Books and food (for thought).... :)

I once read a blog about how certain books get along well with certain foods (can't remember where but it sure was an interesting perspective). I have never quite paid attention to the link between food and books because the book usually has all my attention when i am eating. But this post made me reflect on the link.

While to my mind, food doesn't seem to improve my reading experience or worsen it on most accounts (unless of course the book deals with extremely gross details which only prompt me to throw up or extremely yummy food which make crave for some), I now think that books do probably share certain parallels with food.

Certain books are my first resort when i need a laugh. Like comfort food (desserts and cookies in my case) I turn to them very soon at every crisis and they leave me with a feel-good factor. They make me forgive, forget and forge ahead. Who other in this category than Wodehouse ? I have rarely read a book of his and not had a hearty laugh. But then, like all good things, i can't enjoy too much of it for too long. Don't misunderstand me, i love the happy endings and i love the humor but I soon crave for some complication and some drama to mimic real life. I like to not know that all will be well in the end and that life is not always as rosy as PGW paints it to be.

And then i move on to different stuff - spicy, tangy, healthy or just plain old junk.

Then there are some books like the yummy junk food fare. Easy to get, easy to read, in fact, they are almost addictive, but they dont leave much of an impact. The are like the water drops on a lotus leaf, ready to roll off your mind space at the next available diversion. They entertain you and they keep you happily occupied when in hand but they do no long term good for you. This category probably belongs to those easy fictions which are not full of eloquent prose but they have a gripping storyline that keeps you hooked. In excessive dosage of course, like the junk food, they could have their side effects.

Then there are the healthy foods and the healthy books. Foods, which can be tasteless and bland and books which can be tough and chewy. Books which can tire you but which are rich in ideas and facts. These are books that require your full attention and can't be read with a wandering mind. A lot of the non-fiction i've read falls into this category where the reader needs to be in active dialogue with the writer. Its almost like a debate at times as the writer tries to convince you of his take. SJ Gould, Pinker, Penrose and many other writers have that effect on me. Even in fiction, writers like Ayn Rand, Dostoyevsky, Rushdie get me thinking and wondering. But then I do get tired with these too and then i crave for something more effortless. Like a day or two's binge which breaks off the monotony of the healthy streak.

And then there is a happy medium. More like home cooked food. It depends on how you cook it or on how you read it. You could dip deep into the allegories, the hidden meanings, the socio-political structure, the history of a book, the times of the writer or you could just read it as another story. Completely left at your discretion. These are mostly books which are full of rich prose and fascinating characters that keep your attention from wandering but they are not the books that will build on your grey cells. There also some popular science books like that of Simon Singh which are informative and yet light on reading. They leave you feeling enriched nonetheless. It is difficult to find this happy medium of books which teach and enrich your mind with out straining your thoughts. Its however nice to find these books once in a while but then their nature is such that you rush through them sooner than later.

So, now when I think of it... books and foods do share a link. A link different from what the other blogger envisaged but then that's probably just because I am catching on late... :) Maybe eventually, i will find that certain foods go well with certain books.

But till then, its probably still a good thought to raise a toast to books - our constant source of some great food (for thought) :) !!

The Missing Girl ...

From our first few steps to our last few steps,
we fall, many a times,
Through our lives, we have our great falls,
big wounds and small scrapes.

As a child, every wound was welcomed with a wail.
A few hours of pain and agony, but not much of a travail.
The pain would soon wane,
and the healing would be set in train.
But once the physical pain diminished,
the wound was little cause of anguish...
Greater curiosities would hold the attention of that fickle mind.
As the wound healed and the scab was formed,
it sometimes became an inquiry of the innocent kind,
picking, peeling and prodding, as if there was gold to be mined.
Within days, a new skin would shield us again,
as an invisible testament to the wound, that once was a bane.
Every injury was thus just a tiny distress,
as a price for some great adventurous success.

But things change, as we age.
We fall time and again,
but it is no longer the body in pain.
It is the ego which is bruised.
It is the soul which bleeds and it is the heart which cries.
We no longer bawl our way to recovery,
but we let our wounds fester with those unshed tears as if in a morbid brewery.
Even as we heal, our scabs are no longer a source of curiosity,
They leave us seething in agony, breeding a sense of animosity.
The pain is no longer physical as it nestles in our heart,
like a dart waiting to rip us apart.
Scabrous memories that haunt us all along,
serving as a constant reminder of all that went wrong.
Years go by before we heal,
leaving behind a scar so real.
A scar that toughens our insides,
a little like the outsides.
But then instead of being scarred like a warrior and a victor,
we run hither and thither in search of a secure shelter.

With the years and the scars,
I forget the child I started off as.
She was certainly not the cynic I sometimes am.
Neither the coward I sometimes become.
She was certainly not daunted by challenges like I am today,
I think I've lost her somewhere along the way.
Somewhere along the way, with every hurt and every bruise,
my heart has lost a few sinews.
Somewhere along the way, I am a new person,
completely unlike the little child who was undaunted by reason.
Somewhere along the way, I've held onto the railing,
than just flailing my arms to try sailing.
Somewhere along the way, the fear of falling,
has won over my heart's calling.
Somewhere along the way, caution has crept into my soul,
unlike the fearless spirit that once made me whole.

I wish I can find that childhood zing,
to jump out on a prayer and half a wing.
The strength that made me walk the first time
and the strength that made me graduate from mime.
I wish I can find that little girl,
who lived her life enjoying the everyday swirl.

The ocean beckons...

If there is one place that I'd I always want to visit, I think it is the ocean. There is something about the ocean that meets my every need, that answers my every call....

When I seek calm, she gives me a shoulder to lean on, like the friend who is always there by my side...
When I seek company, she laps at my feet with a warm embrace, like the love that senses my deepest fears...
When I seek words, I find them in her conversations with the wind, like the many people that pass me by...
When I seek strength, i find it in her battle with the coast, like I find from my family of love...
When I seek love, I watch the sun melt into her, like the child into a mother's embrace...
When I seek companionship, I find it in her camaraderie with the skies, each reflecting on the other...

When I am happy, she dances to the flutter of my heart, like the friend who will always be happy no matter what...
When I am gray she rushes to meet me, like a mother to the lost child...
When I am lost, she anchors me to the vastness of the universe, like the faith that I hold onto...
When I am anxious, she lightens my worries, like those who protect me...
When battling loneliness, I find solitude in her gentle soothing words, like that from an elder ...
When tears flood my eyes, she makes them her own, like the father who tries to protect from all the pain in the world...

She voices my anger in the roar of her waves,
She dances with her waves to the tune of my heart,
she rises to the tide of my soul,
and she moves to the rhythm of my mind...
She is my wellspring of hope and comfort...

Like the many relationships that form the fabric of my life, the ocean transforms to meet my every need.

The relationships that form the tapestry of our life are different from each other by virtue of what we seek from them. We carefully wade into some with scrunched-up toes, while we surf on some. We splash in some while we dive into some. Some drown us and we drown in some... I guess, the ocean brings them all together for me...

Phobias of a bibliophile... and getting over them !!

I love books. Not just for the stories in them but also for them as physical entities. I love the cover pages, the blurbs, the musty yellow sheets or the crisp white pages, the smell of ink and the texture of a hard cover.

