A couple of faces which looked like just out of college walked to the cooler where I was filling up. They were waiting behind me for their turn.
One told the other "Dude, I was busy all weekend arranging stuff for my grampa's 80th birthday. I still haven't bought a present for him. Any suggestions?"
The other nonchalantly says “Dude, get a coffin”.
I've never laughed so hard with strangers before!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Too Much
When you were a Kid, it was mom’s handmade sweets. You stole it, hid it from your parents and siblings and binged on it until your stomach gave in and you fell sick. In college it was the heady combo of youth, booze and irresponsibility. Now as an adult, you take as much of the good as you can get … because it doesn’t come around nearly as often as it should or as you would want. Cause good things aren’t always what they seem. Too much of anything, even the sublime is not a good thing.
How do you know how much is too much? Too much, too soon. Too much information. Too much fun. Too much love. Too much to ask. Too much to give. Too much pain. And when is it all just too much to bear?
The fantasy is simple. Pleasure is good, and twice as much pleasure is better. That pain is bad, and no pain is better. But the reality is different. The reality is that pain is there to tell us something, and there's only so much pleasure we can take without getting a stomach ache. And maybe that's okay. Maybe some fantasies are only supposed to be lived in our dreams where too much is just too good.
How do you know how much is too much? Too much, too soon. Too much information. Too much fun. Too much love. Too much to ask. Too much to give. Too much pain. And when is it all just too much to bear?
The fantasy is simple. Pleasure is good, and twice as much pleasure is better. That pain is bad, and no pain is better. But the reality is different. The reality is that pain is there to tell us something, and there's only so much pleasure we can take without getting a stomach ache. And maybe that's okay. Maybe some fantasies are only supposed to be lived in our dreams where too much is just too good.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Clockwork Orange
I travel 25kms north and back south everyday. I take the company’s generously given transport service (Did someone say that there are no free lunches?). Considering my time of travel and also the traffic, I do spend a lot of time commuting. Along the way, unless one is sleepy, there are a lot of things people do to kill time. Talk. Sense or Non-Sense, they need to talk. Joke. Bad or Worse, they (the elderly!) need to. Gossip. Fiction or Insane, they need to spread the word. (This considering that there are none from the fairer sex aboard which prompted a friend to call our cab “The Fag Express”). Music. iPod or Music Phone. Rock or Bhajan. When you are listening to loud music on your earplugs, it’s interesting to see two people converse without trying to lip read. It’s infact fascinating to see the myriad expressions of the human face and how the intricate movement of each facial muscle conveys a different sentiment.
But when you are not doing any of the above, you look out and observe. Or You think about things that you would have probably never thought about.
There are two guys filling up water from a cracked pipeline. Some would squirm at the very thought of regular filtered water. There are people walking on the road. There are vehicles on the footpath. A guy carries a bag to office. He never wore a bag to college. Some god's special day. There is a long cavalcade. They have seated god in a chariot and taking him around the city. God was bored being confined to the temple. The traffic is thrown awry. People’s hallelujah isn’t loud enough. So they are using loud speakers. Off late god isn't able to hear people's whisper.
It’s Independence Day. The tri-color is all over the place. They are beaming with immense sense of patriotism. They are spitting on a “don't spit here” sign and throwing garbage all around the waste bin except into it. IITs and IIMs were established to nurture the best brains for the service of the country. They are singing the star sprangled banner. Some one comes and says that he is making an affordable car for the common man. Elitism starts parading. Half of them are suddenly worried about the environment and the other half about congestion. They would not dare care about a common man’s dream. 'A' breaks a traffic rule and 'B' stares at him badly. 'B' had broken one yesterday and is going to break one tomorrow. This is the land of the Kama sutra. People look south when someone even mentions the dreaded 3 letter word. A lady is haggling saying that she will give only Rs.4/kg. The vendor had asked for Rs.5/kg. The same lady goes and spends thousands on a fancy dinner. It’s mid-winter. The traveler isn't settling for a non-AC bus. A nation of a billion people. One gold medal. Human eye has blind spots. Brains are not compensating. The limited vision is protecting us.
And all the while I thought strange things happened only in fictional books.
But when you are not doing any of the above, you look out and observe. Or You think about things that you would have probably never thought about.
There are two guys filling up water from a cracked pipeline. Some would squirm at the very thought of regular filtered water. There are people walking on the road. There are vehicles on the footpath. A guy carries a bag to office. He never wore a bag to college. Some god's special day. There is a long cavalcade. They have seated god in a chariot and taking him around the city. God was bored being confined to the temple. The traffic is thrown awry. People’s hallelujah isn’t loud enough. So they are using loud speakers. Off late god isn't able to hear people's whisper.
It’s Independence Day. The tri-color is all over the place. They are beaming with immense sense of patriotism. They are spitting on a “don't spit here” sign and throwing garbage all around the waste bin except into it. IITs and IIMs were established to nurture the best brains for the service of the country. They are singing the star sprangled banner. Some one comes and says that he is making an affordable car for the common man. Elitism starts parading. Half of them are suddenly worried about the environment and the other half about congestion. They would not dare care about a common man’s dream. 'A' breaks a traffic rule and 'B' stares at him badly. 'B' had broken one yesterday and is going to break one tomorrow. This is the land of the Kama sutra. People look south when someone even mentions the dreaded 3 letter word. A lady is haggling saying that she will give only Rs.4/kg. The vendor had asked for Rs.5/kg. The same lady goes and spends thousands on a fancy dinner. It’s mid-winter. The traveler isn't settling for a non-AC bus. A nation of a billion people. One gold medal. Human eye has blind spots. Brains are not compensating. The limited vision is protecting us.
And all the while I thought strange things happened only in fictional books.
Monday, March 09, 2009
The Beauty And The Beast
A long time ago, there was this boy. And there was this girl. No! I'm not going to tell you a boy-meets-girl story. It’s slightly different. But they did meet.
The boy was a li'l too hotshot for the girl. She was the 'girl-next-door' types. They became friends. The girl started having feelings for him. She liked him. But the boy never noticed. He was too hung up with the girls in his "league".
She did a lot of stuff for him. When he would miss class, she would bring him the notes. When there was no seat in the auditorium, she would give up her own. When it would rain she would give up her umbrella by lying to the boy that she has another. When there were any classes cancelled, she would inform by giving a call.
Once when they had went on an excursion, the boy was reserving a seat besides him for a girl of his "league". When the girl (girl-next-door) saw that the boy was reserving a seat besides him, she mistook that it was for her and tries to sit. In a spontaneous reaction the boy shoves the girl aside saying that it’s not for her.
The girl was crestfallen. It looked like she would cry. She just walked away. She was never the same with him again. He had failed to "see" her.
The beauty had "killed" the beast.
A few years ago, there was this same boy again. And there was this other girl. As you would have guessed by the drift of the story, this time around the girl was li'l too hotshot for the boy.
