Casual and serious thoughts / ಹಗುರ ಹಾಗು ಗಂಭೀರ ಆಲೋಚನೆಗಳು

Some people are naturally blessed with a warm, smiling, and inviting face. Some are not. Is it a mood disorder or divine design of that almighty? We may never know. Yours Truly I most certainly don’t belong to the “smiling face” category. In fact, many would confidently file me under the exact opposite. I’ve stood before the mirror often enough to accept the verdict—this is how I am. A textbook case of “design intent.” Call me… Mr. Grouch. Early Encounters with Grouches I still remember the first Mr. Grouch I encountered—my math tutor in Hutti Gold Mines. He would visit our home to teach my brother and me, ruler in hand. We feared both him and his arithmetic equally. (Spare the rod and spoil the child was gospel in those days.). A good soul with an intimidating countenance. In contrast, my high school class teacher had a naturally cheerful face, often breaking into hearty laughter. His smile made us feel welcome. Years later, in my professional life, one of my bosses was another classi...

  Suresh and I have been “riding brothers” for several years now. Most weekends, when time allows, we head out together for what we call a “breakfast ride.” Honestly, I’m still not sure if it’s the ride that draws us or the breakfast. I suppose it’s both—the open roads and the joy of discovering local delicacies. Over the years, our rides have taken us far and wide—right up to Mulbagal just to savour the legendary Mulbagal dosay   It had been almost two months since our last ride—he had been away in the US, and I followed soon after. As soon as we were both back, we jumped at the chance to hit the road again. I had long planned a ride through the Devarayanadurga Hills and the Namada Chilume forest stretch. Suresh was in. I asked my other co-conspirator, CK (Kora Mahesh), who recommended a breakfast stop at the famed Gangadhar Idly Hotel in Kyathsandra.( https://maps.app.goo.gl/CxEn2gmws1RR4cHk9?g_st=ipc ). ⸻ The Ride Begins What was meant to be a four-person ride eventually be...

  In recent times, I have witnessed the profound grief and anguish of a few close friends who lost their loved ones—a father, a partner, a mother. While the experience of death is not unfamiliar to me—having lost my own father, mother, sister-in-law, and several close friends and relatives—the frequency of these recent losses around me has left a deeper impression. Perhaps it feels more intense now, especially after a near-death experience I went through in 2022 ( Those three months in 2022 ) These moments have compelled me to reflect more deeply—not just on death itself, but on what it means to those left behind. Philosophical ideas rarely offer comfort in such times. A person goes through what is described as " Smashna vairagya " or depression following a death. No justification seems enough. What remains is a void, a numbness, a quiet disbelief that someone we just spoke to, someone who shared space and time with us, is now no more . The Nature of Pain Is it really pain t...

Click here for audio recitation 🔊 ಮರವಾಗಿ ಇರಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ ಚಂದದ ತರುವಿನಿಂಜೀವನದ ಅರಿವಾಗೆ ಮರವಾಗಿರ ಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥ ಆಳ ಆಳಕೆ ಹೊಕ್ಕಿ ಧರಣಿಯೊಳು ಧೃಡವಾಗಿ ಹರಡಿ ಈ ಭುವಿಯೊಳಗೆ ಭದ್ರ ಬುನಾದಿಯೆನಿಪ। ಬಲು ಹಳೆಯ ಕಾಣದಾ ಬೇರನು ನಾ ಹೊಂದಿ  ಮರವಾಗಿರಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ  ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥ ಮೇಲ್ಮೇಲಕೆ ಏರಿ ಗಗನದಲಿ ವಿಸ್ತರಿಸಿ ಚಾಮರದಂತೆ ಚಾಚಿ ದಿಕ್ಕುಗಳ ದಿಕ್ಕರಿಪ। ಹಚ್ಚ ಪಚ್ಚೆಯ ಹುರುಪ ತೋರುವ ಮರವಾಗಿರಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ  ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥ ಥಕ ಥೈಯೆಂದು ತಂಗಾಳಿಯಲಿ ನೃತ್ಯವನಾಡಿ ಬಿರುಗಾಳಿಯಲಿ ಧೃತಿಗೆಡದೆ ಛಲದಿನಿಂತಿರ್ಪ। ಸದೃಡ ಸಶಕ್ತ ಕೊಂಬೆ ಖಾಂಡಗಳುಲ್ಲ ಮರವಾಗಿರಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ  ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥ ಚಿಲಿ ಪಿಲಿ ಹಕ್ಕಿಗಳ ಗೂಡಿಗಾಶ್ರಯವಾಗಿ ಹರಡಿ ಛಾಯೆಯ ಚೆಲ್ಲಿ ಪಯಣಿಗಗೆ ತಣಿಪ। ದಾರಿಯಲಿ ಗುರುತಾಗಿ ಸುತ್ತ ಕಟ್ಟೆಯನಿಟ್ಟ ಮರವಾಗಿರ ಬೇಕು ನಾನು ಈ  ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥ ಮುದದಿ ಒಂದು ದಿನ ಮುಂದೊಮ್ಮೆ ಮುದಿಯಾಗಿ ಹೇಗಾದರೂ ಸರಿಯೆ ಇತರರಿಗೆ ಆಸೆಯ ಮಣಿಪ। ಒಲೆ ಉರುವಲು ಆಗಿ, ಮನೆಯ ಪೀಠೋಪಕರಣವೆಯಾಗಿ ಮರವಾಗಿರ ಇದ್ದಿರಬೇಕು ಜಾಣ ಈ  ಧರೆಯೊಳಗೆ॥

