SPELLS THAT CONJURED ME

One word, gone --- gone in sixty seconds, gone with the wind, or just, gone. School days are just a blob on the timeline. Perhaps, it’s the biggest blob. But what makes that blob? It is a spicy mixture for some, for another it is a gummy one meant to stretch, for yet another it could be bitter. But one thing it is for all; a thing to turn to as an excuse or comfort at the slightest pretext. It is who we are. We grow up getting assaulted and loved by our teachers, and then when we do finally step out into the world, miraculously, things they said that we probably never let seep into our brains then, pop up and haunt, taunt or dictate as the situation may be. School life is like a shell that thickens through the years. Later, some shatter it and get carried away by the lures of the world (like the spider and the fly in the nursery rhyme, so to speak) and some, neatly leave behind a beautiful piece on the sand for collection.

Mine I would liken to that pensieve in Dumbledore’s office that one has to peer into to see chosen memories and relive them. I have bits and pieces of stories to tell from all of the eight schools I have been to in my days spent in that blob. Fortunately, the largest chunks would come off the days spent in this school. The foundations for my life, the choices I knew I would go on to make were all fixed in junior school. But how I would grow to make them real was taught by this school. I grew up very fast in my time here. Forced or facilitated, I can’t say; probably both. I was too young and immature to be shaped till I came here. Here, luck gave me teachers, friends and opportunities that chiseled and sculpted me into who I am. Added to that lies the fact that I never fit in. Not being a part of that world gives you a third person critical eye that can survey life as it comes and your own character for that matter. When I stepped out into the world and had to begin living my life on a daily basis alone, it was as easy as ABC. I have been polished well. I cannot be chipped that easily --- at least I say this much with confidence. What ingredient in that mixture made me fit in to where I am today, as I sit contemplating and writing this, I cannot say. Well, then, let’s say it blends in so well with the mixture of the blob, that it is like that one defining material that lies low and does not gloat of its contribution till, once, it isn’t there and we realise its worth and admire it.

In the last days of school, all of us were frustrated that we were stuck in school for so long and at the same time, we were a bit apprehensive of what life was to come in future and a fear that we may miss “the best part of a person’s life” as the “older” people around us put it lay low and growling at the back of our minds. I think that we go to school, learn all kinds of mischief, eventually become expert  at all kinds of mischief and by the time we reach our senior year, we are ready to unleash our devilry into the world. That is what our school life trains us most for --- wrecking the world without wrecking yourself. College is the time to take it to the next level. Those who can, survive; those who fail, (well, there is no sweet way to say it) wish they were back in school. At school everybody is a superstar.

If I tried to narrate incidents from my school life, then “memory burns on a short fuse” (Ngangom, Robin S., “The Strange Affair of Robin S. Ngangom”), for that is not how I think of it when I do.  But, my school life at DPS, DJN is the tastiest part of that blob because it made me who I am. Everywhere else I was only told who I am. Miranda House college building is, literally, a Hogwarts castle. I like to think of myself as the customized witch living the Hogwarts dream and I have my school life, especially the last four years, to thank for that! 

THE LITTLE PRINCE - the book that showed me who I was and where I belonged...

" I ask the indulgence of the children who may read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious reason : he is the best friend i have in the world . " - Antoine de Saint Exupey in the 'dedication' in The Little Prince.

From even before the start of the story, the novella has you . A simple narrative that talks you through the experiences of the Little Prince , a boy from an asteroid ( Asteroid B-612 ) , who has set out to explore other worlds and make friends , clutches the reader till the end . Through the innocent conversations that the Prince has with the myriad creatures he meets , Saint Exupery has given the child reader a better understanding of his childhood and the adult reader a fuller understanding of who they themselves are . With frank and childlike words of the Little Prince and the wise words of those whom he encounters , the reader is very freely and effortlessly , exposed to deep truths of life . For instance , when he says , " It is such a mysterious place , the land of tears . " or , " What makes the desert beautiful , is that somewhere it hides a well ..." . The Little Prince , I believe , has the power to charm the reader of every age , of any mindset , and therefore , I would say , take a bite off this book's share of humour , serious and sorrow . It is bound to be a journey like you've never experienced before . And if you do dare to read it again on another day in another year when you are the wiser , you will once more have embarked on a journey as you never before did ! 

