Life is an illusion

 "chain se marane bhi nahi dete hain" (these people do not let me die in peace) this thought keeps bugging Ove again and again. The book is 'A man called Ove' by Fredrick Backman. Ove is middle aged Engineer who appears to others as grumpy old man. He has decided to die as there is no one who understands him, or  who needs him now. After his wife died six months ago.  The office where is spent one third of his lifetime, asks him to take retirement - to make way for younger people.  What will he do alone whole day? What is the purpose of his existence?  He better go and join his dear wife Sonja.  So he plans methodically, elaborately for his death - just like he plans everything else.  He fixes a hook on the roof, ties a rope with a noose to the hook. He covers the floor with mat as he doesn't want the police who will come later to spoil his floor.  Then he stands on a stool, ties the noose around his neck and kicks the stool. The end ? No. Unfortunately  not. He i

 When women world over (this part of the world) are busy preparing festival specials with lot of enthusiasm and devotion, I am trying to blog my meaningless blog. Nero?  It's difficult. But, who is stopping me from joining them and trying to make the best festival out of the situation?OK, ok, I will prepare one sweet and may be a kosambari. But later. First I need my daily cleansing.  Ha, I almost forgot. I watched the film Thappad yesterday. I know all the news and noise about the movie have long stopped. But when I watched a review about Kantara and heard about this film, decided why not.  Sirf, ek hi to thappad thi. It was just one slap. That's what everyone told Amritha when she was slapped by her rich, successful, loving (in his own way !) husband in a party. But her world is destroyed. She tells herself and everyone else that her husband does not have the right to slap her. Not even once. And starts divorce proceedings.  But her domestic help is being slapped every day b

 Ha, talk of over confidence. I have started blogging about Viveka chudamani. Well, you can also call it an oversight. When I started the project, I didn't realize that book has 580 shlokas in all. I thought, these shlokas are in Sanskrit, and of course I can borrow them from net. No need to type too. Translations - you get plenty in net. So I thought.  Wrong. Formatting the text was least of my problems. Translations - there are few sites where I obtained verse by verse translations - but all of them identical. Come on, where is the diversity? And the help I need in writing my kannada translation?  Any ways, this is obviously better than searching Netflix for new shows and realizing there aren't any worthwhile shows. And suits me too. A 60 year old, writing about philosophy is right. But 60 year old watching silly standup comedies and guffawing ! So wrong! If that person is female. Any way, let me take a breather from that "self realization" and be me for some time. 

 a) This blog is not my personal diary to vent out my feelings  b) But I can use generic terms so that I can be under the illusion of being heard - by 2 readers. Funny, how social media which is supposed to connect people is used to send messages. In strong words. Stolen from the internet. In the form of meme.  But as I don't have much social media presence, my preferred mode is blog. Was blog. But henceforth I intend to be more circumspect and be wary of  the causes and effects of message. In other news, I am becoming a fan of audible app. Aha, the luxury of reading a book, without actually reading a book. Just close your eyes and (pretend that) your mom (or dad) is reading  the book for you. (With a British accent)  I started with my free trial and have already listened to half of Narcissus and Goldmund by Hesse. And also a part of Anna Karenina. But Mrs Dolloway by Virginia Woolf is proving to be difficult to follow. I may need to keep the physical book next to me for reference

You have heard of the famous story of emperor's new clothes.  Two swindlers arrive at the capital city of an emperor who spends lavishly on clothing at the expense of state matters. Posing as weavers, they offer to supply him with magnificent clothes that are invisible to those who are stupid or incompetent. The emperor hires them, and they set up looms and go to work. A succession of officials, and then the emperor himself, visit them to check their progress. Each sees that the looms are empty but pretends otherwise to avoid being thought a fool. Finally, the weavers report that the emperor's suit is finished. They mime dressing him and he sets off in a procession before the whole city. The townsfolk uncomfortably go along with the pretense, not wanting to appear inept or stupid, until a child blurts out that the emperor is wearing nothing at all. The people then realize that everyone has been fooled. Although startled, the emperor continues the procession, walkin