A little kingdom I possess,
Where thoughts and feelings dwell;
And very hard the task I find
Of governing it well.
~ Louisa May Alcott

...that more or less describes my situation!

 
Wishing everyone a Verrrrrrrrrrrrry Happy Christmas !!!!!!!.......... :)


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:08 pm 0 comments

 
Read something about the role "expectations" have to play in relationships and could not help pondering on my own view of the matter. I have always heard people say, "Give, but do not expect". I do not know if it is the best way to be, but it has never struck me as so.

I myself have never been free of expectations and nor have I ever thought anything wrong with it. It may just go to show that I am human, but I have never yet aspired to be a saint.

I give something not because I expect something back in return, but when I give something, I do expect something in return. I am not speaking in material terms here. To take a simple example, if you speak politely to me, won't you expect politeness from me? If I should speak rudely to you in return for your politeness, won't you wonder, "But I was always polite to her"?

When we hate people, there is always a reason. I do not hate so and so, just because I want to hate so and so; I hate so and so, maybe because he has done something that inspires my hate. I lent him a book and he tore it perhaps. I entrusted him with a secret and he betrayed me perhaps. But when we speak of love, why do we believe we need not have a reason to love people? Why do I love my brother more than my sister, say? or Why do I love one of my friends more than the others? There must be a reason and if there is, what can it be? Isn't it possible that I love those more who return my affection more? Isn't it possible I love those more who understand me more? Aren't these my expectations at play here? My brother understands me just the way I want him to, he helps me just the way I would have liked him to, loves me as much as I could have desired him to...arent these my expectations? When we give respect, don't we expect respect in return, when we give love, don't we expect love in return, when we are loyal, don't we expect loyalty in return?...and if we do, how are we wrong in doing so?

Man by nature is selfish and it is this very selfishness that in part has ensured our survival. We want a thing not for the thing itself, but because we anticipate a satifaction out of it. We look for food, not for the food, but to satisfy our hunger. We seek friendship, not for the friendship itself, but because we desire the happiness the friendship brings to us. Even charity, we do not give charity for the sole cause of alleviating someone's misery, but because it makes us feel good. Then isn't it natural that we should love or give, because we anticipate something here too? and what is this something? It is the expectation that we will be "loved back in return". To say that we should keep on giving without expecting to be loved back, would be akin to saying, we should keep on eating even when it does nothing to satisfy our hunger.

To be human, is to have emotions, to have expectations, to have desires, to wish for fulfillments. As a fellow blogger summed it up "I could spend the rest of my life swooning over a lamp post. Why can't I? I do not expect it to love me back."


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:09 am 0 comments

 
Dil tere bin kahin lagta nahin
Waqt gujarta nahin...
Kya yahi pyaar hai?

one of my fav hindi songs........


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:47 pm 0 comments

 
The cure for a fallacious argument is a better argument, not the suppression of ideas.

-- Carl Sagan.

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:37 am 0 comments

 
All good things come to an end
Lilies, roses and Gentlemen
So let not your heart be easy to befriend
Broken hearts are hard to mend



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:09 am 0 comments

 
Politics is not a subject I usually ponder on, and I cannot be more in the dark about the political scene in our country, than it is possible to be…but I’ve often wondered whether the system of democracy – a Government of the people, by the people , for the people – is the best system of Governance to have. Atleast, the goings-on in our own country do not encourage me to think so.

Came upon the political philosophy of Spinoza ( he died before he could complete this treatise). Following is an extract, pertaining to the institution of “Democracy”, which I found interesting.

Democracy is the most reasonable form of Government; for in it “everyone submits to the control of authority over his actions, but not over his judgment and reason; i.e., seeing that all cannot think alike, the voice of the majority has the force of law.”

The defect of democracy is its tendency to put mediocrity into power; and there is no way of avoiding this except by limiting office to men of “trained skill”. Numbers by themselves cannot produce wisdom, and may give the best favours of office to the grossest flatterers. “The fickle disposition of the multitude almost reduces those who have experience of it to despair; for it is governed solely by emotions, and not by reason.” Thus democratic government becomes a procession of brief-lived demagogues, and men of worth are loath to enter lists where they must be judged and rated by their inferiors.

Equality of power is an unstable condition; men are by nature unequal; and “he who seeks equality between unequals seeks an absurdity.” Democracy has still to solve the problem of enlisting the best energies of men while giving to all alike the choice of those, among the trained and fit, by whom they wish to be ruled.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:03 pm 0 comments

 
Sweet words...

Lovers' Infiniteness.
by John Donne

IF yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all ;
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall ;
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent ;
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant.
If then thy gift of love were partial,
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have thee all.
.....


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:55 am 0 comments

 
Alcohol is nicissary f’r a man so that now an’ thin he can have a good opinion iv himself, ondisturbed be th’ facts.
--Finely Peter Dunne

A certain music teacher once told us of an incident. It impressed on me that even the most educated of us hold very dearly to our biases, no matter how ill grounded these biases may be.

This music teacher had a Guru, to whom he owed the credit of initiating him into the music world. It was a long time (some 15-20 yrs) since this teacher had had the opportunity to meet his Guru. He began by telling us how he esteemed the Guru, how all these years he had been hoping to meet him, and how, without his blessings, he might never have been where he was this day. He realized how much he was grateful to him and could not but carry this debt to the grave.

But that was till a few days ago. Now, he was shocked and shaken and couldn’t believe his idol was broken. I wondered how it could be so, for whatever may have happened, I couldn’t imagine how it could have changed what the Guru meant for him. I could not imagine that it could have erased what was owed to him. I decided to be patient and still my thoughts till I had heard more.

The music teacher went on to say that he had been attending a function, when in a corner of the hall, he noticed a drunken and disheveled man making a general spectacle of himself. He went close and was aghast to see that it was his Guru.

At this revelation, we anxiously enquired if the Guru recognized him. I wasn’t ready for the answer. Our teacher said that he did not know and did not care. He removed himself from the scene as fast as he could; he could not bear the sight.

He wished he had never seen the Guru in such a state. He had an image of God of him and now, it was fallen. He wished he could have gone with life with this image. He wished he could forget the truth, and keep believing in the reality of his illusion.

To say that I was amazed is to put it very mildly. I realized that my teacher held drinking in the utmost abhorrence and as a sin as great as any, and not to be associated with one he so esteemed. I realized that it would have been painful to him to find that his God was after all, a human. I realized that it would have shamed him that the one he so worshipped, was not one whose life made him fit to be worshipped. I realized he had placed him so high, that he could not bear to see him so low.

All this I realized and yet I wondered. If I truly owed so much to him, if it was he who had made me ‘me’ today, would I just shun him to his fate? Would I just leave him where I thought his greatness did not belong? Would I simply wish I had never laid eyes on him? Would I try to make as if the one who was the reason for my well being today, was not he, this man, but some imaginary God? Would I not wish to know the cause of his downfall and would I not wish to remedy it and repay the debt I bore him, no matter in how small a part? Would I not be filled with sadness for my Guru, who had lost himself, and not just for myself, who had lost him?





posted by Sylvia D'souza at 5:37 pm 0 comments

 
Am Back !!

Had been to Mangalore to join in the celebrations marking my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary. Supposed to be a rare event these days, one way or the other, and so all the more worthy of a toast.

This is the first time I was there at this time of the year. Usually I would go during april-may, when schools/colleges offered some reprieve.

Things weren’t much different though, except that -- the rice fields were in near bloom, cousins were out at school most of the day, had the chance to witness the festivities on Gokul Ashtami, Teacher’s Day, and our Mother Mary’s feast.

I was surprised to see people painted from top to bottom in tiger skin colour and other exotic costumes, roaming the streets on Gokul Ashtami. It seems that there is a story behind this custom, though I don’t know what it is. These people in fancy dresses danced in front of houses and shops; crowds would collect around them to watch their performances, and throw them money.

Teacher’s day has always been like any other day for me, but the way it was celebrated in Mangalore, I can’t help mentioning it. My cousins bought cards and flowers for their teachers, there were grand functions in the schools to honour the teachers and children had half the day off. It somehow brought back my school years, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember any of the teacher’s days. :(

I had taken an extended leave specifically so as to be present for Mother Mary’s feast. It would have been deemed a slight if I had left within days of this occasion.

On this particular day, we left for mass early morning. Preparations for the elaborate meal had begun the previous day, so there wasn’t plenty to do.

In the afternoon, mats were spread on the floor and we all sat in a row, except the elders who took on the task of serving. First came the banana leaves, which were to serve as plates. Then came the water, which we sprinkled and rubbed on the leaves to clean them. Then, one by one, nine types of dishes were served, along with rice, pickle and the like. Once we were through with the meal, it was time for the dessert, which was a delicacy called “warrn” in Konkani (akin to ‘payasam’)

It wasn’t the first time I went through this ritual, as we’ve always followed it at home, ie Bombay, too. But, being a part of it in its natural setting was something else.

