...is basically how I have been feeling. Today, yesterday and the day before now. Why? Because the waters of inspiration runneth dry, and total sandblasted landscapes stareth back at me when ever I sit down to write. I've been running into tons of things that I wanted to dash off a paragraph or two about; but once I've popped up Ye Olde Trusty Laptop, all I see is blank white spaces and fingers that refuse to twiddle out the bittiest of bits. This is Writer's Block with a Capital W and Capital B.
So, taking a breather from screaming in panic, inside my own head (try that sometime, the acoustics are to die for!), am now trying to write about trying to write. And trying. And trying. And TRYING. :o( **imagine the tears dripping, down the cheek and off the chin, all on your ownsome - no dearth of waters there**
That's it. Am throwing in the towel. For now. Come back and see me once I've managed to rewire my brain. And pray that I don't fry it in the process.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
Future Flash - "What Would You Like To See Today?"
I recently came across this video, whiles bumping my way around the good ole' WWW. Knowing full well that this was an 'artist's impression of Jupiter' sort of flick, I still found myself getting spooked at the prospect of a future with a 'Googlzon'.
Am all for the great technology drive and yelling 'onwards, onwards!', but the prospect of a tailor-made reality is a little too much for me. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the truth being out there to the truth being way out there!!
Watch this and tell me you don't see it coming....*shudder*
Am all for the great technology drive and yelling 'onwards, onwards!', but the prospect of a tailor-made reality is a little too much for me. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the truth being out there to the truth being way out there!!
Watch this and tell me you don't see it coming....*shudder*
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
CDN Lost
Another day passes, and another light is snuffed out. This time, the lost light is that of Professor C.D.Narasimhaiah - teacher, writer, literary giant, champion for the cause of literature and education, institution builder. This time, it hits so close to home that almost anyone who grew up, lived and studied, in Mysore feels the loss keenly.
The Professor was not the typical key figure on the literary and cultural scene, remote and detached from the common man. He was characterized by his 'right-here-right-now', grassroots approach to both Life and Literature. And showcased in his approach by his Dhvanyaloka - a haven for both the learned and the learning. With doors that opened to all, asking only that you have a thirst for knowledge, Dhvanyaloka nestles next to Mysore's Manasagangothri. And the force that drove people to come there, and to look and learn, was an elemental one, known fondly to one and all as just 'CDN'.
I, and innumerable other students, feel the loss of CDN much like one feels the loss of an anchor in a choppy sea. There have been many who professed, but few who taught, many who built institutes, but few who could build an institution. And few who made themselves dear to the community, more by the wealth of their minds. Dhvanyaloka stands today, deprived of the light that shone from its doors. We stand today deprived of a teacher and truly public citizen. Professor CDN, we mourne your loss.
StarofMysore Report
The Professor was not the typical key figure on the literary and cultural scene, remote and detached from the common man. He was characterized by his 'right-here-right-now', grassroots approach to both Life and Literature. And showcased in his approach by his Dhvanyaloka - a haven for both the learned and the learning. With doors that opened to all, asking only that you have a thirst for knowledge, Dhvanyaloka nestles next to Mysore's Manasagangothri. And the force that drove people to come there, and to look and learn, was an elemental one, known fondly to one and all as just 'CDN'.
I, and innumerable other students, feel the loss of CDN much like one feels the loss of an anchor in a choppy sea. There have been many who professed, but few who taught, many who built institutes, but few who could build an institution. And few who made themselves dear to the community, more by the wealth of their minds. Dhvanyaloka stands today, deprived of the light that shone from its doors. We stand today deprived of a teacher and truly public citizen. Professor CDN, we mourne your loss.
StarofMysore Report
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Ugadi
This last weekend was the New Year for some of us down South, so I went on home to spend some time with Mom and Dad and chill with Charlie. The day was marked with Bevu-bella, payasa, habbada oota at a family friend's, and tons of laying around at home enjoying the general ministrations reserved for errant children who only surface once a month or around the festivals.
I got to thinking how it was that there are some of us who actually get to celebrate the New Year 2 or 3 times a year...every year! We have ofcourse Good Old 1st of Jan, followed by Kannada Ugadi, and then Tamil New Year Day (one is Chandramaana Ugadi and the other is Souramaana Ugadi - darned if I remember
which is which). Loads of rituals, family-bonding, food and good cheer. (Which is how I would categorise just about any Indian festival, come to think of it!)
