Alright, though generally my notes apply to a broader audience on most occasions but this time around, it is a bit different. This post will be relevant to the uninitiated, pimps, gigolos, and promiscuous people of either sex.
I’ve been thinking over this for sometime now, the chasm between the understanding of issues by me and my girl friend. Till date I was pretty smug about my comprehending powers, the ability to be on the same page with no leakage in the cistern of understanding, but off late I’ve started doubting this capability of mine. Reason being certain sudden bursts of friendly fire from her, which generally leave her unhurt and fuming, like a smoking gun, and me injured and confused. To make sure that I was not the only one causing such glaring acts of disagreement I did casually drop in the topic while conversing with various males of different age groups, and this topic is such that once initiated, guys who do not fall under aforementioned category, pour their hearts out, not withstanding who is around them, just as long as they are sad looking, stubble possessing, all empathizing males. This brings me to my post today, why do we do what we do and hopefully I will not get into why the girls don’t like it at times, because had I known it there would have been no writing on the topic.
Chivalry has to be the genesis of this post, the eternal precursor of the unexplained, seemingly primitive male responses to certain situations. The reactions that are like reflexes that occur without any rhyme or reason. The actions that look perfectly acceptable by the male race at the point of committing the same but which leave the perpetrator absolutely dumbfounded when the concerned female asks “why” and after a seemingly sufficing reason when she asks “why” again. I believe this is actually atavism in the male human race, the reappearance of characteristics that have inherently existed within us for ages, since the days of Adam or whoever he was. These traits have appeared, disappeared, reappeared at different points in the human time line but have never actually vanished from the fabric of man (male). And after a lot of thinking and on the mark but insufficient understanding, I can identify these traits to be the roots of all make ups, break ups, slaps and howlings in a relationship. For all the feminists who are ready to cock the gun, I’d just make it clear that I am not trying to defend disgusting male habits namely burping, farting, scratching, uncleanliness and ‘n’ timing (though these are found in certain chosen females too, after all man (human) is a social animal).
I believe that there are certain concepts, fundamental, planes of thinking which men assume are very easily understandable by the opposite sex but as it turns out time and again it is not so. But believe me when I say this, all men, irrespective of being urban, rural, semi urban, straight, gay can identify with these feelings even if they want to admit it or not. So though some people adapt at socially expressing their thought in a much more acceptable manner might not want to admit the sprout of such feelings, they cannot deny the presence of the same.
Chivalry, by the book means a. Courtesy towards women and the other meaning is what I believe is a more apt meaning of the word b. The medieval principles governing knighthood and knightly conduct; the former being a subset of the latter.
Here is where the root of it all lies. The acts of men in the medieval times were applauded and jeered depending on the acts themselves. The pomp and shows of machismo, the violent, blood thirsty gallantry of warriors, the blatant exhibition of manhood and power measured by the size of the harems the mighty owned were all acts that were a part of the society and because there were no news channels and no polling agencies we really can not know (apart from the French revolution and other such) the reaction of women to these acts. However, let’s try to match the columns in present behavior of a modern man and the origin of those acts, and of course equal and opposite reactions such acts elicit.
Humor, I believe is a criterion everyone looks for in any relationship. However if girls think that for men, humor is just about sharing a joke and being done with it, then they cannot be more wrong. Humor today is what almost everyone thought he knew in the age of the kings, yes, ‘the art of war’. Surprised? Don’t be. A joke for a women might be just that a joke, but for men it is everything. When in a group of boys, over a beer, in a boat with fellow sailors, in a pub or in a toilet, men share a smile as a way to bond. Jokes act as media for the same, and if I share a joke with you means that I am ready to take you in my circle of friends. But in the presence of a female, girl friend, wife or a common interest, men use jokes like gladiators use swords in the coliseum. To win the affection, acceptance of the girl, which becomes very clear by the varying degree of laughs/smiles he can notice on her face. So ladies, do not be surprised if your guy starts behaving aloof when he sees his jokes not being appreciated by you in public, worse still somebody else’s jokes are being liked in the war of wits. Also extreme reversal can happen too. You might suddenly hear a comment that you never thought your guy can make. But hey, give the man his due he is in pursuit of being the alpha male for you.
Possessiveness is something that girls absolutely hate. When the guy becomes nosey, disapproves of the friends of the girl that he personally does not know or looks ill at ease when you mention that you had a good time with a male friend at work or some place else.
Men (again not of the category mentioned in the opening paragraph) by nature are territory keepers. Be it harmless looking male animals who fight a fatal battle in case they see some other male in the herd eyeing their lady love or humans, who might not actually pull out a gun but so wish they could kill the guy who they are sure is fantasizing about their girl. As baseless or outrageous reasons they may sound, for you will hear the reasonable girl comment “it is ok, he can not do anything by just looking at me”, but the other guy will be seen as an enemy till the time he is there in the vicinity. The guarding behavior has taken over the gentle male boy friend. Insecurity, the term that girls utter with such disdain is a guaranteed sign of the boy being hopelessly in love with the girl in question. Girls mistake the questions to be a doubt over their loyalty, but what they do not understand is that, the male is doing what he always does. Trying to protect the one he is affectionate to and fighting an everyday battle to keep her with him. I believe this comes from the various cases through out history when the men used to find their beloved betrothed to someone else while they were busy warring, working or doing something else in the interest of the couple. So it’s not as much of distrust as it is an attempt at self-preservation. Men might hide these feelings but sometime or the other, either they have or they will surface openly or in an implosive manner.
Composure in face of extreme crisis and hyperventilation in seemingly minor issues, I think this bowls over the girls with utter chaos. But for us it is just an easy reflex action. Since childhood, boys become or are forced to become independent far early. Be it facing the school bullies, getting into a fight between the kids of different lanes, pre and post soccer match tussles, running behind a bus to catch it or getting stuck in torrential rains. Guys grow up with all this. We have seen our heroes do it time and again in comics, books and television. We can fight the tyrant; kill the man eyeing our girl (at least imagine in 546546 creative ways), picket the school campus but social behavior is something that does not come to us naturally. If someone does not comply or do something in line, either hit him square on the nose, insult him extremely sarcastic manner, be outrageously foul mouthed or just walk away and fume for three days and punching the walls in the room is the choice we can make. But waiting for the right time, plotting complicated schemes or forgetting is something we are inapt at. It’s either extreme, foolish love or suicidal war, nothing in between.
I remember an episode of Ally McBeal in which the lawyer John Cage defends his client from a charge of assault by quoting a very important anecdote. The gist of it was that if a man thinks that he is not able to defend his or his beloved’s dignity then the thing will eat him up from inside till he shows the warrior characteristic in some absolutely disconnected incident by dealing with the opponent and proves to himself that he is a brave man who can deal with his own nemesis in the most macho way possible. This attitude is taken and frequently portrayed as an uncivilized mindset but unfortunately we cannot help it.
Linked with this is the urge to be a man for all occasions. Great in bed, high earning at work, super guardian, fabulous driver and navigator; Say anything otherwise or praise someone else in even a remote context and you bound to have a question on your way sooner or later “Honey, am I good enough?”
