Strained Quartet

We talked unknownst to each other, that,

All hell would break loose.

What could possibly come of two talking in harmony?

Us, filmy for a film even,

Shattered beyond cry or wail.

Crying for spilt milk is adagedly a vestige

The value of milk spilt resurfaces only then,

And crying for lost value,

Is it a vestigial adage too?

After all, none can rue when they have what they crave,

Two people desperate for each other,

One voluntarily cocooning, the other involuntarily so,

Nothing of what we had felt fake,

Though people make it out to be.

Trust, on which everything should be based so,

Even that ensured,

Neither of us get why each of us is separate.

All four desperately wanting the other,

Too egoistic to spell it out

And yet still confined,

And shackled to persons they bear less of the love to,

Or is that false?

Comments

Of sport, music, and dance.

Having born into a TamBrahm family, it was a default that I had to be surrounded by these three elements. Apart from the constant exhortation to ‘succeed’ in our grades at school, due to the alignment that we are part of (I do not want to use the word caste), our conversations hinged and revolved on majorly these three topics. Granted, there were exceptions according to each household and each parental mindset, but either all, or one, at the least, of these, were definitely a part of every TamBrahm household. Now, why am I ranting about these elements, in general or in separate? What spurred me to thrash out this piece on a non-eventful day? Why should I be putting these words to a screen for the world to read? How am I doing this (brace yourself for free advice on writing!)? When did the material for this piece (only intangible, unfortunately. I revel in them) originate? I will answer these questions, and you , the reader, be the judge of whether to skim, scan, or sprint from this pie

On P.G.Wodehouse and why he should be read more.

I enjoyed reading Saumya Balasubramanian's article in the Open page dated 16-JUNE-2019 (Wodehouse, undistilled). I truly believe this world needs to be made aware and talked of PGW's works more than it currently is now. I am all of 25-years old and I was initiated into the world of Wodehouse by my family who were and still are crazy fans of the author's oeuvre. When everyone around me was fervently and reverently talking of Jeeves, I would be gnawed by a feeling of being left out. Of knowing zilch about this fictional character who apparently had given and still gives a glut of laughs when his exploits were explored in family conversations. To add more salt to this wound, my aunt would relate anecdotes wherein she used to fight with her cousins and uncles and father of how and where Jeeves had been right and wrong. I would feel frustrated at not being a member of this league and I resented that. One fine rummy day, I took a leap of faith from my staple reads of Hardy B

Thoughts into the abyss.

Do we think? Do we truly think? Response 1: Yes we do. We think and decide the food to be consumed daily, we think and plan ahead to reach our workplace or educational institution on time. We do think. A lot. Response 2: Be more specific please. The universe is a melting-pot of disciplines. Where specifically is the area that you want me to base my answer to that question on? Response 3: What I think and profess to the world outside will be far different and occasionally be unreasonable to you. For this reason, I shall not answer the question. Response 4: We stress our brains quite intensely at the workplace or at the educational institution. Please do not plead with me to think anymore than I already do. Response 5: The age for thinking has passed me. Let me spend my days relaxing and taking rest after having run a metaphorical marathon my whole life. These are the typical comments that I could distill from my mind, imagining a situation where individuals of varying ages are

Works Of Contemplation

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