I was reading another short story yesterday night....now that i've got accustomed to sleeping late. 'Mother' is another one among those translated ones present in my omnibus on Indian Writing.

A stifling relationship between a forced-to-be slut and a son......is the subject in concern. The son, who is young.......bears the jibes voiced by his classmates at school..... hates his neighbours, placing an enormous amount of trust and hope in his mother...regarding her as his entire world....trying to believe that she is not what she is......only to realise the the nasty, harsh truth. Not expecting the reality to encompass him suddenly....he is shattered.

Who is to blame......is it her late husband who was a hard-core drunkard..... ridden with tuberculosis......the wasting disease resulting in death. Or is it......her degradable youth which drew passion-eyed men towards her. Or is it her longing for a companion to share her temporary life with? To end.......in her being exploited by the overseer of the village.....showered with colourful sarees...and a new beginning?

To lose her son while........with the overseer....was expected?? in turn leading a wasteful existance.

diagrams-a fun quotient

Now, that i'm in my final year(fifth semester), we've two papers in three subjects....that's six in all. In addition....six practical papers........of which most of it seems to be just about okay. Among them is a paper on Histology and Genetics.

Histology can be fun.........with good reasoning....and diagrams. I've always enjoyed drawing Zoology diagrams.....and this particular area requires colour diagrams. Each cell...each nucleus....connective tissue......blood vessels......etc...has to be nice to look at...more importantly realistic enough. Patience....time-consuming qualify to describe the process......which takes hours together per diagram. Having started to extract the niceness from it......i do hope that the extraction part continues....rather than me sitting.....grumbling about the hard work...the difficulty......which can go on and on.

On the other hand.... it's indeed beautiful to see coloured tissues.....on paper....which is copied diligently by me.

After having been at home for the first time on a normal sunday....from morning since 18 months....has set me on a leisure pace. Thus....the extra time in front of the computer.....trying to make sense of out of things otherwise...considered a distraction.

Noticing that the advertising arena has witnessed a huge makeover. With the crowd at college talking journalism.......mass communication........creating documentaries....catching opinions......screening them.......it is not shocking that it is so. These students are those who have a ball at college.....where their day ends at 1:30 in the afternoon........who watch movies......and who always have free hours. While we spend......the day with absolutely no spare time.

Advertisements are usually considered petty hindrances. Some of them are okay...scoring high on the models........babies in nappies........small and big stars.......animals.....

Cute kids in rolicking in mud...... attending classes with demure looks..... promoting ice-cream...chocolates......stationary........of late detergents. Innocent....impishly grinning.....trying to impress others.... looks nice et al. Anyhow.......most of us do like kids.

Speaking about stars acting in these commercial breaks.......earn huge amounts......irrespective of whether they are worth it or not. Most of it is plain rot....especially the one by Preity Zinta......where she rides into college in a flamboyant pink coloured Scooty-PEp + ...dressed in pink attire...and she is 'ragged' by people for loving pink. How could a 'lecturer' (the actor).....be clad in capris?? And the last statement being....'Don't ever fight over pink'......The promoted object and the the subject of that particular ad never made sense.

Lately.....the jingles also seem to be soothing to the ears, apart from the lifted-from-movie ones. I have seen myself......mumbling the words...or humming the tune...to the astonishment of those who surround me. Media......with it's industry....on a mission to grow rapidly.... like the water hyacinths in a stagnant lake....needs more professionals' to fill it's ever increasing requirement.

No wonder....college seems to be overflowing with an overwhelming number of people in the faculty of arts and commerce.....with us....science students pushed into nothingness.

the holy(?) woman

Everybody seems to be pulled into the subject regarding a woman after the recent Sabarimala....and Jayamala incident. (Apparently, Jayamala......is a person who won the Swarna Kamal award....for the best movie.....Thayee Saheba....the movie revolves around the freedom struggle....the maintainence of mistresses.....and how this lady......helps her adopted son to overcome this problem.)

Headlines were rampant with Jayamala' s photo screaming to catch the reader's attention.
Various television channels conducted programmes with a panel to make sense of the ongoing debate. Admitting that i do not follow hindi much...i tried to watch the discussion on now-considered-hot channel CNN-IBN.