I think instead of being displeased, women should be happy if they see these traits in their suitor because take this as a guarantee that barring certain traits that might appear dislikable at first, if you probe deeper into your guys heart, you will find nothing but an honest and real urge to love, nurture and guard. And men on the other hand need to learn more about the new world order, come out of the primitive reactions and polish the same to fit in, else be ready to get into an argument with no justification within the next 24 hours.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Life at the banks...II (The Television Generation)
When asked today about “the invention of the century” people try to come up with unique and intelligent sounding answers. But everyone, no matter what age or generation has to begrudgingly admit that good, bad or ugly the invention that has affected the generations over various eras in various ways good, bad or ugly IS the Television. Though commercialized in the late 1930s when India was still under the tyrannical rule of the British aka the goraz, finally the tube reached India. The first television channel came to India in September 1959; 12 years after India gained it’s independence and 24 years before I was born. However it was no great shakes at that time. Indians were still struggling to rise from the ruins that the British beautifully made out of the country that was termed as the golden bird. Hence there was not much use of television in a country where people did not actually understand the concept of electricity in totality, let alone imagining that you can watch something on TV in a remote village in Madhya Pradesh, which is actually happening in Nai Dilli.
But like all evils, miseries and natural disasters, TV caught up fast with the people in this third world country. The Government controlled channel went colored in 1982, a year before my birth. It was an amazing experience when we got a TV at home. In those days the TVs were nowhere as sleek and button oriented. They were heavy things which children were not allowed to touch or fiddle with. Televisions had wooden body with hot rears, a speaker on the right corner of the front profile with a knob that I believe were purposely made so tight that only the elders could twist it to change channels. However no channel changing was needed, as essentially there was only one channel that was telecasted for few hours, showing news in few languages, parliament news and news for the dumb and deaf, all preceded by and ending with a symbol resembling the Chinese yin-yang sign, only divided and distanced at the center with a circle in between. The footnote in the same color as the design read ‘satyamev jayte’ meaning victory of the truth or something on those lines. However we as kids loved watching the full commotion over the three parts of the symbols coming from a distance and assembling themselves while a soothingly sedative tune played in the background. Rest of the day it was immense fun watching colored stripes all over the screen or small mosquitoes buzzing in black and white with an irritatingly crackling sound, even louder than what we kids in the building made.
Watching TV in those days was a family ritual in every home. It is so today too, but the fun has gone out of it, the organized celebration of TVhood has been replaced by an act that has been taken for granted and hence not enjoyed. Philosophy apart, I, just like all my other counterparts of that generation remember a list of programs with the timings that we used to watch without fail, brushing, bathing, shitting can just wait as there were no reruns like today.
Starting chronologically, ‘Ramayan’ (1986), started with a fabulous tune and then the maker Ramanand Sagar could be seen sitting inside or outside some hut talking about what has already happened and what is going to happen in the episode. He used to speak with such a singsong voice that you could imagine Lord Ram standing right in front of him behind the camera and the rest of the demigods floating up in the sky dropping flowers like rain drops. The music of the series was composed by India’s very own Stevie Wonder, Ravindra Jain and you could hear one of the elders every time during every telecast utter, “Oh!! how unfortunate this very talented guy was”.
Well I don’t know about the other kids, though I suspect, that I and all other boys, unlike our elders who used to watch Ramayan with utmost devotion ( I had heard there were various families where people used to leave their footwear outside the TV room to watch the episode with complete devotion as if they have had a real revelation), used to watch the thing for the tremendously horrible and long stretched special effects, which were few and far between initially but made the anticipation made the snail paced thing worth watching. Sometimes out of absolute frustration you could hear a grown up fume over how deliberately slow Ramanand Sagar was to show the key moment of the story. Well it was true. It took ages for Lord Ram to be born in the city of Ayodhya, almost a century to grow up to be of any use in freely showing us all the fireworks through his bow and arrow. But there is not a doubt that the series had mesmerized the whole audience. Over 100 million people used to watch Ramayan on Sunday 9:30 AM without fail. Televisions at that time were rare, in villages hundreds of people, or whatever may be the population of the village used to come and flock at the only TV set in the village to watch the episode, sometimes with joined hands and misty eyes. Religious services (even the non-Hindu ones) were postponed and the timings of trains and buses altered to cooperate with the people enjoying a mythologically fulfilling Sunday.
The main protagonist, Arun Govil, who played Ram was considered and esteemed as virtually the real hero, Deepika who played Sita and on television and later won the parliamentary elections (riding on the Sita image) was an ideal daughter-in-law that every mom with a son of marriageable age wanted and Lalita Pawar who played the all hated role of Manthara was abhorred to such an extent that the names, both the real and reel ones became a profanity. So in those days, if someone refers to you with either of those names, it was surely not pleasant.
For us the real fun started only when the good side from India reached Lanka to rescue the kidnapped Queen Sita and kill the supreme evil Ravan. You could see several extras dressed either as monkeys (vanaras), belonging to the good team or as the devils (Rakshasas) participating from the evil side. It was really funny watching scrawny semi human monkeys with unusually taught tails and famished bodies chanting ‘Jai Sri Ram’ and colliding head on with the counterparts of the other team who were equally famished and sported fake moustaches, made up loud laughs, charcoal painted black bodies and a pair of oversized canines sometimes accompanied by skull and bones neck accessory for the effect. All of them did a two move fight and fell, not because of the fight at hand but as a result of an arrow shot from the bow of some other more important and better paid actor from the chariot. Few things surprised me though and I’m clueless till now. How come the team members didn’t die of the arrows shot by the member of the same team, oh yes and not the normal arrow; An arrow shot which went as singular when ascending and fell as huge plural (neatly ordered in ascending order from front to rear) hitting the opposition members right in the heart causing instant collapse. Could the arrows see and avoid people dying of “friendly fire”? Next, why was the manpower wasted by making almost forty percent of the army carry flags and trademark symbols of the kingdom instead of weapons? I mean you could have increased your chances by handing them fancy, kingdom inscribed swords or other weapons. Why did the evil characters have to laugh even when it was evident that their best bow and arrow tricks were being rendered useless by the gifted reincarnation of God, and no sir, not once or twice they laughed all the way, till the end, unless one arrow came and either broke the chariot’s umbrella or took away the crown or came and pierced the beautifully upholstered chariot seat and then there was panic written on his face with fabulous piece of over acting; eyes wide, mouth open and neck so taut that it trembled, followed by death in the grossest way possible. An arrow beheading the villain and taking it right to the kingdom where it fell in the court right in front of the angry cum grieving king. Well the battle part was the most fun. You had arrows of all kinds, your usual pointed ones, which were used initially with the point of view probably that why waste the rare and higher powers. And when the opposing arrows were of equal power they will collide and then just disappear into thin air, with contrasting expressions. The egoistic, evil one will have a face that read “Huh!! How can he not die with that arrow of mine!!” and the ever calm good-team’s member will have a face that said with a serene smile “don’t jump bastard you’ll die soon, I’m just playing to pass time, I’ve paid a lot of army and travel money to come here so I might as well enjoy, smile smile.” The more important the villain was the longer it took for the arrow to travel and it was never shot at the same time from the bow, one guy will shoot once, the second man out there will wait, say some mantras to the bow and then shoot the matching arrow, now what I do not understood was, why was the arrow traveling with such flourish, wasn’t it designed to kill or was it just for the light effects? Sigh, but none of our questions could be answered as the grown ups were absolutely transfixed and were temporarily unavailable for any help and the older ones were scared that them trying to solve any divine mysteries might lead to some unpleasant incidents.
Once the episode was over, the pause on the lives ended and the people started moving again to do the Sunday chores, namely, fathers buying vegetables from the market for the whole week, mothers washing clothes and dusting the house and well children reenacting the recently watched episode with bows and arrows. It was apparently in the papers everyday that one or the other moronic kid lost an eye while shooting the deathly arrows, this proved that arrows, no matter how juvenile and made of broomstick material traveled a lot faster and did not disappear.
