Me and the wife at a SuperTarget recently. She's off browsing some section of the store. I wander off to check a nearby section. I turn a corner and see a guy walking towards me. Guy breaks into a smile and points a finger at me with an expression of a slowly dawning familiarity.
GuyFromTraget (GFT): "Hey - do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar."
Me: "Really? Sorry I can't seem to place you." (I'm trying real hard though!)
GFT: "I think I saw you at #$% - are you a student there?"
Me: (realizing that it might be possible I met this guy somewhere at #$% while I used to work over there) "Yeah. I used to be at #$% but not as a student. I was a researcher and I also worked with faculty at the business school."
GFT: "Yeah. Yeah. The business school. I think I met you over there. Cool. I'm {GFT}.
Me: "I'm Sarat. Nice to meet you {GFT}."
GFT: "So Sarat, what do you do?"
Me: "I am currently looking for work but I am actually a computer science researcher and software developer (I go off into my small prepared intro that I have had the opportunity to use extremely often these last few months - with limited success)."
GFT: "Really? What do you work on?"
Me: "I am visualization expert. I focus on visualizing and analyzing data, that is, make graphical representations of complex information to make them more easier to absorb and understand quickly."
GFT: "Oh Cool. That's really very interesting."
Me: "So what do you do?"
GFT: "Oh. I am an entrepreneur. I work in the distribution and retail industry."
Me: "Cool! Good to hear."
GFT: "You have a business card or something? We're constantly looking for people who can work with us."
Me: "Sure. I don't have a business card anymore - but here's my phone number. Do you have a business card yourself?"
GFT: "Thanks. No - I'm not carrying one but here's my email address."
Me: "Thanks. Nice meeting you - and good luck with your venture."
GFT: "Nice meeting you as well. Good luck with your job search."
Chance meeting over. Driving home from SuperTarget. I'm thinking: Wow. GFT seemed like a real nice guy. I wish I had recognized him. I need to do something about being so forgetful and stuff off late.
Couple of days later, phone rings.
Me: "Hello?"
Voice: "Sarat? Hey - this is {GFT} - we met at the Target."
Me: "Oh Hey. I do remember. How are you?"
GFT: "Good. Good. Listen - are you still looking for work?"
Me: "Sort of."
GFT: "I may have an opportunity for you if you are interested."
Me: "Cool. What does it involve?"
GFT: "I only have a minute right now but me and my associate would like to meet with you sometime. Do you have time on Tuesday or Wednesday?"
Me: "Not on Tuesday. But Wednesday evening's good?"
GFT: "Cool. How about 8pm at Panera Bread on Wednesday?"
Me: "Uh... Ok. Sounds good."
GFT: "Good. You will show up though right?"
Me: "Oh of course. I'd be happy to learn more about the job opportunity."
GFT: "Excellent. So see you on Wednesday at 8 p.m."
Cool! That chance meeting turned out to be interesting. There might be something there. Of course, a lot of potential job opportunities for me haven't quite turned out right off late. But meeting with people is the most important thing when looking for a job, right?! Plus maybe distribution industry folks need my analytics experience and stuff. So it might be useful to meet those guys - if not now then maybe sometime in the future.
Wednesday evening - 8:05 p.m. @ Panera Bread. I am sitting at a table all by myself waiting for {GFT} and his associate to show up. Phone rings.
Me: "Hello?"
GFT: "Sorry I am running a little late because of a conference call. However, my associate {Ass} is on his way over to meet you. He should be there in a few minutes. Is that Ok?"
Me: (Something starting to feel a little off - dunny why tho). "Umm... Ok. But I have no idea what I am meeting for yet." (Ok - dat why!)
GFT: "Dont worry. {Ass} will explain everything."
8.30 p.m. A guy - not GFT - walks in wearing a buttoned shirt, trousers and a tie with a couple of other nicely dressed folks.
Ass: "Sarat? Hey - I am {Ass} and I work with {GFT}. This is {Ass_2} and {Ass_3}."
GFT: "Nice to meet you."
Ass: "So {GFT} explained to you what this is about right."
Me: "Nope. I really have no idea what this is about and what you guys do other than that you wanted to meet me regarding a potential job opportunity for me." (I'm starting to feel that this is all going to lead to something monumentally horrible... still not sure how or what tho!)
Ass: "This is actually not about a job opportunity for you but about a way for you to be self-employed and make some money."
Me: (A sinking feeling in my stomach. Realization finally dawns on me - I got suckered into meeting with the class of people I detest the most...) "Oh ... Ok!"
Ass: "So basically let me tell you how..."
Ass launches into his marketing spiel with fancy acronyms and charts. But I'm not really listening to the drivel. My mind has already raced back to the Target meeting with {GFT} and the epiphany that I've just been had with the "Dont I know you from somewhere?" trick! That's right! I've just been had by a fking pyramid scheme dude peddling some new kind of pyramid scheme BS.
15 minutes later the meeting ends. Although for me the meeting had been over 15 minutes ago. It was supposed to go on for another hour or more. I decided that I had had my fun though. That fun involved interrogating Ass about their pyramid scheme, about why I would buy stuff from him when I could buy at wholesale prices from Sam's Club or Costco, about why they having a website is no great shakes because the wholesaler membership clubs like Costco and Sam's have their own website as well, about how much profit each customer of his really makes, about how much he makes on each of his customer's profit, about why the products he sells have no real benefit for me... and so on.
I take pity on myself and the fool. I've had enough. I tell him I'm done - that I am looking for a job and that this whole setup was miscommunicated to me by {GFT} and that you guys should go after him for wasting both our time.
Meeting over, I call the wife and I tell her we need to celebrate me being had by another pyramid schemer - after a 10 year gap. She's laughing too. The only good thing that came out of it - they guy behind the counter at Panera gave me a free coffee. Small mercies like that let you keep faith in humanity.
Those that feed on the insecurity of folks in real tough situations are the worst of sh&t. Good trick tho GFT. But I'm hopefully not falling for that one again.
Showing posts with label abstract bull$hit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abstract bull$hit. Show all posts
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Origins - Part 23: Vividh Bharati
Maybe I still carry a grudge with my parents for cutting (figuratively speaking) me from Cable TV in high school in India. Twice. Both before important end-of-school-year exams (10th Std. and 12th Std.). Their reasoning: I could never probably have enough entertainment. Now, with only the regular TV channels on (all 2 of them - both run by state-owned media) instead of the several other enticing stuff on Cable, they thought that I'd spend very little time in front of the TV and spend more time studying for those exams instead.
They were right - about the first part at least. However, the part that satellite TV would have played was instead taken over by radio - via an old transistor radio that my Dad had bought. That radio, about the dimensions of a decent-sized hardbound novel, was more than 10 years old at that time.
Circa 1991, radio broadcast in India was still state owned and operated, just as terrestrial TV broadcast in India was until a little over a decade ago. During those days, cable TV was actually Satellite TV, transmitted locally within neighborhoods via cable from the neighborhood satellite TV hub. These hubs consisted of huge satellite dish antennas from which overhead cable lines spawned out to buildings across the neighborhoods. Each building hub then had several connecting cables that went into people's homes via windows. This form of cable TV then consisted of channels from all around Asia, the more popular of which were those owned by Star TV - based in and broadcast from Hong Kong.
Prior to 91, India not only had nationalized TV and radio programming, they had also closed borders to stations broadcasting from outside India. All that changed in '91 when the country finally opened up its skies just as it had opened up its economy in response to an economic crisis of great magnitude. Star TV was the first foreign entrant into Indian skywaves, and had quickly started to become pretty popular among the city dwellers. My parents contemplated getting us hooked as well. However, wanting their good-for-nothing yours truly to somehow surprise them pleasantly by doing well in the 10th Std. public exams, they decided against it.
India's state owned radio broadcasting corporation was called All India Radio or simply AIR. At that time AIR broadcast mostly on Medium Wave (MW) and Short Wave (SW). While discussions on starting an AIR FM broadcast in India were on, with private entities allowed to broadcast segments of time, they still hadn't begun yet.
"Vividh Bharati", was the main entertainment feature of AIR, and was broadcast on MW. It carried a broad range of programs from music, to radio plays, etc. These soon became staples for me. Most of these programs were in Hindi. And since I was cooped in my room pretending like I was preparing for exams and stuff, the radio was almost a constant companion. It actually made practicing math problems a lot more pleasant.
So - over the course of a single day, I would end up listening to a whole bunch of old Hindi songs ("Bela ke Phool"), new Hindi songs, trailers of new Hindi movies, famous radio hosts like Ameen Sayani hosting the Hindi music countdown show "Cibaca Geet Mala" (originally the Binaca Geet Mala), request-a-song shows, entertainment shows like the Diamond Comics radio show on Sunday afternoons (I think), radio plays like "Hawa Mahal", and so many more that I can't recollect on the spot.
