journalism is an extremely ego-inflating profession. as i had noted in a previous post on this blog, i gave up my life in the profession at the end of 2014 and am becoming an ordinary person very fast. the toxins i had gathered into my body and mind are gradually draining out. i can feel the ripples settling down and soon the lake will be as still as a sheet of mirror.
my mobile phone is generally silent. if i want to hear its ringing when i am home, i have to dial the number from my land phone. and if it rings when i am out of home, the chances are ten to one it will be ambi asking whether i won't reach home soon. my only duty is to help her look after our grandchildren. i am doing it wonderfully well and liking it--contributing mightily to the overall management of the turmoils of the world.
i am watching bubbles bursting one by one. without the faintest of pops are they bursting. only the visual aspect of the burst is there and no sound. it is as though one had suddenly gone deaf watching a fireworks display...the pooram festival...
up into the night skies a rocket climbs spiraling. then it bursts into a flash and one involuntarily winces expecting a deafening report. but there is no sound.
vedi pottiyal puka--just smoke when the cracker goes off.