The Nations within the Subcontinent.

Yes it is time we understand and accept that India that as we know it today is only yrs old.

Yes we are a land of diversity, of food, culture, thought. Time and again we are told of the great tradition that we come from. But history is always the story of the winner. It the narrative of the most powerful or the loudest bully in town.

When it comes to India, I do not know when we will understand that we are not ONE nation or ONE country we are a subcontinent ofnationalities. There are multiple identities and layers, multiple loyalties.  Sometimes I wonder if “my country” is only a place I make up in my mind. Something I dream of and sing because it is being marketed to me full throat. More

Kuwabara —

Incandescent rains, warm cup of coffee, a plate of banana chips, my feet firmly tucked under the cushion of the living room, I was lost in the land of intrigue and murder,

My right eye began twitching; now every blighter and blighteress in town knows that the right eye twitching means stressful situations ahead.  That’s when aunt Rajini’s favourite black cat crossed Paddamma’s path, and Paddamma the resident authority divination screeched….”apashakuna!!!” again apashakuna as all diligent viewers of Hindi TV series know is a bad omen.

One can’t help feeling sorry for the black Cat, I don’t mean the commando’s I mean the four legged feline, having to check out for screeching Paddamma’s before they go anywhere, I like to keep it simple,

If your nose itches it means it wants to be scratched there

if a black cat crosses your path its going somewhere.

I was told by relevant authorities that old wives tales need not be superstitions, for old wives tales sits deep in folk wisdom, while superstition emerges from ignorance or fear of the unknown.  I have the authority of Bertrand Russell to say so, not to mention the stringent training by Merriam-Webster.

Now there is Stuart Vyse PhD actually calls superstition, Magical thinking , you check out his book Believing in Magine: Psychology of Superstition. Back to his authority, most people touch wood, believe in witches and ghosts, daayan’s and chudail in India. I do some unguarded moments, when thoughts like what is the psychology behind magical thinking, is it good or bad, do  we suffer more when we don’t understand or is understanding in itself a challenge!! Touch wood those moments pass over quite fast.

Taking a deep breath before I start doing something is a ritual that calms me, If I take only six deep breathes with counts in place then that becomes obsessive compulsive disorder,(OCD) and if I believe that my work will be doomed if I do not do the ritual that becomes superstition.

Probably the need for certainty is the driving force behind most superstition.  At times I wonder if keeping my fingers crossed, is just positive re-enforcement and an affirmation that I have placed my faith universe, maybe the sheer discomfort of keeping the fingers crossed keeps me focused on the goal.  This maybe an emotional placebo that allows for belief enhancement.

Then there are those superstitions that trigger phobia, if hand a broom to someone you will have an argument with that person ; of course you will, I doubt if any one will appreciate being asked to do a clean sweep… or clean dirty bins superstitions can lull you into false security ask the gambler who lost the last poker game… I know of girl who stayed indoors an entire day because she sighted a single mynah when she went out and the school ditty was

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for a letter

Four for a boy

Guess as we grow older, along with elves, and Santa we lose faith in superstitions.  Vyse is gender biased he says women are more superstitious than men. What I understand is– People prone to anxiety disorders tend to attract superstitions. People who believe they are He-man (he is the master of the universe) tend to be less superstitious, as compared to the “Oh! The World is out harass me” believers.

Just because you rub the feet of John Harvard statue at Harvard for good luck does not make you the next study material for Sir Roderick Glossop, chill,  it could just be your source of comfort,  a way of connecting with the greater community, your loved ones whatever

When my  right twitches I know it time to quit, that is quit worrying for  my stress level are probably heading to the nearest Kanchenjunga or at least Sonsogor (highest peak in Goa.) but of course if the twitching persists, then into my mind creeps the monster called “What-if” and we are back on our way to Sonsogor, then I deliberately identify something that is out of balance in my zone, attribute the twitch to the that, cut cords, thank  Archangel Gabriel for the annunciation and move on.

