I'm not sure if this is already a part of the documented history of mankind, but for what its worth, here it is...
I was walking around campus the other day, trademark music in ears, and a general sense of emptiness in the air. And while the flowers in red and yellow did call me by name, I somehow chose to overlook their pleas, at least for now.
Then, the following words hit me, from what had been playing for a while:
"The future's uncertain, the end is always near..."
and for some reason, the very next moment I remembered a dream I had had a few night back, wherein I had somehow managed to offend a good friend, and was left with a weird feeling inside first thing in the morning.
Of course, I didn't really bother too much to try and investigate the reason behind this apparent linkage. This inertia had perhaps been instigated by the call I got from an old friend, who reminded me of the big live match, or perhaps by the sight of a Pizza delivery guy. One shall never know.
Randomness.
Over time, as in indirect, complex integration of several experiences over the recent past, I have reached the conclusion that randomness is the back door that infinite, immortal logic and beauty can take, to give us its fleeting glimpse. What we then do from that moment of high inspiration, is of course the function of a million other random variables.
At some level, I think all major (and minor for that matter!) developments must have a greater random component than we humans are willing to accept. So if a war is won tomorrow, or a brilliant musical composition captures your imagination, or a businessman makes an absolute masterstroke, one may safely assume a reasonable factor of randomness that influenced the outcome.
Of course, one doesn't disown the value of hard work and the likes, instead, only gives randomness the place it deserves.
Beyond that, I see I've reached back home now.
And the match is yet to start.
Lets see who is online here...
--kandisa
The Airport Chapter
"Cunt" shouted a man, loud enough to hear for all people within a radius of 50 meters. He followed by saying "That's right, You heard it correctly, I said Cunt".
It is not everyday i get to travel on an airplane, but thanks to these multi-nationals and their willingness to throw money, i got an opportunity. The thought of flying on an airplane excited many but i was calm. I wonder why. Anyways, i reached the airport and as usual, before the unexpected, the expected happened. The airport was crowded and my flight was delayed by an hr. Not a big deal, owing to shortage of chairs, i found a pillar and sat next to it with my back enjoying all the rest it can get. The time was 10pm. So, what does a person do when he is sitting alone in a place filled with strangers? Yes, i did exactly that, i started to observe people.
There was an old lady standing there. Even though her hair was white, she looked physically strong and she had an expression, the expression that usually comes when intelligence and experience meet together, a calm, patient expression, active and relaxed at the same time. She was not smiling, yet she had a poise that appeared as if she was smiling, like smiling internally. She was standing alone next to her luggage box patiently waiting for the plane to come. She was not disturbed by the delay and looked in control. Close to me, there was a girl in her mid teens and her father standing next to each other. As expected, they were not talking to each other, the daughter took out her ipod and started listening to it. It was clear that they were not quite close to each other. Most of the people who were sitting on chairs were either reading books or sleeping. It was generally quiet overall and quite dull because everyone was looking tired. Then came a man, anyone who saw him would first get the impression that he is gay. (Not there is anything wrong with it). Apparently, he knew the old lady and they both started talking.
Minutes passed. The flight was delayed by another hr. I was sitting and watching people. Some flight landed and people were coming out of the next airport terminal. People coming from airplanes have more relaxed expressions when compared to people who come from trains, even though train journeys are more comfortable. Ironical it is, but modern day world tells us that it is time that makes us old.
Anyhow, in between these spikes of commotion, overall time was going quite slowly. And then came our man, shouting the word "Cunt", loud enough for everyone sleeping to open their eyes and glance in his direction, loud enough for the daughter to take ear phones out of her ear. And this man, easily followed by saying "Yes, you heard it correctly". Everyone was shocked. For me, i had found another amusing case and a delightful study scenario. This man was walking towards our terminal to exit from the other end. No one had the courage to respond or say anything. The tension between the dad and the daughter grew stronger and it was quite an awkward moment for the dad in his dad career. The daughter had a curious expression, i think like any teenager, she liked the abnormality of the situation.
The man after walking 10 steps said it again now "Cunt, I said it". As my glance went from the man to the people, it fell on the old lady and she was smiling, smiling externally. Apparently, she was the only one who was able to see the satire in all this and she was the one who responded "Good for you young man, Good for you!". The man with whom she was talking to (whom i type casted as gay without knowing any truth), had shock on his face. The young man, saw the old lady and i think something came over him, my guess would be respect for elders, or something because he wanted to reply but he just saw her and went past. I think her forehead lines, her countenance, was enough for him to answer his troubled soul.
After his exit, no one discussed what they had just witnessed except that old lady with that gay looking man who was nodding most of the time. The boarding announcement followed shortly and we all went on.
It was the next day morning, when finally i was able to replay the events in my head and i realized what that young man had meant. His words were not directed to anyone, so it was not an abuse. He was just trying to break the society imposed shackles which all of us had just decided to obey without giving second thoughts to it. But what a rare coincidence it was that he saw that old lady at the same time. And even her response made sense to me now - "Good for you". I think she in that one line gave him hope, gave him strength.