They were pretty good friends. The boy liked her. But the girl didn't consider him to be in her "league". He did stuff for her. He helped her prepare her reports. When she would be in town for work, he would take her around. He would help her in procuring notes. He helped her in her studies. He even overlooked his close friends because they were not too "fanatical" about her. Most of all, he was not what he really was.
Once he was going to meet her after a long time. He dressed up well. Picked up flowers for her. On his way to meet her it started to rain. Undeterred, he rode in the rain just to see her for a few minutes from one end of the city to the other. He thought it would be all worth it. He saw her and ran towards her and closed her eyes from behind. She just did not react the way he wanted her to. She did not even ask how he was doing. Rather she went on asking for things that he could help her with. He was crushed. Even after all that years she just didn't "see" him the way he wanted her to.
Yet again, the beauty had "killed" the beast.
What went around had come around.
We all have been the "beauty" or the "beast" at one point or the other. It’s always tough for the beauty to accept the beast. But the point is beauty doesn't have to accept the beast. All it takes is a little appreciation, little gratitude and a little love to say that you care for all that has been done to you.
We live such complicated lives. Sometimes we fail to notice the small things. And sometimes we even fail to notice big things. Because not all wounds are superficial. Most wounds run deeper than we can imagine, you can’t see them with the naked eye and so sometimes they take us by surprise. But the trick with any kind of wound is to dig down and find the real source of the injury, and once you've found it, try like hell to heal it, try to keep the beast “alive”.
The boy was a li'l too hotshot for the girl. She was the 'girl-next-door' types. They became friends. The girl started having feelings for him. She liked him. But the boy never noticed. He was too hung up with the girls in his "league".
She did a lot of stuff for him. When he would miss class, she would bring him the notes. When there was no seat in the auditorium, she would give up her own. When it would rain she would give up her umbrella by lying to the boy that she has another. When there were any classes cancelled, she would inform by giving a call.
Once when they had went on an excursion, the boy was reserving a seat besides him for a girl of his "league". When the girl (girl-next-door) saw that the boy was reserving a seat besides him, she mistook that it was for her and tries to sit. In a spontaneous reaction the boy shoves the girl aside saying that it’s not for her.
The girl was crestfallen. It looked like she would cry. She just walked away. She was never the same with him again. He had failed to "see" her.
The beauty had "killed" the beast.
A few years ago, there was this same boy again. And there was this other girl. As you would have guessed by the drift of the story, this time around the girl was li'l too hotshot for the boy.
They were pretty good friends. The boy liked her. But the girl didn't consider him to be in her "league". He did stuff for her. He helped her prepare her reports. When she would be in town for work, he would take her around. He would help her in procuring notes. He helped her in her studies. He even overlooked his close friends because they were not too "fanatical" about her. Most of all, he was not what he really was.
Once he was going to meet her after a long time. He dressed up well. Picked up flowers for her. On his way to meet her it started to rain. Undeterred, he rode in the rain just to see her for a few minutes from one end of the city to the other. He thought it would be all worth it. He saw her and ran towards her and closed her eyes from behind. She just did not react the way he wanted her to. She did not even ask how he was doing. Rather she went on asking for things that he could help her with. He was crushed. Even after all that years she just didn't "see" him the way he wanted her to.
Yet again, the beauty had "killed" the beast.
What went around had come around.
We all have been the "beauty" or the "beast" at one point or the other. It’s always tough for the beauty to accept the beast. But the point is beauty doesn't have to accept the beast. All it takes is a little appreciation, little gratitude and a little love to say that you care for all that has been done to you.
We live such complicated lives. Sometimes we fail to notice the small things. And sometimes we even fail to notice big things. Because not all wounds are superficial. Most wounds run deeper than we can imagine, you can’t see them with the naked eye and so sometimes they take us by surprise. But the trick with any kind of wound is to dig down and find the real source of the injury, and once you've found it, try like hell to heal it, try to keep the beast “alive”.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The 7th Capital Vice
Overturned the tuner and busted a radio. Smashed a TV screen. Broke a door. A stone was flighted and a skull was cracked. Broke a shuttle racquet and a bone while at it. Flunked a test. Smashed my spectacles. Kicked at a bi-cycle and broke its mud guard. Hammered a bike's petrol
tank and caused a dent. Used never before used words in a letter. Hit a face and got one back as a souvenir. Next time got one for free. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned", it seems.
The root cause of all the above is same. Anger.
Every-time my ears went red, I just crashed and burned. Anger is associated with a demon no less than the Satan himself. So you can fathom its destruction.
Growing up, we are taught that there are seven deadly sins. We all know the big ones... gluttony, pride, lust. But the thing you don't hear much about is anger. Maybe it's because we think anger is not that dangerous, that you can control it. We think its ok to be angry sometimes. We even think that it must have not even made the cut, when a list of the cardinal sins was made!
But the point is, maybe we don't give anger enough credit. As far as I’ve known of it, it can be a lot more dangerous than we think. After all when it comes to destructive behavior, it did make the top seven. Maybe as a venial sin, but it did make it. So what makes anger different from the six other deadly sins? It's pretty simple really, you give into a sin like envy or pride and you only hurt yourself. Try lust or coveting and you'll only hurt yourself and one or two others. But anger, anger is the worst... the mother of all sins... Not only can anger drive you over the edge, when it does, you can take an awful lot of people with you.
So clearly, Anger is underrated.
John Mirk asks men to "consider how angels flee before them and fiends run toward him to burn him with hellfire." Simply put, the next time you are at the breaking point, think what your action can cost. Or maybe think of Homer J Simpson, Like I do!
tank and caused a dent. Used never before used words in a letter. Hit a face and got one back as a souvenir. Next time got one for free. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned", it seems.
The root cause of all the above is same. Anger.
Every-time my ears went red, I just crashed and burned. Anger is associated with a demon no less than the Satan himself. So you can fathom its destruction.
Growing up, we are taught that there are seven deadly sins. We all know the big ones... gluttony, pride, lust. But the thing you don't hear much about is anger. Maybe it's because we think anger is not that dangerous, that you can control it. We think its ok to be angry sometimes. We even think that it must have not even made the cut, when a list of the cardinal sins was made!
But the point is, maybe we don't give anger enough credit. As far as I’ve known of it, it can be a lot more dangerous than we think. After all when it comes to destructive behavior, it did make the top seven. Maybe as a venial sin, but it did make it. So what makes anger different from the six other deadly sins? It's pretty simple really, you give into a sin like envy or pride and you only hurt yourself. Try lust or coveting and you'll only hurt yourself and one or two others. But anger, anger is the worst... the mother of all sins... Not only can anger drive you over the edge, when it does, you can take an awful lot of people with you.
So clearly, Anger is underrated.
