Wishes for the coming year...

May the Sun shine bright on Life's winding path
To show us thorns and flowers
May He give us the strength to weed out
The thorns, and leisure to smell the flowers.

May the Earth bless our eyes with her beauty,
And our bodies with her green bounty.
May we tread soft on her fragile cloth
For, without her, we are naught.

May the Moon temper us with her sweet, soft light,
That we may not lose sight, even at night
May the stars always guide us from their heavenly homes
That we may never wander far, away from our homes

May the new year bring cheer all around
From the humble farmer to those who don the crown.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Harry-puraaNa

I am an unabashed fan of Harry Potter. Not so much of a fan (my priorities have, er... changed now) to leave aside all other things and keep reading till I finish the book, but enough of a fan to prebook, buy and read as soon as possible. The narration is tight, the stories riveting and the characters are immensely loveable.

Today I had lunch at a relative’s. A few of us were discussing excitedly about ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’. (No, I still have not finished it. I have been terribly busy these couple of weeks and let R read it first.) An Uncle, G, heard our conversation and said “You would not read with so much interest if ‘baalanaagamma’ or ‘paataalabhairavi’ were released, you want only a western Harry Potter”. A couple of other elders joined in. The youngsters’ voice of protest was drowned in the elders' complaints about how today's kids loved "foreign" books and foreign everything. All this stemming from an innocent discussion about Harry Potter.

Let me make one thing clear first. I am all for preservation of Indian culture. Nobody who knows me can say that I do not read Indian books. I am pretty well-informed about our puranic and vedic lore. And it really irritates me when some people, writers included, rant that the HP series is not good, just hyped by the media. G was of the opinion that the sole reason for the popularity of HP was because of the publicity by the media. I think that the media-hype will work for the first volume and probably even the second. Beyond that, it is solely the writer's capability and the books' quality that makes the book popular or not popular.

I think I have complained elsewhere in my blog, that kids hardly read these days. They are so full of video games and the TV, that reading books other than their textbooks is somewhere at the end of their list of love-to-do things. This is if reading does find a place at all, in such a list. In this scenario, the one series that has taken many kids and adults back to reading is the Harry Potter series. They have made reading 'cool'. The books, even if they can be read very easily, are well-thought out. And since they are pretty voluminous, I think they tend to make other big books less intimidating, in the long run.

True, we have other, better books even in India. But let us not grudge Rowling her well-deserved popularity. She has given us a wonderful series of books; let's enjoy them!

'Complications' by Atul Gawande

Writing about books has two positive results and one negative. The positive results first. One -I never run out of subjects provided I keep on reading new books, and two - suppose I want to remind myself of this book, say a few years later, I can just read this review of mine. I have often felt the need for the latter. The negative result - I will be writing about things I have not experienced personally. Many of the ideas will not be my own. But I am willing to take that risk. Henceforth I plan to write about all the interesting books I read. I hope to intersperse the "book-review posts" with other subjects, but let that be for now.

The latest book I read, 'Complications' written by Atul Gawande, was very, very interesting, and it is an understatement. I have been interested in the medical field for as long as I remember. When I go to the doctor either as a patient or as the patient's relative, I am informed. I usually have a fair idea of the side effects of the medicines prescribed. However, after reading 'Complications', I realized how inadequate all that was. It was an epiphany. I trust a couple of doctors implicitly, and the fact that they too can be fallible, is scary, but true. The book talks about mistakes that even good doctors might make, and that wee bit of extra cautiousness that has often saved patients' lives.

Gawande writes with the clinical precision and detachment capable only of a surgeon. And yet there is humanity, there are the intense emotions that even doctors experience. There is not a dull chapter, or even a dull sentence in the book. It could be called delightful, if the subject were not so morbid and serious.

