors, clippers, cutters!
Tubes connected to the body, heart rate monitor, blood
pressure monitor. Anesthesia. Several painful shots of anesthesia. Finally a
black out. Transformed to Another world.
Dreamy, confused, people cutting, wiping, inserting tubes.
Finally the results! The verdict! He is to live or die!If death is what is
meant for him, let him be left to die peacefully. Minus the pain, or a suicide
perhaps.
“ There is a good news. It’s nothing serious. A benign
tumour. As benign as a stone. Only a minor surgery. An endoscopy perhaps. Only
a day at the hospital. Least invasive. Thank god. Our prayers have been
answered. It could have been deadly. It could have been lymphoma( Cancer of the
lymphatic system or white blood cells), it could have been sarcoidosis. A life
long on steroids. An auto-immune disorder, chemotheraphy, radiation
therapy, A suppressed immunity. Chances
of renal failure in days to come. Your prayers have been answered.”
I-am-a-survivor thoughts. A close brush with death. A bit
of luck. Or a bit of bad luck! Or both!
The thoughts were intoxicating. And as much addictive.
”A brush with death! God, A second chance with life? Why
fear! Death is as instantaneous and unpredictable as an infant’. We live to
live, and not to die.”
A transformed world! New energy! A new outlook! As if a
layer of opaqueness has been removed from the looking glass.Its wiped clean, to
see life crystal clear.
A month or so of enriched life. With a-brush-with-death
and second-chance-to-live thoughts.Very intoxicating thoughts, very addictive
thoughts.He missed the similar thoughts, but life settled to its tone. Soon
everything was forgotten. Back to life, as it was pre brushwithdeath thoughts.
Or a secoundchancetolive thoughts.
And now this pain. Now it was different thoughts.
Iam-very-sickly thoughts. How often do I suffer!My body
is very weak and how often do I get so unwell?And pain! My life is only to bear
pain?I will have a short life. May be I will die soon, with this high rate of
sickness,may be I will be only past middle age and dead!Like one Uncle, who had
died recently of Kidney failure!
No more enriching,
intoxicating, close-brush-with-death thoughts.
He considered a doctor visit. “No!” then he changed his
mind.Tests, bloody tests. Sucking blood, x-rays, scans, and most hated:The
verdict time. A new disease. A new discovery. “He had this in his body, he has
that” . A matter-of-fact lecture.
He hated, for being too sickly. A new disease every
nowandthen.Pain, Suffering, all that is there to life!Suffering!
The next day he got up with severe pain in his legs. “No
choice.A doctor visit”-he thought.
He explained to the doctor. Pain, everywhere pain. Legs
felt as if the bones have been crushed.Doctor inspected. His neck, his hip, his
knees.
And the doctor said, “ We would wait for a week. The pain
would resolve by itself.”
Then a second thought, ”Would you like an x-ray taken?
Actually I don’t see any reasons, but better be sure.”
“why not!” He thought. “what are insurance cards for?
Just to remain dead in wallets?”
“Nothing to worry about. Your vertebra,spine bones are in
good shape. No tear or herniated spine. Just a little sprain. Don’t strain
yourself. Get some rest and massage and you would be fine. Come and see me
after a week if pain persists.” The doctor said, looking at the x-ray sheet.
He took the prescription sheet, thanked the doctor and
walked out of the clinic.
No more A-close-brush-with-death thoughts. No more
a-second-chance-to-live thoughts.
“A life so painful that pain was the only solace.Like a snake
poison for a snake bite. An anti venom!”
He walked back, obviously with a bit of
disappointment.
I like the above nursery rhyme. I was listening to this
in the morning and couldn’t help but chuckle. My toddler girl looked at me with
a befuddled face, as if trying to put into words her ingee-ghee-tatata lingo, ‘Look
what kinda man I got for a papa. Wonder why he behaves like a tot.No wonder
mama always chide him.Poor Mama, wonder how she bears him. ’
I like it. It has certain attitude about itself. It has a
message to people who want to fight and smack someone hard. Thought of sharing!
And below is the BEAR which finds itself a guest appearance in the story i wrote not so long ago..... Its my daughter's first best friend..and she expresses all her love by constantly chewing on it...