I couldn’t help wondering if these quaint customs and traditions would die with our generation. I won’t comment on the good and bad of it, but the thought of an old tradition dying, of something that had always been, being no more, arouses a painful and wistful feeling in me.

All in all, I had a very good time…but all the same, am glad to be back too !!! :)



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 10:16 pm 0 comments

 
Hi Friends !!

Am leaving for Mangalore tomorrow morning……shall be back in a week or so…..looking forward to the trip ….. :)

……..will miss my blog ……and will missss you’ll ….. :(

Till next week then,

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:41 pm 0 comments

 
From the heights of happiness
To the depths of despair
To the mire of worries
Where there was not a care
Fate has a hand
It does not spare
The most likely victims
Those who will not beware.

Isn’t it strange that we guard happiness as if, any moment, it will be taken away from us; but in times of sadness, we find it difficult to entertain hope? We feel that what is, is, and will not get better, maybe worse.

It is at such a despairing moment of my life, when I was overwhelmed with a feeling of hopelessness, that I wrote the following account.

But I’m happy to say that I’ve not only come out of it, the developments that have lead to my faith in happiness again, have been such, that am tempted to believe there is something called “fate” ..which has a hand in things….as much for the better…as for the worse….

Another year ...........

Another year of my life has passed. For good. Never to be lived again. Never to be known again.

A year full of lessons. So many of them. One sometimes learns the rules after the game is over ! I still fear lessons, as much as I did when in school. Like parents say to their children, “If you learn now, you’ll benefit later”; I take on the role of a parent and offer myself the same advice. Alas ! The child in me will not heed and I have to plead.

Some lessons are so tough, the only way to master them is to memorize them. I try to look for a logical pattern, some reasoning thread, but some of us are just no good at some subjects. A time was, I remember, when my Math teacher said that a particular algebraic problem was sure to appear in the examination papers. Having no head for Mathematics (or so I thought), I gulped down the equation, numbers and all.

One has to pay some penalties for growing older. Then I did not care about the problem once the exam was over. Infact, I forgot all about it. But now, I cannot sit by and let the matter rest. I borrow the problem from memory, look at it from all corners and directions, weigh it and measure it by all known and unknown (self-devised) scales, apply diverse variables and start off with different premises, hold out a dozen hypotheses’ and examine each of them in the light of new assumptions.

I do everything possible only to get rid of the problem. Only to arrive at a satisfactory explanation. Only to arm myself incase an identical problem presents itself in the future. Only to make the burden of the lesson a little easier to bear.

No luck, though. No such luck. Either I’m not equipped with the mental tools to deal with it or the problem itself defies existing laws (or what according to me are the existing laws).

Then there have been other lessons; particularly enlightening ones. Not that I now see paths that were hidden from view, but I can see there weren’t any, where I thought there were a few.

All in all, this is one year I actually feel I’ve grown wiser and not just older. I now know what the great man meant when he said, “the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life” or something to that effect……..


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:49 pm 0 comments

 
I have come upon various theories as to what may be the aim of man - the one that seems the most logical to me is "happiness". What gives us happiness is a question to which i have no certain answer, for I've found that different things give happiness to different people, but what I do believe is that every action of ours, directly or indirectly, is calculated towards the achievement of happiness.

Here are Aristotle's views on "happiness" as the goal of man and what, according to him, is the way to achieve it.......

"Aristotle begins by frankly recognising that the aim of life is not goodness for its own sake, but happiness. "For we choose happiness for itself, and never with a view to anything further; whereas we choose honour, pleasure, intellect...because we believe that through them we shall be made happy. But he realizes that to call happiness the supreme good is a mere truism; what is wanted is some clearer account of the nature of happiness, and the way to it. He hopes to find this way by asking wherein man differs from other beings; and by presuming that man's happiness will lie in the full functioning of this specifically human quality. Now the peculiar excellence of man is his power of thought; it is by this that he surpasses and rules all other forms of life; and as the growth of this faculty has given him his supremacy, so, we may presume, its development will give him fulfillment and happiness.

"...though external goods and relationships are necessary to happiness, its essence remains within us, in rounded knowledge and clarity of soul. Surely sensual pleasure is not the way: that road is a circle: we scratch that we may itch, and itch that we may scratch...No, happiness must be a pleasure of the mind; and we may trust it only when it comes from the pursuit or the capture of truth.”


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:39 pm 0 comments

 
If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things that are missing. If you don't have love in your life, no matter what else there is, it's not enough.
-- Ann Landers.

hmm......i would agree....


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 2:29 pm 0 comments

 
Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before;

-- Byron.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:50 pm 0 comments

 
Read Oscar Wilde's, "The Soul of Man Under Socialism". I would like to put down a few passages here -- those that bring out the two ideas I found immensely interesting and those which, I feel, bear deep thought.

The first ...

"I cannot help saying that a great deal of nonsense is being written and talked nowadays about the dignity of manual labour. There is nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour at all, and most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find pleasure and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless activities and should be regarded as such. To sweep a slushy crossing for eight hours on a day when the east wind is blowing is a disgusting occupation. To sweep it with mental, moral or physical dignity seems to me to be impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. Man is made for something better than disturbing dirt. All work of that kind should be done by a machine.

"...There is no doubt at all that this is the future of machinery and just as trees grow while the country gentleman is asleep, so while humanity will be amusing itself, or enjoying cultivated leisure - which, and not labour, is the aim of man - or making beautiful things, or reading beautiful things, or simply contemplating the world with admiration and delight, machinery will be doing all the necessary and unpleasant work."

I perfectly agree. The concept of "dignity of labour" has always induced violent emotions in me. I have never understood how a class of people can propagate the values of "dignity of labour" to another class of people, when there is such a wide difference in the kind of labour each is engaged in. I cannot imagine how we can expect a person to feel dignified about doing something that disgusts him and especially so, when we ourselves wouldn't even consider doing it. I do not say that a man should bear the weight of his lot with an unhappy face, but if he is unhappy, who are we to make him feel guilty of his natural and valid feelings? How can we be so cruel as to dictate to him to put on a smiling face, no matter if he is dying inside? It seems to me that it is in the interest of the majority of us to preach the concept of "dignity of labour", because if not, we would be in real trouble. It is because there are people who are contented doing lowly and ugly jobs, that 'we' can apply our minds to the pursuit of cultivated activities and it is on keeping them contented that our happiness very much depends. What better way of doing so than by convincing them that what they are doing is not all mean and how better to convince them than by airing the virtues of "dignity of labour".

The second....

"Whenever a community or a powerful section of a community, or a government of any kind, attempts to dictate to the artist what he is to do, Art either entirely vanishes, or becomes stereotyped, or degenerates into a low and ignoble form of craft. A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, the moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or a dishonest tradesman.

"...But alone, without any reference to his neighbours, without any interference, the artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all.

"...The public has always, and in every age, been badly brought up. They are continually asking Art to be popular, to please their want of taste, to flatter heir absurd vanity, to tell them what they have been told before, to show them what they ought to be tired of seeing, to amuse them when they feel heavy after eating too much, and to distract their thoughts when they are wearied of their own stupidity. Now Art should never try to be popular. The public should try to make itself artistic. There is a very wide difference.

"...The popular standard is of such a character that no artist can get to it. It is at once too easy and too difficult to be a popular novelist. It is too easy, because the requirements of the public as far as plot, style, psychology, treatment of life, and treatment of literature are concerned are within the reach of the very meanest capacity and the most uncultivated mind. It is too difficult, because to meet such requirements the artist would have to do violence to his temperament, would have to write not for the artistic joy of writing, but for the amusement of half educated people, and so would have to suppress his individualism, forget his culture, annihilate his style and surrender everything that is valuable in him.

"...Art is individualism and individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine.

"...In Art, a public accept what has been, because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it. They swallow their classics whole, and never taste them. They endure them as inevitable and as they cannot mar them, they mouth about them. Strangely enough, or not strangely, according to one's views, this acceptance of the classics does a great deal of harm.

"...The fact is, the public make use of the classics of a country as a means of checking the progress of art. They degrade the classics into authorities. They use them as bludgeons for preventing the free expression of beauty in new forms. They are always asking a writer why he does not write like somebody else, or a painter, why he does not paint like somebody else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did anything of the kind he would cease to be an artist.

To add my own two bits -- I feel that while the principle of supply and demand works very well in the commercial realm, it had best be left out of the artistic picture. Where Art is concerned, one cannot expect the public to know what is good for them. Good food can be appreciated by the meanest of tastes, but not so, say, a good play. By coercing an artist to conform to the popular want of taste, we not only deprive the artist of his unique expression of Art, but also deprive the public, of the opportunity to behold a piece of Art.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:44 pm 0 comments

 
With time, I realise more and more of what 'love' means to me. What I would wish it to be. This is one emotion that defies definition and yet, admits of plenty. That is its extraordinary quality.