I think he felt it, i felt it. I am not sure about my follow passengers though. I am also not sure if my alter ego felt it. I am not sure about you as well.
--thass
It is not everyday i get to travel on an airplane, but thanks to these multi-nationals and their willingness to throw money, i got an opportunity. The thought of flying on an airplane excited many but i was calm. I wonder why. Anyways, i reached the airport and as usual, before the unexpected, the expected happened. The airport was crowded and my flight was delayed by an hr. Not a big deal, owing to shortage of chairs, i found a pillar and sat next to it with my back enjoying all the rest it can get. The time was 10pm. So, what does a person do when he is sitting alone in a place filled with strangers? Yes, i did exactly that, i started to observe people.
There was an old lady standing there. Even though her hair was white, she looked physically strong and she had an expression, the expression that usually comes when intelligence and experience meet together, a calm, patient expression, active and relaxed at the same time. She was not smiling, yet she had a poise that appeared as if she was smiling, like smiling internally. She was standing alone next to her luggage box patiently waiting for the plane to come. She was not disturbed by the delay and looked in control. Close to me, there was a girl in her mid teens and her father standing next to each other. As expected, they were not talking to each other, the daughter took out her ipod and started listening to it. It was clear that they were not quite close to each other. Most of the people who were sitting on chairs were either reading books or sleeping. It was generally quiet overall and quite dull because everyone was looking tired. Then came a man, anyone who saw him would first get the impression that he is gay. (Not there is anything wrong with it). Apparently, he knew the old lady and they both started talking.
Minutes passed. The flight was delayed by another hr. I was sitting and watching people. Some flight landed and people were coming out of the next airport terminal. People coming from airplanes have more relaxed expressions when compared to people who come from trains, even though train journeys are more comfortable. Ironical it is, but modern day world tells us that it is time that makes us old.
Anyhow, in between these spikes of commotion, overall time was going quite slowly. And then came our man, shouting the word "Cunt", loud enough for everyone sleeping to open their eyes and glance in his direction, loud enough for the daughter to take ear phones out of her ear. And this man, easily followed by saying "Yes, you heard it correctly". Everyone was shocked. For me, i had found another amusing case and a delightful study scenario. This man was walking towards our terminal to exit from the other end. No one had the courage to respond or say anything. The tension between the dad and the daughter grew stronger and it was quite an awkward moment for the dad in his dad career. The daughter had a curious expression, i think like any teenager, she liked the abnormality of the situation.
The man after walking 10 steps said it again now "Cunt, I said it". As my glance went from the man to the people, it fell on the old lady and she was smiling, smiling externally. Apparently, she was the only one who was able to see the satire in all this and she was the one who responded "Good for you young man, Good for you!". The man with whom she was talking to (whom i type casted as gay without knowing any truth), had shock on his face. The young man, saw the old lady and i think something came over him, my guess would be respect for elders, or something because he wanted to reply but he just saw her and went past. I think her forehead lines, her countenance, was enough for him to answer his troubled soul.
After his exit, no one discussed what they had just witnessed except that old lady with that gay looking man who was nodding most of the time. The boarding announcement followed shortly and we all went on.
It was the next day morning, when finally i was able to replay the events in my head and i realized what that young man had meant. His words were not directed to anyone, so it was not an abuse. He was just trying to break the society imposed shackles which all of us had just decided to obey without giving second thoughts to it. But what a rare coincidence it was that he saw that old lady at the same time. And even her response made sense to me now - "Good for you". I think she in that one line gave him hope, gave him strength.
I think he felt it, i felt it. I am not sure about my follow passengers though. I am also not sure if my alter ego felt it. I am not sure about you as well.
--thass
Vegetables and me
I am one of the rare species on this planet left who likes to eat vegetables. I like the ones that have leaves, ones that do not and ones that try to but it was flower that was written in their destiny. I even like bitter gourd - the scariest (and sadly most hated!) vegetable ever. Over the time, i have learnt to appreciate the beauty in eating vegetables and their delicious taste.
But what has happened to today's kids ? They have stopped eating vegetables all together. Leave alone the scary ones, they even say no to the better ones like lady's finger (If there is an award for best name given to any object or living organism, lady's finger should win it without competition). According to a survey conducted by a fictitious company with head office located in Shashi Raveendra's head, 90% of the children hate bitter gourd. All children below 10 years cry by simply hearing the name bitter gourd even though they do not realize its meaning, making their parents to eat bitter gourd in a dark basement. In that perfectly real survey, it was also found that 80% children are eating only 20% of the vegetables. Participants (the children) have no idea about the difference between fenugreek leaves and spinach leaves. Participants laughed and called the interviewer a moron when he asked them about sweet potato, with the reply being "Potato is not sweet, is this a trick question?"
