An equal madness

This was prompted by a question I posed to a friend yesterday. While it was rooted in the normal random thass we indulge in daily, the levels it has managed to take me across, is, well simply put, awe-some.

“What is the motive behind any form of artistic expression?”

And the answer, that I have found, bounded by the limitations of rational logic and experience that plague me, is as follows:

--

What runs through our veins, as thinking, intelligent human persons, is a continuous stream of colourless, unthinking, ethereal madness.
We are, by creation, ‘not-sane’.

What we appear to be during our daily interactions and motions, is at best a leashed, chained shadow of our true selves. And no matter how many layers of civilization, evolution and perfunctorization we hide our selves under; the underlying truth of our identities has a knack of always rising and opening our eyes to previously uncharted domains.

Further, the fleeting nature of this true, unaffected, honest life, means we are eternally living an existence of uneasy, self-imposed compromise. What Thoreau described as a life of “quiet desperation”, fits in snugly here as well. It is an invisible, sublime, and indeed, a pure form of elemental desperation one experiences at all points in time, which chooses to keep itself comfortably concealed mostly, only to reveal itself at the hours one perceives to be the darkest of one’s existence.

Artistes, have a language to speak in.
The choice of words is deliberate, and stands clarified as follows.
What purpose does a language serve, if one remains handicapped to connect with one’s own true self through it?
An artiste is one, who can interact with his very fabric, (and through it, perhaps with Him as well), through his language.
Thus, one observes, that the definition of the term ‘artiste’ somewhat paradoxically expands in a manner that could potentially include all of humanity in its fold, while simultaneously narrowing itself down by the added qualifier of self-conversation.

The point I am driving to, through this amazingly meandering little path, is thus, the underlying motive of any form of artistic expression, is to live a moment of the madness that one is born with; to escape from the educated rules propounded by civilization and society; to find one’s own self among the millions of shadows that cloud our very consciousness.

One may look at the entire argument from the reverse angle, and deduce that anything which allows one to free one’s mind; to lose one’s time variant image of the self; indeed, to indulge in some of the forbidden madness that lies hidden deep within our cores, is thus artistic.

While this may seem appealing and interesting at first, as images of Mozart losing himself in Don Giovanni; of Newton letting go of the world in his brand of Mathematical Physics; of an aging ascetic smiling up at the heavens in spite (or perhaps because!) of the sores all over his body, come to mind.

For the sake of self criticism, I shall quote instances of madness that might not quite seem as artistic: Hitler and his holocaust, the protagonist in ‘A Clockwork Orange’, Jack the Ripper, and many, many more.
On instances such as these, I believe, that if, the activities indulged in by the persons respectively, did indeed bring them face to face with their latent selves; if they did experience that lightness of being that comes with drinking in the madness, then yes, for their socially distorted selves, their trade, was their art; their channel to all truth, madness, bliss.

This point in time is as ripe as ever, to clarify on one minor point.
Genocide, rape and murder are crimes against humanity, no doubt. But the unthinking, essential madness in us, need not know that.
In fact, what might seem revolting in the case of Hitler, seems heroic when it appears in Newton; for it was after all a common, colourless, unbiased trait of pure madness that propelled both to drive on relentlessly, to heights previously unheard of, albeit in different directions.

As (nearly) rational humans, one would expect us to be able to differentiate between the essential force behind diverse actions ion one hand, and the variance of direction between them, on the other. Thus, what drove Hitler and Newton, and any other sage/musician/psychopath/saint/hero/legend, must boil down to one, common madness.

We’re all born the same.
What we choose to do with our most prized endowment, our madness, defines what we become.

All forms of ‘artistic expression’, are thus, simple desperate attempts at reaching closer to that which is truly us; an undying, unaffected, immovable, and essentially equal, madness.

--

Good day at work this was!

Potently visible by its very absence

The seed for this post was planted late last night, or lets say prohibitively early morning today. Around 5am it must have been, high on a sponty trip to the city for a 2nd dinner, and hours of thass to top, I had America's Ventura Highway on, and was just leaving hostel for another "walk to remember", armed with phone and camera, and accompanied by the muse that reaches out to me through them.

As I was turning to the right, something caught the corner of my eye. Just for a second, I saw a human form walking. But that was all that it was. A momentary aberration of the elements within and without me, to bring to life a figure invisible, yet wholly present; (perhaps) non-existent, yet undenyably alive. To the naked eye, it seemed as if the figure had been carved into the ambience, thus perfectly camouflaged, yet visible by the void it seemed to embody.

However, as is often the case with posts such as these, it is what meets the eye that counts.
And thus began the rapid germination of said seed planted previously.