I remember freaking out when I went to the hospital at an unearthly hour and saw the young, inexperienced duty doctor instead of my usual gynecologist. One cannot deny that more experience makes better doctors. And age does matter. Most people I have met are more comfortable with old, experienced doctors than younger doctors with sophisticated degrees. Gawande states an instance where experience came in real handy. A patient came in with a reddened and swollen leg. All the indications were pointing toward cellulitis, a common but treatable infection. But just weeks ago, Gawande had lost one of his patients to necrotizing fasciitis, a rare and fatal bacterial infection that can be treated surgically, only in the very initial stage. (These bacteria, usually strains of streptococcus A, can enter the body through a "wound" as small as a pinprick.) His experience made him order a biopsy and his fears were indeed true. The patient had most of the tissue removed from her leg, but she survived. What would have happened to her if the doctor did not have this kind of an experience earlier? Would the warning bells have sounded even then? It is really hard to say!

There is also this matter of statistics. Cellulitis is a common infection. And about 5% of the cases, thought to be cellulitis at first, turn out to be necrotizing faciitis. Does this help the doctor make a decision on whether the patient in front of him right then has one or the other? Can a good doctor assume that exactly 5 out of a hundred cellulitis-patients that see him have the flesh-eating bacteria? No! Statistics are there to just comfort and/or caution, but they can never be used as a guideline.

From the days of Hippocrates and our own Sushruta, Medical Science has been improving. But newer technology has its own costs. I remember feeling elated when I read about "laparoscopic cholesystectomy" in my high school days. I thought of all the lives that would be saved because of the new technology. The thought that never came to me till I read "Complications" was the learning curve of the doctors. Gawande describes a laparoscopic cholesystectomy (the removal of the gall bladder) that he performed. Only after reading that did I realize how complicated it was, how difficult it was to learn new techniques. Doctors, like all others, take time to learn. But unlike us engineers, their experiments are with life; the stakes are high. One mistake, just half a second of haziness while wielding the scalpel can kill. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but the point is that doctors are responsible for the most precious things in this world.

And they deserve that responsibility. Risks have to be taken if lives are to be saved. Gawande talks about an unusual surgery, the gastric bypass surgery. (There was a report about this surgery in this week's 'Health' supplement of the Indian Express). In this surgery, the stomach is stapled, thereby reducing its size, and about a metre of the small intestine is bypassed, so that less food is absorbed. This is the best cure now available for morbid obesity. I mean, just think of the capability of one four-hour surgery! Many people are leading healthy and happy lives because of the surgery. So, at some point, a decision has to be made. For doctors, however, difficult decisions have to be made all the time.

In the Indian tradition, we say that one should trust the doctor completely. Indeed, it is said that the result is proportional to our trust. From a psychological perspective, this makes complete sense. Though *all* our illnesses are not rooted in the mind, many of them are. Therefore, trusting the doctor is important. But how far do we go? Ultimately it is our own body we are talking about. In Kannada they say 'ಹೊಸ ವೈದ್ಯರಿಗಿಂತ ಹಳೆ ರೋಗಿಯೇ ಮೇಲು', which is true to some extent (My grandma used to do this. She had diabetes, and whenever she ate an extra sweet, she would take a little more of her diabetes medication, without consulting the doctor!). There should be a sort of a compromise between the doctor and the patient as to who listens to whom, to what extent.

'Complications' got me started on thinking about a related thing. There are happy endings and sad endings. But, isn't 'Life' mysterious? A person who has four heart attacks may survive and thrive, whereas another may die of a pinprick. A pacemaker can help an ailing heart, a ventilator can substitute the lungs and a dialysis machine, the kidneys. What is the nature of that "one thing" that keeps all these and more working together in so much harmony that if one organ fails, all the others gradually fail, too. I am delving into Philosophy here, but isn't that a question worth considering?

The story of King Kusha

Love is wonderful. No, I am not moonstruck, but pondering as usual. The thing is, I was cleaning up some stuff, and happened to see the Amar Chitra Katha comic version of the story of King Kusha. The story triggered some thoughts, and here I am.

