A collection of mere-stupid ramblings, rendezvousing memories and also-profound thoughts.A History of the less-ordinary, made-mis-fits and the numerous nobody(s) that one meets in the journey called Life.
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On the onset, there are few things that I would like to mention to the blog’s readers, if there are any, that I have stayed away from here for almost a year now. The last blog post was on December 31st 2018. A lot has happened from then. some few changes in the life front....
On the onset, there are few things that I would like to mention to the blog’s readers, if there are any,
To go on,
2020 has been a name, a dream, a tag for most of us who had our teens in the 90s-2000s. also not to forget the great dream of APJ Abdul Kalam – India in 2020. Its irony what the country has come to now, under the current regime. Life and livelihood seems to be almost a question for most of the country’s minorities. Just a recap of what’s happening now.
Growing up, Time has always been a mystical, mythical and mysterious element for me. I remember wondering all along, how New Zealand would have an early birth of New year, while it happens in India almost six hours later. Time zones have been equally a fascinating element.
I always imagined that time was something that was hidden in the ruins, a ruins that lay beneath the different layers of mud, soil, rocky patches and water underneath the earth. The first ever acquaintance with ruins was that in history- ruins of the huge city of Mohenjodaro. It did bring an immense imagination, how different time could have hid a different life and different civilization.
Now to move away from this, it seems like I did grow up and grow out of my fascination for time. It seems like yesterday that 2000 – the millennium and the y2k happened. Its now two decades and they seem to fly away in such swiftness turning me now 33 – indeed the magical year.
some random memories/thoughts/reminders from the last two decades
Life is all about acceptance. The new 20s are on. Gonna live my thirties in the new 20s now. Wish you all a very Happy new Decade. Wish you all a very Happy 2020.
It Seems a bit absurd to cling onto a sentiment – let me write at least a single entry every year. From an avid blogger to hardly a blogger! I kind of still hope, that there will be at least one single person, who may read this. That thought aside, 2018 seemed a dull, more...
It Seems a bit absurd to cling onto a sentiment – let me write at least a single entry every year. From an avid blogger to hardly a blogger! I kind of still hope, that there will be at least one single person, who may read this.
That thought aside, 2018 seemed a dull, more mundane and a boring year on a personal front, Except for that, yours truly is now a PhD degree holder. Yes. For once, let me brag in my own personal space! I am and I happen to be Dr. Barath N. That apart and That alone, seems alone to be my sole achievement in my 32 years of life. Well something that I greatly value and worked hard for.
And as some may know! I have counted 33 to be a magical number and an age I was kind of awaiting. I wish, I continue my guitar learning and keep that going in my 33rd year and also a bit of getting my feet onto the road. I look forward to S’s Promise (and our pending trip) to visit and proceed from Shillong. Let’s see, what happens to that. Anyways Sikkim and Mizoram is been calling for a while. So lets see!
On a random thought, I am still halfway through Barbara Kingsolver’s Unsheltered. I need to read more, write more and as well stay much more away from TV series. Well also write more letters! Start with a letter to S and S first,
Well I guess I need to be more random than this random blogpost!
On a sad note, 2018 damn 2018 went by so fast, even before I could get a chance to lose weight!
To friends, dear and near! Wish you all the life’s best and better things ahead, now and always. Happy New year -Happy 2019
Tuesdays with Morrie ACTUALLY A OLD REVIEW I WROTE FOR MY BLOG (11.10.2005) An engagingly enough and haunting narration of how one person can make a difference in someone’s life. What does it mean to love someone? What does it mean to watch someone grow up before your eyes? or what does it mean to...
An engagingly enough and haunting narration of how one person can make a difference in someone’s life.
What does it mean to love someone? What does it mean to watch someone grow up before your eyes? or what does it mean to grow up with someone? Can one person mean so much in life? or for that matter Can one person change your life? There are some books that sneak right away into you, which can be there always with you, for you, to pour its meaning into you, when you are at cross-roads.
It is a story of a professor stricken with ALS, a neurological disease with no cause and cure. A professor who chose to come to terms with his imminent death. It is a chronicle of his tuesdays spent with a student. A student with whom, he could relate his very growing up days. His last classes with discussion about the truths of life, death, fear, love, society, regrets, marriage, family, aging, regrets, money, emotion, culture and a meaningful life.
It was an accident that I chose this book, one lazy noon with nothing to do, visited a nearby book exhibition, took it by the mere attraction of the title. Never Knew that I wouldn’t be the same person anymore. I cried along with Mitch and fought back my tears to keep reading. I cried for Morrie, Morrie’s family and friends, I cried for me, I Cried for my Teacher…..
Have you really had that someone? or were you ever been that someone to anyone?
The Kind of book that I sat two days and two nights, with nothing else doing to find out the ending.