The need for a particular object/entity (referred to, here on, as 'it' for convenience) is what defines its presence in our lives. Thus to experience it, one need not necessarily have it. Rather, the very fact that one feels its need/importance/indispensability et al, suffices.
Thus, as was the case with me today morning, it needed not the presence of a person there in the morning mists, nor that of a living example of His love, just the very cognizance of such a presence, such potential, such love.

It is in fact existent, solely through the meaning it portrays, the power it weilds so blithely, and the very fact that it is acknowledged among the mortals that spot the earth. In fact, extrapolating this hypothesis further, our very existences are defined and governed by how we influence and affect our surroundings; without a canvas on which to display our colours and shades, our existences woud (perhaps) remain just that, mere, lifeless existences. This canvas is not to be mistaken with a necessarily external, worldly, gaudy object of self adulation, rather, it may be taken to be anything that takes one away from the compelling realms of the self and related derivatives.

Returning to the original theme.
Our lives, are thus (perhaps) governed by an (in?)finite set of needs and wishes that punctuate our existence. And each one of those needs comes to life, by its very presence in our consciousness, as do we ourselves.
Thus, one need not be present to be there, rather, one's absence is as potent in its influence over another.

This is strongly reminiscent of Prof. Rita Ganguly's little discourse at NSIT, after a glorious Spic event (where she ended with our beloved "Zara dheere dheere gaadi haanko"!). There, explaining one of her pieces, she spoke, of how lust did not need the presence of another being; rather, it was defined, and lived in all its glory, solely by the thirst, the need, the longing.

That should be it for now. May we all live to experience that which is always a step ahead, either through its presence, or the lack of it. For, quoting from a post long long back:

"it is the feel that truly matters. Instances of the feel just give it a name, a shape; the feel remains ever free, ever unbounded, ever present, waiting always and only, for the one."

Cheers!

PS: The following deserves a special mention, for the role they played in the R&D of this post! :)

WINAMP playlist

---

4 tracks in playlist, average track length: 5:29 Playlist length: 21 minutes 58 seconds Right-click here to save this HTML file.

Playlist files:

1. America - Ventura Highway (3:22)
2. Hazaaron Khwaahishen Aisi - Man Yeh Baanwra (Qawwali) (3:04)
3. Mrigya-ganga (10:31)
4. Steve Vai - Instrumental solo (5:01)

The speed of thought...

The muse for this little post came to me when talking to a friend yesterday, whose Dad was coming over for the day.

Upon asking how much time it took to reach from her native palce to Calcutta, her answer came in 3 parts, one each for air, train and road travel.
Something about that progressively increasing time span, her eyes as she replied, and the general manner in which she reminisces about the days back home, opened up a window in front of me.
Just for a moment, I experienced the infinite speed of thought.

How the mind had the power to transcend all barriers of the world, that too in good time; how it could give you a taste of Goan fish curry you had 15 years back, and in the next instant give you a glimpse of the next big thing in Manchester United, astrophysics or even your own self.

It also seemed incredibly beautiful, how one could travel to any place in the world and beyond, flying on the gleefully free wings of one's mind. How the mind thus, had the power to heal (and dig up?) wounds; to render a thousand enemy arrows useless; to search and pursue any little matter is so chooses.

How true is Milton,
"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven."

Cheers to that which has the power to do SO much, waiting only for an able saarathi for a master.

"When children wake up in the morning..."

Short observational post this one will be.
This was what prompted it:

"जब बच्चे सुबह सुबह उठते हैं,
तब बड़े cute लगते हैं।"

This was what I said to a friend, when she opened the door to my wake up call today morning.
While it was just a simple observation then, the significance it eventually weaved around itself, was... well it was just very, very beautiful.

Translating + paraphrasing the quoted lines, Children waking up in the morning are really cute.
Further deliberation pointed out the reason behind the accentuated cuteness. At that moment, eyes rubbing, hair ruffled, and a hint of dreaminess in the air, their minds are as blank as mortally possible. That unthinking mind shall soon to be engulfed in a thick mist of infinite shades, aimed at clearing the deepest puzzles of one's consciousness (calculus, finance, love, sorrow, life, anything!). However, for those unforgiving, impatient, fleeting moments, it is gloriously unaffected. It sees the world, the walls, the books, the people, itself, for the first time since its last excursion to that land of unfathomables. The curious observer in me wonders gleefully, if in fact that eternal chase for the elixirs and 42's of life, that we start on every such occasion, does in fact begin with the key right behind us, so close, yet so tragi-comically far; perhaps the answer lies in front of our eye in that moment, only to be flooded into oblivion by the incoming rush of knowledge, intelligence and the smarts.
Perhaps.