And then there are those of us who mark the passage of time, not in celebrations, but in hunger and penury, in homlessness, with tired eyes and fatigued hearts.
What difference does it make, whether the New year comes with the Solar or the Lunar calendar? What difference does it make to them that the New Year is a time for happiness and promise? While their lives have always held the bevu, with nary a taste of the bella, our Ugadis are markedly sweet.
Why does the New Year come only to some, and pass the others by? And more importantly, why do the rest of us let it be? While some of us greet the New Year with fervor and feasting, some of us remain in the shadows...forgotten.
Yuga-yugadi kaledaru, ugadi marali baruthide
hosa varushake hosa harushava, hosathu hosathu taruthide,
nammanashte marethide
(Sri.D R Bendre)
I got to thinking how it was that there are some of us who actually get to celebrate the New Year 2 or 3 times a year...every year! We have ofcourse Good Old 1st of Jan, followed by Kannada Ugadi, and then Tamil New Year Day (one is Chandramaana Ugadi and the other is Souramaana Ugadi - darned if I remember
which is which). Loads of rituals, family-bonding, food and good cheer. (Which is how I would categorise just about any Indian festival, come to think of it!)
And then there are those of us who mark the passage of time, not in celebrations, but in hunger and penury, in homlessness, with tired eyes and fatigued hearts.
What difference does it make, whether the New year comes with the Solar or the Lunar calendar? What difference does it make to them that the New Year is a time for happiness and promise? While their lives have always held the bevu, with nary a taste of the bella, our Ugadis are markedly sweet.
Why does the New Year come only to some, and pass the others by? And more importantly, why do the rest of us let it be? While some of us greet the New Year with fervor and feasting, some of us remain in the shadows...forgotten.
Yuga-yugadi kaledaru, ugadi marali baruthide
hosa varushake hosa harushava, hosathu hosathu taruthide,
nammanashte marethide
(Sri.D R Bendre)
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Families
(Originally written 9th February 2004)
Families can be funny things. Most of us grow up in one, are a part of one, and yet, none of us really have one. Why? Because, when the chips are down, the human race looks out for itself. Alone.
We drift through life, some of us perhaps with more energy than others; and always, always, we like to think we are a part of something, have a role to play somewhere. It could be in a family of friends, a family at work, a family at our favorite restaurant or bar, or even a family of like-minded people across borders. Fraternities. Sororities. Bonds of brotherhood or sisterhood or fellowship. An artificial sense of belonging that seeks to fill the void of any real association.
Shared celebrations and holidays are not all that being a family is about. Yet, that is all that we seek. The camaraderie, the warm glows, the hugs and kisses, the back-slapping and laughter. And what we firmly turn our gaze away from is the sleepless nights, the shared burdens, the fears and grief that leave a bitter taste in the mouth and a chill in the heart. The altercations, the jealousy, the meanness, the spite, the blood and the tears; these are what help us forget that we wanted this family. That we wanted the other side of this coin. That the summer and the winter always follow each other, relentlessly.
We are a selfish species, one that seeks the rainbow on the horizon, but is not willing to walk the back-breaking, foot-sore miles to reach it. We want families that we can laugh with, but refuse to cry with. We want to be families, yet know nothing of what a family is.
Families are funny things. So are we.
Families can be funny things. Most of us grow up in one, are a part of one, and yet, none of us really have one. Why? Because, when the chips are down, the human race looks out for itself. Alone.
We drift through life, some of us perhaps with more energy than others; and always, always, we like to think we are a part of something, have a role to play somewhere. It could be in a family of friends, a family at work, a family at our favorite restaurant or bar, or even a family of like-minded people across borders. Fraternities. Sororities. Bonds of brotherhood or sisterhood or fellowship. An artificial sense of belonging that seeks to fill the void of any real association.
Shared celebrations and holidays are not all that being a family is about. Yet, that is all that we seek. The camaraderie, the warm glows, the hugs and kisses, the back-slapping and laughter. And what we firmly turn our gaze away from is the sleepless nights, the shared burdens, the fears and grief that leave a bitter taste in the mouth and a chill in the heart. The altercations, the jealousy, the meanness, the spite, the blood and the tears; these are what help us forget that we wanted this family. That we wanted the other side of this coin. That the summer and the winter always follow each other, relentlessly.
