Monday 24 December 2012

Dry eyes

          

         When I entered my teens, the world seemed a dark, grim place. 26/11 happened on my fourteenth birthday. Or maybe my fourteenth birthday happened on 26/11. Either way, it upset me very much for a very long time. I grew morbid. Rationally, I knew there was no connection. And, I suppose, if you thought about it and searched hard enough, you'd probably find bad and good things that happened on every single day of the year. But it still hurt. Especially because I didn't find out till the next day (thankfully) and I was so utterly happy on that day. My classmates had noticed I'd seemed gloomy and thrown me a surprise party. I was touched, and oh, so pleased. I hadn't even thought they'd noticed. It was a perfect day. But when I found out, it stained everything backwards, and I knew that for the rest of my life, 26th November would no longer be just my own, happy day, but something else as well. I woke up to the horrors of the world that year. They were everywhere: in the newspapers, on TV, on the streets, in books, in my thoughts. I cried and cried and cried. I think I shed a tear for every iota of happiness I'd ever felt.

But I've changed.

       I still read the newspapers, and they're the same.  The horrors are still the same. I feel a pang, maybe two.

But my eyes are dry.

Why? Have I become desensitized? Have my tears run dry? Have I adapted, and so the things that hurt me hurt me no more? Have I distanced myself, so these things no longer seem real? Have I accepted these things? Should I accept them? And does the fact that I don't cry anymore mean I'm not empathetic anymore?

I've thought about it and decided that the world needs all the happiness it can get. If that seems a little presumptuous, let me put it another way - I need all the happiness I can get. I don't think there's anything wrong with being happy. I think I've come to accept that there are things I cannot change - or cannot change yet. And if I cannot change it, there is no point in morbidly obsessing over it and making myself miserable when it serves no purpose. I no longer feel guilty, because I am not guilty, and because I am not happy despite someone else's pain. I am happy that I am not causing someone pain and happy that if I can help, I help. I am glad to be happy. I am glad I have dry eyes. Glad because they have not always been so, that they have the ability to feel so deeply and sympathize so well. I am proud that my eyes were wet; I am proud that they are now dry. 

Friday 20 April 2012

Literature I love


The list of books I love is long...very long. The authors that come to mind are the authors of all my favourite children's classics: Frances Hodgson Burnett, Johanna Spyri, Louisa May Alcott, J M Barrie, Kate Douglas Wiggins, Rudyard Kipling, Hans Christian Andersen, L M Montgomery, Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl; and others like Jane Austen, Arthur Conan Doyle, Eva Ibbotson and J K Rowling. Can't think of anyone else right now. So this is my list for now:
  1. Heidi - This is my all time favourite. I've lost count of the number of times I've read it. For a number of years I read it at least twice every year. It was the book I fell back upon when I didn't have anything else to read, when I needed comfort, when I just wanted something to read..What is it that I find so appealing about this book? For one, the setting. For years I envied Heidi her Alpine hut and her fir trees and her goat's cheese. Spyri's loving descriptions of her homeland, her wonderful characters, and her simple but moving story are all elements that contribute to the charm of this book. Besides, this was the first ever classic I read and it opened up so many worlds for me. And it has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf by virtue of being my first and most often read 'big' book.
  2. Anne of Green Gables - This book was a great discovery. After I read it I spent two years reading all the books of Montgomery's that I could get my hands on. I still have a fascination for her, in spite of the faults I can now pick in her books. And I think that she is the author whose personal life I am most familiar with. On a side note, I refuse to believe she committed suicide! It might be a bit stupid, and idealistic, considering the evidence, but I simply can't live with the thought. About her books, the Blue Castle and Rilla of Ingleside are my favourites, apart from the Anne series. Anne is a heroine who really fired my imagination. I fancied I was a lot like her, and I think I even tried to be a bit like her. I can't exaggerate the influence L M has had on me. 
  3. A Little Princess - and Little Lord Fauntleroy and The Secret Garden, these being the only books of Frances Hodgson Burnett's still widely available. What a protagonist! Sara has pluck, endurance, imagination, generosity and kindness. And I always hoped I'd be exactly like her in the face of misfortune. I think I liked Sara best out of all three protagonists and The Secret Garden best for its setting. As for Fauntleroy, he's a really sweet little kid, but I have to confess I've never yet met a boy that angelic, and it doesn't seem likely that I ever will.
  4. Peter Pan - I definitely have Peter Pan syndrome. I think this is the only book I read the abridged version of for years without realizing it was abridged. I'm usually a huge snob when it comes to this, and I turn up my nose at abridged books of any sort. But this one's different because its illustrations (by Eric Kincaid) are heavenly and it's not very abridged. Peter Pan has got to be one of the most beautifully written children's books ever. It's great fodder for the imagination.
  5. Little Women - Little Women is always a pleasure to read. And Jo is a heroine who I think most girls like. Of all the girls, she seems the realest, perhaps because she's based on Louisa herself. And she's such fun.  
  6. Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm - This book grew on me. The second or third time I read it I laughed out loud while reading about her journey with Mr.Cobbs. But I always thought her growing up was too brief and I like the first half of the book much better than the second half.
  7. Matilda - Roald Dahl. Bookworm. Super-intelligent. Magic powers. 'Nuff said.
  8. Malory towers - Enid Blyton was another author I was neck-deep in love with. And Malory towers is such fun to imagine. Especially the pranks.
  9. Persuasion - I love all Jane Austen's books except Northanger Abbey. I think Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice are my favourites. I don't know what I can say about Jane Austen that hasn't been said before, though. She's such a brilliant writer! So witty and unsentimental and her characters are so real we can identify with them still. The reason I like Anne best of her protagonists is because she seems different from the others. I adore her gentle and refined nature.
  10. Jungle book - Of course, Jungle book is simply fascinating. And I love the Indian setting and the sprinkling of Hindi words throughout the book.  
  11. Sherlock Holmes - Dear Mr.Holmes. Who can help liking him? Though it would be nice if he faltered a little more often, and if Dr.Watson had a few of the brainwaves too.
  12. Chasing Vermeer - I like this book because it's so different and original. And it makes you think. I love the patterns in the book, and I think in patterns for days whenever I read it. Plus it introduced me to Vermeer. 
  13. Magic Flutes and Which Witch - I really like Eva Ibbotson. There are quirks in her writing that are entirely her own. I like her children's and adults' books. Her books are really fun to read, and I love the way her love for Austria and Vienna shines through in her books. And I adore the eccentricities she gives some of her characters.
  14. Harry Potter - It occurred to me halfway through this list that I'd forgotten Harry Potter and I was appalled. I mean, how could I? Such an integral part of my childhood. Really, it would be a crime to forget Harry. I've read the books numerous times, and every time I'm reminded why I love fantasy.
  15. Vanity fair - This is the only book on this list I've read only once, and that's because I read it comparatively recently. An absolutely fascinating book. Becky Sharp deserves her reputation. I won't pretend I understood every word; and I had to keep referring to the footnotes. But it was definitely worth it. This is one book that just aches to be read over and over again, mulled over and analysed.