Finally, the last observation from that experience, wherein I drew on my memories from the years that have been my days. In that moment described above, one doesn't need to be a child, to be a child. In that moment, I remembered my father, my nephew, my cousins, my friend (whose fortunate sleep affinity led to this wonderful little thought train this beautiful day!), and even myself; I distinctly remembered, how each and every one I had ever seen in that moment, had actually been little children waking up to a new day, who would grow to their respective worldly ages in a matter of seconds.
Great bliss flew in from the countless windows all around.
Sigh...

The child knows all. Keept it alive and well.

I shall conclude with two gems courtesy Tagore:

"Pure joy is the children's joy. They have the power of using any and every trivial thing to create their world of interest, and the ugliest doll is made beautiful with their imagination and lives with their life. He who can retain this faculty of enjoyment after he has grown up, is indeed the true Idealist. For him things are not merely visible to the eye or audible to the ear, but they are also sensible to the heart, and their narrowness and imperfections are lost in the glad music which he himself supplies."

and...

"From the solemn gloom of the temple,
Children run out to sit in the dust.
God watches them play,
And forgets the priest."

बच्चों, खुश रहो।
:)

The burden and poison of expectation

Very often I am made to think as to WHY I’m such a supporter of the non competitive spirit; why I value the sense of bliss at having done something over the high of potentially ‘winning’ something; why, in the hustle and bustle of Innovision, I am one of the few fans of a random event like ‘Star Gazing’; why I prefer an ‘art exhibition’ to a full fledged ‘art competition’ at Moksha… Why is it that the things I LOVE the most, I so desperately seek to keep free of the rat race of one-upmanship.

The following is what a little bit of introspection has brought out.

The first reason that came out, thus more basic and apparent, was that MAYBE I’m too afraid of being rudely informed that I and my ‘art’ are not ‘good enough’. To a limited extent, this seemed true, but the fact that I generally do not feel too inclined to aim to ‘be the best’ in such matters of the self, and that I tend to wallow in a sense of promiscuous contentment at random (Don’t worry, not ALWAYS, iim-x!), made me think further and deeper.

And as is the case every so often, I stumbled upon a goldmine/minefield.

Every ‘non competitive’ activity I indulge in, is centred on what is closest to my self. Every single product manufactured by the processes under the above head, is a celebration of the freedom of the spirit, and an expression of what is most influencing my consciousness at that point in time. In effect, every such endeavour is, for that brief period, THE closest confidante one could possibly have, irrespective of one’s ‘status’; it knows our deepest secrets, even the ones we haven’t consciously embedded into it; it stares back into my blank face once complete, forcing me to go ever deeper into the domain of my knowledge of my self.

To even THINK, of going and marketing something I thus made, or putting it up for subjective evaluation makes me shudder. As in, ok, the feedback might help me ‘improve’ on the technicalities, but what use is such value addition when the soul stands compromised on.

When I am with something we create, I have no expectation from it, save the invisibles mentioned previously. That live piece of cosmic eternity on the other hand, feels nothing of my petty existence, and lets me be free as well. It is this pristine relationship, unburdened by the bother of expectation, which I realized I was seeking so desperately to preserve. The child like (‘retarded’, say the cynics) joys of doing something simply because it makes you happy, once lost to the ways of the world, I’m sure is hard to retrieve.

I know expectations form the basis of most meaningful relationships, but I’m sure it is universally accepted, that “Great Expectations” lead to sorrow and despair, more often than not. And owing to the enhanced sensitivity and depth of this domain of self expression and consciousness, I feel it is even more sensitive, to the burden and poison of expectation.

All of this is of course in accordance with the system variables that I’ve been programmed with. Results vary for every single one of us, on the degree and extent of such a sentiment. Will democracy conspire to have us pseudo-incompetents converted/relegated/hormone-transplanted/ genetically-‘enhanced’/eliminated? Only time will tell.

Sigh… So much love...
Stand by me!

When I grow up...

... I wanna be JUST like, ermm..., lets just call him "Mr. P, from Pp".
(For the jurisprudentially inclined, make it "whatever I've seen of, Mr. P from Pp, from my limited perception capabilities and "only human" level IQ!")

Crossing the boundaries (!) of thass...
Today I met a person, who truly LIVES the commandment that He gave us. Add to that his zeal to be of use to others, and the sense of humility and all its kith and kin...
Indeed, one must truly be blessed to even come across such people... People who know me in SPIC MACAY would know the value of these words:
"The EXPERIENCE of meeting him et al was NO less than the artiste interaction that we crave for so insatiably..."
In effect, I guess, we all are artistes in our own right. Each art being one's way to live life, derived from countless generations of experience and evolution. Also, each such entity BEING open to as deep an exploration as the self desires, I would speculate that like the 'more tangible' art forms, these too must be meditative after a certain level.

Its hard to fathom how many (if any) issues lie nearly resolved thanks to this little revelation; the essence and significance of bhaav, in the functionings of life.