John Mirk asks men to "consider how angels flee before them and fiends run toward him to burn him with hellfire." Simply put, the next time you are at the breaking point, think what your action can cost. Or maybe think of Homer J Simpson, Like I do!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
If Tomorrow Never Comes
A couple of hundred years ago, Benjamin Franklin shared with the world the secret of his success. Never leave that till tomorrow, he said, which you can do today. This is the man who discovered electricity. You think more people would listen to what he had to say. Well, not really!
I for one, is guity of this. Ever since I got my senses going (not too long ago), I've been putting off doing things at the "right" time, only to regret later. There would be one or the other trivial excuse for it. Right from not enough ink in the pen to not the "appropriate" time.
I don't know why we put things off, but if I had to guess, I'd have to say it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, sometimes the fear is just of making a decision, because what if you're wrong? What if you're making a mistake you can't undo?
The early bird catches the worm. A stitch in time saves nine. He who hesitates is lost. We can't pretend we hadn't been told these. We've all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, heard the damn poets urging us to seize the day.
Having said that, still sometimes we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today's possibility under tomorrow's rug until we can't anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves what Benjamin Franklin really meant. That knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping, and even the biggest failure, even the worst, beat the hell out of never trying.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Midnight Philosophy
Her: I was reading your post. It's true right. God is within us. In all the good we think and feel, if not do. In retrospection, I have never thought badly about anyone or anything. Maybe I would have hurt so many by my own perception of good which in their perception would have looked bad.
It's also said that good people deserve good things. Take the case of your friend X. She is a good girl right, who used to take care of u, who is always been there for you, even you are there for her whenever she needs you. Then why is it that good people like her don’t get a good person. A million times I have felt that what I want for myself is right in front of me. But there are so many reasons stopping me from getting that. Again, is this what 'Our God' wants for us? Coz if we believed it totally that everything was in our hands, then I could have got what I wanted without having to think about my fate not wanting it, without having to become one more X, who will call you in the middle of the night and crib about her life.
Him: As I understand it, Life is not perfect. We strive for perfections with all our imperfections. Good people deserve good things has always been very esoteric to me.
You might know the kind of person u want is right in front of you. You maybe right u maybe wrong. It’s not the end of all to have a good life.
According to me, in such cases, if its meant to be and want it as badly as the other person, it will come around. Otherwise its just not meant to be, this is what I tell myself at least. If only everything turned out as we expected it to be, it wouldn't be Life. It would be very mundane.
Two people can be very good friends but they can't necessarily be a good couple. I feel.so, I'm not saying it can never happen. There is no guarantee that one way or the other it would be beautiful or misery.
Be happy. Take things as they come. Don't compare. Everyone has his own beauty. Explore it. And you will have a good life. But I do hope you would call me. Not midnight though.
Her: Why does it happen that when fate comes to you, you reject it? And when you want it, fate rejects you?
Him: I'm not a big philosopher or an 80 yr old' to answer this convincingly. But from whatever li'l I understand…
The system is designed in such a way that when something comes there is no sign that he/she/it is the one. We might think that it is the one and cling to it or put it aside n move on. That's the beauty of life, if we knew everything from the back of the hand, the purpose would be lost.
You are never on your own. You are dictated by situations, bound by commitments, or in some case u just don't see it. So you really can't blame yourself for looking the other way.
Learn to smile at these things. Don't worry what you lost. Look at what you gained.
I hope I made some sense.
It's also said that good people deserve good things. Take the case of your friend X. She is a good girl right, who used to take care of u, who is always been there for you, even you are there for her whenever she needs you. Then why is it that good people like her don’t get a good person. A million times I have felt that what I want for myself is right in front of me. But there are so many reasons stopping me from getting that. Again, is this what 'Our God' wants for us? Coz if we believed it totally that everything was in our hands, then I could have got what I wanted without having to think about my fate not wanting it, without having to become one more X, who will call you in the middle of the night and crib about her life.
Him: As I understand it, Life is not perfect. We strive for perfections with all our imperfections. Good people deserve good things has always been very esoteric to me.
You might know the kind of person u want is right in front of you. You maybe right u maybe wrong. It’s not the end of all to have a good life.
According to me, in such cases, if its meant to be and want it as badly as the other person, it will come around. Otherwise its just not meant to be, this is what I tell myself at least. If only everything turned out as we expected it to be, it wouldn't be Life. It would be very mundane.
Two people can be very good friends but they can't necessarily be a good couple. I feel.so, I'm not saying it can never happen. There is no guarantee that one way or the other it would be beautiful or misery.
Be happy. Take things as they come. Don't compare. Everyone has his own beauty. Explore it. And you will have a good life. But I do hope you would call me. Not midnight though.
Her: Why does it happen that when fate comes to you, you reject it? And when you want it, fate rejects you?
Him: I'm not a big philosopher or an 80 yr old' to answer this convincingly. But from whatever li'l I understand…
The system is designed in such a way that when something comes there is no sign that he/she/it is the one. We might think that it is the one and cling to it or put it aside n move on. That's the beauty of life, if we knew everything from the back of the hand, the purpose would be lost.
You are never on your own. You are dictated by situations, bound by commitments, or in some case u just don't see it. So you really can't blame yourself for looking the other way.
Learn to smile at these things. Don't worry what you lost. Look at what you gained.
I hope I made some sense.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Old Joy
One of the ways of idling away a wintery night is to sink under a quilt, look out into the dark and reminisce the past. The childhood.
Then what actually sets in is a sense of what the romantics called the Sublime: getting lost in the years of wonder, a surrender of the self.
Quite strangely the thoughts "wander" chronologically. It starts with the times of playing cricket on the road, breaking the neighbor’s window panes. Running out in the middle of the game to watch Mithun da's action flick on doordarshan. The sheer joy of watching Tales Pin and Duck Tales on sunday mornings. Getting up at 3AM to watch cricket matches. Running back home breathlessly after school to watch the dying moments of a cricket match.
Waiting for dad to come home on a Friday evening with the new edition of the sportstar. It was actually the center-fold poster that aroused the curiosity. Reading all those Tinkles and Tintins. The rides on dad's scooter. The excitement of going out to eat Masala Dosa. Buying 10 shunti peppermints with 50 paisa on the way to the school.
Renting a VCP for a day and try squeezing in as many movies as possible. Two Raj Kumar movies for the old. Two Van Damme movies for the young. Watching Jackie Chan movies for 10 rupees at a nearby theatre.
Matching the color of the eraser, pencil, scale and other paraphernalia with that of the cute girl who sat next to you in the classroom. Fixing the class quizzes so that you look like a real smart ass to the cute girl.
Making the 5 fold paper planes with the math notes at the end of the academic year. Stripping the notebooks off their hardbound and constructing houses with them. Eventually bringing down the house by "directing" an action sequence where the hot wheel scar swirls out of control and smashes into the house.
Waiting for mom and dad to go out for groceries so that we can loot the eatables and conduct our cricket "world cup" played with the rolled up paper ball and the pencil case which served as a bat. We made sure India won most of the world cups.