Today, I read a Novella (Perhaps a Long short story)
called ‘The Metamorphosis’- by Franz Kafka. It has had a profound effect on me
to say the least. I remember thinking something similar in those lines of the
story, sometime back when I was bed ridden for almost 3 months. The story though
a fantasy- or an example of Magic realism that one finds in the works of
Rushdie or Marquez- is told allegorically and one notices the unmistaken
reference to changing human values in an event of a crisis. It explains the predicaments
of a human, being a burden to his family when hit by difficulties. His thoughts
and monologues, changing priorities and how the family wishes his death, which
the narrator realizes but really cant help himself. The story ends with the family moving on-like
everything else in this world-with their individual lives.
It’s a very poignant story and the insightful narrative by the author is
highly commendable.
Below is a Ctrl C-Ctrl V(copy paste) from wikipedia which provides the plot Summery. Though originally written in German,it’s been
translated into almost all major languages and English version is freely
available- Though wikipedia accuses the version to have many instance of Lost-in-translations.
I suggest you to read it, and I am sure you will find it
amazing.
Gregor Samsa
awakes one morning to find himself inexplicably transformed from a human into a
monstrous insect. Rather than lament his transformation, Gregor worries about
how he will get to his job as a traveling salesman; Gregor is the sole
financial provider for his parents and sister, Grete, and their comfort is
dependent on his ability to work. When Gregor's supervisor arrives at the house
and demands Gregor come out of his room, Gregor manages to roll out of bed and
unlock his door. His appearance horrifies his family and supervisor; his
supervisor flees and Gregor attempts to chase after him, but his family shoos
him back into his room. Grete attempts to care for her brother by providing him
with milk and the stale, rotten food he now prefers. Gregor also develops the
fears of an insect, being effectively shooed away by hissing voices and
stamping feet. However, Gregor remains a devoted and loving son, and takes to
hiding beneath a sofa whenever someone enters his room in order to shield them
from his insect form. When alone, he amuses himself by looking out of his
window and crawling up the walls and on the ceiling.
No longer able to
rely on Gregor's income, the other family members are forced to take on jobs
and Grete's caretaking deteriorates. One day, when Gregor emerges from his
room, his father chases him around the dining room table and pelts him with
apples. One of the apples becomes embedded in his back, causing an infection.
Due to his infection and his hunger, Gregor is soon barely able to move at all.
Later, his parents take in lodgers and use Gregor's room as a dumping area for
unwanted objects. Gregor becomes dirty, covered in dust and old bits of rotten
food. One day, Gregor hears Grete playing her violin to entertain the lodgers.
Gregor is attracted to the music, and slowly walks into the dining room despite
himself, entertaining a fantasy of getting his beloved sister to join him in
his room and play her violin for him. The lodgers see him and give notice,
refusing to pay the rent they owe, even threatening to sue the family for
harboring him while they stayed there. Grete determines that the monstrous
insect is no longer Gregor, since Gregor would have left them out of love and
taken their burden away, and claims that they must get rid of it. Gregor
retreats to his room and collapses, finally succumbing to his wound.
The point of view
shifts as, upon discovery of his corpse, the family feels an enormous burden
has been lifted from them, and start planning for the future again. The family
discovers that they aren't doing financially bad at all, especially since,
following Gregor's demise, they can take a smaller flat. The brief process of
forgetting Gregor and shutting him from their lives is quickly completed.
He
turns and impetuously pulls the thin acrylic blanket over, till his
neck. The AC hummed, spewing icy air, making the room increasingly
cold. He opens his eyelids with difficulty. His body ached out of
last night’s whiskey hangover. He has had few drinks too
many; a reprieve for the agony which the mind caused, which the body
refused to oblige. It was as if the mind brawled with body, the mind
dictated terms, body being bullied. The body struggled, it caused
inclinations-headaches, body aches, heart aches, lose of appetite,
lose of interest in life, life became insignificant. The body said to
get up and take a shower. It said it had its basic necessities.
“Please
don’t visit us anymore.” A feminine voice echoed in his head. His
muscles tightened. He throws the acrylic blanket away from his body
as if it was the main culprit of all his miseries.
“Us?”
He frowns. “Bloody hell she said ‘Us’”.
“Never
react only respond- Gautam Buddha said”.
He
had reacted when he heard his wife say that to him. She provided no
time for him to respond. She walked away with his little baby.
“How
dare she walk away on him? Fuckin bitch” He wanted to slap her,
shout at her, and Kill her. Drag her, pour petrol over her whole body
and light her. He grinds his teeth. His eyes burned, having taken the
weight of his fury.
“What
will we name her darling?” Words echo again.
“ Diya,
Ananya, Tamanna. Select one please.”
“Ananya?
It sounds good. And its close to your name.”