The goal stands in the distance now. For good or for bad, the path in between lies uncharted and open to infinity.
Indeed, the journey, in all its glorious randomness and unassuming influence, IS life... (jurisprudential disclaimer!)

To be at the decided (yet incredibly flexible!) goal at the time of the big Farewell, would perhaps be the aim of the journey, albeit only for the stretch in our currently conceivable consciousness...

Cheers Mr. P sir!
God bless...
Be happy..

Joy and Sorrow

This is just a little theory that has come to my head over the last few days. I don't know if its as significant as THIS ground breaking discovery, but still.

GENERALLY,
In life, the happiest people are the ones who've been face to face with the deepest forms of sorrow. People who've been pally with the lows, tend to appreciate the highs better, while the others tend to wallow in a sense of complacency flavoured with despondency. You could call it another example of the fundamental law of relative experience (warm hand cold in moderate water, cold hand warm in cold water). Without doubt, it does fit that mould of logic.

To elaborate,
In order to feel TRULY sad, one needs to know the meaning and value of real joy, and vice versa. So even though this implies, by corollary and by the sheer inseparability of the two, that:
"The saddest people are the ones who've been face to face with the deepest forms of joy",
I'd say it's the cost one pays for being alive.
In fact, to even term it as something as taxing as 'cost' would be a misnomer. Experiencing everything in all its glorious entirety is, to my mind, THE basic unit that builds an active life, sprinkled with the magic and wonder that keeps the fountain of youth from drying.
As in, after a point, joy and sorrow (should) lose their disparateness, to the extent that they give to one, nothing more and nothing less, than a sense of previously subliminal bliss; a bliss stemming from the very fact that one has the POWER to FEEL, and that one is blessed/fortunate enough to be in such a position.

So in effect, what I'm saying is, one must marry both sorrow and joy, in order to truly live any one of them. The other comes along for no real cost, except for the temporary phase of potential affliction, following which it becomes as good a partner as the first.

To conclude,
Be happy, be sad, but LIVE each moment of both.
And always remember, every single event is there FOR a reason, and personally, it helps to believe in SOME form of Intelligent Design, even if It is this.

Live, love, believe.

PS: And for the SERIOUSLY cynical in our midst, feed on THIS.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And talking about life with its joys and sorrows, I can't help but share this little clip from Southpark. Its BEAUTIFUL...
As the video description says: "Southpark trashers, eat your HEART out!"

High on Coffee and “Taare Zameen Par”

Pre Script: In case you've got the song in the title, then I'd request you to play it while you read this, just so as to give you a better idea of exactly what happened. In case you don't, then you can find it here.


The day is Friday, December 07, 2007, the place, Nescafe @ College, the company, SPIC’s blessings. In this delightful configuration of circumstance, with a nice hot cup of coffee in hand, we were sitting, and thassoing in the ‘usual’ flavour.

The Nescafe people had the radio on, and playing was the title track of the movie mentioned above. Neeraj had just described a ‘snail scene’ from it, which was delicious to the extent of unfathomability, that too in his narration. Wonder how beautiful it must be in person.

Anyhow, title track playing, caffeine injecting, the consciousness of June ’08 approaching rearing its head beknownst to the self, and the general atmosphere starting to grow, I started to observe the unassuming steam emanating from my cup. As the different streams rose from the surface, bound by nothing but the laws of immaculate and perfect randomness, the fleeting nature of its existence hit me.

For JUST a second, I could see every single drop of water that came together to form that mystical and sublime phenomenon. To see how something as insignificant as the steam from the piping hot cup of coffee we so habitually devour, could actually be an assemblage of a million distinct entities; each with its own story to tell; each with a sense of identity, despite, or perhaps BECAUSE of the seamless manner of their integration into the beauty that is rising steam, was… well… beautiful.

Just as I was starting to paint the biographic sketches for each droplet, the line came flowing to my ears,

“Kho na jaaye ye… Taare zameen par…”

And I knew then, the stars in question were nothing but THESE naïve and unpretentious little being-lets. The entities here of course, referring not only to the java bean emanations, but all their myriads of cousins as well, to be found every single place we go. Be it the sight of a lonesome bird in flight, or the sense of having seen a life being lived in the duration of a second; it could be the way the little pup responds to its first rendezvous with a second hand ball, learning unconsciously its first lessons of critical and logical reasoning, or how that which we fear the most turns out to be the best element in our existence.

In essence, we must live, dream and aspire to reach ever changing targets of excellence; we must compete with our best, and strive to win every single time. However, whenever He gives us a tiny little gift, in the form of the aforementioned stars, it is in fact a chance to live the love, even more pronounced.

Live in the present, and be happy for the truly countless ‘little stars’ scattered all around us, in a pattern of near conspicuous randomness.

He loves you. He is all around. You are Him. Love the One in all of us. I love you.

Be Happy.

