I tend to forget/ Something to escape from

I tend to forget. Once transitioned from one world to the next, my self tends to forget.

Be it friends, foes, or a once cherished wonder... The haze of the here and now swallows all; at times in the blink of an eye, at others, slow, imperceptible.

Friends I have lost a few, to this unseeing beast. My little steps running along in unburdened haste, seldom looking back at those who remained. 'Remain' is disappointingly apt in describing my relation to those that I pass by - passive, lifeless, fading... As my self carries on with its conquest of nothingness... As I tend to forget.

Of wonders what do I say? Fleeting so effortlessly by, I would only hope their ripples outlive their ephemeral selves. But ripples are easy to miss in a stream of limitless busyness. In continuous motion, one misses a coherent frame of reference. As one tries on masks on top of masks, the music drifts to the hills. I build walls around me, as I slowly tend to forget.

Then one day... I hear a whisper. Perhaps a tune I once knew... A song that soothed a previous life.

In the light thus shone, I gather my bearings, half blinded half asleep. And in so doing, find a fracture deep within. I wonder, if the song of seasons past serenades this little void, or is it the darkness that opens me to the music?

Must sweet relief follow only from abyssal depths? Does the muse that once saved a million lives, lose its magic with declining strife? Perhaps this follows from the relativity of emotion. Perhaps, it is a matter of perception. Perhaps, selective perception.

Strife is core to the human condition. A wall to push against, to find oneself, identify one's edges, and break into breath. To see no strife, is to live with eyes closed; closed, to the relatedness of one with the other; closed, to the decadent numbing of the world around; closed, to the changing air, water and land.

The muse must therefore present itself to those who see, feel and live. And to live is to suffer; to suffer is to open oneself to the music. Songs that soothed many a life before, play on, waiting only for us to let ourselves in.

Nothingness/ Noise

The Universe (as perceived by God (translated to the 'language' of human perception))

As I observed the stream of people entering the house, settle down and make small conversation, the village-towns of their origin struck me as quaintly obscure. In the course of the introductions, when my Uncle spoke of our ancestral place in Kozhencherry, something happened. The familiarity of the name was met with the sense of random obscurity that had coloured my reading of the various places mentioned previously. In that moment, I saw something.

I saw meaning and purpose fade away as the camera zoomed out; as the mass of strangers in the room swallowed the sense of unique belonging previously reserved for one's own. Moving up further, I remembered glimpses of Howrah Railway Station, as a sea of humanity flowed through, unceasingly for hours on end. En masse, how can identity persist? And without identity, how do we differentiate between a sea of (wo)men, and say an army of ants. Zooming out further, what purpose do the distinctions between plant and animal serve? The food chain? The earth is a closed system, and thus might as well be a macro-composite-organism, with all 'life forms' internal organs/ sub-systems. Either way we look at it, the moment we step into space, the limits of our world hit us (pale blue dot, for instance). Zoom out further... and you get the picture. Identity, meaning, value, association... everything stems from a subjective perception, which must necessarily be incomplete (E.g. in the absence of a knowledge of every single village-town in Kerala, my ancestral village seems distinct/ special, simply because it is where I come from and it is known to me. However, if I knew every square inch of Kerala/ India/ the world like the palm of my hand, then I might perceive things more like an endless stream of life/ being/ existence).

God, who/ which by definition is omniscient, must therefore be able to view/ perceive all things for what they are, equally. For all things are connected, in a causal network of related and (relatively) unrelated relationships. What better (human) visualization/ approximation of God's view of the universe then, than the symbol of absolute randomness (to mortals ill-equipped to make sense of it)? What more intuitive perception of God's workings then, than the unerring, unseeing, un-willing laws of the universe... than the universe itself?

Parting note:
Even with the dissolution of purpose and significance, this does not necessarily point us to fatalism/ nihilism. For the fact remains:
1. We are not God, to be able to absorb the universe as a mass of random noise
2. Thus, what we see, hear, feel, believe, do... becomes significant in our limited frame of reference
3. And, as this video so beautifully points out, meaning is what we assign to things
4. Thus our pursuit of happiness/ purpose can be worth our effort... and can be worth stretching the limits of our minuscule spheres of influence.
5. However, a less human/ anthropomorphous perspective of 'God' might help us better appreciate the little that we are, and also the lot that we share in common with others, on Carl Sagan's (and yours and mine!) pale blue dot.

