Just A Another Day!

What I write below are my views and opinions and I express it with the same passion that the opposite will hold, but argumentative .That I can vouch.

In mid February every year some of the weak hearts like me who live or happen to be in Thpuram scamper out of the town for a day. It is a literal run for some peace, quiet. It is the only possible way to retain ones sanity. The commercially and religiously muscle flexing temple in the suburb of the city will host its Guinness book fame pongal festival. A day when the city is rampaged and controlled by the chaste Hindus! The day is literally a day when the quiet resident of Thpuram will lose his bearings. When you cannot lie down and enjoy rape run away from it. This year while I happened to be in the city during that time I was almost at my nadir of sanity and patience after a host of loudspeakers where placed within a few meters from where I lived, ostensibly playing the cacophony of hymns, songs from a temple nearby, which had the same presiding deity as the Guinness book famed temple. It began at 4 in the early morning and blared till after midnight. In fact the temple is a kilometre away and the hardcore worshippers pulled an extended cable to evict all of us from quiet. I ran away to a distant town for a couple of days and until the faithful had got their absolution and peace with the Gods.

The dual ways that are within ones grasp is either to bear it stoically or run away quietly until the din has subsided. This is the case with many matters in today’s societies in India.

I’m warily looking to the 15 of August which is a few days from now when the mobile will be active from dawn. The beep of the text messages bombarding with wishes, reminders, patriotic and jingoistic slogans, prompting and stating the greatness of India will bother the renegades like me. The less patriotic earthlings! The Bolgdom will have ample Posts emphasising ”Mera Bhrath Mahan”. The sane ways to exist is to accept these statements , reciprocate jingoism and to a lesser extent patriotism that erupts every year for one day on the 15 of August, or to switch off the mobile and  not open ones blog that day.

Is it the quirk of fate or the forced delusion that Indians cultivate, I do not know. And we, even after 64 years of the exit of the colonist, run after a mirage –‘Independence’? Yes, we are Free, free that the looters of public wealth go on with their task with blatant impunity. Free, that one fifth of the country has been leased to the Maoist insurgents who have taken up the cause of the hapless and fiercely exploited natives. Free, that the whole of North Eastern states are not reconciled to the union of India. Free, that the simmering discontent and betrayal is dangerous in Jammu and Kashmir. Free, that still we rank about 100 in the world index of development in a scale of 120. Free that we can be oblivious of the fact that sixty percent of women are illiterate and consequently exploited in many ways. Free, that (officially) forty percent of the population is languishing below poverty line. Free, that many parts of central India is harsher socially and economically than the sub Saharan Africa. Free that the perpetrator, an elected person who swore by the constitution but wrecked the most heinous communal frenzy in known history on the Muslims in Gujarat walk all over the country with blatant impudence.

Has anything changed for the better since the last August 15?

Yes this is a myopic, lopsided, cynical view of someone who refuses to see the rockets that we fly beyond the stratosphere, the fledging malls, multi national retail giants and mining companies that have landed in the country, the billions that flow in as foreign direct and institutional investments, the imminent launch of another agricultural revolution aided by multinational corporations like Mosanto ...there is much beyond, I hesitate, I’m not a patriot.

So we have one day, mercifully one day in a year to remember our freedom, independence and the exit of the Empire!

A few days ago I got a few text messages and noticed some general reminders and wishes on “happy friendship day “in my face book wall. My comment on that, which I pasted on the wall ,“Twenty years ago, no one wished me on a certain day and claimed ‘friendship’. If one has to be a friend there need not be a day to remember that. It is silly. Imagine remembering your parents only on a certain day. As funny as that! And people ape, herd instinct it is terribly boring”.

 And that  attracted this comment from a friend, I was aghast. “@anil....it’s just that in this fast life lane that we all live today we just take a day to dedicate our thoughts for those spl people in our lives...children’s day for kids, mother’s day for mom, father’s day for dad...Birthday to make the person feel spl on the day he/she was born,..it’s just an occasion to reciprocate and respect one’s feeling. Valentine’s day does not mean u lv ur lv only on that day but yes these are ways of reassuring your feeling for ur lvd ones...It’s how u look at it. I don’t think you have to ridicule others who believe in it. The sooner you accept change the better its gonna get...what life was 20 yrs back and today is not the same dear. Change is inevitable.” 