This love of mine for books as things also makes me a little finicky about their condition. I hate it when people keep books dusty and torn; when the bind is coming apart and when the dust jacket is torn. I hate it when people mark text in books or dog-ear them (My mind is usually crying out aloud "Why don't you use a bookmark for heaven's sake or Just remember the page number !!!"). Even writing notes in books which were bought as gifts for friends and family were not my most favorite occupation. Other than the fact that one needs to be creative, honest and funny all at the same time, it also meant that those oven-fresh books were a tad bit disfigured by my hand writing. However, as a prime example of double standards, when someone gifted me a book, I would want them to leave me a note (even a sticker once... ;)) as my return ticket to that moment. And then every time I would open the book or read the note, I would be transported to the feeling that lingered with me upon reading the note and seeing the book (and I would have this smile plastered over my face :)). And so with this justification, I would allow myself to disfigure some of the books but only on the first few pages.

Now, I know this obsession of mine with books is crazy because books, like people, are valuable for what is in them and not for how they look, but this is just an idiosyncrasy (yes, yet Another !!!) of mine. Now I do hope you don't judge me based on this because this fetish of mine somehow extends only to books and not to people.

Now, coming back to the story on hand, with my concerns for the appearance of a book, I've never really liked the idea of second-hand books. It somehow meant that what i had in hand and what I loved was someone's possession. I could never feel that the book was truly mine... But then when I was forced to leave most of my books behind during my recent move, I had to cut some corners from my lofty desires and i did resort to buying second hand books. And in the past three odd months, I have invested in a lot of books. Some of them despite being "used" were in a great condition and I had no reason to complain.

But then.... some books were distinctly used. They carried notes, messages, scribbles.

Notes and messages which held tiny stories in them. Stories of people who had lived and loved. These were books that were given out of love and appreciation. And somehow these scribbles did not give me the goosebumps. They told me of a life that once lived. They told me of people who once lived, of their loved ones and of their lives. These books made me feel like a kinship with something bigger than me as an individual. These books made me feel like I was guarding something important, a piece of history - something bigger than me. Something that could one day be a part of history.

I know it sounds too self important but when i see a book with someone's love/concern written all over it, it makes me feel that someday, someone will be happy they found it. And till that time I get to be the one to protect this piece of history and legacy... It's a self-indulgent and overtly romantic thought but hey, I am what i am - a foolhardy romantic who just tries to be practical.... :)

And I guess the finicky bibliophile is growing up now... :)

My first few steps....

A dream to start with.
A year of savings and a new camera.
Many a trips and many a clicks.
Some words of advice and some words of appreciation.
A small suggestion and a big opportunity.
A couple of days spent rummaging through old pictures.
An entry list of sorts. A night of editing and uploading.
A long wait and a wonderful surprise.

I happened to send in some of my photographs for the EMBO cover page contest at the advice of a friend. And, since it was on a short notice, it was a hurried effort with no great anticipation but then to my surprise, some of my shots were actually retained in the final few. They are definitely not among the best but I am glad they made it through to the top 100 from among the more than 3000 entries received by the journal.

It is a new beginning now. From those first circumspect steps to the more confident steps of today. I know I am walking in the right direction and I am happy for the people in my life. I am grateful for the words of encouragement, those facebook "likes" and those critical comments. Those walks down the unfamiliar paths as I stared into my camera and my friends tolerated my obsession with ample sarcasm... ;) I am grateful for those happy moments that gave me something to capture; And for those moments of melancholy that drove me to my camera.


Here is a link with some of the original entries:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1838658534308.107884.1475855713&l=57fcc2e3a5

And here is a link of the final selection of pictures at the EMBO journal site:
http://covercontest.embo.org
And this is where my single survivor shot comes in...
http://covercontest.embo.org/Gallery_2011.html#65

I am glad to have made it so far but as Frost said it so eloquently "there are miles to go before I sleep"... :)

Fishisms and Fishy witticisms...

Some statements are just witty.

Not what is right but not always wrong either. Not what you would say. Not honest or sensitive or politically correct. Sometimes, they are repulsive, sometimes hilarious but for the most part just witty.

Here is a catalog of some that I came across through one of my many explorations into American soap operas. This time it was the very popular Ally Mc Beal. And the quotes coming through the character of Richard Fish are called as Fishisms.


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"Make enough money and everything else will follow"

"It's not about winning, it's about winning ugly that matters"

"Problem is just a bleak word for challenge"

"Parenting is nothing if not selfless"

"Reunions are meant to allow the more successful graduates to inform the less successful that is what they are, less than. You and I are more than. Especially me. I've got my own firm. I could possibly be the most."

"One of the keys to life is the fast forward. Every movie has its lousy parts. The trick is to fast forward through. As time passes, you look back and say 'oh that little adultery thing, oh that.' Fast Forward to then, right now, and you are over it."

"The reason John and I started this firm was because we wanted to go to work everyday where it was fun: make money, throw office parties, a fun place to work. I realize employees will always gripe. Part of an employee is to not like people staring at pretty girls, and not to like tactics to win cases. It is the nature of the employee to complain. There is always some place better. This lawsuit carries the gripe too far. It saps the fun out of it for me. And since fun was the point, anybody who isn't happy, leave. And if ya'll go, we will just have to start another firm. There is always another one."

"On sex and sexual harassment, women don't see straight. Women as a rule hate other pretty women. Women as a rule also sympathize with other women victims because they are women. Women want other women to be destroyed, but as women they don't want to be the destroyer themselves."

"Everyone is alone. It's just easier to take in a relationship."

"If you don't kiss a girl on the first date, you are a gentlemen. If you don't kiss her by the second, you are gay."

"Personally, I hate sexual harassment laws. The original force behind them were disgruntled lesbians who felt they were not given the same opportunities. Along with ugly women, who ere jealous of pretty women who got all the breaks in the work force. My cause to action is simple, women are victims. They need special help. Look, at the evolution of these sexual harassment laws. What we are really saying is women really should qualify under the Federal Disablity Act. They are less able. They cannot cope with romance in the office. They cannot contend with having to do a job and have a man smile at them. It is too much. Look where we use to be, first quid pro quo, then hostile environment, and now Seinfeld episodes. Women can't take it they bruise too easily. The laws are here to protect the weak and most vulnerable in society. She is woman, protect her!"

"We just love to live in a politically correct world, that is so involved. Where did we pass a law against common sense? This is a french bistro. When people go there, they go not just to eat but to dine. The ambiance of culture they want to feel elite and sophisticated. A good gay waiter can do that. They have that snobbish little entitlement thing going. People like that." Judge: " Gays are elitist snobs?" Richard: "The waiter kind are. First they are smarter. They grow up reading more books, probably trying to figure out the answer as to why they are homosexual.Plus, they are terrible at sports which gives them more time to study. They are smart, they want to work in the arts. They end up as waiters, way over qualified, bitter, snobby. People have com e to expect this when ordering a fruity wine."

"Lend me your shoe Georgia. If I wanted to sell this, better to have you model this or me? Everything is about presentation, same for restaurants as for shoes. What's inside doesn't count, its how they look. Fishism."

John: "Are we a joke to the outside world?" Richard: "The outside world just doesn't get the joke. Fishism."

"The difference between men and women is friction. Friction, friction, friction, orgasm!"

"Men love any woman they sleep with, it is the ticket to admission. Fishism."