While I had always enjoyed Hindi music - both old and new, there's nothing like listening to them all the time to really learn about them. I can't imagine how else I would have been introduced to so much Hindi music in so little time.
Another favorite on radio was to listen to the BBC world service on Short Wave (SW). This was especially the case when Vividh Bharati service on state owned radio stopped around 11.35 p.m. on weekdays.
All this while, I remained a voracious reader of English fiction and an avid listener of Western pop and rock. You may think that those multitude of influences may have played a large role as well in me being screwed up, or having experience being screwed up, or whatever.
Cable TV was briefly hooked up in 1992-93 for about a year or so. However, as all Indian kids educated in India, I had to start preparing soon for the public end-of-year exams for the 12th Std. It was decided again, that for my own good, Cable TV would be disconnected once again. Obviously I was pissed like any rebel-without-a-cause teenager worth his salt. But I didn't panic. I had my fallback.
So - being an avid radio listener in general, and of Vividh Bharathi in particular, especially during those 4 years i.e. 1991, 1992, 1993 and 1994 - probably ended up becoming a huge influence on me. Sure, all that reading, watching all that TV, MTV and getting hooked on to FM radio, were all pretty influential as well. But I think the one exerted by "All India Radio" has manifested itself in many ways; those that I recognize and those that I may never be able to.
Still not sure if I should stay mad at my parents for cutting me from Cable TV. Maybe it will be as they say:
"When you'll have kids one day - you'll know."
.
They were right - about the first part at least. However, the part that satellite TV would have played was instead taken over by radio - via an old transistor radio that my Dad had bought. That radio, about the dimensions of a decent-sized hardbound novel, was more than 10 years old at that time.
Circa 1991, radio broadcast in India was still state owned and operated, just as terrestrial TV broadcast in India was until a little over a decade ago. During those days, cable TV was actually Satellite TV, transmitted locally within neighborhoods via cable from the neighborhood satellite TV hub. These hubs consisted of huge satellite dish antennas from which overhead cable lines spawned out to buildings across the neighborhoods. Each building hub then had several connecting cables that went into people's homes via windows. This form of cable TV then consisted of channels from all around Asia, the more popular of which were those owned by Star TV - based in and broadcast from Hong Kong.
Prior to 91, India not only had nationalized TV and radio programming, they had also closed borders to stations broadcasting from outside India. All that changed in '91 when the country finally opened up its skies just as it had opened up its economy in response to an economic crisis of great magnitude. Star TV was the first foreign entrant into Indian skywaves, and had quickly started to become pretty popular among the city dwellers. My parents contemplated getting us hooked as well. However, wanting their good-for-nothing yours truly to somehow surprise them pleasantly by doing well in the 10th Std. public exams, they decided against it.
India's state owned radio broadcasting corporation was called All India Radio or simply AIR. At that time AIR broadcast mostly on Medium Wave (MW) and Short Wave (SW). While discussions on starting an AIR FM broadcast in India were on, with private entities allowed to broadcast segments of time, they still hadn't begun yet.
"Vividh Bharati", was the main entertainment feature of AIR, and was broadcast on MW. It carried a broad range of programs from music, to radio plays, etc. These soon became staples for me. Most of these programs were in Hindi. And since I was cooped in my room pretending like I was preparing for exams and stuff, the radio was almost a constant companion. It actually made practicing math problems a lot more pleasant.
So - over the course of a single day, I would end up listening to a whole bunch of old Hindi songs ("Bela ke Phool"), new Hindi songs, trailers of new Hindi movies, famous radio hosts like Ameen Sayani hosting the Hindi music countdown show "Cibaca Geet Mala" (originally the Binaca Geet Mala), request-a-song shows, entertainment shows like the Diamond Comics radio show on Sunday afternoons (I think), radio plays like "Hawa Mahal", and so many more that I can't recollect on the spot.
While I had always enjoyed Hindi music - both old and new, there's nothing like listening to them all the time to really learn about them. I can't imagine how else I would have been introduced to so much Hindi music in so little time.
Another favorite on radio was to listen to the BBC world service on Short Wave (SW). This was especially the case when Vividh Bharati service on state owned radio stopped around 11.35 p.m. on weekdays.
All this while, I remained a voracious reader of English fiction and an avid listener of Western pop and rock. You may think that those multitude of influences may have played a large role as well in me being screwed up, or having experience being screwed up, or whatever.
Cable TV was briefly hooked up in 1992-93 for about a year or so. However, as all Indian kids educated in India, I had to start preparing soon for the public end-of-year exams for the 12th Std. It was decided again, that for my own good, Cable TV would be disconnected once again. Obviously I was pissed like any rebel-without-a-cause teenager worth his salt. But I didn't panic. I had my fallback.
So - being an avid radio listener in general, and of Vividh Bharathi in particular, especially during those 4 years i.e. 1991, 1992, 1993 and 1994 - probably ended up becoming a huge influence on me. Sure, all that reading, watching all that TV, MTV and getting hooked on to FM radio, were all pretty influential as well. But I think the one exerted by "All India Radio" has manifested itself in many ways; those that I recognize and those that I may never be able to.
Still not sure if I should stay mad at my parents for cutting me from Cable TV. Maybe it will be as they say:
"When you'll have kids one day - you'll know."
.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Signs you're getting older: #117
You spend a little bit more time than you used to looking behind you - worrying about who's trying to screw you.
Call it a "Welcome to the real-world" realization or another little slip down that slide into paranoid schizophrenia. Take your pick.
Call it a "Welcome to the real-world" realization or another little slip down that slide into paranoid schizophrenia. Take your pick.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
"I was a fool - please take me back"
As is the case, when we all start with a ton of ideas and intentions, we almost always end up with not having done anything about most of those.
Naming my personal blog as "The Meltdown Chronicles", overlooking the inherent pretentiousness and the genuine lack of creativity in the title, was meant to provide the blog with some overarching purpose. The purpose being - some way of documenting how crazier I am going to get as the years roll on by even as MPB (Male Pattern Baldness) and CRS (Can't Remember Sh*t - Thanks Venky), among other afflictions, start working their magic on me. As with good intentions that fall by the wayside, (although "chronicling" my descent into what I will come to loosely being known as, i.e. crazy would not necessarily be termed as a "good intention" in any easily conceivable way - there in perhaps providing a decent enough glimpse of that future dementia), I fear I am not doing much justice to it.
If you thought though that the whole purpose of this confession was that I would somehow start spending more time trying to achieve that purpose... you're not in the same room as I am. Perhaps fortunate. Because while I am busy trying to become mental, I am not doing a good job recording it.
Anyways, besides the confession that I'm really bad at following up sometimes with long-term goals, or that I'm really good at making course corrections whenever convenient, whatever, I've also had this realization (yes yes... the useless epiphanies keep sparking up) that it would be easy to read all this one day (ok - it won't necessarily be easy) and discern the madness between the lines camouflaged by the increasingly extraordinarily mediocre writing.
I will try though to be a little bit more regular. It's not that I have to look around real hard for material. I've been fortunate that way - it doesn't take too much to have me go off on a long rant about something.
So please take me back (If I gave myself a rupee or a nickel for every time I said that ... I'd be richer if it were more nickels than rupees - plain old exchange rates you see).
Naming my personal blog as "The Meltdown Chronicles", overlooking the inherent pretentiousness and the genuine lack of creativity in the title, was meant to provide the blog with some overarching purpose. The purpose being - some way of documenting how crazier I am going to get as the years roll on by even as MPB (Male Pattern Baldness) and CRS (Can't Remember Sh*t - Thanks Venky), among other afflictions, start working their magic on me. As with good intentions that fall by the wayside, (although "chronicling" my descent into what I will come to loosely being known as, i.e. crazy would not necessarily be termed as a "good intention" in any easily conceivable way - there in perhaps providing a decent enough glimpse of that future dementia), I fear I am not doing much justice to it.
If you thought though that the whole purpose of this confession was that I would somehow start spending more time trying to achieve that purpose... you're not in the same room as I am. Perhaps fortunate. Because while I am busy trying to become mental, I am not doing a good job recording it.
Anyways, besides the confession that I'm really bad at following up sometimes with long-term goals, or that I'm really good at making course corrections whenever convenient, whatever, I've also had this realization (yes yes... the useless epiphanies keep sparking up) that it would be easy to read all this one day (ok - it won't necessarily be easy) and discern the madness between the lines camouflaged by the increasingly extraordinarily mediocre writing.
I will try though to be a little bit more regular. It's not that I have to look around real hard for material. I've been fortunate that way - it doesn't take too much to have me go off on a long rant about something.
So please take me back (If I gave myself a rupee or a nickel for every time I said that ... I'd be richer if it were more nickels than rupees - plain old exchange rates you see).