A brilliant literary suspense. It is primarily the story about two friends, one a successful writer and the other an aspiring writer. The story is told by the aspiring writer who arrives in the small town of somerset to investigate about the murder of a young Nola thirty three years ago. with each turn of page, more suspense is built and more secrets and mysteries over the missing girl gets unraveled.
A glib of writer he is and every other instance he draws reference to his great scholarly and literary work The Great Indian Novel. His great desire to compare and contrast himself with Salman Rushdie alone two chapters; though he could have done it more convincing by being more self-indulgent.
It is more of him and him in every circumstance and less of ruminations about book!
Though I have to admit that there are certain chapters which thoroughly bowled me over! Can try! Nevertheless a good read
Helena’s quirky personality and the ‘polite British reserve’ Frank’s blend of the personal and the professional attitude add life to their letters, be it the books, family or any odd things they talk about, they pour a bit of their candid selves into these letters.
Kafka on the shore is one of the strangest books i’ve read. A journey that stretches itself onto the realms of magic as the reader approaches it. The story is narrated from different perspectives of Kafka Tamura, a fifteen-year-old boy who runs away from home to escape an oedipal prophecy and thereby making it true and then the story of Nakata, an old man who gained the ability to talk to cats after an incident in his childhood.
“They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible. But it is never easy.”
In a lot of ways, this still happens to be my first read of Ian McEwan. I could only feel a little bleak knowing how the entire course of a life can be changed by a single event in one’s life. Ian beautifully captures the thousand subtle emotions of two different individuals on their nuptial night. The entire novella revolves thoroughly around a number of seamless fragments of flashbacks and memories of Edward and Florence’s lives.
Powerfully through his brevity, the author captures these characters’trivial memories and tidbits of their everyday lives, hopes, dreams,disappointments and how one night that change everything.
A Fine achievement of history, science and storytelling. A tale complete in itself that I did feel like my world ceased to exist after Reading
This is the third of my coetzee’s book. somehow it was a drag right from the beginning, yet I managed to read to be drained. This narrative is painted with despair and the frustration that becomes the tryst of every day life. The wry observation of the hopelessness that one feels, wading through the alien streets of a different world in one’s youth is beautifully captured. Personally I could NT relate to the author and waited to finish off the book. May be, I read it in the wrong phase/time of life, nevertheless this is definitely not the best of his books or shouldn’t be the first of coetzee’s for one to start with.
Somewhere along the mundane morbidity of this life, I have lost being able to lose myself into something. That scares me to my wit’s end. A phase where it is impossible to concentrate on one single thing and be able to do it. Guess it all boils down to the Perils of a PhD. I...
Somewhere along the mundane morbidity of this life, I have lost being able to lose myself into something. That scares me to my wit’s end.
A phase where it is impossible to concentrate on one single thing and be able to do it. Guess it all boils down to the Perils of a PhD. I just cannot help, but relate my PhD process to a beautiful line of a Tamizh song
“நான் தூக்கி வளர்த்த துயரம் நீ” “naan thookki vaLartha thuyaram nee!”
It literally translates to something like that of “You are a sorrow that I raised.” (willingly and lovingly, [my emphasis])
At times, I can only laugh at the irony of its aptness. Given all that! With twenty five days to go, Chapters to write and Drafts to be done, Corrections, Bibliography check, footnotes and citations and corrections pending. ALL and the least and the most I need to do now, is take care of my ownself, stop panicking every now and then, take few deep breaths at every possible intervals and be on the maniac, militant and drunk writing mode. Good luck to my own self. This is the last phase of PhD and it matters more than anything now. From March 2011 to December 2017, with a break of five years in teaching, I need to be strong and pass through the final passage of rite to complete this ritual and Ordeal called PhD. Go BeeNat, Go. Keep writing
Dearmost I In another world, another time, this should have been the name you must have been baptised with, As the new adage goes, when was the last time, you did something for the first time, I wonder, when was the first time, I did something for the last time, there are so many habits...
In another world, another time, this should have been the name you must have been baptised with,
As the new adage goes, when was the last time, you did something for the first time, I wonder, when was the first time, I did something for the last time, there are so many habits that one needs to unlearn as they grow old. For people who firmly agree to believe and as well fervently refuse to believe that ‘Age is just a number’; something they overlook,
With age, comes a certain vulnerability. Say a graceful one. At times, they are visible, yet they can render a great invincibility. Being vulnerable doesn’t scare me much, but rather the lack of it scares me, more. The peculiarity, is that in a world mediated by cell phones and being connected, people have lost touch with their emotional side, that days and moments only count for Facebook or for an Instagram picture worthy moment. Just couldn’t help to smile and agree more with Ms.Buffay when she says, “How self-involved are you?”
