When beauty spake

With a quivering light striking mine eyes

Thy beauty thus spake

 “Can you bear me?”

With a fashionable passion I spake thus,

“I do. Like empty vessel that bears water

So I shall, having thou dearth can bear thyself”

 

Thy beauty thus spake

What shall thou give to have me?

With a fashionable passion I spake thus,

“Nothing! For beauty dies on the plate of commerce.

The dish thus served are fit for dogs or lusty flesh”

 

“What are you if not the flesh with lust?”

Said thine beauty with red eyes.

 

With an uncertain passion I spake thus,

“I certainly am a flesh with blood and syrup,

Of love, passion, enigma.

Like air that cements life to flesh yet the flesh not airy,

Lust gives life to mind yet not the mind in its whole.”

 

Thy beauty with tears spake

“So I dream to wear you, the sweetest ornament

That canst shine less than hundred prince’s robe.

Yet the robe less prince’s charm shines

Beyond the gold’s of globe.

“Wait for me, when am old

We shall walk as one

And talk of Jove’s mighty love

When I am gone and done.”

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Spirituality – An appealing applesauce

Not to brag though I love to,

I try very hard to read them but it is always roadside chitranna kind of temptation to move away from “spiritual” book. I am such a righto-phobic. I have no idea why anything above 100 bucks for a rightist book always seems costly in my mind, perhaps because never in my life have I had the beautiful habit of listening to someone on how I should live. When this otherwise so so beautiful Miss, from her spiritual synthesis says that we are all almighty’s children, I have this irking feeling of having another father. If we are all his children, doesn’t she then become her husband’s sister? Not that I see anything wrong in having sibling relationship in society. I have heard that it is weird and produce -ve mutation and unfit droppings. Fun it was though! Bangalore soil, once decorated by the class of HN has now become the breeding ground for best in class, pure, second to none cutting edge spiritual people. Another Dumtaka that these people bring out is this Mahopanishad’s “the world is one family”. Really? I can’t even care if my neighbor’s neighbor dies tomorrow for I do not know him. This world is filled with so many vivid idiots and do they dwell in my family? Caring everyone is caring none. Family is woven by love and compassion, these are intense feelings that cannot be shared with more than a few close people. I can’t even call more than 4 or 5 people as friends!  I think we are afraid to be honest about matters of life.

Another dumtaka are these motivation books. Wow! Tesla. Wow! Elon Musk. Wow that handicapped achiever! The sayings of successful people has become a cliche now. “Do what you are passionate about!” really? (If I do what I like, probably I can’t afford roadside chitranna too) They are flooding book stall like anything that knows to spread fast.

Here is another one: People who speak about India having rich culture. We were one of the best. We invented zero. Really? Are your faculties so bankrupt? People can’t even digest if someone says India is a poor country. It is kind of weird after childhood to brag about my own father’s achievement. These people speak about those who lived thousands of years before and go hulululu over it. This is crass babyish behavior!  We gave yoga to the world? Really? Whom are you associating with this “we”? Tell you what, these people can’t even accommodate other state people inspiring with them as “we” but happily chant about people who existed 1000s of years before as theirs.

Culture is how people live and what people prioritize. Simple! There is no library near my place buy hay! They have built a new temple by spending close to 40 lakhs.

I think, among many that defines the refinement of any culture, the prominent one is a nude beach. For me, men and women walking naked and facing the sun signifies something precious. How many have we got after 5000 years of culture? Leave alone those beaches, you need to protect a rose garden in Lalbagh with a fence!

We have seen a tremendous growth in middle class over the past two decades or so. With growing wealth people can afford thinking but lack of fundamentals during childhood prevents them to exercise this luxury. Modern spiritual gurus and religious institutions know this space well, immature humongous mass of people are fertile ground for non-sense products.  It makes attractive business case for them. Backed by political cowards, what could stop them from erecting gigantic statues? They with their yoga talks make you forget that meditation and yoga survived well before this and flourished without this.

For me, caring for your children and family is no less than meditation. These spiritual men know no better than you. Life is hard, unfair, can be frustrating and isn’t that a fascination to live! Nothing in life is too bankrupt or too hard to make it whole from their garbage.

ಏನೋ ಒಂತರ ಭಯ ಕಣ್ರೀ

ಇತ್ತೀಚಗೆ, ನಾನು BMTC ಬಸ್ಸಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಪ್ರಯಾಣಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆ. ಓರ್ವ ಯುವಕ ಬಸ್ಸು ಹತ್ತಿದ, ಕಂಡಕ್ಟರನ್ನು ********* ಜಾಯೇಗ? ಎಂದು ಪ್ರಶ್ನಿಸಿದ.ಲೇಡಿ ಕಂಡಕ್ಟರ್ yes or no ಎಂದಿದ್ದರೆ ಸಾಕಾಗುತಿತ್ತು. ಅವರು ಹಾಗೆ ಮಾಡದೆ, “ಬೋರ್ಡ್ ಓದಕ್ಕಾಗಲ್ವ? ಕನ್ನಡ ಬರಲ್ಲ ಅಂದರೆ ಯಾಕೆ ಬೆಂಗ್ಳೂರಿ ಬಂದ್ ಸಾಯ್ತೀರ” ಎಂದು ಛೇಡಿಸಿದರು. ಮುಂದೆ ಕೊಡು ಕೊಳ್ಳುವಿಕೆಯಲ್ಲ ಮುಗಿದು ಪರಿಸ್ಥಿತಿ ಶಾಂತವಾಯಿತು.

ಮನಸ್ಸಿಗೆ ತುಂಬ ಬೇಜಾರಾಯಿತು. ಮುಂಚೆ ಹೀಗಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಹೊರಗಿನವರು ಎಂದರೆ ಏನೋ  ವಿಶೇಷ ಆಸಕ್ತಿ. ಸಂವಾದಿಸಲು ಮನಸ್ಸು ಹಾತೊರೆಯುತ್ತಿತ್ತು. ಮಾತಾಡಿಸಿ ನಮ್ಮದನ್ನು ತಿಳಿಸುವ, ಅವರಿಂದ ಅವರ ಊರಿನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ, ಅವರ ಹೊಸತುಗಳ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ತಿಳಿಯುವ ಮನಸ್ಸು ಸದಾ ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಿನವರಲ್ಲಿ ಮನೆಮಾಡಿತ್ತು. ಈಗಲೂ ಹಾಗೆ ಇದೆ ಎಂದು ನಂಬುವವನು ನಾನು.

ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು ವಾತಾವರಣದಂತೆ, ಇಲ್ಲಿನ ಮನಸ್ಸುಗಳು ಕಾಯಿಲೆಗೆ ತುತ್ತಾಗುತ್ತಿವೆಯೆ?

ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಲ್ಲಿ ಬದುಕುತ್ತೀರ ಕನ್ನಡ ಕಲಿಯಲು ಆಗೋದಿಲ್ಲವೆ? ಗಾಂಚಲಿ ಬಿಟ್ಟು ಎಲ್ಲರೂ ಕನ್ನಡ ಮಾತಾಡಬೇಕು? ನಮ್ಮ ಕಾವೇರಿ ನೀರು ಕುಡಿತೀರ ಕನ್ನಡ ಕಲಿಯೋಕೆ ಏನು ರೋಗ?ಅವನ್ಯಾರೊ ಕನ್ನಡವನ್ನು ಬೈದು ನಮ್ಮ ಭಾವನೆಗಳಿಗೆ ಧಕ್ಕೆ ತಂದವ್ನೆ, ಅವನನ್ನ ಹುಡುಕಿ, ಪೋಲೀಸಿಗೆ ಕಂಪ್ಲೈಂಟ್ ಕೊಟ್ಟು ಕೆಲಸ ಇಲ್ಲದಂಗೆ ಮಾಡ್ಬೇಕು.

ಏನೋ ಒಂತರ ಭಯ ಕಣ್ರೀ..

ನನ್ನಂತಹ ಮೆಲು ಧ್ವನಿಯವರ ಅನಿಸಿಕೆ,

ಕಂಡಕ್ಟರ್ ಮ್ಯಾಡಮ್ , ನೀವು ಮಾತಾಡಿದ ರೀತಿ ನೋಡಿ ನೀವೂ ಹೊರಗಿನವರಂತೆ ಕಾಣುತ್ತೀರಿ. ನಿಮ್ಮಂತೆಯೇ ಆ ಯುವಕ ಅನ್ನಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಇಲ್ಲಿಗೆ ಬಂದಿದ್ದಾನೆ. ಬಹುಷ: ತನ್ನ ಹೆತ್ತವರನ್ನು ಬಿಟ್ಟು ಬಂದಿದ್ದಾನೆ. ತುಂಬಿದವರ ಭಾಷೆಯ ಶೋಕಿ ಅವನಿಗಿಲ್ಲ,  ಮನೆಗೆ ತಲುಪಿ ಎರಡು ರೊಟ್ಟಿ ತಿಂದರೆ, ಅವನ ಅಂದಿನ ವ್ಯವಹಾರ ಮುಗಿಯುತ್ತದೆ. ಕನಿಕರಿಸಿ!

ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು, ಈಗ ಬಹಳಷ್ಟು ಮಂದಿ ಸಾಮಾಜಿಕ ಜಲತಾಣದಲ್ಲಿ ಅಥವ ಇನ್ನಿತರ ಮುಖಾಂತರ, ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಿಗರು ಕನ್ನಡದಲ್ಲೆ ಉಸಿರಾಡಬೇಕು ಅಂತ ಕಟ್ಟಪ್ಪಣೆ ಹೊರಡಿಸಿದ್ದಾರೆ. ಕನ್ನಡವಲ್ಲದ ಭಾಷೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇವರ ಹತ್ತಿರ ಸಹಾಯ ಕೇಳಿದರೆ, ತಾವು  ದಾರಿ ತಪ್ಪಿಸಿದ್ದನ್ನು / ನಿರಾಕರಿಸಿದ್ದನ್ನು ಗರ್ವದಿಂದ ಹೇಳಿಕೊಳ್ಳುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಒಬ್ಬ ಕನ್ನಡ ಕಲಿಯದವರ ಕಾಲನ್ನು ಕತ್ತರಿಸಬೇಕೆಂದರೆ, ಇನ್ನೋರ್ವ ಇವರನ್ನು ಕತ್ತೆಗೆ ಹೋಲಿಸುತ್ತಾನೆ.(I saw this in twitter) ಇವರಲ್ಲಿ ಬಹಳಷ್ಟು ಮಂದಿ ಮೆದುಸರಕು (software) ಕೆಲಸದವರು. ಇವರೂ ಕರ್ನಾಟಕದ ಬೇರೆ ಭಾಗದಿಂದ ಬಂದವರು, ಪುಣ್ಯಕ್ಕೆ ಕನ್ನಡದ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಉಟ್ಟಿದವರು. ಅವರ ದುಡಿಮೆಯ ಈ ಸಮಯದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಾನವೀಯ (humanities) ಅಥವ ಪ್ರಗತಿಪರ ಆರ್ಥಿಕವಾದ (liberal economy) ಅಥವ ಮಹಾನಗರದ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿ, ವಿಕಾಸ ಮತ್ತು ಅದರ ಸ್ತಿತ್ಯಂತರಗಳ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಆಳವಾದ ಅಧ್ಯಯನ ಬಹು ಕಷ್ಟವೇ ಸರಿ. ಆದಕಾರಣ ಕೆಲವು ಭಾಷಾ ಮೂಲಭೂತಿಯರ ವಾದಗಳನ್ನು ಸಮರ್ಥಿಸುತ್ತರೆ. ನಾನು ಯಾವುದೇ ಅನಿಸಿಕೆಗಳನ್ನು ಏಕೆ ಸಮರ್ಥಿಸುತ್ತೇನೆ?  (Why I know what I know?) ಎಂದು ಕೇಳಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಅದೆಲ್ಲ ಏನೇ ಇರಲಿ. ನನ್ನ ಅನಿಸಿಕೆ ಇಷ್ಟೆ,

ಪ್ರಪಂಚದ ಹಲವಾರು ಮಹಾನಗರಗಳಂತೆ ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು ದುಡಿಯುವವರ ಸ್ವತ್ತು, ದುಡಿಯುವವರ ಚಲನಶೀಲತೆಯೆ ಅದರ ಉಸಿರು. ಅದರ ಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿ ದುಡಿದ ಜೀವಗಳ ದಣಿವಾರಿಸುವ ಕಲೆ.ಭಾಷೆಯಲ್ಲ. ಭಾಷೆ ಉಳಿಯುವುದು ಅದರ ಸಾಂಸ್ಕೃತಿಕ ಸೃಜನಶೀಲತೆಯಿಂದ, ಬೆಳೆಯುವುದು ಅದರ ಪ್ರಭಾವಶಾಲಿ ಯೋಗ್ಯತೆಯಿಂದ, ತೆಗಳುವವರ ಬಾಯಿ ಮುಚ್ಚಿಸುವುದರಿಂದ ಅಥವ ಬಾರದವರ ಗಂಟಲೊಳು ತುರುಕುವುದರಿಂದಲ್ಲ.

Men for whom oppugn was worship

Jail not my soul in the solidity of stones. May I be the dreams for commons to uncommon their thought. May my nudity dry their temptations and vector be mine steps for their chase to uncover horizons untouched by the ignorance of past.

Culture is a very dangerous recipe in society. It supplies dull masks for a far more interesting human nature. Yet, culture is a key facet for the very expression of society. Sometimes human nature is evil without masks. Culture is like a skin of a balloon that gives shape to a mass of air. What is tyranny but a culture that is stagnated, unperturbed and cease to change with the germane human necessities for the sustainability of his own race. Fluidity in a culture is brought by those great men who never hesitated to tilt the boat.

One such experiment of tilting the boat was conducted in 12^th century, in northern parts of Karnataka.  Group of men and women started questioning the traditions, religion, justice and the very fabric of the then assumed life.  Sharana movement though had existed for decades before, gained recognition and acceleration by the involvement of the then prime minister of Bijjala, Basaveshwara.

In the ocean of sadness, disappointment and dissatisfaction, happiness and pleasure are like mustard seeds. Human beings by virtue of their existence experiences the same. This is incredibly true for lower orders of society. In such situation of sheer agony and hopelessness, what does he who has no faculties of reasoning can think of? When he sees his micro size body against the vastness of ocean and sky, what does he who knows not of math can fathom? Yes, He imagines while they imagine and so society gets an entity.

What are these men who sit facing fire and pouring oil, if not those who know not of God?

Give me the time where there was no rich and poor, I will give you a time of nonexistence of humanity. Basavanna stands as one such giant figure who gave privileges of Gods to everyone. What if they don’t let you inside temples, wear one around your neck. He said, Men and women gets dignity and respect by virtue of a work and not from its sheer nature. What are these men who sit facing fire and pouring oil, if not those who know not of God?  God is in act to the service of humanity, differentiate thou not from thine work for there is none another way of peace and harmony. Sharana is he who stitches leather as cobbler, Sharana is he who tills the land, and Sharana is he also who sells oil. Sharana I certainly am who is thou minister.

LORD BASAVESHWARA

The most favorite part of their business to me has to be ANUBHAVA MANTAPA. It was the seat for intellectual debate and discussions. Their importance to free speech and contrarian arguments was the first of its kind that was witnessed by the desert like terrain of north Karnataka. Its greatest and grandest contribution to Kannada were Vachanas, written in an eloquence style against “Sanskrit rich style” of the then period. Its significant effort in promoting classless society and gender equality was met with predictable opposition and led to the collapse of the same. For me, I think it was not a failure, instead an indicator that those beautiful temptations of human mind to fight against suppression and inequality can never be drowned but rather  they sprout as hope to the fluidity of culture.

Imagine a child who when given a mango, eats the skin while throwing the pulp into gutter. Will you laugh at him? If you do, it’s perfectly logical to laugh at society, for society does the same. I can see in directions of my compass, the well shaven face, pleasantly looking mustache, the three lines above the brow and a shining diadem. They say, “Look! He is Basaveshwara” What looks of his matter to me? Why should it matter to anyone?

For men of great actions slept in the graves of history, Honor does he who communicate with them in his dreams and conscious mind and not with eyes. Eyes are meant for pleasures and not for thinking. I end by Basaveshwara’s famous quote “Death it is to the thought that is still, death dies against the fluent will.”

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Dying year’s play

[After the long break for pleasures, King has come to kingdom. He is sitting in the corridor of his palace breathing the fresh air of his garden. One of his slaves come with the steps of silence]

S: My lord, the minister is waiting to slave for the alms of your words.

K: May he be allowed to light my mind.

M: I thank my good deeds done and done double during the past hundred lives for I could see his majesty. Now my after lives are secured with tidiness.

K: (sipping the juice of lime) Ah, minister. Do come in. honour my feet with the grace of your wisdom.

M: Hope his highness was served well by the goddess of sleep. She is very lustful at the hour passed the tiresome journey.

K: O yes, she was all over me. If only she had the form. Kids would have swarmed at every farm.