In Custody by Anita Desai - A review

From the very first line one floats through the mind of Deven , the seemingly timid and introverted hero in the story . As the tale advances , one begins to discover the plight of Deven , alone in friendship , as he tries to find a place for himself in the society .  Deven , a teacher of Hindi in a college in a small town called Mirpore is called on by his supposed old pal , Murad to interview the poet of his dreams , perhaps India’s greatest living Urdu poet , Nur . The narrative shifts subtly between sarcasm , satire , comedy and tragedy . It flames sympathy , ridicule and deep thought as it carries the reader forward through Deven’s attempt to free himself of his dreary life in Mirpore and his quest for recognition as a keeper of Urdu . One clearly feels the excitement , anxiety and anguish in Deven’s heart every time he is subjected to various ordeals in an attempt to accomplish the tasks given him by Murad , a complete opposite in character to himself . The novel bases itself on the decline in culture , a change in the mindset of people towards modernity , how Urdu is then losing its significance and the passive war between Hindi and Urdu . At the same time it ponders upon the complexity of human relationships . Amidst all this stand pusillanimous Deven , ruffian Murad , beaten Nur and all the rest of their acquaintances .

A witty play of words , vivid descriptions and thought provoking issues put together , this novel is an indisputable masterpiece meant for both the quiet and disconcerted reader . With many a lesson to teach it places itself among the must reads . 

It was written and shortlisted for the Booker prize in 1984 . 

Angle

Each morning we look at the mirror . Then we walk away .

We fail to see the enormity of our existence . We focus on the spotlight . It is there , except the light comes from elsewhere . But we stare straight ahead . We are standing , but merely on a wooden stage covered with cloth . The spotlight casts the shadow of us and our image on an empty floor in a deserted room . But the shadow is weak and the room is empty . 

Look around I did . The light from the open windows blinded me . The closed doors I did not see . I climbed on to the polished stage . I turned my back on my reflection in the mirror . It walked away , as did I.

THE ABYSS

Her eyes were wide open .  She was staring at the white light of a CFL .  But she saw dark , black endlessness .  Everybody hated her now , and she hated everyone else .  Even him .  She was all alone .  But she would not be the one to make truce .  What was she to them ?  They were all together , she was alone .  Her life had just been plunged into the abyss . . .  .

First came hate , then a sense of loss , void , followed , and then again came more hatred .

Most people actually mean "dislike" when they say "hate" .  But , hate is a strong word .  It takes control of their minds .  Once hatred takes over , it doesn't let go . It grows larger by the day , produces more tentacles .  It roots itself in the mind .  A tiny thing disliked becomes the reason for an endless plunge into the abyss . . .  never to re-emerge .

THE BED

The tinier one is , the bigger the world seems . That is why we grow up learning in steps , passing each grade as each year goes by . Then one day , we are just thrown out into the world to find a place for ourselves . Memories that were at the deepest of cellars at the bottom of the head begin to haunt us . They create a feeling of longing , a sort of inextinguishable thirst for our childhood life again .
So , in this mood , however you may interpret or imagine it to be , I lay on my narrow bed and lost myself in the memories of "the bed" . It is still here . My sister practically lives on it ! She spends her day sleeping in it , her night rolling on it with her laptop , and all her stuff are on it . She always races after the clock because she can't bring herself to get off it . I don't blame her though . It has been with her all her life . It is a typical double bed for a commoner . But to us , my sister , Tina and me , it is a lot more than just a bed .
When I was seven and she was thirteen , we imps used to build entire houses , complete with dining hall , kitchen , two bedrooms , two bathrooms , a living room , a store room and a balcony , with sarees on that bed . I would have trouble getting onto it because it was so high and it used to seem so large that I would be afraid to stay on it . Five people could squeeze into it , two of them being us imps . But , then , my mother used to feel like a scary giant .
I am taller than my mother now . The bed has trouble housing just three people . It is too short to roll on anymore . The world seems to have shrunk . But I don't seem to have grown bigger . I don't believe that I grew up . I think the bed grew small . 