But again when afflicted by the thinking disorder, I do wonder what sustains the superstitions to linger generation after generation…I have recently been told by Emma Goldman that, patriotism, is a superstition artificially created and maintained through a network of lies and false hoods, a superstition that robs man of his self respect and dignity and increases his arrogance and conceit” it’s time to ponder on this Kuwabara1superstition

Kuwabara is the Japanese/Chinese slang for superstition. Kuwabara actually means Mulberry tree forest and it is believed that the Mulberry tree cannot be struck down by lightening so saying Kuwabara; Kuwabara protects the speaker from being struck down by lightening.

This blog is written for the #172 Edition of Indispire prompt put forth by R.Ramesh who blogs at

When You are Happy and You Know it

I am happy when…

After consuming dollops and gallons of Sir Roderick Glossop’s books and detailed gossip sheets that he calls case history of patients, I am at crossroads, what is it that want to know, unlike Amitabh Bacchan on KBC I can give you two options, do you want to know how do I know I am happy or do you want to know what makes me happy.

When people are sad they seem to recognize a coldness within themselves, and a heaviness and lot of other Monster-Ness, but when it comes to happiness one has to follow the path of Don Quixote and go on a quest in the ashram of  Swami Instantjoymixs,  we were told that when we are truly happy, that is the time we connect with out higher self, the great spirit and the universe.

I actually saw images of my silhouette, rhombus shaped radiating powerful waves into the universe, it was too tiring the image fades a mite too quick.

My understanding is if I need to Castlerock I need to recognize Castlerock and like most of humanity, I do not know how to recognize happiness, after closely observing the antics of Pop Glossop one bright way I realized was to put together all the words that could lead to the state of no agitation or helps to tame the Monster-Ness, here is what I learnt from Guru-Glossop

Happiness is elusive; because there is no Betty Crocker telling you add a dash of cinnamon and a pinch of pepper, we go quintessential… we know when it happens.

Of course happy ancestors make happy progeny this what the Gregory Mendel guy proved, the fellow who rolled the stone up the hill, said it was a moment before the stone rolled down, the wicked stepmother of snow white claimed it was the moment of relief when she was sure that snow-white was history. My nephew tells me it is the moment before we walk into ice-cream parlour and my mother tells me it is moment when someone massages her scalp. To Charles M. Schulz happiness is a warm puppy, while for George Burns it was having a large, loving, caring, close knit family in another city.

After all this serious fact gathering of society and real and fairy tale I can say I am happy when I have one of these symptoms.

Amused Joyful
Anticipated Kindness
Awestruck Lively
Balanced Love
Blessed Mellow
Celebrate Motivated
Cheerful Optimistic
Confident Peaceful
Content Playful
Giving Relieved
Helpful Satisfaction
Honourable Social
Hopeful Spiritual
Humour Thankful

Of course nature wants us to be unhappy once in a while, so we remember to thank her for the joys of life.

PS Sir Roderick Glossop the who adorns the Drone’s wreath of top-notch loony-catchers, and the slayer of happiness snatchers recommends  a safe method of dealing with Monster-Ness,

  • Print the 31 symptoms of happiness.
  • Tick all that happened to you during the day.
  • Repeat for next 21 days.

I am assured by the experienced clientele of Sir Roderick Glossop that with each passing day, the things we are happy about increase…

As for what makes me happy… well someone to love, something do, and something to hope for.

It’s a BlogAdda WOW post




To Decree or Not?

When people Judge, they are going through a process of forming an opinion or evaluation by discerning and comparing. That is quite an acceptable process, isn’t it a scientific process to come to a logical conclusion. There is also a capacity that guides these judgments.

Maybe what we are talking when we say people judging us—we are talking about utterance of an authoritative opinion, there is a decree that is pronounced… a label that gets attached. This label could influence the way people react to us.

