Magnum Opus

The names where a few, who got inspired and provoked by external stimulus- the results were often masterpieces in creative exhibition!  Be it in literature or arts. 

Lewis Carol was said to have been influenced by strange hallucinations. He was known to have bouts of migraine and epilepsy. Though that provoked the creative genius which lay dormant in him is questionable as much of the idiosyncrasies attributed to him like his alleged pedophilia .That was questioned by his biographers and members of the Lewis Carol Society. Perhaps a less and trivial aspect compared to the fascinating works he produced. Somewhere, I also learned that he chose to be intoxicated for dream like inspirations.

Back home in Kerala, I understood from a few friends who are in the film world and are privy to the stories in that balloon, the strange moments when this person, a bard created his pulsating and immortal verses. He created many of those mesmerisng odes completely influenced by his favourite brand of spirit. It is said that a producer desperate to have a song penned for the shoot that day, lay in patient wait for the poet to venture out of his room with the piece. However when he turned outside, he was more than tipsy and had not penned even a line. It was early dawn and the poet was off to a distant town. The producer volunteered to travel with him to the train station and seek a chance to plead in the meantime on the journey, to pen the song. The poet however, in spite of his inebriated state noticed the poor fellow’s angst and in the few minutes of travel in the car to the train station, penned a song, which was to become a glistering classic in play of poetic and romantic imagination.

It is said that the first sentence and the name of the story decides the depth and viciousness of the story’s beauty.  And they must come first even before ideas and words begin to cascade in free flow. Like, as they say, Victor Hugo wrote the name for his classic, “The Hunch Back of Notre dame” first, else by when he had done with his novel he may have named it, “The Hunch Back”.

Such stories of creativity were inspiring when I once made the exalted attempt (unknown to the outside world) to create a timeless classic in literature. I sat with my lap top and the elixir, good old Bourbon. I sensed and felt abound with words and thoughts at the tip of my fingers, waiting to bludgeon and burst forth like the deluge from the dammed- restrained waters of a grand roaring  river. I saw the world about to realise the precocious endowments that lay torpid in me.

 The first taste of the dryness of the bourbon was stimulating, the gentle electric current of the bite of the whiskey!

I began to type with pompous air. “This is the story untold, never told and will stay untold......

I began to dream, the dream never reckoned by all the great literary and artistic minds put together. And gradually the glass of whiskey was emptied, to be replenished and yet again emptied. The raw bite of the brewed concoction was permeating into every node, prodding and cajolingly me into the wonderland where geniuses dwell. Would not I be one among them ? Like in the Woody Allen masterpiece, “Night in Paris”!

If I confine it to a short story, it may rival the ones of Dostoevsky; it may even consign the Maugham magnum opus, “The Moon & Six Pence” to triviality and eclipse the “Ulysses”. Hemingway may feel like “Death in the afternoon”. Back home, the legends of Mallu literature may turn uncomfortably in their graves seeing their book sales plummeting! The Neolithic western educated Indian expatriate writers may run to the end of the world and their publishers may drop them like red, hot iron. Well can I help, be of any assistance? Why must I be? It’s the world of the creative wizard!

The glass emptied and the cycle repeated gradually, until I put my lap- top to sleep and fell back on to the bed. It was the early morning sun rays fidgeting behind the window blinds that gently lashed in the swirling air of the fan that woke me up hours later. It struck me of the night before and the moment now-the bright morning when the world would awaken and  come alive to a time less masterpiece. Perhaps, I may have to be prepared to be even knocked out by the revealing of the  intensity of my literary maverick. With great anticipation, I switched back the lap top to active and began to read the grand story I perceived the night before.

  It read “This is the story untold, never told and will stay untold .....

Walking on The Moon

 These days the favorite and absorbing pass time is watching movies, I must be averaging about one and one half movies a day. This has been the routine since the past few months. Perhaps I want to make good of the times in the previous years when I rarely sat through a movie.