Yet another comment came ,"friendship day is for teens.”

So friendship, independence, mother, father, brother, sister, and even one’s life is remembered for one day in a long calendar of 365 days. That is capsule living we have so well aped from the West especially the debt ridden America.

How I wish that I was patriotic and tolerant as the rest! May be I’m misfit! 

A Journey into Fantasy- 1

Things I like to do, I wish to do. But then if wishes were horses and if horses could fly..........!      

When it is vivid that dreams may not befall upon us as truth the wise way forward is to dream itself. And I decided to fantasise some of the wishes that may come true yet, may be not- for to  hope is the way forward. .This is for now a journey into fantasy. The beginning of the journey to places and may be people I wish to see, to be. A one way ticket!

I begin my journey from down south and in my SUV, from the south western coastal town of Thpuram. I journey straight to Munnar and then ensure that I reach the Eravikulam National Park by foot. That was a journey I, Balan and the “evergreen chum” of us undertook a few years ago and spent a few days, the three of us in the grassy wilderness. An unquenchable experience there in that abode of quiet!

I walk the fifteen odd kilo meters from a little hamlet outside Munnar all alone. Slowly, away from human settlements I walk up the gradual gradient into the hills and into  the expanse of green grass and evergreen Sholas- that Eravikulam is. And I will then revel in the solitude that the Sholas and the expanse of grass that stretches tearing through the horizon and the hills; the howling winds, the cold and the lush green swaying grass all round ; with lush dark green shoals spotted in a haphazard beauty only nature can perfect with imperfection; solitary in that hut with trenches around to ward of the Pachyderms and other beasts of the wilderness.As I  tread by the whiff of wind that blow past me take with it the human scent  and the herd of Sambar deer grazing in the valley afar turn their heads in suspect and alert. They watch me move along and dismiss my presence .

 I stay there for days, know not how long. I take bath in the pristine stream that runs nearby -its source from the  springs amongst the expanse of grass that surrounds ;watch the kite hover a few ten feet above me for hours at length as I lay gazing up at the sky.An occasional jackal might sniff by inquisitively, a hare.... The herds of Nilgiri Thar may watch me up close but wary. And I will blissfully fall in trance aided by the berceuse that the minas, the sparrows, the jays, the robins and the thrushes sing in abandon.

At night I sit by the front of the hut and gaze at the clear starry night sky with a glass of the splendid whisky from the Scottish Highlands-“Glenlivet” without defiling it with water or other additives. The moon in its full will have slowly lurked out from behind over the hills and envy at what it may perceive as my nonchalance. Then know not why, she decides to shine on me like an irrepressible damsel. I enjoy and salute her goodwill raising my glass .The sound of cymbals of the forest -trumpeting of the Elephants will be heard not too distant far and the stars up in the sky twinkle in recognition.  A pack of jackals will howl from the stream nearby- perhaps announcing the moon rise or a lingering carnivore, but they will sound like the music of the night. .The leopards or the tiger that may be lurking in the nearby Shoalas will watch the intruder – me with some bother. But they, will soon smell I m no usurper.  The fireflies fly in the dark as sentinels that guard me.  

Then, there I will not hesitate to bow if “death” comes by. Because it is only a lucky few who can die in Paradise.

Little Romance

Looking back it was funny, bit fascinating and a little blushful to recollect the silliness that surrounded the infatuations of the golden teen and early youth. And to now put them into words would look like a long overdue self-confessions of the once juvenile delinquent. The prelate and the confessor are the same. Nope, it is not confession, as there is nothing in this matter that is sinful to seek absolution through confession! I’m trying to live a bit in the past to see how fanciful and fascinating some of the romantic fads were. If one cannot find fanciful, cheering thoughts from those days it will be a wasted la affaire with life- insipid too! They must be seen as the lighter side of experiences that one would be very unlucky to miss out. Not many are unlucky, I guess but as I mentioned many may see it a bit awkward and embarrassing to savour it at a time when one has crossed much of life. It is funny to turn back now and look, really. I mean it. Come on, though it was intense and (serious) affairs of life then!

I’m glad I’m no bard, no poet and or can I be operatic and bring all those into folklore.

I met her again quite by chance many years ago. I was in my home town for a weekend and a car that went past me a distance screeched to a halt. And she opened the door and came out beaming. It was an unexpected meeting, meeting of a kind as I had not had a thought of her for a great while.