Yes people who have judged me in the past do adorn my hall of monsters today. I did walk to through the corridor saying I don’t care a fig about what you call me, “Noodiswami naavirode heege” despite that deep within it did count, I felt victimized, until I attended the landmark curriculum for living where I realized people may judge you or may not judge that is their prerogative, then others may accept that judgement or not that is their prerogative, the only bit that you can control is your reactions and your judgement.

It does however take tremendous effort to forgive myself for being affected by those judgements, but EFT, cord-cutting does help me over come my belief in a judgement decreed upon. Sounds clichéd right that is how this works though.

I remember my mother and her friends talking about Mrs. Talbot, who used be quite bizarre by those days standards she wore sleeveless blouses apparently had affairs with prominent powerful men, would not cook, and make her young kids do the house work etc. etc. thirty years later during a casual conversation her daughter lets on that Mrs. Talbot was diagnosed Bipolar and was under medication.

There is this beautiful concept in the Landmark forum it is called already always listening, that is I pass a judgement on a person, let’s say I take a stance that Dr.G   thinks I am dumb blonde, then all my  interactions with Dr.G will through this filter, no matter what communication he puts I will tend to wrap it in the Dr.G thinks I am dumb filter!! The minute we take that filter out the quality of the interaction and communication varies.

To me judgements says more about the labeller than the labelled. It is not about what they call you it is about what you answer to.

Coming to do I judge people, I must be how else will I interact with someone, even when I say I am judging it means I have relevant information, I have come to a conclusion the conclusion may favour the person in question or may not but I do go through the process, what I mean is I will not label you. And I may not depend on this set of information and conclusion for any other interaction we may have in the future.

It is an effort each time, to step back and take a call, when I am dealing with people my labels for them does pop out, what helps is dialogue, an opportunity for people to communicate from outside the limitations of their points of views, when we enter a circle of dialogue, judgements could alter, labels could falter, only humans are in the conversation.

Before I declare,”it is like that only” have you noticed, people who talk about detachment, and religion tend to point their fingers instead of extending a helping hand? I am being judgement here am I not?

written for indispire edition 172  #judgingpeople

Posted by pranju chakrapani under Memoirs

Yer ur busted.

“Wow, Auntie Sammy has outdone herself” … the lilting voiced Leela seemed to say.

Well, what now?

“Andy she has written for Nostalgia”

“So what I have written for the magazine Back To The Future

“You idiot, she has written about the adventure she and your mom had, they tried to bake a cake.”

“So what lot of people do?”

“Well they did it illegally”

“what do you mean” Andy had visions of his mom and aunt breaking into the neighbourhood grocery store to steal the ingredients.

“Grandma had not given them permission.. You Savvy?”


“the prognosis was they could not sit for the next week.”

“OOH! We learn from history, I bet we can bake a cake and auntie would be clueless.”

Andy was sceptic but he did not want to pass up a chance to impress the lilting voiced Leela, out came the laptop, the template for baking a cake. After a lengthy debate, and quick look at the ingredients available the kids settled for eggless, vanilla cake.

“You need Maida, Lee and not roti-wallah flour”

“You mean they are different, ”

“of course, “Andy could see the appreciation in Lee’s eyes,  with his superior knowledge being recognized they zipped through the cake baking quite quickly.

Sifting the flour with baking powder, adding in the butter and sugar.

Three drops of vanilla.

Milk and vinegar and they prestige hand mixer helped to bring it to a smooth paste.

The idli tray was greased and the batter poured in, and mixture was baked at 175degrees for half an hour, while cake baked, the other kids got chips, and coke and the impromptu party took place. Andy never felt more thrilled.

You know those days when you have had unexpected joys bestowed on you like an cool party at home, and the Lilting voice Lee batting her eye at you, one does feel blessed and one can also anticipate the dull ache on the Butt from distant memories, without wanting to trigger a what with the handbag from mom, Andy started the cleaning procedure,

he brought in extra flour to replace the used flour, vanilla essence didn’t matter, baking powder mom would not notice, sugar replenished from the main stock, butter again mom would not notice as she does not eat butter, vinegar went right back to its place. Hand mixer washed and its slot on the wall.