LIFE!

Its funny how life just works out. You get everything you need but barely anything you want; unless, ofcourse, you are super stubborn! One fine day you do grow up and want to feel like one. You want at least those close to you to treat you like one, but that doesn't happen. And then suddenly they put you up to a task that you think you can't possibly complete and turns out, that it is just what you required to be able to put yourself out into the world. Then again, you really wish you had better studied literature and you get into sociology. Maybe that will be the right thing to do anyway. To top it all, the head tells you what is logical. But, the heart always tells you what is right for you. Life is too short to waste on hesitation, tension and depression. Just follow your heart and do what she tells you every moment and you will be happy.

P.S. : Getting stuck between decisions makes one philosophical.

The exquisite fear of the non-existent

She was walking down the road in the countryside , lined with tall bamboo reeds , gulmohars , mehendi trees and lots more . The sky was the darkest shade of blue . The sun had taken its bow quite a while ago . Incidentally , at this hour , there were no people out on the streets and the birds had kissed each other their last goodnights . The sound of the autumn leaves being crushed under her worn out chappal became the only disturbance in the silent pall that had descended on the landscape . This assumed a rhythm . After a while the pace quickened . It kept increasing till it could increase no longer . Then , abruptly , it stopped . The lady of interest was confronted by a figure with laterally outstretched arms. It was though , a few paces away . The night was foggy but not cold . In fact , the lady was sweating from the abrupt halt that had been fashioned due to the untoward appearance of this apparition . She was sure of the road . She was aware approximately where she was . She had traversed this route everyday once . It was the shortest way home from the tea fields and used to be her comfort back from work in the afternoon when she worked there . It had been a while since . But , she was sure of the road . She knew it like she did the back of her hand . The figure just encountered was never there . She had spent a minute wandering off into the attics and anterooms of her memories . She was jolted back into the present . A branch creaked above her head . Almost immediately , a chilly breeze blew that touched her and swayed the apparition but rustled not a leaf . Then , something swooshed across the road just behind her . Now , the figure approached her and quickened its pace . She turned on her heal and ran . She ran fast , but the specter followed . The lady ran and ran till she reached the town and knocked on her uncle's door .

There is no story beyond that . That is because this was the story told by my domestic helper , as an excuse to not leave the house one night , which she had heard from a friend of hers whose sister was the unfortunate lady in the account ! But beware ! If I so much as venture to say that the story does not make sense and that there could have been too much distortion in the narrative while it was being passed down the knowledge of two until it reached her , I am unfailingly branded as an unfeeling and weird one who will suffer for having hurt the sentiments of the victimized .

Well these people were rural illiterates . They stick to traditions and know no better . They can be excused . But what of those brilliant neighbours with MBAs and LLBs and MDs? I was at a party , one night , and we were all dancing . Unknowingly , I had been dancing right in front of a tulsi plant with , apparently of great importance , my hair open . All of a sudden , one of my friends pulled me aside and questioned me , in a very disturbingly distressed and agitated manner , how I didn't know that I was silently invoking spirits to attack me and that I had called upon a bad omen . When I inquired how the belief had come about when tulsi was actually considered "pure" in the Hindu religion , she turned red as a turnip ! How dare I pollute the place with a bad omen and then have the audacity to proceed to question the spiritual beliefs !

Another time a friend of mine was giving me an account of how her domestic helper had caught a spirit while walking under a mehendi tree and all the trouble she and her family had to go through to send away the phantom . I found this account a bit astonishing , simply because these stories were never , as a rule , first or second person narrations . Hers , though , seemed an exception . So , I meekly upheld that there was a mehendi tree at the gate of the bungalow where I resided and I had passed under it and stood under it at night , with open hair even , numerous times . To this she replied that I had a strong aura around me that prevented ghosts from coming to me . But , most others had a weak aura . Ghosts attacked only those who let them , that is those who couldn't make their aura strong enough . She assured me that I need never worry about my safety as far as "the other world" was concerned . Well , well , well . The only person who told a first person account of a phantom encounter had declared that she would never be able to prove its existence to me because I repelled ghosts . Maybe the "anonymous storyteller" rule wasn't broken after all .