We humans complain that each one of us have different destinies, some are rich, some poor, some are educated, some not. And there are hundreds of dimensions, not to forget the four varnas written in our scriptures as well. But who would have thought that even vegetable kingdom had so many classes and culture. Fruits are like the Brahmins of vegetable - highly upper caste. And this is proved by the fact that grow on trees which are taller than the shrubs. If you were wondering that God made trees long to give you shade, oxygen etc, you were mistaken. It is just that they belong to the upper caste. Root vegetables like Beetroot, carrot, radish, turnip etc are the shudras of vegetable class hierarchy. No one gives any importance to them. But since potatoes and onions also come in this class, everyone else is dependent on them yet they are given the least respect.
If you are not a fruit and and not a root, you are somewhere in between and there is no clear cut demarcation between whether you are a kshatriya or a vaishya. But with this all class hierarchy, there are some who have risen above it and made their presence felt. For example, the cucumber who is liked by everybody, even the children. Look at how they fight to eat more cucumber (giving inferiority complex to other members of the salad). And these children, particularly girls, when they grew up, they still remembered the pleasing effect of cucumber that they use it on their eyes to give a fresh, soothing effect.
Where there is a hierarchy, there is a freedom struggle to abolish it but as they say no revolution is successful if it is not present at the grassroots(No pun intended). Alas! it is now left on humans to ensure that peace is maintained within the vegetable kingdom. We do know that an angry vegetable has a very bad taste indeed!
--thass
But what has happened to today's kids ? They have stopped eating vegetables all together. Leave alone the scary ones, they even say no to the better ones like lady's finger (If there is an award for best name given to any object or living organism, lady's finger should win it without competition). According to a survey conducted by a fictitious company with head office located in Shashi Raveendra's head, 90% of the children hate bitter gourd. All children below 10 years cry by simply hearing the name bitter gourd even though they do not realize its meaning, making their parents to eat bitter gourd in a dark basement. In that perfectly real survey, it was also found that 80% children are eating only 20% of the vegetables. Participants (the children) have no idea about the difference between fenugreek leaves and spinach leaves. Participants laughed and called the interviewer a moron when he asked them about sweet potato, with the reply being "Potato is not sweet, is this a trick question?"
We humans complain that each one of us have different destinies, some are rich, some poor, some are educated, some not. And there are hundreds of dimensions, not to forget the four varnas written in our scriptures as well. But who would have thought that even vegetable kingdom had so many classes and culture. Fruits are like the Brahmins of vegetable - highly upper caste. And this is proved by the fact that grow on trees which are taller than the shrubs. If you were wondering that God made trees long to give you shade, oxygen etc, you were mistaken. It is just that they belong to the upper caste. Root vegetables like Beetroot, carrot, radish, turnip etc are the shudras of vegetable class hierarchy. No one gives any importance to them. But since potatoes and onions also come in this class, everyone else is dependent on them yet they are given the least respect.
If you are not a fruit and and not a root, you are somewhere in between and there is no clear cut demarcation between whether you are a kshatriya or a vaishya. But with this all class hierarchy, there are some who have risen above it and made their presence felt. For example, the cucumber who is liked by everybody, even the children. Look at how they fight to eat more cucumber (giving inferiority complex to other members of the salad). And these children, particularly girls, when they grew up, they still remembered the pleasing effect of cucumber that they use it on their eyes to give a fresh, soothing effect.
Where there is a hierarchy, there is a freedom struggle to abolish it but as they say no revolution is successful if it is not present at the grassroots(No pun intended). Alas! it is now left on humans to ensure that peace is maintained within the vegetable kingdom. We do know that an angry vegetable has a very bad taste indeed!
--thass
At Naagar...
It is that time of the year again!
I'm visiting my Uncle's place, a small village-town named Naagar. Along with Duggad, Morsa, Ugar and Daugar, this place forms what is called the Orange Belt, at the foothills of the Himalayas.
This is not because of oranges growing all around or anything, rather, the beautiful Gandelione flowers that adorn these areas in spring, in unimaginable volumes; to the extent that the sight from low flying planes looks like a continuous stretch of orange.
There is something about that flower, that makes for an amazing artistic experience. It could be the slender, sensual curves that define its petals, or the little yellow dots that lie cuddled up inside. Whatever it is, every single detail about it feels like a poem in motion, whenever I manage to get back to this forgotten little place.
Have to pack and run now.
This will continue upon my reaching Naagar!
--
Hmmkay...
Its been 6 hours since I've reached here. And I cannot get myself to sit down in one place. For some reason, the way from the station to home, usually overflowing with orange at this time of year, seemed hardly alive. There seems to be a pall of gloom, doom and development spreading over my till now untouched paradise. Not that I'm against urbanization and growth or anything, but erecting random buildings where a little bird used to spread innocent pollen, is not quite sitting right at the moment.
I'm feeling immensely cheated, yet in a tremendously round-about way, guilty about all this. I'm not sure where I fit in the entire ecosystem here, but the feeling holds.
It is as if I, as an educated, "privileged" citizen, have led to this. As if the burden of being among the most 'academically endowed' in the country wasn't heavy enough, there comes along this new self directed conspiracy theory.