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
No... Please... Don't ...
The thing with blogs, for me, is that anyone with a semi-intelligent thought thinks they can and should blog/ write.
And thats a good thing and a bad thing. More often than not - it's a bad thing.
A friend of mine had similar thoughts about blogs and bloggers. She blogs/writes regularly - her blog being one of the few sites that I visit often enough and that I am happy to in the knowledge that I know the person behind the words. (Ok. Ok. Let's not go into what does "know a person" really mean.)
And off late, I've decided that I tend to agree with her. Sure, it's elitist to think that others shouldn't blog. And I hate to think I'm an elitist myself (I have the denial thing down pat, you see).
But I didn't always think that way before. I believed in the therapeutic abilities of writing and writing often. Perhaps still do. If people open up - maybe they can deal with their inner conflicts more rationally. Maybe they can deal with the stress of daily lives a little bit more easily. By writing a blog and letting people read what I've written, maybe it gives me a chance to let others learn something about me, as much as reading their blogs gives me a chance to learn about them.
So what if their blogs sound like the ruminations of a half-wit. So what if its so very painful to read them walk you through their most recent epiphany or self-realization (OK - so they're kinda the same thing - but what the heck!). And by painful - I don't mean in some emotional, "I feel your pain" kind of way - but painful as in "How is it even possible someone to write this crap?" way. And if I don't like what I see, I can choose to not go to their websites and ridicule their writing abilities and their acumen any more. That sounds simple - and fair.
But where's the fun in that? We've all grown up believing that the world is one unfair place - with one put-down after another lined up for us day after day after... Which makes it doubly fun to visit a half-wit's up and running blog and mock it - even if its to yourself. Nothing feels better after a put-down, than picking on someone else. I feel better after feeding the birds once in a while. And I feel better after putting someone down. It doesn't matter how I feel better - as long as I do.
I think it's OK to write. But if its on a blog, then its on there because you want others to read it. The "others" therefore are free to make up their own minds. If I don't like the way you write - I could choose to not visit it and ridicule it and enjoy putting you down to make up for my own insufficiences.
Or you could choose to not put it out there for me to read.
There. I just walked you through my most recent epiphany. That felt good. I feel better already.
And thats a good thing and a bad thing. More often than not - it's a bad thing.
A friend of mine had similar thoughts about blogs and bloggers. She blogs/writes regularly - her blog being one of the few sites that I visit often enough and that I am happy to in the knowledge that I know the person behind the words. (Ok. Ok. Let's not go into what does "know a person" really mean.)
And off late, I've decided that I tend to agree with her. Sure, it's elitist to think that others shouldn't blog. And I hate to think I'm an elitist myself (I have the denial thing down pat, you see).
But I didn't always think that way before. I believed in the therapeutic abilities of writing and writing often. Perhaps still do. If people open up - maybe they can deal with their inner conflicts more rationally. Maybe they can deal with the stress of daily lives a little bit more easily. By writing a blog and letting people read what I've written, maybe it gives me a chance to let others learn something about me, as much as reading their blogs gives me a chance to learn about them.
So what if their blogs sound like the ruminations of a half-wit. So what if its so very painful to read them walk you through their most recent epiphany or self-realization (OK - so they're kinda the same thing - but what the heck!). And by painful - I don't mean in some emotional, "I feel your pain" kind of way - but painful as in "How is it even possible someone to write this crap?" way. And if I don't like what I see, I can choose to not go to their websites and ridicule their writing abilities and their acumen any more. That sounds simple - and fair.
But where's the fun in that? We've all grown up believing that the world is one unfair place - with one put-down after another lined up for us day after day after... Which makes it doubly fun to visit a half-wit's up and running blog and mock it - even if its to yourself. Nothing feels better after a put-down, than picking on someone else. I feel better after feeding the birds once in a while. And I feel better after putting someone down. It doesn't matter how I feel better - as long as I do.
I think it's OK to write. But if its on a blog, then its on there because you want others to read it. The "others" therefore are free to make up their own minds. If I don't like the way you write - I could choose to not visit it and ridicule it and enjoy putting you down to make up for my own insufficiences.
Or you could choose to not put it out there for me to read.
There. I just walked you through my most recent epiphany. That felt good. I feel better already.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
A penny for...
My parents visited me recently. Sometimes, I saw my Dad just sitting on the sofa staring off into the distance through the large windows. I don't think he was looking at anything in particular. I do know that he was deep in thought. When he gets that way, I find myself overwhelmed with a whole lot of thoughts myself. I also feel sadness inside that I have trouble defining.
What's he's really thinking about? I have no idea. I have posed that question to him a few times. Each time, he turns towards me and flashes a warm, slightly guilty looking smile. He shakes his head and says, "No. Nothing. I'm not thinking about anything."
His response makes me feel somewhat less melancholy. I feel good about myself for having asked him to tell me what he seems to be preoccupied with. I let him know, in my own way, that I gave a damn. That I wanted to share his concerns if he so wanted it.
His response also makes me feel just a bit more sad. I don't know why. Why does the act of my parents gazing away into the emptiness make me sad? For all I know, they're probably happy and contented - now that my Dad's been semi-retired for a while now, and my Mom doesn't have young kids to look after. They have a lot more free time on their hands. Time enough for them to sit down and relax, watch TV, read their favorite books, travel a bit, do yoga every morning and go meet friends and family similarly unburdened with looking after thankless offspring 24/7.
Maybe.
Still. I can't seem to get over the sadness I feel. Especially when all they tell me is that it's nothing at all. Perhaps it's because their visit was too short and I wanted to spend more time with them. Perhaps it's because they're looking visibly older and more vulnerable with each passing year. Perhaps it's because of the guilt I feel for having left them back home by themselves - for not being around in their old age when they probably need me the most. Or perhaps seeing them deep in thought makes me feel that they're feeling the weight of many worries. Worries that I should have been able to ease somewhat by now but I have failed to do so. Perhaps it's all of these reasons put together. And I want to do something about it - if I only knew what.
My Dad saw me sitting quietly staring away into nothingness one evening. He asked me what I was thinking about. The irony didn't escape me. I took a couple of seconds to compose myself before I turned around to face him. I knew what to say - I had been learning from him apparently.
What's he's really thinking about? I have no idea. I have posed that question to him a few times. Each time, he turns towards me and flashes a warm, slightly guilty looking smile. He shakes his head and says, "No. Nothing. I'm not thinking about anything."
His response makes me feel somewhat less melancholy. I feel good about myself for having asked him to tell me what he seems to be preoccupied with. I let him know, in my own way, that I gave a damn. That I wanted to share his concerns if he so wanted it.
His response also makes me feel just a bit more sad. I don't know why. Why does the act of my parents gazing away into the emptiness make me sad? For all I know, they're probably happy and contented - now that my Dad's been semi-retired for a while now, and my Mom doesn't have young kids to look after. They have a lot more free time on their hands. Time enough for them to sit down and relax, watch TV, read their favorite books, travel a bit, do yoga every morning and go meet friends and family similarly unburdened with looking after thankless offspring 24/7.
Maybe.
Still. I can't seem to get over the sadness I feel. Especially when all they tell me is that it's nothing at all. Perhaps it's because their visit was too short and I wanted to spend more time with them. Perhaps it's because they're looking visibly older and more vulnerable with each passing year. Perhaps it's because of the guilt I feel for having left them back home by themselves - for not being around in their old age when they probably need me the most. Or perhaps seeing them deep in thought makes me feel that they're feeling the weight of many worries. Worries that I should have been able to ease somewhat by now but I have failed to do so. Perhaps it's all of these reasons put together. And I want to do something about it - if I only knew what.
My Dad saw me sitting quietly staring away into nothingness one evening. He asked me what I was thinking about. The irony didn't escape me. I took a couple of seconds to compose myself before I turned around to face him. I knew what to say - I had been learning from him apparently.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Safe
One thing about being in school for so long means that you get used to a different kind of reality. You don't really have to watch what you say unless you're facing a committee of professors. You don't have to look and behave like a normal nine-to-fiver, unless, once again you're facing the said committee. People argue aggressively, vociferously with another and yet there's usually no ill feeling at the end of it all. Abusive language is a necessary part of making a strong case to back up your arguments and views. Basically, it's a different world where a lot of the norms that exists in the life outside of the sphere (or any other volume) of influence of a university aren't exactly adhered to. And that's putting it politely. In most circles, some of which I have been involved with and have been an active participant of, those "outside world" norms are downright derided.