It is with the blossoming of youth, that the heart first discovers its capacity for love, and mistakes its impulses for the real emotion. But young hearts are undisciplined and that’s more than an excuse.

Let me share a poem, which still brings a silly smile to my face... :) ....As you might have guessed, it is born out of "the first mistaken impulse of an undisciplined heart" ...


Like jet black coal is my beloved's face
You could mistake him from the Negro race
Wavy hair, tall he stands
Wherever he goes, his voice commands
His appearance does not dazzle the eye
His virtues he would much rather hide
His boldness many a people scorn
But lack of it in themselves they mourn
His boyish ways do capture my heart
But feigning innocence I play my part
Always conscious of his eyes on me
But not for a moment his way I see
To torment him new ways I devise
His jealous face is my prize
But when he does the same to me
The fairness of it I can't but see
I torture myself that it serves me well
The pain of it all my heart can't tell.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:10 pm 0 comments

 
Yipeeeeeeeee !!!!! I bought a Guitar !

I had long nursed a wish to learn the Guitar, but with one thing and another, never got around to it.

A few days ago I joined a Guitar class. I do not even know the ABC of it and when the instructor asked me if I knew a little, I pronounced an emphatic 'no'.

It is somehow so with me that, even when I know a little (by my reckoning) of a subject, I prefer to say I know nothing. Until I know a thing inside-out, I'm not comfortable claiming knowledge of it.

It would be well as it were, but trouble is that people who are not affected by such qualms and are confident of the little knowledge they have, end up gaining an advantage over me. That too would be acceptable, but it hurts when they use my own words to impose their superiority on me.

While I'm glad enough to accept my ignorance, it definitely would not go down well with me, to acknowledge someone as ignorant as I am, or perhaps more so, as my better. It never would.

I would use the same scales to evaluate another person as I would for myself, and if these reveal the person to be of superior material, I'll be only too happy to bow down to him. Infact, it would be a joy, an honour -- to honour talent.

But unfortunately, it is never easy to find such gems. For the truly great are humble, and who would suspect the greatness, where it is hidden in such humility?




posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:48 pm 0 comments

 
It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper, so cry away -- Charles Dickens.

I wouldn't need that advice, as I have always followed it rather well. I do not know what it is that connects the heart with the eyes, but something must, or they wouldn't act in such unison.

I like to think that I'm grown now, except that I seem not to have lost a certain trait from my baby days. I can never restrain my tears. Flow they will and I can't make them respectable.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 5:16 pm 0 comments

 
The word 'Charity' has a very unpleasant connotation for me.

I wouldn't mind paying twice the sum for a thing, but it would jar my soul to accept something that was given away in disdain. I would rather go without a thing than accept something that was offered to me not because I merited it, but because I needed it.

Two lines written a long time ago express it succintly --

I'm no beggar, whatever I might be
I accept everything, except Charity!



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:05 pm 0 comments

 
It is that time of the year again -- when the air is full of the sweet scent of rain, earth and fresh grass. I love it !!

One of my favourite songs, "Rim jhim gire saawan....." plays in my mind with a fresh melody of its own and there is some magic in humming it, while I watch nature perform one of its most rhythmic dances.

Rains somehow remind me of my childhood days, when their approach heralded the beginning of another school year and the end of summer holidays. How I would wish I could remain at home -- to cozy myself in a corner of the window, watching the clouds gather and raindrops fall, reading a book and munching on fried delicacies. Instead, with a heavy bag and heavier heart I would be packed off to school. :(

There I would wait for the day to crawl by, trying to make no sense of what the teachers blabbered or what the books described. The darker it would get, the lighter I would feel --with the thought that the delicious atmosphere would likely continue late into the evening, and I would then be free to enjoy it as I please....


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 7:31 pm 0 comments

 
I have my weaknesses, as much as anybody else (if not more) and the worst among them is jealousy. I can control my anger, hide my fear, camouflage my pride, but when it comes to jealousy, I have no defenses. I'm conquered. And once it conquers me, the anger, fear, pride and all other enemies I've so painstakingly kept at bay, push their advantage and I fall a prey to them too.

The worst thing about jealousy is that it involves the heart and when the heart comes in, the mind becomes useless. No matter how much the mind tries to talk sense, the heart will not listen; the pictures that jealousy presents to its imagination are far more real and convincing (far, far more if the heart has learnt to fear more than trust) than any logic the brain can devise.

I've heard tell that only the heart that loves knows jealousy. I wonder. If the heart loves, then why does it entertain jealousy, which kills the very object it feeds on? Isn't a trusting heart, that will not be swayed and taken in by such a threatening agent, more purer and truer to the loved object? I do not know.

But for better or worse, I am sickeningly prone to it. I do not feel this emotion at all times or for everyone, but only when it comes to those who have a very special place in my heart. I tell myself that I should be secure in their affections and not fall a victim to doubt and jealousy, but human as we are and human as I am, even when we are sure, we want to be reassured. Even when we know, we want to hear. In the process, we fall in the eyes of the very people whom we are extremely devoted to. We hurt them by our incapacity to trust and believe. We, ironically and perversely, disturb their faith in us. We are now happy that the bond is as secure as we thought it was, but we do not realize that we've actually managed to weaken it.

True, the fault is ours and we have no excuse, other than that maybe, that our hearts breed jealousy......only because it breeds on love...


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:52 pm 0 comments

 
A year ago when I was full of my own woes (as most people at most times generally are), something happened to temporarily jolt me out of this state. I realized that I could consider myself very fortunate indeed and I had much to be thankful for. Following account written at the time captures something of my feelings.

It's not about change.........

Everything changes with time. Circumstances, people, habits, tastes, everything. Today you see something and tomorrow its gone. Today you would remark on the pranks of a child and before you know it, the child's a man. Today you see a happy and smiling face, radiating energy and life, and tomorrow, it is sad and worn, unable to hide the effects of trauma and tragedies. But one is never prepared for change.

I don't know how we got to know each other. For as long as I can remember, she was there. We attended the same school and lived in the same neighbourhood, but we never grew close as friends. I liked her, though there was always a basic difference in our personalities. I lived on an intellectual and emotional level. She found pleasure out of the material aspects of life. I always had an excuse to be sad and she didn't need an excuse to be happy.

It was the last day of my 10th standard board exams, when she told me that her family would be moving out soon, to some place not far from her present home. I took it quite calmly. It was as if an old piece of furniture, to which I had grown used to, would be taken away from the house. I would miss its presence, but not the thing itself and perhaps, after some time, I would even forget it. The family moved out soon after that.

Things moved on. College and then it was career. We communicated very rarely, just once or twice a year. She seemed to be just as happy and in love with life. That was some months back. But now, everything has changed.

A few days back, I was rifling through my diary, when I came across her number. I had this sudden urge to speak to her. I called her up. I asked for my friend and an unnatural voice replied that it was her. I knew her voice and I knew it couldn't be her. There had to be some mistake. I asked for her again, and again, the voice said that it was her. The voice also blabbered some other words, which were totally incoherent and irrelevant. I slammed down the phone in my fright and resolved to get to the bottom of this. The next day, I called up again and the same thing happened. I was totally confused. I then made up my mind to call her at a different time and the next day, when I called her, I was relieved to hear her voice.

I was curious about the strange incident and would have asked her, but contained myself out of courtesy. Instead, I asked her about her life and work. She told me that she had left her job and was now at home. Her father had suffered a kidney failure and was required to be taken to the hospital for dialysis, twice a week and this treatment had to be continued for his entire lifetime. Then I asked her about her mother, though I knew. Her voice seemed to fail her. Her mother had lost her mental balance. My friend tried to tell me that it was only a temporary thing induced by shock, but her voice betrayed her emotions. She seemed to be struggling for control.

I wanted to comfort her but couldn't find the words. Her father's condition would have come as a shock to her and just when she needed the emotional support of her mother, she lost it too. But she had no time for self-pity. They both needed her and though I would never have thought her capable of grappling with such twin tragedies, she was very much up to the task. Emotional support she could do without, but financial assistance was necessary. She had approached some trusts and was hopeful about the results.

Her words kept seeping into my brain and I remembered the girl of many years ago. How carefree she had been! and now, when she had suddenly been brought into grips with the harsh realities of life, she hadn't lost her hold.

I couldn't help marvelling at her courage in the face of the magnitude of change in her life. I realised that life is not all about change but how you react to those changes. Whether you curse your fate and fall under its blows or whether you accept it calmly and fight your way towards a better life, its your choice and if you are not afraid to make the right choice, you need never be afraid of change............................

(Her Father passed away soon after that.)


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 9:02 pm 0 comments

 

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 8:32 pm 0 comments

 
Read a very interesting article that was linked on a fellow blogger’s site. I would not have read it, had it not been recommended to me by a good friend. He felt it was very well written and I must say I can't agree more with him.