Among the panelists was this grandson of the head-priest at the Sabarimala.
What was amusing was that he was....dressed in a pair of jeans. Not that it is a crime....to be clad so...but in front of a temple........being what he is..... was highly impudent.

Having forgotten the guy's name....i'll call him 'X' hence forth.

'X' is young......has not seen life....considering that intellectuals make their appaerance into such shows. Saying that he is not against women....but the temple's regulations are so.....and it should be followed, irrespective of.....whether it makes sense or not.

Taking a detour from this aspect...i'd like to talk about other things. The environment......surrounding me at home is very different...than the one present at others' homes. At home..... Dad, Mum and me talk about everything on Earth barring nothing. and amongst these comes up the subject of sex. Somehow....i've always talked about this so called 'dirty' stuff at home. On the other hand......i would have felt, not at home....if sex and related matters were not discussed at home. Male chauvanism.....women' crisis.....the desparate sex-ratio......the treatment metted out to a woman....menarche......menopause.... include the participation of the three of us. Home is where...all rules are broken.....i hardly pray......festivals.....are just for fun...... the indifferent look towards religion and traditions.

Back to the programmes on television.....this particular guy dresses in modern attire.....regardless of the fact that he is in front of the controversial temple....where devotees are in dhotis'. X speaks of the mind of men polluted with thoughts of a female if she makes an appearance. But isn't the control of the senses the job of the mind. A devotee is definately not one...if he cannot do so. He should not be allowed entry, simply because......his other fantasies term his behaviour. Disregarding this seemingly logical point....the females are prohibited entry......because it is they who cause turmoil in a man's world. The above reasoning is baseless......how could anybody say that. This instantly disqualifies X...from speaking more. Even thinking of....inviting X to this show is ridiculous.

Effectively......no.....talking about such 'controversial' headline-hitting material is worthless.....where a woman begs to differ....in the still world of male-domination.

excerpts

Here are some excerpts from the stories that i've come to love. One concern is that it all of it produced by Indian authors.....Oriya, Bengali and a variety of others translated into English. The other important point to be noted is that it is lifted material. I need to be banished, if, i've trespassed rights regarding, reproducing material without prior permission.

The Trap
-Yasodhara Mishra

It revolves around the listless relationship between a son and a mother. The mother is divorced.......works hard to bring up the son. The strained existence is depicted with the grimness in the shortage of money ....avoiding the topic of the father....the blatant excuses....of the son.....to flee the depressing conditions at home.....being tired of hearing the pitiful words of the mother. They talk of a new living....a better apartment.....a restful life for her after retirement....and ends in the unexpected mention of the forgotten (or rather in the process of doing so) father. Shoba is the mother....and Manu is her son.

'Manu recalled how life in this house had felt so warm....so happy in his
childhood........ But it had vanished suddenly, dissolved into nothingness
overnight......he was engulfed in pitch darkness......Ma had gathered him into
her arms....covered him with her saree, and made him forget the secure comfort
that the warm blanket had offered him. But Ma had also rudely woken him up and
harshly reminded him. " See what i am doing for you. i freeze myself to keep you
warm And you drop into sleep as if nothing happened." '

Man and the Mob
-Akhil Mohan Patnaik

A truck driver had unfortunately....got his vehicle in a ditch......traffic had accumulated on both sides.....thus he faced the wrath of many people. The truck was actually carrying medicine....which the latter mistook it to be drugs......as the driver was not making enough efforts in saving his truck or letting the traffic flow. The reasons that people come with is very shocking. Considering the fact that most of the truck drivers are Punjabi in origin.....the others curse his tribe. Finally....the goods are destroyed....and the driver is seen crying........for his wife....for his aged parents...and for his three year-old daughter who had never seen her father. And the crowd accomplished it's mission that of.......getting their vehicles, safe from the place of desparity.

'Darshan Singh climbed into the driver's cabin. The moon, like a flower of
silver paper, was suspended from the wertern sky.......In the mmisty moonlight
Darshan Singh's mind swam across the wheat fields of his village.........He was
not aware when the arm started bleeding at one place and his salty tear drops
mingled with his blood. Darshan Singh was crying after so many days.