But at some point, you have to leave your safe environs and step outside. Leave your cheap apartment where your roommates and neighbors consisted of other poor students, graduate or undergraduate and move to better areas so you can be closer to work. At some point, think about getting rid of your cheap car - the one you love, loathe, respect, abuse and fear in equal parts. Stop wearing crumpled T shirts, and smelly, old worn-out pairs of jeans. Stop ogling at people thinking that you're complimenting them by doing so. And most importantly - watching what you say real hard. You will have to do all of this when you leave those safe university environs and start living in what's called the real world.
It's like when you leave the theatre after a movie or a play that you really enjoyed watching, and found yourself immersed in. Once you open the wide exit doors to step out on to the street you're suddenly brought back to reality, rather rudely sometimes, with the sounds of dozens of cars and the jarring music blaring from them, people milling around in front of the ticket window talking, shouting, cell phone ringers going off. It's a "Welcome back to reality, bitch!" experience.
The longer you are in the theatre, the longer it takes for the effect of the alternate, make believe world you just escaped to, to wear off and for you to come back to reality. School's like that.
When you step in to the real world outside, you've got to start looking, dressing, acting and moving like you belong to it so that other real-worlders can accept you, and not be scared of you, and maybe even like you - although that last part is perhaps stretching it a little. And why all this is important, is because the real world is where the money is - and to make it in there you've got to make the adjustments. And sometimes it takes really long for the adjustment to be made. It's not that school doesn't equip you with the tools to adjust. It's just that the adjustment is a drastic one sometimes. Some look forward to it. Some don't. Most though are unprepared - no matter how they've prepared themselves.
I find myself at that curious transition state of having left that shade of the large tree I was living under and making my way into what's waiting for me on the outside. All that I've studied in school doesn't prepare me though for the complex terminologies spoken in outside circles, like the APRs, 401K's, etc. I pretend I know what they mean. I even understand what they speak of in those circles sometimes. But mostly I just end up realizing that I'm hopelessly out of my depth. And all I end up doing is pissing people off with my posturing that I don't care about what I don't understand, while what I'm really trying to do is get a handle on the fact that I don't know jack really.
Yup. I am hopelessly lost. Now, just where did I put my drink down.
But at some point, you have to leave your safe environs and step outside. Leave your cheap apartment where your roommates and neighbors consisted of other poor students, graduate or undergraduate and move to better areas so you can be closer to work. At some point, think about getting rid of your cheap car - the one you love, loathe, respect, abuse and fear in equal parts. Stop wearing crumpled T shirts, and smelly, old worn-out pairs of jeans. Stop ogling at people thinking that you're complimenting them by doing so. And most importantly - watching what you say real hard. You will have to do all of this when you leave those safe university environs and start living in what's called the real world.
It's like when you leave the theatre after a movie or a play that you really enjoyed watching, and found yourself immersed in. Once you open the wide exit doors to step out on to the street you're suddenly brought back to reality, rather rudely sometimes, with the sounds of dozens of cars and the jarring music blaring from them, people milling around in front of the ticket window talking, shouting, cell phone ringers going off. It's a "Welcome back to reality, bitch!" experience.
The longer you are in the theatre, the longer it takes for the effect of the alternate, make believe world you just escaped to, to wear off and for you to come back to reality. School's like that.
When you step in to the real world outside, you've got to start looking, dressing, acting and moving like you belong to it so that other real-worlders can accept you, and not be scared of you, and maybe even like you - although that last part is perhaps stretching it a little. And why all this is important, is because the real world is where the money is - and to make it in there you've got to make the adjustments. And sometimes it takes really long for the adjustment to be made. It's not that school doesn't equip you with the tools to adjust. It's just that the adjustment is a drastic one sometimes. Some look forward to it. Some don't. Most though are unprepared - no matter how they've prepared themselves.
I find myself at that curious transition state of having left that shade of the large tree I was living under and making my way into what's waiting for me on the outside. All that I've studied in school doesn't prepare me though for the complex terminologies spoken in outside circles, like the APRs, 401K's, etc. I pretend I know what they mean. I even understand what they speak of in those circles sometimes. But mostly I just end up realizing that I'm hopelessly out of my depth. And all I end up doing is pissing people off with my posturing that I don't care about what I don't understand, while what I'm really trying to do is get a handle on the fact that I don't know jack really.
Yup. I am hopelessly lost. Now, just where did I put my drink down.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Hiatus Explanation (for those who don't care)
My apologies to those regularly checking in to my blog on the very long gap in posting. Several events occurred in a very brief spell of time - such as (but not limited to) interviewing for jobs, lots of traveling, finally getting some job offers and then selecting one, then starting work, and also moving to a new apartment in a new zip code.
Relax. I still haven't left the area. Suffice to say that these last few months have been very eventful - all the ups and downs made things very interesting. I will make the effort to be on here more often than I have in these last couple of months.
Relax. I still haven't left the area. Suffice to say that these last few months have been very eventful - all the ups and downs made things very interesting. I will make the effort to be on here more often than I have in these last couple of months.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
The Dream TARDIS
When I wake up in the middle of the morning, I think about how sleepy I still am. Then I decide if I just have to get up for anything in particular, or if I can afford to sleep off that sleepiness.
That's way too much thinking to do when you really just want to sleep though. Thinking kills sleep. Makes the mind wander to non-dreamsy places. No harems or space travels anymore for a few more hours.
I wish though that my dream TARDIS had a little less randomness. Perhaps it could be programmed better - maybe a few minutes before I actually formally declare to myself, "I'm now ready to go to bed". Now, here I must digress further to clarify that when I say "I'm ready to go to bed" - I'm not saying that "I get ready to go to bed". That clarification is important.
Back to dream programming. There's an important difference between watching programmes on TV and dreaming. At least from my perspective. The difference is that it's you that's making up the dreams (since there's no known scientific proof of it being broadcast from some outside-the-body source) , which means that perhaps you could control the programming somehow. Instead of looking at TV Guide to decide which shows you want to watch, and/or TiVoing your favourite shows when their timings clash with one another, you could perhaps program your dreams so you could tell your dream TARDIS where you want to go, what you want to do and how you want to be doing it all.
So, when I'm ready to go to bed, I could tell my mind:
"Allright, here's stuff that I am interested in:
(1) For the first hour of my dream, I want to relax a little bit. No nasty surprises that jolt me out of sleep. Take me somewhere where I'm playing some kinda outdoor sport. Show me doing well, playing hard. And I don't really care so much if I win or lose, as long as you show me using my real-life bad knee like there's nothing wrong with it. I'd be happy with that.
(2) Then for the next hour, take me back to my childhood. And make my nephew - who's now 6 years old - join in and play with me and my childhood friends. Show us participating in cool adventures, like the several times we'd go climbing that hill that when I was a kid. And of course, some cool adventures I never really had but would have loved to. (Don't ask me which ones those are. Just do it - damnit!) Make sure my nephew and me end up bonding together as best buddies. I'd really like that.
(3) Keep the Shotime and Skinemax dreams out for the third hour. I think tonight I'd like to spend some time with my parents. Show me as I am right now. With a lot more hair on my head. Ok then - that's not as I am right now - but don't you start getting too cute with me now! Anyways, back to hour 3: make sure to show my parents young. Show my Dad the handsome young man he was. Show my Mom as the young, striking beauty she once was; Her hair long, free and show her laughing away carefree - like a little child watching a cartoon show. Show me as being respectful to them and make sure they're having a good time with me, not dreading the next rebellious thing I might spring on them. My sister needs to be around too - bubbly and pretty young girl that she was. Show us two getting along really good without those fights we constantly had.
(4) For hour number 4, I think I might be in the mood for spending time with my lady love. No. No. Not just that kind of time. Take us back home when we were dating then. Make sure I have a lot more money to show her a good time around town - catching a movie, eating at a nice restaurant, walking around the historical sites, perusing the books and interesting items being sold by the street vendors. Better still, make all of that not require any money. Show people around us being kind to lovers - not the suspicious, kill-joy moral police types. Then show us travelling back home in the evening - in the upper level of a double decker bus - sitting side by side, holding and squeezing each other's hands as the young lovers were were then, looking out of the window from above at the sea of humanity below us - mesmerised by the interconnectedness of millions of lives.
Ok. That's all I could think of. For the remaining hours, I'll let you decide what you want to show me. Make it interesting though. And entertaining. And while you're at it, make it illogical if you want to - I'm not a great practitioner or exponent of logic anyways.
I think that should be it for tonight. Tomorrow, we could do an all-nighter on me and my friends. I'm looking forward to it already. In fact, one of my friend's birthdays is coming up - so mix that in as well. But all that's for tomorrow.
Oh - and TiVo the stuff I enjoyed tonight, so we could do a re-run some other night!"
Unfortunately that dream machine of mine is not programmable. Or controllable in any fashion - not in any way that I really understand. I don't have any way to control where it takes me - no way to comprehend that randomness. Nor do I really understand all the stuff that seems to manifest itself into those random trips.