Then there are these trifles like "never call somebody by his name from behind his back ; it is a bad omen" , "don't hand a needle to someone , pass it by rolling it through the floor or table" , and so on . But , undoubtedly , the most hilarious of all is the notion , "don't go ahead if a black cat crosses the road in front of you" . And , so , one fine , sunny day I go out cycling with my friend . A black cat runs across the street about two meters ahead of us . My friend stops and seeing him , I follow suit . I tell him it is silly and that there really is no basis to this belief . My incredulity makes him all the more reluctant . So , I ride off and go ahead of the place where the cat crossed the street . Nothing happens to me . According to his rule , now that someone has crossed that "line" , he is safe to go ; as though the omen sort of lifted out . Ironically , the moment he comes by my side , both the tyres of his cycle get punctured . Incredible , but true .

What is the result of all these experiences and more of the kind? It makes me wonder what kind of ghosts are these? Whatever kind they are , they are definitely better than rogue guys cornering you on dark empty lanes and bashing up your organs! But serials like "Shhh..... Koi hai......" and its sequel , "Shhh..... Phir Koi hai....." come up and ghost stories already exist in folklore and people just go about narrating those same things . There is nothing new or sizzling about any of the experiences anyone has ever told me . Well , people are afraid of the dark because they can't see things clearly and one feels secluded and alone in a mysterious environment . People repeat what they know and what they think they should be afraid of from those books and serials . The truth is that probably nobody knows what really to expect . Fear is not the mind telling you that something is about to go wrong . It is the mind telling you that there might be something there that you have never encountered and that you may not be best equipped to deal with it . It gives you a kind of warning against being hopeful and positive lest you should fail and be too disappointed . That is the case not just with the fear of darkness but with the fear of anything . Atleast , that is what I feel . And just now I am afraid to say it for sure lest it not be right .

You open a cupboard and random things just fall out onto your head!!

All this while I've been sitting and thinking of so many things , but the moment I sit down to write them they are gone ! I don't know and I don't care . I just feel free and very confident , although I haven't really done anything in my life as yet . I just feel an uncanny "happy" . Happy that I am out of school - well , not officially - but all the same , I will surely be . Isn't it outrageous that I'm just one month out of school and I barely remember any of those monstrous physics theories or those chemical reactions that glare out of the text book but don't really have much to say ? Why do people have to cram all those theories that don't make any sense to a highschooler ? Even so , I haven't done anything in my life yet . So , I don't get to pass judgements on such stuff - to others .

To myself - I can't help them . This is my diary . I know that a diary is meant for writing secret things to get them off one's mind and is locked away from everyone else . But , I tried it and realized that I couldn't just write it . I had to say it to someone . Some people talk to the diary . That didn't work for me either . I had to talk to real people . People physically around me would talk back and ask questions and contradict everything I say because things I blurted would be truly said by the "happy" bubble . That is why I blog and you read .

Obviously , reading somebody's thoughts - they are my thoughts exactly when I'm sitting idle , which I have been doing quite a bit lately - makes more sense if you can imagine the person , the voice . You don't have to be interested though . It doesn't matter . This is my diary .

Speaking of idleness , I have been reading Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray . It is definitely the most intriguing piece of literature that I have had the good fortune of reading so far .
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book . Books are well written or badly written . That is all ."
 -- Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray ( preface ) . 

Influence - they are like those moral or immoral books . The other day I was watching one of the knockout rounds of  The Voice , season 4 . Adam Levine chose the subtle one while her opponent had blown away everybody with her amazing range , control and what not . Made me think - maybe the world wasn't made for only the big and the bad after all .

Anyway , my big fat bubble of "happy" is just getting bigger and bigger . Or , maybe , it isn't . Maybe , any of this doesn't make sense . So what , my "happy bubble" is happy and that is all that matters to me right now .

