Reflections of a restless eccentric

One of the things I love about life is the infinite possibilities it holds. As a kid, I used to marvel at all the people I could be, all the futures I could have. They were magical what-ifs, shimmering with possibility. A quarter of a century later, my path in life has become more defined. I have made choices, and they have had consequences. But the dreamer in me often wonders: What if I had instead done this? Or that other thing? Maybe I would have become like this other person. And these what-ifs have gradually become tinted with regret. Not because I don't like where I am today, but because I had to give up all the alternate realities I could have inhabited to be here. That every choice meant that I had to leave behind the rest. I have previously written about this in an Obscure Sorrows post called Onism . A few years ago, I struggled reading Plath's Bell Jar, because I felt sad looking at life with that perspective. A paragraph that particularly caught my attention was thi...

 I have always hated negotiating. During the years I grew up, online shopping hadn't come into existence yet. Therefore, whatever you wanted to buy, be it vegetables, clothes, or gadgets, you had to visit an actual shop and negotiate. Of course, you could always buy without negotiating, but the chances were that you'd have paid way more. This would be because the salesperson, having expected you to bargain, would always quote a price that left him/her some wiggle room. Needless to say, I hated the whole ordeal. Just thinking of negotiating made me sweat. When the world transitioned to online shopping, I sighed in relief. But as I grew up, I realized that negotiation wasn't just limited to this sphere of life. Negotiation is everywhere. At every job, your salary involves a negotiation. Buying/renting a house. Dividing up responsibilities among people. Pick any activity of your life, and you will find some amount of negotiation involved in it. I observed people who negotiated...

The fire alarm goes off. I wake up bleary-eyed thinking it is an ambulance, and then realize otherwise. I try not to panic, and quickly grab a mask and my phone. I head outside my apartment, and immediately see that the lift is not working. I turn to the fire stairs, but they are locked. I look down from the balcony, and I see everyone rushing out. Oddly, there are no neighbors on my floor. I call out, but no one hears me.  It is just me.  Alone. Trapped. On the eleventh floor. In a fire. This was one of my dreams last week. That morning, I had watched as BBMP officials clad in PPE suits sealed off our floor as our neighbors had tested positive. Makes sense. This is protocol.   I'm glad they're doing all this to prevent the spread.  I told myself this, even as I felt a little shaken. A little later that day, I heard voices on my floor again. I peeked from the peephole of my door. They were sealing off the lift and the stairway door with tape. I turned away quickly. A...

Women of genius are rare. Thus,  when we, driven by some mystic love, wish to enter upon some anti-natural path, when we give all  our thoughts to some work which estranges us from the humanity nearest us, we have to struggle  against women. The mother wants the love of her child above all things, even if it should make an  imbecile of him. The mistress also wishes to possess her lover, and would find it quite natural to  sacrifice the rarest genius in the world for an hour of love. The struggle almost always is unequal, for  women have the good side of it: it is in the name of life and nature that they try to bring us back. I found these words in a biography of Marie Curie. They were from a dairy entry of Pierre Curie and supposedly the reason he decided not to marry--he was of the opinion that marriage would be a distraction from his work. Ironically enough, he later found Marie, who was undoubtedly a woman of genius, and she like him, was deeply attach...

Now that I think about it, this series is not akin to traditional book reviews. It is more about my sojourn with a book--I could meander into aspects that have very little to do with the book itself, and more to do with my thoughts on some of the themes the books is based on. I intentionally write it this way. If you're looking for a crisp, to-the-point review, I also do those on Goodreads. Do connect with me!  https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/63617026-prashanthi-kadambi Title: Radical Spirits: India's First Woman Doctor and Her American Champions Author:  Nandini Patwardhan Genre: Biography Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/51071687-radical-spirits?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=FUvbWhA5wb&rank=2 Sometimes, I despair at the sheer number of books on my to-read list, a number that keeps on increasing. For me to pick up a book from that list, I usually rely on an external impetus: Someone could recommend it to me, or I could be binge-reading ...

I'll be honest with you, I haven't felt like writing in the recent past. I have been enveloped in a feeling of languor and listlessness, musing over the tedium of life, being unable to muster up the energy to do the most basic of things. Sometimes when this happens, I simply let it be. Writing, as all forms of art, cannot be forced. I have to feel like it. But at other times, such as this, I remind myself that writing is cathartic for me. It is a powerful coping mechanism--I like to imagine that it is a milder form of sublimation, where I take my ennui and transform it into something meaningful. But this time, I have no inspiration. What can I write about then? This is how this book review series was born. If I have no stories of my own, I will share with you the stories of others. Glimpses into different worlds, insights from other people. The books I read shape my world to a great extent. Maybe some of what you read here will also change the way you look at the world. Maybe ...