For people not in the know, here is the story. It is taken from the Jataka tales. King Okkaka was heirless. Indra granted him two sons as a boon, one wise but ugly and the other handsome but foolish. Sheelavati, the queen asked for the wise one to be born first, and so King Kusha was born. Later, Jayampati, the beautiful child, was born.

Kusha finished his learning quite soon. When his parents asked him to get married, he thought that no princess would agree to get married to a ugly youth like him, and hit upon a ruse to ward off the impending proposals and refusals. He carved a beautiful image of a woman, and asked his parents to find somebody who looked exactly like her. He was confident that they would not be able to find a woman as beautiful as his carving. But he was mistaken. Padmavati, the daughter of Sagala was found and married to Kusha on one condition - the new couple were not to see each other for some time. Padmavati loved to hear him play the veena, and imagined that he had an artist's handsome face.

Kusha could not hide his face long from Padmavati. As soon as she found out that her husband was not the handsome prince she had hoped for, she left for her parents' house. Thither followed Kusha. He became a potter's apprentice, made a beautiful pot with Padmavati's picture on it, and sent it to her. She recognized his work and threw the pot away. He then became the royal wicker-worker's apprentice and sent his work to her, but she rejected that too. He then became a cook at the palace, with the hope that he could at least see her often. She was unrelenting, but Kusha toiled in the royal kitchen, waiting for her to accept him.

Finally, Indra decided to help him. He sent a message to seven different kings in Sagala's name, saying that since his daughter (hey, Indra was a great forger!) had left Kusha, he would marry her off to them. Seven kings with seven armies came to Madda (that was the kingdom of Padmavati). Padmavati's father was now alarmed. Giving Padmavati to any one king would mean war with the other six, and he was just not prepared for it. Padmavati now saw the situation she was in, and appealed to Kusha to help her. Kusha settled matters by offering his seven sisters-in-law to the seven kings. Kusha and Padmavati lived happily ever after.

Now, that was the story. I have a question. I am sure some women, in their vanity, do not consider not-so-good-looking men as worthy of companionship, in spite of their other virtues. But would any man do so much for a woman who has scorned him repeatedly? I have read of men and women who do anything and everything to get to their loved ones back. Rama fought the entire army of Ravana to win Seeta back. In Kalidasa's drama, vikramorvasheeyam, Pururava performed penance for winning Urvashi. One can find umpteen instances like that in other cultures also. In Greek mythology, we have the search for Cupid by Psyche and the pining of Penelope for Ulysses. But in all such stories there is this one common thing - of mutual love that is nourished by longing and even by separation.

Well, I do not want to dissect the story any further and play spoilsport. Do let me know if you liked it :)

'The Alchemist' By Paulo Coelho

Just today, I finished reading 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho. The book has garnered a lot of praise from all over the world as life-changing and illuminating. I partly bought the book because I wanted some illumination, and partly to see if it really deserved so much praise. After reading it, I must say that I did find that the praise was well-deserved, and that it was really a book that I could learn from.

'The Alchemist' is the story of Santiago, a shepherd and his quest for a treasure he dreamt about. The book is about following one's dreams, both literally and figuratively. The alchemist guides the boy towards the realization of his dream, and teaches him quite a few things on the way, the most important lessons being perseverance and faith (reminds me of shraddha and saburi).

When I started reading through the book, I was unimpressed. There were, of course, precious nuggets thrown about liberally even from the beginning, the most memorable one for me being "When you really want something, the whole universe conspires in helping you achieve it". But the story itself seemed a bit weird. It felt like of those stories which seem to happen in another dimension altogether, much like Voltaire's "Princess of Babylon". And at times, I felt that I was reading a cross of Stephen Covey and Kahlil Gibran. But gradually, as I read on, I was appreciating the book more and more. I could see myself looking at the sand in the vast expanse of the desert, feeling the wind whisper to me about my dreams.