But like all evils, miseries and natural disasters, TV caught up fast with the people in this third world country. The Government controlled channel went colored in 1982, a year before my birth. It was an amazing experience when we got a TV at home. In those days the TVs were nowhere as sleek and button oriented. They were heavy things which children were not allowed to touch or fiddle with. Televisions had wooden body with hot rears, a speaker on the right corner of the front profile with a knob that I believe were purposely made so tight that only the elders could twist it to change channels. However no channel changing was needed, as essentially there was only one channel that was telecasted for few hours, showing news in few languages, parliament news and news for the dumb and deaf, all preceded by and ending with a symbol resembling the Chinese yin-yang sign, only divided and distanced at the center with a circle in between. The footnote in the same color as the design read ‘satyamev jayte’ meaning victory of the truth or something on those lines. However we as kids loved watching the full commotion over the three parts of the symbols coming from a distance and assembling themselves while a soothingly sedative tune played in the background. Rest of the day it was immense fun watching colored stripes all over the screen or small mosquitoes buzzing in black and white with an irritatingly crackling sound, even louder than what we kids in the building made.
Watching TV in those days was a family ritual in every home. It is so today too, but the fun has gone out of it, the organized celebration of TVhood has been replaced by an act that has been taken for granted and hence not enjoyed. Philosophy apart, I, just like all my other counterparts of that generation remember a list of programs with the timings that we used to watch without fail, brushing, bathing, shitting can just wait as there were no reruns like today.
Starting chronologically, ‘Ramayan’ (1986), started with a fabulous tune and then the maker Ramanand Sagar could be seen sitting inside or outside some hut talking about what has already happened and what is going to happen in the episode. He used to speak with such a singsong voice that you could imagine Lord Ram standing right in front of him behind the camera and the rest of the demigods floating up in the sky dropping flowers like rain drops. The music of the series was composed by India’s very own Stevie Wonder, Ravindra Jain and you could hear one of the elders every time during every telecast utter, “Oh!! how unfortunate this very talented guy was”.
Well I don’t know about the other kids, though I suspect, that I and all other boys, unlike our elders who used to watch Ramayan with utmost devotion ( I had heard there were various families where people used to leave their footwear outside the TV room to watch the episode with complete devotion as if they have had a real revelation), used to watch the thing for the tremendously horrible and long stretched special effects, which were few and far between initially but made the anticipation made the snail paced thing worth watching. Sometimes out of absolute frustration you could hear a grown up fume over how deliberately slow Ramanand Sagar was to show the key moment of the story. Well it was true. It took ages for Lord Ram to be born in the city of Ayodhya, almost a century to grow up to be of any use in freely showing us all the fireworks through his bow and arrow. But there is not a doubt that the series had mesmerized the whole audience. Over 100 million people used to watch Ramayan on Sunday 9:30 AM without fail. Televisions at that time were rare, in villages hundreds of people, or whatever may be the population of the village used to come and flock at the only TV set in the village to watch the episode, sometimes with joined hands and misty eyes. Religious services (even the non-Hindu ones) were postponed and the timings of trains and buses altered to cooperate with the people enjoying a mythologically fulfilling Sunday.
The main protagonist, Arun Govil, who played Ram was considered and esteemed as virtually the real hero, Deepika who played Sita and on television and later won the parliamentary elections (riding on the Sita image) was an ideal daughter-in-law that every mom with a son of marriageable age wanted and Lalita Pawar who played the all hated role of Manthara was abhorred to such an extent that the names, both the real and reel ones became a profanity. So in those days, if someone refers to you with either of those names, it was surely not pleasant.
For us the real fun started only when the good side from India reached Lanka to rescue the kidnapped Queen Sita and kill the supreme evil Ravan. You could see several extras dressed either as monkeys (vanaras), belonging to the good team or as the devils (Rakshasas) participating from the evil side. It was really funny watching scrawny semi human monkeys with unusually taught tails and famished bodies chanting ‘Jai Sri Ram’ and colliding head on with the counterparts of the other team who were equally famished and sported fake moustaches, made up loud laughs, charcoal painted black bodies and a pair of oversized canines sometimes accompanied by skull and bones neck accessory for the effect. All of them did a two move fight and fell, not because of the fight at hand but as a result of an arrow shot from the bow of some other more important and better paid actor from the chariot. Few things surprised me though and I’m clueless till now. How come the team members didn’t die of the arrows shot by the member of the same team, oh yes and not the normal arrow; An arrow shot which went as singular when ascending and fell as huge plural (neatly ordered in ascending order from front to rear) hitting the opposition members right in the heart causing instant collapse. Could the arrows see and avoid people dying of “friendly fire”? Next, why was the manpower wasted by making almost forty percent of the army carry flags and trademark symbols of the kingdom instead of weapons? I mean you could have increased your chances by handing them fancy, kingdom inscribed swords or other weapons. Why did the evil characters have to laugh even when it was evident that their best bow and arrow tricks were being rendered useless by the gifted reincarnation of God, and no sir, not once or twice they laughed all the way, till the end, unless one arrow came and either broke the chariot’s umbrella or took away the crown or came and pierced the beautifully upholstered chariot seat and then there was panic written on his face with fabulous piece of over acting; eyes wide, mouth open and neck so taut that it trembled, followed by death in the grossest way possible. An arrow beheading the villain and taking it right to the kingdom where it fell in the court right in front of the angry cum grieving king. Well the battle part was the most fun. You had arrows of all kinds, your usual pointed ones, which were used initially with the point of view probably that why waste the rare and higher powers. And when the opposing arrows were of equal power they will collide and then just disappear into thin air, with contrasting expressions. The egoistic, evil one will have a face that read “Huh!! How can he not die with that arrow of mine!!” and the ever calm good-team’s member will have a face that said with a serene smile “don’t jump bastard you’ll die soon, I’m just playing to pass time, I’ve paid a lot of army and travel money to come here so I might as well enjoy, smile smile.” The more important the villain was the longer it took for the arrow to travel and it was never shot at the same time from the bow, one guy will shoot once, the second man out there will wait, say some mantras to the bow and then shoot the matching arrow, now what I do not understood was, why was the arrow traveling with such flourish, wasn’t it designed to kill or was it just for the light effects? Sigh, but none of our questions could be answered as the grown ups were absolutely transfixed and were temporarily unavailable for any help and the older ones were scared that them trying to solve any divine mysteries might lead to some unpleasant incidents.
Once the episode was over, the pause on the lives ended and the people started moving again to do the Sunday chores, namely, fathers buying vegetables from the market for the whole week, mothers washing clothes and dusting the house and well children reenacting the recently watched episode with bows and arrows. It was apparently in the papers everyday that one or the other moronic kid lost an eye while shooting the deathly arrows, this proved that arrows, no matter how juvenile and made of broomstick material traveled a lot faster and did not disappear.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Life at the banks...I
Growing up in a developing country has it's own set of pros and cons that the kids of under developed and over developed nations can just not fathom.I was the kid of the nation that was (and is) growing as fast as me. It was the age of fascination when I was growing up. Though I agree that everyone who does not know about something looks at it as if the aliens left it in the balcony while he was busy tying up his pajamas, but in those days people had a knack of ogling at anything new, but then in those days everything was new. Every item, commodity, necessity, vice was new for the poor people belonging to the country of snake charmers ( some, rather many light skinned, smug men still carry the same picture, though the one word they add with certain wrinkeles on their forehead is outsourcing).