"Sex for me, when it is right it is right. When it is wrong, it is still right. Fishism."

"True love means short refractory time. Fishism."

"After women marry and have kids, they don't want any part of a man's penis. The bigger it is, the more of him she doesn't want."

"Helping people is never more rewarding than when it's in your own self-interest."
"I didn't become a lawyer because I like the law. The law sucks. It's boring. But it can also be used as a weapon. You want to bankrupt somebody, cost him everything he's worked for, make his wife leave him, even cause his kids to cry? We can do that."

"Georgia, give me your shoe. Why would a grown person wear these? They are hugely uncomfortable, make it easier to fall, cause back problems, but, hey -- call it fashion. What kind of person would spend an equivalent of two years painting her face and plucking out her eyebrows, and putting silicone or saline in her chest? There is a name for this kind of person, 'woman'. Why? Because, we 'men' like it. Don't talk to me about equality. Don't tell me you aren't disabled."

"Unisex studies show it helps men and women employees breed familiarity, so long as they don't come in to just breed."

"Having a child is a selfish thing. Couples don't walk around wanting to give life. They say, we want a child. We want, we want. It is a selfish thing, a good selfish. Selfish."

"Love is an equation, a me and a you derives a we."

"Never trust a second thought. Where there is two there is three. You will end up thinking forever."

"Personal questions don't bother me. I just lie."

"How do these things just spew out of your head like this? Couldn't you at least use your brain as a filter?"
"That remark would hurt if I had feelings."

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Note to myself...

Some days are like that. They hit you like that bus around the corner, which you didn't see.... hard and completely unexpected. They leave you winded as you try and make sense of this new world around where everything which seemed eternal and strong one moment ago, seems weak and transient in another. Your world view is left crumbling even as you are left making sense of it all.

Imagine being told on the day after your birthday that your mom was suffering from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and that she has only a year to live. Imagine that you've had troubles right through your growing up years and that in a week of receiving this horrendous news, you have the finals of a Law School semester. Imagine you as a young, confused adult, trying to make up his mind about the love of his life. Now, imagine what you would do if all this came upon you in one day along with more practical problems like loans, jobs, salaries, treatment costs, home bills etc etc.

Today was one such day, not for me really, but for someone i barely know. The story left me empathizing with someone I have never met or spoken to. Someone who is the friend of a new acquaintance of mine but then when I heard the whole story, i couldn't just carry on with my saturday, as if everything were normal.

It is when things like this jump out at you, that you are made to sit down and evaluate - your life and that of your loved ones. Someone else's misfortune makes you count your blessings.

I know, that as I listened patiently, I said the right things to someone who was troubled for a friend. I know that if I were to talking to the person who had just been trampled by the bus, I would still be saying the honest truth in the right way. But I wonder what I would be doing, if i had been the victim of destiny's road rage...

Will I still be able to retain my mind and my sanity. Will I be able to empathize with the pain of others even as i cope with mine ? Will I be able to compartmentalize and do what needs to be done ? Will I be able to listen to advice and take the call for myself and for the ones I care ?

The truth is I don't know but i do hope so.

I also believe that we all have the ability to take charge and do what needs to be done. Its a certain resilience that mankind has evolved with but we need to dig deep down to tap into this reservoir of strength. One needs to know and understand this one basic truth that No one but us, can solve our problems. Problems don't get solved by staying quiet and shutting down. Problems also don't get solved by talking about them. Problem get solved by accepting them and doing something about them. Problems get solved by letting destiny do its part while you do your own. Problems get solved by thinking about them, by listening to all options and by executing the right one.

So while I don't know what I will be doing when life decides to roll the dice for me, I do hope that I come back and read this note on the day when i really need someone to tell me this.

I also hope i read the song below and glean those nuggets of truth just so I can get through life.


"The Sunscreen song...


Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering
experience…I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing everyday that scares you Sing Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours. Floss Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year
olds I know still don’t. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone. Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever
own.. Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for
good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will
look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth. But trust me on the sunscreen… "


I hope I remember....

Decoding the phrase code...

When I came to America many things were obviously different. Coffee. Food. Clothes. Accent. Culture. Music etc etc. But language was not one of them. I had studied english as a first language and over the years, english had become my language of thought and internal monologues. Sad as it is, It was true that I couldn't think without interruption in even my mother tongue.

But then a few days back I became aware of a big gulf in communication even when using that common language.

I guess, somethings just become so much a part of your life that you can't imagine anyone else living without it. Phrases, as I realized recently, fall into this category.

Every group of people seems to have its own phrases, proverbs, anecdotes and metaphors - such that even though the language used is the same, its understanding can be vastly different. I had never really dissected these variations in phrases and the usage of language till someone pointed out to me the existence of these typical Indian phrases which are alien to most other people.

To my mind they were phrases that almost all Indians use without a thought or bias and expect every one to understand but apparently people here don't quite have them in their life / vocabulary...

"Pre-pone"
"Eve-Teasing"
"Adam-teasing" may be a younger phrase but is just as unknown
"do the needful"
"Out of station"
"wheatish complexion"
"doing it kindly" (I don't use this phrase but I am told many indians do...)

But strange it is to see that so much of your communication, even in the same language, can drastically vary depending on who you are talking to.

And there are many "american phrases" which I wouldn't understand if not for the many hours spent watching "F.R.I.E.N.D.S" and other such tele-serials.

Are you aware of more such phrases - typically Indian or typically American ??
I am always in need of some more enlightenment so go ahead and list them down...

Writing - the self and the non-self behind it...

Someone I know was once preparing a write-up for applying to a training program. I had been through the rigor and remembered it to be a rather laborious process. Not because writing is difficult but because writing your thoughts and ideas in a way that others can appreciate their value is rather challenging (and word limits are another impediment I find rather hard to negotiate !!). But then here was this person who had sent off the application within hours of receiving it. Honestly, I felt like some nincompoop who was struggling (for a couple of days at least) for a task which someone else wrapped up (very confidently at that) in a few hours. Since this was an acquaintance, I asked, fishing for the secret of course, and I was told with great candour..."I just write what they want to read".

I don't know what kind of emotions this brings in your mind, but to me, it was a mix of shock, anger, disgust and repugnance. In my mind, there was a monologue in progress that was ranting, huffing and puffing - "You write what they want to read ???? Where is your sense of self, you sycophant ? Maybe you should stop sucking-up to people and their egos and really think about what you want to do and say !!!" and the tirade went on in my head.... !!! (Thankfully, because I am really not looking to add embarrassing moments to my list of "why doesn't the earth crack up and take me in?" moments.)

As is the norm, with most of our chemical-driven, emotional surges, this rant too petered down with time and I went along with my life as it was.

But then one fine day, I happened to encounter a lady who was trying to impart some skill on writing. And there I was listening to her with all earnestness, when she said this one statement which brought back a whole flood of memories and the same chemical surge. She said, when writing... "you have think of what the audience wants to read. That is the secret to success." To re-phrase with my understanding, when writing, one must write - not the truth, not one's opinion, not what is right and not what one knows.... BUT, one must write what the reader wants to read !!!

I don't know if you can imagine the maelstrom which raged in my head as I sat through for the rest of the talk... but do try and picture it (because I felt like Tom being thrashed under a huge anvil by the antics of little Jerry). But this emotional surge also left a strong memory trace behind... something which made me question the foundations of my thinking !