M: Blessed she is for she is honoured by the words of his grace. Pity for she is a whore whose lust is drunk even by commons mug. Ah! Sir. With no time further dead. Command me on how shall this minister with dead youth and ripened experience be of service to your breath.

K: If need is for command, here it is O good minister! (With the posture of recollecting)

With the brush of words, paint the scene

That for the days gone unknown have I unseen

The scenes of cows, sheep, slaves and other cattle

Gods, they are satisfied aren’t they?

Paint the men who own my loathing and Women who own my hug.

Must it is for the canvas to find space for soldiers.

If thou find space for commons? Do paint them only if the art will not rot.

M: Worry not my saviour

His majesty who never wrongs may wrong not by asking how they are

Cows chase your forest elephants

Sheep shame the clouds above

For commons, ah commons his highness.

All their pleasures are very well defined and your appointed Gods are taking good care of them.

Only trouble I could see is with the carrier of your blood. The bank of your love and care. Our princess has developed liking for a man of lower orders. He is a commander of northern battalion. Appears that she has become the devotee of his charm and bravery.

K: Well, those signs are not good. Only fool will decorate the plough with gold.

K: I shall see immediately, the sign of my immortality.

***

K: My dear princess. Commons are meant to be studied and ruled over, God never put them here to make love.

P: But dad, he looks like an angel.

K: God may have dozed a little and so has missed the target of the seed from which this warrior has grown. Look at his shoulders, they are meant for the scars of my enemies and not for the scent of your royal sweat.

P: But my heart!  Poor heart. It loses its inherent charm with reasoning. What can I tell O father? With him ruling my heart, winter shiver and summer sweat, so I am impoverished with all this wealth.  Under his kingship of my mind, O father, all I can see is art. When he beheads his enemies, the blood gushing out of that unfortunate neck appears like an artist painting rose.

K: What devil have you let to prosper in your heart my dear child? Lovers influence should dull the very height of art and not make brutalities artistic. Your love has transcended the realms of gods and his blessings. I, the king whose yawns were once the dictations for gods, beg you, beg you by surrendering all the might of my powers and wisdom at your feet, do not  pollute the fountain of our ancestors. The blood of our race for whose purity, did my ancestors sacrifice their lives. Do consider, O the beacon of my race.

P: Father, please don’t let the weight of my blood to crush me. I shall rather be crushed by its weight than to let it flow in my body-unable to swim in the river of his lust.

K: Ah! Poor kid, you speak like those who have tolls at the path of their canals where birth is born. Listen and lend your ears to your polluted heart too. To prevent the adulteration of our race, I might and with all the reasoning of God I will behead him.

P: O cruel father, how foolish are you to expect the seed to sprout with no clouds above. At the drain of his blood you find my soul swimming towards heaven.

K: Never mind the seed, I can have another seed that sprout to the clouds chosen by me.  I will have the harvest that bears my absolute signature.

M: Your highness, the court begs for the alms of your presence.

K: So princess, I hope you change your mind while the morning sun still smiles at us.

K: Very well. Slaves, Water your princess well.

******

K: What demanded your sudden intrusion worthy minister? I hope it is severe as my mood is gloomy and severity is its only medicine.

M: Dear King, The northern legions has defeated our enemies. Their king is broke at the gates of hell.  But our commander is dead. Like the candle shining bright before it fades, he fell. His fall to the ground was cushioned by the bodies of the enemies he slayed. The last cry of his was the princess name. So said his friends who witnessed his journey to heaven.

K: Ah, terrible.  Our Commander was worth more than the north zone of my kingdom. Now, minister listen with the ears fully opened, for these words if missed may end your existence. Kill those who heard the princess name in the dying breath of this commander. Leak not the news of this death for it may have the honour of being carried by my royal breath.

***

K: Slave, where is the princess. The light of my kingdom?

S: She is gloomy my lord. For days gone unknown I have not seen her smile. Food prepared with special chefs from India and Rome did not win her liking. I am shivering at the tears in her eyes my lord.

K: Worry not slave. By the way, did she mention the reason?

S: No not my lord.

K: Very well, you may leave now. None are commanded to intrude my further time.

K: Dear princess, Cry not. For you know that my enemies worship the tears in your eyes.  They know there is nothing in the universe that could quake my heart other than these tears. My love.

P: Father!

K: It was a test dear child. Indeed your love puts all the lovers of history to shame. Your love has the power to conquer the universe and I am defeated. What care can I have for the race gone dust in the graves of history? Aren’t we all commons to the air we breathe, to the water we drink and to the sleep we have.  What difference do the arrow see in the body it harms? O princess, the commander it is in whom we trust the future of this kingdom.  Merry now my little princess.

P: O father, these words you spoke are like the shine of sun during a drizzling morning. You have given me seasons my creator. Words wont suffice nor my emotions to decorate the time woven by your wisdom. You gave colour to my eyes and so did you give power to my limbs. O good father, your daughter is born again. I am willful to die thousand deaths if it guarantees this rebirth. Thank you so much. May all the devils of hell line up to bury me under yesterday’s curses, I care not.

P: Allow this flower to run to decorate my idol, father.

K: I have ordered time to run fast so he comes sooner my child. Patience, his return will for sure be marked with the gift of your mother’s only love.

M: My lord, my lord!

K: What is it minister?

M; Give me the power to speak, for the scenes I witnessed has dissolved it. Your highness.

K: Go ahead, what can be wrong in this festive season marked by my daughter’s merriment.

M: I have bought a rotten rat wrapped with the golden foil my lord. Golden foil is the victory in the northern shades, wrapped in it is the death of our beloved commander.

[King fell to his chair]

K: Oh, why did not your tongue seize before it shook such bitter words? He was worth more than the victory that has fallen to my lap. I could have seized the time if only I knew his debt had expired.

K: O my child, why you don’t speak? Exercise your tongue lady, before mine goes for eternal rest.

K: Slaves, take care of my daughter in these infected times.

K: Minister! Announce a week of mourning. May men shall seek no pleasures for a week from now. Bring all the priests to open his heaven gates with no further delay.

K: O poor child, no math can fathom this unmeasurable grief. He played his role well.

P: [With a whispering voice of melancholy] you too father, none with a life in the cistern of skull can act as you do.

**************************

 

 

 

 

Why winter matters…

Wake up! Wake up! It is 6 o clock, cried an old man to his newly married son at 4 AM of a December twilight. After multiple trials, the message had reached to whom it was intended to. She comes out while correcting her hairs to suit the traditional style. “Year is coming to an end but no signs of ending do I see to this old owl” She kicks the sleeping dog and starts sweeping the veranda of her house; house for which the scenes were not new.  What is bed without a lover’s breath, a dead man’s coffin? The only son of an old man soon got up and went towards the betel plantation to channel water to its roots. Moon was laughing seeing him stumble upon the fronds of a coconut tree, while he was munching on the cusp of dream and reality – he was presented at the fall of yesterdays dusk.

Birds sleeping in their nests were alarmed about the coming dawn by the legion of paper boys who were joking on their colleagues fart.  Indeed they were the alarms to many of our village cocks; cocks who were thanking avarekais* for having diverted the tastes of commons from chicken curries.

*************

Seasons don’t just mean or rather should not just relate only to the changing temperature or humidity. They are the events who add essence to the ever so tasteless numerous time. Six o clock of April is not the six o clock of December. One of my favorite writer Kalidasa compares seasons to woman’s moods in a day, with the only difference of former being predictable. Well, I guess it’s a cliche that was sung for so many centuries. Maybe it was because women were not working in those days. Talk to any working women now, you will realize how fantastically predictable they are or they have become.

What is winter for those who wake up after six? It is like chewing the already chewed, bubble gum. Late risers will have no seasons. It’s their punishment. Winter cycling is very romantic. Everyone should be a child of winter and a man of summer. Cycling to Byatha, hesarghatta with a mind analyzing Kanoor subbamma or masti’s venkatswamy is really a gift I never missed in my childhood. Escapes back then, were a real escape with no mobile phones and none knowing including myself on where I was heading. There are still so many places I have seen where if death falls on you, you would go missing for, who knows may be for eternity. Destinations should be formed through the passage of journey and not at the start. Destinations when seen drenched with the winter dew is something that summer with all its wealth of sunshine fails. Maybe it is the reason why all most all my destinations that I sometimes remember before going to sleep are drenched with winter dew.

*****************

Winter matters because? I don’t know. It matters because I am alive. It matters because I have seen summer. Why should one love winter? May be because its future is spring and it is certain. Doesn’t commons love the  future with certainty. Our (Bangalore) winter, she wears no snow-white dress like those Scandinavian beauties. Who cares? She wears a wet white dress of morning dew and indeed she hides nothing from twilight toasters.