However let's not get into such complicated racistic debates so early. I am just a tiny toon born in the year 83, oh yes the 80s when the mighty west had already run away with several technological and inhuman achievements and we the people were still learning to pronounce words from the Englisss language, angrejji for the hopelessly bewildered countrymen. I however was born in the capital of the country which many of my classmates did not believe. I fail to understand what is so strange, somebody from my little town had to be born in the big city sooner or later; apart from this unbelievable fact my birth was almost human; more on the birth of Julius Caesar and his misadventures will follow later but I want to start with my home town as I ended up spending 17 precious years and then few months of my life on and off in this industrial village, vainly referred to as town from now on. Nagda Junction. is a small town in the central western region of Madhya Pradesh ( it was the biggest state of the country, atleast something that made the state worth mentioning in some general knowledge shows). It was an oxymoronic town. An significant junction on the western railway's map with a very insignificant station. A significant rayon manufacturing industry ( biggest in Asia) located in a very insignificant town with individually significant but globally insignificant people.Despite the lack of outstanding schools, absence of colleges, malls or anything big, I can not imagine being brought up at a better place than this. G.D. Birla the founder of the industry set up the unit here because of various reasons, tax saving, plenty of unambitious underpaid labor, but the fact that was primarily kept into consideration was that the town is located on the banks of the river Chambal. A long river with plenty of water, which was later trapped by as many as three dams set up at different locations. However all this can wait. Mickey had been picked up from Delhi and brought here as his dad worked in the good old industry like everyone else around did. I had a very safe childhood, barring the incidents that involved me doing certain fear factor adventures while not in a position to realize that I needed a nappy change (we didn't have huggies or any such sissily named diapers in those days). However that's OK, as all this was intentional. I was just checking if my parents could actually handle a child prodigy like me.Being the only kid (by chance), I actually never had to fight for my rights with any other obnoxious kid sharing the same second name as I did and I never had to fight with the kids of the neighborhood, they had found out somehow that you generally never get on the wrong side of people who can yell at high pitches covering all the octaves, scratch like a rabid dog and at times plot character assassinations while their moms are busy boiling the milk bottles, apart from that, I believe my bowling ball sized head carrying the same weight and appearing like a canon ball while I walked on my fore legs too was a written indication for them to be at their best behavior.
I and my friends, I just remember their runny nosed faces now, but if I think hard it's probably the face of the same kid who used to wear frocks sometimes in place of a male dress. Mothers making little boys wear frocks and making pony tails if the hair permitted was nothing new in those days. Somehow they thought that they can feel happy about a non existent future by having a coy, homely girl rather than a loud gobbed, irritating son. Yeah coming back to friends, I shared some best entertaining and learning times with the lot. Some very educational games were learnt as a kid and some very practical tricks too. "Langdi", named hopscotch by the firangz, the usual game of drawing a rough board on the road, irrespective of the laying down material, with chalks, slate chalks (pames in hindi, pronounced as short fro Pamela anderson lee/rock/silicone/hepatitis but with a bad villager's accent), you learn that no matter how confident you are a. always jump on your strong foot, b. don't overestimate or underestimate your power and accuracy in throwing a stone of miscellanious shapes because you are just not as good as you think you are and most importantly be ready to consider yourself a loser when playing with girls else they will surely take away the joy of your victory, ha lesson time, it's always nice to lose to people you care about. 'Sitoliya' was another game in which we spent a century to collect seven flat faced stones so that they can be placed over each other, only to be later broken down by a guy with a ball varying in material depending on how sadistic you can be. AS was the case, with touchy, fragile people around use a cloth ball made of black school socks (worn out or not) and if you think you are the strongest one in the neighborhood use various varieties of rubber balls, but in no case could you dream of using a leather ball in case you don't have any other option, well because you just strike out the option of playing this game, remembering the last time your head had an apple on it while playing john woo styled slo-mo cricket.Lessons learnt a. everything does not need exhibition of raw strength, harder you hit, more stones fall off, more time you take arranging the thing again while dodging hostile hits with the ball, the time when you wish it should have been a ping pong ball instead.So use the head, be gentle. b. It hurts real bad if you get hit in the area below the groin and perhaps you realize how closely misery and elation are related pre pissing and post pissing.Of the many more home made games played, I'd just like to mention the last one, 'King', well well a game that required a bigger lawn, a football and lots of people ready to scuttle around ready to make fists and make weird gestures avoiding the ball touiching their body while one particularly vicious guy is trying to hit all the van dam boxers on the body and who like people in horror movies turn to zombies, opening their fists, holding and passing balls and hitting the survivors, some mean ones targetting the face intentionally.There was nothing funnier then a kid collapsing on the ground with a runny nose and watery eyes finally revealing a bozo nose but ready to at brave stifling the wish to choke the hitter to death. Lesson learnt, it is very easy to hit and defeat weaklings, slow runners and naive kids but if oyu target to beat the best you need to be far better and more patient, depends on how conscientious are you. I never used to hit girls and little kids probably that's why used to tire myself and the rest of the players silly making them surrender on their own accord.
Little did I know the implicatoins of these learnings, trivial or not, then. More lessons, rejections, acceptances and undescribable feelings were in the offing. Gosh, what more do you want a 5 years old kid to know?
However let's not get into such complicated racistic debates so early. I am just a tiny toon born in the year 83, oh yes the 80s when the mighty west had already run away with several technological and inhuman achievements and we the people were still learning to pronounce words from the Englisss language, angrejji for the hopelessly bewildered countrymen. I however was born in the capital of the country which many of my classmates did not believe. I fail to understand what is so strange, somebody from my little town had to be born in the big city sooner or later; apart from this unbelievable fact my birth was almost human; more on the birth of Julius Caesar and his misadventures will follow later but I want to start with my home town as I ended up spending 17 precious years and then few months of my life on and off in this industrial village, vainly referred to as town from now on. Nagda Junction. is a small town in the central western region of Madhya Pradesh ( it was the biggest state of the country, atleast something that made the state worth mentioning in some general knowledge shows). It was an oxymoronic town. An significant junction on the western railway's map with a very insignificant station. A significant rayon manufacturing industry ( biggest in Asia) located in a very insignificant town with individually significant but globally insignificant people.Despite the lack of outstanding schools, absence of colleges, malls or anything big, I can not imagine being brought up at a better place than this. G.D. Birla the founder of the industry set up the unit here because of various reasons, tax saving, plenty of unambitious underpaid labor, but the fact that was primarily kept into consideration was that the town is located on the banks of the river Chambal. A long river with plenty of water, which was later trapped by as many as three dams set up at different locations. However all this can wait. Mickey had been picked up from Delhi and brought here as his dad worked in the good old industry like everyone else around did. I had a very safe childhood, barring the incidents that involved me doing certain fear factor adventures while not in a position to realize that I needed a nappy change (we didn't have huggies or any such sissily named diapers in those days). However that's OK, as all this was intentional. I was just checking if my parents could actually handle a child prodigy like me.Being the only kid (by chance), I actually never had to fight for my rights with any other obnoxious kid sharing the same second name as I did and I never had to fight with the kids of the neighborhood, they had found out somehow that you generally never get on the wrong side of people who can yell at high pitches covering all the octaves, scratch like a rabid dog and at times plot character assassinations while their moms are busy boiling the milk bottles, apart from that, I believe my bowling ball sized head carrying the same weight and appearing like a canon ball while I walked on my fore legs too was a written indication for them to be at their best behavior.