I wish I was self-involved, I wish I could love me more once, and Hence this letter. To remind that self love can also be a worthy love at times.
To remind oneself the multitude of joys that one can attain, if only learnt how to live in this time, immediate – not the bygone, not-the-to-be-gone, but the on-going time. I have somehow learnt, say mastering the art of staying away from Social media – the way it makes me anxious, I have also realised that twenty fours hours of time is enough and adequate to sit and sulk, to bask in lazyness, to contemplate, to actually get the domestic chores done, to do run errands, to watch a film, or to re-watch-the-many-times-re-watched episodes of a sit-com,
Strange but true, I do have a better re-collection of things that happen in a day, I can cook a decent meal, read an article, read a newspaper, and write mails. ( I really should learn to cut down the number of mails i write to people, who at times, can be so emotionally retarded and unavailable, to even compose a few couple of sentences as a reply)
Stranger but truer, thirty can be quite confounding when it comes to certain conjectures about life, the way time overruns, overlaps, the way it is reluctant and reticent. It does a number on your head, mind and soul and yet gives enough time for healing. The way days plummet forward when my mind and heart race backwards in time and memory, everything seems a standstill
Which is exactly what I cannot afford right now, with work cut out to do and an impending finished PhD thesis. I race along time, day and night, in its stillness and in its momentum. All I need is a refuge in doing now. What needs to be taken care, should be taken care.
With souls departing in a jiff, all it takes is to be a still-home, in Happyness and in Faith.
Oops. Here I go,
I realise how, some mornings never dawn in a man's bedroom, the drapes of a morning never unfolds till a woman arrives.
A woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.
So as known, I slept very early, woke up in the middle of the night, lazed around watching random stuff, read random pieces from my diary, sat across the balcony. Having fallen asleep there, I wake up disoriented.
I get up and I make tea. As I wait for the water to boil, I vaguely go through a few random memories of her from the past.
I am thirty one years old, I have been alone for almost three years now, I have dated no one since-the-last-almost-three-maybe-four-years-of relationship/being-together/knowing her. I know her for the past six years. I fell in love with her, yet. She could have fallen in love with me; may be, she did. But, she avoided it. We were almost in an almost relationship, but we averted it.
Sometimes I like to be alone, I come into my bedroom at the odd time of the day, just to lie down for a moment. I Look out at the light coming through my window, it gives me a feeling of solitude filled with hope. It seems the most human thing, i can learn to live with.
I realise how, some mornings never dawn in a man’s bedroom, the drapes of a morning never unfolds till a woman arrives.
I remember a portrait of us together in a friends house. Probably the only picture of us together; me in a white tee and a black shorts after giving bozo, the chocolate lab, a shower and she in her pantsuit. The picture is a testimony of our worlds apart, Yet S’s mom finds that a cute picture, “No two same people ever fall in love”
There are times, I feel so ditsy, dizzy and disoriented. I do take refugee with some of my couple-friends, Three to two to be precise, for they make you feel better and humane. I remember once at a late dinner at their place, I could hear their baby whimpering from the bedroom. I was about to stop my story-telling as she paused for a second and asked me to finish first. I was a bit taken back, She got up as I finished with the anecdote, Winking at her husband V, she said, “I will get the baby, you take care of this one.” I am grateful in life for a few deep friendships that I had earned till now.
Sometimes all I do is sit at my sofa or lean against the counter in the kitchen or even without realising as I open my fridge or when I am about to leave for work, I start to think about the home that I have made in the last lustrum. The guest bedroom, the way the laundry bag is hidden from the view, the way the bamboo plant is kept facing the sun, the arrangement of rugs.The idea of an hand-sanitiser within the reach as you snuggle onto the sofa. The chair right near the front door so that one can ease into it, as reaching for the footwear. In some ways every little precise detail matched the version of you in my head.
At times, it gives me an immense feeling of a home, a family, when there is someone sleeping in the next room, the way I tip-toe across the entire house, the way a door should be closed with a silent hush. Something I picked up from somewhere,
just like this weird habit of mine – Celebrating either a 10,000th day or Eleven thousand eleven hundred and eleventh day of someone, I missed the first. So i planned the latter on April 1st 2014. How I bugged her all day to bunk, just to cancel my plan on the last minute. Yet Fahadh came to the rescue, planned the whole thing, A cake, a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, I do have the small video of someone, mellowing down, the welling up in the eyes and a slight smile of mouthing the words, Thank you.
I imagine at times, the house filled with people, the two kids and the dog. As I have this space below the window sill, large enough to fit a small bed for a dog. Of her in the study, pacing deep down in concentrating on work, the kids sleeping, me sitting with the dog, talking to a friend/student. May be its a way that one is growing up without a family around.
May be somewhere a home awaits you, as the woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.
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