The boy's name is mentioned only once in the entire novel. Except for that one time, he is always referred to as "the boy". I think that that was because Coelho wanted to make it everybody's book. We are all like the boy; we dream of treasures. But we are not as daring, in that we are content with just dreaming and doing nothing about it. And though Santiago was more a youth than a boy, he is referred to as the boy because he was willing to be guided, without any hesitation. Though he had the help of the decision-making stones, he made his own decisions. This combination of two qualities - the eagerness to be taught and the ability to make decisions, was the reason for the boy's success.

As I do often, I could not help comparing the world-view of Coelho with that of Vedanta. More than once, it struck me that the "Soul of the World" was parabrahma, from where everything originates and to which everything goes in the end. Though Coelho is a practising Catholic, his thoughts about the "Soul of the World" appear distinctly advaitic in nature, when he says "he realized that his Soul was the Soul of the world". Most of his insights seem to stem from his own experiences. In his twenties, Coelho encountered a stranger who first appeared to him in a vision, and then in real life. This had a powerful effect on him, and he then wrote 'The Alchemist', which has a profound effect on us.

There is one very insightful story in the book that I really liked. A boy once went to a wise man to learn the secret of happiness. The wise man gave him a spoon with two drops of oil, and asked him to look around his beautiful castle. When the boy returned, he asked him whether he saw how beautiful his castle was. The boy replied that he could not, because he did not want to spill the oil in the spoon. The wise man asked him to go again and admire the castle and its grounds. The boy did what he was told, and came back, full of admiration for the beauty of the castle. But now, he was so engrossed in looking outside, that the oil was gone! The wise man then told him "The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon". I liked this concept very much. It is the middle-path that is always the best. I am reminded of DVG's poem, one of my favorites.

ಎದೆ ಮಾರುವೋಗದೊಡೆ ಕಣ್ ಸೊಬಗನುಂಡರೇಂ
ಹೃದಯ ಮುಯ್ ಕೇಳದೊಡೆ ನಲಿವ ಸೂಸಿದರೇಂ |
ಕದಡದಿರ್ದೊಡೆ ಮನವ, ತನು ಸೊಗವ ಸವಿದರೇಂ
ಮುದ ತಾನೆ ತಪ್ಪಲ್ಲ ಮಂಕುತಿಮ್ಮ ||

For people who care to learn something from the book, it gives one that much-needed gentle nudge towards one's goals. And the hope that even if we make mistakes searching for our guide like the boy did initially, we will find our alchemist waiting for us somewhere...

Atonement by Ian McEwan

This past couple of weeks, I have really been pondering about wars. I happened to read Ian McEwan's novel, "Atonement", and it put into perspective wars, big and small. Till now, I have felt sorry for most of the wars I have read about, in a sort of distant way - the world wars, the Civil war and their aftermaths. Even the Indian war of independence, for all the patriotic feelings it generated in me was - well, just a statistic. What mattered was who lost and who won, and how many people were killed. This book changed the statistics to something very personal. Each person who died in all these cataclysms was some body's husband or wife, lover, sibling or parent. To an extent, the movies "Life is Beautiful" and "Border" try to do it too, but "Atonement" is in a class by itself.

Atonement is the story of Briony, a thirteen-year old girl in 1935. How her precocious imagination brings about a crime, and how she atones for it, is the backbone of the novel. The story itself is simple. What makes the novel so very enjoyable is the lyrical words used by McEwan. He has a great gift for words, and is capable of painting pictures with his pen. Pictures so real that we are transported to a different time and place, and made to feel the characters' emotions as our own. Another great point about Atonement is its naturalness. All events happen one after the other in natural succession. We do not see McEwan thrusting his ideas upon any of the characters, though they are the products of his imagination. We always feel that the characters speak and act of their own accord, not because McEwan wills it.

