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Saturday, August 11, 2007

Enter... The monk

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Aug 11, 3:15
Hi diary!!! Today's been one of those dull, sleepy. monotonous days which never seem to pass. Can't forget "those things" which happened, yet today and those days are coming around a full circle. And I am coming to terms with it. Not exactly the "everybody is happy" way (Even I am not quite very happy as things are turning out. But then you gotta get going with things long over...). Nothing worthwhile happened today jus a bit of "edge of the seat" finish by Matthew Reilly in his "Seven ancient wonders". Yes thing of note is this: Today I start writing, to you my diary, finally!!! (It needed "The god of small things" by Arundhati Roy, "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho , two years of procastination to write and "those feelings of unrest , bitter yet sweet 'memories' (can say that!!).......
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wrote "the Monk". He had travelled another year from the age 20 that july. Sharan (that's his name) was easily the boy next door. He was tall 6 feet 1 inch and still growing... Average build, chestnut coloured skin. One of the typical South Indian Iyer boy types. He looked straight out from a colony of book-worms in the muddy slosh of the SouthIndian University where he studied. His mother, Gayathri, a typical Iyer mother, was the ideal mother, lots of affection and love, the PDA(Publlic displays of affection, though not artificial, but causing Sharan to give his sheepish grin in public), the lots of ghee(melted butter) in everything from the steamy hot dosas, idlis and not to forget two heaped spoonfuls in his lunch of rice and accompaniments and most of all the unlimited love for her children, Sharan was very lucky to be blessed with such a mom and he felt so too. Mr. Jagan , Sharan's father, was just the same as his mother had lots of love for his children but he had in him something damn opposite to the PDA syndrome. He never displayed out the emotions and feelings for his dear ones around. Sharan realised that as he grew up and found those instances exceedingly funny when his dad ought to have shown some feelings such as birthdays and anniversaries. The man's eyes spoke volumes about the love he had for each one of them yet his manner was formal, a "its your birthday and i wish 'happy birthday' " . period. Yet Sharan understood the reason behind it too. Sharan's dearest friend, philosopher, guide and yet the one with whom he fought, quarelled , argued, waged cold wars with was his elder sister Kamali, two years elder to him. They understood each other perfectly. She even got his "advice" which he offered her on phone, as she was 300 kms away in the hilly plateau region of hemangiru in the neighbouring state of Karnataka.

After completing his undergraduation with a month to spare for his joining the new job he had qualified for, Sharan began writing into his diary, his first page written, contained nothing interesting he felt. Who knows what may become of it, and him tomorrow!!

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