PS:
“I believe in Spinoza's God, who reveals Himself in the lawful harmony of the world, not in a God who concerns Himself with the fate and the doings of mankind." - Albert Einstein

Prometheus, meet your father

"Think fast, think ahead", is all one hears as one paces through every hour of every day of one's life. Right from the friendly advice from the nears and dears, to the news of achievements and failures, to the evolutionary struggle to survive. The subjective nature of meaning notwithstanding, every piece of stimulus one receives seems to, directly or indirectly, worship Prometheus.

And yes there is enough value in the suggestion as well, and undeniably so. What would life reduce to without a care for future consequence? Some would argue the world has been on one such blaze for a while now, but that's another story. Providence and wisdom, among the most treasured values known to (the common?) man today, spring eternally from the lodestar that is foresight.

But.
What is one to say of foresight, in the absence of meaning? We assume a certain fabric on which foresight lends direction and order. But we don't question that fabric?
Who is the 'I' in 'I will look ahead and act responsibly'? And more pointedly, what prevents said 'I' from just wanting to watch the world burn?
Even primal to being a 'social animal', man is a 'thinking animal'. And for most of humanity, that opens an inexorable thirst for meaning. Meaning not necessarily in the elevated/ self-actualization sense, but even at the level of having a storyline to live by.

Where does that storyline come from?

As much as one looks to the future to decide on the present, one draws from the past to construct a sense of coherent reality. One's identity is shaped as much by one's memories, if not more, as by future aspirations. One could also argue that the road to one's aspirations is paved with the bricks of one's past, leading right up to the present. Yes, the present that just went past.

Love, caring, dependence, community... the fruits from Epimetheus' garden vary in shape and size. He may appear foolish in the light of his brother, but what is life without being open to possibilities? Each turn is an invitation to open a box, and he took his chance. To be alive is to be open to hurt. To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Epimetheus, his ordinariness and simplicity notwithstanding, is thus more than just the hapless brother to a brilliant titan. He is in fact, his father. Without him, the observer that seeks to live, progress and thrive, ceases to exist. He is the life in our otherwise minuscule, insignificant, fleeting existence.

Carl Gustav Jung said, "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being."
The candle that burns away slowly in the darkness of our mere being, is Epimetheus.

Sulemani Keeda

Every now and then there comes a movie with immense promise, with the prospect of a genuinely felt cinematic experiment coming to life, and an audience waiting rapt in attention. That such endeavours come with the potential to both fizzle out as well as overwhelm with awesome, is common knowledge. Sulemani Keeda, however, does something distinctly different.

While the overall texture of the film is quite endearing, with its refreshing use of sound (musical and otherwise!) and visuals, what really marks SK out is how it interacts with the average audience member. It successfully captures several shades of madness without caricaturizing/ exaggerating them (okay, without caricaturizing/ exaggerating most of them). Whether by design or by default, this ends up making the cinema experience tremendously personal for the average young urban viewer. Thus while a typical movie attempts to draw the audience into the parallel universe it builds, SK successfully manages to gain a foothold in your mind. Indeed, for several hours afterwards one feels part of the movie, not playing second fiddle to the cast members, but one's own self in a setting that is much more sensitive than Bollywood's staple (some might see this as having positive spill-overs for self-awareness even!)

Everyone acts wonderfully well in roles carved out of today's urban consciousness. The script is sharp without going overboard, thus adding to the sense of reality/ relate-ability. The music rings with a truthfulness across all the aforementioned shades of madness.

In all, a very interesting watch that deserves all the kudos it's getting, and more. Wonderful work Amit Masurkar, Naveen Kasturia, Mayank Tewari, Aditi Vasudev, and everyone else part of this project!

Circles (Nam myo ho, ft. Eternal Sunshine)

I wake up to you each day
Into the blinding lights
Every step a riddle read
Pauses to ends commence

In the nights I sit alone
Listening to you sing
An alien tune besot
That I too had once known

As the question crystallizes
Amidst the silent din
The answer reveals itself
In a muse or thought forgot

Tracing the path onwards on
Leads me back to the start
Even as I slowly dissolve
Running circles unabating

To stop is to cease is to end
And futility remembered a curse
Thus I forget, to continue to will
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

Klak Tik - Reborn (the Samsung Galaxy Camera ad song)

unadulterated awesome at so, so many levels!

lyrics (unofficial):

i thought i knew at least
what freedom really means

a job that i hate
work everyday
i could be wrong

i tried my best to tame
the wilderness inside
every thought
not thought out
i pretend
to be over

now i've finally woken up the the beauty of the world through a love song
through a love song that i heard from the rivers and the birds

...