 ‘Hello this is a pleasant surprise’, I said my mouth agape. ‘Were you following me or is it that I went the way you would travel’, I asked rather mischievously not waiting for her to reply.

She smiled and we shook hands. She had put on a bit of extra pound and the “Zeenie baby” (Zeenath Amman) looks and appearances that attracted quite a few eyes towards her was vanishing.

She laughed and said. 'Take it any which way you want’.

I was a bit wordless for a brief while, did not know how to move on the conversation and neither did she. A few seconds that resembled ages went by. And then I gathered to ask, ‘are you on vacation here from Hyderabad?’

 She told me that was so.

“Well what about the boss?” I asked and honestly wishing he was not there in the car.

She said with a squint and a slight smile, perhaps reading my thoughts, “He has not come down; he stayed back in Hyderabad on some business”.

‘So what is up with you? Continuing to enjoy life as a loner, don’t you have any plans to have a back pack to tag you on?’ She enquired with a naughty smile. I told her that it was the back pack I was worried about all the while so I decided to let it be so for a while long until I can fool someone.

‘Don’t you go down to Hyderabad for your work?’ she inquired.

 ‘Yes I do, but rarely, have been there a few times just for a day or so and would journey back as soon as I got done with the work’.

‘You could have got in touch. Oh yes I see perhaps you was bored with all that long ago uh?’ She may have meant that as an accusation of sort.

“Hey, are you accusing me? How would I know where in that city you live?” I pleaded helplessness.

‘Come on man if you wanted you could- get the address from my dad.’ She shot back.

 ‘By the way, how are they your brothers and parents?’ I asked as I wanted to divert from the subject.

Incidentally they were from Sind who migrated long ago to Th'puram. She let out a sigh and said. ‘Ill luck seems to be journeying with us. D, died last year, the same end as you also feared and told me once, “He crashed head on, on his motorbike.”

It was some years earlier to that she lost her sister who was a few years older. C was allegedly murdered by her husband’s family. It was a case of bride burning, dowry death if one can call it. The matter was closed as self-immolation- suicide.

This boy D was a freakish speedster on two wheels and a brat, spoiled at that. Though I knew him as her brother, he got to know me from an incident where I played the “Good Samaritan”, when he got fairly bruised in a scooter accident right in my view some years ago while I was in college.

 Two little faces extended out of the car window. Hey I said moving a step towards the car, ‘what is it you have here’ ,I exclaimed and  patted the little faces and peeped in to see a third one- a cute little cuddle spread-eagled in the rear seat.

‘Yea my kids’, she said.

 ‘My goodness, hey this is a fast scoring rate’. I cried out loudly pulling my head out and facing her.

‘Yes man, what can I do, my husband wanted it so’. She confessed her helplessness.

“Yes back pack indeed, as I can see”, I thought.

That was the last time I saw her and it is now about twenty five years. 

Matters of Fact

Over the years a regulation that is so true and that I trust, is the fortune of having friends who are quite a notch above me, as persons- intellectually and as general human beings. To be peeved and be jealous of the qualities or achievements of one’s friends is as foolish as sky diving without parachutes, as trekking to the poles in your sneakers.. To be sequestered in a circle of friends or even acquaintances who are better persons than one, will only enhance one’s being and to think otherwise is because of the paucity of commonsense and the stranglehold of ego. Both can be detrimental.

I advise my children, A and R who are much charmed by the small number of my intimate friends, (as many as half as the fingers I have) that each one of them are notches above me as individuals and in their own distinct ways. They have been from the days they began toddling around as bundles of joy privy to the close relationship, bonhomie that I maintained with these fellows. Both A and R, was closest to one of the guys  who was star-struck in himself ( ‘star –struck’ refers to  a story, an anecdote referring him, I once mentioned in a Blog post on C’s gaffes)  more than they were to us, their parents. And even to this day A is still joyously  animated when he meets him- the hug and kisses..! Whilst R has developed a social restraint that probably age brings to girls. I and C used to once refer to him as the pediatric who lived with us (he was in my house on a transfer to my place of work for almost three years). And that was when he showed his deftness in babysitting and both A and R got so moonstruck by him,( girls generally are and also so he thinks even to this day). His late parents were immensely  affectionate to us (me and the small circle we kept), in a way that they may have even thought of thrashing us as they did him. They were unique loving parents, and those qualities have been greatly infused in him. The help, the support which he and his demure wife extended me and C many years ago in a crisis was a life time apart, which ones very own siblings may desist and ignore.