We are a selfish species, one that seeks the rainbow on the horizon, but is not willing to walk the back-breaking, foot-sore miles to reach it. We want families that we can laugh with, but refuse to cry with. We want to be families, yet know nothing of what a family is.
Families are funny things. So are we.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
"Who's that girl, where did she come from?!"
With all due respect to Michelle Pfeiffer, Howard Greenfield and the soundtrack from "Grease2", the girl be Maria and she came from the old Mi Casa next door. This, for those who were wondering as to the "us" and "both" from my posts below on Basecamp Rooftop!
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Of Pipes and Air Blocks
Its been more than ten days and the Saga of the Dry Taps continues. At least in the kitchen. Everywhere else it's more like the Story of Drip Style Irrigation. Which, in effect, leaves us waiting a couple long hours for a small bucket to fill.
Why the blight?! Why this be? Why anything be! Why we all be, one may well ask! However, descending from the ether of existentialism, let me attempt to answer that. Motors that are supposed to be pumping water, from the depths of the sunken water tank up to Casa Rooftop, have, on the one hand, developed air blocks in the pipes. And, on the other hand, managed to burn out certain parts that I am guessing are key to the whole Miracle of Water business.
All of this now effectively leaves us high and dry. Pun totally intended!
Why the blight?! Why this be? Why anything be! Why we all be, one may well ask! However, descending from the ether of existentialism, let me attempt to answer that. Motors that are supposed to be pumping water, from the depths of the sunken water tank up to Casa Rooftop, have, on the one hand, developed air blocks in the pipes. And, on the other hand, managed to burn out certain parts that I am guessing are key to the whole Miracle of Water business.
All of this now effectively leaves us high and dry. Pun totally intended!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Dry Secrets of Base Camp Rooftop
So maybe the Great Game isn't as played out as I would have thought!
Come morning, and what do we have but taps as dry as bone! Ah-Ha! Secret Number One of Mi Casa...the waters don't run quite as deep or as often as one would hope.
Today we managed to dash across to the old Mi Casa (which continues to be in force till the end of the month) for the morning splash-a-thon ; don't see that working for too long.
Maybe I will learn the art of bathing in sand...seems to work for Bruno and Charlie!
Come morning, and what do we have but taps as dry as bone! Ah-Ha! Secret Number One of Mi Casa...the waters don't run quite as deep or as often as one would hope.
Today we managed to dash across to the old Mi Casa (which continues to be in force till the end of the month) for the morning splash-a-thon ; don't see that working for too long.
Maybe I will learn the art of bathing in sand...seems to work for Bruno and Charlie!
Base Camp Shifted
The Great Game finally played out, and we ended up renting the place on the first floor of the house next door. Rather, on the terrace of the house next door.
Its small, compact, and has just about enough space to fit both us and our innumerous belongings. I don't even want to think about how we managed to shift everything over! Suffice it to say that I am still amazed at the way you can hoist stuff over a wall and up over the roof.
The past few days have been spent in a haze of moving, tripping over boxes and bags, cramming things into new closet space and sneezing incessantly from all the dust around; my throat no longer loves me, and attempts to jump out of my mouth every so often. Successfully. Sometimes.
Benadryl no longer works, freshly squeezed Ginger juice is now just a placebo, and hot water is the drink of the day. But heck, amidst all the koffing and wheezing, it does hit home that we are perched real pretty up here, with the stars above, fresh breeze blowing past, and the expanse around us. And if you listen real close you can hear a cricket, somewhere. Or maybe that was just the kid downstairs squealing when Dravid hit a sixer.
Anyways, welcome to Base Camp Rooftop.
Its small, compact, and has just about enough space to fit both us and our innumerous belongings. I don't even want to think about how we managed to shift everything over! Suffice it to say that I am still amazed at the way you can hoist stuff over a wall and up over the roof.
The past few days have been spent in a haze of moving, tripping over boxes and bags, cramming things into new closet space and sneezing incessantly from all the dust around; my throat no longer loves me, and attempts to jump out of my mouth every so often. Successfully. Sometimes.
