I grew up in a home where my mother was a stay at home mum, a homemaker. She has been a constant in our lives as air and water, and equally fundamental to our existence. She has been there to wake us up in the mornings, to look at our faces and ring the alarm that we look pale and making sure we drink milk or any other concoctions she mixed. She has been there when we spoke our first words and also at the receiving end of our tantrums. The fact is she has been there for everything and the picture just can't be complete without my mum and whatever the four of us are today, we are, because she gave of herself lovingly to us. So here is to mums all over the world! Happy belated mothers day!
An eagle is told that it once lived in huge nests on high mountains and tall trees at high altitudes and the big bird scoffs at such a preposterous idea. How can such a big bird living in caves and hunting on rodents soar in the skies over mountain tops and oceans. Not a bad idea but quite unlikely. Seems like these humans are crazy and think of anything about other animals to hide their own embarrassment over their monkey ancestry. Pick up any great novel, Hundred Years of Solitude, Blindness, Beloved, Alchemist or any others that you have read where imagination is stretched but you flow with the narrative. You easily believe what the writer is asking of you. It seems plausible and hence possible and you like a bird open your wings and fly where the winds of possibilities take you. Marquez creates a parallel world of freedom and we camp in this world with him; Morrison brings a spirit from the dead and we unblinkingly accept her character; Saramago presents a sightless world to us ...
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