Monday, July 18, 2011

just some thoughts

Why is it that certain childhood memories never seem to fade away, no matter how many times I think about it or write about it or visualize it or go back in time.. I do not seem to get enough of it. I know I am on the wrong side of thirty but surely I have not reached an age where my life’s sequences have taken a tumbling and the bottom most has come to the top and vice versa. Not that I hate anything about my childhood ,at least not about the part which I spent in Kerala, with my grandparents, thinking about it makes me realize time and again that I am a loner, even those days I liked to sit alone with a book or my box full of toys playing alone. or just to loiter around the house or sit on the verandah and gaze at the green paddy fields which stretched beyond….
Even today when I am sitting amidst a crowd I feel alone.. I have friends but I always long for someone to whom I could talk freely, without being judged and somehow I always end up talking to myself and yearning to write it out to myself , to read and wallow in self pity later on.. what kind of a feeling is this.. I have no idea.. is it age.. but then age is just a number , I do not feel any different than what I felt 10 years ago.. may be it’s some loneliness streak in me..
When I was in 7th or 8th I was provided with thick rough books, which had yellow pages, more than doing my revisions and study and rough works in it , I used to fill it up with drawings and poems, which I never showed to any one, I read it again and again.. then some close friends came to read a few of them accidentally and they started demanding small little poems to be jotted on birthday cards which they had to gift to their parents or friends or boyfriends

The burning ambition to become a journalist was at its strongest during this time, but then fate took such twists and turns that the writings, the poems, the aspiring journalist disappeared somewhere, but did not die down, well I digress… every time the urge to write comes over me.. this feeling of loneliness also grips me and the words which pour out of this gives me satisfaction.. it make me long for that house amidst the paddy field beyond the railway line, with a small little temple at its backyard.. everytime I go to Kerala I have this immense desire to visit this place where I have absolutely no body to visit to , but it pulls me to it.. and I want to visit this place alone.. and … talk to myself and gaze into the paddy fields and beyond like I used to.. but I don not know, if this house exists any more.. any one lives there, or it still stands there alone.. for me to visit and dissolve into its loneliness…..

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Ruskin Bond

Just finished reading a collection of short stories of Ruskin Bond. He is such a natural and perfect writer, he takes you along on his trips through the hills, amidst the oak trees and deodar trees which he seems to love so much. The rains in the hills and the blue zig zag lightnings, the pine trees, the small ponds and the slippery roads after a good rain gives such a pretty picture of nature in its full glory for people like us who are always thirsty for greenery as we are living our lives in midst of concrete jungles.

How I wish I could lay hands on every single piece of literature written by him, just enjoy the books leisurely, imagining each scene described by him , understanding the simple, rustic characters in the book .

I have given the collection of short stories to my daughter to read, I hope she would enjoy it equally..