Perhaps what impressed me most in the novel, was the description of WWII. Robbie Turner, one of the main characters in 'Atonement', is recruited by the English army and sent to fight for France. But the English army cannot match the German onslaught, and a retreat is ordered. While getting to Dunkirk from his station, he witnesses much destruction. He sees a child's leg, just a leg dangling from a tree, and it makes him sick. He tries to rescue a mother and her child from German bombing, but fails. There is hopelessness, death and distress everywhere. The soldiers smoke to keep hunger away, and water is scarce. The taunts and concern of his companions, the attitude of soldiers desperate for food, drink, rest and love make a deep impact on him, and us. The mind boggles when one thinks of the enormity of the carnage caused by the second world war. So many lives lost, so many hearts torn asunder because of the fancies of just one madman who happened to be ambitious and powerful! I used to consider the 'peace and no change' concept simplistic, but since reading this book, I have almost become a pacifist (contrary to my liking). Now, when I think about war, I see the dangling leg of a child in my mind's eye, and it really hurts.

'Atonement' was also in the news for wrong reasons. McEwan was accused of plagiarism . This accusation notwithstanding, I loved the chapter on the nurses' work. Service to the patients while not minding their own physical difficulties is what they learn during probation. They wear neck-biting uniforms, inhale disinfectants all day and their identity is reduced to just a badge...

McEwan uses the name 'Turner' for Robbie throughout the war-description. At the hospital, the nurses are not allowed to reveal their first names to the patients; it is an unwritten rule. That is how war and death are. First names and personal details, emotions, ideas and everything else that make one human life distinct from another are completely obliterated. One just becomes one of many, just a statistic.

There is one aspect of war, positive to some. That is economic revamping. Some businesses thrive during war and after war (I suppose that is why wars are made!). I started wondering about the ethics of manufacturing chocolate bars to distribute in the army (and actually wanting the war to happen, so this chocolate-bar-business may thrive), but I did not get anywhere. I go one way, and it is communism that I detest. And the other way does not look good either. My question is, where does the layperson stand, when it comes to issues like this? Is a person allowed to be selfish? If so, how selfish can (s)he be, without transgressing ethical and moral boundaries? This is a question that does not have an answer.

'Atonement' is a great novel. It is a serious book, definitely worth a serious read. I did not particularly like the ending, though. It leaves one with a calm but yet sinking sort of feeling, and my Indian mind would have been more at ease if the ending were a little more cheery. But perhaps it is just as well... When life itself ends in tragedy so many times, why shouldn't a novel?

Steinbeck ತರಿಸಿದ ಯೋಚನೆಗಳು

ಸುಮಾರು ದಿನಗಳ ಹಿಂದೆ ನಾನು ಓದಿದ ಒಂದು ಪುಸ್ತಕ John Steinbeck ಬರೆದಿರುವ To a God Unknown ಎಂಬುದು. ಈ ಪುಸ್ತಕದಲ್ಲಿ ಮನುಷ್ಯ ಮತ್ತು ಅವನ ಪರಿಸರದ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಇರುವ ಅವಿನಾಭಾವಸಂಬಂಧವನ್ನು ಬಹಳ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿ ಚಿತ್ರಿಸಲಾಗಿದೆ. ಪುಸ್ತಕದ ಮುಖ್ಯಪಾತ್ರ ಜೋಸೆಫ್ ಎಂಬುವವನು ತನ್ನ ತಂದೆಯನ್ನು ಒಂದು ಮರದಲ್ಲಿ ಕಂಡುಕೊಂಡು ಅದನ್ನು ಪೂಜಿಸುತ್ತಾನೆ. ವಿಗ್ರಹಾರಾಧನೆ ಮತ್ತು "ಪೇಗನ್" ನಂಬಿಕೆಗಳನ್ನು ವಿರೋಧಿಸುವ ಅವನ ಅಣ್ಣ ಆ ಮರವನ್ನು ಸಾಯಿಸಿದ ವರ್ಷವೇ ಅವರಿರುವ ಸ್ಥಳಕ್ಕೆ ಕ್ಷಾಮ ತಲೆದೋರುತ್ತದೆ. ಇನ್ನು ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಹೇಳಿದರೆ ಪುಸ್ತಕವನ್ನೋದುವ ಆಸಕ್ತಿ ಕಡಿಮೆಯಾಗಬಹುದೆಂಬ ಕಾರಣದಿಂದ ಹೇಳುವುದಿಲ್ಲ.