But then there's a lot of stuff that I don't. Including why I want the dreams I want.
P.S. In case you're wondering what the hell a TARDIS is - please read or watch Dr. Who.
That's way too much thinking to do when you really just want to sleep though. Thinking kills sleep. Makes the mind wander to non-dreamsy places. No harems or space travels anymore for a few more hours.
I wish though that my dream TARDIS had a little less randomness. Perhaps it could be programmed better - maybe a few minutes before I actually formally declare to myself, "I'm now ready to go to bed". Now, here I must digress further to clarify that when I say "I'm ready to go to bed" - I'm not saying that "I get ready to go to bed". That clarification is important.
Back to dream programming. There's an important difference between watching programmes on TV and dreaming. At least from my perspective. The difference is that it's you that's making up the dreams (since there's no known scientific proof of it being broadcast from some outside-the-body source) , which means that perhaps you could control the programming somehow. Instead of looking at TV Guide to decide which shows you want to watch, and/or TiVoing your favourite shows when their timings clash with one another, you could perhaps program your dreams so you could tell your dream TARDIS where you want to go, what you want to do and how you want to be doing it all.
So, when I'm ready to go to bed, I could tell my mind:
"Allright, here's stuff that I am interested in:
(1) For the first hour of my dream, I want to relax a little bit. No nasty surprises that jolt me out of sleep. Take me somewhere where I'm playing some kinda outdoor sport. Show me doing well, playing hard. And I don't really care so much if I win or lose, as long as you show me using my real-life bad knee like there's nothing wrong with it. I'd be happy with that.
(2) Then for the next hour, take me back to my childhood. And make my nephew - who's now 6 years old - join in and play with me and my childhood friends. Show us participating in cool adventures, like the several times we'd go climbing that hill that when I was a kid. And of course, some cool adventures I never really had but would have loved to. (Don't ask me which ones those are. Just do it - damnit!) Make sure my nephew and me end up bonding together as best buddies. I'd really like that.
(3) Keep the Shotime and Skinemax dreams out for the third hour. I think tonight I'd like to spend some time with my parents. Show me as I am right now. With a lot more hair on my head. Ok then - that's not as I am right now - but don't you start getting too cute with me now! Anyways, back to hour 3: make sure to show my parents young. Show my Dad the handsome young man he was. Show my Mom as the young, striking beauty she once was; Her hair long, free and show her laughing away carefree - like a little child watching a cartoon show. Show me as being respectful to them and make sure they're having a good time with me, not dreading the next rebellious thing I might spring on them. My sister needs to be around too - bubbly and pretty young girl that she was. Show us two getting along really good without those fights we constantly had.
(4) For hour number 4, I think I might be in the mood for spending time with my lady love. No. No. Not just that kind of time. Take us back home when we were dating then. Make sure I have a lot more money to show her a good time around town - catching a movie, eating at a nice restaurant, walking around the historical sites, perusing the books and interesting items being sold by the street vendors. Better still, make all of that not require any money. Show people around us being kind to lovers - not the suspicious, kill-joy moral police types. Then show us travelling back home in the evening - in the upper level of a double decker bus - sitting side by side, holding and squeezing each other's hands as the young lovers were were then, looking out of the window from above at the sea of humanity below us - mesmerised by the interconnectedness of millions of lives.
Ok. That's all I could think of. For the remaining hours, I'll let you decide what you want to show me. Make it interesting though. And entertaining. And while you're at it, make it illogical if you want to - I'm not a great practitioner or exponent of logic anyways.
I think that should be it for tonight. Tomorrow, we could do an all-nighter on me and my friends. I'm looking forward to it already. In fact, one of my friend's birthdays is coming up - so mix that in as well. But all that's for tomorrow.
Oh - and TiVo the stuff I enjoyed tonight, so we could do a re-run some other night!"
Unfortunately that dream machine of mine is not programmable. Or controllable in any fashion - not in any way that I really understand. I don't have any way to control where it takes me - no way to comprehend that randomness. Nor do I really understand all the stuff that seems to manifest itself into those random trips.
But then there's a lot of stuff that I don't. Including why I want the dreams I want.
P.S. In case you're wondering what the hell a TARDIS is - please read or watch Dr. Who.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Now what?
3 drinks
empty stomach - well ok - some fries in between
a wicked buzz
a lot of cussing and swearing
lots of laughing with good ol' friends in on a celebration
help me walk me up the stairs later in the evening
up to my apartment-for-a-couple-'more-weeks-now
it's the middle of the night - nay early in the morning
And I suddenly find myself awake, wide awake
Buzz gone away
And hungry as hell
empty stomach - well ok - some fries in between
a wicked buzz
a lot of cussing and swearing
lots of laughing with good ol' friends in on a celebration
help me walk me up the stairs later in the evening
up to my apartment-for-a-couple-'more-weeks-now
it's the middle of the night - nay early in the morning
And I suddenly find myself awake, wide awake
Buzz gone away
And hungry as hell
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Monsters and action heroes
Conflict is our permanent curse. And as long as there's some form of conflict heroes and villains seem to keep cropping up. Trouble is, several of these "heroes" take to playing the part of do-gooders in order to mask their true intentions like seeking personal gratification of some sort, or to hide their insecurities regarding their own shortcomings, or guilt at having been villains in some way at some other time and now want to atone for it somehow.
Villains, for their part so it seems, are always f**king with humanity, and heroes are always seemingly trying to stop them and consequently save humanity. It's just not in the nature of do-gooding heroes to be content living the calm life like the rest of us common folk suckered into watching one crappy TV show after another. Nope. Heroes are always itching for a fight.
The sad part about the whole thing though is that sometimes the itch to indulge in some blood-letting gets to them so bad - that they actually create monsters out of thin air. Just so that they can have some kind of conflict. Just so that they could justify their own presence in some way most of all to themselves and thereby feel relevant.
That though is little consolation for people who have lost their lives and/or their minds in this battle between heroes and villains. Even if you are now wise to all the antics of the conflict seekers, the sad reality is that you cannot distance yourself from one side or the other. To all of us who lie in between, these self-appointed heroes and their chosen villains (in many cases self-appointed heroes themselves) are both edges of the same knife; the same knife thats sticking out of our collective backs.
Villains, for their part so it seems, are always f**king with humanity, and heroes are always seemingly trying to stop them and consequently save humanity. It's just not in the nature of do-gooding heroes to be content living the calm life like the rest of us common folk suckered into watching one crappy TV show after another. Nope. Heroes are always itching for a fight.
The sad part about the whole thing though is that sometimes the itch to indulge in some blood-letting gets to them so bad - that they actually create monsters out of thin air. Just so that they can have some kind of conflict. Just so that they could justify their own presence in some way most of all to themselves and thereby feel relevant.
That though is little consolation for people who have lost their lives and/or their minds in this battle between heroes and villains. Even if you are now wise to all the antics of the conflict seekers, the sad reality is that you cannot distance yourself from one side or the other. To all of us who lie in between, these self-appointed heroes and their chosen villains (in many cases self-appointed heroes themselves) are both edges of the same knife; the same knife thats sticking out of our collective backs.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Fishing for Validation with Depravity as Bait
Not all depravity is humourless. In fact, I'd even say that most depravity is humourous. What's really funny, in a sad way, is a joke that's not very funny. Whats sad for me (and sadly or happily funny for you) is that I'm mouthing those unfunny jokes.
Cracking jokes is some kind of a validation trip. That validation is gained through the laughter we induce. The more maniacal the laughter, the more validated we feel. There's nothing more satisfying than a wise crack that gets a lot of laughs. Wit is a sign of intelligence, especially the ones we make on the fly. Or so we keep telling ourselves. So to prove our own intelligence to people around us, most of all to ourselves perhaps, we keep trying to get a witty comment in. When they laugh, it's like, "Wow! That went down well! I must be freakin' funny or something!"
Trouble is, wit is highly subjective. What's funny to me ain't necessarily funny to you. Some get it. Some don't. And there are some who pretend like they don't want to get it. But I have to say that getting it is a good thing. It's stress relieving. It's invigorating. It's tiring - but in a good way. Ok! I digressed from talking about getting jokes to getting some other "it".
See? That was another cheap attempt at humour. It's really sad how badly I want you to laugh at something that cheap. As the title says, I'm fishing for validation using depravity as bait. See how well I linked all that? Chalk coming up with stupid titles as another talent I have.
Cracking jokes is some kind of a validation trip. That validation is gained through the laughter we induce. The more maniacal the laughter, the more validated we feel. There's nothing more satisfying than a wise crack that gets a lot of laughs. Wit is a sign of intelligence, especially the ones we make on the fly. Or so we keep telling ourselves. So to prove our own intelligence to people around us, most of all to ourselves perhaps, we keep trying to get a witty comment in. When they laugh, it's like, "Wow! That went down well! I must be freakin' funny or something!"
