The day began and ended on a sad note. The two pups I had rescued died within hours of each other. It was a sad end to a fragile promise of life and companionship. Like most of the disasters of our times, the deaths were wrought about by human intervention.
Two suckling puppies were separated from their mother and abandoned near a drain, under the scorching summer sun. Won't think too much about the deaths, for it would cause more animosity towards my fellow human beings, who know not the essence of being human. Their deaths won't be noticed, their absence not missed.
Apart from the permanent separation after a few hours of companionship, again nothing momentous happened. Nothing, if I try not to think about the political churning and judicial activism that has become the order of the day. Not a single development manages to stir me. It's as if I have become insular to the world in general. The only solace was the ride back home. I stick to my present office as it gives me a relieving 40-odd kilometre journey home after a gruelling schedule in the newsroom. The ride somehow manages to calm me down, soothe the frayed nerves and offer time to think about the day gone by and the approaching possibilities.
Intend to watch a movie after reading a few chapters of 93. It's getting more interesting by the minute. Won't write anything about it now as, then, I would lose the incentive to write a detailed review. However, it must be said that the book is as good as Les Miserables. I think I would take up one of Naguib Mahfouz's books or Umberto Eco could be an option worth considering after finishing this. After reading The Name of the Rose and watching its namesake movie starring Sean Connery, I think Foucault's Pendulum could be a worthwhile read. Was discussing with some colleagues and they were suggesting either John Grisham or Robert Cook. I like them but somehow they don't feel like a real literary endeavour but an escape from the slow building and churning tomes, wherein introspection and course correction are the themes.
Sometimes I wonder whether all I readings I undertake and movies that I watch would amount to anything. Times are changing and along with them is taste. What was pivotal for a generation not too long ago is considered senile and frivolous now. The sentiments I encourage about being part of an epochal era might be similar to the delusions people before me laboured under. The momentous developments that overawe me would have had the same effect on generations of people before me and would have a similar influence on posterity. So, how are my times and world unique in any respect? I might join the long list of unknown and forgotten faces that staked claim to fame and importance for a short span of time before they were rendered incapable by the swift swing of fate. Obliterated without a trace.
An ominous thought to keep mind occupied throughout the day of mega build-ups and no-shows. Apart from these, this day of April passed as did the thousands many before it: unremarkably.