Santhosh's ramblings

For years, I’ve proudly carried a set of principles to prevent compassion fatigue. They sounded noble, looked impressive for me, and made me feel like a seasoned elder in healthcare.   First, I practiced slow noticing. In reality, this  often meant noticing things only after they were pointed out by someone else. My version of slow noticing was sometimes so slow that the moment had already passed, the person had already left, and the opportunity for compassion had died of geriatric problems. Second, I believed in sensible boundaries. This sounded very mature until I realised my boundaries were mostly designed to protect my schedule, my efficiency, and my ability to walk briskly through corridors without being interrupted by humans. Third, I practised micro‑restoration. This was the one principle I genuinely excelled at - but mostly because it involved coffee, trees, and occasionally pretending I didn’t hear my phone ringing. I had convinced myself that these principles made me...

I bought a new car not long ago. By “not long ago,” I mean sixteen months, which in car years should still count as youthful. Unfortunately, my car has already acquired the expression of a middle-aged man who has seen too much traffic, too many potholes, and too much enthusiasm from its owner. The engine is fine, the wheels are still attached, and the horn retains its theological confidence. But the body has needed repeated visits to what I call “car hospitals” for denting and painting. If there were a loyalty card for such shops, I would probably qualify for a free bumper massage. My wife, who represents the voice of wisdom, economy, and inconvenient truth, once asked, “Why do you keep spending money on denting and painting? The car still drives.” This was difficult to answer because she was entirely right. The car could move, turn, stop, and even look respectable from a generous distance. But I could not bear the sight of its small scars. A scratch on the car somehow felt like a scra...

Recently, I have noticed young men wearing wide-bottom trousers that look suspiciously like the bell-bottoms of our youth. Back then, the standard package was simple: bell-bottoms, a step-cut hairstyle, and hair long enough to cover the ears - but not long enough to start a family argument. Perhaps fashion is simply circling back. In the 1970s, hippie and counterculture influences shaped menswear through flared jeans, tie-dye, fringe, beads, and long hair. Bell-bottoms - also known as “angel flights” or “loon pants” - quickly became popular, proving once again that culture has always had a firm grip on our wardrobes.   What amazes me is how these trends spread across the world without social media, the World Wide Web, or even the internet. Even I, from a conservative family, wore bell-bottoms - though, I must clarify, not the dangerously wide variety. I once thought of adding an old photograph, but the only ones I have include friends, and I have not asked their permission. Besides...

I recently wrote about birds -  https://santhoshsramblings.blogspot.com/2025/10/all-about-birds.html This blog is also about birds. The morning hour of birdwatching is very therapeutic. It is not only therapeutic, but also educational - and a time to order the mind, to feel rested and realigned. This was the list of birds that visited our neighbourhood this morning. But today I also learnt something about my own life by watching two groups of birds.    The first were the various kinds of honey suckers. In one sense, I feel they are very focussed on food but distracted in the process - jumping from flower to flower, flitting around in a hurry, as if there is no tomorrow. They are always in a rush and usually come alone or in pairs.   This hurry is something I identify with - mentally, at least. I sit on the front porch to do some reflective reading and thinking, but my mind is like these honey suckers: all over the place, flitting from one thought to another. Unfocuss...

Reading these proverbs today, I found myself disagreeing with the author - not because I imagine myself wiser than the Teacher, but because the final lines leave me unsettled. I agree to disagree, respectfully and honestly. “There is a right time for everything on earth: A right time for birth and another for death, A right time to plant and another to reap, A right time to kill and another to heal, A right time to destroy and another to construct, A right time to cry and another to laugh, A right time to lament and another to cheer, A right time to make love and another to abstain, A right time to embrace and another to part, A right time to search and another to count your losses, A right time to hold on and another to let go, A right time to rip out and another to mend, A right time to shut up and another to speak up, A right time to love and another to hate, A right time to wage war and another to make peace.” I agree with almost all of it - except the lines  “a right time to l...