The inevitable incompleteness of life...

This is something that came up in my head a few weeks back... The forces of hecticity ensured the due deference.
The incident that sparked off this topic was nothing too special, just a moment's thought on what it would feel like, to die at this moment. What I felt then, leads to this post...

Life very often revolves around what we do, and what we wish to. To reach a steady state where the wishlist stands satiated for good, I guess is what we all aspire to do in life. I would IMAGINE, that crossing over at such a stage would hurt one the least.
My concerns were related mostly with one major facet of said wishlist; the one relating to the people in one's life. To think that it was time to go already, with SO much that I had to say still unsaid, was quite perturbing.
It led me to the thought of keeping a "Will", ready with ALL I had to say to the ALL the people who had mattered. It would be THE definitive repository for all my respective "last words".
If one were to question the purpose/need/significance of such an arrangement, well... I shall reply with...:

Our lives are a sum total of all that we see, experience, feel, hear et al. An infinitely large component thus, is our interaction with the myriads of people we meet during the journey; some that last for a moment, some for a lifetime; some that show you a lifetime in said moment, some that recur, some that do not, and so, so SO on.
So if we were to look at life as one big jigsaw puzzle, one can safely say that all the above mentioned are small pieces to be placed on the trans-cosmic game board, where life plays with us. So, at the risk of sounding a LITTLE presumptuous, I feel, that MY "last words" (or the not so last ones even for that matter!) could be a part of the puzzle for someone else, just as their contributions have been vital pieces in mine.
Of course, there IS the added incentive, of expressing oneself, and thus freeing the input/output buffer of the mind, thus enabling more ideas to flow through, abounding and unrestrained.

Ok... so returning to the plan of action...
Now JUST when I was starting to get pleased with the idea I'd devised, something struck me, that would change EVERYTHING.
I'm not the ONLY ONE whose going to die around me. To cut to the contextual chase, what if someone I had reserved a few words for, were to pack off to THE place while I was just starting to get my passport made...?! To put it in more blunt terms, WHAT IF, someone I REALLY cared for, and had SO much to say to, were to die before I did?
The entire skyscraper of my plan collapsed even before it got off the ED sheets. However, something REALLY freaky reared its head at the horizon then...
Nobody can predict the hour of our leaving. So why not "send" my "last words" (PRO-active) to the people, rather than "leave them behind" (RE-active). It would be a dynamically updating "report on ALL that has to be said", from me, to my people.
"Dynamic", because it takes little more than a moment for a life altering nuance in the bouquet of feelings to change. So IF such a plan WERE to be implemented, it had very well be implemented with the requisite rigor... तहज़ीब is THE word.

So in short, once the mad little cat ends its dance on my head, perhaps I should get down, and WRITE... write like there is no tomorrow, and quite literally at that...

As for the "incompleteness"... Well... its just that I'm not too convinced if there ever will be a state, where my wishlist shall INDEED be completely vanquished. Wishes are a funny thing, they have a habit of popping up JUST when you feel you're done with the entire lot.
Without doubt, the one who manages to reach the state of "no wishes left", would TRULY be at peace with the self, the world and the One. (Ich vertraue auf Dich)

Nonetheless, no matter WHAT the odds against one reaching the state, one can and SHOULD always try. That, I guess, would be in conformity with our dharma.


So many people I love... SO much to tell/write...
Sigh... So much love...

Kandisa!

After ALL these years...

Okay, this particular incident is related to my bumping into someone after 11 LONG years...!
Before I go into the details of the chance meeting, which REALLY is not the crux here, here's the history involved.

D: I met him at the age of 7 I think, while flying paper air planes with my friend M in the park. He was at least a couple of years younger to me, and his name reminded me of a bird. With time, I grew closer to him and his family. Life was just so beautiful back then, with fairy tales scripted in our backyards, and the nascent strains of logic permeating our tender minds.
I absolutely loved spending time with him, playing cricket, watching TV, anything. Guess that was my first meaningful encounter with the phenomenon that is Thass. I remember his parents telling him to emulate my then commendable academic record; his explanation for his Dad's kidney stones being the fact that he had too much dirt and mud as a kid; his near dejection when play time would get usurped by the burdens of social responsibilities; the way I would tell him that 15 mins actually equal 900 real and alive seconds, to be enjoyed to the best manner possible, and not to be spent crying over their relative shortage; the way his Grand dad would look for his little bat and ball whenever I came over; that distinct sweet smell that filled every little corner of his home, which for me was synonymous with his presence.