35,000 FEET ABOVE AVERAGE

"You would not believe your eyes if ten million fireflies lit out the world as I fell asleep . 'cause they fill the open air, leave teardrops everywhere.............."(Owl city -- Fireflies)
The world , life , can seem so much more meaningful when the eye looks out at a wonder , or rather what the brain perceives as wonder . Flickering lights of red , yellow and blue stared up at our flight as the pilot maneuvered the airbus A320 through the runway for takeoff .  The newly renovated Kolkata terminal  flaunted its flamboyant structure . Green over-wing lights were for a moment the reason for wide open eyes of the captivated eighteen year old sitting directly above it .

Captivating as the lights were , the 5 MP camera was disappointing . It couldn't see through the enchanted girl's eyes . The airplane rose and so did the spirit . A map of a thousand candles materialized inch by inch , foot by foot , yard by yard . And then they grew bigger , once dimmer , another time disappeared and finally shrunk to nothing .

Nothing it was until........... she took off her earphones , shut down her laptop and paid attention to the Indigo crew patting themselves on the back and asking passengers to help them go about it . Five minutes later , 35000 became 34000 and 32000 and............. the million twinkling gold coins caught that imp on the threshold of adulthood sitting over the wing . A million gold nuggets in a never-ending sheet of black and quiet -- most serene , a sense of  peace , contentedness and fullness of purpose , a mind-numbing calm and quietude .

Wow! A river of yellow! A queue of marching red ants! But why were building lights and street lights flickering so often? It wasn't as though they were vanishing for a while and reappearing , they were flickering like the flame of a candle in the wind . So , why? A frown appeared on that familiar feminine forehead . Oh , ofcourse! Trees were the reason . From miles above trees weren't showing color , they were blocking it . They had found their own way of doing their bit even though they hadn't the power to show themselves .

The light came closer by the second . However , surprisingly , they hardly got any bigger ! They had gotten significantly smaller when we'd lifted off the ground and now that we were back touching down ( at the new domestic terminal in Chennai that had opened only that day ) , they weren't getting much smaller ! Bizarre ! Maybe humans aren't so aloof from nature after all . 

Complex, complexx, and complicated .......

"Civilization is a hopeless race to discover remedies for the evils it produces."
 -- Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
Sure it is! Humans started out simple, one fine generation tried to make things simpler and then with every one thing they simplified, at least another(generally more, I'm just trying to be polite) they made complex. The   world has been simplifying things for so long that we now have uncountable more complicated things than we would ever have had if the process of simplification had not seen its inception. So much so, that I don't know how to define simple any more! No wonder there is a "generation gap"(that is another problem created by us too -- or them.). Generation gap is basically an argument about 'who is the simpler one'.

Almost everyday my loquacious mother and laconic me get into a cat fight about how my Samsung Galaxy Ace is much easier to handle than her almost obsolete Nokia Supernova. You might guess the results of those quarrels. But thinking deeper, I did have to Google to get an idea of certain functions of my phone and my phone doesn't receive any business cards(I have to actually download an app to get phone nos. -- one of the basic functions of a phone!) and against that her phone just had the trouble of an invisible screen in daylight.

Digging even further down under, I make simple situations complex so that I understand them and can work out a solution to them except that simple problems should be easier to solve! I can conquer calculus without much effort but elementary arithmetic?Hell! I can consider myself a 'top student' on account of having answered the toughest parts of the question paper but the easiest ones always find a way to stubbornly sit on my head!  And surprisingly(or not) I am not the lone ugly duckling. "Complicated" has trickled down to our genes and today complicated is simple and simple is complex.

I'd sure like to think about what life has come to today as:
"The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization."
 --Sigmund Freud.

There is usually a kernel of truth in the words Oscar Wilde puts in the mouth of his most outrageous characters -- they wouldn’t be funny if otherwise. One such gem that is worth pondering is: “The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.” Is it true that when we most need advice we are least willing to listen to it? Or is good advice always welcome?

Phantoms won’t always be around to show you your future or turn back time for you to relive your past like they did Uncle Scrooge in ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens. Ebenezer Scrooge didn't listen to his girlfriend, not even his boss of his first job. He virtually got a second chance at life only after the phantoms showed him what he would become if he kept ignoring the advice of his well-wishers – he would have none. In the story, however, he was able to set things right. But, for most of us, there will be neither phantoms nor second chances at untying the knots. There is plenty of advice coming one’s way, probably just meant to be passed on to brethren and offspring.

