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The Lost Art Of Walking

8/28/2011

Walking in Bangalore has always been a wonderful experience…but sadly no more! I would love to walk to my clinic which is just 20mins by walk. But the shrinking pavements and the blaring noises makes it an ordeal. We are slowly but steadily losing the pleasures of walking, unless it is reminded to us by a doctor who himself can do with lots of walking!

The simple act of walking represents a particular stance of man towards the environment. And that has undergone a drastic change. The ascendancy of car culture and the ubiquity of cheap communication technology are increasingly alienating us from our environments, our neighbors, and finally, ourselves. Is modern life moving faster than the speed of thought or thoughtfulness?

As Thoreau remarked “the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow” ! There is no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it!

In the words of WH Davies:

                Now shall I walk

                Or Shall I ride?

                “Ride” Pleasure said,

                “Walk” Joy replied!

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Adrift in Anaikatti

8/17/2011

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Spent the last weekend in the salubrious environs of Karl Kobel Institute at Anaikatti, Coimbatore, The occasion was the Annual CME of the Indian Psychiatric Society, South Zone. I chose to talk on an issue that often doesn't get the attention it deserves in professional circles...the topic of Professional Burnout. I titled the presentations as Keeping The Flame Alive...Perspectives on Professional Burnout and ended it up emphasizing as to how each one of us has to strive to develop strategies of combating it by various measures that can bring a sense of joy and meaning to our everyday lives.It is birding amongst other interest of mine, which keeps the burnout at bay...or so I hope!
So not surprisingly, we ventured into the verdant landscape of Anaikatti one morning in the company of Lakshminarayanan, a young, talented wild life enthusiast who is doing interesting work with tigers. Just a few kilometers away from the institute we chanced upon a pair of BlueWinged Parakeets. I have posted these lovely avians in the Feathered Beauties section of the photographs. There were other wonderful sightings too, notably that of Blue Winged Malkhoa. Altogether a lovely sojourn...thanks Lakshmi!

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On Words

8/8/2011

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For all of us who want to write
Here is a lovely poem by Edward Thomas
(A very close friend of Robert Frost)

WORDS

Out of us all
That make rhymes,
Will you choose
Sometimes--
As the winds use
A crack in the wall
Or a drain,
Their joy or their pain
To whistle through--
Choose me,
You English words?

I know you:
You are light as dreams,
Tough as oak,
Precious as gold,
As poppies and corn,
Or an old cloak;
Sweet as our birds
to the ear,
As the burnet rose

In the heat
Of Midsummer:
Strange as the races
Of dead and unborn:
Strange and sweet
Equally,
And familiar,
To the eye,
As the dearest faces
That a man knows,
And as lost homes are:
But though older far
Than oldest yew,--
As our hills are, old,--
Worn new
Again and again:
Young as our streams
After rain:
And as dear
As the earth which you prove
That we love.

Make me content
With some sweetness
From Wales,
Whose nightingales
Have no wings,--
From Wiltshire and Kent
And Herefordshire,
And the villages there,--
From the names, and the things
No less.
Let me sometimes dance
With you,
Or climb,
Or stand perchance
In ecstasy,
Fixed and free
In a rhyme,
As poets do.

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Sonnet CXXXIX by Edna St Vincent Millay

8/3/2011

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Just discovered this poet...reportedly one of the greatest sonneteers. This poem was found by her side when she tripped and fell down a flight of stairs under the influence of alcohol. She broke her neck and died instantaneously.
Here is her “Sonnet CXXXIX”:

"I must not die of pity; I must live;

Grow strong. not sicken; eat, digest my food,

That it may build me, and in doing good

To blood and bone, broaden the sensitive

Fastidious pale perception: we contrive

Lean comfort for the starving, who intrude

Upon them with our pots of pity; brewed

From stronger meat must be the broth we give.

Blue, bright September day, with here and there

On the green hills a maple turning red,

And white clouds racing in the windy air!--

If I would help the weak, I must be fed

In wit and purpose, pour away despair

And rinse the cup, eat happiness like bread."

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The Lost Art Of Walking

Adrift in Anaikatti

On Words

Sonnet CXXXIX by Edna St Vincent Millay

Dr Raguram

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