{instrumental + chorus vocal streams that are awesome to listen to, but inane to spell out}

...

in the end there was the sound
i found city life too loud
so away i walked to the urban scroll
ears to the ground
trying to find myself some peace of mind

now i've finally woken up the the beauty of the world through a love song
through a love song that i heard from the rivers and the birds

...

{instrumental + chorus vocal streams that are awesome to listen to, but inane to spell out} - continue to end

**********

so many layers of so much
to be seen, felt and embraced
sans sight, touch or love though
a pure, unthought perception
of the infinity of naught.

*

PS:
http://klaktik.blogspot.in/2012/12/reborn.html
http://www.facebook.com/KlakTik
http://in.myspace.com/klaktik

KKL@GOW2OST

The walls they come tumbling down
As the structures collapse
As does meaning known
A silent darkness rises

Bemusing is the circus everywhere
A cloud of noise and frenetics
The beast finds its target
Loafing about the sinking ship

Charge it does, horns and all
Shaking the earth underneath
Smiling wist a farewell due
One begins to feel the beat

And in the blink of an eye
The song has overtaken me
Flowing through all directions
No space for words or meaning

The horns be hardly felt
The blood sweat distant pale
For the self has found its place
Accepting the maze for home

One smiles emotionless
For there is naught to lose
In these fleeting eternities
When one has found the void.

Comebacks to Don Giovanni

"These gentlemen are from Salzburg."
"Salzburg? We were just talking about Salzburg..."
"Wolfie... Your father is dead."

***

Terrifying, and wonderful to watch, it was.

The sound alit, a fire bright
There is a gap in the mind
A question that remains ever open
Till the point one realizes
That life would be incomplete
If replete with answers
The question is not a part of life
But life itself it is.

 

Arambath

Firstly, Arambath.

We start out, knowing little of what it is to be, of what is to come. There is no conception of things, entities, or even of the self. The universe is one fluid, homogenous ocean of stimuli, in which one finds oneself floating, sinking, and swimming at different points in time. ‘Who am I?’ does not ring pertinence in this epic drama as yet.

As knowledge & intellect gradually nestle into the consciousness however, one begins to look at what was only seen thus far; listen to what was only heard – intelligence, choice and logic grow into demigods. The pursuit begins, clearing out the paths ahead bit by bit; one begins to see beyond the here and now, deriving basis what has been and is, to gain some sight of what is to be.

And as one proceeds on these paths, staying the course with oneself, one grows... in confidence, self & social worth, and in general well-being. The world is all one wants it to be, clockwork set in motion... An efficient system of reinforcing causes and effects, most of which interfere positively with one's evolving state of being.
One is, by all accounts, happy.

Then, one notices a voice.
It is faintly audible at first. The words seem to tumble into each other, on a slippery-sliding path of unintelligibility. Intrigued, for intellectual integrity sits close to one's being, one tries to listen carefully. The voice seems to pay heed to its newfound audience, almost moving closer to one’s outstretched ear. The message is still rather blurred, taking its time to dust off the still heavy strains of incoherence, when one sees a light flash in front of one’s eyes. And as if in sync with that apparition, the voice amplifies into a deafening wall of white-coloured noise right in that split second.

One’s eyes are still, and ears in deafening silence, inhabited only by a quaint ring left behind as an after-shadow of that flood of elemental sound. One now no longer sees, hears, or even thinks. One only floats.

And for the first time since the dawn of meaning, intelligence and knowledge, one sees the waves underlying everything that have comprised one’s universe thus far. These waves, of essential void, are at times gentle, at times rough, but unfailingly constant in their integrity and truthfulness. Looking at the universe with this perspective hollows out all that is around and within, leaving very little matter of consequence.

There remains only the energy that is the self, balancing a raft on a slow-motion waterfall, along with all the other incidentals that fill up time and space.

The paths, the rites, meanings and purposes have all faded away. One exists, to paint a canvas that exists only for oneself, with colours that one alone creates.
One is free, in the void that fills the universe. One, is back to where it all began, where all things begin; where nothings remains the same, and yet nothing changes.

Arambath erambath arambath erambath arambath erambath aaro...

Foeditatis Veritas

This is the result of a rather random tangent the mind chose for itself a few days back... as are most new-ish ideas I guess... Escaping that little logic-trap auto-set by & for myself, I shall proceed onwards.

I, am tired.
(Speaking of which, you may want to figure what this is up to)

Digressing back to the point at hand.

I, am tired... of many things around me.
Actually I'm not really affected on those lines at this point, come to think of it. So yeah.. what were we talking about?