Tell me which books you like! :) 

P.S: Not in order of preference

Wednesday 18 April 2012

Concert in Chowmahallah palace


Yesterday night I went to Chowmahallah palace to listen to Dr.M Balamuralikrishna and Pt.Vishwa Mohan. It was an experience I will not soon forget. I have a tendency to completely lose myself in some things - books, music and art, among others - and live, breathe and think only these things for a few hours. But I don't choose when this happens, and sometimes it's completely involuntary. Yesterday, after several months, I experienced this feeling again - a sort of ecstatic delirium where nothing else matters. It is in these moments that I feel most religious and faithful. I sometimes fancy that at these moments, the world seems full of light - if only for a while. To me, it seems impossible to help believing in a higher power while listening to such heavenly melodies. All those painful, haunting doubts are in abeyance for a while. For where else can that sort of music come from? Surely it is humanly impossible to conceive such music. It has to be divine inspiration. There's no other explanation for it.
I'd heard Dr.Balamuralikrishna sing before (though not live) but this was the first time I'd heard Pt.Vishwa Mohan. Their jugalbandi was adhbhutham. The only English word that comes close to that is exquisite, I think. Pt.Vishwa Mohan invented his own veena, the Mohana veena and his playing was beyond brilliant. I often wonder how their fingers move so fast. There are some high notes on that veena that are pure bliss to hear. Listening to Dr Balamuralikrishna live was a treat, too. At 82 years of age his voice is unchanged and beautiful as ever. In my mom's words, he literally 'plays' around with the ragas. His alapanas seem effortless, and sometimes he moves up and down the notes so fast, it is said that the accompanist struggles to catch up. There was a jugalbandi between the tabla player and the mridangam player too which was absolutely marvellous. One of the things that is so wonderful about these concerts is the improvisation. The artists come up with the most beautiful melodies on the spot. I went to a concert of Ustad Amjad Ali Khan's and Dr.Zakir Hussain's a few years ago, and it was the same there. I'd also listened to other jugalbandis of Dr.Balamuralikrishna with the late Pt.Bhimsen Joshi, which I think were among the first of their kind, being jugalbandis between a Carnatic maestro and a Hindustani maestro. There you could see their delight and respect for each other and there was a beautiful blending of the two forms of music.
I hope and pray that this kind of music lasts forever, because it is this sort of music that transcends boundaries and binds people together in common appreciation of the higher things of life.

Monday 16 April 2012

Post#1

This is my very first blog post. I created a blog a while ago, but somehow never followed it up. I have an exam tomorrow, but I'm bored, and a little over-confident, and I suddenly remembered this blog. I thought I'd go out for a walk, but none of my friends are around; so I thought: why not have a go?
I don't know how many people are this way, or would admit to being this way, but I am often a very confused soul. Until upto about 13 years of age, I was rock-sure about everything:opinions, convictions, beliefs, myself. Then, half a year or so into my teens, my world seemed to turn upside down. People speak of teenage as an exciting, fun age: to me it seemed like one, huge, confusing mess. I seemed suddenly thrust into a semi-adult world, where I realized how little I really knew. Nothing was black and white anymore; the world seemed painted in shades of grey. I was questioning things I'd never doubted before: the goodness of the world, my identity, my faith. As I began to try to gain more knowledge of the 'real world', I only grew more confused. The plethora of information and opinions 'out there' for all to see gave me headaches.
Some years have passed, and I've grown a little, I hope. But the conclusions I've drawn have been tentative, hesitant; so very unlike the firm, nearly bigoted conclusions I had before. I've come to terms with the fact that there are things I might never be sure about. And I've to come to realize that it's alright, completely acceptable, even, to not be able to pass a solid judgment on everything. But consciously or unconsciously, I still search for answers, for closure. I suppose that it's human nature to want to either be on top of everything, or to appear so.
Some days I'm absolutely sure I'll be lost forever, that I'll end up accomplishing nothing, really. On others, I dare to hope and dream that I'll make a difference to the world; even if it's only a drop in the ocean.