“ She
has ditto her papa’s smile. Look at her half lipped grin. As frugal
as her papa to smile.”
“ She
has her papa’s skin and colour. Hope she gets her papa’s
intelligence too.”
“ The
court has come to a conclusion that in the best interest of the baby,
it gives the custodial rights to her mother.”
“The
apex court also said that it does not permit the child to be taken
away, forcefully, in the manner in which it was done by her father.”
“Forcefully?”,
Fuckin bitch. “ I will see my baby when I want to see. Who the Fuck
is she to tell me?”
"In
lieu of the same, the father will have no visitation rights”. The
echo grows stronger.
“A
familiar case of male dominance-Men who ill treat women should be
punished severely.” Female voices.
“ You
called me a bitch? See how I make your life miserable.”
"Go
fuck yourself.You Bitch"
“ She
is not OUR baby. She is M-I-N-E! You have lost the right to call her
yours.”
He
looks at the tea poi which has his daughters photograph. He walks and
lifts it and stares at it.
He
weeps. He lifts the small, velvety, cloth bear. He smells it. It
smelled of saliva.
“Oh,
cant you see that?Don’t let her chew that bear. She has almost
eaten it.”
He
smells the bear again. He inhales deeply. He walks to the cupboard.
He looks at the top shelf. A tiny pink skirt. He smells it. Tears
roll his eyes.
“ Ohhh,
She has wetted the knickers again. Can you please change her?”
“ Anu,
Please give papa a kiss!”
“Muaaah.”
He
lifts the pink skirt again. He smells it- smell of his daughter. His
hands tremble. Tears roll.
He
walks to the dining room. He opens the cabinet. Pours a large whiskey
and gulps it at once.
“ We
will send her to the best school in the country. I want my daughter
to do what she wants in her life . Not like my father who never
appreciated anything in me.”
“ She
will live her life as she wants.”
“ Anu,
do you want to be a doctor?”
“ Doctor?
Hell no. She wants to be a singer.”
“ How
will we survive once she goes away after marriage?”
“What’s
wrong with you? She is not even a year old and you are into her
marriage?”
He
walks to the bedroom and pulls a denim shirt from the dresser. He
looks at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in days. He has
never looked so worn-out. It doesn’t matter much.
He
locks the apartment and walks towards the garage. He can see his car
parked in between other cars. He inserts the key and pulls the door
of his car. He sits and inserts the ignition key. He adjusts the
mirror. He could see the pram placed on the back seat. He feels light
after that drink he had in empty stomach.
“I
would have had another.” He licks his lips thistly.
The
car speeds through the busy street.
Somewhere
in another town an old lady lifts her grandchild. She kisses her on
her cheeks; she smells of baby saliva.
Her
daughter waves her good bye and speeds in her small car.
The
baby looks at the old lady, utterly impervious of the world, totally
unconcerned with relationships, and then it starts to cry.
CUT to the Year 2000!!Fresh out of college and just
joined the “first-job” of my life. No worries, no commitments, no
I-supported-you-till-now-now-you-support-me parents, no loans, no credit cards,
no girlfriend/wife to please, and life, presumably, one silky-smooth ride. After
a harsh 16 years of studies, I believed, that my moment too had arrived. No
more pocketmoneyworries, no more papa-please-buy-me-this and
no-you-useless-fellow-you-will-make-me-go-bankrupt tensions!
As with life, my heart too was soft and as infusible as a
3M sponge cleaner. Testosterone flowed, as if the dam which stopped its flow abruptly
burst. Life was inspired by the teachings of Osho and Buddha. Zen was the norm
of the moment. Life was mere moment one lived.Nothing more nothing less. True
and only Happiness came in living in the moment. Worldly desire was the
mother-in-law of suffering. And Greed was its first cousin.
The moment I
walked into the office my eyes searched for anything pretty-in-a-drape.
“Okey,Manoj. Welcome to XYZ Ltd.Being your first day,
take it easy.we will start with Induction tomorrow. Just get familiarize with
the place and people today. Mini, Please show him around. Let me know if you
need anything! ”
My boss said, pointing towards the prettiest thing I had
seen in at least a week’s time. Mini,that was her name: My boss’s executive
secretary.
I muttered to myself with a sigh, “Aah, what a life. Is
this what is work-life that most people blot?This is wonderful. Too good to be
true.What a boss, what a beautiful colleague, what an office”.