This may also be a liaison of a kind with motion picture that I once dreamed like Alice in her journey to wonderland. That was long ago, in the teens and thereabout, when fantasies and dreams were many and running berserk. However, all that withered and may even be said to have died still born. There was also a stricture from mother that she may be forced to consider me an outcast if I assay a career in the motion picture world. I could have chosen the field of movies, there were offers from a friend who later made his name as a producer and by the father of a couple of friends who also created a niche in the creative field of cinema. It was literally taking the road often traversed that happened , while on a journey in pursuit of freedom, in 1981, I was asked by a good chum on the train while traveling together, to join him in his hunt in the tinsel world in Madras. But I chose to journey further up north opting to think of the apparent comfort of a conventional placement.And he later became a person of reckon in the film world. Perhaps my choice of the blog picture of a mountaineer standing down far below in awe at the splendour and majesty of a peak has something to do subconsciously with the distance I now will never make in life. A haunting reminder of the many dreams that would stay as pipe-dreams, that, besides the realisation of one’s insignificance in the physical laws of Nature. This is when I would wish that the Hindu philosophy of life- that a second coming, a rebirth, a second chance, reincarnation were true. Well then, I can gain without much ado, a chance to make amends, (sigh)!

I’m afraid I dither and touch on aspects I did not intend to discuss here.

A movie, I watched, “A Walk on The Moon”, gave me a re-look at a subject I often wondered about seeking a definite explanation. Mans’ proclivity in tangoing with “la affaire amour” .Someone once alleged that it was men who displayed penchant for fornication. Though it is indeed a fact, but, is it not true that it takes two to tango and there has to be a woman too?

The movie has the mother of two and a woman in her late twenties intimately involving with a traveling garment vendor. The story is placed in the swinging sixties of the Woodstock era. She was aware of the repercussions that were to follow when if the liaison came into the open. But yet, she went further into it. The family is in ship wreck. And to add to the disaster, the eldest child, a girl comes of age and is driven by rage and anger when she notices her mother’s unshackled moments with her paramour at the Woodstock festival.  She hurls herself into destructive risqué with a teenage boy. The husband who travels often for work is devastated and possessed. The family is tossed about like in the tempest in the raging seas.

Man is not unaware of the upheavals that may blow like a cataclysmic whirl wind when illicit amour surfaces to glare. Apart from the fact that socially approved moral conduct does not have such relationships in its directory, man still serenade with danger. Besides the laws of physical intimacy decreed to man and woman, have we thought why people are more inclined to dangerous liaisons?  In this movie the woman becomes mother at the young age of seventeen ,yearns for marital freedom and to banish ennui from her life. So the reason goes.

Strongly asserting that I’m not advocating unrestrained warmth in men women relationship, I would like to know why the hullabaloo and bedlam about an amorous liaison, or in common parlance- a fling? It is certainly true that Nature has only one intention when metamorphosing the sexes-procreation. It is the consciousness of human mind and his thoughts that have placed restraints and dos and do nots in relationships between man and woman. And amongst them certainly men have de novo displayed penchant for seminal acts at any given time, a proclivity to lecherous habits. A dichotomy when compared with the male of other species. Why?

Trust and faithfulness, often the two characteristics that we hear of, that are comparable and as magnificent as chivalry. And which may in equal measure be applied to man and woman. It will be fascinating to quote here the conversation a friend once had with me on a related matter. “I would not hesitate to jump for a fling if a woman fancies a relationship and I long for one.” said the guy. I said, “Well that depends upon your luck and discretion, but what if your wife thinks on similar lines?” He was full of ire. “I’ll decapitate her,” he said.

Irony

 Indonesia- 'Mosque"after the all round destruction from Tsunami

“Irony”, the word when pronounced sounds lyrical.  And the lexicon says it can mean, “Witty language used to convey insults or scorn, esp. saying one thing but implying the opposite”, or,” Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs”. In either of the case the lyrical tone is shorn away by reality. I guess you may agree.

It is very true of what that it is said of irony, “…..I am a connoisseur of fine irony. ’Tis a bit like fine wine but have a better bite.” And the matter with all brute realities of life- there is always an irony behind, the bitterness of wine! Like the romantic enchantment wearing away to insipid and to some a monstrous reality that was not felt even in the most wild hallucinations ever before. Then one may wonder what fool one has been to expect something else.

What impalpable influences that we call fate, chance, destiny, or just the hand of god (force majeure) that may bring forth the state of irony and often as otherwise in relationships, we know not. Goodness me, what a touchy matter is this thing we term, “relationships”! The ticklish and delicate thing among humans! How friends and relatives become strangers, rather could feign strangeness; people who thrived on the other gather the wherewithal to condescend the other; philanthropist turns mendicant. And, I think that the fact about what we call natural law is that the matters we yearn most in life, happiness and peace of mind, are best got when we give it to someone. Ironical indeed! And grossly unjustifiable and cruel is irony when the noblest heart often bears the heaviest cross.