• A vegetable used in curries (Sambhar) of southern India

My ancestral tablet

  From my ancestors, our family was gifted with a tablet and its prescription. Our family took the tablet thrice every day, it was told to them that the tablet is for healthy living and quite essential for peaceful life. I being part of the family, could not imagine the day without those tablets. I kept taking it every day at exactly the same time -following the prescription of my doctor who lived centuries before. He lived in the times when his race had no electricity and even aspects that are mundane in today’s measure, infact today’s child of fifteen years old is far more sophisticated than the entire race of his years. But I was told that his prescriptions are independent of time and applies to any living, breathing at all centuries.

With the advancement of human values and moralities, it was discovered that the tablet of my doctor is carcinogenic. May be the tablet worked well with the diet of raw meat of the gone centuries, but for today’s diet of well cooked meat, this tablet is proving to be carcinogenic. Well, at least that’s what they say. I did not believe this initially, I thought that they are encroaching on my ancestral property- as was this tablet. But the symptoms are glaringly visible in all forms of severity.  Countries which have passionately consumed this tablet, are showing signs of no peace and suffering with cancer. Countries whose constitution has no prescriptions of this tablet, still has people who are peaceful and happy.

There are still people who believe the contrary, they say that the tablet works well and cures all diseases of life. I wish to believe they are true. But between the doctor with microscope and doctor with bare hands, I tend to believe the doctor with microscope and his sayings.

But instead of going with opinions, I chose myself to test it. I kept the tablet in electron microscope to see its molecular structure, I carried out the chemistry to see the constituents of the tablet. What I found was not comforting, I found constituents which are deadly to women, and indeed deadly to those who wish to not consume the tablets. I know details are the houses of devils. But details are the foundation of objective thinking and the foundation of the modern world.

What shall I do with those tablets? Shall I carry them by saying it is the only cure for all diseases? As a philosopher once said that no pleasure is as sweet as defending something which you do not consider as true. Why should I take a tablet which may be (I am not saying, it is!) bad for health, given that there are other non – ancestral tablets which often comforts me in this modern world? I can even try to defend the tablet by saying that the deadly effect is caused due to wrong interpretations of prescriptions, but I am afraid I myself do not go to the doctor whose prescriptions are subjected to interpretations of the medical stores.

To pluck the living flower

Time for me always took the form of a cute boy, who holding my bantam finger pulls me to the paradise of future. Cute little boy is so strict with his ways (like all young ones should be) that even a sole refusal could mean him leaving me forever, well I think I can admit that I am too young and deeply in love to miss him. Cute little boy refuses to go back to the dead moments, he fears them and says “You must be dumb to have wanting for the discipline of past when you could get the all charming, all chaos of future.” He continues “Hey Kiran, why don’t you open the bag of flesh – aggrandized with hairs that you so proudly carry on top of your shoulders throughout our journey? You had collected everything, from the fruits that I plucked from the tree of pleasure to the feces that I dropped in the house of suffering.”

It has been twenty five years, since I was shot out of the cannon of birth. I was the only projectile fired amidst the war of love. Probably, the war had stopped for plenty more after me! Nevertheless, it was an opportunity provided by my parents (Now, I don’t believe that I am for lifelong indebted to them. It’s just nature!) And the journey of twenty five years have been like all others – born in the nineties. Except of course, I believed that Shakti-man was dumb, parents are dumb, and Bheeshma was dumb. Teachers are the dumbest of all. Friends are absolute assholes who swarm at every sign of shit smelling – pleasures such as Cheetos and Picnic. I had this torrential tumult and excitement in disagreement of what more than ten people believed in. I never had the slightest idea that most of my disagreements will happen to be true, now that just shows how wrong was the society then and to equal extent even now. To hurl stones at big trees (upper class) was my obsession. Now when life stares at me saying how are you doing, big tree? The beautiful mask of our race – hypocrisy is what I wear. Now, you know the phrase “like all others” stands too imbecile against my wish. I think I was and am still to a degree cynical to the emblem of our race.

I have this habit of going to schools. On the eve of Independence Day, Teacher having told the story of Sultan of tippu, asked the students, do you prefer to live 100 years like a rat or to live a few days like a tiger? The class went up with a roar preferring to live like a tiger. I searched for one who had the other view (which I would have had if I was faced with the question during my childhood) Unfortunately I couldn’t find one, maybe I failed to see. Children must be supported to grow as individuals but stupid teachers make them grow like herds.

Keeping diary was perhaps the only coolest thing I ever developed from post- imbecilic years. Here are some of the glimpses from that,

“Today (18^th Nov 1999) the all- powerful God was incapable of preventing his offerings from a meek fly.”

“Even after drinking bowlful of milk, Seebi (Cat) could not resist from hunting his rat, he did not eat though. I think that’s nature – The grandest critic of Marx” – 2^nd Feb 2000

“I hate this school, these so called students speak such filth, may be their sisters and parents parade naked at home. Illiterate garbage minds” – 9^th sept 2000

“For spanking the arse of a cow with a thorn – stick, this Bheeshma had to suffer so much for so many years? This justice is shaata, but this bolimaga Ramesha missed the point” —– 8^th Feb 2006 (About debate on theology)

There are plenty more but I have given too much of myself into it to disclose! My childhood is done and dusted now forever. I will never have it, I was brought up with the same set of patterns. But I feel, I do feel I had the class and metal to defy it.  I believe I am the privileged for having got all in my life without having to really work for it. When commons of my country must struggle every day, every minute to keep the plates filled on the table, I – the commoner have escaped the struggle. Like a true Marxist, I study as a student in the morning, I teach on some afternoon, builder on the days of demand, farmer when I need fresh air, a critic after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming student, teacher, builder, farmer or critic.

http://www.toonpool.com/

It used to irritate me when a buyer decides not to buy a beautiful house because the position of the toilet does not suite the “vastu” to his name. I used to be irritated when someone claims cow as his mother and buffalo as his sister. Those men with symbols above their brows and threads on their wrists were the ones whom I loathed to the last fibre of my nerve. I still do, but not passionately anymore. Are there Gods who can stand the minds of Nietzsche, Freud or Sartre? I don’t care about the dumbness of my previous gen, or the folly of my current gen. The former will die soon and the latter will die with me. I do care about the next gen and I am worried as anyone should be on the emotional importance they give to those ideas which should be despised with ridicule.

I learnt many things in the quarter of my tenure on this blue rock. But nothing so passionately have I learnt that the only thing worth living for is ourselves. To yield to the last chord of sensation of our amygdala is the measure of worth of our life. School, salary, family, responsibility, obligations and desires to impress the fellow men can burn our characters and eventually can sentence us into the dungeon of societal consciousness. The only cheer leaders of that dungeon are Gods, movies, sex and patriotism. To escape from those is to move towards freedom which is un-given, freedom which is innate and propels us to pluck the living flower.

If future was women, I by now would even have had my soul sold to marry her. So beautiful she is. Like before no one can block ideas can they? Technology has potential to make Voltaire as famous as Krishna or Rama or Allah. No Idea goes untouched. Who can stop you from enjoying Molière? Kids now like the love of Salomé more than the love of Romeo. I imagine the days for my village, days where Kafka instead of the runaway women is talked under the banyan tree. I imagine the village which belongs to no one’s country and where criticism is the rule of land. I see those days where old sit to listen to young and young teaching about the life the old un-lived. Also about the days where Gods are kept on pension scale.