Now I'm sure I'm not the murderer here.
But I think in some way, I did unwittingly supply him the knife. How, when and where this subtle transaction happened, I am yet to figure. All I'm sure of is, I'm part of a system, that might one day end the world. But then again, aren't all of us?
Pah!
Thats too much thought for my unsuspecting mind for now. I think I'll end this one here, with no orange there's little magic left to write on. Hope the home-made khikris that await me in the kitchen, along with the 1968 German movie I brought with myself, shall serve to bring me back to where I generally am.
Lets see.
--kandisa
I'm visiting my Uncle's place, a small village-town named Naagar. Along with Duggad, Morsa, Ugar and Daugar, this place forms what is called the Orange Belt, at the foothills of the Himalayas.
This is not because of oranges growing all around or anything, rather, the beautiful Gandelione flowers that adorn these areas in spring, in unimaginable volumes; to the extent that the sight from low flying planes looks like a continuous stretch of orange.
There is something about that flower, that makes for an amazing artistic experience. It could be the slender, sensual curves that define its petals, or the little yellow dots that lie cuddled up inside. Whatever it is, every single detail about it feels like a poem in motion, whenever I manage to get back to this forgotten little place.
Have to pack and run now.
This will continue upon my reaching Naagar!
--
Hmmkay...
Its been 6 hours since I've reached here. And I cannot get myself to sit down in one place. For some reason, the way from the station to home, usually overflowing with orange at this time of year, seemed hardly alive. There seems to be a pall of gloom, doom and development spreading over my till now untouched paradise. Not that I'm against urbanization and growth or anything, but erecting random buildings where a little bird used to spread innocent pollen, is not quite sitting right at the moment.
I'm feeling immensely cheated, yet in a tremendously round-about way, guilty about all this. I'm not sure where I fit in the entire ecosystem here, but the feeling holds.
It is as if I, as an educated, "privileged" citizen, have led to this. As if the burden of being among the most 'academically endowed' in the country wasn't heavy enough, there comes along this new self directed conspiracy theory.
Now I'm sure I'm not the murderer here.
But I think in some way, I did unwittingly supply him the knife. How, when and where this subtle transaction happened, I am yet to figure. All I'm sure of is, I'm part of a system, that might one day end the world. But then again, aren't all of us?
Pah!
Thats too much thought for my unsuspecting mind for now. I think I'll end this one here, with no orange there's little magic left to write on. Hope the home-made khikris that await me in the kitchen, along with the 1968 German movie I brought with myself, shall serve to bring me back to where I generally am.
Lets see.
--kandisa
"Thass ki Jai!"...
Today was an interesting day (as are most days I must admit, but today was something different, quite like the dawn of a new morning, except it somehow managing to take you by surprise...)
It should have been just another day in the life of Shashi Raveendra.
Waiting for the bus in the morning, meeting one's peers, going about one's business, returning home, getting high on music and other celestials, and finally retiring in the hope that the morrow would welcome me with a hug at least as warm as today's.
I think what changed the trajectory of the day today, was my conversation with Jatin, a rather whimsical, childish, and irritatingly enthusiastic kid. 'Kid' of course refers only to what appears to be his mental age.
He jumped next to me as I was having lunch in the cafeteria, and arbitrarily started talking of his engineering days. While I would've liked to have continued my reminiscence of the moon from last night, something in his near imbecilic cheer compelled me to lend him an ear.
He was describing something he referred to as 'thass'. The discourse went shorter than what I had expected. I shall quote whatever I recall, verbatim to the extent possible:
"At the very outset, one should realize and acknowledge the fact that 'thass' is inherently 'not-definable'. The old cliche that "It cannot be explained, it can only be experienced", stands very true for thass as well.
Thus, I shall not even attempt to give you an algorithm for the successful execution of thass. Instead, I shall give you factors that generally symptomize its glorious presence.
Thass just happens, sometimes in the company of close friends, and sometimes in moments of solitude, on a bus, under a tree, or even during an exam. It results in a holistic rejuvenation of the mind, leading to a state of enhanced mental openness and fertility. It is almost as if the parched cerebral soil gets its much needed water et al.
Further, thass is often only discovered to have occurred, ex post. Thus, trying to simulate conditions for thass to become more conducive almost always lead to failure. It can be likened to a muse, that plays hard-to-get when pursued, but graces your path when you let things be, and just be what your fabric has made you to be.
One could even say that thass is imperative for one to better identify the self, and begin the long journey to the lofty ideals of freedom, and enlightenment et al..."
At this point, anticipating the impending transition to pure incomprehensibles, I cut him short, and excused myself.
Now while one part of me was laughing away at his fantasies, there was one part, small, and located somewhere near the basement in my consciousness, that kept pulling me back to what I had just heard. Unable to focus on anything, I went outside, perched myself under a tree, and looked up at the leaves against the white sky backdrop. This is what I often do when things seem to get stuck in my head, and even when I can't quite place just what it is that irks me within.