Trouble is, wit is highly subjective. What's funny to me ain't necessarily funny to you. Some get it. Some don't. And there are some who pretend like they don't want to get it. But I have to say that getting it is a good thing. It's stress relieving. It's invigorating. It's tiring - but in a good way. Ok! I digressed from talking about getting jokes to getting some other "it".
See? That was another cheap attempt at humour. It's really sad how badly I want you to laugh at something that cheap. As the title says, I'm fishing for validation using depravity as bait. See how well I linked all that? Chalk coming up with stupid titles as another talent I have.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Hope
Ssshh! Don't speak that word. Don't say it out loud. Don't say it like its OK to use it. It's not. There are kids around. You don't want them to ask you what it means, do you?
"Sure, if you want to listen to all the bad news things will always look a tad grim, won't they?! But if you look at all the good things happening - you'll know that its not all bad. In fact, things are getting better. We've turned a corner for sure."
The governments are all trying to put a wicked spin on the facts. Signs, they say, that everything is going well - even getting better. That you've never been safer. But then they also tell you to board up, stock up, tape up and hunker down - safety helmets on - just in case. Just in case what? Just in case, for instance, the unknown Islamo-fascist drives a tank thru the walls of your erstwhile cozy homes, or better still, blows you up to bits.
"... Just in case something bad happens - which, might I add, is not going to happen in the first place."
I suppose then, people like this chick who writes on Baghdad Burning is, at the very least, a pessimist! At worst, she's probably fabricating all this sitting in some desert oasis eating the choicest dates of the land. She must really hate democracy and freedom!
"Absolutely! She needs to cheer up a little. Go party somewhere. Get a life."
Listen to the great white "protector" ramble on about how "democracy" is making all the difference. Like how the world is such a dangerous place today, but still, you've never been safer than you are today. So hunker down in those bunkers, and let your protectors do what we they do best(?). To put on their robes, their cross, their kippahs, their threads and tikas, and take on the bearded zealots. Slaughter them and their brethren, as they slaughter yours, and bomb more trains and run planes into more buildings of your people (and some of theirs).
"Hey! They started the fire - didn't they?! Meanwhile, we'll be taking away some of your freedoms while we're taking care of this problem. Relax though! Its only to protect your freedoms in the first place. See? It's all very, very simple!"
"And if you're too concerned with how your life's not quite turning out right - about how your little corner of the globe is getting a little too hot - move to some palce else. Like California, man! California rocks. There are all those movie stars over there, theme parks, fancy cars that run on premium unleaded, lovely natural vistas, people living carefree lives sipping Mochas, californicating all the time! That's what you should be doing!"
So run away tonight! Forget your worries. Your problems. Your struggles. Your disagreements. Your sense of attachments, of belonging. Your boredom. It's all going to get better. Just ... try not to h--e. Why ruin a perfectly good gig?
I used to h--e. I used to try and pass it around. Not much's coming back these days. Now, my stash is empty.
Maybe your stash is empty coz you've smoked it all away - you stupid f**k!
"Sure, if you want to listen to all the bad news things will always look a tad grim, won't they?! But if you look at all the good things happening - you'll know that its not all bad. In fact, things are getting better. We've turned a corner for sure."
The governments are all trying to put a wicked spin on the facts. Signs, they say, that everything is going well - even getting better. That you've never been safer. But then they also tell you to board up, stock up, tape up and hunker down - safety helmets on - just in case. Just in case what? Just in case, for instance, the unknown Islamo-fascist drives a tank thru the walls of your erstwhile cozy homes, or better still, blows you up to bits.
"... Just in case something bad happens - which, might I add, is not going to happen in the first place."
I suppose then, people like this chick who writes on Baghdad Burning is, at the very least, a pessimist! At worst, she's probably fabricating all this sitting in some desert oasis eating the choicest dates of the land. She must really hate democracy and freedom!
"Absolutely! She needs to cheer up a little. Go party somewhere. Get a life."
Listen to the great white "protector" ramble on about how "democracy" is making all the difference. Like how the world is such a dangerous place today, but still, you've never been safer than you are today. So hunker down in those bunkers, and let your protectors do what we they do best(?). To put on their robes, their cross, their kippahs, their threads and tikas, and take on the bearded zealots. Slaughter them and their brethren, as they slaughter yours, and bomb more trains and run planes into more buildings of your people (and some of theirs).
"Hey! They started the fire - didn't they?! Meanwhile, we'll be taking away some of your freedoms while we're taking care of this problem. Relax though! Its only to protect your freedoms in the first place. See? It's all very, very simple!"
"And if you're too concerned with how your life's not quite turning out right - about how your little corner of the globe is getting a little too hot - move to some palce else. Like California, man! California rocks. There are all those movie stars over there, theme parks, fancy cars that run on premium unleaded, lovely natural vistas, people living carefree lives sipping Mochas, californicating all the time! That's what you should be doing!"
So run away tonight! Forget your worries. Your problems. Your struggles. Your disagreements. Your sense of attachments, of belonging. Your boredom. It's all going to get better. Just ... try not to h--e. Why ruin a perfectly good gig?
I used to h--e. I used to try and pass it around. Not much's coming back these days. Now, my stash is empty.
Maybe your stash is empty coz you've smoked it all away - you stupid f**k!
Thursday, June 22, 2006
2 kinds
People love categorizing things. Easier to manage - things are if they're categorized. And as far as categorizing people is concerned - for most of us it's usually categorizing people into 2 kinds. The types differ. There's good or evil, right or wrong, black or white, rich or poor, capitalist or communist, with you or against you. Stuff. All appropriate in some context or situation
Increasingly though for me, there are just two kinds of people. Those who are (1) honest to themselves, and (2) those who aren't. And while I don't (quite ironically) know where I belong, I sure know where I want to.
I can't really think of any way to tell for sure who belongs to which category. Mainly because that categorization is so completely internal. I know would like to belong to category 1. Heck, I think we all should aspire to be in category 1. But I also know that I am not really that honest to myself. I know sometimes being honest to oneself is depressing. Especially when you realize that you're not as virtuous as you believe yourself to be.
But if you really want to start categorizing others as honest to themselves or dishonest to themselves, then you're missing the point somewhat - as I am. Finding out who you are is basically a self-test, and failing it means that you obviously have a lot of work to do internally.
And while I don't really think there's a definite sign that tells you who you are in this context at least, I am starting to think that one way to start off on that path is having an awareness or understanding of a sense of irony. Particularly the ironies in your own life. And if you can't see the irony of how things have turned out for you - you've really really really missed the point all this while.
Increasingly though for me, there are just two kinds of people. Those who are (1) honest to themselves, and (2) those who aren't. And while I don't (quite ironically) know where I belong, I sure know where I want to.
I can't really think of any way to tell for sure who belongs to which category. Mainly because that categorization is so completely internal. I know would like to belong to category 1. Heck, I think we all should aspire to be in category 1. But I also know that I am not really that honest to myself. I know sometimes being honest to oneself is depressing. Especially when you realize that you're not as virtuous as you believe yourself to be.
But if you really want to start categorizing others as honest to themselves or dishonest to themselves, then you're missing the point somewhat - as I am. Finding out who you are is basically a self-test, and failing it means that you obviously have a lot of work to do internally.
And while I don't really think there's a definite sign that tells you who you are in this context at least, I am starting to think that one way to start off on that path is having an awareness or understanding of a sense of irony. Particularly the ironies in your own life. And if you can't see the irony of how things have turned out for you - you've really really really missed the point all this while.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Smoking pot again (3)?
Once, when I was much much younger (and that was a long long time ago), as a birthday gift I received a small wooden wall-hanging on which was inscribed, "The smallest good deed is better than the greatest good intention." I don't really know if the person gifting me that plaque was trying to pass on some kind of a subtle message to me or something. Maybe it was a message of some sort. I dunno. But it took me a long time to figure out the significance and the implication of the entire statement.
Such words of wisdom come from pretty much everywhere - from stuff people once wrote and from stuff wise people from our past once said (or were reported to have once said), or even from pop culture, or from the word on the street. Many of them are so commonplace that we don't even have to say them in their entirety anymore. Its enough to say, "Hey, you know what - if it ain't broke..."
Several times though words of wisdom like the one I started this piece with start to sound terribly cliched. Especially when you start using them when you can't really come up with something original but still want to sound at least pseudo-meaningful. In fact, people blurt out cliches frequently in order to pretend to be wise and offer meaningful advice ("You must look into your heart to find the real truth!" and other such pearls.)