Hitting a tire around. Playing cop and thief with the tires. Flaunting the bicycle. Taking it for a walk. Cycling to school. Cycling back home in record time. Watering the plants. Letting a paper boat sail in the drains and running behind it.
Working on projects like designing a missile launcher with a wood plank and 3 nails. Launching the missiles into the neighbor's garden. Testing the range of those. Redesigning to achieve a longer range.
Sending postcards with questions to 'Tinkle Tells You Why'. Waiting for the trinn of the postman's bicycle hoping that he would bring news of us winning some prizes.
Hanging out with your best friend and discussing the adventures of superman. Wondering whether there is superman's dress available in the market which would make us super. Trying to do a Tarzan and breaking my left arm, while the best friend runs away from there.
And it doesn’t end at this.
15 years since the last memory of the innocent past. Things have gone topsy-turvy. There is no more beauty in minimalistic things. Wants have become very materialistic.
There is a kind of inherent queasiness to revisiting a dormant friendship. You try to rekindle the bond but eventually it becomes clear that time elapsed is not the only roadblock standing between estranged friends.
The old joy is all the blissful joy there ever was.
Then what actually sets in is a sense of what the romantics called the Sublime: getting lost in the years of wonder, a surrender of the self.
Quite strangely the thoughts "wander" chronologically. It starts with the times of playing cricket on the road, breaking the neighbor’s window panes. Running out in the middle of the game to watch Mithun da's action flick on doordarshan. The sheer joy of watching Tales Pin and Duck Tales on sunday mornings. Getting up at 3AM to watch cricket matches. Running back home breathlessly after school to watch the dying moments of a cricket match.
Waiting for dad to come home on a Friday evening with the new edition of the sportstar. It was actually the center-fold poster that aroused the curiosity. Reading all those Tinkles and Tintins. The rides on dad's scooter. The excitement of going out to eat Masala Dosa. Buying 10 shunti peppermints with 50 paisa on the way to the school.
Renting a VCP for a day and try squeezing in as many movies as possible. Two Raj Kumar movies for the old. Two Van Damme movies for the young. Watching Jackie Chan movies for 10 rupees at a nearby theatre.
Matching the color of the eraser, pencil, scale and other paraphernalia with that of the cute girl who sat next to you in the classroom. Fixing the class quizzes so that you look like a real smart ass to the cute girl.
Making the 5 fold paper planes with the math notes at the end of the academic year. Stripping the notebooks off their hardbound and constructing houses with them. Eventually bringing down the house by "directing" an action sequence where the hot wheel scar swirls out of control and smashes into the house.
Waiting for mom and dad to go out for groceries so that we can loot the eatables and conduct our cricket "world cup" played with the rolled up paper ball and the pencil case which served as a bat. We made sure India won most of the world cups.
Hitting a tire around. Playing cop and thief with the tires. Flaunting the bicycle. Taking it for a walk. Cycling to school. Cycling back home in record time. Watering the plants. Letting a paper boat sail in the drains and running behind it.
Working on projects like designing a missile launcher with a wood plank and 3 nails. Launching the missiles into the neighbor's garden. Testing the range of those. Redesigning to achieve a longer range.
Sending postcards with questions to 'Tinkle Tells You Why'. Waiting for the trinn of the postman's bicycle hoping that he would bring news of us winning some prizes.
Hanging out with your best friend and discussing the adventures of superman. Wondering whether there is superman's dress available in the market which would make us super. Trying to do a Tarzan and breaking my left arm, while the best friend runs away from there.
And it doesn’t end at this.
15 years since the last memory of the innocent past. Things have gone topsy-turvy. There is no more beauty in minimalistic things. Wants have become very materialistic.
There is a kind of inherent queasiness to revisiting a dormant friendship. You try to rekindle the bond but eventually it becomes clear that time elapsed is not the only roadblock standing between estranged friends.
The old joy is all the blissful joy there ever was.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Quarter-life Crisis
The other day, one of my friends turned a year older into the later half of the 20s. I happily welcomed into the club and we discussed how life would get into muck from here on.
As a follow-up, a couple of days later he sent a forward which pretty much echoed the travails of being over the hill. (I feel over 25 is over the hill!)
You look at your job... and it is not even close to what you thought you would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you. Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and are constantly adding things to your list of what is acceptable and what isn't. One minute, you are insecure and then the next, secure.
You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly, change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life, but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away, and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.
You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person. You want to settle down for good because now all of a sudden that becomes top priority. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You begin to think a companion for life is better than a hundred in the shack and for once you would not mind standing tall for that special someone which otherwise you had never thought of until now. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!
What you may not realize is that every one reading this relates to it.We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out.
We call it the "Quarter-life Crisis".
P.S. I hope there wouldn't be a sequel to this, the Mid-life Crisis !
As a follow-up, a couple of days later he sent a forward which pretty much echoed the travails of being over the hill. (I feel over 25 is over the hill!)
You look at your job... and it is not even close to what you thought you would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you. Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and are constantly adding things to your list of what is acceptable and what isn't. One minute, you are insecure and then the next, secure.
You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly, change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life, but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away, and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.
You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person. You want to settle down for good because now all of a sudden that becomes top priority. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You begin to think a companion for life is better than a hundred in the shack and for once you would not mind standing tall for that special someone which otherwise you had never thought of until now. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!
What you may not realize is that every one reading this relates to it.We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out.
We call it the "Quarter-life Crisis".
P.S. I hope there wouldn't be a sequel to this, the Mid-life Crisis !
Monday, July 14, 2008
Lesson of Life
Learning is an imperative part of life. And it never ceases. You learn about friendship, love and sometimes about life in general. You learn from various avenues. Sometimes from friends, parents and sometimes from yourself and sometimes even from absolute strangers.
I once learnt something about relationships from a stranger in a very subtle, implicit way. Cut to a few years, when I was still in college, one of close friend's b'day was due. So I went to a gift shop along with a few other friends to get a present. We chose something and handed over the gift to the shopkeeper to wrap it. The lady shopkeeper came over to us with a few wrapping papers asking us to choose one. The friends that had come along were looking at the covers and deliberating which one to choose. Looking at their confused faces, I told them "just choose some paper; it’s just for S anyways". The lady shopkeeper who heard this quipped "That's the mistake we often make" with a soft smile on her face. I looked at her blankly and went out. I didn't read much into it as it didn't make much sense to me then.
Later, I realized the meaning in the words of that lady. We often take people who are very close to us for granted thinking that they would understand. We fail to express our feelings thinking that they know how we feel about them. We fail to appreciate their good gestures to us thinking that it is expected from them.
That's the mistake we all often make. It’s very important to express our feelings with our close ones from time to time and at any given opportunity, because sometimes it’s just too late and we end up losing them.
As Jack Nicholson says in the movie, 'About Schmidt': Learn to appreciate what you have while you still have it.