I have always believed that one should write what is compelling... to you or to itself. Somethings just need to be told because of their magnitude and their impact. Some other things need to be told because "you" think they are worthy of being told. You, then write and find the words that best describe your thought and its relevance in a way that you think best conveys your situation and then wait for it to find its readers. Of course, I do not mean that you write in an incomprehensible and ambiguous manner where the actual thought is buried deep, cloaked in words and unable to reach out to the reader... but I certainly am not able to appreciate the idea of writing for the reader.

To me, writing is a reflection of the writer. It holds great meaning because it is a window into someone's mind. It needs to be honest and purposeful so that I as a reader, can sense the conviction that made it all happen. I read so that the writing can open doors and windows where walls existed before. I read to learn and I read to unlearn. I read for facts and I read for possible opinions, that i may have ignored. I read to change my world view... I don't read to have someone pander to my opinions and conform to my thoughts. For that I might just as well listen to myself.

How then do I explain this seemingly-pervasive contrary philosophy which has invaded my world.. ? Do all writers write for an audience ? Isn't there "a story that needs to be told" which lays the foundation of every piece of writing? How is our world being engulfed by this approval-seeking urge such that even our most creative and noble pursuits are dictated by the "others" and not by our self... ?

I wonder If I am the only fool who is holding onto these utopian perspectives while the rest of the world is watching a different movie altogether....

British Humor ... part II

Antidote for melancholy...

The following are excerpts from PG Wodehouse's writings.

Never has it happened that I have read his books and not laughed and felt better... so here is a post that is intended to serve as a bookmark for me.

"A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour."

"At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.''

"He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more."

"I'm not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare who says that it's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping."

"Everything in life that’s any fun, as somebody wisely observed, is either immoral, illegal or fattening."

''I always advise people never to give advice."

"A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of someone who had searched for the leak in life's gas pipe with a lighted candle."

"You would not enjoy Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound."

"Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty."

"If he had a mind, there was something on it."

"It was one of those parties where you cough twice before you speak and then decide not to say it after all."

"He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom."

"A certain critic -- for such men, I regret to say, do exist -- made the nasty remark about my last novel that it contained 'all the old Wodehouse characters under different names.' He has probably by now been eaten by bears, like the children who made mock of the prophet Elisha: but if he still survives he will not be able to make a similar charge against Summer Lightning. With my superior intelligence, I have out-generalled the man this time by putting in all the old Wodehouse characters under the same names. Pretty silly it will make him feel, I rather fancy."

"There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine."

"...it has been well said that it is precisely these moments when we are feeling that ours is the world and everything that's in it that Fate selects for sneaking up on us with the rock in the stocking."

"Chumps always make the best husbands. When you marry, Sally, grab a chump. Tap his head first, and if it rings solid, don't hesitate. All the unhappy marriages come from husbands having brains. What good are brains to a man? They only unsettle him."

"Oh, Jeeves,' I said; 'about that check suit.'

Yes, sir?'

Is it really a frost?'

A trifle too bizarre, sir, in my opinion.'

But lots of fellows have asked me who my tailor is.'

Doubtless in order to avoid him, sir.'

He's supposed to be one of the best men in London.'

I am saying nothing against his moral character, sir."

"If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine. "

"Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse."

"She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up."

"It is true of course, that I have a will of iron, but it can be switched off if the circumstances seem to demand it.''

"I am Psmith," said the old Etonian reverently. "There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis.''

''I mean to say, I know perfectly well that I've got, roughly speaking, half the amount of brain a normal bloke ought to possess. And when a girl comes along who has about twice the regular allowance, she too often makes a bee line for me with the love light in her eyes. I don't know how to account for it, but it is so.

'It may be Nature's provision for maintaining the balance of the species, sir.'.........."

"Great pals we've always been. In fact there was a time when I had an idea I was in love with Cynthia. However, it blew over. A dashed pretty and lively and attractive girl, mind you, but full of ideals and all that. I may be wronging her, but I have an idea that she's the sort of girl who would want a fellow to carve out a career and what not. I know I've heard her speak favourably of Napoleon. So what with one thing and another the jolly old frenzy sort of petered out, and now we're just pals. I think she's a topper, and she thinks me next door to a looney, so everything's nice and matey.

"Cheer up, Crips, and keep smiling. That’s the thing to do. If you go through life with a smile on your face, you’ll be amazed how many people will come up to you and say ‘What the hell are you grinning about? What’s so funny?’ Make you a lot of new friends.''

British humor Part I

There is something about British humor that absolutely cracks me up... Be it PG Wodehouse or be it the witticisms of "Yes Prime minister"... ;)

Here are some of the hilarious one liners from BBC's "Yes Prime minister" series...

"The Official Secrets Act is not to protect secrets, it is to protect officials."

"The perfect representative on a government committee is a disabled black Welsh woman trades unionist."

"Conjurors offer the audience any card in the pack and always get them to take the one they want. This is the way we in the Civil Service get Ministers to take decisions."

"It is my job to protect the Prime Minister from the great tide of irrelevant information that beats against the walls of 10 Downing Street every day."

"A good political speech is not one in which you can prove that the man is telling the truth; it is one where no one else can prove he is lying."

"Politicians speeches are not written for the audience to which they are delivered. Delivering the speech is merely the formality that has to be gone through in order to get the press release into the newspapers."

"Ministers do not believe they exist unless they are reading about themselves in the newspapers."

"It is our job to tell Select Committees the truth and nothing but the truth. But it would be profoundly inappropriate and grossly irresponsible to tell them the whole truth."

"Ministers must never go anywhere without their briefs, in case they get caught with their trousers down."

"Two kinds of government chair correspond with the two kinds of minister: one sort folds up instantly and the other sort goes round and round in circles."

"If people don't know what you're doing, they don't know what you're doing wrong."

"It is sometimes difficult to explain to Ministers that open government can sometimes mean informing their Cabinet colleagues as well as their friends in Fleet Street."

"Minister's language: 'We have decided to be more flexible in our application of this principle' means 'We are dropping this policy but we don't want to admit it publicly'. "

I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Passing Time by Maya Angelou

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.

Beautiful prose....

The spring has been around for a while now but it became real to me when i read this passage from "Theatre of Fish:Travels through Newfoundland and Labrabor" by John Gimlette.

I loved his description of spring and below is an excerpt from his book talking about spring....

"By July, St. John’s was bursting out of its summer.

I’d arrived at a moment of transformation, the point at which Nature, sensing the first strong rays of sun, is thrown into panic at the prospect of winter only three months ahead. This left barely enough time for the cycles of life, and so the revolutions came faster and bigger and ever more florid. There were sycamores exploding all over the city, and suckers, clingers, thorns, and purples billowing out of the rocks. Great floods of greenery were rising out of yards and parks, huge gassy clumps of ash and willow pouring up the hills and frothing into the gullies. Cow vetch was rampant and coltsfoot on the move. There were reports of unruly slender willow, and of innocent gardens smothering in pearly everlasting. The city – so often overwhelmed by its actors – was now being choked by the set.

Such fecundity had not gone unnoticed by the city caterpillars, who hung in the maples like grapes. When every leaf had been stripped down to the purely diagrammatic, they allowed their fat, sappy bodies to plop onto the streets. Every night the Johnsmen had to pad home through this slick of grubs and half-digested pulp, but they didn’t mind. Like the trees themselves, they were in a state of summer euphoria; more Guinness, out all night, and enough fiddle music to make your ears sing."