I and my friends, I just remember their runny nosed faces now, but if I think hard it's probably the face of the same kid who used to wear frocks sometimes in place of a male dress. Mothers making little boys wear frocks and making pony tails if the hair permitted was nothing new in those days. Somehow they thought that they can feel happy about a non existent future by having a coy, homely girl rather than a loud gobbed, irritating son. Yeah coming back to friends, I shared some best entertaining and learning times with the lot. Some very educational games were learnt as a kid and some very practical tricks too. "Langdi", named hopscotch by the firangz, the usual game of drawing a rough board on the road, irrespective of the laying down material, with chalks, slate chalks (pames in hindi, pronounced as short fro Pamela anderson lee/rock/silicone/hepatitis but with a bad villager's accent), you learn that no matter how confident you are a. always jump on your strong foot, b. don't overestimate or underestimate your power and accuracy in throwing a stone of miscellanious shapes because you are just not as good as you think you are and most importantly be ready to consider yourself a loser when playing with girls else they will surely take away the joy of your victory, ha lesson time, it's always nice to lose to people you care about. 'Sitoliya' was another game in which we spent a century to collect seven flat faced stones so that they can be placed over each other, only to be later broken down by a guy with a ball varying in material depending on how sadistic you can be. AS was the case, with touchy, fragile people around use a cloth ball made of black school socks (worn out or not) and if you think you are the strongest one in the neighborhood use various varieties of rubber balls, but in no case could you dream of using a leather ball in case you don't have any other option, well because you just strike out the option of playing this game, remembering the last time your head had an apple on it while playing john woo styled slo-mo cricket.Lessons learnt a. everything does not need exhibition of raw strength, harder you hit, more stones fall off, more time you take arranging the thing again while dodging hostile hits with the ball, the time when you wish it should have been a ping pong ball instead.So use the head, be gentle. b. It hurts real bad if you get hit in the area below the groin and perhaps you realize how closely misery and elation are related pre pissing and post pissing.Of the many more home made games played, I'd just like to mention the last one, 'King', well well a game that required a bigger lawn, a football and lots of people ready to scuttle around ready to make fists and make weird gestures avoiding the ball touiching their body while one particularly vicious guy is trying to hit all the van dam boxers on the body and who like people in horror movies turn to zombies, opening their fists, holding and passing balls and hitting the survivors, some mean ones targetting the face intentionally.There was nothing funnier then a kid collapsing on the ground with a runny nose and watery eyes finally revealing a bozo nose but ready to at brave stifling the wish to choke the hitter to death. Lesson learnt, it is very easy to hit and defeat weaklings, slow runners and naive kids but if oyu target to beat the best you need to be far better and more patient, depends on how conscientious are you. I never used to hit girls and little kids probably that's why used to tire myself and the rest of the players silly making them surrender on their own accord.
Little did I know the implicatoins of these learnings, trivial or not, then. More lessons, rejections, acceptances and undescribable feelings were in the offing. Gosh, what more do you want a 5 years old kid to know?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Attempt at fencing the brainwaves...a predestined failure
Like a planet that spins too fast and is shunned out of the orbit for not staying in sync with the soporiphically sluggish surrounding environment, that's how my sanity must be feeling right now, thought the only fallacy in the statement is that my sanity can't feel, but that's how I feel so the feeling suffices.
As a kid, a thing you learn is that if you pedal too fast on a cycle with weakly assmbled wheels then soon the wheel will give way, leaving you down, injured and estranged. This is what has happened with me, I've been pedalling the cycle of my thoughts too fast and the wheel of reason and calm has just given in. It just went off. It's either gone temporarily or has abandoned me on the pretext that I don't use it much anyways.
Do not read the paragraphs as a whole, because they were not written with a single ink of reason but with an erratic lack of sensibility. I understand that's what your reasoning might ask you to do, but the case holds for may be other forms of writing. My musings are disjoint, like badly created prosthetics hinged to a human but they give you a clear picture in an aerial shot, in your broader conscious.
I'm feeling restless today, I just want to run like Forrest Gump. Try and run to the Himalayas till my legs, like few others in my life, reach a consensus that I'm a lost cause and withdraw support thinking there is no point clinging to a boat that is capsizing an inch a second, I don't know how fast it is, but I think it is fast.I wish to bark at the moon too, or pelt stones till it decides to turn it's ugly and sickly yellow face away, to show the sickly yellow back. I think it has done it's work of inspiring poets who have probably run out of any more metaphors comapring (and clandestinely criticizing) the lover's face to the epitome of blemishes itself.
Things are losing their taste, apart from beer, blood and defeat.All seems to be too trivial, to unexciting and too predictable.In this incessant drone of one paced life you lose the dreams faster than the time you take to conjure those up. All looks monotonously hazy and still. With you moving around in the same set built up for a movie that was shelved right after it's conception.
Thinking is a curse. Normal people start and stop thinking at the point of relevance and that's where I don't think. The daily rituals, the professional chores, the navigation to and from from man made destinations is like in a trance. Too easy, to untaxing. But that constitutes only one third of a solar day wid unpluggable gaps in between. The time warps, of flying or stuck times. The agonizing moments begin once you are alone. brain churns, like a vending machine gone horribly out of sync, thoughts at the speed which my dear reason could not take up in it's bag, perhaps that's why it felt dejected and left me, redoubting it's importance in my life. The candies are of all colors and flavors, like Berty Botts all flavor beans, but there seems to be no connection. Each thought is a whole in itself, each is complete but it completes some other idea too. So pieces fall in slowly in this jigsaw. Too slow for my comfort, too slow for my senses.
"You think a lot" they tell me. I know this for a fact, it's like telling a blind man "you know aditya, you can't see". I'm very much aware that I think a lot but what am I supposed to do about it. I think a lot on the topic "why do I think so much" but then this thought gets run over by some other thought so suddenly that I just forget that it existed few moments back.I think why do I not see fairys and neverlands and beautiful mermaids in my dreams. On that scale my dreams are not even worthy of being called dreams. I think in my dreams too, on the actions that someone else is committing. Why? I mean for once I can be the actor and someone else can carry the cross of thoughts.
But then I guess only those who can carry the burden get to wield the cross. I accept my fate. Accept a restless existance. Accept my sleepless nights. Accept to face the brunt. Accept to run.
As a kid, a thing you learn is that if you pedal too fast on a cycle with weakly assmbled wheels then soon the wheel will give way, leaving you down, injured and estranged. This is what has happened with me, I've been pedalling the cycle of my thoughts too fast and the wheel of reason and calm has just given in. It just went off. It's either gone temporarily or has abandoned me on the pretext that I don't use it much anyways.
Do not read the paragraphs as a whole, because they were not written with a single ink of reason but with an erratic lack of sensibility. I understand that's what your reasoning might ask you to do, but the case holds for may be other forms of writing. My musings are disjoint, like badly created prosthetics hinged to a human but they give you a clear picture in an aerial shot, in your broader conscious.
I'm feeling restless today, I just want to run like Forrest Gump. Try and run to the Himalayas till my legs, like few others in my life, reach a consensus that I'm a lost cause and withdraw support thinking there is no point clinging to a boat that is capsizing an inch a second, I don't know how fast it is, but I think it is fast.I wish to bark at the moon too, or pelt stones till it decides to turn it's ugly and sickly yellow face away, to show the sickly yellow back. I think it has done it's work of inspiring poets who have probably run out of any more metaphors comapring (and clandestinely criticizing) the lover's face to the epitome of blemishes itself.
Things are losing their taste, apart from beer, blood and defeat.All seems to be too trivial, to unexciting and too predictable.In this incessant drone of one paced life you lose the dreams faster than the time you take to conjure those up. All looks monotonously hazy and still. With you moving around in the same set built up for a movie that was shelved right after it's conception.