I, once in a Post titled “An officer and a Gentleman” wrote a about another close friend, whose singular obsession and spirit has seen him become one of the decorated and dedicated officers in the Indian Army, and is now very near to the top of  the pyramid - the hierarchy. It is certainly a matter of pride for me than for him!

And then the ever green unblemished boy old as I’m! He stays so even in his fifties. Modest and affectionate, and was my trusted pillion on many motorcycle diaries we could pen about. A modest, helpful fellow in his own silent way.

Fortunately, despite the intemperate attribute that subsume my character I have been quite able to manage friends with diverse predilections and moorings.

I first noticed this burly grizzly bear standing by the gate of the blocks of apartments where I lived in Cochin.  He displayed a fearful, Kathi expression (those who have a lay idea about the dance drama Kathakali will know what Kathi vesham is),each time I and my fellow -in-mates passed him at the gate. He threw glances that sent the message, “nihilist rascals, exhibitionists, nuisance creationists.” and many other expletives that only he knew about. I felt that he aspired and claimed to be the only modest, cultured and decent individual in that vicinity, while we were impertinent and irritants best avoided, got ridden.

Then one night he crashed (virtually) through the door of my room, with my roommate in tow .He had come there to borrow some pornographic books (in the early eighties we were not lucky to have the luxury of PCs and the NET).My mate introduced him to me. ”Man look here, this is another specimen from your town and look what he has come for”. He shook hands with an impish giggle. What a contrast from the fearful sentinel at the gate, I thought to myself!

And from that day about thirty years ago, to this I have not had one instance to disbelieve that  his rough exterior  is a face of affability. But why? Like the pines of porcupine! Only he can tell!

I was an average reader mostly confined to the ordinary world of less thinking and more pleasure that was fictions of the genre of a J.H.Chase  , Desmond Bagley ,Alistair Maclean and some Earl Stanley Gardner stuff. Though excursions to other books of substance like Dumas, Dickens, SKP, MT, Maurice Procter, James Leasor was not uncommon. But a revelation into the wide expanse of Hemmingway, O’Henry, Maugham, Peter Matheson, a distinctly new appraisal of matters through an introduction to J.Krishnamurthy , the awe world of National Geographic ( I ‘m a subscriber of the magazine, now for almost thirty years), these were some of the lasting  gifts that I could imbibe from the association with this beefy guy.

He and the Narcissus whom I mentioned early were (I must say) the best men who managed the tense moments at my home after my proposing to C, a catholic, evoked a discernible quake.

Obstinately passionate about mountains, the fellow perhaps would have been better off born to nomads in the mountains. He was also instrumental in instilling ideas of environmental care and conservation .A fiercely private person even be it his spouse and as individualistic as she is, if not an iota more. Possessive about the tiny little private space that he zealously demands for himself and also agrees that is the right of every individual. An affectionate fellow who may not succeed in diplomacy, niether at home or outside.And I realise and give up at this age that it is best to leave him with his idiosyncrasies and his liberty to be himself. It is always a trifle silly to expect, even it be your close as close can be friends that they be congenial to the pedestal that you want them to be. Because when the nuance of personality is lost and then, I guess they become strangers and friends no more. 

The Contagion

Sometimes I wonder why do people always sport a smile, why are some jubilant in words and the way they conduct. Even in the 'Blogdom' some have not yet posted a piece that is melancholic or depressing. In the presence of some, one could feel their positive, happy chemistry in the air. They spread the redolence of their being, their personality. That becomes contagious.

Whereas some like me though not the exact opposite, one may not find the fullness of the day neither vocally nor in what is now ostentatiously aired on the Blogs. It may be that, only the limited few are my friends is because I'm  so .And the many prefer to vanish at my sight? Yet some are very depressing to be with and gives the feeling that one is cloistered in a subterranean drain. Some people seem to radiate only the sunny side of life. It can be a wonder if it is so true about their lives in real!

Cynicism is betrothed to the state of disappointment in the mind. Isn’t it? But often one cannot help not being cynical and any amount of contrived exuberance may not help and may be unfair to ones reason. But still why is it that some have only stories of ill, sadness and tragedy to tell? To some the dissatisfactions and discontent they get or see in life reflects in their countenance as penumbra and again, even that is also contractable.