Plates washed and returned to its places, the chips packets and cola cans right into the trash…Andy congratulated  himself on his foresight for he actually took the dry trash to the main bin so awkward questions would not be asked.

Vacuuming the living rooms and tidying the books, after all a gang of half a dozen of teenagers does get rowdy.

Done and dusted,

With a besotted smile Andy snuggled into his bed, he knew that Lee was sufficiently impressed, in his dream  she had decided to go out with him, “Not because you bake like a dream, but you were ingenious enough to fool your mom.”

Yup his mother was a star at the mom’s college though she did not dole out the standard stuff, she didn’t need a good stare did it all.

Just as he was about to present Lilting voice Leela the rose, “Whack”

He wondered if the chair hit him when he knelt to give the rose, but when opened his eyes, it was his mom, nostrils flaring, deep breathing,

“Where is the cake?”

“Cake what cake!!”

“the one that you baked here,”

“How did you know” he stammered, he didn’t even consider stout denial, there was something about lean mom brandishing a handbag that the truth would blurt out as if having a power of its own,

The stare just continued,

“Sneaky Sid,”

“No, go on”

“Snitch Sheila…No…well I give up”

He had to know, so he tried again,”I think mom, it only fair that you prove that I did it,”

“well” sighed his mom, “You confessed on the first whack, but the too clean a kitchen and hall, and lingering fragrance of Vanilla, they were the clues my son, You should have opened the window the smell would have diluted.”

Well with a super-sleuth for a mom, it’s done and dusted it is done and busted!!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Serious Blogging? What do ya think?


Why do you blog?
A: Partly to make Butterflies and Wheels more frequently updated and more interactive (as well as that bit more interesting, I hope), but also because I think the world des-perately needs to hear my opinions, and I like to oblige.”
― Ophelia Benson

Has blogging reduced to meaningless activity? That’s for you to answer. For me my blogs are conversation with unknown person at a chaikhana.

Can bloggers make significant contribution to the society dealing with significant issues seriously?

What is a blog in the first place – a written material published on the web. If it is a verb then the action that creates the blog is also a blog while the person indulging in the activity is a blogger.

Why do most of us blog? Lets be honest we are doling out answers people don’t want to hear to questions they didn’t ask. Most of us advertise our opinion, some of us flaunt our language skills, what ever. Many of us who have voices and concerns that we would like to voice, but are reluctant to approach a publisher for whatever reasons, so blogs come to our rescue. Then are people who want information, then there are exhibitionists.

Each of us as bloggers are only as effective as our reader outreach.  Of course some of them in turn may have a greater range of influence. But as of now we just accept what gives us just in case we are interested. Our readers connect to us depending on what they perceive as our credibility. If we are perceived as sincere despite the fact that people may disagree, our thoughts and our opinions get acknowledged, that in itself is a great achievement. Whether we can bring about a revolution ….I doubt… a change possibly. Just this morning I read Sucheta Dalal’s blog and took an appointment with my bank manager as I needed some answers.

What we write, is our choice, we can do it in all sincerity, with all conviction, its outcome depends on the reader and the attitude of the reader if the person is the kind to take to action they would, if the person is an armchair revolutionary then it would trigger debates, if you make someone uncomfortable, they could pelt stones at you, and if the person is an armchair delinquent then welcome to the world of internet trolling.

There are people who take on video-blogging, or podcasting, there are people who are working with language on the brink of extinction, to revive it they of course opt of Vblog or YouTube. If you are looking at the immediate revolution brewing in the backyard forget it, yes but we do influence people to an extent again instead of. Our arms circle, this time round we don’t know who we are influencing.

Well Tomichan Matheikal, it looks like you are bringing me back to introspection, and questioning. Thank You.