Thinking is a curse. Normal people start and stop thinking at the point of relevance and that's where I don't think. The daily rituals, the professional chores, the navigation to and from from man made destinations is like in a trance. Too easy, to untaxing. But that constitutes only one third of a solar day wid unpluggable gaps in between. The time warps, of flying or stuck times. The agonizing moments begin once you are alone. brain churns, like a vending machine gone horribly out of sync, thoughts at the speed which my dear reason could not take up in it's bag, perhaps that's why it felt dejected and left me, redoubting it's importance in my life. The candies are of all colors and flavors, like Berty Botts all flavor beans, but there seems to be no connection. Each thought is a whole in itself, each is complete but it completes some other idea too. So pieces fall in slowly in this jigsaw. Too slow for my comfort, too slow for my senses.
"You think a lot" they tell me. I know this for a fact, it's like telling a blind man "you know aditya, you can't see". I'm very much aware that I think a lot but what am I supposed to do about it. I think a lot on the topic "why do I think so much" but then this thought gets run over by some other thought so suddenly that I just forget that it existed few moments back.I think why do I not see fairys and neverlands and beautiful mermaids in my dreams. On that scale my dreams are not even worthy of being called dreams. I think in my dreams too, on the actions that someone else is committing. Why? I mean for once I can be the actor and someone else can carry the cross of thoughts.
But then I guess only those who can carry the burden get to wield the cross. I accept my fate. Accept a restless existance. Accept my sleepless nights. Accept to face the brunt. Accept to run.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Religion...a drug that failed
Before you go further, let me tell you that I believe in God and I'm not an atheist but I don't believe in religion. I'm sure all the believers and "Good God Fearing Men" will want to sue me for what I'm planning to discuss here. In short Religion has failed on humans. Humans proved to be an inferior race, like animals who could not digest good food and hence they go running around biting their own tails.
When I say humans just did not have the IQ to fathom the essence of religion, I'm told that HE is testing us. And when I ask He, WHO? the answer is the creator/God. I have a very simple question. According to the Creator theory, God created us and he knows all, what we did, what we are doing, what we will do or not do, hence now that everything is predecided, why does he have to test us regarding how we follow his preachings?
Somebody told me that God sent down religion. Now let's see. Let's go with this theory. If God did send religion to guide people, then why did he have to send so many religions that the mind of his children (humans) gets all messed up for he must have known the limitations of human mind and understanding, he should have stuck to one version of religion. But here is the catch, all the religions do infact tell the same thing. Love,peace,equality,compassion then what happened in the transition from heaven to earth that the interpretations changed. Shouldn't it have been uniform to make like minded people coexist. Hence the problem. The problem is not with God it lies with religion and the people who are the perpetrators of it. Religion without followers is like an engine without fuel. Religion needs believers, faithfuls and fanatics. So how can religions coexist if the best religious people are supposed to be those who follow the God's words blindly without questioning. And because of their vehemence and their sense of self righteousness they somehow believe that the "fellow brothers" of other religions need to adapt to this philosophy, not aware that that's what the fellow brethren thinks too. Hence the swords are drawn out and the lines clearly marked.
Religion was clearly developed to keep a decorum in the society. To eradicate the inquisitors by the root. God must have been there at some point in the history of life I do not deny that.But it was the people who wrote epics, who drafted the "ideal way of life". And this way of life though universal in general clearly shows the signs of time of the era when these books were being written. Hence what was considered perfectly acceptable in those times, vis. polygamy amongst kings, fight for power and lands was never preached against but the other values were set for the coming generations to follow and hence the path of the Gods, how they lived. The hero of those books became fixtures of our religious beliefs. Not very unlike what impressionable kids think of their favorite characters they see in movies or wrestling or cartoons. They see their heroes in not much different a way than their parents see Gods; the slayers of evil, protectors of faith, always truthful, violent ONLY when instigated by the "bad man". Where is the difference?
The people in those times understood the concept that entertainment is the best way to keep the crowd interested and to drill the points home theatrics is required.
So why religion? Because to put the preachings beyond doubt there needed to be description of a power you can not question, a. because it is too powerful and annoying him won't be a good idea and b. It is somwhere unseen where you can not go directly with a question or a suggestion. So when the society needed to learn that it is not advisable to have sexual liasions within the family, it was branded as a sin because the resulting offsprings were obviously unhealthy and as the scientific reasons had not been explored, the credit of "punishing" the wrong doers by defective births went to God almighty.
A myth, had there been no religion people would still have been barbarics.I'm sure people who say this say it without conviction,because this point makes me laugh, Barbarian the word itself is derogatory, the Greeks called , non-Greeks barbaric and the Christians called the non christians Pagans. Hence every one who belongs calls the other wrong. Going by the more common meaning of the word; Barbaric means savage hence if the religious wars, Jew-Muslims, Muslims-Christians, Hindus-Muslims are not barbaric, if the act of a 12 year old kid hacking the throat of a "Kafir" is not barbaric then I believe we are the most peaceful race in the galaxy.
But faith is strong and faith is good. It helps you seek for the virtual shoulder, it helps you become euphoric in the sad times by singing hymns, prayers or closing your eyes. It helps the people who are alone believe that they are not unprotected, there is someone watching over them and making sure that all the right will happen with him and if something wrong happens that was to test your character and make sure you are not becoming a tad too comfotable in your life.
And it's not God who told this., it's the humans who said so to console the weak, the troubled, the victims.
So the people who have relied too long on religion can not even dream about a world without those pillars on which their whole life has rested. Without religion they are exposed. It's about the condition of a common man who suddenly realizes in the middle of the street that he is naked. That is why religion needs to be revamped with times. Changed so that bpeople don't lose the perspective of life and behave like unreigned horses being (mis)guided by religion.
There needs to be an antidote for religion, a cure that makes the people understand that religion was just a way of teaching them the paths of life, it was just a medium and not the end in itself. Don't just read and believe. Read, test and understand, elminate what doesn't fir with times on ly then will you be truly religious. Clearly there has been an overdose of the religion pill which was supposed to be an answer to all the human fallacies, but the drug has reacted ; Religion has turned out to be a drug that failed.
When I say humans just did not have the IQ to fathom the essence of religion, I'm told that HE is testing us. And when I ask He, WHO? the answer is the creator/God. I have a very simple question. According to the Creator theory, God created us and he knows all, what we did, what we are doing, what we will do or not do, hence now that everything is predecided, why does he have to test us regarding how we follow his preachings?
Somebody told me that God sent down religion. Now let's see. Let's go with this theory. If God did send religion to guide people, then why did he have to send so many religions that the mind of his children (humans) gets all messed up for he must have known the limitations of human mind and understanding, he should have stuck to one version of religion. But here is the catch, all the religions do infact tell the same thing. Love,peace,equality,compassion then what happened in the transition from heaven to earth that the interpretations changed. Shouldn't it have been uniform to make like minded people coexist. Hence the problem. The problem is not with God it lies with religion and the people who are the perpetrators of it. Religion without followers is like an engine without fuel. Religion needs believers, faithfuls and fanatics. So how can religions coexist if the best religious people are supposed to be those who follow the God's words blindly without questioning. And because of their vehemence and their sense of self righteousness they somehow believe that the "fellow brothers" of other religions need to adapt to this philosophy, not aware that that's what the fellow brethren thinks too. Hence the swords are drawn out and the lines clearly marked.