And then one fine day, I shifted to R.K. Puram. And that was that. I will try to hide behind the cloak of pretext, that I was just a kid, but what was done was done, or rather, what was not. I visited him twice I think, over the span of the following 10 years, and both times in the first 2 I'm sure. I don't know if he missed me too badly, I sure hope that he didn't. Though I'm sure my complete disregard (albeit fueled by "pardoned-for-children" ineptitude) must've pricked him at some point or the other.
And I'm sure I got my due, when 3 years later, my best friend A would move away to J. It was only fair I guess. For had it not been for his departure, there is no way I would've fathomed the sheer volume of grief that my residence shifting MIGHT have caused my dearest D. The tears I streamed away, unabated and inconsolable, sigh, I so wish that was not the same case with D. It takes quite a bit to fill the void of a friend gone away at that age, I'm not sure what stuffing I found, but I hope he found something as well, that is of course, IF he felt as aggrieved as I, which I shall sincerely hope he didn't.

I must add at this point, A did have the class/sense/sensitivity to stay in touch with the "character-left-behind-often-forgotten" that I was. I describe myself thus, because that was exactly what I had done with MY analogous character. And the more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that my sorrow was but an obvious consequence of the fact that life moves in circles, and what I reap is what I sow, et al, et al.

Okay now, circa yesterday, the 5th day of the 8th month of the 2007th year of the Gregorian Calendar. I'm on my way back home from the metro station, after a decently fulfilling IMS class on binary logic et al. I board the RTV, and half way through my 6.68 minute journey, I happen to notice this lady sitting by the window. I try and picture the face of D's mom from ALL those years back, add 11 years to that, and get an image not too different from the one in front of me. Though I must say I was still pretty doubtful. Eventually the guy sitting next to her got off on the stop before mine, and I took that as a sign, went and sat next to her and asked:
Me: "Excuse me, Are you Mrs. Mahajan?"
She: "Yes..".
Me: "ummm... D ki..."
She: "D ki mother."
At this point my heart had taken a million leaps into the air...! Continuing...
Me: "Ma'am, I'm Justin, from Mayapuri......"
She: "You are Justin (?)"
Me: "YES." :) //albeit the fact I'd grown into the jhalla monster that I am today!
She: "Take down our numbers, and call zaroor karna!"
..................................................................................................

Eventually, jotted down them numbers, got off and walked back home. And as happens on days as full of wonder as these, the radio cackled up with Mika's "Love Today", a song which I like for no apparent reason.. But then again, that never hurts anyone. There's so much to give...

Still have to call him up... I can't think of what I'll talk about... Lets see...

However, no matter what, I'll never quite find it in me to overlook what I had (NOT) done with him. I had broken that law preached by the very title of this blog, which in turn I had chanced upon during my emotional exile of sorts after A's departure. Sigh, at least I've grown. Thats one good thing to have come out of the whole warped-destiny-cycle experience.

For what its worth man... D, I am SO sorry... For being all that I shouldn't have been, and for not being a friend.

Thats that... Growth is the purpose of our existence I guess... Kandisa!

If you have been, thanks for reading.

Help!

The latest phenomenon to have influenced my stance on the entire "life, love et al" question...
And pleasantly enough, even though this one tilted me back in favour of the "life is for living, and un-alone at that" school of thought, it didn't go all the way to half killing me from inside, au contraire, it was one of THE most "happy" things to have happened in a while...

So, despite the new found sense of helplessness arising from this latest piece of evidence, CHEERS to that...! :)
(or should I put a sad smiley...?!)

Help! – The Beatles

Help, I need somebody,
Help, not just anybody,
Help, you know I need someone, help.

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody’s help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured,
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won’t you please, please help me.

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,
I know that I just need you like I’ve never done before.

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won’t you please, please help me.

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody’s help in any way.
But now these daya are gone, I’m not so self assured,
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won’t you please, please help me, help me, help me, oh

And you really SHOULD listen to the track as well...
HERE it is... cheers!

My favourite 4 letter word...!

LOVE.

(Now seriously, WHAT the ---- did you expect?! ;)

Okay, so here are my latest and most up to date views (as on 30/07/2007) on the one thing that proverbially makes the world go round.

I, after my extensive and tireless research into this bottomless pit-esque expanse of human endeavour and emotion, have arrived at the following results. O great Gods of love and the like, it is not I who writes this.

Love, as they define it, is a word with very many facets of meaning. I have just the following to describe it:
The desire to see someone happy.

From the little that I've seen of the world, together with the extrapolative license I wield openly, it seems to be, without a shadow of doubt/deceit/exaggeration, THE ultimate source AND goal for the phenomenon that is human life.
At the end of the day, any human being, irrespective of the trials and tribulations that life might (or might not) embellish its (the "his/her" routine for the sake of sexist-ical correctness is SUCH a pain!) path with, IF it feels loved and has someone to endow its love on, it sleeps the night with a decent degree of happiness/contentment/that BEAUTIFUL Hindi word, sukoon.
ELSE no amount of riches, in any of the myriads of shapes the sold out world throws at your feet, can fill that gnawing void within; that need for the thass in its most sublime incarnation, for a soul in whom to confide and be confided by. The soul stays gripped eternally, at times latently and at other times less so, fractured by the deficiency of that abstract and almost Utopian (till the time one finds it of course!) ideal, of loving and being loved.
Thinking of the "else" case detailed above, the one word that comes flying to me from the recesses of my 20+ year old adaptive vocabulary storehouse, is pure and unadulterated, tanhaai.