It is about men, women, and cheating. Why is it that men can be expected to cheat for no reason whatever whereas women have to provide worthy reasons for doing so? If a woman is unhappy in her marriage or she is ill treated, it is understandable, that she cheats. But if she is in a perfectly normal functioning relationship, it would be considered ghastly if she strayed, whereas for the man, it would be considered ok, natural, etc.

This is what the article said and I couldn't deny the truth of it. That we expect women to have higher standards than men and are not so accommodating of her weaknesses; infact, are not even ready to accept that she could have the same weaknesses as men. We expect her to justify those weaknesses with worthy motives.

Till this point I was with the author, but from here on began my doubts. I was a little confused as to what she was driving at. I wasn't sure I agreed with her moral tack. If she was saying that since the men were allowed a freer hand in the matter, the women should have it too; I had a problem.

To me, cheating is cheating, whether a man does it or a woman. Men and women may or may not cheat for the same reasons (need for variety or emotional fulfillment), but whatever it is, it cannot be deemed as "worthy".

A woman's straying cannot be justified by saying that half the men in the world were straying. Infact, I would say that the woman was doing something very, very wrong. But the same goes for the men too. The treatment that is meted out to the woman, the same should be meted out to the men too. Without any bias whatsoever.

I feel that the moral issue should be given as grave a consideration as the gender one, and in no way can one be compromised in favour of the other.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:31 pm 0 comments

 
A book that made a vast impression on me and one I have had occasion to remark on before -- The Demon-Haunted World by Carl Sagan. Would love to share a few gems from it....

* The British Physicist Michael Faraday warned of the powerful temptation "to seek for such evidence and appearances as are in favour of our desires, and to disregard those which oppose them ... We receive as friendly that which agrees with us, we resist with dislike that which opposes us; whereas the very reverse is required by every dictate of common sense.

* At the heart of science is an essential balance between two seemingly contradictory attitudes - an openness to new ideas, no matter how bizarre or counterintuitive, and the most ruthless skeptical scrutiny of all ideas, old and new. This is how deep truths are winnowed from deep nonsense.

* In his celebrated book, On Liberty, the English philosopher John Stuart Mill argued that silencing an opinion is "a peculiar evil". If the opinion is right, we are robbed of the "opportunity of exchanging error for truth"; and if it's wrong, we are deprived of a deeper understanding of the truth in "its collision with error".

* The claim is sometimes made that science is as arbitrary or irrational as all other claims to knowledge, or that reason itself is an illusion. The American revolutionary Ethan Allen had some words to say on this subject: "Those who invalidate reason ought seriously to consider whether they argue against reason with or without reason; if with reason, then they establish the principle that they are labouring to dethrone; but if they argue without reason (which, in order to be consistent with themselves they must do), they are out of reach of rational conviction, nor do they deserve a rational argument.

His Baloney Detection Kit includes tools for logical reasoning and definitely worth more than a look…..



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:42 pm 0 comments

 
I've tried my hand in the kitchen many and many a times; though the following account (written a while back) gives an exaggerated idea of my lack of skills in this area, it's still pretty close. :(

Cooking in the making

I’ll marry a cook and I’m quite decided about it. No, I’ve not fallen in love with one, its just that I have no other way out. That’s what my mother tells me and that’s the conclusion I’ve come to myself (after a lot of pondering, I do assure you). I’ve tried my hand at cooking, not once but many times (It was well worth a try, considering the alternative) and can’t say that I came out wiser in the process nor did I come out with anything better than I got in with.

My brother has such a voracious apetite, that if not for him, I wouldn’t have dared to make so many attempts. I would have liked to think he loved my creations, if I hadn’t been gifted with a sense of taste myself. The minute he knew I had taken it into my head to concoct something (It was the easiest thing to know, I couldn’t be secretive about it even if I tried), he would have to know if it was something that would particularly interest his palate. It was no use use telling him that he would have to see it to believe it (or rather I would have to first see it to know what it was, I couldn’t trust myself to churn out the real thing), but if I intended that anyone should ever see it, I had no choice but to tell him and hope that he wouldn’t be too sorry if it didn’t match the exact description.

There are occasions when you have to realise the importance of certain people and how hard it would be to get by without them. At other times, you could ignore them or avoid them or tell them what you thought of them, but not at these times. And these were those times when I had to be sweet with my brother, though I must say he tried as much of my patience as an Aloo Kofta. Here I was, planning to impress everyone with what a lovely Nariyal ka Halwa or Burfi or Chikki I had come up with (depending on what it looked like) and there he was, trying to pour cold water on my aspirations (and could it really matter to him if it was Halwa or Burfi or Chikki as long as it was sweet ?) But you couldn’t tell him that, especially if you expected him to do the honours when the time came. (What if something got burnt and it wasn’t sweet ?). The rest of the family would be more anxious than excited over my projects and tried to keep me away from what they called “Wild Schemes”

My Mother hoped she could gently initiate me into the art and with time I might be as good at it as she herself was, but she never got beyond the initialisation. She couldn’t bring herself to trust me with anything more complicated than peeling the potatoes or stirring the batter. I wondered she didn’t think of anything tamer than that.

Days flew by, then months, then years and I graduated from potatoes to cucumbers to pumpkins. I was told that stirring was supposed to be a consistent method, no matter what you stirred. Here the matter rests and I’m ashamed to admit that I’m rather daunted by the future.

I do believe we’ve reached an age where the men are supposed to be as busy in the house as the women, but I can’t believe there are too many of such liberal minded men. Luckily, If I do come across such a man, and happily, if he does agree to such an arrangement (for the sheer love of me ! ), what if he weren’t competent enough to take on such a heavy responsibility? What if he hadn’t been trained in the art of cooking and worse still, what if his training had not flowered beyond the bud, like mine?

No, I couldn’t risk that (love or not). I must find myself a cook and be done with it. After all, he might not turn out to be a good husband, but as long as he could turn out a good Kabab, I could hope for blessed relief ! !


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 2:56 pm 0 comments

 
A friend and I were once engaged in a most interesting discussion. I don't know how we came to arrive at the question, but once there, we were loath to leave it. The question was, "Given a choice, to spend an evening with a 7 yr old child or a 70 yr old adult, whom would I choose?"

Knowing me a little, perhaps he wasn't too surprised by my answer, though I suppose (am not sure), it wouldn't be the expected answer. I would have definitely preferred the old person's company.

This is not to say that I'm not fond of children; I am. But I can't explain what it is that draws me towards the old.

The friend wished to know the reason for my choice (as well he may) and though I was very much sure of my choice, I wasn't sure why.

It has always been so with me that I feel quite at a loss with children; as much as I enjoy watching their antics and frolics, I'm simply a spectator with no emotions involved. They represent a world that is lost to me and I can't imagine myself as ever having been a part of it. I sometimes try to look for a bond, that might connect me to them, and finding none, I wonder if I can reach out and secure one, but the only means at my disposal seem frightfully ill suited for such a task.

I've heard it said that the best way to be with a child, is to be a child oneself, maybe the child in me is dead. I wouldn't have much to offer a child, and the child wouldn't know what to offer me.

The old, don't know what it is about them that manages to stir something deep within me. In their company, I feel as I would feel, were I sitting under a huge banyan tree. Old and withered, yet so full of warmth and shade.

So many winds must have challenged it, so many rains must have refreshed it, so many shoots must have grown in its shadow, so many children must have played with its branches, so many stories must have been told in its vicinity, so many secrets it must hold in its bosom.

An overwhelming sense of sadness overpowers me, when I think of the changes that time has wrought on such a noble handiwork of nature, and the inevitability of future change -- the more I think of it, the more attached I feel to what is left of it now, but tomorrow may not be.

The old folks, not likely they know what they offer me, with their benevolent smiles and kindly words. A pat on the head is enough to bring back the child that lies within me dead. A child that responds to love like any other child.

And when I think of what I can offer them...I can come up with nothing...except the hope that the few happy moments I spend with them may give them happiness too...the few precious moments that are left to them...may they be joyful too...



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:26 pm 0 comments

 
I have been in Bombay all my life, but I still feel a sense of belonging to my native place, Mangalore. When I visit there, I feel like a child returning to the lap of its mother: Warm, comfortable and familiar.

I would like to share a poem I had written once, when Mangalore was my dream. The choicest escape from the dreary mundaneness of everyday existence. I would imagine myself lost in its beauty and not having a care in the world.

Though now I do not engage in such fanciful thinking, the dream has always remained with me. Maybe someday it will even come true....

Mangalore…

Across the whole wide world have I roamed
But just one place I would call my own
The soil of my birth, my very own earth
My love for it cannot be measured.

The tree and the bees, the cows and the hens
Where all nature rejoices and recreates heaven
Where the pace of life is slow
And each day very much like before
Where the people are a dull lot
Content with the little they've got
Where in each heart love and fellowship blooms
For hatred and enmity there's no room
Where ignorance is bliss and knowledge is amiss
Where each little thing holds forth promise
Where even nooks and crannies have memories for me
Such is Mangalore, the Mangalore of my dreams.