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ಬಿಳಿ ಆನೆಗಳನ್ನಿಷ್ಟಪಡುವ ಬೆಟ್ಟಗಳು

ಹಾಲ ಬೆಟ್ಟಗಳ ಬಹು ಉದ್ದನೆಯ ಸಾಲು ಈಬ್ರೋ ನದಿ ಕಣಿವೆಗೆ ಮೋಹಕತೆಯ ಸೆಳೆತ ನೀಡಿತ್ತು, ಸಾಲುಗಳ ಒಂಬದಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಮರ -ನೆರಳುಗಳ ಯಾವ ಸುಳಿವೂ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಇವುಗಳನ್ನು ಸೀಳಿ ಹಾದು ಹೋಗಿದ್ದ ಹಳಿಗಳು ರವಿಯ ರಷ್ಮಿಗೆ ಮಿರಮಿರನೆ ಮಿರುಗುತಿದ್ದವು. ರೈಲು ನಿಲ್ದಾಣದ ಕಟ್ಟಡದ ನೆರಳಿನಲ್ಲಿದ್ದ ಬಾರಿನ ಬಾಗಿಲನ್ನು ಬಿದಿರಿನ ಮಣಿಗಳಿಂದ ಪೋಣಿಸಲ್ಪಟ್ಟ ಪರದೆ ಅಲಂಕರಿಸಿತ್ತು. ಅಮೇರಿಕದ ಓರ್ವ ವ್ಯಕ್ತಿ ಹಾಗು ಆತನ ಹುಡುಗಿ ಬಾರಿನ ಬಾಗಿಲಿನ ಆಚೆ ಇರಿಸಿದ್ದ ಟೇಬಲ್ ಬಳಿ ಕುಳಿತಿದ್ದರು. ಬಾರ್ಸಿಲೋನದಿಂದ ಬರಬೇಕಿದ್ದ ರೈಲಿಗೆ ಇನ್ನೂ ನಲ್ವತ್ತು ನಿಮಿಷಗಳಿತ್ತು. ಈ ನಿಲ್ದಾಣದಲ್ಲಿ ಎರಡು ನಿಮಿಷಗಳ ಕಾಲ ವಿರಮಿಸಿದ ಬಳಿಕ ರೈಲು ಮ್ಯಾಡ್ರಿಡ್-ಗೆ ತೆರಳುತಿತ್ತು.

“ಏನನ್ನಾದರು ಕುಡಿಯೋಣವೆ?” ತನ್ನ ಟೋಪಿಯನ್ನು ಟೇಬಲ್ ಮೇಲಿಟ್ಟು ಹುಡುಗಿ ಕೇಳಿದಳು.

“ಬಹಳ ಧಗೆಯಿದೆ” ಯುವಕನಲುಬಿದ.

“ಬೀರನ್ನು ಕುಡಿಯೋಣ”

“eಎರಡು ಬಿಯರ್,” ಯುವಕ ಪರದೆಯೊಳಗೆ ಕೂಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದ.

“ದೊಡ್ಡದೆ?” ಬಾರಿನ ಮಹಿಳೆ ಬಾಗಿಲಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಂತು ಕೇಳಿದಳು.

“ಹೌದು, ಎರಡು ದೊಡ್ಡದು.”

ಎರಡು ಗ್ಲಾಸ್ ಬೀರನ್ನು ತಂದ ಮಹಿಳೆ ಟೇಬಲ್ಲಿನ ಮೇಲಿಟ್ಟು,ಯುವಕ ಹಾಗು ಹುಡುಗಿಯನ್ನು ದಿಟ್ಟಿಸಿ ನೋಡಿದಳು. ಹುಡುಗಿ ಬೆಟ್ಟ ಸಾಲುಗಳ ಮೇಲೆ ಕಣ್ಣಾಯಿಸಿದ್ದಳು. ಆ ಸಾಲುಗಳು ಬಿಳುಪಾಗಿ ಕಂಡು, ಆ ಪ್ರದೇಶ ಒಣಗಿದಂತಿತ್ತು.

“ಅವು ಬಿಳಿ ಆನೆಗಳಂತೆ ಕಾಣುತ್ತಿವೆ,” ಅವಳೇಳಿದಳು.

“ನಾನು ಅಂತಹದನ್ನು ಎಂದಿಗೂ ಕಂಡಿಲ್ಲ,” ಯುವಕ ಬೀರನ್ನು ಗುಟುಕಿಸಿದ.

“ಇಲ್ಲ, ನೀನು ನೋಡಿರಲಾರೆ.”

“ನೋಡಿರಬಹುದು,” ಯುವಕನೇಳಿದ. “ನಾನು ನೋಡಿರಲಾರೆ ಎಂದು ನೀನು ಹೇಳಿದ ಮಾತ್ರಕ್ಕೆ, ಏನನ್ನೂ ತೋರ್ಪಡಿಸಲಿಲ್ಲ”

ಅವಳು ಬಿದಿರಿನ ಮಣಿಗಳ ಪರದೆಯನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದಳು. “ಅವರು ಅದರ ಮೇಲೆ ಏನನ್ನೋ ಬರೆದಿದ್ದಾರೆ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಕೇಳಿದಳು, “ಅದು ಏನನ್ನು ಹೇಳುತ್ತಿದೆ?”

“ಅನಿದೆಲ್ ತೊರೊ, ಅದು ಒಂದು ಪೇಯ.”

“ನಾವು ಕುಡಿದು ನೋಡೋಣವೆ?”

ಯುವಕ ಬಾರ್ ನ ಮಹಿಳೆಯನ್ನು ಕರೆದು.

“ನಾಲ್ಕು ರಿಯಲೆ.”

“ನಮಗೆ ಎರಡು ಅನಿದೆಲ್ ತೊರೊ ಬೇಕು.”

“ನೀರಿನ ಜೊತೆಯೆ?”

“ನಿನಗೆ ನೀರಿನ ಜೊತೆ ಬೇಕೆ?”

“ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತಿಲ್ಲ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ನೀರಿನ ಜೊತೆ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿರುತ್ತದೆಯೆ?”

“ಪರವಾಗಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಿನಗೆ ನೀರಿನ ಜೊತೆ ಬೇಕೆ?” ಮಹಿಳೆ ಕೇಳಿದಳು.

“ಹೌದು.”

“ಇದು ಲಿಕೊರಿಸೆ ರೀತಿಯ ರುಚಿ ಇದೆ,” ಗ್ಲಾಸನ್ನು ಟೇಬಲ್ ಮೇಲೆ ಇಡುತ್ತ ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು.

“ಎಲ್ಲಾದರಲ್ಲೂ ಇದೇ ರುಚಿ.”

“ಹೌದು,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಊಗುಟ್ಟಿದಳು. “ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಲಿಕೊರಿಸೆ ತರಹ ಇರುತ್ತದೆ. ಅದರಲ್ಲೂ  ನೀನು ಬಹಳ ಕಾಲ ಕಾದಿದ್ದವುಗಳ  ಮೇಲೆ, ಅಬ್ಸಿಂತೆ ತರಹ.”

“ಓ, ಬಿಡು ಅದನ್ನ.”

“ನೀನು ಶುರುಮಾಡಿದ್ದು,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಗಡುಸಾಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ನಾನು ಖುಷಿ ಪಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆ, ಒಳ್ಳೆಯ ಸಮಯವನ್ನು ಕಳೆಯುತಿದ್ದೆ.”

“ಸರಿ, ಈಗಲೂ ಖುಷಿಯಾಗಿರಲು ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಿಸೋಣ.”

“ಸರಿ, ನಾನೂ ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆ. ಬೆಟ್ಟಗಳು ಬಿಳಿ ಆನೆಗಳಂತಿವೆ ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದೆ. ಅವು ಪ್ರಕಾಶಿಸುತ್ತಿರಲಿಲ್ಲವೆ?”

“ಅದು ಪ್ರಕಾಶಿಸುತ್ತಿತ್ತು.”

“ನಾನು ಈ ಹೊಸ ಪೇಯವನನ್ನು ಕುಡಿಯಬೇಕೆಂದೆನಿಸಿತು. ನಾವು ಅಷ್ಟೇ ಅಲ್ಲವೆ ಮಾಡುವುದು- ನೋಡುವುದು ಹಾಗು ಹೊಸ ಪೇಯವನ್ನ ಪರೀಕ್ಷಿಸುವುದು?”

“ನನಗೂ ಹಾಗೆಯೆ ಅನ್ನಿಸುತ್ತದೆ.”

“ಅವು ಬಹಳ ಸುಂದರ ಬೆಟ್ಟಗಳು, ಅವೇನು ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ಬಿಳಿ ಆನೆಗಳ ರೀತಿ ಏನು ಕಾಣುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ನಾನು ಸುಮ್ಮನೆ ಅದರ ಮೇಲ್ಮೈಯ ಬಣ್ಣಕ್ಕೆ ಹಾಗೆ ಹೇಳಿದೆ.”

“ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಪೇಯವನ್ನು ಕುಡಿಯೋಣವೆ?”

“ಸರಿ.”

ತಾಪದ ಗಾಳಿ ಮಣಿ ಪರದೆಯನ್ನು ಟೇಬಲ್ಲಿಗೆ ಬೀಸಿತು.

“ ಬಿಯರ್ ತುಂಬ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿದೆ,” ಯುವಕನು ಹೇಳಿದ.

“ಅದ್ಭುತ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಎಂದಳು.

“ಇದು ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ಬಹಳ ಸುಲಭದ ಶಸ್ತ್ರಚಿಕಿತ್ಸೆ, ಜಿಗ್, ನಿಜವಾಗಿ ಹೇಳಬೇಕಾದರೆ ಇದು ಶಸ್ತ್ರಚಿಕಿತ್ಸೆಯೇ ಅಲ್ಲ.”