ಪುಸ್ತಕದ ಮುನ್ನುಡಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹಿರಣ್ಯಗರ್ಭಸೂಕ್ತದ ಕಾವ್ಯಾನುವಾದವನ್ನು ಬರೆಯಲಾಗಿದೆ. ಆ ಸೂಕ್ತದ "ಯಾವ ದೇವರಿಗೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಹವಿಸ್ಸು ಸಲ್ಲಲಿ?" ಎಂಬ ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆಯೇ ಇಡೀ ಪುಸ್ತಕದ ಬೆನ್ನೆಲುಬು. ಇಲ್ಲಿಯ ಪ್ರಕೃತಿವಿವರಣೆಯನ್ನು ಓದುತ್ತಿರುವಾಗಲಂತೂ ಒಂದು ಸುಂದರ ಪದ್ಯವನ್ನು ಮೆಲುಕು ಹಾಕುತ್ತಿರುವ ಅನುಭವವಾಯಿತು. ಪುಸ್ತಕ ಸಿಕ್ಕಿದರೆ ಖಂಡಿತ ಓದಿ.

ಪುಸ್ತಕದ ಗುಂಗಿನಲ್ಲಿದ್ದಾಗ, ನಮ್ಮ ಭಾರತೀಯರ ಹಬ್ಬಗಳು, ಮತ್ತು ಮಿಕ್ಕ ಆಚರಣೆಗಳು ಪ್ರಕೃತಿಯೊಂದಿಗೆ ಸಂಬಂಧವನ್ನು ಗಟ್ಟಿಗೊಳಿಸಲು ಅದೆಷ್ಟು ಸಹಾಯಕಾರಿ ಎಂಬುದು ಮನಸ್ಸಿಗೆ ಬಂದಿತು. ಪ್ರಾಯಃ ನಮ್ಮದು ಪುರಾತನಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿಯಾದ್ದರಿಂದ ಪ್ರಕೃತಿಪೂಜೆ ನಮ್ಮಲ್ಲಿ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಮುಖ್ಯವಾಗಿದೆ. (ಮಿಕ್ಕ ಪುರಾತನಸಂಸ್ಕೃತಿಗಳು ಇಸ್ಲಾಂ ಮತ್ತು ಕ್ರೈಸ್ತಮತವೆಂಬ ದೊಡ್ಡ ಅಲೆಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಕೊಚ್ಚಿಹೋಗಿವೆ.) ಹಿಮಾಲಯವಾಗಲಿ, ತಿರುಮಲವಾಗಲಿ ಅಥವಾ ಇಲ್ಲಿಯೇ ಪಕ್ಕದ ರಾಮದೇವರ ಬೆಟ್ಟವಾಗಲಿ, ಎಲ್ಲವೂ ಪೂಜಾರ್ಹ. ಹಾಗೆಯೇ ನದಿಗಳೂ ಮರಗಳೂ ಸಹ ದೈವತ್ವಕ್ಕೆ ಏರಿಸಲ್ಪಟ್ಟಿವೆ. ನಮ್ಮಲ್ಲಿ ಗಿಡಮರಗಳ ಪೂಜೆಯಂತೂ ಸರ್ವೇಸಾಮಾನ್ಯ. ಸಾಮಾನ್ಯವಾಗಿ ಎಂಥ ಕಿಷ್ಕಿಂಧೆಯಂಥ ಮನೆಯಾದರೂ, ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಚಿಕ್ಕ ತುಳಸಿ ಗಿಡ ಇರುತ್ತದೆ. ಅಶ್ವತ್ಥವೃಕ್ಷದ ಪೂಜೆಯಂತೂ ಕಾಂಪೌಂಡ್ ಇರುವ ಪ್ರತಿ ದೇವಾಲಯದಲ್ಲೂ ನಡೆಯುತ್ತದೆ.