The chariot of the sun sped across the eastern sky like an arrow.'

'Chariot of the sun'....it reminds me of another novel....by U.R Ananthmurthy ....where..... the story is narrated in the first person. It is of his friend.......and the latter's broken family. The carelessness of the mind.........trying to pretend that things are allright when it is not so. What made it interesting is that.....the use of the local tongue.....whereby it makes good reading, as the translator did not bother to translate everything into english.


The Rogue
-Atulnanda Goswami

Man has always been trying to understand the life of animals....but has he reached anywhere? This story in Assamese....talks about a peasant, Gajala.....who wanders into a forest......whereas the village is lamenting on a rogue elephant.......the crops destroyed by it...amongst other matters. The truth...lies in the fact that the animal is hurt......went on a rampage....to ease it's pain. Gajala....realises this....helps the animal to come out of suffering. The talk between Gajala and the mute elephant is simply mind-blowing......while the beast is being treated with the juice of a wild herb. Keeping in mind the nature of the human mind.....it is not surprising that the animal is killed.

'No, he would not return to the
village. It would mean sure death to the elephant.......As he worked briskly,
Gajala started talking to the elephant, ;But how could you have fallen into such
a hole? Have you lost your senses? You are a creature of the forest and
yet...

The hunter, equipped with a license to kill
the rogue..........."Look!" he said, pointing. "The rogue has killed yet another
man. The seventh so far, isn't it?"

The villagers
too heard the shot........they set out. in search of Gajala.'

Many other languages do exist....with their material......but i'm exhausted after having spent twelve hours on the roll. Will continue some other time....if the mind permits.......

The last 8 days has seen me experiencing a different kind of exam...related to Drawing and Painting.

I have been going for classes for 19 months now at the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, and was qualified to take the exam this year. My teacher, Mrs. Neela Panch...is a traditional artist....specialised in the Mysore style. My, does she draw well....beautiful forms are created...by her...and the manipulaion that she does is just simply awesome. So far i've have worked on pencil sketches....watercolours....oil paintings(to a minisicule extent) and oil pastels. Each medium has it's own advantages and disadvantages. I like all, except oil paintings, as i have done very little of it.

Talking about classes.....the fun, can go on....but i'll reserve it for another post.

Coming back to the exams....we had two papers...one on theory and the other on practicals. The theory paper was extremely easy......which included practical geometry. Thankfully....i remembered my school geometry....so it turned out to be easy.

Three of us were to take the first year-junior exam.... Sucheta, Pranita and myself. Pranita is still a kid.....so ma'm, to make it suitable for her.....leaked out both the question papers for us....wholly, leaving me shell-shocked.

Assigning......Karnataka art....still life...nature drawing.....anatomy and still memory drawing to be learnt by us...left me frightened. Later...it was not a difficult job........but had to practise at the same time. (My human figures are so bad.....but any way better than the thingies that i used to churn out previously.)

We were confused both the times...as they changed the seating positions. But it turned out fine at the end.

One thing that left me upset...is the way the BVB treated a student. This student...i think belongs to the faculty of mridanga.....and he is handicapped. Thus...he could not write the theory. So.....the adminstrator dismissed him from the exam......and poor guy...he could avail himself of a diploma in mridanga. This is unfair treatment in simplest terms. Atleast they should have allowed him to take an oral exam or something of that kind. And BVB recently renovated their entrance to accomodate a wheelchair to slide into the building. This adminstrator talks big....but is nothing inside. A reputed institute like BVB....goes places(they have many branches in India...Bangalore boasts of two branches....and they have one abroad too...in London that is). To add to that...they have tied up with the London University(if my guess is right) to introduce mainstream sanskrit courses.

What can so many branches do...with their various programmes? Unless they start respecting or treating people in a rightful manner....which i think is damn important.

Translations

Having read varied Indian writing.......i have read very few Kannada works.......in english.

Even though i speak Kannada at home.....i knew very little of it's literature. Kannada as a subject at school was just learning by rote.

