Apu’s World

Some pictures from a recent weekend trip to Ranganathittu and Kodagu. Among the loveliest things I saw were a Racket-tailed Drongo and an Asian Paradise Flycatcher. I couldn’t take pictures of those, but I give you instead… 

 

A group of painted storks admiring themselves in the water. 

 

A river tern suns itself on a boulder.

 

A somnolent crocodile that shrugged of its inertia as soon as it saw our boat. Gave us a few moments of pure terror as it glided away under our boat. 

 

Pepper plant, not yet ripe for the plucking.

 

Wild poinsettia, a common hedge in the plantations. 

 

Early morning light filters through the tree cover at the plantation. 

 

An elephant gets a relaxing scrub, at Dubare elephant camp. 

 

The Buddha with Avalokiteshwara and Guru Padmasambhava, at the Golden Temple, Bylakuppe Tibetan settlement. 

 

Where many roads meet. 

apu In General, Travel Tales

Over here, an interview with Michelle Goldberg, the author of a new book, The Means of Reproduction - which promises to be a very interesting read. One of the key issues it discusses seems to be how the rise of the American religious right has impacted feminist movements worldwide (How? Not in a good way for sure). It is of course written from a Western perspective, but there seems to be some good stuff on how grassroots workers in different countries (including India) are using ingenious ways to fight for social justice. I hope it gets out in India, so that we can read it too. 

She also addresses sex-selective abortion in India and whether it could be misappropriated by an anti-abortion lobby, but on the whole seems to take a more pragmatic approach than some Western feminists who’ve seen it through a Western lens of, but, shouldn’t women be allowed to have control over their own bodies? 

In the interview, she uses, what is I think a fantastic quote from economist Gita Sen, ”A woman’s choice to have a sex-selective abortion may reflect the fact that she has very few rights.” Some choice, huh. 

apu The Literary life, Women & Feminism

About six months ago, I wrote a short story, with another story tucked inside it. The plot went like this. A young man quits his job hoping to write his first novel. The main characters in this novel are a family of vegetable-sellers that he meets every now and then, on a busy road in his locality. When he hits a block after the first three chapters, he becomes almost voyeuristic, visiting the shop every day on some pretext or the other, hoping to draw ‘inspiration’. Until, one day he discovers that the shop has been razed for some road-widening work. His inspiration and in fact, his whole dream of being a ‘maverick’ writer falls through. (There is more to why it falls through, but I won’t get into that here). 

Now, the voyeuristic story that the author in my story is writing, is infact based on a family of vegetable-sellers whom I sometimes shop from, close to where I live. Yesterday, from inside an auto rumbling down the same road, I was horrified to note that this shop had been razed down. I felt unbearably guilty; guilty of having pre-empted reality in what is no doubt an unpleasant outcome for them. And for a moment, though I don’t believe in a literal supreme being directing individual actions and events, I allowed myself to wonder how God feels when his script goes wrong. 

p.s. This is my 100th post on this blog and though occasionally, I’ve thought of closing it, on the whole, I’m thankful for all the conversations I’ve had, the different view points I’ve got to hear and the interesting people I’ve been able to meet. A big Thank You is in order to all my readers!

apu In General, Original Fiction

Some years ago, when I visited the Ajanta caves, I noticed a relief against the entrance to one of the caves, where the Buddha was portrayed in conversation with a woman. Our guide narrated the story of that panel, and indeed, the story itself was one that I had heard many years before that. It goes like this. A woman whose child has died hears that the Buddha is camping near her village. She goes to him, with the lifeless body of her child, and begs the Buddha to revive him. For after all, the Buddha is an enlightened Master, and this should be within his power to do. 

The Buddha tells her that he will indeed bring her child back to life, but before that, he says, “You must bring me a handful of rice, from a house where no one has died.” The woman rushes back to her village and knocks on each door, hoping to get a handful of rice from a house that death has not visited. But, at one, and then another, and then another, there has been a death - an old man, a young woman, a child - there is no house that death has spared. She returns to the Buddha, finally realizing what he has been trying to tell her. 

In more recent days, this story comes to my mind again and again. Regular readers of this blog would know that my family is going through a trying time, with the loss of a young cousin in an accident. While appreciating the wisdom of the Buddha’s words, and even finding some solace in them, I am still unable to digest the reality of death as it applies to me and my loved ones. Yes, death happens. Yes, life is fragile and no one can predict how strong the web is, at any point in time. Knowing this at a rational level, still one holds on to the illusion that life is strong and continuous, an unbreakable thread, shining and golden. Knowing that suffering is a part of life, yet, it is hard to watch when your loved ones suffer. 

With the sudden passing away of my cousin, it is as if I’ve opened my eyes and found myself on the edge of a precipice. A precipice that I didn’t know existed. Now, with the awareness of this precipice, comes fear. A suspicion that it is dangerous to love, to place one’s heart where it can be so easily broken. I have seen death before, but only of older people, where it was deemed ‘natural’, a fitting full-stop to life. Now, I am beginning to realise that death isn’t always so logical. 

One response is to consider that life is futile. When death can be so irrational, so arbitrary, what is the point of life, one wonders? On the other hand, two days ago, I was talking about this to a good friend, whose father passed away when she was 19. Her response was that while the death shocked her, it also led her to see better the preciousness of life, how invaluable is each second that we have left. 

apu In General

I’ve been disinclined to write my regular, long-ish posts for various reasons, but in the meanwhile, here is something I noticed a day ago, on a visit to the Landmark bookstore. 

I was very impressed to note that Landmark now has a ‘War History’ section; impressed, to think that there are enough readers sufficiently interested in not just history, but war history, for Landmark to dedicate one section to it. And what do I find among the selection? Blood and Guts, A History of Surgery!

apu The Literary life