What's in a name afterall ?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Shakespeare said that in 17th century and I tended to agree with him even in the twenty first century till of course I encountered an identity crisis of my own.

What is in a name ? It is just a way of being addressed that you choose (or rather your parents choose and you live with).... Isn't it ? You as a person are going to stay the same no matter whether you are called Joe or a J or a Juliet.

Or so I thought for the first 29 odd years of my life, till experience came knocking...

And then I came to the United States of America where it seemed like all names were drawn from a limited pool of nouns. Almost every guy was a Robert (aka Bob) or a James (aka Jim) or a John (Thankfully stayed John) or a Fred (aka Rusty) or variations thereof. Almost every girl was a Stephanie or a Julie or a Wendy or a Jill or a Jane or a similar modification of these similar names. And then in between all these names was mine - Suvasini. It was rare enough in India but here, I sure was one in a million... :)

All through my life I had lived with an unusual name. A name which required some spelling and enunciation corrections but more often than not people would eventually be able to call me out. I have heard many a variation on this name - Subhashini, Suvashini, Savasini, Savasni, Suvasni, Suhasini, Suhashini, and sometimes very rarely someone would latch onto Suvasini, the right way. But as you see they are not very far from the desired name... And so i lived with the alterations. I lived with the mutations and I lived with Shakespeare's wisdom encapsulated in those opening few words.

Actually, more than the alterations (or the mutations as the biologist in me would like to call them), what irked me a little was the first question that many people would ask : "So were you named after the actress - Suhasini?". Well, there was a famous actress called Suhasini and she was pretty good at her job too (I was certainly not embarrassed by her - nothing like having Saddam Hussein being your name pal) but... And this is a major BUT, I wasn't named Suvasini in honor of Suhasini.... They are just similar sounding names which mean completely (or atleast) very different things (almost like but and butt)...

Now, Don't get me wrong !! I am not complaining about my parents' unusual choice for a name. I love the name and the sound of it. It is a beautiful name (and trust me I am taking no credit for it as i had no say in the matter). I also love the fact that my name has a wonderful meaning and It almost feels like a blessing that came to me the day I was named and that was going to stay with me for the rest of my life, no matter what (I am definitely counting out a name change or an entry into a witness protection program here - those are rare events after all)...

But, I realized that I had a problem on hand when people couldn't get themselves to say my name in this new country. They just couldn't wrap this one word around their tongues.... I encountered it on my first day of orientation but then the PR personnel in a multinational institution are skilled enough to get by (with an hour long conversation also) without using your name (or using it rarely) and by asking you to fill out the umpteen forms. And then realization dawned when I walked into an orientation with the staff for animal work. There I gave my name out three times, pronouncing it each time like I was spelling out "Tri nitro Toluene" and I had a feeling that spelling TNT might have been easier, than was my name. I finally decided to take a more elaborate way of getting people to appreciate the word. I launched into a small note about how Indian names usually have a meaning and how my very own meant "one who lives well" - coming from the Sanskrit for good which is "Su" and the "Vas" which means "living". While the explanation took a while, the mission was a success because John (beware, I dont always use the right names.. ;)), my instructor for the day, caught on with the name and remembers it 4 months hence and never forgets to wave me a "hi" with my full name right behind it... :)

Different people here have gotten through the challenge differently. Some have chosen to ask me for the abbreviated version and have referred to me by that. Some have shortened it on their own to Su or Sue (can't really detect the spelling from the enunciation). Some have stuck with the full name and made very good attempts at getting it right. Some however are unable to deal with it and are unable to ask me "n" number of times (n being more than 2) and so they chose to not refer to me by name. Now this could work in a lot of situations say with people who end up calling me "lady" or "roomie" or "buddy" or "girl" but then in some situations like a more formal setting this system doesn't quite work (as you very well can see). And so my instructor in one of the classes resorts to visual communication. While we are all made to read passages out of our notes, she is unable to come up with a tangible sound and only manages to give me a sorry/nervous glimpse every time it is my turn.

And I appropriately react but this did put me in the throes of an identity crisis of sorts.

For a while, I could hear the taunts of all those Indian-Americans (whom i had secretly taunted) who shorten or alter their names - Jayachandran becoming Jay, Ramakrishnan or variants thereof that become Ram or Lakshmi becoming just Lax or of Madhavan becoming Maddy... I had never been very fond of these Americanized (or rather westernized) names because to me they were patronizing and they took the essence out of the name (I mean names which had a meaning became just words or rather sounds). But then when it came to my name, i did start seeing a reason as to why people did it. I am still not overtly enthusiastic about my cutting short my name but then it is difficult to keep looking at people wondering when they are talking to you... And if people are going be sensitive about asking for my name more than a couple of times, it doesn't really give me much time or opportunity to explain the meaning of my name or its essence... I mean, I can't possibly give a speech on my name and its meeting for an introduction... Imagine meeting someone who went on and on and on about their name "Hi ! :) My name is Suvasini. Su-Va-sini. I am an Indian and in India, most of the names have meaning. My name is derived from the Sanskrit language and it means, some one who lives well. My parents had great hopes and/or illusions... ;P" bla bla bla

(I do realize that is exactly what I am doing right now but then you have the opportunity of shutting your browser and so if you are still reading, it is out of choice; but the poor listener would not have the option of that life saving click )!!!!

So anyways, while, I am occasionally tempted to trim my name a little, i almost always choose to stick it out and let people juggle with the tongue twister of sorts. It is an exercise at pronunciation for them... to make sure they can roll their tongues in all the right ways.

And before you do reach out for that mouse to click on the close button, I am going to shut my trap and let you have your peaceful moments.

You are however welcome to click on the comments button and sympathize with me or send in some bricks or bats.... I will bear with the consequences of my actions one way or another.

Ah as for Shakespeare... I guess, names do matter... !!

The landscape of a country...

Being in a new country is an experience in itself. You are looking at a whole new world and not all things make sense the same way. Every country has a landscape of its own. A place that makes it what it is, different from all others.

It has taken me a long time to find the pulse of this new country I am in - the United States of America. Somehow, as I moved into this new country, I felt like I have lost that intuitive understanding of a place and its people. Back home, in India, I was never left feeling out of place. In a new city or a new town, even when i didn't know the common language, I never felt lost. I had a mysterious sense of belonging, of assurance like from the needle of a compass always pointing in the same direction. This compass however seemed to have lost its bearings the moment I stepped in here (despite the familiar language). That maybe a consequence of the differences in the magnetic strength. The two countries are after all at different places with respect to the magnetic poles... ;)

However on a more serious note, it is difficult to find the reason for this disorientation; but when I think about it, there is a difference in the landscapes of the two countries.

While, the Indian landscape was defined by its people, the American people are united by a culture. In India, the cultures change like the wind patterns. There is a new language, a new dialect, a new culture every few hours. There are new festivals and foods being celebrated all over. The cities are morphing faster than the moulting of a caterpillar. But the people remain the same. They all have the distinct Indian features - physical and mental. They have similar concerns, they have similar thought processes and similar appearances. They share a common history that goes back several millenia and there is a common thread tying them all together as people. It was easier to understand them all as one collective mass of humanity with their idiosyncrasies, their follies and their foibles. And of course, my existence there for nearly three decades makes me understand them intuitively, as i understand myself.

