chaotic order

Jottings : Slice of Life - 80 ( On the morning before new year..) Another chronological year comes to an end, and almost all of us will rejoice, entertain each other, make new promises and resolutions ( some will reaffirm promises made years ago), renew relationships and start counting 2017 all over again in few hours from now with the firm belief and conviction a fresh, unwritten page in the book of time has opened, and we are free to scrawl our own destinies upon it. Its a beautiful thought. Truly Human and utterly naive!!! In the year 1752, the English Parliament cut down eleven days of that year to synchronize it with the Gregorian calendar in use all over Europe - September 2nd 1752 was followed by 14th september ( skipping 11 days). There was revolt from the public. They believed eleven days were actually taken away from their lives, and wanted it reinstated at any cost. The revolt failed, and it took some time for them to understand that chronological time and resulting ca

Jottings : Slice of life -79 ( “All the light we cannot see” - by Anthony Doerr.... Lyrical meditations on war and its psychological ramifications) The period between 1938 and 1945, the dark and painful period of Second world war still reverberates in Art, and literature in particular, like an unending ripple across the loom of time. Even though post war world brimmed with new found confidence and promised to be significantly different economically, politically, socially and culturally, the deep scars left by those torrid years of unimaginable brutality, primeval violence - both physical and psychological has left its indelible mark on Man’s collective psyche. Even after all these years memories of that appalling tragedy seems ineradicable no matter how much we wish to move away from its torrid memories. They spill over consciously and unconsciously into our writing, music and cinema and other arts. None would have thought at the beginning of twentieth century our cosy world woul

Jottings : Slice of life - 78 ( George Michael - one more tragic end in an unending tale ) George Michael died on Christmas day. He was found, once again, like many legendary, popular singers and performers of modern western pantheon, lying in bed, dead, apparently from a massive cardiac arrest. Like others, his death was “deemed normal” without any conclusive evidence of how he died. Probably, we will never know. But what puzzles me is this strange notion of creative genius we have cultivated over the last half century or so. We tend to bestow immortality on artists who die or kill themselves in mysterious ways. Perhaps, we believe, it is part of their genius to die so tragically, early and controversially. After all, normal death is only for mere mortals. And for supposedly maverick artists like George Michael’s of this world, Modern icons of music, death should be unique and abnormal. How else do we distinguish between mundane and divine? Strange!!! Somehow, we have been indoctr

Jottings : Slice of Life - 76 ( An adolescent’s failed attempt to write verse) Early yesterday morning, around 3.20 AM, I received a message from a friend with a scanned copy of the page you see before you. In those sleepy, foggy eyed moments of the day when it is difficult to focus clearly , It took few minutes for me to read what was on that page. It slowly dawned upon me the handwriting I saw there distinctly resembled mine during my younger days. It is a poem, or rathe r a clumsy attempt at versifying thoughts. I checked with Bhanu to confirm if the handwriting was truly mine. He confirmed, and curtly said the poem had to be only mine. I nodded. For the life of me, I cannot remember when I wrote this, or why? or how did it end up among Bhanu’s papers at his home in Hyderabad. It is true, both of us were very close during the mid eighties, and would constantly visit each others homes frequently, but it eludes my memory on how such a poem came to written and what prompted its

Jottings : Slice of life - 75 ( Lolita - pronounced Lo-lee-ta , “the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta….” - a Vladimir Nabokov masterpiece) In 1955 Vladimir Nabokov, a Russian emigre, educated in Trinity college, England, naturalized citizen of America, produced one of the greatest and most controversial novels of the twentieth century: “Lolita”. The book could not published in the US and its first printed edition had to come out of Paris, where bars of censorship were always not very high. It was only in 1958, that America relented to publish Lolita; and when it did, hell broke loose in all quarters. Readers did not know what to make of this novel : Puritan parents read few pages and threw the book away never to expose their children to such unadulterated pornography, Young male adults surreptitiously read the book under blankets with torch in hand, or hiding in secluded corners basking in its brilliant descr

Jottings : slice of life - 74 ( “Ethics” - a book which transformed my thinking) The year was 1656, and the young man in question was a sephardic jew twenty three years of age. The scene of this enactment was the Talmud congregation in a synagogue in Amsterdam - the sanctum sanctorum of many Jews, who after centuries of running away from one nation to another finally found peace in the enlightened and democratic country of Holland. In that glorious Dutch period of tolerance, they were given the freedom to practice their own religion, but with the caveat they were not to disturb existing Christian traditions. Jews were elated. After the Mohammedan rule in Spain centuries ago where they were treated well, this was their first taste of renewed freedom to practice their cherished religious beliefs with confidence and security. The elders of this community strictly instructed, watched, censured and guarded their fellow members from violating the accepted interpretation of the old Hebrew

Jottings : Slice of Life - 73 ( Mahadeva Mama - a reminiscence) ( PS : When I woke up today morning, Strangely, my first thoughts were about an uncle of mine for whom I have the greatest love, affection and regards. He died in the mid nineties. Coincidentally enough, my brother today posted in a private whatsup group an old photo he had dug out from his archives of my Uncle along with his wife and their four gorgeous daughters in the prime of their lives. The photo must be at least thirty years old. To me this was sign enough to write about him, and his influence in my/our life. Its a private photo, and I dont wish to reproduce it here without permission; but be assured, it is a stunning photograph of a family on whose faces confidence, joy, peace, satisfaction, beauty and prosperity are written all over. I have tagged two cousins from that group in this post….) ************************************************************** In every family, over and above ones parents, there is