The world...
We have always found it most natural to appreciate that which is beautiful; pick the flowers most perfect... gorge on food that is most appealing to the little tastebuds (such poetry laden on a word named with such prose!)... appreciate the most picturesque of sunsets... you get the idea.
We have in fact not fallen short of downright worshipping the very conception of beauty. I shall link back to Scott Adams when I can, for his views on this.
But that is where this thought train commenced its trip.

The sunset today did not feature a perfect circle of orange; nor an amber lining in purple; nor anything one would associate with such perfection. But it was a sunset nonetheless - the king did still retire for the day; the sea still opened up to its most faithful companion; the birds still took the sign to fly back home.
And these very routine, very ordinary, very matter-of-fact brush strokes must also suffice for the artist's eye. They don't owe us anything at all. Beauty must exist in the infiniteness, and the potential inherent in every single instance of every single thing. It is by virtue of their very existence, or the lack of it, and the place that holds in an endless opera of endless roles, that their beauty comes alive.

I am thus, in effect, just bored of the obsessively unilateral perception of beauty that the world seems to hold. Bored, to the point of taking up the cudgels for the countless other flavours to 'beauty', made even more beautiful, to me, by their quaint, calm, unaffected silence. Not that they need an advocate for their existence, but more to open up myself and my people to that which is scarcely seen, heard or felt.

When this sentiment had first come to me, all I could make out from the haze, was a rather odd sounding signboard saying "War against beauty!". That it was still rather dust laden from all the chaos all around, gave me some hope for further clarity to emerge, for confusion raises the chances of rising towards understanding, no?
The other day, the sign seemed to have morphed into "Affirmative Action for Ugliness". This seemed a bit more palatable, and perhaps closer to that which the elements wished for me to gauge.

And from there, we are gathered here today, as we round off another day in the office.
And where do I find myself today?

I know for sure, that this particular thread isn't over yet (when does one ever get 'over'?!). But the best I can put it just now would be...
Beauty is not the result of supernatural thought or effort... It is the thought and effort itself. Beauty does not confine itself to that which the senses perceive to be 'good', for words mean nothing in the endless cloud of consciousness (which incidentally hovers over a bottomless ocean of the unconscious)... Beauty is in the essential nature of everything. An artiste approaching perfection at his art, a crow picking away at a rat that was killed the previous night, a child realizing the rudimentary meanings of being, the 64.3% moon singing listlessly to an audience too caught up in dying...
Beauty, is a limitless force that weilds its power only with consent. It is far beyond, and far above anything one can grasp, for it is everything, and some may say, thus, nothing. A benevolent dictator it is, that charms us with its frills, not caring to ever revel in its glories... Glories that we are ill-equipped to even comprehend, let alone sing.

Beauty... is such a thingamajig... My words are too, too frail.

"Na shaakh judein, na jadh pakdein"

First things first.

The air went cold a yonder night
As the stars searched on
The crescent blending into song
Writ in ink and blood

The eyes clenched for a pain
Which played to hide and seek
Standing in the mirror tall
One knew not what to say

One longs to be free afar
Even if on the other side
These molten sands that grow about
Out of the void one breathes

Torn is the heart of the thinker
For there is everything yet nothing
In the lanes of his fancy
Swaying to the music that he alone hears

Who is to say if I sink or rise?
The light is only for me to be
The night won't know me the morrow
As I won't you

I need answer one voice alone
Which knows all there is
Whilst muted still to passers by
Singing to my every thread

It is that night once again it seems
The air it wisps by me
Not smiling, cross, high or low
Just listening to its song
As do I, as do you
As do all who care to be
In the closing and the ending
Must await the waking sun king

--

Good night.

No Comebacks/ The Night

As the eyes well up for the second time tonight; as I sit listening to this unassuming little track by Indian Ocean; as, well, the universe proceeds onwards with its continuing existential journey, the night slowly grows, indiscernible to the lay eye. It is not a moment of joy, sorrow, angst or surprise. Nay, it's the fabric used in dreams. The night plays with my longing being, revealing little bits of her mysterious, alluring self. It plays along with a tune known only to her. I don't know how it will end, but know only of the path we've crossed thus far. And such windings have never been cast forth before, as what have been treaded upon these last few existences; for in this short span, I have relived every instance of magic ever encountered thus far, a coming together of all that I have seen, heard and been.