Benadryl no longer works, freshly squeezed Ginger juice is now just a placebo, and hot water is the drink of the day. But heck, amidst all the koffing and wheezing, it does hit home that we are perched real pretty up here, with the stars above, fresh breeze blowing past, and the expanse around us. And if you listen real close you can hear a cricket, somewhere. Or maybe that was just the kid downstairs squealing when Dravid hit a sixer.
Anyways, welcome to Base Camp Rooftop.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
"Who the heck is Axe?"...
...asked tons of folks today, as they ran into me through the day, puzzled by my seeming propensity for either medieval weaponry or chopping wood.
So for those who came in late, Axe be-eth (wud Billy Shakespeare have okayed that one?) friend from days of yore. As in chaddi-dost and all that. And master
blogger of the 5th kind. And don't ye be askin' 'bout the other 4!
So for those who came in late, Axe be-eth (wud Billy Shakespeare have okayed that one?) friend from days of yore. As in chaddi-dost and all that. And master
blogger of the 5th kind. And don't ye be askin' 'bout the other 4!
Monday, March 07, 2005
The Great Game
When I say the Great Game, I do not mean it to be the world of Aes Sedai and sundry figments of Robert Jordan's imagination. I mean shady realtors, an escalating property market, home owners on the make, and the greatest turtle of them all , on whose back said game gets played out, the desperate home-hunter. Or rather, the desperate rented-home-hunter.
Which in this case, would be me. And 17 other hapless women who are left, figuratively, out in the cold. (Axe - will thank you to stop grinning). Caught in a game where the only rule that matters is You-Rent-You-Lose, You-Own-You-Win.
Fact of the matter being that the property game is such a lucrative one. And owning a huge house, in the heart of a prime residential area, is just one teeny step away from selling said huge house for huger sums of money.Which is exactly what my current landlady has done. And that brings things back to me, and the afore mentioned 17 - left with no choice but to pack our bags and push-orf, in a hunt for a new home. All to be done in about 3 weeks.
And this is where the Great Game steps in - looking for a place to rent? No problem! Take your pick - independent house, apartment, garage, paying-guest rooming....the list is endless. But before you start looking at places, and setting your heart on them beauties, stop a minute and check your wallet. Because, even the pookiest hole comes with a price tag fit to bankrupt you. And if the rent isn't an issue, the advance and the realtor percentages probably are. And if that works out as well, your marital status, or the fact that you want / do not want a company lease could well be. And if that also works out well, the shape of your face, or the color of your dog, or the fact that you enjoy the occasional chicken shawarma is bound to be. And if even those pass muster, the owner probably wants to be paid in hard cash - all the way, and you only get to move in when he says so.
And if NONE of these are an issue, why, congratulations! You've got yourself a deal! But...hang on a mo...what's that smudge on the horizon? Why, that's the city you poor sap! About 1 hour and a lifetime away, in terms of the commute. And not to mention that the City Public Transport Service only works within the City, if at all. So you can go the last couple of miles by bullock cart, or auto-driven-by-totally-corrupt-driver-demanding-a-million-bucks-a-trot.
But hey, you've got yourself a great place. Welcome to the Great Game.
Which in this case, would be me. And 17 other hapless women who are left, figuratively, out in the cold. (Axe - will thank you to stop grinning). Caught in a game where the only rule that matters is You-Rent-You-Lose, You-Own-You-Win.
Fact of the matter being that the property game is such a lucrative one. And owning a huge house, in the heart of a prime residential area, is just one teeny step away from selling said huge house for huger sums of money.Which is exactly what my current landlady has done. And that brings things back to me, and the afore mentioned 17 - left with no choice but to pack our bags and push-orf, in a hunt for a new home. All to be done in about 3 weeks.
And this is where the Great Game steps in - looking for a place to rent? No problem! Take your pick - independent house, apartment, garage, paying-guest rooming....the list is endless. But before you start looking at places, and setting your heart on them beauties, stop a minute and check your wallet. Because, even the pookiest hole comes with a price tag fit to bankrupt you. And if the rent isn't an issue, the advance and the realtor percentages probably are. And if that works out as well, your marital status, or the fact that you want / do not want a company lease could well be. And if that also works out well, the shape of your face, or the color of your dog, or the fact that you enjoy the occasional chicken shawarma is bound to be. And if even those pass muster, the owner probably wants to be paid in hard cash - all the way, and you only get to move in when he says so.