Advice is given to keep people on track. It has been passed on from one generation to the next with the motive of maintaining the order which has already been set in the society. It has also been a tradition – more a law of nature – that good advice, rather one that advocates a truth, is not taken but only given. If I ask you to listen to a particular song, you will, most likely, comply. If I ask you to stop hanging out with your boyfriend because I think he is eccentric, selfish and possessive, you and I, in all likelihood, will part ways.

One fine day, your boyfriend will hurt you. You try to leave him and live your life happily and normally again, but it is too late. That day you achieve enlightenment. You think that “Oh! God! Why hadn't I listened to her then?” You are frustrated and regretful but more experienced. Now, you begin the ritual of spurting out honey that turns into venom at the eardrum of the listener.  The same kind that stung you once. For instance, my sister brushed aside advice and severed relationships with her loved ones when she was told to follow her dreams and not study engineering. Her concept – I will get a job soon. And stick to her concept she did. She was right. She did land a job in four years. But, she couldn't cope with the stress. It asked of her everything she was not built to give. Enlightenment was achieved, realisation dawned. Now, it was her turn to spurt and I am her subject.

In this case, both boyfriend and a quick job are the same as the spider from the nursery rhyme ‘The Spider and the Fly’ or the junk food in the roadside stands. They are bad things that lure one to them. They appear wearing the false hides of ‘easy and comfortable’. Humans, who do, instinctively, incline towards the easy way out, are too effortlessly tempted. That is why the enlightened adults are necessarily around to advice and the confused youngsters to listen. The law of nature must be upheld, the gongs of tradition must beat in time.

Since time immemorial it has been customary to pass on knowledge verbally; many a time in the form of a story. Every story had a moral and morals were good advice. Those stories, as stories have always been, were set in the backdrop of the contemporary society. They told people what the world around them was like. Today, we have media that connect us to hills, deserts, cities and oceans of the world. But one thing hasn't changed – advice are given and then given again. People still need to show others what to look at before they leap. And those who are shown, most often don’t see. They don’t leap if they should and leap if they mustn't. After all, advice is free and freedom is sweet.

“A man who waits to believe in action before action is anything you like, but he is not a man of action. It is as if a tennis player before returning the ball stopped to think about his views on the physical and mental advantages of tennis. You must act as you breathe.” -- Georges Clemenceau. Is it true that acting quickly and instinctively is the best response to a crisis? Or are there times when an urgent situation requires a more careful consideration and a slower response?

 She was packing her suitcase. It was a well planned packing that she was doing. Her dresses were neatly ironed and folded. There was no rummaging, no digging into a packed suitcase for a lost item – it wasn't one of those tedious rounds of packing that obfuscated you. Everything was perfect except, the time was 6.30 p.m. and the train to catch was at 7.00 p.m.  She was obfuscated – by herself.  Or at least, she had been. At 6.00 p.m. she was running late. But, just as always, she thought that everything would fall into place. So, at 6.30 p.m., she was humming a tune. Well the train station was only five miles away, but rush hour traffic could make the journey an hour long. At 6.00 p.m. she faced an emergency. Did she take time to think or was she following her instincts?

She was doing what she was accustomed to do; wait for the puzzle pieces to be blown into place the wind. She didn't know how to act; or rather, whether or not to act. In a way, instincts ruled her mind and instincts aren't always the right keys to the lock.

Your instincts may not always be as intelligent as you wish it to be. The Indian govt. recently found itself in a fix when mass protests broke out in the country over a brutal gang rape.  Their guts told them, “Stop the crowd!”  So, stop the crowd they did. That crowd complied, but a bigger and angrier one came back. This time it stuffed so many more problems in the govt.’s mouth. The media too began to pull a hair here, a leg there – anything it could get hold of.  The govt. was turned into a treacherous villain overnight.  A villain that had to be slain. Their ‘instincts’, now, backed out and ‘thought’ captured the spotlight. Then ‘thought’ didn't budge from there. They weren't being able to translate it into action. Too much thinking, at this hour, wasn't helping. They were seemingly failing to resolve a common crisis in a democracy.