My beloved land, your blessings with me
Wherever I go, my heart will be with thee.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:01 pm 0 comments

 
……………yet another rusted piece..........from the forgotten closet…..

A little lesson of love……

Life can turn you into a philosopher; not a very happy frame of mind to be in and yet, very much imposed on those who have certain leanings. I couldn't care less about the world I live in, if it didn't interfere with my own private world, but unfortunately everything seems to be governed by everything else. There are subjects I would rather not dwell upon, for they are painful and often depressing, but I have to, I cannot help it. My mind wanders and I cannot control it.

I sometimes wonder what makes some people what they are. Is it fruitless to expect any change in them? And, if the general mass of humanity is as cold, unemotional, unfeeling, uncaring as it seems to be, then were we destined to be born as an exception? That’s hard to believe. Common logic tells you that there must be others who think and feel as you do. To whom kindness, sensitivity, sympathy, compassion, understanding and such other human qualities would mean as much as they do to you. But you never seem to come across such like-hearted people and hence the disillusionment.

I have commonly heard of people in love, who for some reason or the other , cannot make a declaration. It is a most unhappy situation, to be sure. There is a saying, which I believe to be quite true, which is " It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". It doesn't make their misfortune any easier to bear, but it is a balm to the soul, to know that one has tasted some measure of bliss.

My heart goes out to them, but my pity is reserved for some others. These are those that are loved, those who are thought of and cared for, those whose smallest words assume the greatest proportions in some others' minds, those whose mere presence is a secret joy and the sound of whose voice is pure music, those, in short, who have a place in some others' hearts but who do not know what they have. Those who break the very hearts that ache for them. Those who do not know the value of the treasure that is theirs and who happily ground it under their feet. Those who do not see the hurt, anguish and tears that follow their unkind words and still less care. Those who are offered words of comfort and reassurance, but who spurn them in an act of pride. Those who are timidly asked for little tokens of love and friendship, but who find pleasure in denying them. Those who are given the chance to love and be loved, but who cannot and will not, they are truly unfortunate and I sincerely pity them.

It is a funny world and still funnier are the creatures crawling on it. We learn to value people only after we have lost them. Then we think of how much we love them and groan, because we've no way of telling them. What is , is not forever but while it is, let's make it beautiful, this small little bubble of a life that we live. Let's give and share and make the most of hearts that care...................



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:18 pm 0 comments

 
I don't believe in God. At one time I did, now I don't, and perhaps, never will.

I have no exact recollection of when I stopped believing and why ...As a child I would think -- if someone was in charge, how could things go so wrong? I could never understand the concept of prayer; if he knows everything, why does he need to be told? And, if telling is everything, why doesn't he answer?

As years passed, I became more skeptical. Who wrote the scriptures and how do we know he wrote the truth? If some of it isn't true (proved), then how can we believe the rest of it to be true? If the Holy Books are not supposed to be taken literally and it is up to us to interpret it, then who is to decide who will make a correct interpretation of it? How do we know it is correct?

When I fall ill or things don't happen as expected, my mother tells me it is all because I do not have faith in the one above. I wonder if it's not enough that one is good, that one does one's duty honourably, that one wishes no harm to anyone -- it is also important that you pray regularly, fast on certain days and go to church on Sundays.

It would seem that people who believe in God and faithfully follow all the hundred religious rites have some sort of advantage over us. No matter that they have very little to commend themselves as far as human qualities go, we should expect to meet them in heaven, if we're fortunate enough to be admitted ourselves.

Isn't the end and aim of all Religion to produce a human being who believes in good and does what is good (for the moment, let's forget the definition of good), then when a human being is already that, is he to be condemned just because he does not claim to be a product of and party to the institution called 'Religion'? Well, it sure beats me.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:13 pm 0 comments

 
Nice lines..........these..........

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.

- - - Joe Cocker, "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:39 pm 0 comments

 
"...It seems so unfair: some of us starve to death before we're out of infancy, while others- by an accident of birth - live out their lives in opulence and splendour. We can be born into a reviled ethnic group, or start out with some deformity; we go through life with the deck stacked against us, and then we die, and that's it? Nothing but a dreamless and endless sleep? Where's the justice in this? This is stark and brutal and heartless. Shouldn't we have a second chance on a level playing field?

How much better if we were born again in circumstances that took account of how well we played our part in the last life, no matter how stacked against us the deck was then. Or if there were a time of judgement after we die, then - so long as we did well with the persona we were given in this life, and were humble and faithful and all the rest - we should be rewarded by living joyfully until the end of time in a permanent refuge from the agony and turmoil of the world. That's how it would be if the world were thought out, preplanned, fair. That's how it would be if those suffering from pain and torment were to receive the consolation they deserve.

...Thus, the idea of a spiritual part of our nature that survives after death, ought to be easy for religions and nations to sell. ...People will want to believe in it, even if the evidence is meagre to nil."

The scientist and astronomer, Carl Sagan, had these words to say on the subject, in his remarkable book "The Demon-Haunted World".

Being an ardent worshipper of science, I would have expected myself to accept the reasonability of this argument and make an end of it. There was certainly nothing to prove that a part of us lived on while the whole of us was rotting.

But my mind refuses to let go of the problem (if one can call it that). After all, "Absence of evidence, is not evidence of absence". There is very little evidence to establish the existence of an afterlife, but it would also be impossible to conclusively prove that there is no such thing as an afterlife.

I would be the last person to say, that in any matter where it is difficult to get at the truth through logical means, one should trust what is intuitively obvious. What is intuitively obvious to me, may not be so to you and that being so, it cannot acquire the status of a universal truth.

But even so, when a certain knowledge is realised within oneself, an enormous satisfaction is received and it is this satisfaction that I seek. Not that I do not care whether the world is just and fair or not (as things stand, I don't think it is), but my actual motivation, I feel, is far more selfish.

I was born into a religion that teaches us about a judgement day, when all bills will be settled. Sinners will pay for what they had received, immorally and poor sufferers will now enjoy what they had missed or rather, paid for.

While it is a perfect hunky-dory setting, doesn't smell quite right to me. That soul's (if there are such things) fly into the clouds and are then meekly led off to heaven or hell -- I need something more than just an imagination to believe.

But...though I should find it extremely difficult to explain, I am not able to dismiss the idea of rebirth as easily. That after we die, some part of us lives on to animate some other body, might sound like a pretty bizarre idea, but it does not seem all that fabulous to me.

I can somehow feel what is meant when it is said that we carry the burden of our past lives. It is as if you're carrying a weight that you're not aware of having ever lifted and yet, you can't help but feel it.

I have heard of incidents where children remember their past lives. Upon investigation, it is found that the facts are indeed true, and there is also no other way the child could have learnt of them.

All this perhaps sounds a little funny, and maybe it is, but my personal researches (I don't like to use the word "inner feeling", but it also plays a role) incline me towards this view. I definitely do not as yet believe, one way or the other, but my mind is open on the subject, and until such time as more information comes to light, will continue to be fascinated .....



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:43 pm 0 comments

 
A fellow blogger had posted something about how he marvels at the innocence of a child and would that we all could be children again...unaware of life's complexities and happy in the moment.

Reminded me of something I had scribbled a long time ago, a time when I was hooked on verses.

CHildhood is the happiest of times
when innocence is still in its prime
The heart does not have secrets to hide
the mind is also free from pride
When little things can fill you with joy
and life is just another toy.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:41 pm 0 comments

 
I had written something quite some time ago....felt like putting it up here today.....don't know why....

If there was a someone........

One grows emotional at times and wonders how it would be if one could pour forth all ones troubles, anxieties, fears and worries into the heart of another and find a responding chord.

If one could be secure in the knowledge that whatever the world thinks of me, there is one who believes in me and in whose love and loyalty I can always depend on. If there are fingers that are always ready to point at me, there are fingers that will twine with mine and reassure me that I'm good. That for every person who tells me that I'm worthless and full of faults, there is one person who will tell me that there's none worthier and its my faults that make me what I am, and I wouldn't be as lovable, without them. That when somebody blames me for the wrong I've done, someone will tell me that I couldn't have known it was wrong and if I did, I wouldn't have done it.

That when I feel the need to express my feelings or discuss my ideas, I know I have someone to turn to, besides my diary. That if I have a problem, I know it will no longer be mine, but 'ours' and together we will attempt to solve it.

That every gesture of mine will be rewarded with an equal gesture and not because it is expected, but as an affectionate reaction. That when my heart is heavy, the world won't know the difference, but someone does and cares.

That if something very tragic happens in my life, the pain is lesser, because I know I won't have to cry alone. There are many who will throw me a handkerchief to wipe my tears, but what comforts me is that I have a shoulder to weep on.