How BEAUTIFULLY has Swaraj Kirkire, in his hauntingly wonderful song Bawra Mann, said:

बाँवरे से इस जहाँ मे, बाँवरा एक साथ हो।
इस सयानी भीड़ मे, बस हाथों मे तेरा हाथ हो।

sigh... how true.

Alright, coming back to the fruits of my labour, I feel that the at times loosely used term "love" has different levels, which one must graduate to as one "grows". At this point in time I cannot overemphasize on the statuatory disclaimer, that all of these findings are borne out of my limited experience in this field, followed by hours of contemplation on our all time favourite topics, that are life, love and the near-Utopian "path to happiness"...

The feeling of "love" can be classified into 5 distinct levels, starting from the near-trivial, right up to the heights of divinity:

Level-1 : This refers to that momentary sense of pleasure/sorrow/joy/angst/whatEVER one experiences upon sighting a stranger anywhere... on the bus stop, in a crowded mall, in class, on TV, any-bloody-where. This can SOMETIMES be the seed that blooms into the more proper definition of "love", but 9999 times out of 10000 it gets chucked out of the window, as are most day dreams and other such thingamajigs.

Level-2 : At this level, the stranger is not one anymore. Instead, he/she (I shall go back to the less complicated "it" nomenclature now!) is a fairly regularly featured co-star in the master production that is one's life. One likes to spend time with it, talk, thasso et al. In short, one enjoys its company, and is generally on the look out for new and innovative methods to bring about multiple intersections of instances of the time and space coordinates.

Level-3 : Hmmm... This is where things get a little-wittle bit serious/complicated et al. In here, the magic and wonder of Level-2 is accompanied by the twin-headed, 694kg, 10ft high creature that is pain-longing. To put it less incomprehensibly, the hours of parting seem longer, it gets easier to take offense when it perhaps wasn't intended, the joys and sorrows reach their as yet unprecedented extremes and other such phenomena.
This level is characterized by the onset of the all overpowering sense of "craving", of the "need" to be close to it, of going to it in times of joy, despair, ecstasy, mourning, EVERYTHING. And thanks to the enhanced "neediness", it is at this conjuncture that most "not-to-be"/"one-way" endeavours get nipped, as they quite rightly should be.
However, those who survive this phase generally go on to forge really meaningful relationships. Not that those who don't don't.
Ok, what follows next is, from what my limited intellect understands, a leap towards the relatively unknown realms of love at its purest, most essential form.

Level-4 : At this level, one either learns from one's previous experiences, or imbibes a lot from one's surroundings, or HOWEVER, somehow manages to reach the state where the degree of "pain-longing" starts to recede gradually. At this point in time, one starts to view love as not something to be possessed or obtained, but to be given and to be shared.
This phase may be characterized by a relative dilution of the "object-of-my-affection" figure, which might manifest itself in multiple persons now. One might care for some as a brother/sister, someone else as a child, or friend, mentor, "life-partner" even perhaps. To put it another way, the very scope of the word "love" broadens hugely as compared to before, to leave one desirous of seeing a larger number of people happy as compared to ever before.
Of course, there might still be that one figure that remains the highest in this growing list of "people being cared for", however, the relations with that one person too get eased thanks to the offloading of those unpleasant yet in a certain way indispensable, expectations. Thus, one cares for another, and some others too, but with a minimal degree of expectations.
This last condition also forces oneself to grow, in an endeavour towards independence and real freedom. It encourages one to reach a level where "expectations" are directed only towards those who love us at a still higher level, and being at Level-4 as we are at this moment, that can only lead us to Level-5! :)

It must be noted, that these above mentioned features of this level ensure that the transition from Level-3 to Level-4 takes SOME "growing". That is, unlike the 1st 3 levels, this transition causes one to get closer to the other, but with an increasing sense of detachment, of perspective, and of bliss, which is different from joy. One wishes to see the other(s) happy, but attempts to keep his own happiness and sanity independent (of course, to a CERTAIN degree) of the other(s). This one stipulation is quite an ask, and thus the enhanced level of contemplation, effort, insight and downright growth I'd mentioned previously.
With time, I'm sure one desires for the other to grow as well, so as to ensure its successful transition to the higher state of bliss.

