More boring honesty

We're being compromised, bloggy dearest. I feel that your seclusion cannot be taken for granted anymore. Yet I'm growing fiercely fond of saying what I like to you. On the whole I am a rather harmless person and if I really wanted to, I think I could couch anything acidic in more bland terms, though it might leave any unlooked for readers a little curious. We shall not give in, bloggy. We shall be honest till the end.

Praveena Devarajan Maam passed away on June the 8th. I was very troubled yesterday. She was so good, funny, smart, full of life. That guy who ran her down. I can't help hating him with all my heart. P.D. ma'am encouraged me in my first leanings towards animal welfare. She encouraged me to help the dogs in my viciinity, turning my careless love for them into something deeper. And now she's gone. If afterlife there is, I hope she finds youth and many many things to discover there.

I sat and gave a thought to all my old teachers. Mallika ma'am my first dearheart teacher in PSBB. She was so quietly supportive of us and so clear in her teaching. Mrs Vijay Sudha in her slightly flighty ways. Mrs Padmini Balasubramaniam and her quick sharp voice. G.V. and her slow pondering ways. Lara Ma'am who was so encouraging to me. Rukmini ma'am. Gigo and her quick mathematical brain.

People come and go. I wish they'd stay.

As A. is leaving for HK, Rand S had to find a replacement housemate who came to view yesterday. I am sceptical, but I am also very judgemental. So let the guy have a chance. Of course I'm sure he was puzzled at how I fit in. I also think he wrote me off. But what was I supposed to do? Effervesce and enthuse around him? Hah.

Bloggy, am I so devoid of conversation? I found myself making the same points as I wrote in you yesterday to someone later. I was so cross with myself for it. I've said it once. Do I really need feedback and have to say it again?

Was asking Rajesh the other day who he'd say was my favourite author. He replied Tolstoy. I was thinking of Tokien really, but when he said Tolstoy, I was torn. It's a tie. Leo Tolstoy, everyone. A brilliant man. He gave up all his riches, died at a stationmaster's house, was buried in a peasant's grave. I am fiercely proud of him. I am proud he did this in the face of bitter opposition from his family from whom he was alienated because of his principles. He was beloved of the common people. I cannot bear to think he will ever be forgotten. I love him and honour him more than I can express. War and peace is one of my two most favourite books. He meant it to be beyond a novel and you can see why. My favourite character is either Prince Andrei or Kutuzov depeding on my mood.

But for the sense of sheer magic, for the chills of cold like a dappled woodland shadow, I can't give anyone the title but Tolkien. It's like walking in the light of a candle but hearing echoes of a cavern whose walls are sightless. I jealously preserve my memories of the first read. First reads should be bottled up and played back often. Thats the measure of a book really. The seconds may give you insights, but the magic is not often the same.

So the verdict? Its still a tie, gentlemen.