Santhosh's ramblings

The most beautiful part of the beach is the cove. Protected by the rocks, there is a stillness in the water and the colours mesmerise you. Water is transparent and one can see the sand and what is in the water clearly. The safe space created by the rocks, the cove, is a reminder to me, to create such safe spaces amid the busyness of my life.   Life is not always in these spaces or coves. At times it is like the turtle we watched. One that was trying to catch the right wave, to swim into the vast ocean of life. Caught in the wet sand but trying to swim into the ocean, it was being washed back by the waves, struggling to find a way forward in life. Despite coaxing and gentle prodding by a well-meaning friend it still was caught in the cycle of three steps forwards and two steps backward , at times even 5 steps backward. But then the next day, it was not there, possibly a wave lifted it into the deep sea, to grow into the full potential for which it was created. Because it persevered desp

Taking a flight on a rainy and cloudy day can be challenging. Turbulence is expected, and for some, like me, the imagination can run wild with worst-case scenarios as the flight navigates through clouds and turbulence, creating a disorienting experience. However, a skilled pilot knows how to fly amid all conditions. Most of the time, pilots try to take the plane above the clouds. With instrumental flying, they don't need to see the earth to fly; they only need to orient themselves towards the destination. As a passenger without access to the instruments, it becomes a journey of faith, trusting in the pilots' abilities and technology to guide me towards the destination. Flying above the clouds offers a beautiful sight of non-turbulent white clouds below. Yet, the challenge arises when the plane needs to descend and fly through the clouds to reach the destination. I often wonder how the pilots manage to fly with clouds clouding their sight and experiencing disorienting turbulence

A honeybee flew into the house. Sitting next to me was a young 13-year-old family friend. He asked me, uncle can I…. Before even he could finish his sentence, my slipper was in my hand. He stopped me and          asked, “can I pick it up and release it?”   I put down my slipper. The next few minutes were spent in all of us giving him advice how to pick it up and release it without being stung. I with a bit of sarcasm said, take it in hand, let it sting you and then release it. His sister gently reminded me, once it stings it dies. Both of them with a deep emotion and desire to protect and preserve one bee! Well to cut the story short, we helped that young man to set it free without being stung. It was a lesson for me. With a honey bee hive just across our window, bees flying onto the window and falling dead on the window sill is a common site for me. This was yet another of the hundreds of bees that I would have seen dead or that I would have killed myself. But for that young boy, inno

How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly Before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind Yes, and how many years must a mountain exist Before it is washed to the sea? And how many years can some people exist Before they're allowed to be free? Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head And pretend that he just doesn't see? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind Yes, and how many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? And how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, and how many deaths will it take 'til he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind   Bob Dylan   We shall overcome, we shall overco

 Don’t cry for me my mother The mother of my motherland  The mother of democracy Mother who has forgotten her children  I was once like my siblings  Today I am to be abused and beaten  My sisters raped and dishonoured By my siblings with your silent consent  You who tell your children  Stories that are new to us Stories that create enmity To dehumanise some of your own Don’t cry for me, with your crocodile tears Tears shed to promote  A falsehood that is evident to us But camouflaged to others  The tears of our pain seems in futile But our tears of pain are heard By the mother land and her Creator Tears that will not be wasted   We know truth will prevail  Truth will set us free Truth that will rise  From the margins of motherland Uprooting the falsehood  Changing crocodile tears Into tears of compassion and empathy  Or blown away by the torrent of tears We wait for that day….

We have a plant in the house that cranes its neck towards the sun, catching a glimpse of it for about 2 hours each day. The rest of the day, it remains in the same position, seemingly waiting for the sun to rise again. It eagerly awaits the next morning to enjoy that fleeting moment of sunlight, even though it quickly passes away from its horizon of view.  Sunflower gardens are a breathtaking sight. The whole group or field of sunflowers keeps craning their stems (necks) to follow the sun, capturing its light. When the sun sets, they droop their heads, eagerly anticipating the next morning when they can behold the sun again. In today's world, we are bombarded with lies, half-truths, and manipulated media. False news and perception management through outright lies have become part of our daily life. To find the truth, or even catch a glimpse of it, we must crane our necks and search carefully, like finding a needle in a haystack. There was a time when we could find some truth in cer

Recently, I spent 2 weeks on a campus where humans coexist with a large population of monkeys (Rhesus). On the night of my departure, we counted about 25 monkeys in one group, comprising fathers, mothers, grandparents, children, and grandchildren. They roam freely in the campus without any issues. Interestingly, the humans in the campus seem to be more afraid of the monkeys than the monkeys are of humans.  ‘ In conversations with friends on the campus, I realized that people tend to stay inside more due to fear of monkeys, almost feeling caged in. On the other hand, monkeys are least bothered because the green campus provides ample food for them. Humans, particularly men, walk around with sticks and catapults to protect their women from the monkeys.   A similar peaceful coexistence was observed during a recent trip to Tanzania. Different animals coexist with each other harmoniously. Animals come close to safari jeeps, almost as if informing the humans of their presence. They have becom