Then, it happened.
As I stared at the wonderful scene above, it struck me that I had already been a follower of his 'religion' since time immemorial. In my head I completed what his discourse seemed to lack...
"Thass is when you let all things be as they are, including your nagging little self, and float on an endless ocean of randomness; when you forget all else, all that matters, and all that doesn't, and most of all your own self that watches your every step, and indulge in an experience truly unburdened, truly ethereal, fleeting, yet poised with limitless potential. The 'expression' of this experience is immaterial, be it a dialogue, a bite of McD, a soliloquy, a dip in a tub full of mud, a hike with friends, interacting with a 79 year old artiste after a classical concert, anything.
All that thass asks of you, is to leave behind the trivial strings that keep us bound to something equally trivial; just let go, and live, the moment, for what it is, and for all that it could be."
As the above revelation struck me, I remembered the following lines that a good friend of mine had penned to me long back...:
"feel ke pujari"
yehi hai humari bhakti
yehi hai humara pyar
chehre pe hoti hai muskurahat
aankhon mein dildaari
baithe baithe has pade hum
aur khade khade aayein aankhone mein aansoon
doston, yehi hai zindagi humari
yehi hai humari yaari
hum hain feel ke pujari
hum hain feel ke pujari
I soon realized the essential oneness that united the concepts of thass, and 'feel ki puja'.
And with that, every moment I saw passing me, changed in its appearance, texture, and very depth.
Indeed, so did all that I touched, and all that touched me.
Hmmm... Quite a day.
--kandisa
It should have been just another day in the life of Shashi Raveendra.
Waiting for the bus in the morning, meeting one's peers, going about one's business, returning home, getting high on music and other celestials, and finally retiring in the hope that the morrow would welcome me with a hug at least as warm as today's.
I think what changed the trajectory of the day today, was my conversation with Jatin, a rather whimsical, childish, and irritatingly enthusiastic kid. 'Kid' of course refers only to what appears to be his mental age.
He jumped next to me as I was having lunch in the cafeteria, and arbitrarily started talking of his engineering days. While I would've liked to have continued my reminiscence of the moon from last night, something in his near imbecilic cheer compelled me to lend him an ear.
He was describing something he referred to as 'thass'. The discourse went shorter than what I had expected. I shall quote whatever I recall, verbatim to the extent possible:
"At the very outset, one should realize and acknowledge the fact that 'thass' is inherently 'not-definable'. The old cliche that "It cannot be explained, it can only be experienced", stands very true for thass as well.
Thus, I shall not even attempt to give you an algorithm for the successful execution of thass. Instead, I shall give you factors that generally symptomize its glorious presence.
Thass just happens, sometimes in the company of close friends, and sometimes in moments of solitude, on a bus, under a tree, or even during an exam. It results in a holistic rejuvenation of the mind, leading to a state of enhanced mental openness and fertility. It is almost as if the parched cerebral soil gets its much needed water et al.
Further, thass is often only discovered to have occurred, ex post. Thus, trying to simulate conditions for thass to become more conducive almost always lead to failure. It can be likened to a muse, that plays hard-to-get when pursued, but graces your path when you let things be, and just be what your fabric has made you to be.
One could even say that thass is imperative for one to better identify the self, and begin the long journey to the lofty ideals of freedom, and enlightenment et al..."
At this point, anticipating the impending transition to pure incomprehensibles, I cut him short, and excused myself.
Now while one part of me was laughing away at his fantasies, there was one part, small, and located somewhere near the basement in my consciousness, that kept pulling me back to what I had just heard. Unable to focus on anything, I went outside, perched myself under a tree, and looked up at the leaves against the white sky backdrop. This is what I often do when things seem to get stuck in my head, and even when I can't quite place just what it is that irks me within.
Then, it happened.As I stared at the wonderful scene above, it struck me that I had already been a follower of his 'religion' since time immemorial. In my head I completed what his discourse seemed to lack...
"Thass is when you let all things be as they are, including your nagging little self, and float on an endless ocean of randomness; when you forget all else, all that matters, and all that doesn't, and most of all your own self that watches your every step, and indulge in an experience truly unburdened, truly ethereal, fleeting, yet poised with limitless potential. The 'expression' of this experience is immaterial, be it a dialogue, a bite of McD, a soliloquy, a dip in a tub full of mud, a hike with friends, interacting with a 79 year old artiste after a classical concert, anything.
All that thass asks of you, is to leave behind the trivial strings that keep us bound to something equally trivial; just let go, and live, the moment, for what it is, and for all that it could be."
As the above revelation struck me, I remembered the following lines that a good friend of mine had penned to me long back...:
"feel ke pujari"
yehi hai humari bhakti
yehi hai humara pyar
chehre pe hoti hai muskurahat
aankhon mein dildaari
baithe baithe has pade hum
aur khade khade aayein aankhone mein aansoon
doston, yehi hai zindagi humari
yehi hai humari yaari
hum hain feel ke pujari
hum hain feel ke pujari
I soon realized the essential oneness that united the concepts of thass, and 'feel ki puja'.