And if NONE of these are an issue, why, congratulations! You've got yourself a deal! But...hang on a mo...what's that smudge on the horizon? Why, that's the city you poor sap! About 1 hour and a lifetime away, in terms of the commute. And not to mention that the City Public Transport Service only works within the City, if at all. So you can go the last couple of miles by bullock cart, or auto-driven-by-totally-corrupt-driver-demanding-a-million-bucks-a-trot.
But hey, you've got yourself a great place. Welcome to the Great Game.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Slow Death
Still no approval...still no visa. And before preparations for this meeting see light of day, I can feel the daylight fading! Its a race to see which kills me first - the migraine or the ulcer. Bets, anyone?!
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Axe...to my head
Am going on record here - am being Axed into being a regular blogger. Its this or peeking over the top my Messenger window each morning to see what jumps out, axe in hand!
So here goes...this one's for you, Axe !
What can I say - axe, or rather gun, to my head has pretty much been the state of things, the past few weeks. From deadlines that zoom between the horizon and the spot between my eyes, to report-happy managers, to Murphy and his scheming laws, I have been grappling with them all.
Top this sundae with the taxman's axe, banks that insist on losing drafts, and cellular phone services that employ blondes and leprechauns, you have the perfect calorie-rich dessert ; it'll kill ya, but ya gotta love it!
What's that? You want more? A nightcap after dessert? Well then, here it comes... a brandied flambé of expiring passports, last minute overseas travel diktats, evil passport officers and the prospect of sitting in a muggy airport, waiting for the visa to arrive - have ticket, will travel!
And now that I have got that out, am running low on steam. And words. And there's my brain taking a hike down the hall. So at the risk of being called an abrubt-ender, in addition to everything else, am going to do just that. The End.
So here goes...this one's for you, Axe !
What can I say - axe, or rather gun, to my head has pretty much been the state of things, the past few weeks. From deadlines that zoom between the horizon and the spot between my eyes, to report-happy managers, to Murphy and his scheming laws, I have been grappling with them all.
Top this sundae with the taxman's axe, banks that insist on losing drafts, and cellular phone services that employ blondes and leprechauns, you have the perfect calorie-rich dessert ; it'll kill ya, but ya gotta love it!
What's that? You want more? A nightcap after dessert? Well then, here it comes... a brandied flambé of expiring passports, last minute overseas travel diktats, evil passport officers and the prospect of sitting in a muggy airport, waiting for the visa to arrive - have ticket, will travel!
And now that I have got that out, am running low on steam. And words. And there's my brain taking a hike down the hall. So at the risk of being called an abrubt-ender, in addition to everything else, am going to do just that. The End.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Home
In a few days from now my family will rediscover what we've known all this while: home. Rather, A home.
We are leaving what has been home, for us, for the past 17 years and are moving to a new house. No doubt we are moving to a much larger house, a more peaceful area, and the beginnings of a new life. We are moving to what my father says is all his wildest dreams and designs come to life. We are moving to where my mom can look out the window and watch the chugging trains pulling into town, bringing her family home.
We are moving to the first house my parents have ever owned. And we are are leaving the best home we have ever known.
Home is where four generations have lived together under the same roof at the same time. Home is where we roasted corn-on-the-cob on a fire by the gate. Home is where my grandad clutched at his hair as his granddaughter plastered up posters of puppies, bikes and movie stars. Home is where coconuts falling in the garden had my grandmom sit up and listen close. Home is where my brother popped at silent tin cans and defunct CDs with a pellet gun, as my mom stuffed fingers in her ears to shut out the racket. Home is where my dad pottered in the garden, turning it into a bright explosion of color and wildly waving shoots.Home is where my greatgrandmom patiently taught me to embroider, we each speaking a language the other didn't know.
Home is where the doors were never closed and the hearts were always open. Home is where we have laughed together, fought each other and cried for those who were. Home is where Bruno will live for ever.
Maybe we will make a new home now.
We are leaving what has been home, for us, for the past 17 years and are moving to a new house. No doubt we are moving to a much larger house, a more peaceful area, and the beginnings of a new life. We are moving to what my father says is all his wildest dreams and designs come to life. We are moving to where my mom can look out the window and watch the chugging trains pulling into town, bringing her family home.