And I don't really know if wise words start sounding like cliches because people who use it are unable to think original, or because our generation is far more skeptical and distrusting of any information that comes our way. Everything starts to sound like some amalgamation of cliches, and ultimately just empty rhetoric. With all the mis-information that is out there in the guise of fact, I wouldn't blame our generation really.
But as the saying, apt for circumspect folks like me, goes, "Even a stopped clock shows the right time twice a day!" What it means in this context is that even the worst cliches are sometimes frustratingly apt. Most of the time, how you perceive "words of wisdom" is really a function of the space-time continuum - i.e. a matter of being at the right place at the right time. And if you are in a situation with your defences down and vulnerable to a cliche-attack, a well-aimed cliche might just hit home. And fit just right.
Just like the horoscope you happen to read on one of your more introspective afternoons. Or the preacher you meet on one of your depressed and (more) depraved days. Or the fortune cookie you crack open after a romantic meal (and not add "In bed" or "And then you die!" to whatever the fortune in it says). Or the affirmation that new age gurus give you validation and affirmation addicts in the guise of leading you on to the path of better living. Or the song you hear on the radio when you're driving home pondering over the status of your relationship with your love ("Free! Free! Set them free!")
And maybe, just maybe, just as a stopped clock showing the right time twice a day, as opposed to other quantifiable (or not) instances of time when it doesn't, the cliche that hits home may just so happen to make far more sense to you than anything original you can come up with. Skepticism may just be a convenient way to excuse ourselves from the business of accountability - which is probably how words of wisdom became cliches in the first place.
"Just because it's a cliche - doesn't always mean it's bullsh#t!"
P.S. New look prompted by BrijWhiz who still remains the pioneer - as always!
Such words of wisdom come from pretty much everywhere - from stuff people once wrote and from stuff wise people from our past once said (or were reported to have once said), or even from pop culture, or from the word on the street. Many of them are so commonplace that we don't even have to say them in their entirety anymore. Its enough to say, "Hey, you know what - if it ain't broke..."
Several times though words of wisdom like the one I started this piece with start to sound terribly cliched. Especially when you start using them when you can't really come up with something original but still want to sound at least pseudo-meaningful. In fact, people blurt out cliches frequently in order to pretend to be wise and offer meaningful advice ("You must look into your heart to find the real truth!" and other such pearls.)
And I don't really know if wise words start sounding like cliches because people who use it are unable to think original, or because our generation is far more skeptical and distrusting of any information that comes our way. Everything starts to sound like some amalgamation of cliches, and ultimately just empty rhetoric. With all the mis-information that is out there in the guise of fact, I wouldn't blame our generation really.
But as the saying, apt for circumspect folks like me, goes, "Even a stopped clock shows the right time twice a day!" What it means in this context is that even the worst cliches are sometimes frustratingly apt. Most of the time, how you perceive "words of wisdom" is really a function of the space-time continuum - i.e. a matter of being at the right place at the right time. And if you are in a situation with your defences down and vulnerable to a cliche-attack, a well-aimed cliche might just hit home. And fit just right.
Just like the horoscope you happen to read on one of your more introspective afternoons. Or the preacher you meet on one of your depressed and (more) depraved days. Or the fortune cookie you crack open after a romantic meal (and not add "In bed" or "And then you die!" to whatever the fortune in it says). Or the affirmation that new age gurus give you validation and affirmation addicts in the guise of leading you on to the path of better living. Or the song you hear on the radio when you're driving home pondering over the status of your relationship with your love ("Free! Free! Set them free!")
And maybe, just maybe, just as a stopped clock showing the right time twice a day, as opposed to other quantifiable (or not) instances of time when it doesn't, the cliche that hits home may just so happen to make far more sense to you than anything original you can come up with. Skepticism may just be a convenient way to excuse ourselves from the business of accountability - which is probably how words of wisdom became cliches in the first place.
"Just because it's a cliche - doesn't always mean it's bullsh#t!"
P.S. New look prompted by BrijWhiz who still remains the pioneer - as always!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
X in Y
For every expatriate of a country x living abroad in country y, you might find yourself in 3 broad kinds of places in y. Some of you mught have experienced all three in one place over a period of time. (Several of you will have no idea what I am currently trippin' on.)
A. Oh so very few from x living around you
If so, you're probably thinking:
"God! I wish there was someone from x living around here. Someone I could relate to. This place is so freakin barren and alien. And I am so tired of being like the locals, eating their goddamned crappy food and pretending to enjoy their freakin' country and their music, and their so called culture and cuisine. Hell! I am just here for the opportunities and the money."
B. A good number of those from x living around you. But they're not all over the place or something.
If so, you're probably thinking:
"God! I wish there weren't so many of them from x around here like me. Especially those untidy, smelly ones with the funny accents they haven't bothered to adapt to y. Now the locals think I am like that smelly, dark x character - while I am clearly not. Also, I am not unique here in any way. I should be friendly with those from x though, since I don't want to feel alone in an alien country. But they'll start cosying up to me too much, or judge me and all that - me with my changed lifestyle and already having adapted myself to y. In fact, I secretly want these y's to think I am from y and not really from x. But I am not really from y am I? And what if these y people always think of me as from x no matter how y I become? I don't want to be considered a x'ian! What do I do? God! I am so freakin' confused!"
C. A very large number of x living around you. So many that they can be seen and heard everywhere.
And if that's so, then you're probably thinking:
"God! These freakin' locals. They always look at me funny and make fun of my accent all the time. You know what? F**k 'em. I am going to be an x'ian and stop trying to be like a y'ian. I do wish though that my people drove better and smelt better and spoke better! But I am glad there are so many of us around. I feel much safer with our presence here. I can be myself. At least the self I was back home. I don't even have to befriend the freakin' y's if I don't feel like it. Ok maybe a couple. But, I don't really care too much if these y's understand me or not. Let them complain. Soon, we'll (those from x that is) be taking over the whole goddamn place and there's nothing these y folks can do about it. HEEHEEEHAAHAHHHHAAAAHH!!"
Conclusion:
Life's screwed up. So's my generalization. Still, spend less time worrying about "How do ah lose my identity real fast?", or "How on Earth am I going to keep it intact?", and spend more time trying to discover your true identity. What then is your true identity? Who knows. But I've got a feeling that it's got more to do with where you want to go, than where you are now, or where you come from.
A. Oh so very few from x living around you
If so, you're probably thinking:
"God! I wish there was someone from x living around here. Someone I could relate to. This place is so freakin barren and alien. And I am so tired of being like the locals, eating their goddamned crappy food and pretending to enjoy their freakin' country and their music, and their so called culture and cuisine. Hell! I am just here for the opportunities and the money."
B. A good number of those from x living around you. But they're not all over the place or something.
If so, you're probably thinking:
"God! I wish there weren't so many of them from x around here like me. Especially those untidy, smelly ones with the funny accents they haven't bothered to adapt to y. Now the locals think I am like that smelly, dark x character - while I am clearly not. Also, I am not unique here in any way. I should be friendly with those from x though, since I don't want to feel alone in an alien country. But they'll start cosying up to me too much, or judge me and all that - me with my changed lifestyle and already having adapted myself to y. In fact, I secretly want these y's to think I am from y and not really from x. But I am not really from y am I? And what if these y people always think of me as from x no matter how y I become? I don't want to be considered a x'ian! What do I do? God! I am so freakin' confused!"
C. A very large number of x living around you. So many that they can be seen and heard everywhere.
And if that's so, then you're probably thinking:
"God! These freakin' locals. They always look at me funny and make fun of my accent all the time. You know what? F**k 'em. I am going to be an x'ian and stop trying to be like a y'ian. I do wish though that my people drove better and smelt better and spoke better! But I am glad there are so many of us around. I feel much safer with our presence here. I can be myself. At least the self I was back home. I don't even have to befriend the freakin' y's if I don't feel like it. Ok maybe a couple. But, I don't really care too much if these y's understand me or not. Let them complain. Soon, we'll (those from x that is) be taking over the whole goddamn place and there's nothing these y folks can do about it. HEEHEEEHAAHAHHHHAAAAHH!!"
Conclusion:
Life's screwed up. So's my generalization. Still, spend less time worrying about "How do ah lose my identity real fast?", or "How on Earth am I going to keep it intact?", and spend more time trying to discover your true identity. What then is your true identity? Who knows. But I've got a feeling that it's got more to do with where you want to go, than where you are now, or where you come from.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Recluse
Old habits die hard. Phone's ringing. It's the middle of the afternoon. The blinds reluctantly filter the sunlight into my room. They're on my side - the blinds I mean. I don't really want the sun in. I am still lying on my bed. And the phone's ringing. And then it stops.
It's back to the silence that probably preceded the phone call. Except, now I am awake once again. Since drifting off to sleep the last time the ringer went off. Then and now, just rode out the ringing without really doing anything. Several moments later, I finally turn to my side and pick up the mobile phone. Check caller ID.