At college, i enjoyed it pretty much....since we were given good material to read.

Recent times has seen me going through 'Vaishaka' by Chaduranga. Scanning the introduction was never a hobby, but this time i gave it a try. Amongst revealing the troubles borne by the translator....and showing gratitude to it's existance.....it also talked about the language.....it's inability to be translated to the full extent.

'Vaishaka' revolves around 'Lakka' an untouchable.......and his experiences with Brahmins. It is indeed a reccomendable book....but the end seemed abrupt.

The most interesting point regarding the book is the introduction. The translator himself is a kannadiga. The job being done well.....something seems to be lacking. I guess, i would not have felt it...if i had read the same in Kannada.

The clarity...the charm cannot eminate from a translated work.....simply because.....some words cannot be reciprocated. How can a pinda be explained....a ball of rice which is subjected to the gods......during the final rites of a person...to ensure a safe journey to heaven. ( I had never encountered with it....untill....i visited Manthralaya). Or the pronounciation of some words ole....by different strata of the society.

It should be the same with every translated piece...be it from, Marathi....Assamese...Dogra...

Putting forward two points; one, the reading habit has highly reduced.....i hardly see people reading any good material at all. Second.....even if people do read...indian writing is highly neglected. I personally think that indian works are literally good in content and vocabulary.
On the other hand...it is quite improbable to learn twenty or more languages.

My favourites are, translated stuff.....a collection of short stories........bottling indian writing into various eras....and of course Ruskin Bond.

To Expect and not to expect

The comfort that i get from speaking to another person is endless......it screams care and love. Vowing not to speak to my parents over a petty fight....was a thing of the past. Realising that it's never possible...... and requiring somebody to correspond to....has in fact, posed a number of questions.

Tending to associate every incident with my sister......has left me sad( I know that i've mentioned this umpteen number of times)....but has been fruitful.....this time.The effort that has to go in this direction is magnanimous.

Recently...i used to remember her very often.....the way we used to fight....the movies that we saw together....the time at Bharathiya Vidya Bhavan........the celebration.....when i got a 90% in my first semester at college......

Struggling to forget it......is desparate. Relating it to mum and dad is just impossible....it makes them unhappy. That's when i sought out to friends....the Yahoo Messanger always seemed to be blank.....calling others......and then i stopped.

Does anybody miss you...as much as you miss the other? Is it right.....to constantly rely on a person.....without taking into account.....what that person's feelings' are??

Expecting.....and accepting.

I guess...it is better not to expect anything.....than to be dissapointed at the end. I never thought that my birthday would turn out to be interesting.... but.....was surprised to see some friends call and wish me.

Accepting things as they are...i do not feel odd...when Chetana...or Rashmi...call home intending to speak to me....even though they are my sister's friends and i barely know them.
The affection that Aarthi, Pooja.... Rashmi's mum pour towards me is enormous. But, what after now? when Rashmi gets married this December....when i leave Bhavan.

Hoping that they are replaced by somebody else is my sole hope....from whom...i receive the same joy and gladness.

Afterall.....is it not hope......that leads us through a journey called life.

Putting thoughts onto paper.....is difficult......i don't know how far i've succeeded. In case you term this piece as 'utter nonsense'...... do not worry...i too agree with you!!

The reply people give upon hearing my name......is 'Do you really give justice to your name?'

Hearing formatted versions of the above line.....has turned out to be a not-so-likeable past-time. The other thing that can be done with my name is to use it against it.

Keeping track of those who pose this question......is essentially worthless. Nevertheless maintaining account of those who have rather, not done so is comparatively easy......those few....as the number of fingers.

Assuming that this job was forgotten by a lady....was foolish. To my chagrin......she had to open her mouth.......putting words into action.

The public.....necessarily has to put forward this question.......i guess...otherwise..their day is not made. What makes them say so.......that, they can impress me....or strike a pitiable conversation.....or simply...to pass time.

Complying to my wishes......the very few who do not send me into a abyss of uneasiness....turn out to be more respectable...and friendly.

Bull's Eye

Getting bruised......is one thing that has to happen to me, atleast once in a day. On some days the frequency reaches a high of five times within twenty-four hours.