Mr. P was a senior technician for an offshore oil exploring company and his line of duty was on the oil rig off at sea. For the past twenty plus years he was alternating every three months between the works on the platform at sea and back home with his family. A church going Christian and a jolly good fellow that was he! His thrift was often plummeting into parsimony and trifle annoying even to his children. Though he married both his kids away and had no indebtedness’s and commitments, he was miser than a miser can be, he never spent. Though earning a fat sum in US dollars, he and his wife lived frugal in their beautiful house. They walked the good distance to the church and bearing sun or rain. He did not believe in spending on a cab, though his wife was overweight and would have difficulty in walking afar. It was after much persuasion that he bought a scooter, though owning a car was not even little significance financially. He always asserted that he and his wife were saving money for their life after retirement.  Though his retirement benefits from his multinational employer behemoth was enough for a generation or two. They had carefully charted their needs, and wants post retirement. A grand tour to the “holy land” and Lourdes in France topped the list of priorities. And, he planned to put in his papers after one more stint of three months with the Company. So on the penultimate day of his last vacation at home before he retired, he went out to church on that Sunday morning rather curiously on the scooter and his wife on the pillion. Returning after the holy mass, while negotiating the roundabout on the street towards his house, the vehicle tripped over a stone and turned turtle. Mr.P and his wife fell on their back and should have borne nothing more than little bruises. However, he hit his head on the culvert, went into a coma and died the next day. All the money, he saved without a fabulous meal, travelling second class, bearing sun and rain and spending the lonely days and nights every quarter far at sea for twenty plus years, the life saved for  living tomorrow- ironical the end was a different script.

 I see quotes as the safest way of expressing myself where I’m not capable of being expressive. And it was a relief of sorts when I stumbled upon this Mark Twain court on irony.” In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.”

Cast Away

I watched a movie yesterday and it had a very sensitive subject-a mother’s passion and affection for her child. And how she could keep alive hope against dead ends and patiently waited for her child who was lost from home reunited with her. A poignant wait and only mothers would do. The loss, only mothers may feel more than the father. It reminded me of a real life story and I wondered….!.

I was introduced to this fair, tall handsome guy with round bratty eyes by a good friend. They were mates from their school days. And my friend being a person of intense emotions, feelings and conscientious too, I gathered that this guy too must be of the kind. Else do birds of the same feather flock together? That was way back, some years ago. I also remember meeting him a few more times once at my friend’s house and we even had some light hearted banter over drinks. My friend being keen in enjoying the art form of kathakali and a connoisseur of sorts of the dance drama, he used to hunt his way to the nether world to watch a performance. This guy, his buddy was the member of the once Royal clan from central Kerala and was also naturally a fan of this art form. And often they have both motor biked distance to enjoy the late night enactments in remote temples and villages. These guys had something in common and hit off well. It turned out in later years, perhaps there to end the similarity between the two. It was often that I have heard him, my friend, speak with great warmth and fondness about this chap. And though life took them distance apart, they were in communication and also used to meet.

From the few occasions I have had been with this guy, I did found him gregarious and fun loving. He was just like any of us in our youth, impetuous, and overwhelming confidence.

Years later, I heard from my friend that this guy married a city educated, sophisticated lass and settled in Bangalore.

I continued to hear stories 

occasionally, about this fellow from my friend. The last, I heard from him was that the guy had become an incorrigible alcoholic and self-condescending person. He was a recluse and thriving on self-pity and had lost all respectability of self. He lost his job and was now refuge in a boarding quarter in the old Royal household in a town off Cochin. 

The twist is from elsewhere. He had a great marriage and life thereafter, until his first child was born- a girl. She was born blind! He was devastated and naturally so. He used to seek his friend for solace and as a means to dispose his agony and trauma. What succor can one lend, but to advise courage and fortitude? Appalling stories continued. The poor fellow was almost over the precipice when he confided to my friend that his wife disliked the child and did not have any mind to tender it. She despised the child very much and wanted to give it away to someone. And that unperturbed by his miserable appeals and pleadings she stayed adamant and could agree to nothing but abandon the child. He finally could arrange child adoption through some NGO.  Though, fortunately the child was adopted by a wealthy couple from Germany. We wondered how a woman- a mother could gather does this!