The night, I have realized during this journey, is at the heart of my idea of human life. The day, with all its activity, hustle bustle and streamlined energy, must end in the night, criss-crossing through the straits of twilight. Thus, for all its life and living, the day with its inevitable retreat to darker hinterlands, stands out as the very epitome of mortality. All that begins must come to an end, however grinding, sudden or stretched it may be. The human spirit, though awakening with the Sun, finds itself alone with the setting of the star, for it is not yet prepared to let go of the strings. And it is in that moment of part helplessness part exasperation, that one is greeted by the gods of darkness. At first unfamiliar, and then pleasantly affable, one soon finds oneself sharing with the night spirits a spirit or two of the old Scots.
The night takes one in her unthinking, uncalculating arms, and gifts each thinking eye it's daily dose of immortality. Indeed so, for the night never really ends, and even if it must, it does so with a dignified sense of duty, purpose and meaning. No matter how hopeless the hour, one sits, stares, thinks, wakes and sleeps with the continued anticipation for an extension ad infinitum to the blissful inertia of the night. Nothing is impossible for the night. Man comes out of his envelope, after all the stamping and passing on of the day, to finally reveal oneself to all concerned; not excluding his Creator, Destroyer, and all the elements in between. Perhaps most importantly, he reveals his self to himself, or perhaps his shadow in the all edifying moonlight does the needful. For it is the stillness that lends meaning to the blinding pace of the mortal self; the silence sings songs that bless the artiste with his colours, notes and beats. What is, what isn't, and all that is dreamt, hoped and aspired for, take wings in the infinite expanses of the night.

We welcome the Sun, bid it goodbye, and then welcome the night. Rarely is it that we find ourselves in the distinguished position bidding the never-ending night farewell. Perhaps this adds to the mystique surrounding the little beauty. Further, whenever it is that the night passes on the baton to the still waking day, the overwhelming sense of creation and awakening overarchs and overwhelms all thought. Thus the night never dies, it only makes place for the Sun King to arrive, bringing with him the seed of all life. Sleep and demise remain as muted in their countenance as they had been thus far. And the human spirit prepares for another long trip away from the self, kissed on the cheeks as it gets done with its packing for the journey.

In the night, as one welcomes back the spirit, the song plays again; at times concerted, at times whimsical; at times speaking, at times listening, but alive, breathing at all times! As one breathes in the scent of her flowing tresses, the embrace feels like an eternity. One closes one's eyes unable to contain the myriad creations, disparate yet united, bursting into existence. Time and space reduce themselves to words on paper, like the misconceptions of a senile mind, and I, I find myself alive... at last.

The night shall take me
Where life takes birth and sings
As I sink into my own void
As a wisp of smoke slowly fades.

Doob doob dada dida

The eyes are now a networked red
Something has died unnoticed within
The rhyme is not of the essence today
The time is past for one to pay

The seed let out a gasp n sigh
Afraid of the starry sky
Away from the light and musk and care
Away from the place it was its own

The times are slow and halting
The hands now tired
Into the blue one shall float
Leading to 'This is the end...'

---

PS: Nov 26
There is the one, in a crowded marketplace of mirrors. And there is only the one, till the time there is none; only a wisp of smoke, blending slowly into the light (aka void to some).

"Hello? One Medium Pepperoni please."

"Tom & Jerry... and Epimethea"

Long time its been.. and while there's been so much happening dearie my dear, here's a little bit of the something from a few days back...
---
The cat tip toed o'er the line
With grace and light so feline
As if dreamy in a trance
Wont for a little song and dance.

But just as things got dreary dry
There shone a light from the sky
It looked around in silence new
No sound to hear; even a meow.

Its eyes now staring out aloud
Took sight of an opened cloud
Through the peeking curtain tress
Lending to the hanging dress.

In its shades it searched for truth
Like journeys with the Don E. Knuth
Just then a frisky mouse hopped by
The chase began in earnest high.

The dress hung there for ever more
With a thousand suns through the shore
The thought was lost up in the air
As was she, stretching on a chair.

--

PS: Epimetheus.

Melancholic Ecstasy - Redux

The sun set on my plains several years back. The eyes that once opened me to the light and dark, the high and low, the black and white and blue and yellow and red of everything, and everyone around me; they now stand clouded and shut - muted to a world that seems to be growing more and more vibrant by the day.

I'm not sure when this darkness sprang up from behind me; it couldn't have been too abrupt a transition, even though it seemed just so to the self that had perhaps been too engrossed on the peripherals. I think I noticed this change in my life only a few aeons back, and since then the question of what exactly led to that which led to the sun getting plugged out from my universe has haunted every single particle of my being.