Travelling in Bangalore by buses....has reminded me of the fragility of the body. Trying to maneuver my legs to climb the stairs of a local bus....with a hand in a pocket......landed me in a pain. How i wished i was careful. My shin received a big black scratch. In addition...it hurt like crazy.........it is present even now....after three whole weeks.

Many a time have i banged myself against something.......not realising anything. The bang......comes back with a swollen area.

'When will i learn how to walk straight?' voiced by dear mum.......is mundane stuff.

Weekend and Hampi

At last......we were able to go on a small trip before classes at college start. Dad says that we've already visited Hampi before.......i was very small at that point of time....so we all decided to go ther again.....making this an indelible memory.

An overview..
Boarded the bus at 8:30 p.m.on friday night.
Saturday, 6 a.m found us in Manthralaya (surprising myself!!) .Feeling proud of having seen the river Tungabhadra is exhillarating!!
Reached Hampi at 6 in the evening.
Toured the site on Sunday untill 2 o' clock....illegally visited the Tungabhadra Dam.....the park there is indeed nice.

Travellers'

We had okay co-passengers.....but i definately expected more. Entire families had arrived...with their troupe of small kids. And the Marathi....Tamil folks....never even opened their mouths. I had to be content with speaking with mum and dad....but it got boring. Spent time pretending to be asleep.....or trying to enjoy the varying landscape.

Two need special mention. One.....the grumpy old woman......who cribbed, cribbed and again cribbed about everything. She acted oversmart.....with the poor waiter at Manavi......where we had stopped for lunch. Why do these astonishingly irritable women ever make an appearance...i do not know. And Keerthana......a six-year old....with innocent eyes.....her talk flowing endlessly. I did convince her that i was worth being spoken to. It took a lot of bearing and patience.

The Journey

It was hectic.....the Manthralaya part was bad.......spent the entire night...in a moving vehicle (I personally think that that shrine is truly not worth a visit......considering that it was about 18 months or so before i stepped into this one.) It reminded us of Shirdi......but the breakfast was far batter compared to the one at the latter. Drowsiness made my eyelids droop...but fate was not in my favor. Curling up in a suitable position...only to be jolted awake...obviously one cannot expect anything more in a reverberatory bus. The roads in Raichur cry for improvement. Humps which are four in number....helped me keep awake. Aren't humps basically function as speed-breakers....they have a new job......to remind people that daily exercise is a must!!!

Envy

How i envied everboby else??? Leave alone getting a few moments of sleep.....the initial part of it was so far-fetched. Seeing everybody taking a good, relaxing nap except me......left me very angry and dissapointed.

Hampe (the way it is pronounced in Kannada)

Comparing Hampe with Konark...... i initially weighed the latter. Konark left me in awe. But as dad said......Hampe is huge......really huge. Each temple complex is big. The Vijaya Vitthala complex left me panting.......where we scaled the compound wall......to see the Tungabhadra behind boulders......greenery peeping inbetween.

The Pushkarni...is simply super. Water canals here and there.......made us walk in a zig-zag fashion. Superiority in architectural planning left me blank.

The Mahanavami Dibba....The Lotus Mahal.......The Watch Towers'......The Water Pool....The Elephant Stables....... mammoth in size...... and a sight to watch.

Musical pillars...... Mridanga....Jalataranga....Damaruga....soothed our tired minds.......with notes that could be listened to forever.

Search

The first thing that came to my mind when i reached Hampe...was the novel that i had read long back. Trying very hard to recollect the name of the book....resulted in me not hearing the words of the guide.

This book......revolves around a plot in Hampe....which was the capital of the erstwhile Vijayanagar kings. It talks about the Hampe Bazaar...the Virupaksha temple...with such ease......the rich markets.....and the harlets left me in wonder. It talks of a mystery...spies...King Krishna Devaraaya. Will i lay my hand on it again??


Returning to Bangalore.....i was informed that college reopened a day later. Resting.....was all i did.....to comfort my rattled bones.....

Football never left us behind....or rather we never let go of it. It made us go wonkers in Hampe......with Brazil losing a game.