Sad movies aways make me cry. No doubt. But a lot of other things make me cry as well. At times I am in a highly strung state and pretty much anything can make me all teary. Not loud crying with gasping for air and a pile of snot or anything but a gentle one that nevertheless requires tissues.
Anything Olympics now. Suffice to say that I am a big fan of the olympics, especially the athletics. In deference to the child's interest, swimming as well. Thanks to (possibly misguided) nationalistic pride, badminton as well. Since I know nothing about archery and boxing, those, not so much. Anyhow all the '10 greatest moments' type news items have really been tear-jerkers in Kenny land.
The Mint Lounge is generally the most popular newspaper in these parts. I diligently read large parts of that paper. Today as I was glancing through their travel section, I saw the words 'Talakkad' and had to stop to go blow my nose. Admittedly I have not been to Talakkad in ages. But I would like to go. Take the child. Tell her the fascinating story of Alamellamma.
We were discussing about different renditions of Indian history. The 'learnt history' the guys said - meaning the stuff we hear in school. I have been seriously remiss of course. Every few months I take out this big folder into which I have shoved photocopied pages of my grandfather's book 'India Through the Ages.' The 'learnt' subject was not interesting, but now, it sounds so amazing, and I can almost hear him (though I have forgotten his voice, to be truthful). I should stop admiring it and do more, its time.
My grandmother (not the corresponding one - the other one) is with mum now. I think of her and I know I could be headed there. If one is objective, the equality sign between her and mum and me is very obvious. All of us are very keen on keeping busy as beavers. My eyes and our hands especially. Reading is common. Paati knits and crochets obsessively. Mum cleans and wipes, equally obsessively. My hearing is already a little faulty. I calculated that she must have been born in 1927. The stories she must have in her head! Who will inherit those?
This is why I like words. I like writing. In the day job there is the big advantage words provide, of documentation, or dissemination of facts, our discoveries, driving stakes into the ground and putting our flag on it. And of a weekend morning, I embrace words again. To express my feelings, to capture for my own future reference, that twinge of sadness. That tug, that is not undesirable in the least... It tells me something.
Anything Olympics now. Suffice to say that I am a big fan of the olympics, especially the athletics. In deference to the child's interest, swimming as well. Thanks to (possibly misguided) nationalistic pride, badminton as well. Since I know nothing about archery and boxing, those, not so much. Anyhow all the '10 greatest moments' type news items have really been tear-jerkers in Kenny land.
The Mint Lounge is generally the most popular newspaper in these parts. I diligently read large parts of that paper. Today as I was glancing through their travel section, I saw the words 'Talakkad' and had to stop to go blow my nose. Admittedly I have not been to Talakkad in ages. But I would like to go. Take the child. Tell her the fascinating story of Alamellamma.
We were discussing about different renditions of Indian history. The 'learnt history' the guys said - meaning the stuff we hear in school. I have been seriously remiss of course. Every few months I take out this big folder into which I have shoved photocopied pages of my grandfather's book 'India Through the Ages.' The 'learnt' subject was not interesting, but now, it sounds so amazing, and I can almost hear him (though I have forgotten his voice, to be truthful). I should stop admiring it and do more, its time.
My grandmother (not the corresponding one - the other one) is with mum now. I think of her and I know I could be headed there. If one is objective, the equality sign between her and mum and me is very obvious. All of us are very keen on keeping busy as beavers. My eyes and our hands especially. Reading is common. Paati knits and crochets obsessively. Mum cleans and wipes, equally obsessively. My hearing is already a little faulty. I calculated that she must have been born in 1927. The stories she must have in her head! Who will inherit those?
This is why I like words. I like writing. In the day job there is the big advantage words provide, of documentation, or dissemination of facts, our discoveries, driving stakes into the ground and putting our flag on it. And of a weekend morning, I embrace words again. To express my feelings, to capture for my own future reference, that twinge of sadness. That tug, that is not undesirable in the least... It tells me something.
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