This blog is written for the 162nd Edition of Indispire.

Celebrating Life

Every month 25th-30th I am at Manipal I have my hypnotherapy clinic.  Last time I went there our it Aunt Kasturi’s 70th birthday and her niece Jyothi had a party for her, the previous day, as we were dinner, Aunt Kasturi mentioned “I am told old for all this birthday party and things like that.”

For which Jyothi replied “Kasturi-akka, this is celebrating and thanks giving, for all the love and care you have given me,”

The next day Aunt Kasturi invited us for lunch, saying it was because she wanted to thank the universe for all the joy and richness she received in her life. Jyothi had altered our perception of birthday, it was not looking at one year gone without any achievement to show, but it became a reminder to celebrate life and to update.

Then there was grandma Parwati, who refused aggressive treatment to deal with her 80% cerebral tumour, her argument was I am 74yrs old, I have had a great life, I would like to go  gracefully and thank my maker.

It is interesting when I deal with clients who have issues with money, it translates to wanting abundance, yet abundance is already there in every breathe,”I don’t have money” “My mother-in-law does not like me” “I am not good enough” we are abundant in acknowledging our lack.

Somewhere people who write journals me included we only document our grievances, and we land up empowering negativity. Actually I put my clients on the 12 week recovery program both for tobacco addiction or creative block one of the major things we do is ask people to write five things they are grateful for each night and five things that made them happy during the day.

It is amazing, how this simple exercise opened up an entire world of abundance and richness for me.

I could look at the wonderful supportive parents I had, I could appreciate the tremendous inner strength that developed in me because I wanted to stay true to myself and the support I received for it from my grandparents and parents, the wonderful teachers who taught me, not just skills but also life lessons. The emotional safety network that was provided by the extended family that we connected into through our community and profession. The birth of my daughters, their smiles, the fact that they are beautiful young women, I think I do have abundance in all sections of my life, that calls for celebration, acknowledgement and gratitude.


this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.

all that is requited is a shift in perspective, great healing can be achieved by just one small shift. Life offers two options, one is as though everything is a miracle, the other is nothing is a miracle, no matter what we choose there is wonderment.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’


Fill In the Blank

She opened a blank page, in her note book, if she had to be honest Narmada would confess, the entire book was blank. Each day for the past two months she has been sitting to think of what to write, there were things that set her arse on fire, but putting them on paper gave her headache, she reckoned somewhere she twisted her face, with an attempt to think, but only landed up feeling stupid, instead she walked around with a blank mind hoping something from somewhere would fill it up.

She called her therapist up, the therapist told her you need to get up each morning as write 3 pages, long hand, no spell checks or grammar checks, and most important do not read it.

Narmada was furious, here I am telling her that i cannot write and she tells me write. Entire week of resisting, demanding the therapists attention with indirect tactics, but her therapist stayed firm.

“You are supposed to help me,”

“Narmada I am here to help, not to spoon feed you or step in for you.”

“Can’t just give me a pill to deal with depression”

“I can, but I won’t” the therapist for was firm,”I do not want to be the next peg for you to hang on.”

Narmada, eventually agreed to do what the therapist said, write the three damn pages as she woke up in the morning, it was crazy the therapist was clear no thinking just write what ever words float, strangely words did not float, what floated were images of a blue snake, of a woman walking on the road in blue.

A week of writing was really bad, then came the realization the story that set her butt on fire was a lingering bottled up anger, it was the authentic story that wanted to emerge, on the contrary it had become mixed up, rotten, confused, and was highly combustible, it could burst out and bring out a very different narrative than what was supposed to come out!

As she came into the 4th week of writing the morning pages, Narmada realized creation was one the strangest acts.

As a writer for it was a blank page or note book for her, it could have been a block of stone, or wood or a silent musical instrument that beckoned.