“Come Manoj.We will show you around and then we will get
into your job details.” Mini said directing me to follow her. I fought to keep
the pace with her. She sprinted as if she was on engine powered skating
wheels.She showed me around as if she owned the place and had been around all
her life. I realized that all pretty things in drape are not the
potential-for-romance types.She turned out to be the first person I got acquainted
with in my professional life and also the type with whom I liked to keep a
distance.
In the process of getting to know my colleagues I met
Nayan and Sharan. They had rented a 3 bedroom house near the office and invited
me to join them. I was staying with an Uncle
and had wanted to flee ASAP.The invitation sounded godsent. At the next
available chance I moved with them.
The house was an archetype of luxury, at least for the lesser
mortals that we were then;The out-of-college-ness and under management training
stipend. The house consisted of Three large rooms with attached bathrooms. It
was after years that I had the whole bathroom to myself, a stark dissimilarity
to our 1-for-50 hostel bathrooms. Blue tiles, a hand held shower and a bathtub,
finest European style WC-Aaaaahaa, finally I was living my toilet dream.An
escape from the 6am routine and
waiting for my turn to use the toilet. The feeling of utter helplessness when one has to wait outside the
loo with 10 ATM pressure building under the tummy and the only wish in life is
to ease the pressure as if it was some death wish came rolling into my memory. What
an ultimate luxury.Really, small things like a personal toilet does matter in
life when one knows what it’s to stand for minute after minute, with such hellish
pressures in ones stomach.
It was the second day of my moving in and I already had a
feeling of Bonne hominess. Nayan came with a bottle of Bacardi and the couch in
the Hall became our makeshift Bar.2 pegs, 3, and then 4 and finally the bottle
was only air filled. I was drunk! Not pissed drunk but drunk! We looked at each
other and out of my drunkenness everyone else looked stone-sober.I pretended To
be equally sober.
When did I first see her? No answer to this question. I probably saw her in an unobserved, overlooked kind-of way, but, during the course of the year, somewhere, somehow along the line fell for that unmistakable charm. Simi Venugopal-That was her name, and after twenty years I still remember her name as if it were the name of someone whom I met every other day and had no chance of forgetting.
I observed her whenever I could. When I stood in the school assembly, my eyes unintentionally scanned the place for a look of her.I would gaze at her and marvel at her beauty. It was some sort of meditation which lifted me above everything else that existed in and around me. A sort of extrasensory communication existed between us. I literally sent her emails through telepathy and she returned my mails promptly.
She was no ordinary beauty. In fact she was so extraordinarily beautiful that none of my friends found her pretty enough to give a second look. I was even laughed at for my lousy taste. Dark woman with Glasses.”Have you gone mad?”….But as they say, love is blind, so was I.I was blind and also Mad!
I would wait in the bus stand for the 8.30am bus when she was likely to alight from one of the city buses, having reached in a private bus ahead of my 9 am School bus. To the doubts of my parents, I would simply reply, “Maths tuition dad! So much in syllabus but so little time. Teachers say unless she takes extra classes we will never complete the portions.” My ever suspecting Dad would gawk through the top of his reading glasses, Perhaps muttering to himself, “ Beta, don’t teach your father to screw. After all he is your baap.” Quietly, I followed her till the school, and she would occasionally turn to admit my presence, smiling in return.
I would walk several times to catch a glimpse of her during the periods and she would do the same to attract my attention. My heart palpitated when she appeared before me.I would fear that the world would hear my heartbeats. At least the school would and would also read my thoughts. Songs from chitrahar sounded as if the lyricist had written them keeping us in mind. All the sappy words meant more than what they actually meant when the lyricist wrote them. White doves fluttered, roses swayed as if out of extra load of the dew drops, green grass with tiny orbs of mist sensuously massaged the feet, and wind carried scent as if perpetually air freshened, even still air of the class room felt like cool breezes from the Arabian Sea.
I prayed to gods of all the corners of the heaven and even the satans of the hell to come to my rescue. I Prayed, “ Oh Krishna, the lord of romance and love, please help me. Make her come to me and accept me. I love her and you know it. You are antheryami, you know everything. Help me and I will stop coming to you every nowandthen .Lord, this is the only time I will ask your help, please if she becomes mine, I would visit Guruvayoor and offer you a KG of Butter. Whichever brand you wish!”
But I had no courage to go to her and drain my heart. I doubted if she would reject me at once. I had no idea then that beauty was skin deep or if it was deeper till the hypodermis or some other layer of the body.I looked several times at myself in the mirror and made a decisive observation that I needed little more than mere courage. If I would have had the courage to propose her I would have been a different man with a different wife. But as they say it all happens for good, so was in my case.
