Howzzat!

Almost all of what I call my ‘tastes’ were acquired. I took no instant liking to anything perhaps with the exception of Hershey’s kisses. I pretty much took in everything during my um.. formative years, be it books, food, music or movies. But I have ceased doing so… and the credit in its entirety goes to my filters aka mental taste buds. We all know there were no dearth of books written during the 19 th and 20 th century but we read only a handful of works that belong to that era and why? Because these works, say that of Charles Dickens’ or Mark Twains’  withstood the sands of time long enough to remain in public memory. We are hardwired with filters in our brains. These are the very filters which cause us to forget memories, events and other data that are no longer required or important enough for us to remember. These filters are also responsible for shaping our interests and passions. The sky is blue because blue isn’t absorbed by the earth. Blue is of sh...

I feel drenched. This is perhaps the second time after Vairamuthu’s “ Thaneer Desam ” that I read a book on troubled Indian waters.  “The Hungry Tide” is penned by Amitav Ghosh, Indian by birth and going by his writings, Indian- rather Bengali- by thought.   Nostalgia affects everything. Our desires, interests, pursuits…It spares nothing. I love Ilaiyaraja’s compositions. His songs from the 1980’s give me solace whenever I feel alone and restless but I cannot equal the fervor with which my appa listens to his tunes. Some songs never fail to moisten his eyes. He has lived through an era in which Ilaiyaraja ruled over people’s senses.  His admiration for the Maestro therefore will always be greater than mine. And nostalgia is the same reason why the British classic “ Jane Eyre ” will remain my favourite book and I am reluctant to let any book replace it. I cannot sum up with words the kind of emotions that welled up in me when I first read it as a pre-teen. Whe...

The blank mind Resists thoughts  In fear of the known, And strives to remain blank. The spilt ink   Renders blank paper Useless. But I see  Through the eyes of Rorschach. The blank paper  Now stained Evokes interpretations Some vivid Some contrived Some blunt. The blank mind- Now stained- By thoughts, Pervading all space Makes room for doubt. Some sicken Some relieve Some persist. But the mind refuses  To budge And continues To strive To remain blank, and To outlast the fear- of the known.