ಆದರೆ ಈಗ ಒಂದು ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆ. ಸೂರ್ಯ, ಮರ, ಬೆಟ್ಟ, ಗುಡ್ಡ, ನದಿ, ಸಮುದ್ರ ಮುಂತಾದುವನ್ನು ದೇವರೆಂದು ಪರಿಗಣಿಸುವ ನಮಗೆ ಪರಿಸರದ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಕಾಳಜಿ ಒಂದಿನಿತೂ ಏಕಿಲ್ಲ? ಪರಿಸರಕ್ಕೆ ಹಾನಿಯುಂಟುಮಾಡದೆ ಬದುಕಲು ನಮಗೆ ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲವೇ? ಬೆಂಗಳೂರಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನಗರಪಾಲಿಕೆಯು rain water harvesting ಅನ್ನು ಕಡ್ಡಾಯ ಮಾಡಿದೆ. ಇದರ ವಿಷಯವಾಗಿ ಒಬ್ಬರೊಂದಿಗೆ ಚರ್ಚಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾಗ ಅವರು "ರೂಲ್ಸ್ ಪ್ರಕಾರ ಇಂತಿಷ್ಟು ಆದರೆ ಸಾಕು, ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ಮಳೆನೀರಿನ ಕೊಯ್ಲು ಮಾಡುವವರು ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಜನ ಇಲ್ಲ" ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರು. ನನಗೆ ಇದನ್ನು ಕೇಳಿ ಬಹಳ ಬೇಸರವಾಯಿತು. ಇನ್ನು ದಟ್ಟವಾದ ಹೊಗೆಯನ್ನು ಬಿಡುತ್ತಾ emission check certificate ಪಡೆಯಲು ಕೈಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹಣ ಹಿಡಿದು ಹಲ್ಲು ಗಿಂಜುವುದು - ಇಂಥ ಪ್ರಕರಣಗಳು ಭಾರತದಂತಹ ದೇಶದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಾತ್ರ ಕಾಣಸಿಗುವುದನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದರೆ ವ್ಯಥೆಯಾಗುತ್ತದೆ.

ನಾವೊಬ್ಬರು ಅಂಥ ತಪ್ಪನ್ನು ಮಾಡುವುದಿಲ್ಲವೆಂದು ಪ್ರತಿಯೊಬ್ಬರೂ ನಿಶ್ಚಯಿಸಿದರೆ ಸಾಕಲ್ಲವೇ?

'A Little Cloud' by James Joyce

Today I read a beautiful story called 'A little cloud' by James Joyce. It is one of the stories in his 'Dubliners'. I hope to write about the collection itself some other time, but this story touched me so much that I just am not able to keep myself from writing about it.
'A little cloud' is about a timid man named Chandler, working as a clerk at an office. The little cloud is brought on by an old acquaintance, Gallaher. Gallaher was a no-good youth who has made worldly fortune by working in the press. When C. meets G., he(C.) wonders why he did not go away elsewhere, and become a writer like (or better than) G., he being a man of better birth and education. He blames his timidity for his failures in life. He goes home, and regrets marrying his wife. He resents his son, a small baby, for not allowing him to read, and yells at him when he cries. And then he feels sorry for everything. The cloud passes.
The story itself is very simple, but touches one profoundly. I am sure many people go through the emotions C. did. I have, at least, and know some people who did, too. Jealousy is a very, very basic human instinct. So is exhibitionism. If you are expected to turn out bad, but you don't, you will want show people that they were wrong. That is a rule. And if you meet someone who turned out better than you, you'll want to be in his/her shoes. That's a rule too. It is like shopping for a saree. One can almost always gets a good pick if (s)he looks at what others are buying. (aside: I do not know if men experience the same thing... do they?)
Why is human nature like this? We always find the *necessity* to be better than our peers, to own bigger houses and faster cars and try to make our kids do better than theirs. Is it good? Is it bad? I do not know.. It is just a fact of life, and we have to live with it.