Consequently, he moaned that his relationship with his wife was distanced and fast sliding into terminal point. He wailed that she despised him too, that he was undesirable and an infliction in his own house. He lost the will to work and had terrifying night mares that haunted him. He was always under the influence of alcohol. My friend was understanding and supportive, trying to wean him away from self-destruction.

The final blow was ironically to the poor fellow, my friend. After this man left Bangalore and found refuge in Cochin, he happened to meet him and also could speak to his wife. It was then she revealed that it was her husband who despised the child and did not want to keep the little one. And rubbishing her anguish and utterly terrified state arranged for the adoption and consigned the child to the German couple – her foster parents. All the subsequent affairs and his condition are the natural and direct offshoot of the guilt that began to plough and monstrously haunt him since. Later when confronted with the sordid facts, he confessed to my friend that he was responsible for the wretchedness in which he finds himself. And that the guilt was tearing away at his soul.

I wonder if he will ever have reprieve from guilt, it will gnaw away at him till he ceases to breathe.

The Naked Ape

Desmond Morris kept an interesting outlook, as an anthropologist who studied animal behaviour, later to discover fascinating similarities in the species that consider it elite- Homo sapiens. But this short story nudged me to wonder if Desmond Morris found hideous and wicked amongst animals. The nearest, I understand from animal watchers is that some species of primates like Chimps and Orangutans carry nefarious traits common in man. No wonder they are our not too distant cousins!

And here is the narration that,when read  made me wonder about beasts and ask myself can it be helped if one becomes a misanthropist.

“I was not comfortable with the estrangement that crept in amongst them. And felt that there was nothing wrong in engineering a rapprochement and it may be a good thing to happen. Turning around the sour relationship would make the air pleasant and well-off. To me it seemed a sensible thought and especially so when the subjects of the story were siblings. She being my spouse, I was privy to her untold emotions. But she was adept in keeping matters of disaffection away from visibility. And, at the same time I could also sense the choke point in her when disaffection from quarters she considered her own anguished her with such intensity previously unknown. I was dismayed and surprised at the pathetic behavior meted out to her. I felt perhaps it was deign to even consider a rapprochement or an offer of redress. It negates the very essence, the spirit of what is rapprochement. Rapprochement alleviates unpleasantness that visit because of matters that were committed but later repented. I wondered if insolence, disdain and haughtiness may be considered such, more when there seems to be no apparent keenness in shelving those traits.

But I felt, fleeting and fickle that life is, why harbour ill will and bear grudge. More so when it is amongst ones close and near, by blood and birth and even friends who bear a place in our bosom? So I decided to let the frost thaw when the woman phoned me to ask if she would go with us for the weekend. I saw an opportunity to bring back the old days, when it was bonhomie with lot of apparent affection thrown in their midst. It would help to assuage hurt feelings if she and the woman are traveling together in the car over the fair distance we planned that weekend. Unpleasantness and hurt emotions may make way when you are in physical proximity and in easy surrounds.

Later in the evening that weekend Friday, after we checked in at the resort, we met at the Club house of the Hotel, atop the hill overlooking the valley - the glinting town far below. It was a perfect retreat and entrapment with the starry sky above and glittering reflections of the town far below- lending a heavenly state of ambience. The haunting smoothness of the Hindustani on the stereo relaxed every sinew and nerves from head to toe. Looking around at the full house, I felt it was fortunate to have had the late realisation that afternoon and called the hotel to reserve seats at the club house. The atmosphere lend by the serenity besides the soothing effect lend by the visuals outside the glass paned windows and the euphony inside was only gently jostled by the intermittent clanking of the cutlery. Conversations were soft enough in hushed murmurs.

She and the woman were seated across me at the far side of the table. I did not interrupt and let them continue with their conversations and restrained banter. She was quite lively through the journey and seemed to have revived the lost times of old. She chose to sit in the rear passenger area of the car, as often the woman while she travelled with us complaints sickness if seated in the rear and would choose to seat in the passenger seat in front with me at the wheel. And, almost through the drive until she fell back in her seat asleep, she was leaning forward between me and the woman and indulging in animated chatter. Now, seated next to the woman, her visage was sprightly like old times. I felt that it will be appropriate to convey to the woman, the guarded thoughts and feelings that seethed in me. She must not take my spouse for a naiveté, a nitwit, one without emotions or feelings and must accept that she has a heart that can offer unrequited love and affection, but which throbs in deafening silence when trampled and shunned. I began by telling the woman that emotionally she has been alienated away from them. And these days were nothing but torment to her. It was often, that at night she rolled about in bed unable to sleep or walked about outside on the lawn quite disquiet. For she had much love for them, while their lack of concern and empathy coupled with their distancing from her was too disconcerting. And, also I told her that their attitude and conduct were to quote, “the unkindest cut of all” and which even brought her to bear the macabre idea of ending it all.  However it was good that she could today get to efface her anguish. The woman listened to me with expression of much understanding and occasionally looked at her sister in askance and astonishment, conveying the message that it was all her silly mind and was much ado about nothing. She maintained a condescending tone and even rebukes. 