But here, in the US, there are people from all over. People of all the different races and nationalities have found a home here in the US. In fact, when i think about it, if an alien spacecraft ever did a random sampling of America, it would not be able to identify the natives from the immigrants. And it wouldn't surprise me, if there were more Asians (Chinese, Japanese, Koreans and Indians) and europeans than native Americans. And they all have different mindscapes, origins, habits and concerns. They think differently and react differently. And this has made the american landscape more of a cultural thing than that of common ancestry. To me, America and its people are defined, not by their origins but by their life style - the american way of life. A life made of pre-cooked meals, frozen foods, of cars and gadgets, of technology and energy, of rap/rock music and of Hollywood. America is made of those quintessential family-homes, of people who have a 5 day work week and want to/try to/ exercise regularly. It is a country which is known by its culture - its culture of freedom, of speech, of families and of people. When I think of america, I don't see a face, or a common history - i see a culture, a way of life. A culture where education is expensive, where savings are non-existent, where heating food in the microwave is called cooking, where people follow rules of the road and where people wish strangers. I see children moving out of homes, and parents living independently till the very end. I see "use and throw" obliterating the practice of repair. I see massive energy consumption even as there are massive efforts to recycle and conserve (It sounds oxymoronic but it is true and this is one aspect I find most mind-bogglingly fascinating). I see a culture where superficially people are granted the freedom to be as they please but there is an invisible mold that they are expected to conform to. There is a cloak of open-mindedness that conceals a more deep rooted feeling of parochialism. There is a facade of mutual agreement, appearances and social courtesy that covers deep rooted feelings of disagreement, anger, jealousy and loneliness. Their apparent friendliness is limited by its boundaries, quite unlike the Indian hospitality and concern which can sometimes run you over like a herd of wildebeests. While these things make it seem like US is not a great place to be in, let me clarify, that like all other things - it has its share of perks too. There are quite a few things i really like here and i shall soon write about them.

And I guess, these many layers of the American being have confounded my understanding and left me a little disoriented. But i guess, I am slowly homing in and finding my coordinates all over again. I still don't understand it all completely but i am beginning to find trends that define a commonality.

Two friends....

Reason and Intuition are our companions for life. They walk into our lives at different stages and in different ways, but they are there to stay. Their characters and personalities are as different as night and day, leaving us ripped apart like the guy whose best friends don't get on well with each other.

Although, intuition comes early into our lives, he is shy and quiet. Like a reticent boy of few words, he speaks in quiet, muffled sounds. He goes unnoticed many a times and gets chided at many others, like the little child gently tugging at your trousers in a crowded marketplace. You have to strain to hear him as the world around drowns his words. Although, he grows with us, he is forever the gentle voice that we fail to hear as we struggle with making sense of the many voices in our head.

Reason, on the other hand has the stronger voice which keeps booming relentlessly in our head, making a point. The world basks in his glory and makes it seem like he can do no wrong. You like him too but sometimes, he is just too dictatorial and self righteous. With the years and the grey hairs, you rely on reason a lot more, but, he is never really your confidante. He is never really your sounding board, the friend who understands you, the friend who cares. He says the right things, not necessarily the things "right" for you. One is almost always fighting with him, trying to scream over his high pitch, trying to get heard. Even though, the voice of reason is loud and clear, it fails to find resonance in our heart. Reason fails to accept our fears and our limitations. Intuition on the other hand dwells in the unstated and in the unclear. He seems to have this uncanny ability to know what you want and guide you through life with a gentle hand. Quite unlike the pushes and shoves of reason.

With the years and the loud voices of reason echoing in our head, we fail to hear the whispers of intuition. So much so that somewhere along the way, we have forgotten that little friend whispering his fears and thoughts as we spend our days catching up with the voice of reason. But he is always there beside you and you can hear him when all the chatter in your head has quietened down... On some of those days, when nothing and no one seems to understand you, when your mind is dead with fatigue, when nothing seems to make sense, you can hear him whisper in a gentle but comforting manner....And you can feel life again. You can hear his pulse throbbing to the beat of your heart and things seem to fall in place.

All our life, we walk with these two. Sometimes relying on one and sometimes on the other. Disturbed by their contradicting voices, sometimes, you try and reconcile them. Sometimes, you invent reason to follow your intuition and at other times, you follow reason with a firm grip on intuition. But more often than not, while one is leading your way, the other is watching your back... and its good to never lose sight of either, because they both bring in different perspectives.

Deja vu...

I love reading but unlike some others I know, I don't happen to have too much of a head space for remembering what i have read. I can never remember the source of a statement, the names of the characters, the names of authors or books, the words used or the way the words are knit together. To summarize, a lot of the times or rather most of the time, I don't retain a lot of what i have read. All I have is a sense - a sense of what the book was about, a sense of the writing, a sense of the feelings that the writing evoked. I am usually left behind with this fuzzy feeling of familiarity, a sense of deja vu, that lingers with me, enough to indicate familiarity the next time i encounter those words. The following is a poem I had encountered long ago (at least my head seems to think so) and found again recently on another blog and it brought back that same wave of feelings that it had first evoked. I like it for the profound vision that is woven in its simplicity and for the bigger picture of life that it paints. Makes one pause and think about the many people and events that shape our lives without our even noticing it.

Candles

If on your grandmother's birthday you burn a candle
To honor her memory, you might think of burning an extra
To honor the memory of someone who never met her,
A man who may have come to the town she lived in
Looking for work and couldn't find it.
Picture him taking a stroll one morning,
After a wasted month with the want ads,
To refresh himself in the park before moving on.
Suppose he notices on the gravel path the shards
Of a green glass bottle that your grandmother,
Then still a girl, will be destined to step on
When she wanders barefoot away from her school picnic
If he doesnt stoop down and scoop the mess up
With the want-ad section and carry it to a trash can.

For you to burn a candle for him
You needn't suppose the cut would be a deep one,
Just deep enough to keep her at home
The night of the hayride when she meets Helen,
Who is soon to become her dearest friend;
Whose brother George, thirty years later,
Helps your grandfather with a loan so his shoe store
Doesn't go under in the Great Depression
And his son, your father, is able to stay in school
Where his love of learning is fanned into flames,
A love he labors, later, to kindle in you.

How grateful you are for your father's efforts
Is shown by the candles you've burned for him.
But today, for a change, why not a candle
For the man whose name is unknown to you?
Take a moment to wonder whether he died at home
With friends and family or alone on the road,
With noone to sit at his bedside
And hold his hand, the very hand
It's time for you to imagine holding.

---- Carl Dennis

Which tree are you ?

Jack and Jane had not seen each other for decades but when destiny brought them together after all those years, waves of nostalgia washed over them and they could view their lives in a whole new perspective.

They had started off as friends who had spent many an afternoon together, working through their school work, talking about their dreams and passions. They were friends but they were very different individuals and it was only a matter of time that their paths would diverge and they would be pulled apart by the forces of life. Today, after all those years, they could see the differences that made them who they were. They had started off from similar places but their lives had taken on very different trajectories.