That people may come and go in someone's life, I've nothing to fear, because I've been promised that there will be none as dear as me.

Alas! How emotional can one be !! One tells oneself "This is the stuff that dreams are made of". One feels like a child lost in a frightening jungle, looking for its parent. Some look and find. Some look and don't. Those who do, are lucky. Those who don't, are either devoured by vicious creatures, life becomes too much for them, or they learn to survive by themselves. They find the strength, the reassurances, the comfort inside them and learn that when you expect things from others, you may be disappointed but you can always trust yourself. You may not find the friend you were looking for, but no one can be a better friend to you than yourself. Only you know what lies deep within you, and when you know how precious it is, you can only feel sorry for a "Someone" , who never found possession of it..............................


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:24 pm 0 comments

 
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet and I suppose, by the same token, a cauliflower by any other name would still smell like, well, whatever it is a cauliflower smells like. Jokes apart, I think there's more to a name than that.

I don't know why but I could never like my own name. I somehow feel that names have a personality of their own, or at least we perceive one, and the way I see it, the name doesn't suit me at all. I feel more comfortable when addressed by the shorter form 'Syl' or even my nick name 'Preeti'; they are better definitions of me.

We sometimes form impressions of people without being aware of how. I feel that names play quite some part in conveying these impressions. Our contact with the owners of certain names influences our subsequent perception of those names or we have learned to identify the name with something. When we hear the name 'Sita', we imagine a virtuous woman , even if the Sita in this instance is anything but virtuous.

We can say with some assurance that a name can influence our impression of another, but does a name influence the owner himself?
I wonder if I might not have been a different person altogether if my name had been, say, 'Suhasini'.

There is one other interesting fact pertaining to this name business that has always intrigued me. I'm more than a little interested in astrology, though my knowledge is hardly accurate when it comes down to it. There is a system in Hindu astrology, I've heard, where the first letter of a person's name is used to determine the person's star sign (or something to that effect). In short, the name is considered as the key to a personality.

I'm not saying that there is anything at all in this, for the simple reason that I don't know, but I do consider it worth pondering that ancient texts seem to attach more than a passing importance to the role that one's 'name' has to play in one's life.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 5:36 pm 0 comments

 
* Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

* Out of sight, out of mind.

.....Two very opposite ideas and both sound so true. I was interested to know how it could be so and after some pondering I came to this conclusion: When you really love a person, absence only intensifies the feeling and your sentiments grow warmer than before...whereas for a mere acquaintance or someone who is actually not dear to you, the reverse will hold true. You forget the person the moment he or she has left your circle of vision or atleast, soon enough.

hmmm.....the heart does have its reasons......


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 5:45 pm 0 comments

 
It is ages since I first discovered my love for books and surprisingly, it’s as fresh as ever. The first book I read (not considering the school books) was perhaps an Enid Blyton. I might not enjoy it today, but it helped me enter into a world that has never stopped fascinating me and where the wonders never seem to cease.

From one book I graduated to another and from thereon to another; the journey still continues though the companions change. They all left something of them in me, and if not for them, I can’t imagine myself being the person I am.

A particular period of this journey is most clearly etched in my memory; the time when I was lucky enough to come upon the books that have since been closest to my heart. Of course, there are other books too that mean a lot to me, but these are something special and I can’t even begin to explain why…

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen…The magic of the quiet English countryside and those charming, beautiful people. How I wished I could be a part of their romantic little world ! I was in the seventh grade then and thought it was the most wonderful book I had ever read. Strange, I still think so.

I remember, years later, I wished to introduce someone to the beauty of books. He didn’t care much for literature but wasn’t exactly averse to my ministrations. What book could I choose but this…I would send him a chapter each day and then eagerly enquire what he thought of it…

I don’t know if I paid any attention at all to my studies at that time, because just after I finished with Pride and Prejudice, I was immersed in another idyllic world – I refer to Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

It is precisely when one has plenty to express that one is lost for words. I felt so emotionally caught up and bound with this book and its characters, that nothing could happen in it and that not have an effect on me.

It was a sad moment when I reached the end; sad not only because I had hoped for a happier ending but also because I could not bear to part; part with a part of me that had lived through the book…


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 8:11 pm 0 comments

 
I have always been reserved by nature. In my childhood, it used to bother me. People would say, "Why doesn't she mix around with the other kids?" and I would wonder why they wouldn't let me be. It didn't matter to me what they thought or said, but to my parents, it did. They wanted me to be a model kid (like all parents do) and opinions mattered.

When I would go to Mangalore every two years, amid the usual exclamations and protestations, there was no mistaking the familiar, " Our Preeti is as shy as ever". I was the darling of the house and the words were spoken with affection…

But they would hurt nonetheless. Perhaps it is harder to take criticism from those you love and I couldn't help but see it as criticism. I wished they would love me as I was.

When I became responsible for myself, it was easier. I wasn't as shy or as reticent as before, but apart from a few close friends, everybody else would have labelled me as reserved. Strangely, people who would have a certain impression of me when they first met me, would later, on deeper acquaintance confide to me that I was nothing like they had imagined. But then, in the same breath, they would also ask, "but why are you so reserved?" For a minute I would be lost for words. I couldn't feel the same warmth I had felt a moment ago and would matter-of-factly mutter, "Oh, that's how I've always been " as if explaining away some chronic disease.

I failed to understand why people couldn't accept a person as he/she was. Why couldn't they realise that that was the way they were just as you are the way you are. If you don't like the way they are, move on, but why extend your hand and then deal a slap.

Friends are as much a product of chance as of choice. A friend of mine (I always admired her energy and vivacity) never could let an opportunity slip by without telling me that I didn't know how to live life. The more I tried to tell her I was happy as I was, the less convinced she would be. It was like a personal affront to her; that someone who did not partake of the same pleasures that she did, could still claim to be enjoying herself. She didn't believe a word of it and said so.

If my saying I can see is not proof enough that I'm not blind, I don't know what is. I let the matter rest there.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 12:45 pm 0 comments

 
I've heard of people who are not happy with who they are and luckily for them, the net has come as a blessing. They can now be anybody they fancy and no one to tell the difference. There are also those with a twisted idea of fun; they have now found the ideal platform.

While there is much that is good about the net, unfortunately, a certain kind of people are not happy to let it remain that way.

A recent incident has convinced me of this. A person has been assuming the identity of Codelust (a fellow blogger) and posting offensive comments on this blog. If anymore such comments appear in his name, we know it is not him. As for this person, I hope he's had his fun and if not, I hope he finds better ways of deriving it.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:35 pm 0 comments

 
Ae mere dil kahiin aur chal,
Gam ki duniya se dil bhar gaya,
Dhoond le aur koi ghar naya......
Ae mere dil kahiin aur chal...

Strange how music can take you to another level, another plane.....

.....the melodies of this song seeped into my brain while I quietly made my way home; the day's events flashed before my eyes causing pain....but I did not feel it, instead I felt a sweet pleasure.....the song was like a balm to my soul and I felt happy I was hurt...if only to feel the soothing carress of its magical notes.....how much meaning was packed in those few words and how beautifully did they express what I could not......



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:53 pm 0 comments

 
Thousands of people in the U.S claim that they had been abducted by aliens. Why the aliens chose to abduct them or why they dropped them back on earth, are questions they do not answer. A scientist is known to have said, "If the aliens would only keep all the folks they abduct, our world would be a little saner." I suppose that makes more than a little sense.

I cannot, for the life of me figure out why otherwise normal people (I assume they're otherwise normal) should make up such stories. From what I've read it seems that these people may have possibly gone through traumatic events early in life and this is how they find a release. I wonder why so many people should choose to find a release in this manner. I mean, why don't they exercise a little imagination and come up with something more original? Why Alien's and U.F.Os, for whatever's sake?

If one person were to dream of such a thing, there would be nothing going for him, but a mass of people chanting this same thing is sure something to notice. There may not be anything in their stories, but there's something in this phenomenon itself.

I wonder if the people who say they had been so abducted or those who are certain they had spotted U.F.Os, are really all that sure about their experiences. If yes, I find it difficult to imagine them as sane individuals and if not, I find it yet more difficult to imagine their motivations. Attention seems to be the best bet, but to think that people would go as far as this to gain attention defies thinking (atleast mine)

There are several reasons why it's impossible that aliens could have been visiting earth, though the possibility of such a thing happening in future has not been discounted either. I will not get into the details, but that's what the people who should know have to say (ofcourse, they also have arguments to back their statements).

A very interesting idea that I stumbled upon is that at a time when genies were popular in our culture, they used to spring out of lamps everywhere; when fairies were written about, people spoke of having encountered them; and now, that aliens are shown in movies, people are actually abducted by them (Ghosts seem to have a timeless quality).

Fact is, before the possibility of the existence of such creatures was made known to the general public, no one had claimed to be forcibly spirited away by them. Once such possibilities were discussed, evidences seemed to spring out of nowhere (It's another matter that none of these evidences could withstand scientific tests).