Monday, May 05, 2008
A Midsummer Night's Dream
I Dream. Its Surreal. I experience something Surreal. Its not a Dream.
Nature has a way of expressing itself. Be it its fury or beauty. Either of it leaves us in awe.
Its almost midnight. There is no electricity. The Moon is in crescent and looks like its smiling. There is a deafening silence for a second. In the next second, there is a pleasant sound. Its of the softly blowing wind and the rustling of fallen leaves. The trees are swaying rhythmically. The plants have a very subtle movement.
I see a window. There is a girl standing. I'm not alone, anymore. She seems to be playing hide- n-seek with the drapes which are moved around by the wind.
I get to the window. The breeze runs through my body. Its the softest embrace ever.
Each and every detail of the night is meticulous. Looks like the nature is conducting an orchestra. Its harmonious. Its beautiful.
I hope the night would stay.
Nature has a way of expressing itself. Be it its fury or beauty. Either of it leaves us in awe.
Its almost midnight. There is no electricity. The Moon is in crescent and looks like its smiling. There is a deafening silence for a second. In the next second, there is a pleasant sound. Its of the softly blowing wind and the rustling of fallen leaves. The trees are swaying rhythmically. The plants have a very subtle movement.
I see a window. There is a girl standing. I'm not alone, anymore. She seems to be playing hide- n-seek with the drapes which are moved around by the wind.
I get to the window. The breeze runs through my body. Its the softest embrace ever.
Each and every detail of the night is meticulous. Looks like the nature is conducting an orchestra. Its harmonious. Its beautiful.
I hope the night would stay.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Poetry, In Motion
So far, I've had some good days. I've had some bad days. During the bad ones I've retorted to different things at different points of time. Sometimes it would be music. Sometimes it would be writing. And a lot of times "looking" into myself.
In the recent past, I've a new found interest in poetry. Yes, you read it right!
Poetry stuck a chord with me when I was listening to a U2 song which had some beautiful lines at the end. It was actually form a lovely poem penned by Rushdie.
Galvanized by this power of phrase and conversations with a friend who is "qualified" to speak about it, I've started exploring poets from the times of the "Romantic Movement" like Keats to the 20th century like Frost.
The beauty of poetry is it can be interpreted in 100 different ways by 100 different people. For example, white is interpreted as death personified by one and could be interpreted as the a symbol of peace by the other. Of course, sometimes its contextual.
Most of the poets start very young. Like Keats, who wrote most of his significant poems even before he was 24! Truly, "a thing of beauty is a joy forever". And his greatest ambition was to be "among the English Poets".
Let me quote a couple of lines from one of my favorites of Blake, The Chimney Sweeper.
And because I am happy & dance & sing, They think they have done me no injury.
I wonder where they draw their inspiration from. Is it their power of observation or introspection or were they just born to write?
Reading some of the poems of Keats, Blake et al, I'm startled by their power to move me, at my own amazement in the presence of their intelligence, craft and charm.
In the recent past, I've a new found interest in poetry. Yes, you read it right!
Poetry stuck a chord with me when I was listening to a U2 song which had some beautiful lines at the end. It was actually form a lovely poem penned by Rushdie.
Galvanized by this power of phrase and conversations with a friend who is "qualified" to speak about it, I've started exploring poets from the times of the "Romantic Movement" like Keats to the 20th century like Frost.
The beauty of poetry is it can be interpreted in 100 different ways by 100 different people. For example, white is interpreted as death personified by one and could be interpreted as the a symbol of peace by the other. Of course, sometimes its contextual.
Most of the poets start very young. Like Keats, who wrote most of his significant poems even before he was 24! Truly, "a thing of beauty is a joy forever". And his greatest ambition was to be "among the English Poets".
Let me quote a couple of lines from one of my favorites of Blake, The Chimney Sweeper.
And because I am happy & dance & sing, They think they have done me no injury.
I wonder where they draw their inspiration from. Is it their power of observation or introspection or were they just born to write?
Reading some of the poems of Keats, Blake et al, I'm startled by their power to move me, at my own amazement in the presence of their intelligence, craft and charm.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The Simple Truth
I’ve been watching a lot of “Indie” films off late, under the influence of my brother. One of the recent ones that I watched was “2 Days in Paris”.
Succinctly, the movie is about a NY based couple (Marion and Jack) trying to rekindle their relationship with a visit to Paris, home of Marion’s parents and several of her ex-boyfriends! I found it as a smart and funny respite from most of the romantic comedies that I have watched in recent times and certainly grows on my love for movies with narrations. Adam Goldberg is at his quirky best and Julie Delpy doesn’t fail to impress on her directorial debut.
Although the movie is funny throughout, it has a very emotional and riveting ending. The closing narration by Marion about aging, loneliness and love brings out the dark and true aspects of the human life.
Marion: It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that it’s over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses.
I feel, you might be with a person for 2 years or 20 years. But, in the end, it’s all about how you feel about it. You either want it or not. Plain and Simple.
Succinctly, the movie is about a NY based couple (Marion and Jack) trying to rekindle their relationship with a visit to Paris, home of Marion’s parents and several of her ex-boyfriends! I found it as a smart and funny respite from most of the romantic comedies that I have watched in recent times and certainly grows on my love for movies with narrations. Adam Goldberg is at his quirky best and Julie Delpy doesn’t fail to impress on her directorial debut.
Although the movie is funny throughout, it has a very emotional and riveting ending. The closing narration by Marion about aging, loneliness and love brings out the dark and true aspects of the human life.
Marion: It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that it’s over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses.
I feel, you might be with a person for 2 years or 20 years. But, in the end, it’s all about how you feel about it. You either want it or not. Plain and Simple.
Monday, January 28, 2008
When 2 become 1
They say, In the mathematics of Love, one plus one remains one. And how true is that!
Two of my best friends took another step closer to the holy matrimony. It was a sheer pleasure to be around to witness it. It felt good or rather great to see them together, taking their 6 years of courtship towards the most fitting conclusion.
She stood there, decked up to see her dreams fall into place. He stood there, decked up and all ready to steer the relationship into its next turn. And we stood there witnessing the, friendship set to music:Love.
I've known them separately and I've known them together. And I whole heartedly feel that they wouldn't have found anyone more perfect for each other than themselves. Rhetorically speaking, they are just "made for each other". It brings great joy to see them taking owes to spend their rest of lives together.
When I say they are perfect for each other, it not without reason. They have very special qualities distinct to each other. Yet they manage to pull it off since they complement each other so well.
I wish them all the very best for all their endeavors. Salute!
And for the rest of us its still, "Its better to have loved and lost...."
Two of my best friends took another step closer to the holy matrimony. It was a sheer pleasure to be around to witness it. It felt good or rather great to see them together, taking their 6 years of courtship towards the most fitting conclusion.