ಹುಡುಗಿ ಟೇಬಲ್ ಕಾಲುಗಳಿದ್ದ ನೆಲವನ್ನು ನೋಡುತಿದ್ದಳು.

“ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು, ನೀನು ಇದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ತಲೆ ಕೆಡಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ಜಿಗ್. ಇದು ಏನೇನು ಅಲ್ಲ. ಬರಿ ಗಾಳಿ ಒಳಗೆ ಬಿಡುವುದಷ್ಟೆ.”

ಹುಡುಗಿ ಏನನ್ನೂ ಹೇಳಲಿಲ್ಲ.

“ನಾನು ನಿನ್ನೊಂದಿಗೆ ಹೋಗುತ್ತೇನೆ. ನಿನ್ನೊಂದಿಗೆ ಯಾವಾಗಲೂ ಇರುತ್ತೇನೆ. ಅವರು ಬರಿ ಗಾಳಿ ಕಳುಹಿಸುತ್ತಾರೆ, ಅದಾದ ಮೇಲೆ ಎಲ್ಲ ನೈಜವಾಗಿರುತ್ತದೆ.”

“ಅದಾದ ಮೇಲೆ ನಾವು ಏನನ್ನು ಮಾಡುವುದು?” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಕೇಳಿದಳು.

“ನಾವು ಅದಾದ ಮೇಲೆ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿರುತ್ತೇವೆ. ಮುಂಚಿನ ತರಹ.”

“ಹೇಗೆ ಹೇಳುತ್ತೀಯ?”

“ಅದೊಂದೆ ನಮ್ಮನ್ನು ಬಾಧಿಸುತ್ತಿರುವುದು. ಅದೊಂದೆ ನಮ್ಮನ್ನು ದುಖಃದ ಕೂಪಕ್ಕೆ ತಳ್ಳಿರುವುದು.”

ಹುಡುಗಿ ಮಣಿ ಪರದೆಯನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದಳು, ಪರದೆಯ ಎರಡು ಮಣಿ ಸರವನ್ನು ಹಿಡಿದಳು.

“ಎಲ್ಲ ಸರಿಯಾಗಿ ನಾವು ಸಂತಸದಿಂದಿರುವೆವು ಎಂದು ನಿನಗೆ ಅನ್ನಿಸುತ್ತದೆಯೆ?”

“ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು, ನಾವು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿ ಇರುತ್ತೇವೆ. ನೀನು ಭಯ ಪಡಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ. ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತಿರುವ ಹಾಗೆ ಬಹಳ ಜನ ಅದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಿದ್ದಾರೆ.”

“ಹಾಗೆಯೇ ನಾನೂ ಸಹ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ಅದಾದ ಮೇಲೆ ಆವರು ಎಷ್ಟೋಂದು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿದ್ದರು.”

“ನಿನಗೆ ಬೇಡವಾದರೆ, ಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ. ನಿನಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟವಿಲ್ಲದ ಮೇಲೆ ನಿನ್ನಿಂದ ಅದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಆದರೆ ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು, ಅದು ಬಹಳ ಸುಲಭವಾಗಿರುತ್ತೆ.”

“ನಿನಗೆ ಇದು ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ಬೇಕಾಗಿದೆಯೆ?”

“ನನಗೆ ಅನ್ನಿಸುತ್ತದೆ, ಇದು ಬಹಳ ಒಳ್ಳೆಯದೆಂದು. ಆದರೆ, ನಿನಗೆ ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ಬೇಡವಾದರೆ, ಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಾನು ಮಾಡಿಸಿದರೆ, ನಿನಗೆ ಸಂತೋಷವಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಇರುವ ಹಾಗೆಯೆ ಇದ್ದು, ನೀನು ನನ್ನನ್ನು ಪ್ರೀತಿಸುತ್ತೀಯ ಅಲ್ಲವೆ?”

“ನಿನ್ನನ್ನು ಈಗ ಪ್ರೀತಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದೇನೆ. ನಿನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು ನಾನು ನಿನ್ನನ್ನು ಪ್ರೀತಿಸುತ್ತೇನೆ.”

“ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು, ಆದರೆ ನಾನು ಅದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಿದರೆ, ಅವು ಬಿಳಿ ಆನೆಗಳ ಹಾಗೆ ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರೆ, ನೀನು ಇಷ್ಟಪಡುವೆಯ?”

“ನಾನು ಇಷ್ಟ ಪಡುತ್ತೇನೆ, ಈಗಲೂ ಇಷ್ಟ ಪಡುತಿದ್ದೇನೆ ಆದರೆ ಅದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಯೋಚಿಸಲಾಗತ್ತಿಲ್ಲ. ನಿನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತಲ್ಲವೇ ನಾನು ಯೋಚನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಮುಳುಗಿದಾಗ ಹೇಗಾಗುತ್ತೇನೆಂದು.”

“ನಾನು ಇದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಿದ ಮೇಲೆ ನೀನು ಯಾವತ್ತೂ ಯೋಚಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲವೆ?”

“ನಾನು ಅದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಯೋಚಿಸುವುದೇ ಇಲ್ಲ ಏಕೆಂದರೆ ಇದು ಬಹಳ ಸುಲಭ.’

“ಹಾಗಾದರೆ, ನಾನು ಇದನ್ನು ಮಾಡುತ್ತೇನೆ. ಏಕೆಂದರೆ ನಾನು ನನ್ನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ತಲೆ ಕೆಡಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ಅಂದರೆ?”

“ನಾನು ನನ್ನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಕಾಳಜಿ ವಹಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಾನು ನಿನ್ನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಕಾಳಜಿ ವಹಿಸುತ್ತೇನೆ.”

“ಹಾ! ಹೌದು. ಆದರೆ ನಾನು ನನ್ನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ತಲೆ ಕೆಡಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ನಾನು ಇದನ್ನು ಮಾಡುತ್ತೇನೆ, ಆಮೇಲೆ ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಸರಿ ಹೋಗುತ್ತದೆ.”

“ನೀನು ಆ ರೀತಿ ಭಾವಿಸಿದರೆ, ನೀನು ಇದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ.”

ಹುಡುಗಿ ಎದ್ದು ನಿಂತು, ನಿಲ್ದಾಣದ ಕೊನೆಯವರೆಗು ನಡೆದಳು. ಆಚೆಗೆ, ಹೊಲಗಳು ಇದ್ದು, ಮರಗಳು ಈಬ್ರೊ ನದಿಯ ದಂಡೆಯ ಉದ್ದಕ್ಕೂ ಇದ್ದವು. ಬಹಳ ದೂರದಲ್ಲಿ, ಆ ನದಿಯಾಚೆ ಸಾಲು ಬೆಟ್ಟಗಳಿದ್ದವು. ಆಗಸದ ಮೋಡಗಳ ನೆರಳು ಹೊಲಗಳ ಮೇಲೆ ಚಲಿಸುತಿತ್ತು. ಅವಳು ಮರಗಳ ಬೆನ್ನಿಂದೆ ಹರಿಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ನದಿಯನ್ನು ಕಾಣುತಿದ್ದಳು.

“ನಮಗೆ ಈ ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಸಿಗಬಹುದು, ಪ್ರತಿಯೊಂದೂ ನಮ್ಮದಾಗಬಹುದು ಮತ್ತು ಪ್ರತಿ ದಿನ ನಾವು ಇದನ್ನು ಇನ್ನೂ ಅಸಾದ್ಯಗೊಳಿಸುತಿದ್ದೇವೆ.” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು.

“ನೀನು, ಏನು ಹೇಳಿದೆ?”

“ಪ್ರತಿಯೊಂದು ನಮ್ಮದಾಗಬಹುದೆಂದು ನಾನು ಹೇಳಿದೆ.”

“ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ನಮ್ಮದಾಗುತ್ತದೆ.”

“ಇಲ್ಲ, ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ಈ ಪ್ರಪಂಚವೇ ನಮ್ಮದಾಗುತ್ತದೆ.”

“ಇಲ್ಲ, ನಮಗೆ ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಾವು ಎಲ್ಲಾ ಕಡೆ ಹೋಗಬಹುದು.”

“ಇಲ್ಲ, ನಮಗೆ ಆಗುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಇದು ಇನ್ನು ಎಂದೆದಿಗೂ ನಮ್ಮದಲ್ಲ.”

“ಇದು ನಮ್ಮದು.’

