Idle musings

This is a piece that was originally written last year, posting here just for the hell of it:    The House No One Visits Anymore No one visits anymore. I miss the children the most - they used to enliven my whole self, running around all the rooms, exploring the backyard, stealing food from the kitchen when the women weren't watching, hiding under the stairs to scare passers-by, demanding stories from the elders every night... Through them, I got to listen to so many stories, their ringing laughter, the sound of anklets as Ammu rushed out to save the last piece of unniyappam for herself... Oh, those were the days. I miss the loving touch of Savitri, the matriarch of the family, on my walls, as she called out to her grandchildren to not get drenched in the rain. I miss how the children listened to me, their ears pressed to the walls, during their childhood games, or as they slept on the floor. I glance at the charcoal drawings on the eastern wall, now faded with time. It's fun...

 One of the realizations that have come with the lockdown is the importance of quality over quantity. Might seem rather obvious to some, so I might have arrived late to the party. Whether with regards to the number of books you read or films you watch, how you appreciate a book/film by paying close attention to it and pondering over it is of much more value than say, reading a hundred books or watching as many films a year. I see so many channels and accounts these days talking about "How to Read More", "How I Read 100 Books in a Year" and the like, and feel sad about the kind of toxic notion being perpetuated to their gullible audience. It is similar to the notion of constant work being equated to success. Of course you should make an effort to do these things, but doing them mindfully should be the goal, especially in today's world of shrinking attention spans and multiple distractions. Being able to articulate why you like/dislike a book or film, or imbibing ...

 I'm not one who normally reads celebrity memoirs, and I must admit, I had harboured certain prejudices about this book being possibly frivolous even as I picked it up. I am not a die-hard fan of Priyanka Chopra either, but her recent films and interviews had really piqued my interest, for here was a true go-getter, a terrific actor who had dabbled in music, humanitarian causes, established a career abroad, and produced films that won National Awards. Her sheer level of achievement, and the emphasis she gave to her family in her interviews as being a constant pillar of support, was what made me pick it up. I initially expected to breeze through it quickly and get on with better books, but I was in for a surprise. Though I didn't like the Preface, the rest of the book, with abundant helpings of childhood memories spent in India and abroad, her parents and extended family being supportive and encouraging always, and the strange twists of fate that launched her unconventional care...

 A few takeaways from the ongoing corona era: One still forgets to wear a mask sometimes. Despite becoming used to it as part of one's apparel, it's only after you step out and see other masked faces that you realize yours feels strangely different, too open. Of course, many people seem to consider it an adornment for their chin where it stays permanently (some even use it as blindfolds or eye masks to doze off) or don't wear it at all, confident that the virus wouldn't dare approach them, or basking in the relief that they have contracted it and recovered already, I can't tell which. Maybe it is our inexperience in dealing with such a pandemic that makes us complacent and ill-prepared. "Normal" daily life presents a stark contrast to news bulletins and the realities of afflicted people inside homes and hospitals. Public transportation is as crowded as ever, people are out on the streets in droves, and travelling, if only for that perfect picture, is back ...