The fact that Mr. Frost finds a mention in this post is not because , the blog belongs to an English teacher. In fact, those who have been enduring me patiently, through most of the previous posts,will agree that my blogabulary bears no resemblance to that of an….any English teacher(coz people often ask me which subject I teach). An interesting discussion took place in class last year, when we took this poem up. Astonishingly a segment of students came up with a convincing argument about the fact, that Frost had actually regretted taking the road less travelled.(for more…read the complete poem)
Had Mr. Frost been around in Bangalore, in modern times, I’m sure he would have felt an urge to reword his poetry to
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
Took the one less travelled by
AND I NOW REGRET IT,COZ
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
THAT IT’S WISE TO TRAVEL
ONLY ON ROADS, OFTEN USED.
But reality is stranger, more perplexing and permanent than poetry. Sometimes the road we are about to choose, seems clear yet, one can’t see clearly at the end of the road and suddenly like a poor traveler one is worried, more about the destination ahead than the journey. And ,you hope that you had the luxury of not making a choice and following the beaten path.
Simply put, right now the new road…read job, I have willingly chosen, means a change of place (again), relocation for my family. If south Bangalore was suburb, then I will be living in the super suburbs, a hectic schedule, being on call 24x6 and teaching only boys in a residential school, working for a big big brand, being in the company of fellow faculty members, who have jaw dropping C.V’s and call some of India’s leading colleges their Alma matter, when you are welcomed with warmth that is startling, but genuine and to top it all, the lure of 3.5 months of unadulterated holidays .
I wish I had a fast forward button,to flash past life and see where the less travelled road ,that I have chosen, has led me.but then I forget,this is life and the only fast forward button I can control is that of the DVD player.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
This post is getting too poetic…too poetic for a blog or maybe it’s time to go back to school.
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