And with that, every moment I saw passing me, changed in its appearance, texture, and very depth.
Indeed, so did all that I touched, and all that touched me.
Hmmm... Quite a day.
--kandisa
Inside a bus
I come out and walk towards my bus stop. I wait for the bus to come. The bus comes. I board it. If seats are empty i take a vacant seat. If not, i stand. My destination comes. I get down from the bus. I go on...
The same thing everyday. But still i do not remember what happens inside that bus. What am i doing while i am inside? I have tried to observe myself, to see what i do or what i think while i am traveling. But whenever i have tried to observe myself, i become aware of myself observing me - something that i am not used to. But there are somethings that i have observed. I sometimes stare out of the window; I see vehicles driving past my bus, i see people with their faces lit up when this bus is the one that they want to catch, i see people dejected when they know that their wait is not over yet. Yet the curiosity with which they try to look for the bus number even though they are aware that it is not possible for a human eye to see a 36 font sized number at a distance of 20 meters, the optimism that is produced inside their brains that may be, may be this is their bus and they can get on it. The bus is an escape for them, escape from waiting, escape from a static to a mobile state.
Yes, but while i am observing these people, there is one thing that is peculiar to me. My mind is point blank, i am not thinking about anything. This is really strange as i am thinking about something or other at every moment of my life. Somehow watching these people remind me that how involved i am in my own life that i do not have time for others. One more thing that i have observed, which also applies to me in this case, is that i have rarely seen anyone smile while waiting for a bus or while inside the bus. Young college students, school children with earphones plugged, listening to some music are so easily able to detach themselves from the present. Ladies, with whom one would generally associate that they will chat if they happen to be in a group, sit silently. Gentlemen, are either worried about something or are tired to think about their worries. Where has the smile gone?
I have no idea of what i do inside a bus if i am not staring outside the window. I don't read, i occasionally listen to music, i do not chit chat with people around me. Interesting observation! Have you ever wondered what you do inside a bus?
The same thing everyday. But still i do not remember what happens inside that bus. What am i doing while i am inside? I have tried to observe myself, to see what i do or what i think while i am traveling. But whenever i have tried to observe myself, i become aware of myself observing me - something that i am not used to. But there are somethings that i have observed. I sometimes stare out of the window; I see vehicles driving past my bus, i see people with their faces lit up when this bus is the one that they want to catch, i see people dejected when they know that their wait is not over yet. Yet the curiosity with which they try to look for the bus number even though they are aware that it is not possible for a human eye to see a 36 font sized number at a distance of 20 meters, the optimism that is produced inside their brains that may be, may be this is their bus and they can get on it. The bus is an escape for them, escape from waiting, escape from a static to a mobile state.
Yes, but while i am observing these people, there is one thing that is peculiar to me. My mind is point blank, i am not thinking about anything. This is really strange as i am thinking about something or other at every moment of my life. Somehow watching these people remind me that how involved i am in my own life that i do not have time for others. One more thing that i have observed, which also applies to me in this case, is that i have rarely seen anyone smile while waiting for a bus or while inside the bus. Young college students, school children with earphones plugged, listening to some music are so easily able to detach themselves from the present. Ladies, with whom one would generally associate that they will chat if they happen to be in a group, sit silently. Gentlemen, are either worried about something or are tired to think about their worries. Where has the smile gone?
I have no idea of what i do inside a bus if i am not staring outside the window. I don't read, i occasionally listen to music, i do not chit chat with people around me. Interesting observation! Have you ever wondered what you do inside a bus?
Aankh Micholi - Encore
Yesterday morning I woke up to a weird feeling inside.
It was the first day of a 10-day long folk festival celebrated back in my native place. While nothing had ever prompted me to indulge in any festivities of any sort, this one time, something seemed different.
I can't quite place my finger on exactly what caused this change. Perhaps it was the new iPod I had just purchased, which seemed to hange the very definition of many concepts in life. Or it could even have been the last movie I had seen, the one in which Brad Framer, the 2008 Golden Orangutan award winner, played the role of a gardener, who was gradually spiralling into a sweet form of dementia.
Both of these developments touched on themes very close to my sense of self. Music, the muse to countless despairing souls across the universe, has been one of the cornerstones of my existence. Everything, from the Golden 60's, to the modern day hip-hop, as also the infiniteness encompassed in our classical art forms, finds place in my "come-get-me-high" cortex, which I'm sure occupies a major chunk of my brain.
On the other hand, creative human expression, with which music intersects greatly, is another aspect of humanity which fascinates me. Couple that with the story of an unassuming gardener, growing ever more in love with the inanimate little nymphets all around him, and you get a recipe more potent than pot. There is so much here that begs to be delved into. The very concept of dementia, and its social strings, the intense trisection between genius, insanity and love, among many others that await their timely discovery.
Anyhow.
