A Weekend and a Belonging

Another weekend goes by! My flat meticulously cleaned, plants watered, clothes rolled up and newspaper nicely folded, with all oped and editorial sections read thoroughly, important points highlighted in fluorescent orange marker. Smell of a tempting new book, light breeze through my balcony door and utter silence around me. There are no rains, but tea is in regular supply. The last three days workshop has made me mentally bankrupt. I am still trying to recollect what was new in the annual parade of discussions? I curse myself for being direct, sometimes indirect but am convinced of the utter wastage of my energies.

“Our Moon has Blood clots” makes a difficult weekend reading especially when I am looking for something more light to get rid of the dizziness that had set it.  But, I do not resist it, treading through every page that tells a story not heard very often. A book that reminds me of another side to every coin, which we very conveniently forget to turn. How can human beings be capable of such violence is something that I will always fail to understand. The reading definitely makes me think about the need for belonging to a territory, identify and being among group of people whom we call family, friends and relatives. From a combination of these things, we derive out identity and make memories. Brutal uprooting of people from this so called familiar territory, their own little world can cause mental trauma that is devastating. Being a “refugee” has its own toll and we as a nation haven’t developed the empathy to understand and relate to this.     

My thoughts wander to my own identify. I have lived in four States in the last twelve years. ‘Familiarity’ is different from ‘Belonging’. In a place, that I come back home every day, I can sense familiarity, but it does not allow my roots to grow deeper and stronger. It allows me four inch top soil to survive, but does not hold me on forever. What does it actually mean to belong, to be so strongly tied to the roots?  

With love - for Anne

I just completed “Diary of a young Girl” by Anne Frank. It is a simple yet profound compilation of letters by Anne Frank during World War II. It describes her experiences in hiding at “Secret Annexe” along with 7 others during the Nazi occupation of Holland. There have been several stories of human faith, bravery and struggles, but nothing has moved me like this.





It is easy to relate to Anne’s deeper thoughts and the first thing that strikes me is “Why not make it a compulsory reading for middle schools in India? Throughout our education, the teachers make several attempts to stuff us with facts and figures of history, which are usually crammed by students to reproduce without analysis. I till date regret missing the deeper linkages to those history lessons. I must admit that all the facts that supported the Nazis autocracies have failed to make the impact on mind and soul. But this one made it in a single stroke.




A young girl’s common experience during her youth about friends, love and dreams become profound due to the existing political situation and make it easy for the reader to identify with the grave situation. A must read for all those budding young minds who wish to delve deeper on lessons of compassion, brotherhood and human rights! And for me, I wish I get an opportunity to visit the Anne Frank museum to pay my tribute to the courageous woman!

After thoughts

I) There exists a galore of literature on planning, management and goal setting. The world is inundated with theories, practices and success stories of people working to make their destinies. Conditioned to this environment, I also had been an ardent follower of “Do or Die” philosophy for some time in Life.

II) I recently completed “A thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseni. I don’t remember when was the last time I wept or was highly touched by fiction work. But Hosseni made me weep in the climax, when Mariam sacrifices her life so that Laila could build a little world of her own in the new Afghanistan! Mariam and Laila are two different characters that are brought together by mere circumstances in the second half of the story line. Threatened by each other’s presence, both of them slowly develop an intimate bond that weaves rest of the storyline around their affection tales.

The end may seem a little dramatic to some readers but it set me thinking what determines the circumstances in which characters of this novel were born. What determines the context, family, environment and thoughts that rule an individual’s life? For Mariam, it was sheer destiny that she was born as an illegitimate child of Jalil and Nana, in war torn country and as a female! Her marriage to Rasheed leads to a series of unfortunate events that end with her life. I thank Hosseni for creating Mariam and Laila who make me ask the following questions:

Is an individual’s life a series of events that have been scripted out even before one is born? Are we mere players in hands of the software that has been embedded in to our spirits? If yes do we have the humility to accept it? Or we want to still continue with our trumpet that over emphasizes the word “I”.

Poetry classes

I may have forgot the calculus lessons from my maths classes, but what I term as profound memories of my school days are the poetry classes in my high school. Robert frost, Kipling, Wordsworth and Shelley – seem to have traveled with me all through the years and I was unnoticed till I stumbled upon my favorite lines by Wordsworth:

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

Maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy* ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!
Feels like a lost world found back!

* The Lucy who is the subject of a small group of poems, most of them written in the winter of 1798-99, has never been identified, if she ever existed except as a creation of the poet's imagination.

I am reading...

On weekends, my bedside usually gets piled up with books I plan to read. Nothing particular, but it makes me appear more updated, well read and connects me to a couple of characters to whom I can easily relate to without feeling uncomfortable. I usually prefer self help literature. When it comes to fiction, I am a keen and a humble follower of Paulo Coelho. When I realized the local bookshop is offering a Christmas discount, I was proactive to collect some Coelho wisdom and add on to my personal collection. (I have this habit of underlining interesting text and I like to go over it several times even after I have read the book). And by now, I have most of his books in my possession.

I am yet to completely absorb his words of wisdom, but what intrigues me most in his characters is the “search” passion that each one of them carries. (For knowledge, wisdom, wealth, fame – whatever may be the target). All his characters seem to inherit this search till the unidentified end. Usually they end up with experience that itself is fulfilling and enriching. Sounds Philosophical? May be..

I think it gives you courage to enjoy the odyssey of life. I started with Alchemist, followed by The Zahir and then Eleven Minutes. Currently I am reading “The Pilgrimage”. While all the above seem to progress on similar lines, Eleven minutes seems to be different. I am convinced about how Coelho through his protagonist Mari, reveals the concept of sacred sex. It is a convincing paradox and thought provoking as well.