While the desserts were being served, I excused and went to the lavatory and also to steal the comfort of a quick cigarette in the coolness of the mountain air outside.

We left the place on the evening of the second day and I was satisfied that the short but good time in the much pleasant climes of the hills was doing good to her after all those days  of melancholia and anguish.

It was about a month after, when I was back from a tour that she mentioned it over breakfast. She asked me if I would recall the night at the resort when for a short few minutes I was away from her and the woman while the desserts were being served. I said I did. She then suggested that the woman, her sister, may have had different agenda. I looked up at her in askance. She told me that the woman chose the moment I was away to suggest to her that she be careful about my ways and that I may be having an amorous relationship with another woman. I agape, asked her why the woman had to concoct such a vicious story and how that mattered in the context we discussed. And it then dawned on us- the smiles, the hugs, the sweet nothings and even the occasional jerks of tear were all artful deceit of the woman. She would want to have strife amongst us and what else could achieve that better than a journey seeking reconciliation with us and then a malicious story with lecherous undertones subtly planted in our midst? A potent keg of gunpowder! ”

Saturn

I write this from a very personal angle. A subject that is touched upon because of my sceptical demeanour. And I cannot for the love of God accept the matter per se as it doesn’t fit into any inference that I can reach based on thought and reason. I cannot yield to the lure of the mysterious and the unknown and content as inviolable fact. Or for that matter the promise of paradise in after life. For, I do not want a blank and postdated cheque. And I say this without offense and wish people who disagree on the points here in do not take this as a brusque.

I have been having a torrid time since the past two odd years. Though not personally, professionally it has been an abysmal free fall into a grotesque black hole, with ramifications on ones psyche and personal fortunes. One can call it design, destiny, miscalculations or sheer bad luck. 

When the subject must be attributed to design and or destiny, the responsibility of the protagonist is absolved. For, then, when matters of life on earth are designed, dispensed by someone what could a victim do other than be victimised? Then, one is just a marionette. If it is to be attributed to one’s personal incompetence , error coupled or by sudden twist in events  different from planned - call it vicissitudes, then the blame can be put at the door of the person or be apportioned between the hands that destine and the unfortunate victim.

So when things are going wrong, the earthlings seek the assistance of a learned person who calculates the positions and movements of the members of the stellar system, what and where the planetary cast was when one was born. This is said to determine the reasons for why it was, why it is and what now and after.

I got a phone call from my cousin sister yesterday and she called me after an appointment with a quite old and revered distant relative who has much expertise in astrology. He read and studied my horoscope and explained to her his findings and the panacea to alleviate the effect of the ills set forth by the stellar conjunctions. She was wary of my reaction though she reeled out the findings, reasons and advice. The gentleman told her I’m eclipsed by the influence of Saturn and there may be slight remissions from the following month. Though the celestial object will not let me off the vice grip till 2016. He attributed the past disasters to the eclipse by Saturn which has its portentous shadow over me. The advices and suggestions were, to be restrained in spending and have much care in physical health (which he alleged, I do not care now). He threw a window open when he said there are possibilities of lost fortunes being retrieved. And finally, a limited redressal can be brought about by propitiating one among the holy trinity.

I just leaned back after the telecom and reflected upon the information what she passed on to me. I thought of Saturn, the splendid planet which is almost a hundred times massive than the earth, with sixty moons and nine fabulous ring of ice; Saturn, a distant stellar occupant some 1.67 billion kilometers away; a planet of gas and ice geysers and with density that is so low that the gravity is only about 90 percent of the earth. And, that gives me a room for comfort. Certainly the gravitational exertion Saturn can have on my fate, destiny or even  at the time I was born must be infinitesimally small as it has to travel 1.67 billion kilometers. Perhaps my mother or even the obstetrician’s gravity may have had more influence on me!