“ಇಲ್ಲ, ಇದು ನಮ್ಮದಲ್ಲ. ಒಮ್ಮೆ ಅವರು ಅದನ್ನು ತೆಗೆದಮೇಲೆ, ನಿನಗೆ ಮತ್ತೆ ಎಂದಿಗೂ ಸಿಗುವಿದಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ಆದರೆ ಅವರು ಇದನ್ನು ತೆಗೆದುಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಾವು ಕಾದು ನೋಡೋಣ,”

“ನೆರಳಿಗೆ ಬಾ,” ಅವನು ಹೇಳಿದ. “ನೀನು ಆ ರೀತಿ ಭಾವಿಸಬಾರದು.”

“ನಾನು ಏನನ್ನೂ ಭಾವಿಸುತ್ತಿಲ್ಲ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ನನಗೆ ಕೆಲವುಗಳು ಹೇಗೆ ಎಂಬುದು ಗೊತ್ತು ಅಷ್ಟೆ.”

“ನಿನಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟವಾಗದ ಯಾವುದನ್ನೂ ನೀನು ಮಾಡುವುದು ನನಗೆ ಬೇಡ—.”

“ಅದು ನನಗೂ ಒಳ್ಳೆಯದಲ್ಲ,” ಅವಳು ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ನನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತಿದೆ. ನಾವು ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಬಿಯರ್ ಕುಡಿಯೋಣವೆ?”

“ಸರಿ, ಆದರೆ ನೀನು ಅರ್ಥ ಮಾಡಿಕೊಳ್ಳಬೇಕು—,”

“ನಾನು ಅರ್ಥ ಮಾಡಿಕೊಳ್ಳುತ್ತೇನೆ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ ನಾವು ಮಾತಾಡದಿರಲು ಆಗುವುದಿಲ್ಲವೆ?”

ಅವರು ಟೇಬಲ್ ಬಳಿ ಕುಳಿತರು. ಹುಡುಗಿ ಕಣಿವೆಯ ಒಣ ಪ್ರದೇಶದ ಗುಡ್ಡಗಳನ್ನು ನೋಡುತಿದ್ದಳು ಹಾಗು ಅವನು ಅವಳನ್ನು ದಿಟ್ಟಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದ.

“ನೀನು ಅರ್ಥಮಾಡಿಕೊಳ್ಳಬೇಕು,” ಅವನೇಳಿದ, “ನಿನಗೆ ಬೇಡವಾದರೆ, ಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ. ನಿನಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟವಿಲ್ಲದ ಮೇಲೆ ನಿನ್ನಿಂದ ಅದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಅದು ನಿನಗೆ ಬಹಳ ಬೇಕಾದರೆ, ಅದರ ಜೊತೆ ನಾನು ಕಂಡಿತ ಬಾಳುತ್ತೇನೆ.”

“ಅದು ನಿನಗೆ ಏನೂ ಅಲ್ಲವೆ? ನಾವು ಬಾಳಬಹುದು.”

“ಕಂಡಿತ ಬಾಳಬಹುದು. ಆದರೆ ನನಗೆ ನಿನ್ನ ಬಿಟ್ಟು ಬೇರಾರು ಬೇಡ. ನನಗೆ ಯಾರೂ ಬೇಡ. ಮತ್ತು, ಇದು ಬಹಳ ಸುಲಭ.”

“ಹೌದು, ನಿನಗೆ ಗೊತ್ತು ಇದು ಬಹಳ ಸುಲಭ.”

“ನೀನು ಆ ರೀತಿ ಹೇಳಬಹುದು, ಆದರೆ ನನಗೆ ಇದು ಗೊತ್ತು.”

“ನೀನು ನನಗಾಗಿ ಏನಾದರೂ ಮಾಡುತ್ತೀಯ?”

“ನಾನು ನಿನಗಾಗಿ ಏನು ಬೇಕಾದರೂ ಮಾಡುತ್ತೇನೆ.”

“ನೀನು ದಯವಿಟ್ಟು ದಯವಿಟ್ಟು, ದಯವಿಟ್ಟು ದಯವಿಟ್ಟು ದಯವಿಟ್ಟೂ ಮಾತನಾಡುವುದ ನಿಲ್ಲಿಸುತ್ತೀಯ?”

ಅವನು ಏನೂ ಹೇಳಲಿಲ್ಲ, ಅವನು ಗೋಡೆಗೆ ಒರಗಿಸಿದ್ದ ಬ್ಯಾಗುಗಳನ್ನು ನೋಡುತಿದ್ದನು. ಅವುಗಳ ಮೇಲೆ ಅವರು ರಾತ್ರಿಗಳನ್ನು ಕಳೆದ ಹೊಟೆಲ್ಲುಗಳ ಸೂಚಕಗಳಿದ್ದವು.

“ಆದರೆ, ನನಗೆ ನೀನು ಮಾಡುವುದು ಬೇಕಾಗಿಲ್ಲ,” ಅವನೇಳಿದ, “ಅದರ ಮೇಲೆ ನಾನು ತಲೆ ಕೆಡಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದೇ ಇಲ್ಲ.”

“ನಾನು ಈಗ ಕಿರಿಚುತ್ತೇನೆ,” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು.

ಮಹಿಳೆ ಬಾರಿನ ಪರದೆ ಸೀಳಿ, ಎರಡು ಬಿಯರ್ ಗ್ಲಾಸಿನೊಂದಿಗೆ ಬಂದು ಟೇಬಲ್ ಮೇಲೆರಿಸಿ ಹೇಳಿದಳು. “ರೈಲು ಇನ್ನು ಐದು ನಿಮಿಷದಲ್ಲಿ ಬರುತ್ತದೆ,”.

“ಅವಳು ಏನೇಳಿದಳು?” ಹುಡುಗಿ ಕೇಳಿದಳು.

“ರೈಲು ಇನ್ನು ಐದು ನಿಮಿಷದಲ್ಲಿ ಬರುವುದಂತೆ”

ಹುಡುಗಿ ಮಹಿಳೆಯನ್ನು ನೋಡಿ ಧನ್ಯವಾದ ತಿಳಿಸುವಂತೆ ತಿಳಿ ನಗೆ ಬೀರಿದಳು.

“ನಾನು ಈ ಬ್ಯಾಗುಗಳನ್ನು ಸ್ಟೇಷನ್ನಿನ ಆ ಕಡೆ ತೆಗೆದುಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗುತ್ತೇನೆ,” ಯುವಕನೇಳಿದ. ಅವಳು ಅವನ ಕಂಡು ನಕ್ಕಳು.

“ಸರಿ, ಆಮೇಲೆ ಬಂದು ಬೀರನ್ನು ಪೂರ್ತಿ ಮುಗಿಸೋಣ.”

ಅವನು ಎರಡು ತೂಕವಿದ್ದ ಬ್ಯಾಗುಗಳನ್ನು ಹೊತ್ತು ನಿಲ್ದಾಣವನ್ನು ತಿರುಗಿ, ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಹಳಿಗಳ ಬಳಿಗೆ ತೆರಳಿದನು. ಅವನು ಹಳಿಯ ಉದ್ದಕ್ಕೂ ಕಣ್ಣಾಯಿಸಲು, ರೈಲು ಕಾಣಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಮತ್ತೆ ವಾಪಸ್ಸು, ರೈಲಿಗೆ ಕಾಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಜನಗಳು ಕುಡಿಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಬಾರ್ ರೂಮಿಗೆ  ಬಂದನು. ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಮಿಕ್ಕಿದ್ದ ಆನಿಯನ್ನು ಕುಡಿದು ಜನಗಳನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದನು. ಅವರೆಲ್ಲರೂ ರೈಲಿನ ಬರುವಿಕೆಯ ಕಾರಣಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಕಾಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದರು. ಅವನು ಪರದೆ ಸೀಳಿ ಬಾರಿನ ಒಳಕ್ಕೆ ಹೋದನು. ಅವಳು ಟೇಬಲ್ ಬಳಿ ಕುಳಿತಿದ್ದಳು ಮತ್ತು ಅವನನ್ನು ಕಂಡು ಮುಗುಳ್ನಗೆ ಬೀರಿದಳು.

“ಆರಾಮಾಗಿ ಅನಿಸುತ್ತಿದೆಯೆ?” ಅವನು ಕೇಳಿದ.

“ಆರಾಮೆನಿಸುತ್ತಿದೆ,” ಅವಳೇಳಿದಳು. “ಏನು ಕಷ್ಟವಿಲ್ಲ, ನಾನು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿದ್ದೇನೆ.”