She stood there, decked up to see her dreams fall into place. He stood there, decked up and all ready to steer the relationship into its next turn. And we stood there witnessing the, friendship set to music:Love.
I've known them separately and I've known them together. And I whole heartedly feel that they wouldn't have found anyone more perfect for each other than themselves. Rhetorically speaking, they are just "made for each other". It brings great joy to see them taking owes to spend their rest of lives together.
When I say they are perfect for each other, it not without reason. They have very special qualities distinct to each other. Yet they manage to pull it off since they complement each other so well.
I wish them all the very best for all their endeavors. Salute!
And for the rest of us its still, "Its better to have loved and lost...."
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Blink
Its 12. Midnight. I come home. Jaded. I serve my supper. Turn on the notebook. Actually to feed the mp3 player. Turn on a movie to accompany supper. Freedom Writers. Never heard of it. Hillary Swank is in it. Not surprised! Looks like a shot at the Oscars. Race fight is on in a University. Oh, not another movie. Supper done. Exit the movie. The mp3 player is fed too. Switched off with a slide (yeah, its a 'Touch'). Switch to the tabloids. An article on fitness. Milind Soman is a demi god. Another tabloid. Vikram Pandit handling the reigns of a 200 year ol' company. Sense of pride. Yet another tabloid. India is a hilarious country with no sense of humor. Interesting. Screen saver kicks in the notebook. Milky way. Giant Jupiter. Saturn rings. Moon with its imperfections. Mother Earth. Blue. Just a dot in the scheme of things. Zephyr. Darkness. Outside. Inside. Introspection. Pink Floyd. Roger Waters. Hey you. Cry for help. Miss her. Snap back to reality. 6AM not far away. Eyes fold. Dreams. Cryptic.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Catcher In The Rye - A Redux
J.D. Salinger's other fiction might be largely unread, but Catcher in the Rye starring Holden Caulfield has managed to fascinate one generation of adolescents after another for a half-century and counting.
Interesting that Iam writing about this book after a long time that I’ve actually read it. Well, it was triggered when conversing with a friend and some spare time at office.
This book has been one of the most frequently challenged by would-be book banners, and one of the most misunderstood books of the 20th century. The renowned book probably has posted higher sales figures than any other serious American novel; this is as true now, at a time when it clips along at a brisk 250,000 copies a year, as it was when it appeared in 1951.
What accounts for The Catcher in the Rye's phenomenal success? No doubt it has something to do with the way that young readers identify with Holden Caulfield, the novel's confused, desperate, funny and ultimately lovable protagonist. In his war against everything that is phony and sad, he provides an etiquette book for those who see themselves reflected in his doomed situation and a point of reference for those who have, for better or worse, moved beyond the pains of adolescence to those of adulthood.
To summarize the plotline, Holden Caulfield about to be kicked out of yet another boarding school for flunking most of his courses, decides not to wait until the end of term, and takes off for his hometown, Manhattan, a few days early. He figures he'll hole up in a cheap hotel, look up a few friends, and then arrive home on time. But Holden is deeply troubled, by the death of his beloved younger brother from leukemia, as well as the suicide of a classmate and alone in an uncaring city his already fragile psyche begins to unravel.
The book has been challenged and banned for many reasons over the years in the content advisories, though by today's standards it might not even merit a PG-13 if it were a movie (and, oddly for a book this popular, it has never been filmed). But those who challenge it, fail to see the forest for the little swearword trees. They have called Holden a cynical teenager, when in fact he is such a compassionate innocent individual, that he can hardly cope with the cynical world: so innocent and so alone that he tries to get a prostitute to just chat and keep him company! Desperately lonely, adrift in what seems to him an uncaring world, he has been through some terrible experiences and no one at all seems to have noticed that he is crumbling. This explains his emotional outbursts, cynicism and poignancy.
When you are through with the book, Salinger’s genius comes through. Considering the book was written in 1951, when "teen" and "adolescent" were barely concepts in the American mind, Salinger captured the adolescent voice and way of thinking more perfectly, and more poignantly, than just about anyone before or since. Holden Caulfield holds a place in the adolescent psyche as an exquisitely rendered character with whom nearly anyone can identify.
This is an excerpt from the book, where Holden’s imagines him to be doing something that really likes because it’s sans any “phoniness” that he has come across in his life, so often.
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around -- nobody big, I mean -- except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff -- I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going. I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.”
Catcher In The Rye, is truly, a Masterpiece.
Interesting that Iam writing about this book after a long time that I’ve actually read it. Well, it was triggered when conversing with a friend and some spare time at office.
This book has been one of the most frequently challenged by would-be book banners, and one of the most misunderstood books of the 20th century. The renowned book probably has posted higher sales figures than any other serious American novel; this is as true now, at a time when it clips along at a brisk 250,000 copies a year, as it was when it appeared in 1951.
What accounts for The Catcher in the Rye's phenomenal success? No doubt it has something to do with the way that young readers identify with Holden Caulfield, the novel's confused, desperate, funny and ultimately lovable protagonist. In his war against everything that is phony and sad, he provides an etiquette book for those who see themselves reflected in his doomed situation and a point of reference for those who have, for better or worse, moved beyond the pains of adolescence to those of adulthood.
To summarize the plotline, Holden Caulfield about to be kicked out of yet another boarding school for flunking most of his courses, decides not to wait until the end of term, and takes off for his hometown, Manhattan, a few days early. He figures he'll hole up in a cheap hotel, look up a few friends, and then arrive home on time. But Holden is deeply troubled, by the death of his beloved younger brother from leukemia, as well as the suicide of a classmate and alone in an uncaring city his already fragile psyche begins to unravel.
The book has been challenged and banned for many reasons over the years in the content advisories, though by today's standards it might not even merit a PG-13 if it were a movie (and, oddly for a book this popular, it has never been filmed). But those who challenge it, fail to see the forest for the little swearword trees. They have called Holden a cynical teenager, when in fact he is such a compassionate innocent individual, that he can hardly cope with the cynical world: so innocent and so alone that he tries to get a prostitute to just chat and keep him company! Desperately lonely, adrift in what seems to him an uncaring world, he has been through some terrible experiences and no one at all seems to have noticed that he is crumbling. This explains his emotional outbursts, cynicism and poignancy.
When you are through with the book, Salinger’s genius comes through. Considering the book was written in 1951, when "teen" and "adolescent" were barely concepts in the American mind, Salinger captured the adolescent voice and way of thinking more perfectly, and more poignantly, than just about anyone before or since. Holden Caulfield holds a place in the adolescent psyche as an exquisitely rendered character with whom nearly anyone can identify.
This is an excerpt from the book, where Holden’s imagines him to be doing something that really likes because it’s sans any “phoniness” that he has come across in his life, so often.
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around -- nobody big, I mean -- except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff -- I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going. I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.”
Catcher In The Rye, is truly, a Masterpiece.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Lessons from 'The Boss'
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band held a concert recently at Madison Square Garden in New York City.