Even as a kid, Jane was relentlessly determined. Somehow, she had this great sense of clarity and purpose about what she wanted to be and about how her life should be. Very early in life, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how she wanted to do it too. She strove for perfection, for immaculate precision and for sublime clarity in her field of interest. Nothing could distract her or shift her focus. She achieved her dreams with great elan and was soon a successful professional who was a respected figure in her field. She was a part of many landmark events in her area of interest but her interest and expertise did not extend to areas beyond that. She did not know or care about things other than her favorite subject. She had single-mindedly dedicated her life and her mind to the pursuit of excellence in her profession.

Jack, on the other hand, formed the other end of the spectrum with his inherent curiosity and sense of adventure. He had barely left any field untouched. He dabbled in almost anything under the sun. He was not the expert on anything but he sure knew a fair bit about almost anything under the sun. He tried his hand at many a thing and acquired these many skills with great panache. From photography, to mechanics, to science, to history, to art and food. He had diverse interests and he nurtured them at every available opportunity. He could not say he didn't like something till he actually tried it and he lacked the sense of surety with which Jane made her choices. He somehow lacked the dogged pursuit and fierce determination that pushed Jane ahead. But he was extremely passionate about every skill he acquired. He was a man with a great many talents and realized more about himself with every choice he made. His thirst for knowledge and desire for learning kept him on a lookout for newer arenas.

Two lives - that started the same way but ended differently. While Jane's life grew like a Date palm - tall and erect, with one single goal, and a single obsession. Jack tried many a different paths and branched out like the banyan. He was not as tall or specialized as the palm but he covered a lot of ground. They had two completely different approaches and two completely different perspectives. Who is to say which is better and which is not ? It's just who we are that determines what we become, not where we start off from.

I am not sure where my loyalties lie amidst these two schools of thought but a drive for the diversity in knowledge that Jack had seems more attractive to my mind than the expertise that Jane built over the years. While, the allure of perfection and brilliance is also very strong for me, it gets offset by the adventure and the thrill of learning and trying something new. And perhaps, somewhere deep down, I lack the courage to choose one option and to make my peace with it. My mind wants to explore everything that comes its way before making that "final" choice and before taking a call. So, I guess, despite learning through my entire childhood that "A jack of all trades is the master of none", I tend to grow more as a Banyan, than as a palm.

Which tree are you ?

The nullification of "self" ....

"Self absorbed" "Self- centered" "ego-centric" "selfish" "Narcissistic"

All these words paint only one abominable picture in our mind.

Don't they ? One of a self-loving individual who is inconsiderate to anyone else but himself.

But every time I come across these words, I am forced to pause and think. Not because they are evil qualities that we should get rid of but because they are who we all really are and there is no escaping it. And in all honesty, I see nothing wrong in being self-absorbed because you are the only thing that you can control in a world that is constantly rushing ahead.

Think about it.

By conventional definitions I think I am self absorbed and maybe even self-centered. I am involved with how I can learn about myself and improve myself. I am pre-occupied with doing what i think is right and with working on my life. I have my dreams and visions and I work towards them. I am affected by my thoughts and feeling and sometimes that's all that matters to me. And I fail to see why this would ever be the bane of a society. Because after all, that is what we can do and what we best understand. Our "self". And....if every one did this without harming another individual there really would not be a lot of our problems.

We, as men and women of independent will, can only mold our life through our choices. We can truly appreciate only our experiences and our lessons from them. We, as people, are limited in the dimensions of our perspectives. We can truly value an experience only after we've been through it ourselves or at least something closer to it. No amount of rambling, preaching or explaining can actually help us agree to something unless we "feel" it. We are unable to truly appreciate another point of view till we actually reach that place in "our" life. Years of evolution have built self preservation as a veritable part of our 'self'. All our actions are directed towards the self - even those which (happen to) help others. We do all things because they benefit us in one form or the other - either in the form of material gain or in the form of psychological gain. We donate because it makes us feel good. We help others because it gives us a sense of purpose. All our acts, no matter how righteous they are, have a large component directed towards the self. Take for example the basic life-force of our existence - children. Having kids is one of the most selfless acts as far as social perceptions go because you are bringing into this world another being who is completely helpless for the first few years. People say that parents venture into this big investment of time, money and energy with no gains, but the truth as I see it is that we have kids because we want to. We want to bring in someone into this world through whom we can leave a mark on this world. Through whom we can live our life all over again. Who is a key to helping us make a difference. And all this emotional baggage is the result of our biological instincts which have been shaped as such through millions years of evolution where he who did not reproduce, perished. Tomorrow, if I have any kids, it will be because i want them and not because I am doing it out of a sense of benevolence to the unborn child ! And this is the difference that we all need to accept and appreciate.

Why do we shy away from acknowledging this interest in the self...? Why is it perceived to be morally wrong to be self-absorbed ? I can only be legitimately involved in myself because that is the only perspective i see and can truly appreciate... and that is the only variable I can change through my efforts or my attitude. Why is the entire society built of the framework of nullifying and annihilating the sense of self, even though it is the most difficult thing to do and is completely contrary to our natures.

I should however clarify here that i do not mean to propound utter disregard for another human being or complete lack of empathy. In fact, i think, being self-limited has helped me become more empathetic. I am sure this sounds like an oxymoronic statement but the truth is, every time I encounter an opinion or a person, i put myself in the other pair of shoes and that "self-absorbed /self-centered" behavior makes me become truly tolerant and empathetic to another person because i then treat them like i would treat myself.

I hear criticism about people saying they are self-absorbed, and many a time, I have felt like screaming out aloud - "There is nothing wrong with that !!". There is nothing wrong in writing, talking or thinking about your life as long as you dont hurt another individual in your greed for space, time and attention. There is nothing wrong in drawing from your experiences and talking from your perspectives because that's all you can be honest about and that's all you know best.

I wish the world would appreciate the power of the "self" in places more than the "self-help" books which seem to be overflowing in bookstores. I hope that we are able to accept our selfish streak and to use it in the right way because to my mind, nullifying our sense of self is certainly not the way forward.

Spectator on the outside...

On a cold, windy day, as I sit by the window and look at life as it has been, I feel strangely disconnected, as if I am witnessing a movie of sorts (a rather boring one at that !).

Life in the past few years has moved at its steady pace but somewhere i am not living it the way I used to. I can barely feel my life - the unbearable agony or the ecstasy of being. I can see the days moving by, at a steady pace, governed by the sun and its relentless motion, but I can't feel them distinctly. So much so, that sometimes, I am left wondering about where one began and where it ended. It feels like it has been one steady flow like that of the river as it reached the plains - slow, meandering, almost effortless even though it is carrying a lot with it.

I have witnessed some great days and lived through some exceedingly painful events but while I have been through them all, I can't feel them - the pain nor the joy. It feels like they all came and went like the ripples on the surface of a deep pond when a stone is cast. There are disturbances on the surface but underneath it all, deep within, there is an undisturbed quiet. A sense of steadiness and stability. Is that where I am ?