I could not reason to agree with the important findings conveyed over phone. As for the advice of practicing thrift, I have not been flamboyant or extravagant literally speaking; the indifference to health is a wrong notion, though I have been as always indulging in the pleasures of alcohol, an occasional smoke or a fabulous meal. And, there is no guarantee that nemesis may not stay away if life is insipidly puritanical. When one is agnostic since the age of seventeen and still unable to see anything remotely satisfying the existence or otherwise of an anthropomorphic big brother it is difficult to heed the last advice too. To accept the existence of a sapient super natural figure to whom I can fall upon and for him to show mercy, seems quite ludicrous. Because, what would make me the chosen one? To even think distantly so will be grossly impudent.

 I cannot see any reason to accept the fondness of human beings to evaluate reality exclusively in terms of human values. If the spectacular planet Saturn is playing dice upon my life and destiny, it certainly will have to be doing so, on the lives of many other living things, beasts as well.

Nobility

                        Who of the two is our adopted child?

Way back in the times when myth and legends that we know of is said to have happened, boons and manna were often dispensed by the Gods. Couples yearning to have a child of their own blood used to engage the preist-dom in sacrificial sorcery and offerings to the heavens, thereupon from the sacrificial fire appeared a god or goddess with the boon that would fecundate and soon a child is born. The mythical treatise of Ramayana mentions King Dasharadh appeasing the gods and his wives bearing children. The legend of Karna was born when the Sun god showered his pleasure on the mother of Pandavas, then still a maiden. The story of Christ is born out of virgin conception- again a decision by the God.  

It seems to have been a pretty easy exercise when the Gods had the sole dispensing right for the baby boom, compared to the trial and error matters with the intervention of man and medical sciences.

I was at the wedding of this gentleman “Y” ,in 1996. He was a friend and business acquaintance. The bride was an Andhraite Brahmin and a very exuberant person. We knew her from earlier times when they were courting.   The marriage was conducted in typical Brahmin fashion. It was an elaborate wedding in Bangalore followed by a elaborate dinner later in the evening.

Though I used to meet him occasionally and was communicating often on business matters we also used to preface our conversations with mutual enquiries after both our families. However, I did not meet his children, though I was aware that his family has expanded. And a couple of years back while I was in Bangalore for a business meeting in his office, he invited me home for lunch.  And I saw his children, a boy and two girls. He introduced me to the boy who was about eighteen. “A, meet my son.” And the girls were one in her adolescence and the other a few years younger.

 It just did not fit for me. First, his wedding year and the age of the eldest son were at odds. A guy married in1996 cannot have a son who is about eighteen in 2009. And bizarre it may be the boy seemed to have a Nepali appearance. It would be grossly rude and discourteous to refer these things in the conversation. And I smothered with the oddity until the next day when I could tell another friend about the confounding matter.

 The fact was that the boy was adopted and of Nepali descent. I was surprised, peeved at my silliness and felt admiration for the man.

Look around and we see many childless couples anxiously running about from temples to churches, and mausoleums before eventually ending up in infertility clinics that have mushroomed around every bend on the road. Gods seldom handout babies and bless with conceptions these days, though the lure and wizardry of faith and beliefs lead people to religious abodes. However, the medical practioner amused and patient waits as he knows that eventually his cash box will tinkle as couples will seek his assistance – cul-de sac.

The cruel irony is that as in any facet of life there are reprobates at large among physicians as well. These men of medicine often exploit the desperation of these gullible men and women who yearn for a child. One may not wonder if the lid is blown on these infertility clinics and their reprehensible and libertine ways are exposed. 

I wonder what precludes people who are physiologically unable to fecundate or conceive from taking recourse to adoption. Even the learned and educated of the gentry make beeline to places that offer supernatural remedies for infertility. Astonishingly they do not reason the course of adoption, which is nobler and practical than conceiving through a donor sperm, having a child through a surrogate or seek upward for the impossible to happen!

The handsome Nepali boy must have been adopted from a shelter for destitute. He must be immensely fortunate to get a home, loving parents and foster sisters. It was pleasure watching the family stay together, play, joke, and live together. Perhaps a rare glimpse of what heaven could be on this earth. And, for Y to proudly introduce him as his son is a prise that is nobler than nobility can ever be!