That is another aspect of Aankh Micholi in my eyes. 'Aanandam' is that state of immaculate, untouchable highness that one reaches, when one knows that one has just experienced something truly celestial. It could be anything that triggers off such a feel, from a concert by our living legends, to an unworldly goal scored by your favourite footballer, to even just a random discovery of old money in an old coat pocket. Depending on the context, the person that defines you at that instant, and several other variables, each of the above, and many, many others, has the potential to take one to aanandam.
And it is that state, that our Infinite State Machine-sque existences seek to achieve. And it is that, that smiling little muse, that plays the classic game of hide-and-seek with us. The hope of course is that one fine day, one shall discover much to one's delight, that the muse has quit the naughty teasing, and has come to stay for good. How one reaches there, I shall not try to speculate on, at least not yet. With time, we shall hope to find some meaning and direction in that ever-so-elusive space.
As for the festival, well, I was just about to leave my place for a social gathering downtown. However, as is very often the case perhaps, something happened, which changed the course of history, to put it in overly grandiose terms.
I got a call from Tanmoy, one of my best friends from my school days. While we had last met almost 4 years back, we both caught up to speed within 15 minutes. And that point on, how the next 3.5 hours flew past on Skype, well, only time knows, for the next distinct memory I have, is of placing the headphone-mic back on the table, glancing out of the window at some wedding band practising the latest hit number, and then rushing to the kitchen to answer my growling stomach.
Merry festivity it was nonetheless I guess, figuratively if nothing else.
Such are the beauties of life even! :)
--kandisa
It was the first day of a 10-day long folk festival celebrated back in my native place. While nothing had ever prompted me to indulge in any festivities of any sort, this one time, something seemed different.
I can't quite place my finger on exactly what caused this change. Perhaps it was the new iPod I had just purchased, which seemed to hange the very definition of many concepts in life. Or it could even have been the last movie I had seen, the one in which Brad Framer, the 2008 Golden Orangutan award winner, played the role of a gardener, who was gradually spiralling into a sweet form of dementia.
Both of these developments touched on themes very close to my sense of self. Music, the muse to countless despairing souls across the universe, has been one of the cornerstones of my existence. Everything, from the Golden 60's, to the modern day hip-hop, as also the infiniteness encompassed in our classical art forms, finds place in my "come-get-me-high" cortex, which I'm sure occupies a major chunk of my brain.
On the other hand, creative human expression, with which music intersects greatly, is another aspect of humanity which fascinates me. Couple that with the story of an unassuming gardener, growing ever more in love with the inanimate little nymphets all around him, and you get a recipe more potent than pot. There is so much here that begs to be delved into. The very concept of dementia, and its social strings, the intense trisection between genius, insanity and love, among many others that await their timely discovery.
Anyhow.
That is another aspect of Aankh Micholi in my eyes. 'Aanandam' is that state of immaculate, untouchable highness that one reaches, when one knows that one has just experienced something truly celestial. It could be anything that triggers off such a feel, from a concert by our living legends, to an unworldly goal scored by your favourite footballer, to even just a random discovery of old money in an old coat pocket. Depending on the context, the person that defines you at that instant, and several other variables, each of the above, and many, many others, has the potential to take one to aanandam.
And it is that state, that our Infinite State Machine-sque existences seek to achieve. And it is that, that smiling little muse, that plays the classic game of hide-and-seek with us. The hope of course is that one fine day, one shall discover much to one's delight, that the muse has quit the naughty teasing, and has come to stay for good. How one reaches there, I shall not try to speculate on, at least not yet. With time, we shall hope to find some meaning and direction in that ever-so-elusive space.
As for the festival, well, I was just about to leave my place for a social gathering downtown. However, as is very often the case perhaps, something happened, which changed the course of history, to put it in overly grandiose terms.
I got a call from Tanmoy, one of my best friends from my school days. While we had last met almost 4 years back, we both caught up to speed within 15 minutes. And that point on, how the next 3.5 hours flew past on Skype, well, only time knows, for the next distinct memory I have, is of placing the headphone-mic back on the table, glancing out of the window at some wedding band practising the latest hit number, and then rushing to the kitchen to answer my growling stomach.
Merry festivity it was nonetheless I guess, figuratively if nothing else.
Such are the beauties of life even! :)
--kandisa
Aankh Micholi
This is an answer. A reply. To what? (snigger) (more snigger) (finally a crooked smile).
People remember old days and say those were the good old days and they say now, things have gone corrupt. For example, the days when whole community had one television and people used to sit and watch serials together. There was sharing, there was brotherhood. But now we don't know who lives in the apartment one floor below us.
I who has never lived the community-television era; I who was brought up in an apartment with no knowledge of who lives in front of us or below us; I who understand that it would be good to have that community-television era camaraderie between folks; I, who at the same time, does not feel that there is anything wrong in not knowing your neighbor; I who see that people who blame the present and glorify the past were actually the ones who were given that past and are responsible for the present, those people refuse to acknowledge their hand in it.