(ಮೂಲ: ಅರ್ನೆಸ್ಟ್ ಹೆಮಿಂಗ್ ವೇ)

The “banyan root” on a tamarind tree

“Ah! What a splendor dawn, the sun has painted red while the moon is running in search of darkness as if the darkness has escaped forever.” remarked an old squirrel awakened by the cry of cocks in the village.

Our squirrel while stretching his tiny legs and smiling at the pleasant dream of a foodie land from which he is just born to reality, bechanced to see a strange subject. “What on earth do I see? A new “banyan root” on a tamarind tree? No, it cannot be for it becomes a miracle and miracles are the sole asset of humans.” he went near the mystical root with eyes riveted to the subject and said “This is indeed a human. Yes, I have seen those lips which used to emit smoke of a kind I dislike. Those eyes, tut-tut! How light less they are! With the same eyes, he used to point me to his kids; Kids who never hesitated to make a futile attempt to catch me. Those legs which used to stamp the mire with authority have freed itself from the land, and those hands are holding no plow”

“By my God, What is this? How strange these humans are! What is he doing swaying against the chilled morning wind under the tree instead of preparing for tilling? I and my friends are all waiting to have a yearly festive feast on those earthworms served fresh by his tilling.” remarked a crow paying no observation to the thoughts of the squirrel.

Seconds later, the heart of the crow quaked, disturbed by the lady of forty five Ugadis who was running towards the tree with the cry that could put ten thunders to shame. She was followed by tens of men, women and children.

“Even shadows could have colored this colorless dawn. How strange these people are! They are saddened more by the death than at a living’s misery.” Cried a dog that was angry for finding no one to brush his white hair as was the routine.

“It amazes me, for the first time he lets me to kiss his lips and no, he is not slapping me. May be he is in love and quite fetish for my feet.” Said the fly that was surveying the motionless body kept in front of the house.

“I wish I was silent at the dawn; I can’t bear this disturbance caused by the talk and walk of these people,” the giant cock was cackling while scratching the bin.

“We shall decide the compensation according to the age of the body and the droppings it had, Sir. Adding to it, some tears for emotional minds can do wonders for our visit,” remarked the savior’s slave to give an impression of his calculative mind to his master who was about to switch off his headphone.

“Death along with the odors of its decay also brings strange white- dress creatures called saviors and hence the notes of comfort for which “living” was the only obstacle. Breath lowers our value, we must all stop this bloody air getting inside” murmured an old man who was jealous of the pink currency notes held tightly by the lady.

“I had once thought about migrating to city, now not anymore! With this rate possibly I could become the richest man in the village.” remarked the only graveyard digger with a beedi between his lips.

“Thanks to the increase of women’s lust for men of lower orders, our Gods have become angry. To calm them we must pray from the birth of dawn to the death of dusk. Plead the supreme for mercy; our pleading must be such that it should bring tears in his eyes which shall flood our lakes by rain.”  It was the turn of a priest to bless the mass with his opinion.

Days rolled in silence ringing a new day, when the moon had captured darkness and the sun was about to close his colored eyes, our squirrel saw another man heading towards the tamarind tree. “Oh, this time a bit younger man is rushing towards the tree to try the same pose. I had heard once that humans act purely for pleasure. I too must try this exercise one day and disclose the secret to my race.” said the squirrel in a sleepy mood.

“Tilling has become rare; our feast on earthworms is slowly becoming a sweet memory.” Saying this, the old crow fled in search of a distant meal fearing another cry of a woman heading his way.

(Image courtesy: top-img.com) 

The forgotten date of an unforgettable soul

Lead have they become my hands,

to stretch them to beg your best.

Only flesh is my heart that has sent words

With wings of love and eyes of lust

Have them darling, for having not is failure

I have synthesized them with our hundred days

With the knowledge of hundred sights and hundred hearings

Hundred men said them false, and so it should be true

Here cometh my words on wings of love

Guided by the eyes of lust!

You like no eyes darling, I no complain

For there are many eyes with better light

Blooming the mystery of beauty at might

But with no eyes and only wings

Can you get my words, my lovely myth?

Words! For those my prophet died thousand death

Thin evening air filled with caffeine

Carried the voice of her – my mermaid of far away marine

“Perhaps, I can bear those eyes with mine closed

Describe those wings, I was barely disclosed”

Knowers are thousands; fliers are millions

My wings are no kind until they hug inions

Unlike those of commons who blind and cage

Mine frees its hugged to see the joy of age

Wings are those I use to carry my voice to voiceless

Hold them darling for they have brought to you my no less

Yes, the words came! She said,

Must they be heavy?

For it needed love and lust

and they can carry from King’s dreams to beggars cry like mist.

She read the words at time  quite jive,

Silence was the only talk for minutes crossing five

She Sprang from her chair and said

“Devil you are with a mask of youth

How less I knew your scathing couth”

She left the coffee-day with eyes I dare not mouth

Watching her go with her untouched hunger

Yawning was the sun! After all, he is very old.

So did I yawn but with anger

At my coffee having become cold

To break the legs of a dancing tongue….

“Tell us, who he is?” “Tell us, who he is?” A mother side relative asked her child pointing at me. The child was mum initially, but when her mom kept pestering, it said “monkey!” No one expected this, laughter kicked in and she spanked her child to not to speak like that. Clearly, I had not shaven for a month and had quite a beard (Even without it, I guess I retain my resemblance with my African cousin.) The child was taught one golden rule, never to use animal names on humans. My aunt did call up later to laugh on how her kid  hesitated to call Bear grylls by his full name!

The kid had its opinion and as expected it was inhibited for its own rightly reasons. Manners are important! What worries me is that when inhibition is done to a needless extent and tied to a subjective saga of morality.

Apart from looks, the next most influential in this world is the tongue!  Any culture always tries to dominate these two. Ask yourself, have you ever thought of telling to your father “Dad, She/he is hot!” If you could think of it, high chances are that you belong to economically rich or intellectually elite family. Generally, to describe beauty – a bad mannerism for boys and a crime for girls!

***********

There is one particular sect of people in every country, I call them Offended Owls! (OO) One characteristic feature of theirs is that they borrow morality from religion! They value views and cries of their “no electricity seen” race over views of reason! I am least bothered about it. I don’t care if they choose wife by the position of stars. I don’t even care if they believe earth as six thousand years old rock. But unfortunately they enter into my caring domain when they influence the seat of power with their babyish bullying diktat on what to say and what not to say. Reason they give is that they are offended! As if that add weight to the argument.

Incidents pour in everyday from Puliyur Murugesan to AIB-Cardinal Saga, from countless banning of books to pressurizing film industry. Recent one is the beef ban! (One must find their funny reasons on why this was important)

Offended? My my! They are offended by couple enjoying together on Valentine’s Day; they are even offended by some folks kissing; they are offended by the nudity in art. They are offended by women’s dress; they are offended by a book; they are offended by homosexuals; they are offended if they are questioned. Surely, these people have too many sensitive organs in wrong places.

OK, I wanted to see how OO recipe work. I tried to taste their dish, I found this. Watch this. (From 5:00)  What surprised me was the fact that many didn’t see any skew in this child. Dangerous times! Watching this kid, many can envy my childhood when even with all its ills; I had time to kill butterflies!

I think we are all privileged to distinguish right from wrong without the coat of pseudo patriotism. We too are equally offended when you dare to raise your hands against lovers; we too are equally offended when you protest to ban a book which not just you don’t read, you can’t read!

But when we are offended! We take path of a comment in face book or a blog or a symposium, unlike the party of gods who take sticks and vandalize theaters and burn rubber on streets. I remember one of their supporters saying that they are peaceful unlike ISIS who literally kill the “difference.” So you know where they want to score marks!

Whenever someone says “This is against our culture” just see how much he competes with his asshole! Culture is not stagnant. It is a river whose trail can only be seen by a man who swims along with it (Lagrangian approach.) and not by the one who stand at the banks and put pebbles to stop it.

Every livings dream and goal is to experience every sensation of creativity bound by natural justice and order. I live in India which has a secular viewpoint and a Godless constitution! The essence of our constitution is to develop scientific view point and not stick to draconian old orders. India has too many problems; problems which suck the juice of joy from every common man. Every patriotic colored soul must fight those. To sing against poor comedian chaps who are neither solution nor cause, serves no solution to nothing. Take your sticks and spank those who kill lakes and brutalize biosphere. To put it in your language, those who molest your Bharath Mata literally!

Let the tongue dance to the tune of mind. And Yes! Tongue is nude, don’t be offended by it and force the tongue to wear cloths! LOL, Am I giving them Ideas?

PS: The writer has supreme respect to Owls and it remains his favorite bird. Any indirect insult to its dignity is rued.