Ever since yesterday however, there has been a change in the air around; the touch of that omnipresent emptiness has changed from one of indifference and cold detachment bordering on hostility, to one that is considerably more gentle, more involved, and quite simply closer to that very intangible yet potent conception of 'life'. It was no wonder then, that the eye albeit still closed, experienced something strongly reminiscent of the times of yore. Detecting such a flurry of activity in its environs, it didn't take the mind too long to stimulate itself into activity at levels that had long seemed extinct. Simulations began to run concurrently in the central imaging repository as part of attempts to guess the specific causal force behind all the excitement. Possibilities ranged from the fluttering wings of a butterfly, to the auralities emanating from a distant cuckoo bird, to a drop of water from the heavens, falling on the parched soul.
The next several hours were spent in this process, wherein logical probes into one's past experiences soon graduated to a complete and vivid recollection and reliving of the myriad colours that had punctuated one's life all those ages back.

And then, in the darkest hour of the night, I became suddenly aware of the flight of fancy that I was in the midst of; I saw the mirage that had been at the root of this whole trip all along; I felt, after what seemed like the entire duration of one's childhood, the very real sense of futility, meaningless and insignificance flowing in me, through me, and in everything all around me. Just for a second, I felt the emptiness spreading deep within me; it was a hollowing out like never before, for it was after all one that followed a ray of seemingly untouchable light, and love.

But just then, I noticed her standing behind me.
She was a muse that the world dared not touch; a beauty that had been among the most forlorn creations under the thousand suns above. Looking upon her, I thought I caught a fleeting upward glance, and then a hesitant backward step, as if suddenly aware of my awareness of her presence; a presence that had been there before we were, before I was, and would remain hereafter onwards and forever, as with all things celestial and pure.

Cognizant now of a soul more practised in the fine art of solitude than the most devout of sages, I knew this long and blinding journey had been for a reason. The elements stood still as did time.
And within the next blink of that cosmic eye, I had made her mine, and she had captured me for all of eternity.

To the world she may be the most sorrowful of embodiments; the companion on journeys always avoided. And I knew the doubts that could arise: of this companionship being an escape, a desperate attempt at clinging on to the last remaining semblance of meaning and purpose. But in that moment, I also knew that none of that mattered.
For to the world she might be the dark and disfiguring melancholia, but to me, in my hands, as I immerse myself in her being, she is my melancholic ecstasy.

Is this real?
But then again, what is?

Night and Day

How wonderful that night should fall
On a day that still has much to say
Like a mother tucking in her child
Still wont for song & dance & play

The stars up above they shine
Silent actors in the night's tale
And even if the child does whine
It knows its ships are set to sail

These voyages prepare the self
For mornings await the darkest ray
How wonderful that night should fall
On a day that still has much to say

FB and its ilk of whore bazaars

Pre-Scriptum: Before any daggers come out against this hapless observer and documenter on the title above, please note the following statement made by one of the pillars of one’s batch, back in the neck of the woods one calls one’s own:

“This world is made up of 2 kinds of people; there are those who do, and those who manage – whores and pimps.”

(Respects PP!)

At the level of abstraction defined by the above statement, is where the title resides. Thank you, now you may please disarm and proceed.

--

This relates to the massively pervasive phenomenon that is FB, and other social networking tools today.

The fundamental question that leads me to this thought train, is just why we do what we do on all such forums. The answer, one must realize, is comprised of several intricate layers, drawing equally from the depths of human insecurities, desires, monies and its ilk.. Indeed a gamut that is yet to be fully discovered, to be fairly objective.

So, what is it that drives us every single day, to log into gtalk, and think of a funny sounding status message; to open facebook and traverse page after page looking for opportunities to comment, participate and involve ourselves in an ocean of hyperactive insignificance?

The following would be my guesses on just what comprises that causal/correlated factor set:

1. The constant need to signal to the outside world, and potential mates in particular, the eligibility of the self for present and future consideration: While this may sound evolutionarily clichéd, this very certainly does seem to be the most obvious of the various reasons and influencing factors. Of course, one could also argue that this angle forms the core motivation behind everything we do, from education to career development, to collecting symbols of material acclaim; it isn’t too convoluted a path that links all of these to the need to procreate, and procreate well. I shall get back to this point in a while, or maybe I won’t; let’s see.

2. The online medium serving as a proxy that facilitates the process of satisfying the innate need for affiliation, and related derivatives such as acceptance and affection: With lives rapidly growing quicker paced than ever before, emotions are vying for space with their fast-food generation cousins. That the needs in man have not changed even in a drastically changed era, means the channels explored in the pursuit of said needs have evolved, with interesting consequences on his relations and interactions with his surroundings.

