Friday, July 15, 2016

2 Years

Some say, and we think so too, that we had been spoilt with Aditi. She was a very gentle little child when she was small, sitting in some quiet corner absorbed in a toy. Or sometimes talking in that tiny toddler voice to herself. We also lived in a smaller house with carpet on the floor, no stairs, nothing to climb up on. Even our bed was the low kind. Not that we had to worry about anything. She was not interested in climbing up on anything, and would behave as a lady at an English tea party.

And then, comes Shyam. He is kind of the exact opposite of what Aditi was when she was his age. A little active devil. I understand that he probably still is not as naughty or active as several other kids that we have seen, but he certainly is, for us. As I mentioned, I guess we have been spoiled by Aditi.

The little things were a bit slow in coming. He started turning over later, walking later, and still mostly speaks unintelligible gibberish. He has a shorter attention span and gets mad and angry. Throws little tantrums. Bites and pinches and scratches.
But he also laughs out loud. And loves climbing over me and Priya and Aditi. Loves his sister much (and she, him too). Gives the best hugs (shouting "hugggaaa"). Gives a naughty sideways smile as he is about to do something of mischief. Loves to take a bath (used to run to the bathroom when anyone mentioned a bath). Loves Bhujia and lollipop (papa) and green juice ("kala geen oos"). Loves running around in the backyard. Gets super excited to see other kids. Loves swings and slides. His favorite red car.
In so many ways now, we never can imagine how we used to live before he came along, just like how we could never imagine how life was before Aditi came along.

And this week, he turns 2.

Perhaps, it is the start of the terrible 2s. But I think it's a year where we get to know this little person better.

Happy Birthday, son. Happy birthday, Shyamu.

Monday, July 27, 2015

We have lost someone dear..

It is not very often that a death of someone we do not know personally burdens us much. But then to any Indian, Abdul Kalam was not someone whom you did not know personally. He was an icon, someone whom you could really look up to. Someone whom we could all aspire to be, a better, noble human being. And yet someone who seemed so approachable and close to you. A person whom you genuinely wished would live forever, as a guide, a teacher.

India has indeed lost a dear son.

Tuesday, July 07, 2015

The war

He stared at the night sky, a faint sigh escaping his lips. The fire cackled near him, and the night felt suddenly cold, as if the sound of the fire had made him realize that it was indeed a cold night. But it was just a physical reaction. His mid was somewhere else, somewhere very far.

The entire cosmos seemed visible in the night sky. Far far away, he could make out the distant constellations. Suddenly he felt tired. And irrelevant. "Why?", he asked himself.

But then he knew the answer to it too.

He looked around him. The place was finally deserted of humans. There were hyenas and vultures and foxes, feeding on the dead. But he wasn't afraid of them. Scavengers feeding on the dead. It was an animal instinct. Nothing else. But the destruction around him, the human loss! Oh, that saddened him.

Power,and greed. How it corrupted the human mind.

Great, powerful men had fought, for power, land and gold. And had left everyone dead, but just a few.

"Had good won?" He thought, and then again where could one draw the line between good and evil?

The war hadn't lasted long, just a few days. But it was the culmination of a long drawn feud. A feud that had been simmering for decades. That had, very often, resulted in skirmishes and conflicts. But an all out destructive war!
But now, it had ended. Whole clans decimated. Alliances destroyed. All that was left were a few survivors, and the horde of dead bodies.

Why had it happened? Where had he, a philosopher admired by both the sides, gone wrong? Why had he failed to stop this?

He looked back at the night sky. Deep inside, he wished that there might lie an answer. But the sky remained the same, and yet constantly changing.

He felt very trivial, sitting there, the ever shifting universe above him. He wondered. Does anything that we do change anything? The universe moves on, and yet, we kill, and battle for those tiny moments of gratification. We feel powerful, control other men, and yet, what are we, but a mere speck in the grand scheme of things?
He wondered what went through the minds of these feuding clans, their leaders. Had they no sense of morality? Didn't their hands tremble before they butchered one another?


A faint light shone in his eyes.

He knew that they were scared of nothing. That no good or evil went through their minds. For them, it was but a natural flow of things. And yet, he had to stop it from happening again. A tragedy of this scale should not occur again. Somehow, he felt that it was his duty to make that happen.

His destiny.

They had to be made aware of a righteous force. That was the only way.

He had to create a creator.

An omnipresent, omnipotent creator who would pervade and instill a sense of righteousness among his people.

Dawn was slowly breaking.

Vyasa sat up, and began writing.