My friend often talks about corroding one’s mind and the black bile would diffuse in your being. The intent of his advice is warm, but what may become corrosion to some may not be necessarily the outcome always. Reactions, thought or action is corollary to what we have in life as I mentioned before. The goodness that we had may be imbibed to pervade in ourselves. And to me reactions are an outcome of the situation. I do not see corrosion afflicting my mind, but the reaction on the contrary washes out the pent up elements that can corrode .For me it is a letting out, fortunately so, because by nature I confine .Again it differs from people to people.

But it takes a great effort to radiate positivity and only that. Or is it in the body chemistry, inborn? To not tell a sad story, to not hold bad blood, but to see only the goodness in things is a very lofty trait. Though I would debate if wishing away will make bad not exist, perhaps?

Sathyan Anthikad is a very good director of movies. He has been churning out movies in Malayalam, from the late seventies. I have not missed even one movie of his. What is unique and that stands out in his films and stories are the ending. It is always felicitous and happy. There are no villains in his movies. Yes there are elements that seem lost, who stumble, but they seldom evoke a feeling of revulsion, disgust, fear or dislike in the viewer. We sometimes even pity the bad and the ugly in his movies. The goodness that is in life that we all would like to see is with what he ends his movies.

In Search of The Time Machine

It is a misfortune that befalls man that we get wiser (supposedly) only as we age and live through a considerable part of our existence. It is no wonder that the eponymous tooth of wisdom, the wisdom tooth breaks through the molars at a later stage in life! And in the middle ages of our life or when we are all most over the hill that we look back and feel what was in store for us and what we missed, what we did not. Then you feel having wasted much.  But then it’s quite late for introspections- to bring back time that went by and we have to sigh with breath of regret-for moments that we missed, things that eluded us, that we did not notice, we did not appreciate, perhaps with little bit of wisdom, it could have been different. Why did it have to be me? The question comes up.

Someone once told me long ago, when I was single and leading a fairly irrepressible living that it was only until he became a father that he knew what it is to be one. He said he then deeply regretted his missed opportunities and life denied, as a son. I did not think much about the statement then. But as years went by and now often, I could feel deep, the pang of the reality of what he said. I can only hope and wish the A and R may not three decades from now sit back and muse like I do. Because with relationships, what we miss and lose at the moment is lost forever. There is no time machine or “black hole’ to board and journey back in life, in time.

My relationship with my father as (brief) as it was for less than two decades was not even a roller coaster like, it was cold- from my point of view. Yes, now I do remember that, he had mourned to mom on a few occasions that I maintain a painful distance from him. Indeed that was the case. The simple matter was that I did not much like him, was afraid, was uncomfortable when he was around and that reflected in my moods and my behaviour. Quite a misfortune as a father for him and as a son for myself!

Why and how that feeling enveloped my relationship with him is not quite known to me, its genesis is something I cannot now recollect or point precisely. However trying it is to build up stray incidences and bits from distant and faint memory! I can recall that he was a disciplinarian of sorts. He, I feel often targeted me and was critical of me, reprimanding me often from my early age I can remember – let me say as six year old. He used to compare me with the boy next doors and ridicule me for not being like the jolly good smart fellow like his friend’s son , a distant relative – a  boy or girl displaying  a flowing outward charm and speaking without fear the good Anglican language. He, I do not know if it was the fall out of his Air Force  days insisted that we speak English and converse at home in English. Something I detested because I was not comfortable speaking that language. Though the early education was in a respectable convent run by a very old order of nuns, there was no diktat that only English must be spoken at school. Yes the nuns who were at that period mostly from outside the country did not speak Malayalam they never were not silly and false like the Neolithic educationist of this day. I remember that once he slapped me in the face, for something that irritated him. And mom was quite harsh with him for that. Not that Mother was an epitome of softness and feather touch. She was quite tough and would vent her other irritations on me. Father would, whenever he could and have me in his sights, begin his advice, his lecture on how to be in life. Perhaps there was a bit much of the dose that was not to my liking. Not that I was a saintly fellow at that. He, I now feel was a bit unsure of my direction .And did he fear that I may turn out to be the lamb that went astray? Now I understand that the apprehension about one’s children is in every father, parent.