3. An idea elaborated upon by Ta-Nehisi Coates, and forwarded by Amit Varma, stating the overpowering fear of being left alone with oneself; of facing “the terror of (one’s) own singular thoughts”, as being one of the core motivations to rely on social media. As I write this, I realize this point could manifest itself at two levels:

a) A reluctance to indulge in what one is consciously aware as present in the mind of the self: In this category would come the drudgeries of everyday existence, in the form of short and long term worries and concerns. Thus social media, as the pub and a casual game of football in the olden days, serves to provide a short term escape from these, and in some cases, avenues to stumble upon a solution that would perhaps not have graced one’s senses otherwise.

b) The second level is relatively darker and deeper in shade, and refers to that very invisible, yet infinitely potent fear of one’s own core; darkness and dirt abounding. This fear, one must observe, is much, much harder to escape, and in effect requires one to either face and overcome it, or immerse oneself in a potentially endless sea of makeshift meaning, logic and illusion. This avoidance of reality may be rooted, in turn, in the following:

i. A fear of the unknown, in that one is terrified of realizing, and living with the fact that much of what happens in even one’s immediate vicinity is beyond the mortal confines of one’s reasoning and explanation.

ii. Again the darker one follows second, with the second possibility being of a fear of one’s own true identity. This point looks at that unexplored self as the bottomless pit of the darkest and most despised aspects of the world and one’s perception of the self. Solitude, by this school of thought, would force one to explore this mysteriously un-unraveled part of the self. To discover what lies beneath the seemingly intransient self-image would be a matter of pure and unadulterated terror for the best of us, what with the very definition of one’s identity comfort zone at stake.

To put things in perspective, one must realize that the said realization is the equivalent, if not much a considerably deeper denomination, of waking up one day to realize one’s family was indeed not one’s own, or that the world as one knew it was just a dream; and all of these analogies relate to things external to one’s precious self, imagine the plight of the poor child within on knowing he wasn’t what he had always imagined himself to be.

4. This point finds itself more applicable to social media tools such as blogging and the like. I believe a major part of the whole online expression explosion may also be attributed to the very human need for appreciation, importance and an overly reflection-based sense of self-worth. To elaborate, I believe we have grown to associate more and more of our self-worth with what we perceive others to perceive of us. Even though such an orientation is required, to an extent, so ensure benchmarking based improvement, going all out external in one’s pursuit of self-actualization just kills out the ‘self’.

And thus we have blogs (such as this one right here) sprouting up in every nook and cranny, with several levels of what is commonly (and in jest) referred to as ‘shameless self-promotion’. The writer, as the nightingale in the poem by Vikram Seth, gets used to an audience, and soon begins to derive more and more of his feel from the responses that he does (or does not) elicit from those around him.

5. Finally, I would state the most natural of replies to the question at the fundament of this whole post: that social media helps one stay in touch with a diverse network of people who would otherwise have faded away into oblivion. On the expression front, one may also say that to share and co-create is in fact the goal of all social expression.

And both the above arguments are fine with me as well, for I am of the same species as the rest of us; no purer and no more a sinner. However, what has caused this seemingly ‘holier than thou’ rant right here, is a nauseous mix of the following:

1. The unbearably loud “Hey! Look at me! I’m smart/sexy/cool/bored/alive/stoned/phucked/etal” cries from everywhere. And an accompanied, unfathomably dark realization that one’s voice is also present in that cacophony.

2. A very personal, and yes completely irrational, aversion to public displays of anything of significance.

3. A realization that had knocked on my head 194 (or maybe 200 by now) times previously as well, on the growing sinkhole of time and resource that is FB and its ilk.

In spite of the above however, one’s awe for the power and potential of web2.0 (not FB) never ends; and thus bloggers, open source evangelists, and the entire merry clan of the land of 2.0 shall always be the recipients of my choicest respect. The conundrums faced on the publicity front are of course an issue (in my book), with no easy solution in prospect; for any idea, if it must achieve anything close to its potential, must invariably sleep with several hosts, and such a free flow of potential is exquisitely facilitated by the very forums this post seems to decry. And it is nobody’s business to pass judgment on when a posting transfers itself from socially active to obscenely vane.

Finally, as with most things in life, it is the bhaav which determines the purity of any thought, word or deed. Perhaps therein lays the answer, though subjectivities abound there as well. But yes, that is important, the point that web2.0 isn’t the evil, if there exists such a term.

Much to the dismay of the few who get spammed by me, I shall continue to write and share, for contentment with self-sharing of ideas is only false conceit. I shall look forward to a wider, deeper, and more holistic experience bouquet courtesy the wonders of 2.0.