One would have thought that there was enough food for humour in all of this, as it were, but there's more. People who believe they have gone through such experiences need some kind of help out of their situation (why they got into it in the first place is something that still beats me). And these days there's help for almost anything, as any psychiatrist might be pleased to inform you. Trouble is, instead of jostling the clients out of their dream state, the psychiatrists themselves start indulging their dreams. If that doesn't confound all...

The patient is now more sure than before that he has not been hallucinating or any such thing. The psychiatrist now tries to glean information from him, information that may help him get a fairer idea of the alien's whereabouts. I must admit that I was dumbstruck to learn this; that people who are supposed to help the victims should actually play with their emotions.

After all, if the healer himself catches the malady, who is to save them? I don't know...



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:46 pm 0 comments

 
I'm not one for Jokes, but was tickled by these funny epitaphs !

***

On a hypochondriac's grave:

See. I told you

I was SICK !

Littleton, Colorado

***

Effie Jean Robinson

1897-1922

Come blooming youths, as you pass by ,

And on these lines do cast an eye.

As you are now, so once was I;

As low as I, you once must be,

Prepare for death and follow me.

Underneath, someone had added:

To follow you

I am not content,

How do I know

Which way you went.

There's more where these came from ..............


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:14 pm 0 comments

 
"... tolerance, regardless of it's humble facade, assumes a position of superiority. If I tolerate you then you are the one who needs tolerating, not me...Perhaps G.K. Chesterson was right when he said, "Tolerance is the virtue of the man with no convictions." What self-respecting individual wants to be tolerated?..."

Came across this article, Bound for Freedom, quite by accident. Though there are many things in it that I don't agree with, it certainly made me think. I have never thought about what the word "tolerance" means, and now that I do, I realise I'm not too sure. I thought it was a mix of patience and understanding, and yet I wonder if there is something to be said for the above point of view.

I think I would vastly prefer passionate disagreement, to tolerance. When a person disagrees with me, he treats me as an equal, he respects me as a person entitled to hold his own views. But someone who is merely tolerant of my opinions, as the quote puts it, assumes a position of superiority and righteousness, without actually having proved that he deserves it.

I don't know; I suppose there are many different aspects to tolerance.....but this one is also well worth considering.....
posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:41 pm 0 comments

 
Dear friends,

Am going on a little holiday ..........will be back on Monday..........

.......will miss my blog and need I say it?, will miss you all :)

Till Monday then,

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:57 pm 0 comments

 
There's something about this poem.......I find myself rather moved by it......

Breathes There the Man
from The Lay of the Last Minstrel
---by Sir Walter Scott

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:38 pm 0 comments

 
"He who will not reason is a bigot; he who cannot is a fool; and he who dares not is a slave."
-- Sir William Drummond

.......I perfectly agree.

I feel that it is the gift of reasoning, more than anything else, that distinguishes humans from other animals. In fact, I would go so far as to say that if I had to judge the quality of a person on a criteria of my choice, I would solely go upon his reasoning ability.

There's very little to be said about those who cannot argue; simply because they cannot help themselves. You cannot blame a lame man if he cannot walk. But what I find extremely troublesome about these people is that they like to perpetuate the myth that arguing or reasoning is wrong. Unfortunately, they're successful to some extent. And most unfortunate that these people cannot teach their children anything better. Their reasoning ability is nipped before it has a chance to flower.

Those who will not argue are not a less smellier kettle of fish. Not so irksome, perhaps, but one cannot expect anything but a stubborn silence in return for any efforts to involve them in a discussion. Sometimes one might hear a grunt or some such sound but nothing more. Their ideas are fixed and nothing will change them, least of all some good hard reason. And it might really be better this way, because if these people were actually driven to open their mouths, you would wonder if they had lost use of their ears !

As for those who dare not argue; I haven't yet encountered this species, though I admit I feel pity for them. Imagine having eyes and yet having to live blindfolded; it cannot be easy.

I'm thankful that I do not fall under any of these brackets. If there is something I thank God for, more than anything else, it is this very gift of reason, which has always stood me in good stead. And if there is something I fear most, it is the thought that someday I might lose it......



posted by Sylvia D'souza at 6:46 pm 0 comments

 
I made a promise to a friend and like every one of my promises, I wished to fulfill it. The promise moreover, was made at my own initiative. I wanted to dedicate a piece of writing on a subject of his choice on my blog. He wouldn't suggest a topic; I had to coax and coerce it from him. What put this idea into my head, I don't know. Maybe the thought of how happy he would be to read something that I had written for him. Maybe the thought that while my blog was about me, it should also reflect something about my friends.

But I wasn't prepared for my own inability. "Simplicity", he said, and at that moment I very much wanted to ask him to think of something more emotional perhaps, or something more abstract, but I knew I couldn't or rather, I shouldn't. It would be the same as asking someone to choose his favourite fruit and then say, "Oh but, don't choose a mango" or "Don't choose grapes". I might as well do the choosing myself.

I tried. I like to think I tried very much and very hard and yet, I never managed to write a word on "simplicity". If only some divine inspiration would come to me, I prayed, but I still couldn't. Everytime I took up my pen, it seemed to acquire an energy of its own and meander into a different route. I could never make it pass through the one I so much wanted it to.

I don't call myself a writer, only one who can make an honest attempt at writing. It wasn't as if there was nothing I could write about simplicity, but something was stopping me. What that something was, I don't know. The word did not seem to represent or suggest any ideas but it stood more like a solid block staring me in the face, everytime I thought of it. Perhaps the fire of feeling (for the subject) that drives most of my writing was missing here and perhaps I was afraid I would disappoint him, however hard I tried.

Finally I’ve come to a conclusion…..I cannot write about his chosen topic ..........if I cannot give him my best, I will not give him anything less. This gesture was meant to be a little token of my friendship for him...…..I wish I could offer the token in the very form I had promised..........but even so, I hope he will accept it.

(I will not carry out such an experiment again.......but through other ways and means.......will devote some space here to my friends.....)

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:21 pm 0 comments

 
It's quite an accepted theory these days; those who can forgive and forget lead a healthier and happier life. In any situation involving a victim and a perpetrator, one finds that there is an additional burden on the victim; that he must forgive. The victim is accorded due sympathy, but with one advice and that, he must forgive.

It must be said that here the victim's well being is at the heart of the issue. If he does not forgive or forget, there is no way he can gain a peace of mind, there is no way he can move on to a better life. Keeping your wounds green is hardly the way to heal them. If you want to recover, if you want to come out of your suffering, then for your own sake, you will have to forget what was done to you; for your own sake, you will have to forgive the wrong doer. Perhaps he will atone for his sins in a better world, but for now, you need to learn how to forgive. These and numerous other arguments will be offered, which, one might say to oneself, have a lot of sense in them.

Trouble is, I fail to see it for myself.

I have nothing against "forgiveness" as such, but I don't think it's as simple as it is made out to be. If it were, there would be no need for courts and jailhouses. A simple dose of "forgiveness" would settle the matter, once and for all. The fact that these institutions do exist (and have existed for centuries past) should tell us something.

I would forgive a person, if and only if, I was sure that the person realizes the wrong he has done, is repentant, and is also ready to atone for his sin. If a person asks my forgiveness so he may escape punishment at the hands of law, I would not forgive him. It is not his conscience that drives him to me, but fear of punishment. On the other hand, if he asks my forgiveness so he may live in peace the last days of his life, after he has been sentenced, I would forgive him. I would want him to escape a harsh trial. He knows he has done wrong and is ready to suffer for his guilt. I would not let him suffer.

I feel that the act of forgiving cannot be one-sided. If it involves a person ready to forgive, it must necessarily involve a person who desires to be forgiven. Desires to be forgiven in that he is aware of his guilt and recognises it as such. He is genuinely ready to make amends, not merely to mouth big words. Here, I would say, forgiveness, real forgiveness and healing can happen.

Those who don't really care for forgiveness but nevertheless ask for it are the types who would "like to have their cake and eat it too." Forgiveness cannot be bought cheap, least of all, for free. It involves a cost on both sides.

I wonder if one can really achieve a peaceful frame of mind by saying "I forgive" when there hasn't even been an acknowledgement by the wrong doer. When there hasn't even been a validation of one's right to forgive. If one can, there's nothing like it.

Even God requires men to confess their sins before they're forgiven (or atleast, we're told so), and after all, we're only men.

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 1:26 pm 0 comments

 
Where both deliberate, the love is slight;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
-- Christopher Marlowe.

I don't believe in love at first sight. Infact, not even at second, third or fourth sighting, for that matter. The definition of "love" in my book wouldn't allow of such a stand. I can't even begin to understand how two people lock eyes with each other for the first time and deem it 'love' without hesitation. From what I've heard, it's possible for one to feel such chemistry with atleast 250 out of a 1000 people. (excuse me, if I've botched up the statistics but that's the general idea).

