Quid Pro Quo With The Gods

Tumburu

Tumburu's family reminds me of Marx Brothers: Chico, Harpo, Groucho, Gummo and Zeppo.
I tell you, with such striking names in the family, popularity is a sure thing. But Tumburu is fascinating. I will read up about other horse-faced divine beings and resume the conversation.

 

I am idly staring at the ceiling then realise that my neck may ache so I shift my gaze to the window. Window that opens up to the next stony building is just as boring. Not inspirational enough! Why are there not many good staring spots and I don't have any goats around.

I imagine the biblical black holes colliding and rippling the spacetime fabric with gravitational waves. I picture that hullabaloo amongst scientific community, the dawn of new age, to explore the universe by tinkering with innovative tools to grope the dark matter. I call forth our own super-massive black hole devouring the nearby dust and spewing beautiful rays in the EM spectrum. I think of our Andromeda neighbour hurtling at us at amazing speed to smash us all up.

Then, I think of my tiny room and a carbon-empowered sentient being confused what to eat for breakfast. I, the carbon molecule, travelled light years from the infernal guts of a supernova to merge as a polymer in a neuron. I wonder what it was like for that carbon atom when it met another carbon atom. Hey I am from SN 1034gh supernova. Where are you from? I am from SN 807ik supernova. Whoa ..you are more ancient than I am. The two carbon atoms clasp and create me. I wonder if they know that I am thinking about them now. Hey, you c.dudes, do you know that I am thinking about you both now?

I recall those fantasist minds engraving the shapes of bulls and flying birds on the caves of Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc and Lascaux. A caveman draws an askew figure and calls it Godot. Another caveman inquires, "What is that?". That is Godot and I am waiting for him. He knows all the secrets of the universe for he was the one who created this world. The listening caveman bruits the presence of this supernatural creature. In the night, the tribe foregather around a crackling pit and look skyward.

They don't know the origin of those twinkling beads in the sky. They don't know the source of that glowing canopy. They don't know of a blue monster spinning furiously under their feet. They don't know our bond with that pale white ball in the sky which follows us.

I return to the stillness of my room and think of a carbon speck in my typing hand that could have prompted that prehistoric hand that drew the Godot. I wonder how many souls realise the beauty of such interconnected universe. A universe too stupendous yet too shy to disclose its secrets.

I think of QPQ and the two ramblers who have no agenda, no motive or no desire to make sense of their writing. Notwithstanding, I sense the approaching 800th post. I wonder whether he and I who would lay hold of that 800th post. I halt my day-dreaming and post in QPQ.

 

Tumburu/Viradha is getting more fascinating by the day. I didn't know that he had an appearance in Ramayana.

The more I hear of Tumburu, the name reminds me of Mount Tambora in East Indies. There is no connection between them both. However, both served as inspirations in literature.

Tumburu for his magnificent talent and Tambora for its magnificent tremors. As if Tumburu was dancing aloft the mountain top with all his rage and passion, the volcano erupted in a pyroclastic spew back in 1816. The first time I heard of Tumburu, it reminded me of that explosion and since then the interplay of Tumburu and Tambora has been running in my mind.

 

Waiting For Godot

Godot was a boring read. I think I fell asleep halfway. I haven't read RK Narayan's Waiting for the Mahatma. I shall look it up.

I already feel the inconvenience in staring at ceilings. My neck cricks or my forehead is squished with furrowed brows. Age creeps up insidiously even in the most clandestine and effortless tasks. Horizontal scanning seems like a decent undertaking. I was once asked in a interview to name my favourite past time. Boldly, I said day-dreaming. I also mentioned that it was a healthy and cheap alternative to drinking and smoking and other impinging distractions. In day dreaming, you have limitless capacity to imagine, save, restore, erase and recreate an obliging world. I was selected in that interview. I am sure it was my day-dreaming confession that deluded them into thinking that this creature is harmless whilst staring at ceilings and sideboards.

I dislike anything that requires my brain to organise itself. Nonsense is free-flowing. You can go clack clack about anything with no fear to sound sensible in your cackle. Growing up, I was fearless on stage. I don't know how I mustered that feat but I could blabber for hours in a microphone during a school festival. Mostly, I would be talking to myself during the commentary and then someone would remind that it is time to shut that mouth and go for lunch. I was intrepid in peddling nonsense like it was my calling. Even now I write less, comparatively. But on phone, I don't know how to clamp my mouth. I go babbut babbut glorying my nonsensical and opinionated leaning.

 

On Crossword

Two things I never indulged in while growing up: chess and crosswords.

I was scared of them both. I would not go anywhere near them. Here, when I see elderly folks sitting on a bench in a park and solving crosswords, I feel like going up to them and striking a conversation, "can you teach me how to solve a crossword. I mean, how do you go about mining words." Normally, I can crack up a conversation with utter strangers and befriend them away in less than a minute. But when I see that penetrating expression on their wizened faces while solving a puzzle, I am intimidated and I continue with my jog. Why no crosswords? Chess is very confusing but crosswords should be simple yet I find them very draining. Word with seven letters starting with "M" and ending with "P". My brain short-circuits. I cannot recall words in such strained manner. I will fumble at even simple words. So, I baulk at solving crosswords.

My growing up was slightly hippy-ish. In our community, on red-lettered days, the council of community affairs would hold several competitions for kids. I would steer away from chess and crossword. Once, I was coaxed into joining a team. Ira ..you are so good with words ...cmon join the team. I relented with all that pumped-up assurance and flatter. When the crossword was handed to us, I was poleaxed. What are these clues. I trembled. I didn't crack even a single word. I was wounded to the quick with that defeat. That was the beginning and end of my crossword fad. Even today I quiver at the mention of crossword.

@Cheeniya , are you any good with crosswords?

 

On Shashi Kapoor

Shashi Kapoor passed away and not a mention in QPQ. Last night, I was reading about Shashi Kapoor and Jennifer Kendal. Their waltzy romance and how he was smitten with his Miranda in the play The Tempest right from the first gaze. I was reading about their theatre struggle and how Jennifer was instrumental in the revival of the Prithvi theatre. It is heartening to read such enchanting romances. I recalled one of their sons modelled for Bombay Dyeing. I looked him up. Back in the day, Karan Kapoor was debonair with James Bond styling. When an actor passes away, we are compelled to dig up his biography to demystify the man behind the limelight. Shashi Kapoor comes across as a loving and caring gentleman who blended his work and family in a mindful passion that lead him to be respected by many in the film fraternity.

 

There are ceiling and horizontal scanning days to behold. Then, there are days when you simply look down and wonder how you have accomplished and scaled the height you are standing atop. Today, on the summit of the 800th post, I feel tizzy because I am looking downward and not skyward or sideward. I am recounting the free-wheeled ride of these two unhinged ramblers, two motor-mouths, and two energetic souls who swept so many topics. More than diverging topics, it is the discovery of the conflating interests that amazed me. From movies to cartoons to food to novels to kamarkat to tumburu we have conjoined all our discussions in a unified voice of mutual joy and curiosity in each other's "you know what".

I have always quoted here and elsewhere that the people we choose to be surrounded with play an intense role in our life for we have chosen them to not guide or lead us but to sturdily flank us, in turn, making our whimsical choices memorable with their lock-stepped and abreast presence. You don't look up at them or look ahead to them. They are always beside you. We have sought them to march with them in a kinship that transcends age and class and temperaments.

I repeat, I have learnt so much in this initiative. Another enterprise of this nature will be impossible for me in future not because there won't be another Cheeniya but the Iravati in me might not muster such spirit and care and enthusiasm about an aimless ramble with another soul. Happy 800th!