Also, I shall indeed endeavour to kill off FB from my life. Yes, this shall not be my last post on this subject, and that this post shall be advertised on FB is undoubtedly ironic, and I also realize that I shall return to FB as well, being the social animal I am. However, one day FB, one day you shall cease to exist in my universe.

And at a point in time in the distant future relative to the above mentioned milestone, expression too shall lose its meaning on most fronts. And then web2/3/4.0 too shall become defunct in my little universe. Then, shall reign pure enlightenment, or pure madness – as time, and the kindly observer may deem it fit.

For all that lies ahead duniya, Godspeed! We shall meet soon enough..

PS: As goes without saying, all views are subject to the eyes of the beholder. So if you're keen on taking offense or any of its derivatives, go take it! :P

The Kerala Tourism video

Quite the FB phenomenon this video has been over the past few days/weeks. Slightly delayed, but here is what I made of the little beauty..



Details of the video per se, are irrelevant to this post, given as you can peruse through them at your convenience, from the embeddiment above, or otherwise. What one attempts to look at, is what it 'says' to you, and the why's and the how's of it.

The scenic opulence, almost a given with Santosh Sivan, is rather grand indeed. With the music to match, the stage sets itself for the key element to be revealed.

And then... what exactly happens then..?

In the remainder of the video, once your eyes and other such have adjusted to what is on offer, it tells you something very simple, in a manner that is unprecedented to your experiences on this front thus far. Furthermore, what it just whispered, in spite of its relative simplicity and what not, also happens to be one of the relatives to the universal existential crisis that plagues us all, among other things.

"Your moment is waiting"
Never before, in the many diversely hued tourism promotion campaigns one has witnessed, has the core message addressed something this intense, this deeply human; going beyond the relatively trite levels of culture, history and entertainment.
The moment may be taken to mean anything it means to one, but the audacity to link that to something as exploited as tourism, and then through an audio-visual masterpiece, do some semblance of justice to such a steep ask, is commendable.
That fleeting, invisible moment of transcendence, of realization, of life, has been portrayed like never before. One can completely imagine Sivan shaking within even as he thought up the fragments in his mind.

It is of course fitting, that this exploration of the inner domain, albeit facilitated by external supports, should be showcased by a province of this great land that has for millennia has pioneered in such endeavours.

Mortal arguments that the video doesn't say too much, given that such 'moments' may be lived in other places as well, shall receive a brief look from me, and the following:
Yes, the message of the moment is universal, and quite frankly, location invariant. However, that does not take anything away from the fact that nobody had thought of/dared to put such a thought to film before, at least in India; and also that in spite of the idyllics on display in the video, the coming together of elements so as to introduce oneself to oneself, is completely imaginable and possible, and in fact not as idyllic as the locales that surround it.

To me at least, the video purely as an indicator of where we are in terms of what and how we express of that which infests the mortal mind, is reason enough to smile, and laud the efforts of those behind it.

Its been a while..

There comes a time every once in a while, when one feels a certain lightness of being; where one, not consciously aware of the reasons or causalities underneath, or even perceptive of a need for the same, just looks around, takes a few steps random-wards, sees things in a manner that had seemed distant and forgotten only a few moments back; allows a fleeting smile to escape oneself, takes a deep breath, and says, "Its been a while".

Cheers duniya..
Float on..
:)

Our twisted relation with beauty

While there are many things that could be read into the title of this post, I shall at the very outset, in a fashion that is somewhat contrasting with my usual self, bring to light the specific context and meaning intended.
(The above sentence of course reassures me that I'm still in the element I have come to know as my own! But yes, moving on..)

Why can't I walk up to a girl in a train and say "You're one of the most beautiful persons I have ever met", without the very real possibility of getting lynched?
Why/How have we as a society evolved in a manner that so closely intertwines beauty appreciation and leching?

I understand that mother nature has programmed us in a way that much of what we do since our voices are done cracking, revolves around the theme of procreation. Is it that this instinctive understanding has now transcended to the realms that dictate how we behave at a social level?What then, becomes of the artiste who seeks beauty, and upon finding the same is filled with the desire to express it.

Even as I write this, images of MF Hussain with his muse in Madhuri, or that of a fashion photographer in the midst of an assortment of exposed physical beauty come to mind. Those are cases, certainly, where appreciation is taken to be at a level above leching. So does my initial question transform to a class issue: If one is a renowned artiste, then said appreciation is aesthetically tasteful, else it is a sympton of female objectification. Said class consideration then would certainly extend to the subject as well.

More later I guess.
This was about all I had to say for now.
Cheers duniya..