  Where do I begin with a topic as heavy and complex as this? For generations, the subject of homosexuality has lived in shadows—whispered in hush-hush tones, cloaked in shame, distorted by prejudice. But things are changing. People are coming out—some with pride, some with hesitation. While many embrace this truth, others still view it through the lens of moral, cultural, or religious judgment. This blog is not an academic exposition. It is a personal journey—an unfolding of emotion, confrontation, and ultimately, acceptance. 🌱 It Began with a Question It started innocently, during a casual car ride with my daughter. True to her nature, she asked one of those challenging, curveball questions: " What if I marry someone who isn't Hindu? " Before I could recover from that, she followed with: " Would you still love me if I were a lesbian ?" My instinct was to ask if she was. She said no, but insisted I treat it as a hypothetical. I dodged it with a vague respo...

  ತಿಳಿಯದ ತಿಳಿಸಿ ಪೇಳ್ದವನೇನ್ಗುರುವು? ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲಕೆ ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲವೆಂಬುದು ತಾನರಿಯೆ। ಕೇಳ್ದವಗೆ ಸರಿಯುತ್ತರ ಕೊಟ್ಟವನೇನ್‌ ಗುರುವೆ? ಸರಿಯುತ್ತರ ಹುಡುಕಿಸುವವ ತಾ ಗುರುವು ಸರಿಯೆ॥ ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲದವ ತಿಳಿವಿಲ್ಲವೆಂತಿಳಿಯದವ ತಿಳಿಹೇಳೆ ಗೋರ್ಕಲ್ಲ ಮೇಲ್ಮಳೆ ಸುರಿದಂತೆ। ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲದವ ತಾ ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲೆಂದರಿತು ಕೇಳೆ ತಿಳಿ ಹೇಳೆ ಸಾರ್ಥಕವು ತಿಳಿಯದವಗೆ॥ ತಿಳಿದು ತಿಳಿಯದಂತೆ ನಿದ್ರಿಸಿದವಗೆ ಎಬ್ಬಿಸಿ ತಿಳಿಯಾಗಿಸುವವ ಗುರುವು। ತಿಳಿದು ತಿಳಿದಿರುವುದನರಿತವಗೆ ಶರಣು ಅವನೆ ನಿಜದಿ ಗುರುವು ತಿಳಿಯೊ ಜಾಣ॥

An AI generated image. Can I claim I was brought up in impoverished conditions?  Yes… and no. No—because I’ve seen people who came from far more difficult financial situations. Yes—because we were certainly not middle class. At best, we called ourselves lower middle class, and even that felt aspirational at times. 🌾   Before 1969 – The Early Days When our father was with us, we lived in Hutti Gold Mines, near Raichur in North Karnataka. My brother and I were privileged enough to study at Bishop Cotton Boys’ School in Bangalore—an elite boarding institution - a convent school. But life changed overnight with his untimely death. My mother, fiercely independent and resilient, chose to raise her two boys without relying on anyone, even though it meant facing economic hardship. Our maternal uncles helped her plan finances wisely, guiding her toward frugality and self-reliance. Thus began our new life. 🏠   1969–1975 – A New Life Begins After a brief stay at my uncle’s home, ...