We are moving to the first house my parents have ever owned. And we are are leaving the best home we have ever known.
Home is where four generations have lived together under the same roof at the same time. Home is where we roasted corn-on-the-cob on a fire by the gate. Home is where my grandad clutched at his hair as his granddaughter plastered up posters of puppies, bikes and movie stars. Home is where coconuts falling in the garden had my grandmom sit up and listen close. Home is where my brother popped at silent tin cans and defunct CDs with a pellet gun, as my mom stuffed fingers in her ears to shut out the racket. Home is where my dad pottered in the garden, turning it into a bright explosion of color and wildly waving shoots.Home is where my greatgrandmom patiently taught me to embroider, we each speaking a language the other didn't know.
Home is where the doors were never closed and the hearts were always open. Home is where we have laughed together, fought each other and cried for those who were. Home is where Bruno will live for ever.
Maybe we will make a new home now.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Whoopie Grandma
I was watching Sister Act 2 the other night, for about the millionth time :o)
I can't help it - that movie just makes me feel good. Heck, Whoopie Goldberg can make anybody feel good!
Why do I like it so much? Maybe its the music, maybe its the humor, maybe its the antics and expressions. Maybe its because that was the one movie my grandma and I watched together and loved. Completely.
My grandma loved Life, and loved anybody and anything that was positive about Life. Well, how much more positive can you get than Whoppie and her whup-ass attitude!
I miss my grandma - and anytime I watch that movie, I think about her, and remember the way she laughed. And that makes me feel good. And I may just watch the movie again...for the million and first time :o)
I can't help it - that movie just makes me feel good. Heck, Whoopie Goldberg can make anybody feel good!
Why do I like it so much? Maybe its the music, maybe its the humor, maybe its the antics and expressions. Maybe its because that was the one movie my grandma and I watched together and loved. Completely.
My grandma loved Life, and loved anybody and anything that was positive about Life. Well, how much more positive can you get than Whoppie and her whup-ass attitude!
I miss my grandma - and anytime I watch that movie, I think about her, and remember the way she laughed. And that makes me feel good. And I may just watch the movie again...for the million and first time :o)
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Midas without the Gold
Coming down from the city, for the weekend, isn't just coming home anymore. It isn't just as simple as going from one place to another. It isn't just a transition from one kind of lifestyle to another, like a record jumping from one speed to another. It is a migration, of a herd of humanity; every bit as blind and relentlessly driven as a herd of cattle.
Sitting in a bus, fighting traffic snarls for over 4 hours, I looked at the continuous stream of vehicles, pouring out of the city, heading into the night - in a bid to escape it seemed to me. Escape to where the air is cleaner, the Sun is brighter, sounds sweeter and laughter richer. Escape from what once used to be as beautiful and as rich a place as the sanctuary to which everyone now fled.
That was it. Right there. The scariest thought possible.
In our never-ending search for the perfect home, the perfect city, the perfect everything, did we realise that we were creating gross travesties of perfection? Like droplets of delayed-action poison, did we realise that we were slowly, but surely, stripping the land, smogging the air, trashing the water, and inescapably leeching the Life from everything we touched?
We are running out of places to run to. We are running out of sanctuaries and paradise is as far away as the day the dream began. Surrounded by gardens of our own destructive talents, we refuse to see that we are the gardeners who created it all.
We are all of us Midas - only without the Gold.
Sitting in a bus, fighting traffic snarls for over 4 hours, I looked at the continuous stream of vehicles, pouring out of the city, heading into the night - in a bid to escape it seemed to me. Escape to where the air is cleaner, the Sun is brighter, sounds sweeter and laughter richer. Escape from what once used to be as beautiful and as rich a place as the sanctuary to which everyone now fled.
That was it. Right there. The scariest thought possible.
In our never-ending search for the perfect home, the perfect city, the perfect everything, did we realise that we were creating gross travesties of perfection? Like droplets of delayed-action poison, did we realise that we were slowly, but surely, stripping the land, smogging the air, trashing the water, and inescapably leeching the Life from everything we touched?
We are running out of places to run to. We are running out of sanctuaries and paradise is as far away as the day the dream began. Surrounded by gardens of our own destructive talents, we refuse to see that we are the gardeners who created it all.
We are all of us Midas - only without the Gold.
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