But when I look back I do go through fits of wistful nostalgia. The boy I was; hyper romantic, shy, sensitive and emotional. A far cry from the greedy, insensitive, dominating, idiotic, and self obsessed man that was to become of that good natured boy I was.
P.s: This is wriiten in jest.Please don’t take things at face value. Suggest to add doses of salt-pepper.Ciao
I was born on the 7th of May, more than three decades ago. I know,SHIT! Am
old (my hairs have already started graying, though I feel it’s sexy to have a
salt-pepper hair).However, not-so-long-ago, I was not so old.
I was born on a Friday, sometime in the morning. The day
was pleasant, though a bit hot, but much less hot owing to the reason that we didn’t
have much global warming back then. As usual, the sun emerged out of the sea,
sometime past 6 and awakened the world.My Dad, out of previous night’s fatigue
of not having slept the whole night, decided, that he could do with a cup of
tea. He called his Father-in-law(my grand father) and officially appointed him
the guard to my anytime-on-labor mother. And as it always happens (more often
in movies), the moment my father left for the much needed cuppa, my mother
announced her decision to go on labor. Thus I was born, much unannounced, much
welcomed nevertheless.
But my story starts much before the start of my mother’s labor.
I was conceived roughly nine months prior to the above mentioned day, out of
love my father had for my mother. And the love was cemented and put on government
registers 2 years before that fateful day when the seeds-of-love was sowed and
the universe conspired with Einstein’s space-time to create me, exactly at the stroke
of 09.15am.
I had a tough time coming out to the world. The world sympathized
with the pain my mother went through in bringing me to the world. But what
about me? Not a word of solace. The narrow fallopian tube squeezed me as if I was
some carrot passing through a juicer. Seriously!
I was put confined to a dark, intimidating sack for the
first nine months of my life, fed intravenously through a tube fitted to my
tummy. The place was so dark and silent that it made me feel as if I was out
somewhere in the space, between the andromeda galaxy and the milky way. Only
sounds were the heart beats of my mother, which sounded like some African
percussion instrument given to a child to play. And the food was so tasteless
that I had no impression of having eaten anything for the whole nine months.
But I had no rat race, no competition, no ego, no this, no that…!I had a lazy
long sleep, nine month long sleep, only kicked the walls of the sack few times
to make sure I was alive; Or to show the world that I was alive and kicking.
When I was born I was completely covered with a sticky,
jelly-like liquid which though to protect me from infection, was so below the
grooming standards that I had to yell at the nurse to clean me up. That was the
first instance I showed my diplomatic side to the world; my yelling was taken
to be cute and the nurse couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Then I saw her
peep into my between-the-leg device and shout, “it’s a boy, It’s a boy!”.I was
officially declared a boy, having ended nine month old anticipation.
My journey started from that very day, technically, and
it passed through several hairpin bends, patchy roads, shaky bridges, and also
through some real beautiful Kashmir valleys ( minus
Lashkar-e-thaiba). I made friends, who separated every time my Army officer
father got a transfer, slowly dissolving into the boundaries of memory like the
sun which disappeared into the horizon and reemerged later into another
sunrise, through Facebook or Orkut.
A pristine me, as pristine as the word pristine could define,
created after a great effort of nine months in the darkest and quietest parts
of the universe, soon got tarnished through layers and layers of data that was
forced upon me through years and years of schooling and tutoring…..turned into
what I call me, writing this stupid birthday post. A rosy, soft, untainted me,
who knew not even what hunger meant suddenly had to cry, having suddenly learnt
that only a “crying baby gets the milk”. Thus started my cry, cry for food, cry
for attention, cry for love, cry for money, cry for salary raise, cry for
promotion….a life of crying.a career of crying.
Then was the pursuit of happiness. Happiness came to me naturally when I was
born, when my mother placed my tiny mouth over her breast, when she touched my coiled
and tightened little fingers, when I was
shown a crow, or a cat, when I was given a toy car which moved every time the
keys were turned, when she lifted me and rubbed her nose on mine, or even when I
wetted my knickers.
But with years belting under my skin, it was tough being
happy, or truly happy.It became clear that grinning was one thing but actually
being happy was another. Or is it, to quote the chorus of
Oedipus:”Call no man happy until he is dead”….
(P.S: Just writing for the sake of writing,
I am happy. In fact I was never so happy in life. One can never be happy unless
he is content with his life. unless one reflect on life and realize that unless
there is night, there is no beauty in a sunrise.)