Aankh-Micholi
It is a game where one person is blindfolded for sometime while others hide. Then that person removes the blindfold and it is his job to search others. A game were rules are designed to keep the seeker at disadvantage. A game where those who want to hide are given an upper hand.
I played that game a lot while i was growing up. There was a construction building in front of our apartment whose construction was stopped due to mysterious reasons. But before that they had erected some walls with walls making rooms and rooms making houses. Spaces were left for windows and doors. There was no roof. I and some of my friends, whom i knew where they lived, used to play there. The semi-constructed building was one of the coolest place to play that game - lots of places to hide, lots of ways to escape the seeker. And our parents sitting on balconies used to see us. Our parents who did not knew the kids with which their son was playing, who did not knew where their son's friend's parents lived. One of the beauties of Aankh-Micholi was that no one complained. Everyone knew that there will be a day when he has to be the seeker. And then he will have to do all the hard-work. But for the rest of the days, he was free to hide anywhere he wanted to.
But unlike the kids game, in the real aankh-micholi played by everyday people, some have found a way to always hide and others are now forced to always seek. Those simple round-robin rules do not apply in this modified but more real game. There are some mutations of the game as well where everyone is playing aankh-micholi aka everyone is seeking someone and hiding from someone at the same time. Sometimes a person seeks someone and hides from him at the same time. The last one is precisely what happens when in our modern day apartments. People play aankh-micholi with their neighbors where they hide from them as much as possible but internally seek them and wish for their friendship.
I can go on citing examples of how aankh-micholi is played by everyday people but it is my hope that one example is enough of an answer.
If you are wondering now, how do i fit into all this? The answer is very simple. I understand the game. I acknowledge that it is a game or you can say that it simplifies things for me if i put it in terms of a game. Shakespeare tried to put this game in terms of a play by writing "All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players". I, for one, on this world's stage, have chosen to play the part of audience. But this play calls for audience participation as well, sometimes. I will try to play the part of Sanjaya to our drithrashtra in his voluntary aankh-micholi but it is a big task.
So, this is an answer. Infact this is an observation made by me Shashi Raveendra. Aankh-micholi is the name given to this phenomenon of observation. And there are many things we need to observe. Stay tuned.
--thass
People remember old days and say those were the good old days and they say now, things have gone corrupt. For example, the days when whole community had one television and people used to sit and watch serials together. There was sharing, there was brotherhood. But now we don't know who lives in the apartment one floor below us.
I who has never lived the community-television era; I who was brought up in an apartment with no knowledge of who lives in front of us or below us; I who understand that it would be good to have that community-television era camaraderie between folks; I, who at the same time, does not feel that there is anything wrong in not knowing your neighbor; I who see that people who blame the present and glorify the past were actually the ones who were given that past and are responsible for the present, those people refuse to acknowledge their hand in it.
Aankh-Micholi
It is a game where one person is blindfolded for sometime while others hide. Then that person removes the blindfold and it is his job to search others. A game were rules are designed to keep the seeker at disadvantage. A game where those who want to hide are given an upper hand.
I played that game a lot while i was growing up. There was a construction building in front of our apartment whose construction was stopped due to mysterious reasons. But before that they had erected some walls with walls making rooms and rooms making houses. Spaces were left for windows and doors. There was no roof. I and some of my friends, whom i knew where they lived, used to play there. The semi-constructed building was one of the coolest place to play that game - lots of places to hide, lots of ways to escape the seeker. And our parents sitting on balconies used to see us. Our parents who did not knew the kids with which their son was playing, who did not knew where their son's friend's parents lived. One of the beauties of Aankh-Micholi was that no one complained. Everyone knew that there will be a day when he has to be the seeker. And then he will have to do all the hard-work. But for the rest of the days, he was free to hide anywhere he wanted to.
But unlike the kids game, in the real aankh-micholi played by everyday people, some have found a way to always hide and others are now forced to always seek. Those simple round-robin rules do not apply in this modified but more real game. There are some mutations of the game as well where everyone is playing aankh-micholi aka everyone is seeking someone and hiding from someone at the same time. Sometimes a person seeks someone and hides from him at the same time. The last one is precisely what happens when in our modern day apartments. People play aankh-micholi with their neighbors where they hide from them as much as possible but internally seek them and wish for their friendship.
I can go on citing examples of how aankh-micholi is played by everyday people but it is my hope that one example is enough of an answer.
If you are wondering now, how do i fit into all this? The answer is very simple. I understand the game. I acknowledge that it is a game or you can say that it simplifies things for me if i put it in terms of a game. Shakespeare tried to put this game in terms of a play by writing "All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players". I, for one, on this world's stage, have chosen to play the part of audience. But this play calls for audience participation as well, sometimes. I will try to play the part of Sanjaya to our drithrashtra in his voluntary aankh-micholi but it is a big task.
So, this is an answer. Infact this is an observation made by me Shashi Raveendra. Aankh-micholi is the name given to this phenomenon of observation. And there are many things we need to observe. Stay tuned.
--thass
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
