these words exist for the moment on my screen and then forever in space. I feel very bold,venturing where no man has gone before. I have my own designated space in the internet cosmos,where I can be myself, liberated from the time and space continuum.I exist forever without body without bondage,unfettered by country,society,family.I am freer than Ariel,I can be as gross as Caliban if I choose, the mantra here is more powerful than any of Prospero.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Summer Clouds of Remembrance
hullo there,everyone and anyone.
Sometimes one feels like just sitting back and mulling over the past.Its not easy to remember because one's mistakes,-especially the ones of decision,made in the heat of the moment or in a hurry or under pressure or simply because one ran out of options,-tend to dominate the memory.Why do we recall bad times rather than the good? Why do we recall hurt clearly and not happiness?
My childhood memories are luckily more good than bad.In fact my experiences as a child have helped to sustain me in adulthood and age. As far as I recollect nothing particularly tragic or ecstatic happened, just feather-soft moments of joy and comfort, of becoming aware of Nature, of the world within me.
I would like to share these with everybody.I just hope I find the right words to convey my past.Nothing lurid
nothing shocking,nothing titillating,yet appealing to the senses,the sensibilities.
I was a quiet child,living in the world through my sketches.Mum would buy me, daily, a Bahadur drawing book, with the picture of a lancer on horseback adorning the yellow cover.I would,every evening ,fill up the pages with pencil thin people,particularly cowboys and Indians,give them names and murmur their stories to myself.My three elder sisters would be away at school from 10am to 4pm plus some time spent after school hours chatting with friends. I missed them not a whit, home at 1 Lee Road was that much more peaceful without them. Not that I minded having them around, so long as they didn't disturb me.
They,Eta,Lila and Loka were respectively eight,six and five years older than me.On holidays they would take out their toy cooking utensils,empty cartons etc and set up shop on shoeboxes in the corners of dad and mum's bedroom.They would "Hello,dear" each other and so the game was called "Hello,dear".I would trot up to Eta and say,"Lemme play no" and Eta would refer me to Lila.I'd then trundle over to Lila and plead "Lemme play no" and Lila would say "There's no space here, go and join Loka". I'd then go over to Loka's corner and beg"Lemme play no" and she'd say" Go to Eta, there's no room here" to which I would pathetically reply "Been there an' asked her" to which she'd suggest I go over to Lila and I'd reply sadly "Been there too".
Perhaps it was just as well they excluded the little nuisance that I must have been otherwise I may never have read as much as I have nor perfected my sketching skills.I seized whatever reading material I could lay my hands on, - pamphlets, newspapers, magazines,comics,books, I even read the tiny writing on bottles of medicine and cosmetics.By the time I was ten my sisters called me the "walking encyclopaedia". I'd even skimmed through dad's medical books and journals with their horrific pictures.My mind was starving and I fed it every tidbit available including a pornographic yellow-covered anonymous slim volume called 'Kate Perceval' that was ,unknown to parents and teachers, doing the rounds in the senior classes of GMGS. A patient of my dad gave him D.H.Lawrence's 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', a book banned at the time and not easily available. I was about 6 or 7 then I think. Dad had issued strict instructions that none of us was to even touch the novel.However I dared to leaf through the book one sunny afternoon.I found the affair of John Thomas and Lady Jane pretty stupid, but could not resist reading the parts that struck me even then as singularly vulgar.
more later.
Sometimes one feels like just sitting back and mulling over the past.Its not easy to remember because one's mistakes,-especially the ones of decision,made in the heat of the moment or in a hurry or under pressure or simply because one ran out of options,-tend to dominate the memory.Why do we recall bad times rather than the good? Why do we recall hurt clearly and not happiness?
My childhood memories are luckily more good than bad.In fact my experiences as a child have helped to sustain me in adulthood and age. As far as I recollect nothing particularly tragic or ecstatic happened, just feather-soft moments of joy and comfort, of becoming aware of Nature, of the world within me.
I would like to share these with everybody.I just hope I find the right words to convey my past.Nothing lurid
nothing shocking,nothing titillating,yet appealing to the senses,the sensibilities.
I was a quiet child,living in the world through my sketches.Mum would buy me, daily, a Bahadur drawing book, with the picture of a lancer on horseback adorning the yellow cover.I would,every evening ,fill up the pages with pencil thin people,particularly cowboys and Indians,give them names and murmur their stories to myself.My three elder sisters would be away at school from 10am to 4pm plus some time spent after school hours chatting with friends. I missed them not a whit, home at 1 Lee Road was that much more peaceful without them. Not that I minded having them around, so long as they didn't disturb me.
They,Eta,Lila and Loka were respectively eight,six and five years older than me.On holidays they would take out their toy cooking utensils,empty cartons etc and set up shop on shoeboxes in the corners of dad and mum's bedroom.They would "Hello,dear" each other and so the game was called "Hello,dear".I would trot up to Eta and say,"Lemme play no" and Eta would refer me to Lila.I'd then trundle over to Lila and plead "Lemme play no" and Lila would say "There's no space here, go and join Loka". I'd then go over to Loka's corner and beg"Lemme play no" and she'd say" Go to Eta, there's no room here" to which I would pathetically reply "Been there an' asked her" to which she'd suggest I go over to Lila and I'd reply sadly "Been there too".
Perhaps it was just as well they excluded the little nuisance that I must have been otherwise I may never have read as much as I have nor perfected my sketching skills.I seized whatever reading material I could lay my hands on, - pamphlets, newspapers, magazines,comics,books, I even read the tiny writing on bottles of medicine and cosmetics.By the time I was ten my sisters called me the "walking encyclopaedia". I'd even skimmed through dad's medical books and journals with their horrific pictures.My mind was starving and I fed it every tidbit available including a pornographic yellow-covered anonymous slim volume called 'Kate Perceval' that was ,unknown to parents and teachers, doing the rounds in the senior classes of GMGS. A patient of my dad gave him D.H.Lawrence's 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', a book banned at the time and not easily available. I was about 6 or 7 then I think. Dad had issued strict instructions that none of us was to even touch the novel.However I dared to leaf through the book one sunny afternoon.I found the affair of John Thomas and Lady Jane pretty stupid, but could not resist reading the parts that struck me even then as singularly vulgar.
more later.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Shiva
Satan ,I think, is modelled on Shiva, the Hindu deity.It was Satan's horns that put me on this track. The horns of Satan are the points of the crescent moon that adorns the head of Shiva. It was commonplace enough for a nascent religion to debase the older religion which it tried to supplant, for instance the Zoroastrians worship Ahura Mazda and the demons are the devas, in Hinduism the devas are the gods and the demons are the asuras. Yet another factor that convinced me was that Shiva is accompanied by a wild bunch, the devils and imps of Satan perhaps.And then there is Shiva's trident, a weapon patronised by Satan and others.
If anyone elaborates on my theory, which I dont think anyone else has suggested before, please acknowledge your debt to me as prime mover!
If anyone elaborates on my theory, which I dont think anyone else has suggested before, please acknowledge your debt to me as prime mover!
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
I don't recollect any one mentioning this before but I think, in fact I'm sure, that the ancient mariner is Ulysses. Coleridge must have got his idea of Ulysses sinning and being punished from Dante's Inferno. If anyone would like to explore this theory please be so kind as to acknowledge your debt to me for the idea.I may not wander in the groves of academe but there is this ego within me that craves recognition,however trifling it may be.
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