Skip to main content

On the banality of Life and Death

Days in Delhi are getting colder, not yet the unkind, and evil sort of, but slighly uncaring and lost in its own thoughts, sort of. Tossing in my bed for around thirty minutes, got up at six and headed for the neighboring deer park, developed to create the illusion of a forest in the middle of the city. I love the park better than the standard ones with manicured lawns, reminds me of the past, of the time in class VII wading through the real forest in Hasimara, a small town close to Bhutan, with Tulsa river running by the side of the Airforce colony where we lived then. It was a picture postcard township and a picture postcard life.
Coming back to today, sat thinking about how time passes by, particularly in the later phase of life as the birthdays supposed to mean something more than what they did in the earlier phases, whiz past like lonely, moffussil railway stations on the route of a superfast non-stop train. Forty passed by, and I didnt noticed, pushing back the exercise regime which the doctors have been asking for further forward, and hoping mere faith will push me through. The lackasidal attitude, and stress finally gave way to a sugar level scary enough to cause serious unease as I came back from a weekend trip to Nainital. Next few weeks saw the weight heading down around six kgs. Then the checkup, which comfirmed the worries, cut down on some serious calories, as teas went to no sugar, no milk, saw thw weight tumbling down and settling at seventy from the high of eighty four. Anoter checkup saw movement to south whcih happened last week. Report as earlier one, elicited no interest on domestic front, not to the extent of anyone wanying as much as to see it, except for my little daughter who did notice a band aid patch as she did the last time and even assured me that she will take me to the doctor ti get me healed up.
No point in talking about it to anyone, reminds me of a shaer from old college times " maang kar tumse khushi loon, mujhe manzoor nahin/ kiska maangi hui daulat se bhalaa hota hai" ( no point in begging for happiness from you, who has eve prospered with a fortune built out of begging". But then tere is no escaping the fact that the little lady who assured me of a visit to the doctor does need me, though little does she understand that the neednto visit the doc is for more than what her starry eyes can see. It is all alone in the end, it is my life and I need to do something about it, to see to it that I am around to walk my daugter down the aisle, fare her well as she grows up and steps into a life without me. Can not keep waiting, no matter how much I would want to be loved and taken care of. It is a lonely path ahead, given the amount of ice that has grown around the heart still beating with difficulty. So off I go to the park for a run. Every day counts, every moment counts, till...to borrow from Michael Bolton..I am back on, my feet again. Hope to see the doc today, get nominations done in my insurance plan for the worst case and promise myself, never to push things backwards, as the future happens soon enough. Next week is hopefully holiday in the hills, hope i can come back better. If Neitzsche can write a tome even after such severe health conditions which prevented him for making a sitting more than couple of hours, i can at least be as cruel to myself, especially on winter mornings. Only hope is that I do not end up being a vegetable interferring in lives of those around me.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man- James Joyce- Book Review

Amazon Link 
Some books are an act of education; they cannot be read in haste, cannot be understood in one read. James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man gives one such feeling.
It is a coming of age story of Stephen Dedalus. Nothing extraordinary about that. But then there a rich, slowly flowing lost river of philosophy which moves beneath the surface, turning an ordinary story of a boy growing up, encountering questions about faith, religion and sex, into an exceptional, extraordinary and engaging story. The story moves along the timeline, much in the manner of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, where the writer is seemingly a passive narrator. Further, while this book is more of a philosophical essay wrapped around a story, Ms. Woolf’s book, on the other hand, is rather a Story primarily, with a philosophical touch. This book is blatantly philosophical, dwelling into the dangerous territory of religion and how a growing mind looks at God. It begins with his school, whe…

Bahubali 2- The Conclusion- Movie Review

We are living in an extremely cause-heavy world where causes - real and imagined cloud our minds. I saw this in the case of the movie - Beauty and The Beast. There the quarrel of the social commentators was that it explored the gay angle of one of the characters only briefly, only fleetingly. There can be nothing more absurd than that. You are demanding more from an artist than possibly he can offer. Art is a profession of lonely persuasion, and it serves the purpose its creator desires it to serve. Nothing more and nothing less. It is sad and unfortunates that the liberals, which in Indian context largely translates to Leftists, insists that art is nothing but a vehicle that should be provided to them for their political agendas and narratives to ride on. It is like insisting that the reference to the Negroes in the "The Great Gatsby" should have been expanded to cover racism in detail. The brief episode was merely to substantiate the character and nothing more. Just as cre…

Resurrecting Hinduism- Without Embarrassment

I have been pondering about the sense of despondency, the sense of shame which has been imposed on the Hindu thoughts in Indian society. Every act of faith has to be explained, justified. When partition happened, Muslims fought and obtained an independent Nation, while the other large chunk of population, which, in spite of numerical supremacy, was subjugated for centuries, got India. In line with inherent openness and flexibility of Hinduism, India became a secular nation. This is a matter of pride, since it acknowledged the basic secular nature of Sanatan Dharm. However, as things would evolve, vested political interests considered India as unfinished agenda standing in the path of a religious empire being built world-wide. Through a well-calculated intellectual conspiracy of neglect and vilification, it came to a stage that modern Hindus where embarrassed of their religion and apologetic of their faith. This neglect also resulted in the religion being left to the guardianship of un…