Religion was clearly developed to keep a decorum in the society. To eradicate the inquisitors by the root. God must have been there at some point in the history of life I do not deny that.But it was the people who wrote epics, who drafted the "ideal way of life". And this way of life though universal in general clearly shows the signs of time of the era when these books were being written. Hence what was considered perfectly acceptable in those times, vis. polygamy amongst kings, fight for power and lands was never preached against but the other values were set for the coming generations to follow and hence the path of the Gods, how they lived. The hero of those books became fixtures of our religious beliefs. Not very unlike what impressionable kids think of their favorite characters they see in movies or wrestling or cartoons. They see their heroes in not much different a way than their parents see Gods; the slayers of evil, protectors of faith, always truthful, violent ONLY when instigated by the "bad man". Where is the difference?
The people in those times understood the concept that entertainment is the best way to keep the crowd interested and to drill the points home theatrics is required.
So why religion? Because to put the preachings beyond doubt there needed to be description of a power you can not question, a. because it is too powerful and annoying him won't be a good idea and b. It is somwhere unseen where you can not go directly with a question or a suggestion. So when the society needed to learn that it is not advisable to have sexual liasions within the family, it was branded as a sin because the resulting offsprings were obviously unhealthy and as the scientific reasons had not been explored, the credit of "punishing" the wrong doers by defective births went to God almighty.
A myth, had there been no religion people would still have been barbarics.I'm sure people who say this say it without conviction,because this point makes me laugh, Barbarian the word itself is derogatory, the Greeks called , non-Greeks barbaric and the Christians called the non christians Pagans. Hence every one who belongs calls the other wrong. Going by the more common meaning of the word; Barbaric means savage hence if the religious wars, Jew-Muslims, Muslims-Christians, Hindus-Muslims are not barbaric, if the act of a 12 year old kid hacking the throat of a "Kafir" is not barbaric then I believe we are the most peaceful race in the galaxy.
But faith is strong and faith is good. It helps you seek for the virtual shoulder, it helps you become euphoric in the sad times by singing hymns, prayers or closing your eyes. It helps the people who are alone believe that they are not unprotected, there is someone watching over them and making sure that all the right will happen with him and if something wrong happens that was to test your character and make sure you are not becoming a tad too comfotable in your life.
And it's not God who told this., it's the humans who said so to console the weak, the troubled, the victims.
So the people who have relied too long on religion can not even dream about a world without those pillars on which their whole life has rested. Without religion they are exposed. It's about the condition of a common man who suddenly realizes in the middle of the street that he is naked. That is why religion needs to be revamped with times. Changed so that bpeople don't lose the perspective of life and behave like unreigned horses being (mis)guided by religion.
There needs to be an antidote for religion, a cure that makes the people understand that religion was just a way of teaching them the paths of life, it was just a medium and not the end in itself. Don't just read and believe. Read, test and understand, elminate what doesn't fir with times on ly then will you be truly religious. Clearly there has been an overdose of the religion pill which was supposed to be an answer to all the human fallacies, but the drug has reacted ; Religion has turned out to be a drug that failed.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
St. Anger!!!
Bloody pissed!!! that's how I like to describe my state of mind when I'm not particularly happy about something. Anger I believe is the best cannibal pet a man can have. Leash it, then it can be used as a very useful weapon, let it leash you then it becomes a different ball game altogether.
I control my anger as many times as I'm happy to give myself up to the dark side of mine. I'm trying to feel what it is like to get angry and still be able to quantize the flow of thoughts as if they were not the ripples in a free flowing river but vagabond pebbles that can be actually collected in a sieve and this inability to think while angry is what makes any angry man a potential nuclear weapon. I'll try to do this now that I'm in a comparatively calmer state of mind. I' trying to explore MY psyche so if anyone who reads this monologue feels that he doesn't vade through similar emotions then he can just keep quiet and be angry with me for not understanding his feelings.
How does my anger start? For the believers in the stellar theory on one's moods, I beg you to please examine me for the extreme lunacy, because if not the moon then I don't know what makes me act like a raging bull under seemingly trivial circumstances and behave like a harmless cube of ice even under pressure far exceeding one atmosphere. What is it about certain events that just unpins the grenade? First I believe is the state of mind. If I woke up with a sullen expression in the morning then the chances are that inertia will make me stick to a similar mood the whole day unless something terribly nice happens and 9 times out of 10 nothing nice happens because I'm way too busy fuming over wrong siders, rash drivers, lazy co-workers, road spitters and myriad variety of jerks that are spilling over from the planet. And these are the days when everyone can see that cloud over my head. Always ready to burst, with a lot of thunder and lightning, furrowed brows, red ears, bloodshot and glaring eyes. Going by the account of people who were unfortunate enough to be infront of me on these occasssions, I look terrifying but I believe I must be looking funny.
All I remember in these episodes is that splitting click of the overtaut wire and then there is a blank for a while followed by a picture of me walking out of the place recently plundered (physically/emotionally) by me.
The repurcussions of these mostly unpleasurable rendezvous are tense situations that continue for weeks afterwards, awkward conversations with the people directly related to the incident. I don't bother about such consequences but the immidiate effects include uncomfortably rapid heart beat, feel of the blood flow as if it'll just burst out of the ears and aching knuckle joints due to clenched fists and yeah most importantly the gloomy aura which lasts longer depending on the gravity of the outburst which actually sinks the people around me, that long face might look good in advertisements endorsing "macho" products but in reality it looks as blank and dimwitted as Jean Claude Van Damme's face.
Sometimes I enjoy that "St. anger round my neck", as the line in Iris goes "Yeah you bleed just to konw you're alive..", anger does help me take a look at the emotional side of me which very rarely is on public display and helps in cleansing the bad blood that gets accumulated over a span of time. However sometimes I want to get rid of the dead weight but I believe I will never be able to because temperament of a man is as unique as his fingerprints and I can not change it, may be just control it.... some day.
I control my anger as many times as I'm happy to give myself up to the dark side of mine. I'm trying to feel what it is like to get angry and still be able to quantize the flow of thoughts as if they were not the ripples in a free flowing river but vagabond pebbles that can be actually collected in a sieve and this inability to think while angry is what makes any angry man a potential nuclear weapon. I'll try to do this now that I'm in a comparatively calmer state of mind. I' trying to explore MY psyche so if anyone who reads this monologue feels that he doesn't vade through similar emotions then he can just keep quiet and be angry with me for not understanding his feelings.
How does my anger start? For the believers in the stellar theory on one's moods, I beg you to please examine me for the extreme lunacy, because if not the moon then I don't know what makes me act like a raging bull under seemingly trivial circumstances and behave like a harmless cube of ice even under pressure far exceeding one atmosphere. What is it about certain events that just unpins the grenade? First I believe is the state of mind. If I woke up with a sullen expression in the morning then the chances are that inertia will make me stick to a similar mood the whole day unless something terribly nice happens and 9 times out of 10 nothing nice happens because I'm way too busy fuming over wrong siders, rash drivers, lazy co-workers, road spitters and myriad variety of jerks that are spilling over from the planet. And these are the days when everyone can see that cloud over my head. Always ready to burst, with a lot of thunder and lightning, furrowed brows, red ears, bloodshot and glaring eyes. Going by the account of people who were unfortunate enough to be infront of me on these occasssions, I look terrifying but I believe I must be looking funny.
All I remember in these episodes is that splitting click of the overtaut wire and then there is a blank for a while followed by a picture of me walking out of the place recently plundered (physically/emotionally) by me.
