Untold Story of a Storyteller - I

Or, this is a story of an untold story of a storyteller.

Well, there is no end to it. We can play with words and be amused for a while.

A long time ago, I read a strange book titled 'Songlines' (According to the author (Bruce Chatwin), this world is a song). The book was about Aborigines remembering the landscape as a 'song'. Songs were their assets. Songs were their currency. Songs were their inheritance.

It sounded strange to me. Took sometime to digest for me.

But in the end, it made sense to me. "You walk ten miles to the north, cross the stream and turn east, at the big rock turn west, two miles down you will find bushes and lazy Kangaroos. While coming back dont stay at the big rock for the night, it is watched by Orories, they will kill you by the morning". Now, thats precious information. Losing it or misunderstanding it can be the difference between life and death. Better remember it well. Whats a better way to remember than in a song? For them, this world is a song.

I kind of agree with those aboriginal dudes. With a dent.

I think this world is a story.

I think, Philosophy, Art, Religion and Science are all stories that we have told to ourselves.

I think we humans are hardwired to comprehend. We comprehend ourselves, our surroundings, our behaviours, our emotions, our habits, our environments, our fellow beings, our universe in the form of stories.

Sometimes we call these stories 'laws'. Sometimes we call these stories 'Truth'.

E = MC ^2 is a story that Einstein told us.

Nirvana is a story that Buddha told us.

Monalisa is a story that Leonardo told us.

"Everything is a story", itself is a story, that I am telling myself and I will tell many others.

There is something very primordial about this storytelling. 

Looks like we never get tired of it.

There is little guy/girl called a storyteller in all of us.

..to be continued

Smart Dog

Marriage has too many definitions.

But I think a successful one is "a sum average of everything about two people".

The first thing you do when you get up in the bed is, scratch your balls.

The first thing she does is, scratch her head.

In about a month you will forget about your balls and up end scratching your beard in the morning.

(Probably in a super successful marriage she ends up scratching your balls.

But we are not Obamas. We are smileys.)

I eat cereals in the morning. She eats butter on a toasted bread. We ended up with dosas.

The list is endless.

I use soft pillows. She uses her childhood soft doll as a pillow. We ended up with a small hard pillow.

But when it comes to using our toilets, we ended up using different ones. I like reading newspaper on my pot, use lot of water and in general make a mess out of the thing. She is very particular about lot of stuff when it comes to toilets.

At our home we use different ones.

At her house (her parents home) we ended up using different ones.

For two reasons. Her toilet ceiling is 5 feet 8 inches high. 

Actually we discovered this in a surprising way. 

One the third night of stay at her parents house (a big one with lot of rooms, toilets, a roof garden and a penthouse), she complained about my new deo.

I told her I am not using any deo. She said, if thats the case, I am smelling a little different, to put it politely.

Then she asked, "Are you taking your bath properly ?".

To answer her honestly, I rewinded my brain to the scene of my bath.

I realized that, I was taking my baths with my head slightly bent and in general was not raising my hands.

After this realization, she shifted me to the bathroom thats attached to the penhouse, upstairs.

This particular journey is an interesting one because it invloves unlocking three diffents doors with three different ancient keys. Penthouse also is their book store. I mean serious book store. Her dad has hundreds of books collecting dust there.

Needless to say, I started liking my private time with so many books and a toilet thats got a ceiling thats 6 feet 6 inches high.

But I ended up having an unexpected company to my penthouse toilet visits.

Her dog.

I am not new to dogs. I know them well enough. But I understand them only in a Master-Slave relation. I dont understand them as my peers.

This particular one grew up as a peer. 

First time, I encouraged this curious guide to show me around the penthouse. But the minute he claimed his ownership on my underwear and my towel, I started thinking otherwise.

For another strange reason, which probably only a dog (or another dog) can understand, he thought those ancient keys belonged to him.

As you can see, soon we developed a conflict of interest (or ownership).

Yesterday, he somehow sneaked into the penthouse and barked at me. Which I took very seriously as it is a direct challenge to my authority. I looked directly into his eyes and told him to get out. He didnt budge. Instead he 'grrrrr'ed again.

So, I slowly took my towel, like Rajani would wind his hanky before a big fight, tighthened it and released it straight in front of his face with a snap. It made big 'Phat' sound.

It startled him. Then I beat the chair with the towel to make a huge 'thud'.

I think he weighed his options. Then he simply ran out of the room.

Smart dog. I said out loud.

This morning when he heard me open the first door, he came running to join me. Surprisingly after I opened the third door, he calmly left.

So a marriage is not the sum average of simply the two, but also of the near and dear.