With the morning pages the prison guard “Mary Kutty” had weakened and angry dragon within was exorcised she could now look inside herself.  She could now through the bait and fish around for that elusive  cloud vapour fish, that made her live in clamour and reshape it or even fit it in where she wanted it to be, she could latch on things, and bring forth things out of head like Zeus brought forth Athena.

This abstract will-o-wisp could take tangible shapes and forms.

People in the support group said, it was as if images emerged on the canvas, or the musical resonated on its own.


this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.

The morning pages had given her cohesion, and brought forth something, her mind had ordered and succeeded in manifesting something beautiful out of nothing, it was like a glimpse of the divine.

A blank page now told her, that there was infinite potential, every page, like every moment contained possibilities that she could possibly not imagine, every day, came with a blank page, it was for her to fill with the most beautiful feelings, it was for her to create the space for the story, for the drawing.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

The string of jasmine

draupadi jadaiThere was a hesitant knock on her door, when Sabrina opened the daughter there stood Mumtaz her maid’s daughter,

“Bhabhi, I came to give you this” she held in tiny palms, an assorted collection of jasmine buds and parijatha flowers.

‘Where did you get it from?’

“In  the garden they had fallen from the balcony,”

“Do you like flowers?”

“So why don’t you wear them”

“we don’t have a garden to grow it, and  I have to save pocket money before i can buy,”

Sabrina thanked her and closed the door, but the wistful look of the little girl stayed, ”flowers they are the laughter of the earth” she recalled her grandfather saying.

It had begun with the assorted flowers she placed on the sill, every one ridiculed her for choosing the ordinary vinca rosea instead of the exotic flowers but looking at the marigold, the aboli and vinca rosea each morning took her right back to being the excited five year old prancing beside her grandfather who began his day with an hour of gardening.

The balcony attached to the bed room, overlooking the garden had a mini layout, the L-shaped ledge had jasmine adjacent to each wall the pegs on the wall helped the creeper climb, beside it came the roses, the vendor who sold it called it “Sophia Lauren” then came two zinnia plants, and in the centre where two arms met to make the  L, she had the bongavilla two creepers of different colours as the creepers grew their leaves adding colours.

As she looked across, a young man walked up the pathway of the house cross, with a bunch of flowers, the door opened, the person collected the basket and signed a sheet, the man left, how ironic thought Sabrina, when she was younger Valentine’s day was the only day when bouquets came home, or flowers were given, or if you were at an event as a guest.  Strings of jasmine were given somewhere it also bespoke a certain commitment in the relationship.

The first time she was talking to Arvind, a girl had come selling Jasmine, and Sabrina had bought it, she had told Arvind that she loved jasmine, since then every time he met he brought Jasmine, it nearly thirty years now, but he never forgets the Jasmine, despite their spouse, and their children, he still visited her with a string of Jasmine.

Somehow her husband had never bothered with flowers for her, neither the valentine ones or the jasmine, it was like the song, “tere bina zingadi se koi shikhva toh nahi, ”  when the marriage died, she created this companion who always made sure that the flowers were there for her, larger bins for the Parijata, and Champa.

Sabrina, put the flowers on a damp towel, slowly strung them together, four jasmines, alternating with a red stalked Parijata, walked up to the dressing table to look for something to pin the flowers on her hair, when the sound of the child laughing rang into the room, the wistful eyes remerged before Sabrina.

Sabrina, put the clip and the string down, and went out to the balcony..

“Mumtaz come here,”

Mumtaz came up to the door she seemed rather apprehensive,

“Undo your pony tail,” the girl obeyed with increasing apprehension. Sabrina braided the child’s hair, picked up the colourful crunchy that she did not use, and pinned the string of flowers on to the braid,  the face of the child lit up. It had been long since Sabrina had seen that look. ”


this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.

“You can pick these flowers and wear them every day,” the child’s face lit up.

“Do you know how to string it?” asked Sabrina,


“Would you like to learn, you can make two strings, one for me and one for you”

The child could only nod, “I’ll teach you tomorrow,” promised Sabrina.


