Disclaimer: The views expressed in this blog are purely personal and are actually pertaining to a real life incident. However, I am not disclosing any identities because in the words of the recently deceased Pope, ‘ who am I to judge?’ I also wish to respect the privacy and protect the identity of those concerned.
Several years ago, I went through a very difficult personal situation. At a rational level, I knew my response was unhealthy, unwise and totally unnecessary but try as I might, I couldn’t deal with it.
Till I read the words of the recently anointed Pope Francis in ‘The TIME Person of the Year’ ” WHO AM I TO JUDGE?”
Not only did they capture my eye, but they completely changed my mind. Since then, everytime I find myself tying myself up in knots, I recall these words and I calm down
Today I bumped into someone I didn’t know. All that I knew was the person was Pakistani.
That was enough to get my hackles up, and if I were a dog, I’d have gone for the ankles or even the jugular for the sheer pleasure of avenging the poor souls who were needlessly butchered in Pahalgam.
For those of you who don’t know, 28 men were pulled out from a group of tourists and shot dead only because they weren’t Muslim. Of course, they were terrorists, but wasn’t their agenda Jihad? So, how can you say that terrorism doesn’t have a religion? These terrorists definitely had a religion and whatever else their ‘agenda’ may have been, their targets were definitely Hindu.
It is shameful, shocking and sad to think that we as Hindus aren’t safe in our own country. How can we allow our neighbours who had demanded a separate country to send their ‘non-religious ‘non-terrorists’ to our land and kill innocent people who are holidaying in their own country?
That is why my blood was on the boil when I saw the Pakistani who not only was in our country but was here on a legitimate visa obtained by renouncing Pakistani citizenship and obtaining the citizenship of another.
But then I remembered the words
WHO AM I TO JUDGE?
In grief and sorrow for the state of things today,
I don’t know whose idea it was to dedicate a special day for a special thing. This month has quite a few special days like May Day (1st May), Mothers’ Day ( 12th May), International Bee Day (20th May), Earth Day ( 22 May), Potato Day ( 3othe May ) and WORLD BOOK DAY which is today.
Reading has been my first love. If I don’t have a book, I find something to read like advertisements on billboards and bus stops. I read road signs, names of buildings as they pass by and even baggage tags while waiting at the airport. So I find it a bit strange that people need to have a ‘day’ to be aware of the joys of reading.
Changing tastes
Once upon a time ( like all good fairy tales begin), I loved fairy tales. I never found anything ‘wrong’ in the simple tales of the Brothers Grimm whose gory stories actually made young children aware of the evils that lurk in the world. They produced just the right amount of fear to make children aware of keeping an eye out for things.
I naturally progressed to the world of Enid Blyton and stories of the English countryside ( of which I had absolutely NO knowledge) and would imagine myself transported to a life filled with adventures, picnics, high tea, circus life, horses (e.g Jill’s Gymkhana) and the like.
Then I graduated to Agatha Christie and her detective stories, the world of science fiction and historical romances. I loved the old classics and actually enjoyed wallowing in the misery of the narrator who was almost always oppressed, depressed and unhappy. (David Copperfield, Jane Eyre being two that come to mind).
As a college student, I waited for the book shop to bring out huge tomes by authors like James Michener, Ayn Rand, Leon Uris and thrillers by Arthur Hailey, Robert Mitchum, Mary Higgins Clarke and Frederick Forsyth.
I also peppered these books with soppy romances that I was introduced to by a little old lady who used to visit my mother (who was spending three months in hospital after a horrific road accident) and often read these books while my mum was nodding off. These mind-numbing books were great for not only passing time but also vicariously transporting you to exotic places like Greece and Italy, where plain-Jane heroines tried to win the hearts of drop-dead, gorgeous but totally indifferent heroes. Mrs K ( the little old lady) also introduced me to the Regency romances of Georgette Heyer and the contemporary romances of Barbara Cartland.
As a young mum, I found solace in the stories of Erma Bombeck and the delightfully charming tales tales of veterinarian James Herriot.
Gradually, I started on non-fiction, particularly self-help books, and there was a time when two whole shelves, three books deep, consisted of this genre.
books everywhere
There was a time in my life when I could find a book everywhere in the house. By my bedside, in the bookshelf, on the sofa, near the chopping board and oftentimes even in the toilet because that was the only place I could find some peace and quiet,
That wasn’t surprising because I had two library memberships from which I could borrow three books at a time, would borrow books from friends, get books as gifts and even buy the books I wanted to read.
Eventually, a time came when the bookshelves were all full, the space on top of the cupboards equally full, so I had to make the painful decision of getting rid of some of them
In the first culling, I took a huge green tub and filled it up with books (particularly those with adult content since my little girl was following in my booksteps and walking around with her nose in a book), and asked all visitors to my home to pick up whatever they wanted. Believe it or not, NOT A SINGLE BOOK was picked up and I had no option but to sell all of them by the kilo as JUNK.
another culling
Several years later, when the girls had their own overgrown collection of books, I had to make space for more books. I once again made the heartbreaking decision of getting rid of the books that I hadn’t looked at in years. Now, there were literally a ton of books that I hadn’t touched for a while, except to dust them so they just had to go.
This time round, off went my trashy romances, the self-help books that obviously didn’t help, the fiction of the 70s and 80s and lots of magazines I’d collected like the Time Person of the Year, certain newspaper editions like the day Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated etc. But this time round, I sold them off to the used-book sellers that one finds on the pavement at Mumbai’s Flora Fountain. At least some of them would bring more joy to a reader rather than more money for the junk collector who actually wanted me to pay him to take away the books!
no More books!
Alas! Today of all days, I have to make known to the Universe that a few months back, when we renovated our home, I had the last and final culling of my books.
This time, however, I didn’t sell the books but packed them away in boxes and sent them off to be stored in our ‘Memory House’.
Unfortunately, I didn’t make a list of the books that are in the Memory House and will probably have to go down there and find out if any of my old favourites are still around.
Making space for the new
Since nature abhors a vacuum, the shelves are still full. New books have taken their place. From libraries, bookshops and friends.
The new authors reflect my changing taste in reading that has evolved to include Indian, Japanese, Chinese, Iranian and African authors. I have a good mix of historical novels, essays, non-fiction( biographies, corporate histories, cookbooks, spiritual thoughts) and of course, my staple diet of fiction.
A book is a book is a book
With the eternal problem of space to store books and time to read them, I am often tempted to switch to Kindle. The convenience of carrying books wherever and reading them whenever far outweighs the lightest paperback I almost always have in my bag.
But no.
For me, the joy of opening a book, smelling the paper, checking out the cover, and reading the blurb on the back far exceeds the experience of reading a virtual book.
And I hope I can enjoy the joy of reading a BOOK till the end of my days.
Bright green parrots screech past my window And golden sunshine pours inside
The sun will rise up higher Scorching the earth by noon
The setting sun still warms the earth Sea breezes run away
Moonrise and darkness try their best To keep the sweltering heat away.
Sadly, year after year the temperature keeps rising and nothing seems to help. The fans move slowly, the buildings rise fast each tower a shining example of luxury and modernity. But in that quest for housing that no one seems to want, the trees fall victim to our greed. And we will eventually gasp for breath in a planet we have helped to kill.
How many more Earth Days will we need before we realise we need to do something NOW? It’s already too late, but perhaps we can make the end less painful.
Year after year, we pay lip service to protecting the earth. But do we really care?
We let water run while we brush our teeth, waste water in glasses, use plastic and thermocole and materials that aren’t biodegradable for packaging that is excessively wasteful.
We buy clothes we don’t need, we travel just for fun.
Twenty- five Seven 