Skip to main content

In other worlds, other wonders!

I have never till date felt so defenseless over a headache! In fact, I have never given power to my body to enslave me with sickness. I have always been healthy for years. My last bout of sickness was in 2005 when I was bed ridden for a week apparently from exhaustion of travelling to and fro from college. Architecture as academics was exhausting. Instead of expanding my health issues anyfuther here, I would like to write about my recent disinterest in blogging. 

On one hand, I have been reading excessively like a mad(wo)man, devouring couple of hundred pages every day or so, and yet I find myself bereft of words to write here. I have also met some new people, readers who have turned their passion into business, which is too cool, I think! The more I look at people who have developed this trangression from reading and owning books and then, selling them, the more subconscious I have become about my books at home. My Dad and me share a common giant wall bookshelf with about Ten granite stone shelves of 0.45mX1.20m. When we first had them made in 2001 in this new house, we had no inkling how quickly they would overflow and as was evident during my Architecture school days, that we would require new ones. So we got off on a temporary solution which has now become permanent since 2010 and stack a bunch of roughly 300 books in a corner of the TV unit, close to the door. I get told that when people visit our house, their first two glimpses are the wall mounted bookshelf and the corner shelf close to the door. I certainly like that. It was Cicero afterall who said, A room without books is like a body without a soul.” 

However nice it seems to own books and amassing a collection, it is also a little troublesome and tiresome for the family members to adjust to the constant mess of books everywhere. A lot of my friends have started putting up their read books for sale. One of my uncles suggested the same to me. The only problem is I do not own Fiction which seems to be the popular genre of books. My Dad cultivated a taste of reading History and Non Fiction in me since I was a kid. Growing up on Classics too, I cannot bear the thought of parting from my beloved Dickens, or Anne Gables or even Salman Rushdie, for that matter. Ever since I started working, I have consciously made an effort to buy books that will enhance and enrich me to live a honourable life strife with values and morale in this world riddled with fast pace changes. I have been having regular conversations with some people who have read and ardently advocate Greek Classical Literature. What a world of difference it makes to speak in different tongues about common passions and love for seeking truth, love and beauty in our human life! 

It also, of course, worries me a great deal to keep making choices about reading that was understood as whole truth by learned men and women centuries ago and to apply that in current times of distress. Perhaps, it is not the choice to apply wisdom but the multiple repercussions of voicing dissent and unpopular vote and thoughts that seem to upset a section of society vehemently. Our free liberal expressions of thoughts are liable to be curtailed by all means by both, state and individuals, in power. If, by channeling an universal adult suffrage meant power transferred into the common hands, it also gave them a tremedous responsibility for unanimous and equal measure of respect, honour and conduct to be bestowed upon all living beings. Unfortunately, in today's times, the rights to freedom we imagined would last longer, don't anymore. There is a constant tussle and upmanship between forces that claim to be societies of better living ideals. It doesn't matter if we question and recheck our ideals with the changing tide of thoughts that shapes this unjust age we are surviving. For age old generations who bore physical, mental and emotional torture through war and personal battles for power, this new world is also an indicator of the cycle of events that witnesses violence and brutality to our own kin of flesh and blood. If evolution is supposed to have made us better, why haven't we turned into peaceful, harmonious social creatures? 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Daffodils in 'hindi'

I came across a beautiful hindi translation of William Wordsworth's Daffodils. Yes, Hindi. It's done by Ian Woolford. In his own words, he is an UK born American in Oz | Hindi Lecturer @La Trobe University | Language, Literature, Folklore | फणीश्वरनाथ रेणु पर किताब लिख रहा हूँ. He is writing a book on one of the most influential modern hindi writers, Phanishwarnath Renu. Woolford translates quotes in hindi as well, and they are really good. Case in point this:
मज़ाक एक बहुत ही गंभीर चीज़ होती है. ~ विंस्टन चर्चिल
His translation of Daffodils is what blew my mind. Absolutely brilliant. I felt so pleased upon reading it.
घूमते फिरते मैं—मेघ एकमात्र जैसे घाटी-पहाड़ मंडरा रहा था एकाएक देखा क्या—भीड़, समवाय सुनहरा, सुहावना डैफोडिल की ~ विलियम वर्ड्सवर्थ
My love for hindi poetry has rejuvenated since last december, and when I see the wealth of hindi literature available on the internet and the choicest bookstores, I am only too inspired to read and write more. The People'…

Book Tales

A cancelled lunch date led my feet astray to the book treasures on Flora Fountain. This happened on a busy Monday afternoon. I promised myself I wouldn't engage my eyes on books anymore after I ended up spending a whole lot more than I usually do. It feels like an addiction, something I can't let go off. While I am sure books will and should not be recognised as harmful addiction, I am painfully aware of the fact that splurging money on anything every time we see it is unhealthy. Of course, I know the psychology and the hard facts too, but buying books feels like conquering the access way to treasures of an inexpressible happy state of mind.
When I was young, losing myself in the book world was not just for the introduction into the big wide unseen world but also for the love of imagination. I was fascinated with colours and story telling, had a thirst for adventure that seemed strangely missing in my childhood as it was so pronounced in Enid Blyton's books. I could never…

Tuesday mirror

I was hoping to write more consistently when December started but alas, I haven't been able to write as much as I hoped to. Last few weeks have been a blur, mostly, occupied with academics and lots of insignificant stuff I haven't had the opportunity to analyse yet. I have a feeling I will end up over-analysing this state of mind unless I speak with my friend, Shree, first. We share a great telepathic wavelength. We connect so instantly even after a long span of no conversation that sometimes I truly think technology won't be a necessity if either of us were stranded on a desert island. Also, since it's December, it means I will be writing about my unfinished reads and to-reads. Over time I have started recognising the presence of the humongous pile of books I've amassed in these last two months that sit huddled on a sofa chair in the living room. Most of them bear signs of my having handled them, with marked coloured passages that really make me happy when I thin…