My tryst with wordsmithing
Many runners warned me about the torturous and scary 9KM trail loop between 82-91 in the Malnad Trail Ultra. In fact one of the runners at 82km rest area warned me not to go without a water bottle as it is a hard climb. I don’t carry a bottle and had to find a empty soft drink bottle that I could re-use. That is when I thought ‘this must be a lovely fun climb’ as…
The beautiful set of opposites that ‘centres’ you is what a trail run does to me. A short poem on this as “Trail run experience”..(#227)
Numbed by the many #meToo posts/news, could not resist penning one of this “#meToo”. (#226)
“It has been a season of interesting judgements Covering various matters of love & bonding, roads & religion” A second one on the recent rulings from courts creatively expressed as “a season of INTERESTING JUDGEMENTS” (#224)
The evening rain converted the Bangalore roads into a mushy trail. After a long day, I decided to lie down quietly in the rear seat of the van. It turned to be a brilliant treat to all my senses, the constant jangle due to potholes hidden by rain massaging me, the glorious honking energising my ears, streaks of bright light from powerful hi-beam stimulating my eyes, the strong burst of wafting smells from an overflowing…
We have many cases in court that languish affecting individuals, but in matters associated with God/religion, we act quickly, only to cause consternation among a larger society. A creative take on the recent Supreme Court ruling on Sabarimala. (#223)
It was just another short night walk with my dog today. It turned out be special, thanks to a magical combination of cool weather, resplendent shy moon above, shiny yellow puddles of light below, sweet fragrance of Night Queen and the stillness of silence. Enjoy this in “The shy moon”. (#222)
A creative take of the recent heavy rains in South India as commencing with a roar of the river and ending up sleeping peacefully in the sea, in “The downpour”.(#221)
My second language was Tamil until 5th standard and when we moved to Bangalore, I was forced to take Hindi. Learning a-aah-e-eeh at 5th standard meant I was in a perennial catch up mode all the way until 10th. And the ICSE board meant proficiency in Hindi was expected to be of highest standard. When I stepped into the final year of school, I was filled with mortal fear. One lady ensured that I did…
In my neighbourhood an old man in tattered clothes driving a dilapidated truck is the one who comes daily to collect the garbage. Know what, he wishes me and smiles too, and does his job well. Sad that BBMP does not equip them with modern hygienic tools. Have you pondered as how it would be to live in his shoes? My creative schizophrenia continues as “I am a garbage collector” now. (#219)