When we say change, we often think change for the good. However, sometimes nature forces us to change despite our reluctance. We grow up, we mature, we learn new things, and meet new people. We transform from naive kids into knowing adults.
But then sometimes, we force nature to transform. Like in this case, a hundred-year-old tree had to morph its roots because we built a wall or two.
I took this photo in Vandalur, a national zoological park in Chennai, India.
I woke up today to raindrops pattering on my window, an experience I hadn’t had since last June. Plastering a smile on my lips, I got up ready to get ready for work. And even as I brushed my teeth, the rain waned into a drizzle, and the drizzle then became an occasional droplet. Then, silence — all in a span of five minutes.
Finishing my daily chores, I peeked through the window again. An early bird chirped from its nestled castle in a tree nearby, the sole creature bold enough to break the silence. Sipping my cup of tea, I stared at my cup of tea: the sky lightened and the dark clouds of last night whitened.
I took a deep breath for it felt like a good day.
I left home and locked the door behind me, hoping for a productive day at work. And as I stepped out of the house, the sun peeked out from the horizon, braving the vagaries of the early morning’s slight storm, and sending a shot of warmth through me.
I flashed a smile at the soldier and headed out the street. A good day to take a walk.
On my way, I saw the age-old banyan tree swaying like a wise old woman nodding her white head at me, while a pale orange leaf disengaged itself from its kin to fall onto my path. And along with it, I got the scent of dug up earth and the sight of earthworms wiggling their way back into the soothing heat of the soil.
To cap my walk, came a gentle breeze blowing my already-messy hair into a disarray, and bringing in its wake, a single drop of rain.
Looking up, I saw the white clouds darkening again and the sun retreating. I could feel the breeze getting colder and damper. As that single droplet expanded into a mild drizzle, I stepped up my pace — I had just a few more feet to go.
The drizzle, however, had coated my glasses while I rushed into the shelter of my office. Walking into the towering glass structure, behind me, I heard the whizzing wind gushing through the gap in the door.
Worrying about the clothes I had put to dry on the terrace, I took the elevator up to the 12th floor, coming to a halt by the window. I looked down at the street. The roads were wet, but the drizzle had moved on. The wind had died down, and the sun seemed ready to show her face again.
Shaking my head, I turned around with my arms outstretched announcing to the floor at large, “Monsoon’s here, people.” Lucky for me, the place was deserted. I am the early bird at work.
“Get real,” she said. “No one’s going to spend time reading bulky books in future. Why would they, when we already have audio books and kindle?”
My friend and I were having coffee at a famous fast food chain. We had left the office for lunch but decided to grab a muffin and an espresso instead.
When someone said such a thing, I’d flare back at them without a second thought. But now I held my tongue. My friend made sense, and I hated myself for admitting it. I said nothing, however. My coffee lingered under my tongue sending shots of bitterness through my system.
I love reading physical books. And I’ve admitted more times than I know, that despite the Kindle app’s animation to turn pages, an ebook just doesn’t feel the same way. But I’m reading four or five books now, and all of them are on my mobile. It’s easy because I never know when I’d get the time to read a page or two, and my phone’s just lying there in my pocket.
But I’m also against the digital revolution that’s almost killed paperbacks. It saddens me that leather bounds are now classed as exclusive collector’s items.
Books are books. They’re made up of words that can twist and tug at the deepest of heartstrings, and not antiques held together with age-old rust and dust.
Books are books. They’re living things filled with opinions and teachings. They can weigh in when you’re down, though sometimes even weigh too much when you’re carrying a burden.
Books are books. They are a mark of history written. They’re proof that people lived through them; they behold fingerprints and memories of thousands of enlightened minds who’ve cherished every page, every word, and every curve of the “g”s in them.
Whereas Kindle is cold. It’s a case that displays what it contains, and it contains a new thing every day.
Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s sleek to the touch, fits into your arms, and easy to carry.
Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s got hundreds of voices screaming for your attention, and if you’re ever appalled by the violence in one page, you can always find some zen in another.
The Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s versatile with multiple stories and multiple stands. It will neither weigh in for you nor weigh you down.
Kindle is kindling in the name only. It kindles not one but many emotions, which is good for some but too many for most. Bulky books rekindle spirits. There’s no escape from the secrets within a bound book. You either take all it in or give it all up. There’s no intervention, and there’s no mid-ground.
But even as all these thoughts rushed through my head, I still kept my mouth shut. As much as I hated it, ebooks and Kindles are the new way of reading.
With the rise of 140 characters, facebook-like attention spans, and books you can listen to while watching silent movies, many people think hot chocolate and the sofa near the foggy window is more suitable for the family kitten. My friend was right. In future, not many people would read heavy books. We’d intake lines and lines of words like we inhale air. And like air, most of it wouldn’t even reach our brains. It’s the age of the Kindle and unkindled souls.
Nothing’s brighter than the sun shining through dense trees. And so it was one afternoon in Vandalur Zoo. We had a wonderful walk in the park with the view as a bonus.
While I waddled on my way, I chanced a glance upwards. And whom should I see but Ra himself, throned in all his might and glory.
On a rainy day or a grainy day, I wouldn’t turn down tea any day.
At times it trickles down my throat and calms my sore heart, and at other times it trickles down my throat and takes me home. It’s like PJs for my soul. It makes all well.
I took this photo in Darjeeling while walking around in a national wildlife sanctuary. We had stopped for a tea that replenished our tired cells with a perfect balance of caffeine and bitterness.
The Chaos Within 