I haven't jumped with joy or shrieked with excitement even for achievements that mark a lifetime. I haven't dwelled in the sorrows and moped around either, even though some days were just wretched and miserable. I have lived through them with these reactions which were essential but somehow nothing really managed to pierce through the exterior. I haven't been inactive either. I have met my goals, made my decisions and led my life. I have done the right things (at least as per how they seemed to me) and i have worked hard. And yet, I feel disconnected. Far from the daily ups and downs which were marked by a certain volatility that used to catch even me by surprise. It was a life with a lot of drama because I used to feel a lot more than I needed to. And how much I wished then to feel less, so that the pain would become more bearable and life would become more pleasant. These were not huge, life-threatening or existential problems that would impact a nation, but they were mine. The joys too were not landmark events. They were small jokes, few good moments, tiny successes, that were marked by a small treat.... nothing dramatic but I could feel them and I was ecstatic with them. Life was more like the journey of a river at its origins, tumultuous, tiring, bubbling forth and bursting through every obstacle that comes forth.

But not now. I am at a different stage now. Is it that I have just grown older and have found the maturity to appreciate life in all its essence away from the sinusoidal curves of daily existence... ? Is it that my mind had adapted itself in some "evolutionarily" competent way to make me survive through the worst by dimming my perceptions and sensitivities ? I mean, if I don't feel the miseries, I am bound to live a happier, less complicated life, ain't I? Have I finally found a sense of equanimity with my approach to life, as opposed to the volatility of my earlier years, when every tiny event would trigger a surge of adrenaline or endorphin.... ? Or is it that I have actually become indifferent to life around me ?

Have I become calm and level-headed or simply indifferent to life ??

A day and a lesson to remember...

There are some days in life that sneak up on you like the first rains after a long dry season and leave you feeling just as rejuvenated. April 2nd 2011. It was one such day in the lives of many Indians. It was just another Saturday in every aspect but for the fact that India won the cricket world cup.

I was caught by the cricket bug in childhood itself just as almost every other Indian kid. Playing some gully cricket to watching test matches between exams were a big part of my life till adulthood took charge. A few lost matches, a match-fixing scandal, a bad season, a busy schedule, physical distances and the call of duty had all played a part in estranging me from the entire euphoria of the 2011 World cup. It would have seemed like a complete remission in medical terms but then it took only one grand victory over Australia and Pakistan and a place in the finals for me to be showing symptoms of the bug all over again... :)

I was hooked on to the final match. It was a great day but then there have been other such great days earlier. Will we actually repeat history as it had happened nearly three decades ago or will it be a recap of events much closer in time... ? Despite these fears, I couldn't resist waking up early to watch the match on a weak internet connection. The scenes from the match kept drifting in and out of my computer like the curtains on my window but then this was a match I couldn't have stopped watching. And so I valiantly sat there garnering information from two different websites and trying to keep my nails intact as they were keeping pace with the tension in the game. It was a comfortable victory as things turned out but then Indian cricket is famous for its roller coaster rides. And just when you thought that all was well and under control, one could feel a tug on the carpet beneath your feet as the opposition tried to sneak in. And this would just prompt complete attention and stunned silence to the game. And there I was sitting in front of my computer screen, trying multiple websites for a live feed and looking for some good quality telecast as my brain swung from hope to euphoria to disappointment to ecstasy.

The end of this long story of course is not unknown to anyone who cares to look up the news once in a while because though cricket is not the biggest game in the world, it has a fair share of its followers. To put it in the mildest terms, India won the match with a bang and the entire country of 1.2 billion erupted. It is just a game but the influence of this game and its grip on the Indian social structure and psyche is difficult to estimate till you see such historic days. Even sitting 8000 miles away with a few facebook updates and a glimpse on the bbc news, i knew that it was a momentous day and that the entire country would have behaved like it were stoned with Tequilla. There were celebrations on the streets, rituals and functions, rallies and processions as if all the problems of this emerging "developing" nation were solved in one single swoop by acquiring the magic of the world cup. I am sure everyone was filled with a sense of pride, respect, joy and nationality. You dont expect anything less from a nation where cricket and religion as equals in attention seeking.

And through all this, somewhere, halfway across the world, I was sitting watching this day as if it were just another dream. I wished I could scream just to share my happiness (but then you don't expect your American, Chinese and Japanese neighbors to understand your sentiments about cricket) and so I sat there in silence watching the joy and pride on a million faces. I wanted to celebrate but here i was struggling to even watch the celebrations (the internet really seemed to follow murphy's law because it would decide to take a break at all the crucial moments in the match).

Even with the nationalistic sentiments surging through my mind, in those few moments, i realized one thing for certain. They were right when they said that happiness grows when you share it and is incomplete when you can't. For some reason, I had never accepted this idiom and its value. Why would you think that joys are never complete until you share them....? After all, they are so few and far in between that when you find them you should be happy irrespective of who is around you or not. But on this day amidst all the euphoria that I was witnessing, i had learnt a lesson. I had understood the words I had heard forever and i could feel their true import. My joy too felt incomplete till i could rejoice with the other. See the smiles that wouldn't fade. Till I could hear the drums in the distance and the screams in the streets and smell the sweets from the kitchen.

It remained a dream till i heard some Indians chatting in the bus about India's performance. Till I heard those facebook comments and saw those pictures of glorious celebrations. It was a landmark and will be remembered for a long time to come. And though I was a witness to it, somewhere deep inside, I know i was nowhere near to experiencing it.

Nonethless, it was a day I wish to remember for days and years to come and it came with a wonderful lesson too.

And since for me a picture says what a thousand words can, I have included some pictures of that landmark day when history was drafted by 11 men and witnessed by 1.2 billion...

The Gray invasion...

From the clarity of black and white, my world has been invaded by the grays. It started silently like those first obscure strands of gray that you suddenly notice on one fine day.

I left them unattended and now I can see that quietly and surely, the grays have invaded my world as they constantly cloud my perspectives. Nothing seems right or wrong and every perspective seems understandable given the circumstances. No one seems right and no one seems wrong. No answer seems complete and no question feels simple. Every problem has a million variables and is never taken care of. Every decision feels like a gamble as nothing ever is completely right for all concerned. My thoughts of me are burdened by my thoughts of others. My fears for others have become my own.

Where is that simple world of yonder where people were either good or bad, honest or dishonest, right or wrong... ? I feel like I am trying to see the world through a lens that becomes misty every time I breathe. How does one make decisions when everything has its own pitfalls and its own merits, when everyone is bound by their circumstances and when every choice is driven by its own problems.... ??

With age and maturity, I have found the grays and maybe even accepted them. I know now that they are here to stay. At times, I feel like not breathing just so the mist would clear and the images would become sharper.... At others, I like this fuzzy world where I can judge no one, where is no one is right and no one is wrong. Where people are just people and everyone is beyond my understanding, reproach or opinion because i will never know in entirety of the past that made them what they are, the present that holds them where they are or the future that drives them forward. And that is sometimes liberating.

But in this gray world, I do sometimes hold my breath and wait for the mirror to clear up because after all decisions have to be made one way or another. While sometimes chance comes up as the blustery wind that clears my vision, at other times, it is my heart which sheds some light. In a world where rational thought seems to fail me, I am learning to listen to my heart which has many a things to say through those gentle whispers, nods, notes of disgust, anger, confusion, misery and joy. While my mind is relentlessly trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, knowing deep within that it is almost impossible without a picture to go with, my heart takes a stand and gives me a small, feeble indication. I try to listen and I struggle to interpret. But with the years spent together we now seem to have a sense of trust as i have begun to understand its voices.

I guess with the loss of clarity in vision, i have sharpened my auditory acuity... :)