It is when ‘instinct’ and ‘thought’ co-sign the contract that the business can flourish. Think, but think fast. Follow your instincts but not without thought. The wiring around the main switch in the house short-circuited.  It is dead of the night and all the appliances have blown-off. A fire has started and there is plenty of inflammable material in the immediate surroundings. What would you do? Seeing that it is pitch black and that it is a fire you must tackle, your instincts will tell you to dash for the bucket in the bathroom. Your instinct isn't aware that water and electricity have been the most extreme of enemies ever since their co-existence began. It can’t put two and two together. It is your thought that must warn you. Your thought, if it isn't asleep, will direct you to sand in the garden or a blanket in the closet. It shows you what is wiser.

But even to lead you to the bathroom, your instincts must be energetic. That, however, will not be the case unless you are proactive. A patient at the operating table is having a seizure.  Slow instincts can, in this case, be fatal. Inactive instincts coupled with ‘thought’ in a coma, is undoubtedly damaging. It can throw a person into a dilemma too dark and deep to come out of.  It is like waking up suddenly and finding yourself in the middle of a thicket with overgrown vegetation.

Just as an untidy handwriting daily will not, magically, result in exemplary calligraphy in the examination, will not be able to run from an approaching snake. Getting the right concoction of instinct and thought needs practice. Rome was not built in a day and a badly brewed potion didn't make the Halloween Town witch famous.

"What man calls civilization always results in deserts. Man is never on the square -- He uses up the fat and greenery of the earth. Each generation wastes a little more of the future with greed and lust for riches." -- Don Marquis. With our modern awareness of ecology are we likely to make sufficient progress in conservation, or are we still in danger of damaging the earth beyond repair?

"Each generation wastes a little more of the future..............." -- Don Marquis.
A time will come when the existing generation will have nothing to waste. Will machines take over the earth and annihilate the humans? No. Will the exhaustion of resources result in mutation of a virus that turns humans to zombies? No. Will the world return to stone age and humans separate into tribes fighting against new and savage beats? No. We imagine for the worst out of fear. We fear because we know we are inflicting too much pain on nature. Nature isn't hurting us in return. But she will, eventually, buckle down on her knees and crumble. This dread has crept into our minds and is building its nest at the back of our minds. Nobody, however, can imagine what the future will look like.

People can't imagine that which is unknown to them. People fear to venture into the realm of the unknown. People are afraid that of they go on the way they are, one day the world would change beyond recognition. Alter it will; and for the worse. People are making efforts to hold fast to the world of today. They want to keep the picture hanging on the wall. It is true that change can be brought in the lifestyle of the people if they try hard enough and the world can be made a better place with those changes. But will everybody try hard enough? Even if everyone can be awakened, how long will it take?

It took us so many years to just realise that we are ruining the world. It may take just so many years more to find out what the right thing to do is. The world will not wait that long. Everybody knows what the problem is but many are not ready to take even the first steps. Unless it becomes the will of all to change the world, things cannot take a better turn. This is not one man's fight. The fight cannot be won without the greedy and apathetic on the morals' side.

The greedy, selfish and apathetic need to change first. But, they are hardwired into hundreds of centuries of civilization. A recent excavation revealing the 4000 year old skeletal framework of a man with a rare congenital disease, the Klippel-Feil syndrome, where the bones weaken and the spinal vertebrae fuse together, show that care and empathy were intrinsic human character. The man contracted the disease as an infant and though dependent on others, through his adolescence into his twenties(by which time he was completely dependent).

The ability to be compassionate is a thing of the past. Whether its disappearance was before or after people developed their love for money can be disputed. Man's material desires and need to display their possessions, the hunger for status, the ever-widening gap between those who have too much and those who have too little, have all led to a dying moral system in the society. The lust for these very things is grooming a selfish man who has learnt only to take and not to give. He will use but not replenish.

In using those resources which cannot be replenished once depleted gives him more money, there he will invest. Replacing a depleted resource with another merely leads to the over-consumption of the other. For those few who are trying to make the world a better place, it is a long struggle -- maybe too long. The world is critical and our characters are not equipped with adequately efficient technology to help it.