Cuneatus

Suffering is the same, be it human or animal or a plant. It takes a change of perspective and patience to put ourselves in the plight of an injured and helpless animal. The pangs of a hurt animal has affected my peace of mind many times. I remember the lines of a renowned philosopher whose name I fail to recall now. He said: Street dogs are living examples that inspire us to never give up on struggle. The urban surroundings have specific seasonal hazards for the poor animals that live their days away in a series of several regular struggles for sustenance. I'm sharing here an experience that I had with a pig family today. Pigs of all colours - pink, black and spotted ones, roam on our streets eating from garbage dumps and sewers. What started as a menace, personally, has now grown into harmonious living. I often feel empathy towards these huge creatures for their daily fight against scorching sun and hunger. Being fat and timid, they are frequently chased by the stray dogs. Thei

The picture I have posted here shows the wall of a stairway in the district hospital on which pan is spat upon. This is sordid proof of the pitiful state of our district hospitals run by the State Government. This is a reflection of the degree of carelessness and disregard that citizens have towards the governmental institutions. This picture speaks representatively of the attitude of millions of people. It is worth noting that the district hospital of Shivamogga is currently being renovated with state-of-art in-patient facilities, pharmacy and queuing. The behavior of people brought out through this photograph compels me to ask two major questions:  Did the folks of the town deserve this hospital infrastructure? Can this situation be improved? Answer to the first question lies embedded in the responsibility the government has towards the people it serves: provide facilities to ensure health and well-being. The second question is largely and too complex to fathom. Its abou

This raag has been intriguing me since the time I heard stories associating this raag with the musical maestro Tansen developing fever after King Akbar compelled him to sing it. Ghulam Ali rendering Raag Deepak Here is a link where you can listen to Ghulam Ali singing a composition in Deepak. The story says that after much coercion from Akbar, Tansen agreed to sing in Deepak. While he was halfway through his singing in the court, Tansen felt febrile, followed by profuse sweating and perceived high temperature in the atmosphere. He grew increasingly restless and ran out of the court due to intolerable heat that the Raag generated. Fortunately, the women at his residence started singing in Raag Malhar. Singing in Raag Malhar brought the rain and relieved Tansen of his discomfort. It is said that after several incidents of the extinguished court lamps having lit by the powerful rendition in Raag Deepak and the potential of the Raag to generate extreme energy in the atmosphere

We should never expect someone to behave in a particular way. No two people are the same. Even the twin children have different emotions and likes. But, each individual is special in his/her own way. Only when we appreciate the goodness in each other do we respect them and learn our first lesson in optimism. When I respect someone, it means I admire the goodness in that person. We should not stereotype anyone. Rather, we should accept people in the way they are. Life would be a lot simpler that way.

People may throw a million false accusations on you. They may ignore you to the extent when you start feeling that you were better dead than live. People may argue upon every point you  try to prove. People may disagree on every statement you make. People may choke you, throw stones at you, repel you, spit on you, crush you. But, remember - there is your will power that can not fail. You have to overcome all hurdles with courage. Dogs bark, but humans do not bark back at them. We cannot throw stones at every dog that barks. When you have a goal, you got to have a high degree of will power to keep going, no matter how bitter the criticisms are. Nothing can hurt a strong heart and mind. So, stay focused. The goal gets nearer when you keep walking forward. Cheers!

( The names of all children written about in this post are not their actual names. )           Summer camps are those few days of fun every parent looks forward to. Parents expect that their kids should not while away their precious holidays at home. They enroll them into various arenas that could possibly, nurture their talents and make them smart, productive and proactive. Their long-term goal is to ensure that their kids grow into responsible individuals in the community, and the camps are places where children learn as they play. Summer camps have several train-the-brain activities for kids, inculcated with fun exercises that impart desirable social skills in them. In the beautiful district of Shivamogga, three voluntary organizations and a self-help group have joined hands in organizing, for yet another year, Chinnara Loka (World of Kids), a summer camp at Parisara Adhyayana Kendra (Center for Environmental Studies), a serene green landscape in the Santhekadooru vi

How ethically just is it to set a rule on how many children can a physically and mentally sound human being have? How clear is the line of regard for culture when there is an advisory to regulate the reproductive tradition that has been practiced since the birth of a society? If birth-control guidelines were not a violation of the basic human right to freedom of deciding on the number of children they need, then what is it? Governments in the third world countries have established the practice of treating children (rather, products of conception) as a commodity that can be paid to do without. National contraception programs have encroached into the beds of impoverished hamlets and dictate terms on conception. And as if the lethal verdict was not sufficiently delivered through hospitals, armed doctors invade the villages and severe the reproductive tubes of the women who were missed at the hospitals. India's history of contraception starts from mid-twentieth century when people

Malayalam being my mother tongue, my knowledge about the history of performing arts and theatre in Kannada is shallow. I would share here some information about an eminent theatreperson of Karnataka, T. P. Kailasam. I'm thankful to my friend, Dr. Thippeswamy for having introduced me to the theatre songs of Kannada's yesteryears, penned by T. P. Kailasam. I watched a video on YouTube showcasing the best compositions of this illustrious performer. The song Namma Thipparalli Balu Doora has such a happy feeling to listen that after a day of having listened to it, you would continue tapping your feet to its lyric and music. I browsed for more information on this renowned Kannada song and to my astonishment, I found out that the tune of Namma Thipparalli Balu Doora was borrowed from an English song of the times of First World War, "Its A Long Way To Tipperary". This song was regarded as a war song during WW1. The music and spirit of this song inspired T. P. Kailasam dee

The night has fallen. We sleep through it because we believe that there is a dawn waiting at the other end. You can never take anything bigger than nature for granted. Our entire existence is a clockwork on strings of subtle, inconspicuous and unexplored beliefs. In spite of the paradox that our concerns about uncertain tomorrows have largely marred the reality of today, we have made advancements. Now, that's the power of hope; hope that as it has always been, this night, and these hard times will also end, and a new dawn awaits everyone.

He was self-programmed to dispose what he used up, but Some sins are so deep that you can’t hide with your eyes shut. He befriended the dark, trusted its length and silence He left no clues behind, and hoped to wash the stains of violence. It was eleven on the dashboard, the wipers cleared windscreen visibility Not fear frosting on his temples, from femicide out of phrenic fragility. Blood is darker when it clots after it spills somewhere It leaks out of the corpse and rain can’t wash it everywhere For the first time ever, fetish landed him in a gory scene. Stacked into trunk of the old Suzuki, flesh in six bags of polythene. He dropped at her house late in the evening, she never knew him He saw her first at the party sing and set rolling his romantic prelim. He was enchanted, her beauty did, Mystified his senses, animated him Captivated his thoughts, and he couldn’t forbid. That she loved him too was a sinister whim. Oceans in her eyes