But should that constrict the child to an extent where the freedom to breathe freely in their presence do not exist? Freedom to be with children of the same age? Freedom to dream like children does? But be sort of incarcerated within the four walls what was called a home? I feel that the answer to these asking will be provided by my children. I’m certain they are at home and do not feel asphyxiated.

A particular incident that is still haunting me when I think of him was one that bled me to a considerable extent when it happened. I was eleven or twelve years of age and not more. There was this very important football tournament that was held in Thpuram in the 1970’s. It was an All India affair where clubs like Mohan Bagan, MH Sportings, East Bengal, Vasco Goa, JCT Mills etc used to compete. The carnival used to be for forty five days. The match began at 5 in the evening and was over by 6.30pm. My maternal grandfather who was among the respected gentry of that time was given a VIP complimentary pass to watch the tournament in full. He gave me the pass and asked me to enjoy the matches. I was thrilled and it was seamless. I ran home from school and was at the stadium in the elite VIP box before the players began their warm up. It was a dream come true. The next morning back in school I was the cynosure, the one who has the ticket for the tournament and that too an elite pass.

The exhilaration and euphoria was mercilessly wrenched out and my father was the villain of the piece. After a few days he found out that I have been rollicking at the tournament. He asked me from where I got the tickets or the money for them. I told him appuppa (grandfather) gave me a VIP pass. He asked me to fetch the pass. And when I did, he snatched it from me and curtly decreed that it was time that I began my studies in earnest and not waste time at these places. Later I found that he gave the pass he wrenched out from me to one of his close friends. I still cannot chance a word to describe his doing or my feelings. Did I begin to hate him then? I think I did, it was the gradual slide into gradation from not liking into hate.But that was just one of the few incidents that began to eclipse him from my mind, sadly though.

Looking back I feel miserable for him, but the damage that he perhaps unwittingly inflicted on his image as a father and my psyche resulted in losses to us both.

And no time machine can help!!

A Common Trait

Sometime ago I happened to see on TV a live footage of  the aftermath of a minor collision involving a motor bike. There were quite a few onlookers around the accident spot and in animated arguments. Little scuffles also seemed to happen. Then came a Maruti car, which stopped nearby. A man alighted from the car came eagerly into the crowd, he jumped through the small group and gave two hard slaps to the guy who was probably the rider of the bike. And he exited as delightfully as he came.

This, though comical to watch, perhaps tells the underlying psyche of people. The uncontrollable passion and eagerness to comment on anything and everything of which they may not know much. To pillory someone without even knowing the antecedents of the matter.

When the going is wonderful or seems to be so there may not be accolades, but when one stumbles you have raised hoods coming at you from all possible places. Authoritative dissertations, statements and, advices even unsolicited are thrown at you by all and sundry. The cruel and equally jocular aspect is that none of these opinionated gentry has been privy to the road that you have tread and the travails that you have felt or survived. How great it will be if one could retrospectively correct the course, and out- fly the insightful ones!

Is it proper then to make an imperiously authoritative statement on something that we cannot honestly claim to know about? Commenting with mere speculative knowledge and hearsay to substantiate our opinion is quite unjustified. But then the world is such that we have more people who know more about our life, our difficulties, our means and sources of happiness and distress than we ever could.

I think that it is the pleasure that people get when they involve with something that they have no knowledge about and make statements like they were  experts of the matter, that drives people to be so. Like the man who ran out of his car to slap some stranger he presumed was the villain of the piece,  how often have we uttered things that may have added to another’s misery, all along being aware of our ignorance of the truth of the matter.

What goes on these days in television news channels ( call them ‘tabloids’) perfectly sums up the state of the matter. Tragedies are dissected to suit the ratings, victims are disregarded  and culprits are decided by the visual media, carefully playing on the mindset of the gullible viewers. The pleader, the juror , the judge and the executioner is the media. A blatant trampling of privacy and ones basic rights.

It must be a careful tread I guess, else  may result in mauling an already bruised person. Isn’t it better to be silent, quiet and  sympathetic than be a marauding ,boorish and insensitive? It is quite true , that when the going is good you have a score and many to revel with you and in distress may be your ghostly shadow for company and brick bats to chase you.

But  then  why must you be sensitive to someone’s feelings and plight? That is what is in most minds.

Ironical life is! Indeed it is!