The repurcussions of these mostly unpleasurable rendezvous are tense situations that continue for weeks afterwards, awkward conversations with the people directly related to the incident. I don't bother about such consequences but the immidiate effects include uncomfortably rapid heart beat, feel of the blood flow as if it'll just burst out of the ears and aching knuckle joints due to clenched fists and yeah most importantly the gloomy aura which lasts longer depending on the gravity of the outburst which actually sinks the people around me, that long face might look good in advertisements endorsing "macho" products but in reality it looks as blank and dimwitted as Jean Claude Van Damme's face.
Sometimes I enjoy that "St. anger round my neck", as the line in Iris goes "Yeah you bleed just to konw you're alive..", anger does help me take a look at the emotional side of me which very rarely is on public display and helps in cleansing the bad blood that gets accumulated over a span of time. However sometimes I want to get rid of the dead weight but I believe I will never be able to because temperament of a man is as unique as his fingerprints and I can not change it, may be just control it.... some day.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Those dangling feelings!!
Last night I was trying to answer the question that the recent events have thrown at me once again. Why do the most of us, thinkers, nonthinkers, emotional, hardened, pessimists, optimists, monogamists, polygamists, honest, liars, in effect all of us, are hesitant towards making a firm decision. Why do the things that looked clear as a blue sky while pondering look hazy as a gaunt leafless tree in the fog when the time comes to act for the same?
I've come up with a name for that intangible parasite that is the cause of all the unease, the pain, the breakups, the strife, the tears, the sorrow. I call that genus "Dangling Feelings". The nomenclature is a plural because in our life time, almost everyday till we die, where normally people don't have a decision to make, we stand on a path where we are not clear about what we want and to be more precise do we really want what we think we do?
Let's try and delve deeper into the uncertainities that we face while making decisions that require expenditure of money, time, emotions or all of these. While making decisions when lying on the bed is really an entertaining and indulging activity, trying to metamorphose those fantasies into reality come up with more bifurcations of the road that we initially started on.
I know I am not being clear about this, but soon you'll have a dilemma, whether you are afflicted with the same disease or you are among those colour blind few who can only see things as black or white.
I'll try to map the flow of feelings and try to get something out of this ordeal of dissecting emotions.
An Example
1. I badly want to buy a pair of jeans
2. Rush to the mall and start browsing
3. Going through the displays I remember about those 3 pairs which are virtually unused lying in the closet
4. Dangling Feelings are creeping in
4.1 Do I really need to buy a pair of jeans or save money for something (undefined) which I can buy later
4.2 And then you really come across the pair you were looking for all these days and decide upon buying it
4.3 In the trial room the pair doesn't look as good on you as you imagined it will and again the "to buy or not to buy" dilemma seeps in
5. The friend who was with you asks you to really buy the pair as it is looking good. Unconvinced but confused you buy the pair and forget all about the horrendous time in the showroom.
6. And finally, two possible consequences
6.1 Your peers appreciate your choice and compliment your dressing sense and the jeans become the most worn jeans of the year
6.2 Not much attention soon sends the new pair to the closet along with 3 pairs which were already discarded.
All in all these uncomfortable decision making experiences make people lose interest in shopping, hence elders don't regard shopping as anything other than a bare necessity, not because of the age factor but because of the bad aftertaste that has deposited over the years.
Now the example which is probably the most common cause of unease, sleepless nights and tense days
THE Example
1. I DON"T want to get into a relationship, because I'm driven ( you just think you are) and I don't want to complicate matters.
2. I am not committed so I can have real close friends
3. I like her a lot that's why I talk to her all the time, though I have other people I like (I claim)
4. I think I'm falling for her but I have tremendous will power to not let the things move further (I wish)
5. Things improved, got better but ended downhill, contorted as my feelings were never clear enough and I was bundled up. Dangling Feelings creep in.
6. I try to sustain the connection relying on the past good experiences but things detiriorate and comparisions start, either with past or somebody else's relationship. "So she was good to me last year but she behaves differently now, has she changed or have the circumstances??" Dilemma starts functioning and blows it all to smithereens with just you left to ponder over the whats and whys.
7. Consequences of many such incidents; I lose faith in all such matters of the heart, as romantics call it, become skeptic, but still somewhere I hope for the right one, and that hope is the seed for the next web of "dangling feelings"
I believe that we encounter these in every field and at every step but the things that require us to spend a lot of what we believe is ours makes us think again and again, and in the end after giving a lot of thought and applying a lot of reason we conclude the inevitable that certain things that warrant all our attention end up as they were meant to end. Still, these "dangling feelings" are a part of us and perhaps someday we will grow wiser.
I've come up with a name for that intangible parasite that is the cause of all the unease, the pain, the breakups, the strife, the tears, the sorrow. I call that genus "Dangling Feelings". The nomenclature is a plural because in our life time, almost everyday till we die, where normally people don't have a decision to make, we stand on a path where we are not clear about what we want and to be more precise do we really want what we think we do?
Let's try and delve deeper into the uncertainities that we face while making decisions that require expenditure of money, time, emotions or all of these. While making decisions when lying on the bed is really an entertaining and indulging activity, trying to metamorphose those fantasies into reality come up with more bifurcations of the road that we initially started on.
I know I am not being clear about this, but soon you'll have a dilemma, whether you are afflicted with the same disease or you are among those colour blind few who can only see things as black or white.
I'll try to map the flow of feelings and try to get something out of this ordeal of dissecting emotions.
An Example
1. I badly want to buy a pair of jeans
2. Rush to the mall and start browsing
3. Going through the displays I remember about those 3 pairs which are virtually unused lying in the closet
4. Dangling Feelings are creeping in
4.1 Do I really need to buy a pair of jeans or save money for something (undefined) which I can buy later
4.2 And then you really come across the pair you were looking for all these days and decide upon buying it
4.3 In the trial room the pair doesn't look as good on you as you imagined it will and again the "to buy or not to buy" dilemma seeps in
5. The friend who was with you asks you to really buy the pair as it is looking good. Unconvinced but confused you buy the pair and forget all about the horrendous time in the showroom.
6. And finally, two possible consequences
6.1 Your peers appreciate your choice and compliment your dressing sense and the jeans become the most worn jeans of the year
6.2 Not much attention soon sends the new pair to the closet along with 3 pairs which were already discarded.
All in all these uncomfortable decision making experiences make people lose interest in shopping, hence elders don't regard shopping as anything other than a bare necessity, not because of the age factor but because of the bad aftertaste that has deposited over the years.
Now the example which is probably the most common cause of unease, sleepless nights and tense days
THE Example
1. I DON"T want to get into a relationship, because I'm driven ( you just think you are) and I don't want to complicate matters.
2. I am not committed so I can have real close friends
3. I like her a lot that's why I talk to her all the time, though I have other people I like (I claim)
4. I think I'm falling for her but I have tremendous will power to not let the things move further (I wish)
5. Things improved, got better but ended downhill, contorted as my feelings were never clear enough and I was bundled up. Dangling Feelings creep in.
6. I try to sustain the connection relying on the past good experiences but things detiriorate and comparisions start, either with past or somebody else's relationship. "So she was good to me last year but she behaves differently now, has she changed or have the circumstances??" Dilemma starts functioning and blows it all to smithereens with just you left to ponder over the whats and whys.
7. Consequences of many such incidents; I lose faith in all such matters of the heart, as romantics call it, become skeptic, but still somewhere I hope for the right one, and that hope is the seed for the next web of "dangling feelings"
I believe that we encounter these in every field and at every step but the things that require us to spend a lot of what we believe is ours makes us think again and again, and in the end after giving a lot of thought and applying a lot of reason we conclude the inevitable that certain things that warrant all our attention end up as they were meant to end. Still, these "dangling feelings" are a part of us and perhaps someday we will grow wiser.
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