Analyze this. Boss, as Bruce Springsteen is popularly known, a 58 year old singer gives you an impressive management lesson on how the best in the business can stay intimately connected to their market. Watching him perform makes you draw a parallel to a venerable aging brand (think GE, IBM, and Chevy) with a huge, rabidly loyal customer base and how they can keep getting better.
In between dancing and singing and shouting and cheering, if you pay attention there are few corporate lessons in there.
Never let your customers rest. When Springsteen performs, most of his songs end like this: "1-2-3-4!" That's because he's starting the next song before the current one has even ended. The Boss continually races to the back of the stage to change guitars, so there's no lull in the cadence of the show. In the audience, nobody sits down or gets a breather until the man on stage decides it's time. By keeping the crowd on its toes, the band keeps demand at a fever pitch -- kind of the way Apple does, with its rapid flow of new gizmos pushing older products out of the way. But with way better buzz.
Innovate. Springsteen is brilliant at expanding his brand image without ever shifting his center of gravity. His songs rarely stray from rock-'n'-roll territory, but at the Garden, he enriched the familiar with fiddles and other folksy touches. One standout song was "Reason to Believe" -- an old ballad completely reimagined as a harder-edged blues riff. Springsteen's knack for turning old material into something completely new seems like a magic touch compared with all the lame efforts to create hip, modern variations of old TV shows or movies. Instead of copying success, he creates it all over again.
Give the people what they want. Experiments get a more welcome reception when mingled with something familiar. Throughout the show, Springsteen deftly blended unembellished hits such as "Badlands" and "Born to Run," performed pretty much the way everybody knows them, with darker, topical music; after appeasing his conscience, he quickly reverted to happier songs such as "The Promised Land" (irony intended, I presume) and "Dancing in the Dark." The result: His message of protest got across without turning anybody off.
Share credit. There's been a lot of hype about Springsteen reuniting with his famed E Street Band for the first full tour since 2003, but come on -- Springsteen, the man, is the draw, pure and simple. Still, this is one maestro who spreads the glory across the stage. Not once during the show does a spotlight shine on Springsteen alone. He continually calls out "Steve," "Clarence" and the other band members. And when they bow at the end, they bow together. It's a pretty neat marketing trick to create a cult of personality around somebody known for humility. Quick -- can anyone name a CEO able to pull that off?
Set expectations. Then reset them. And reset them. And . . . The Garden concert ended after about two hours -- prompting groans in the crowd, even though it was an electrifying show. "He's getting old," one fan fretted. There were jokes about Metamucil and Geritol -- not because the Boss ever seemed tired but because this wasn't the kind of marathon, three-hour-plus jam fest he used to play in his heyday. Springsteen has driven customer satisfaction so high that he can deliver a great product and still disappoint his customers. I don't know what you do about that, but it's the kind of problem most corporations would love to have.
Love what you do. Just a hunch, but I have a feeling that Springsteen thoroughly enjoys his job -- not something you can say about a lot of people asking you to spend $15 or $100 for their products. We all know that enthusiasm is contagious, and if you're pumped about what you do, those around you are more likely to twist and shout right along with you. Not to mention keep on spending.
On a lighter note, these would definitely help in skipping a few management classes !
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Loss..
.. is the detriment resulting from losing something or someone. Each of us experience loss in the way of our life in one form or the other in varying degrees. Some manage to go unscathed, some get over it and few unfortunate ones are scarred for the rest of life.
Each one of us experience it in a differnt way;one might lose something or one might lose someone. What it does to the psyche can be very subjective. A few might get bogged down and few others challenge it.
One of the strange things about loss is sometimes we fail to forsee it, even though its in our capacity. We don't feel the vaccum until its really gone. We just run in a little too late. Sometimes there is not a even a hint about it. It just occurs. It leaves you in tatters.
How do you cope with it?
There are many answers and yet not a perfect one. People adopt different ways to beat it. Some think at it objectively and move on. Some sulk for sometime and then move on. Some take their time, assimilate the pain and then move on. And some just can't beat the dirge out of their minds.
As tough as each of the ways is, it helps to remember that Life is still worthwhile.
Each one of us experience it in a differnt way;one might lose something or one might lose someone. What it does to the psyche can be very subjective. A few might get bogged down and few others challenge it.
One of the strange things about loss is sometimes we fail to forsee it, even though its in our capacity. We don't feel the vaccum until its really gone. We just run in a little too late. Sometimes there is not a even a hint about it. It just occurs. It leaves you in tatters.
How do you cope with it?
There are many answers and yet not a perfect one. People adopt different ways to beat it. Some think at it objectively and move on. Some sulk for sometime and then move on. Some take their time, assimilate the pain and then move on. And some just can't beat the dirge out of their minds.
As tough as each of the ways is, it helps to remember that Life is still worthwhile.
Monday, August 20, 2007
A Sunday Evening
There is something about a Sunday evening.
Sunday evenings used to be a lot of fun when we were in school. Now its about sitting and ruing the fact of how to beat the Monday blues. In fact, the "pain" starts from the Sunday afternoon itself. If you can put this aside, you will see how beautiful a Sunday evening is.
When I peek out of the window, one thing that distinctly strikes me is how relaxed people look. The usual rush is invisible. Note that I'm not considering the crowded malls or the "jammed" traffic. The kids are having their unadulterated fun, quite oblivious to the fact that its back to school tomorrow morning and totally ignorant of the pending homework. Old timers enjoying their blissful Sunday walk. Families in front of TV watching the Sunday special. Fathers putting away their work and having a good time with their five year olds. The trees swaying slightly, moving rhythmically to the light breeze, as I listen to John Mayer. The sun setting and the dusk descending. There is certain sense of beauty even in the ol' piece of paper, which is rolling on the road, with the wind, stopping by once in a while as if to "look" at you. It’s a treat if there is a sporting event especially a final of a Grand Slam. The youth going out for a cup of coffee at the local chai shop and catching on the week that was. As the light fades out, people are moving indoors to wind up their Sunday.
Watching all these, eases the transition from a Sunday evening to a Monday morning.
Sunday evenings used to be a lot of fun when we were in school. Now its about sitting and ruing the fact of how to beat the Monday blues. In fact, the "pain" starts from the Sunday afternoon itself. If you can put this aside, you will see how beautiful a Sunday evening is.
When I peek out of the window, one thing that distinctly strikes me is how relaxed people look. The usual rush is invisible. Note that I'm not considering the crowded malls or the "jammed" traffic. The kids are having their unadulterated fun, quite oblivious to the fact that its back to school tomorrow morning and totally ignorant of the pending homework. Old timers enjoying their blissful Sunday walk. Families in front of TV watching the Sunday special. Fathers putting away their work and having a good time with their five year olds. The trees swaying slightly, moving rhythmically to the light breeze, as I listen to John Mayer. The sun setting and the dusk descending. There is certain sense of beauty even in the ol' piece of paper, which is rolling on the road, with the wind, stopping by once in a while as if to "look" at you. It’s a treat if there is a sporting event especially a final of a Grand Slam. The youth going out for a cup of coffee at the local chai shop and catching on the week that was. As the light fades out, people are moving indoors to wind up their Sunday.