To me, love comes out of a deeper understanding. The attraction must be there, of course, but unless there's something deeper than that, something that goes below the surface, I do not think such 'love' (if one chooses to call it that), can last long.

I'll explain what I mean. Some people may connect with me on a purely physical level, some might connect on a purely intellectual level, and some on an emotional level (I will not get into the spiritual). I wouldn't call it love for all that.

But, if a person can reach out to me on all three of these points: physical, intellectual and emotional; if his touch excites me, if his thoughts find an echoing response in my words, if we can feel for the same things as much as we can feel for each other, (a spiritual bond would not be as simple to define); Well, here’s a basis for everlasting love, I would say.

Not one of these ties is any less important than the others, I feel, though some might think so. I believe that when any one of them is missing, a void is left, which is felt sooner or later. (Man is a giddy thing, don’t they say?)

This is not a topic I usually harp on, but what with it being Valentine's Day, I couldn't resist giving my own little take on the elusive emotion called "love".

Here's wishing everyone a Happy Valentine's Day;
And, may the love of your life soon cross your way !


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:07 am 0 comments

 
I'm quite a private person, so to speak, but since the time I created this blog (courtesy: the author of Full TP), have become much more open about my views. The greatest satisfaction I receive is, when I read the comments. To know that people not only read, but have also thought about what I said and have taken the trouble to acquaint me with their own opinions, offers me great pleasure, and it is this pleasure I look forward to, everytime an idea occurs to me.

It would not be wrong to say that this blog has become something personal for me. "If I think it, it's there" doesn't sound too bad for a punch line, does it? It’s true, whatever the case.

I'm one of those who wouldn't know how to sell an oven to an Eskimo. Marketing is just not my scene and I can't remember ever having recommended anything to anyone. Even if I had, my diffident manner would have been enough to put the most susceptible man off.

Now, well, now I’m one of the "check-this-out-buddy-it's-worth-every-penny" lot. No friend has been spared, I'm sure. (I've double checked). And if you're a distant cousin or a long lost uncle, you've definitely got mail !

Of course, not being used to blowing my own trumpet, I find the noise a little jarring. When what I really want to say is, "Do look into my blog and if you like what you see, keep looking", I'm afraid it will sound something like "My blog's great; you got to see it to believe it". I wouldn't be caught dead with that statement. It's just not me.

Ownership comes with its own responsibilities. I feel a sense of ownership over my blog. I feel as possessive about it as with any other of my cherished possessions. When I don't post anything on it for a few days, I feel as one nursing a small plant would feel, when he is unable to water it for that long a period.

As I am not in the best of health these days, my energy fails me when I start to write. And being the person I am, I just wonder....I wonder if my little plant will ever grow to be a tree. Or will it just fade away, like so many plants do, when the hand that nurtures them is suddenly called away......

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:21 am 0 comments

 
I was born into a non-vegetarian family and have always been one. I'm not particularly partial towards any kind of food (except the sweet variety) and nor have I wasted much thought on the matter.

Recently, though, I came across a few people who had turned vegetarian. Neither did they offer any reasons, when confronted with my questions.

It is strange that when an avenue of thought is opened, one suddenly begins to see what one did not see before. I now think about what I eat and when I do, I somehow don't like the look of it. The only way I can enjoy it is by suspending all thought.

I do believe it's in the natural order of things that man should survive by the best means he can. Till today he has been doing precisely that. I just wonder at the reason for our new found revulsion. Or perhaps, in every age there have been categories of people with extreme sensitivities, of whom we do not know much about.

One other thing interests me very much. It is that we feel moved when we see dumb creatures in a wretched plight; a dog trying to limp across the street, a horse being whipped unmercifully, all our sympathies are aroused. But we think nothing of having those creatures for dinner. Not dogs and horses, of course, but I don't see why a goat should not fit the fill.

I suppose at one time animals were classified in terms of uses; for food, for domestication, etc and we've followed the tradition so faithfully all these centuries that it seems very natural; while we can feel for some creatures, we can't for some others.

I feel that if we eat animals, it is for nothing so much as for our own "enjoyment". Not because we cannot survive otherwise. But if we can eat them for pleasure, why do we object when people beat them for the same reason? Which of the two seems worse, in any case?

A friend of mine said, and very rightly too, that I cannot preach about something I haven't yet practiced. For fear of being misunderstood, I will say that I haven't been making any point here. Just dwelling on a question that occupied my thought processes and offering a glimpse into what progressed.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:38 pm 0 comments

 
"Men show their character in nothing more clearly than by what they find laughable."

...........This might prove to be an interesting study.....

I for one hardly ever find anything worth laughing about, wonder what that says about me :(

posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:45 pm 0 comments

 
So loud each tongue, so empty was each head,
So much they talked, so very little said.
—Charles Churchill

I have a particular liking for these words and it's amazing how frequently I quote them to myself ;)
posted by Sylvia D'souza at 3:11 pm 0 comments

 
When we read a good book or watch a great play, what is it that stirs up our emotions?
Why do we feel certain reactions and responses, when we know that the characters and situations are not for real? Given a particular fictional situation, would all of us experience the same emotional reaction? If not, would the reaction only differ in terms of degree or in its entire nature? And if it differs in its nature, what can we say, determines different people's reactions to different situations?

Among Shakespeare's plays, Julius Caeser is one of my particular favourites. The scene that, till today, leaves its impression on me and even today, would evoke the same response in me, is the one which follows immediately after Caeser is brutally murdered by Brutus and his friends.

There is a crowd gathered outside the town hall, Caeser's dead body lies in their midst and Brutus starts off with his famous speech. The words "Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more" are firmly embedded in my mind.", not for a positive, but for a negative significance.

I don't know what other readers would have felt at this point, maybe they felt that Brutus was a noble and honest man, maybe they felt they could understand his motives, maybe compassion that he was taken in by people who used him for a wrong cause, maybe pity that he would not be able to escape guilt, but for myself, I remember feeling something different. Since I hadn't read what was to happen later, I said to myself that this is impossible. This man killed his friend and what is he talking about. What kind of justifications are these? He should not and must not escape the jaws of justice.

I felt anger. And my anger rose when I read on and found that people were actually congratulating themselves on having found a hero. I wondered what Caeser had died for. For people who, far from avenging his death, were smiling at his murderer. I was close to tears (was but a child then) by the time I came to the part where Anthony is asked to speak.

Anthony: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

I can't describe my feelings after reading this speech (I hugged him in my imagination). It was as if a friend had betrayed and murdered me, and my ghost struggling with pain and bewilderment, looks on to find that, there is yet a true friend on earth standing up for me. A friend ready to "take up arms against a sea of troubles" for me. A friend who is not fooled by sweet tongues but who remembers me for what I had been to him, and judges me from what he had seen and known of me. A friend who will not let my death be the last word on the subject. That was how I felt.

What I found most strange was that after Anthony had delivered his speech, the people have again changed their minds. They now call Brutus a villain and everything else. They are now thirsty for his blood. How easily people are swayed ! Their hearts are in the right places, but if only they had heads to govern them. I felt contempt for these people who not a moment ago would have garlanded the person they were now ready to kill.

If Brutus hadn't been Caeser's friend and one who professed to love him as a friend, I would have, perhaps, not felt the same violent reaction. The back stabbing nature of his actions and the cowardliness of it was something I couldn't even begin to stomach. He was not a true friend, but he was not a true enemy either, I felt.

Like Anthony said, that when everyone else was thrusting their sword into Caeser, he still had the heart to resist, but when he saw Brutus come forward, "that was the unkindest cut of all" and such a cut, that even someone as noble and mighty as Caeser, was unable to resist.

His heart burst open.


posted by Sylvia D'souza at 11:43 am 0 comments

 
A good conscience is a sign of bad memory...............

So I've heard.

I dare say not all people who pride themselves on their conscience suffer from weak memories. But you can't discount the possibility, can you?

"Ethical sensitivity is a precursor to moral judgment, in that a person must recognize the existence of an ethical problem before such a problem can be resolved."

This makes sense, I would say, though it took me a minute to understand what it meant. If one lacks the ability (to use a milder word) to differentiate between right and wrong, one definitely is not in a position to choose. And when one chooses in good faith (albeit wrongly), one definitely does not develop the symptoms of a troubled conscience.

Then there's something called "Confabulation". The term sounds more complicated than it actually is. The Skeptic's Dictionary describes it as "a fantasy that has unconsciously replaced fact in memory. It may be based partly on fact or be a complete construction of the imagination."

How it can be used to achieve a favourable frame of conscience is anybody's guess. I start remembering a version of the story that suits me best and after a time it becomes real enough for me.

There are other explanations to a good conscience, of course, and happily, not all of them perverse ones. Another cause to be happy is, I won't be getting into them !!
posted by Sylvia D'souza at 4:18 pm 0 comments