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ For those who would like to start their own garden but are scared to here is where I found help

Devout iz greun.

Godliness in greenery…

This associated with Ganesh chaturthi, we seem to fall into a pattern. Since I am agnostic, I was just pondering on the colour green.

out of reachThe colour of the flora, colour of the anahata chakra, heart chakra if you wish to call it so. chlorophyll such a dominant colour in the world of plants, that we tend to forget that there are leaves that are not green, yet we call the environment greenery. I am all for these nourishing colours don’t get me wrong.

Green in nature is one thing and green in literature is another, there is seems to be huge antipathy between literature and nature, bring them together and see it, yet when we look beyond the obvious it is interesting. For example Green With Envy is an oft used term, and Green Bucks refers to paper currency, and commerce is the new green, spend your money where your beliefs are…

Greens, if I were to look for it in nature, there is a bank out there, olive, jade, lime, leaf, kiwi, silver green of the back of a birch leaf, the bright pistachio.  The presence of green in water tells us of the marine life and I am told depending on the shade of green in the water one can tell if the water has healing herbs, or if it sweet drinking water unlike the blue which usually is salty.plinky 1

But green tinted phlegm indicates streptococcal infection.

Symbolically green represents balance, nature, spring, rebirth and prosperity.  Its oft said that it does not matter how green a blade of grass is when it is already trampled beneath the feet, the irony is the green leaves the un-cemented walking path, but persistently emerges through the tile edge of the cemented sidewalk. The creeper that climbs the drain, and moss the grows on the wall, only tell us, that green sustains.

plinky treeAfter all plants is the second level of the collective consciousness of life, crystals being the first. Green is the colour of romance or sringara in Indian aesthetics, while green is the colour of eternal life  for Japanese, green is progress put them together and we green the colour of divinity.Both Venus and Aphrodite are associated with the colour green.

Thoreau calls himself the Patron saint of swamps –“” because he enjoyed being in them and writing about them said, “my temple is the swamp… When I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most impenetrable and to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter a swamp as a sacred place, a sanctum sanctorum… I seemed to have reached a new world, so wild a place…far away from human society. What’s the need of visiting far-off mountains and bogs, if a half-hour’s walk will carry me into such wildness and novelty.” –― Henry David ThoreauWalden and Other Writingssupa1

The ancients had the tradition of the sacred grooves, these helped to maintain biodiversity. Maybe it is time to revive them.  an acre of forest spruce boggles, no one, maybe ten square miles of cultivated land could gladden hearts, but the plant kingdom knows no hierarchy, fecundity of the plant kingdom is not an assault on human values, or existence, plants are not our competitors, they are our prey and our nesting material. Their proliferation, should mean to us, just what the population explosion of mice would mean to owls, fecundity is anathema to the animal mind, we look at acres of forest and say acres and acres of predators that makes its chilling, which becomes acceptable if we were to say… reservoir of clean air, and larder of prey okay lets also thrown soothing to the soul and sight.draupadi jadai

Going green starts with a shift in consciousness, that shows up with every choice we make, like using a reusable water bottle, reducing the use of diapers and non biodegradables, planting that one plant in the pot and converting the kitchen waste to bio-fuel or compost.

If we were to be brutally frank, then green life would not mean meditating in a centrally heated room, on a macramé mat, in front of an Amerindian dream catcher, and a homemade lamp, not mentions incense and ugly spider plants, nor does it mean writing vitriolic-witty blogs or newspaper articles, and then rushing off in a gas guzzling vehicle to collect children from school, feeding them soup made from dehydrated soup powder, or giving them a microwaved heated pre-cooked meal. Neither living a greener life demands certain amount of both self-sacrifice and discipline, saving the planet is not lip service nor waiting for superman. Like every adventure it means getting your hands a little dirty and putting ourselves a little out.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

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