Watching all these, eases the transition from a Sunday evening to a Monday morning.
Monday, August 13, 2007
300 Miles to Graceland
I did something a few days ago, that shocked and brought a lot of “delight” to some of my friends and gave them a talking point (for once) to drag me around. I didn't do anything significant. I just went on a pilgrimage.
I don't remember the last time I took such a trip. It must have been a million years ago. But I do remember that I had thrown a lot of tantrums, the last time around.
Apparently, the plans were laid out over a month ago 'cause they knew that it would need some convincing to have me shanghaied into this. Then knew that I wasn't gonna take “improper planet alignment” or “planets residing in wrong houses” or some serpent not “liking” me, for a good enough reason.
As expected the above excuses didn't work. So they retorted to the good ol', tried and tested formula of emotional melodrama to get my head nodding the right way.
On the D-day there was nothin' much to look forward except the mode of travel, my cousin's new car. So armed with CDs of Pink Floyd, Doors and Van Halen, we hit the road at 150kmph. Slowed down to 60kmph in B'lore and the back to 150kmph till we were at God's “abode”. It was fun “horsing” the new car around at different speeds. We reached by sunset and shacked up in a lodge. It wasn't until tomorrow morning that the pain would begin.
I had drafted a simple plan for an early exit. Wake up early, beat the people 'traffic', “align” the planets, move the planets to their “homes”, charm the “vicious” serpent and get the hell out of there and salvage some weekend time.
As per the plan, woke up early and got ready. I chose to wear a 'T' and a faded torn jeans, much against my dad's desire to wrap me in dhoti. I wasn't gonna fall for that. I was already lookin' like a chump. There was some damage control needed.
Entered the temple after a longish walk. Somehow when I sat in the “battlefield”, the people were gawking at me. I thought it must be either the number of people accompanying me to the 'seat' or the torn jeans. I preferred not to look at the more pious. And then came out the 'commander', took out his mike, tuned the amplifiers and started rocking...err..chanting verses. This guy was a smart fella. He started commanding us on how to setup the things in the “warkit”. He made us do most of the work ourselves, like showering flowers, water et al. My parents kept looking at my face to spot any grimaces on my face, so that they can reprimand me later. My poker face came to the rescue here.
When I was sitting there and doing whatever I was doing, a lot of questions popped up. What am I doing? What is all this? Why are the people in so much piety? Do they really mean it? What happens when they do all this? Do they come back if their prayers weren't answered? Do they still keep their faith? Do they actually feel better by doing all this?
I've read somewhere that God resides inside everyone of us. Infact, I've read as a kid that is God is everywhere. Then why do people travel miles to see a piece of well carved stone. I have never been able to understand the ways of the people in this aspect. Or maybe I'm too incapable of understanding this abstractness or maybe my reasoning tendency gets in the way of understanding it. I'll never know.
People have scaled mountains and crossed oceans in the pursuit of god. I have kept my pursuit, if at all I believe there is one inside me, rather simple. I believe there is a way to god in every li'l thing we do. Then why waste time in going in search of something we'll never find. I would say think good, do good and feel good, you might just find him along the way.
By the end of the Q & A in my head, the puja was also pretty much over. Apparently, it didn't take much time and it wasn't painful either. It all wrapped up fine. My parents were happy with my 'performance' and I also felt a job well done.
Went back to the hotel, packed our bags and hit the throttle home thinking or rather hoping that this would be the last one or at least one of the last one of the pilgrimages, I would ever have to take.
I don't remember the last time I took such a trip. It must have been a million years ago. But I do remember that I had thrown a lot of tantrums, the last time around.
Apparently, the plans were laid out over a month ago 'cause they knew that it would need some convincing to have me shanghaied into this. Then knew that I wasn't gonna take “improper planet alignment” or “planets residing in wrong houses” or some serpent not “liking” me, for a good enough reason.
As expected the above excuses didn't work. So they retorted to the good ol', tried and tested formula of emotional melodrama to get my head nodding the right way.
On the D-day there was nothin' much to look forward except the mode of travel, my cousin's new car. So armed with CDs of Pink Floyd, Doors and Van Halen, we hit the road at 150kmph. Slowed down to 60kmph in B'lore and the back to 150kmph till we were at God's “abode”. It was fun “horsing” the new car around at different speeds. We reached by sunset and shacked up in a lodge. It wasn't until tomorrow morning that the pain would begin.
I had drafted a simple plan for an early exit. Wake up early, beat the people 'traffic', “align” the planets, move the planets to their “homes”, charm the “vicious” serpent and get the hell out of there and salvage some weekend time.
As per the plan, woke up early and got ready. I chose to wear a 'T' and a faded torn jeans, much against my dad's desire to wrap me in dhoti. I wasn't gonna fall for that. I was already lookin' like a chump. There was some damage control needed.
Entered the temple after a longish walk. Somehow when I sat in the “battlefield”, the people were gawking at me. I thought it must be either the number of people accompanying me to the 'seat' or the torn jeans. I preferred not to look at the more pious. And then came out the 'commander', took out his mike, tuned the amplifiers and started rocking...err..chanting verses. This guy was a smart fella. He started commanding us on how to setup the things in the “warkit”. He made us do most of the work ourselves, like showering flowers, water et al. My parents kept looking at my face to spot any grimaces on my face, so that they can reprimand me later. My poker face came to the rescue here.
When I was sitting there and doing whatever I was doing, a lot of questions popped up. What am I doing? What is all this? Why are the people in so much piety? Do they really mean it? What happens when they do all this? Do they come back if their prayers weren't answered? Do they still keep their faith? Do they actually feel better by doing all this?
I've read somewhere that God resides inside everyone of us. Infact, I've read as a kid that is God is everywhere. Then why do people travel miles to see a piece of well carved stone. I have never been able to understand the ways of the people in this aspect. Or maybe I'm too incapable of understanding this abstractness or maybe my reasoning tendency gets in the way of understanding it. I'll never know.
People have scaled mountains and crossed oceans in the pursuit of god. I have kept my pursuit, if at all I believe there is one inside me, rather simple. I believe there is a way to god in every li'l thing we do. Then why waste time in going in search of something we'll never find. I would say think good, do good and feel good, you might just find him along the way.
By the end of the Q & A in my head, the puja was also pretty much over. Apparently, it didn't take much time and it wasn't painful either. It all wrapped up fine. My parents were happy with my 'performance' and I also felt a job well done.
Went back to the hotel, packed our bags and hit the throttle home thinking or rather hoping that this would be the last one or at least one of the last one of the pilgrimages, I would ever have to take.
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