F*&k! Should've taken this call. But, now's not the time to return the call and chat.
No. Not now. Now's not that time. Now's the time to wallow in listlessness; in the feeling that the sh*t's coming down hard all around me, but I am loath to respond to the situation.
Not that it's raining down that hard 'round me - the sh*t I mean. A little too opera-like that description - it's probably a good deal measure off the mark anyways. Whatever. (These are dark times indeed!) I stumble out of bed and a few necessary tasks later during which time quietly transpires itself by - walk the 10 minutes it takes me to get to the place I work at. Since I didn't specify if I walk those 10 minutes that it usually takes me to get to work - to actually walk to work or walk to somewhere else - I should tell you that thats what I do. That is - I walk those 10 minutes it takes me to get to work - to actually walk and get to work.
Once in the building, I try and avoid contact with people for the most part.
It's back to the silence that probably preceded the phone call. Except, now I am awake once again. Since drifting off to sleep the last time the ringer went off. Then and now, just rode out the ringing without really doing anything. Several moments later, I finally turn to my side and pick up the mobile phone. Check caller ID.
F*&k! Should've taken this call. But, now's not the time to return the call and chat.
No. Not now. Now's not that time. Now's the time to wallow in listlessness; in the feeling that the sh*t's coming down hard all around me, but I am loath to respond to the situation.
Not that it's raining down that hard 'round me - the sh*t I mean. A little too opera-like that description - it's probably a good deal measure off the mark anyways. Whatever. (These are dark times indeed!) I stumble out of bed and a few necessary tasks later during which time quietly transpires itself by - walk the 10 minutes it takes me to get to the place I work at. Since I didn't specify if I walk those 10 minutes that it usually takes me to get to work - to actually walk to work or walk to somewhere else - I should tell you that thats what I do. That is - I walk those 10 minutes it takes me to get to work - to actually walk and get to work.
Once in the building, I try and avoid contact with people for the most part.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Discretized continuum
There is a wedding band on my finger. Feels heavy sometimes. Sometimes, I'm afraid it may just slip off my finger and roll away someplace where it can never be retrieved. I am still getting used to it; rolling it periodically when I'm tense, when I'm not really thinking about anything in particular.
Not that the ring should signify that life is somehow more precious now or something. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it should. I don't know. I know that it feels heavy sometimes. And it takes a little getting used to. And yet, because it's been in the works for so long, it's natural that it's on.
Still, these instant transitions can be freaky strange. Together for all those years, Sally and me, before we tied the knot. Here we were, happily prancing around the garden, singing, making out, and then suddenly, BAM!! ... Before we knew it, we were hitched - husband and wife. It was all like being in a drug induced haze. And in that instant life had somehow changed.
Ok, well. I kinda took a few liberties in describing the event I described earlier. It obviously didn't happen in that fashion. But I digress. What I was getting round to saying was that there was none of the smooth transition that's always taking place in everyday life where you don't even know change's taking place and before you know it something has changed irrevocably.
Like those friggin' birthdays. All this while you're X age. Then your B'day comes along. And instantly, you are now Y years old, where X is simply NOT Y, and will never ever be Y (Sniff!). And yet, you're actually just a day, an hour, a minute, a second (ok.. ok...you get the picture!) older. Why then the drastic human implication of being a year older? What crime have I committed to deserve this judgement?!! Why God?! WHY?!!
It just so seems that human beings are unable to comprehend and deal with continuous values in life, and therefore believe in discretization in order to manage continuous events.
Just thought I'd share this information with you.
Not that the ring should signify that life is somehow more precious now or something. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it should. I don't know. I know that it feels heavy sometimes. And it takes a little getting used to. And yet, because it's been in the works for so long, it's natural that it's on.
Still, these instant transitions can be freaky strange. Together for all those years, Sally and me, before we tied the knot. Here we were, happily prancing around the garden, singing, making out, and then suddenly, BAM!! ... Before we knew it, we were hitched - husband and wife. It was all like being in a drug induced haze. And in that instant life had somehow changed.
Ok, well. I kinda took a few liberties in describing the event I described earlier. It obviously didn't happen in that fashion. But I digress. What I was getting round to saying was that there was none of the smooth transition that's always taking place in everyday life where you don't even know change's taking place and before you know it something has changed irrevocably.
Like those friggin' birthdays. All this while you're X age. Then your B'day comes along. And instantly, you are now Y years old, where X is simply NOT Y, and will never ever be Y (Sniff!). And yet, you're actually just a day, an hour, a minute, a second (ok.. ok...you get the picture!) older. Why then the drastic human implication of being a year older? What crime have I committed to deserve this judgement?!! Why God?! WHY?!!
It just so seems that human beings are unable to comprehend and deal with continuous values in life, and therefore believe in discretization in order to manage continuous events.
Just thought I'd share this information with you.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Where I lay my head is home. Or is it?
Home to me has always been my parent’s flat in Vashi, New Bombay. I spent a large part of my life living in that apartment. I had a room to myself, my own desk, my bed, my music system, my audio cassettes that I bought spending all of my monthly allowance, my posters, my books, my PC, my adult stash which I hoped were hidden from the others at home, but which everyone else at my place knew where they were located. My memories. Home was sitting in the balcony in the afternoon on Sundays watching traffic and people go by, watching TV while reading a newspaper and eating dinner all at the same time, quarreling with my sister and my parents in my years of teenage angst, and being consoled and cared for through all the good times and bad. Home was where I spent long hours with my friends. Home is the address that’s on my passport. Home was all that and so much more.
Not anymore though. My parents just moved to another city - Hyderabad. They’ve also passed on the flat in New Bombay (for a sum) to another family. It’s sad that I won’t be returning to that home ever again. It will be a new city. A new apartment. (Same parents though, of course.) Still, I refuse to believe that it’s as simple as that. That my hometown is not Bombay anymore just because my parents moved out. Bombay is still my birthplace. My memories live and thrive in Bombay. That somehow feels truer, than the physical reality that my parents no longer live there anymore.
My parents managed the move quite well without their thankless son being around to help out. The toughest part of the move for them, however, was not the packing and the loading. The toughest part was saying goodbye to neighbors, friends and extended family members who were part of our daily lives. For all sides concerned, life as we knew it had changed in some way. That we’ll tide over these changes as is in our nature is a given. But the change will remain, and it will hurt.
Here’s to our home that served us well for so long: May you long continue to bestow your nurturing shelter on your new occupants. And may they also look upon you with love and longing when it’s their turn to say goodbye.
Not anymore though. My parents just moved to another city - Hyderabad. They’ve also passed on the flat in New Bombay (for a sum) to another family. It’s sad that I won’t be returning to that home ever again. It will be a new city. A new apartment. (Same parents though, of course.) Still, I refuse to believe that it’s as simple as that. That my hometown is not Bombay anymore just because my parents moved out. Bombay is still my birthplace. My memories live and thrive in Bombay. That somehow feels truer, than the physical reality that my parents no longer live there anymore.
My parents managed the move quite well without their thankless son being around to help out. The toughest part of the move for them, however, was not the packing and the loading. The toughest part was saying goodbye to neighbors, friends and extended family members who were part of our daily lives. For all sides concerned, life as we knew it had changed in some way. That we’ll tide over these changes as is in our nature is a given. But the change will remain, and it will hurt.
Here’s to our home that served us well for so long: May you long continue to bestow your nurturing shelter on your new occupants. And may they also look upon you with love and longing when it’s their turn to say goodbye.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Heart and Mind
Thoughts are to free. Trap them. Set them free once again.
The head rules. Hearts follow. Emotions run wild.
Hurts sometimes. But, what's done is done. Take solace in simple pleasures.
So far ahead down that path though.
Do-good, Do-bad. "For thy Country". For People. My people. Mine and yours.
Heart and mind. Yours is yours - mine is mine. My good is not yours. My bad is not yours. "Stop bad habits." "Speak good - not Evil" "Take god's name."
Your thoughts. Mine?
Let be. Subside. Desist.
Think. Let others think. Others are thoughts. In your mind. You've trapped them. Now set them free. As others will set you.
Let me think- Let that be your thought for me. And I will let you think.
The head rules. Hearts follow. Emotions run wild.
Hurts sometimes. But, what's done is done. Take solace in simple pleasures.
So far ahead down that path though.
Do-good, Do-bad. "For thy Country". For People. My people. Mine and yours.
Heart and mind. Yours is yours - mine is mine. My good is not yours. My bad is not yours. "Stop bad habits." "Speak good - not Evil" "Take god's name."
Your thoughts. Mine?
Let be. Subside. Desist.
Think. Let others think. Others are thoughts. In your mind. You've trapped them. Now set them free. As others will set you.
Let me think- Let that be your thought for me. And I will let you think.
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