Elegy in the death of a home

I don't want the blog to sound like an endless rant. But this matter deserves respect. It is a direct link to my heritage. As much of a nomad that I am, I have very few places that I consider home. A place where I take off my masks, and be myself. A place where I don't have to ask permission for most things. And this place has so many memories. But I have to confess a lot of it is because of the age that I was when I was around there. Still, it was one of the most beautiful places on earth.

It was a place that instilled calm in everyone. Anyone at the height of tensions could just go sit on the verandah and just feel the home fill them with calm. You could notice that the instant they start to talk.

The home had small rooms, but very cozy. I used to sleep really well when I was there. There was a magic to the cool feel of the old place...and to the soft hum of the table fan...

My grandmother's sister used to live there alone most of the time or with some hired help at times. She used to be happy anytime I go there. I would just go and get some laddoos or Vada for her and that used to make her happy. Conversations with her were always pretence-free and straight. No interpretation needed.

Aah...the old attic - and the hours I spent there searching for hidden treasure. and I often did find some though mostly in books. But it was an adventure always what with the fear of the mythical crazy cat that apparently used to stay there.

My grandma's sister remains a spinster her whole life. There was not much that happened differently in her life, but she would get up at 4 every single day. We keep asking her not to. But she couldnt get rid of the habit ever. And mornings as you come and sit at the grand table, coffee would be ready. Needless to say she is an excellent cook and I enjoyed her food very very much.

My post wouldnt do any justice to the place without the mention of the ice box. There was never a need for a refrigerator at the place. Every food was fresh and cooked daily. But there was an old ice box...a really old one. You could put ice in the bottom trays and then the top compartments could be used like a refrigerator of sorts...

But the funny thing is that this ice box had been turned into a library of sorts. I come from a family of hyper enthusiastic readers. Though at that time they couldnt afford most books, they got their hands on a lot of comics. And I think I have read every single one of them atleast 15 times. My mom's uncle who used to come there often would make fun of us calling it a reference library. but it was what it was...Something about those comics - we could never get bored with them...

Some of the classic Batman, Superman, Phantom, Flash Gordon, Garth and Bahadur...very well written and imaginative...I am talking about the time before when Batman and Superman used to be sane and straight forward. It is funny. Life was pretty straight forward and simple there.

Well, it is just a dream now. The place is no more. I know it hurt a lot of people who doesnt deserve it. Ironically, Batman and Superman took a turn to fight mutants and crazy new villains. Life started to curve and climb. And the home was built for a much purer life.

A sign of the times...

First rant

So I finally decided that I need to vent. And at that time nothing seems to work in a speed I need it to. Even my machine takes a while to boot up. I am sure it just feels longer. But then again, what is time but the perception of it?

So, the observations of a middle path taker - who would want to read that? Seriously...But on the other side, life around has become radical enough that the middle path guy might be worth while listening to...Hell, its the life of reality shows...Every one wants a sneak peek at each others lives to know what they are doing different thats making them happier than us...So life has become one giant gossip. So, it doesn't sound so bad putting my own out there.

So, I was watching the movie Prairie home companion today. Garrison Keillor is an awesome artist...A very nerdy looking character who will show you emotions you didn't realize you had. His voice has this narrative quality that anyone who listens to him automatically becomes a part of it. So how do I identify with a very calm sounding radio host whose thoughts are very entwined with religious, philosophical and comical vines? I am still looking for the answer. But, I think the easy answer is fantasy.

I get *fantasy*. And someone who understands fantasy can understand a lot about life. It is simple. Life is but this journey towards some distant fantasy. People call it ambition to rid themselves of the guilt. But it is not different. Ambition is just specialized fantasy. And if you keep your mind open enough, you can explain a lot with that point of view.

So as I hear the toilet flush in the apartment next to mine, I think of the different permutations and combinations of emotions that a things as trivial as that triggers in different people. Every normal thing around you is normal because of your prejudice. Aaah...Now I got into that dangerous territory called Prejudice. That is a concept so huge I'll have to write it another day - so vast just because everyone is a victim of it.

But to put a spin on a thought, anything we perceive as real, is in tune with every other thing we perceive as real. I am going to call each of them a *thing*. And each thing has a core value, which is the value the thing has the most of. But that also means that other values are inbuilt in each *thing* just at a smaller percentage. You know I'm starting to think that theory has merit in the unreal world too. Heck, there might not be any difference in the values in either of the worlds :P

(This post dedicated to Baiju ettan)