Level-5 : At the last level, we had reached the state where our caring was not confined to one entity alone, but was directed at a growing set of individuals; caring here being defined as simply the wish to see the other person happy.
The natural progression to this level would suggest that list growing to cover all of humanity and beyond. Level-5 might be the state where one attains true oneness with the rest of the universe, and is at complete peace with oneself, because only then is it possible for it to truly love others. Not surprisingly, I would say that Level-5 is little more than the state that the rest of the world refers to as Nirvana. It is the ideal that one must aspire to achieve, and which takes us an entire lifetime and at times more to reach. No matter HOW long it takes to achieve though, I'm PRETTY convinced it will be well worth the effort/thought once one has reached it.

At this point in time, I can only imagine one form who loves me at Level-5, and who in fact loves you and the entire universe at that constant level: God. In my mind's eye I see him as this, it is up to you to find your own Level-5 solace.

May God Bless us Everyone.
May we all find our own meanings to life, to love and all those beautiful questions.

I'm loving more and more of you more and more with each passing day! :)

Cheers people!

PS:

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."

John 3:16

The anatomy of sorrow... and joy...

Pre-Scriptum: To really get the "feel" of what I'm trying to say here, read this post with THIS track playing in the background. Loop it till you finish the post.

This post shall not be known for the most coherent or orderly presentation of thoughts, or even for the requisite conformity to the heading, but Inshaallah it will succeed in putting on record all thats in my head right NOW (08/06/2007 -- 1:21pm).


Sorrow and joy... It has been a question thats been in my head for a LONG time now... what IS the default state of the human mind, when its unaffected by any form of external stimuli? Is it happy, sad, confused, static, or what... What is the shade of my mind when its uncoloured/unpolluted by the world...
I personally think, without any concrete proof of course, that it is in a state of deep and viscous thought, bordering on sorrow. Not really the point here, so moving on...

Coming to the brand of sorrow derived from the inputs of the world, I feel it is composed of many ingredients. There is always some form of regret/remorse involved, followed by the weight of the entire world, alias your own eyes looking down on you, and the all important elixir for all joys; the sense of disproportionate prioritization/lack of perspective.

Also, living in the past, as most of us generally do, it is usually inevitable, comparing the self with that of n years ago... looking at how things were somehow different then, and how they're a bit too different now (this is NOT the time to point out semantic anomalies!)... that just sets you up for a nice long evening of despair and helplessness. Added to that, if there's a helping hand around, to prod the little wound with words of gory encouragement, what else does one need...

Another thing which i MUST mention here. This fairy tale journey through the darkest recesses of the human psyche just gets longer, when one finds oneself straitjacketed and spineless, as a consequence of all the "wrongs" that one has committed. As in, one feels accursed to lead a second rate life, with a second rate presence, a voice that must weigh each consequence in the light of all the trash that its master has heaped on himself. Its like the lamb playing with the butcher's kid. It knows its fate is in the kid's hands, and so despite the fact that they share an otherwise friendly relationship, it must live in this sort of terror, that the kid holds the knife above its neck; that in the midst of all the laugh and play, ONE incident of weighted offence, and the game could be over for it. Using this one trump card, that is a consequence of little more than nature's own roullete, the kid has the power to make ANY thing out of the poor little lamb.
Only that in our original case, the circumstance at hand can't always be blamed on nature gambling with our fortunes, rather, the onus falls once again, on the sad man...

HOWEVER, its not as if the inescapable truth that forms the root of all the sorrow cannot be exorcised. THIS, is where the concept of joy (almost obligatory in this post you'll say!) comes in.
I believe there shall ALWAYS (as long as Goodness exists in the universe) be a chance to redeem ones soul from all the thorns and pains that it has been made to go through above. and it is up to that little sad man, to grab that little chance by the scruff of the neck, and make the most of it. No matter WHAT that "helping hand" told you, no matter WHAT you told yourself yesterday, ALWAYS remember, life is NEVER over till its over; and that hope is the fuel that drives the human spirit forward, NEVER let it go. Indeed, it is more important than life itself, for without spirit man is little more than a walking corpse.

Joy, is what one experiences after one has overcome a phase of sorrow/hardship. Thus, without sorrow, there can be no joy.


Sigh... the world seems all alive all over again...! :)

Post-Scriptum: Now, just to get a measure of how it feels after all this writing, you may switch over to THIS track, and DO wait for the hidden track in this once the first song ends. Hope you feel the same way!

Cheers!

John 3:16
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."

Kandisa FOREVER!

When the happiness oozes in your tears...

What I'm writing now MIGHT seem trivial to some, and downright mindless indulgence to some others, but for me it symbolizes the very model of happiness, and its eternal pursuit.

Okay, to exemplify what I've just mentioned, I shall present to you (yes, YOU) an incident from the amazing day that was today, which did inspire the heading of this post.

The day that today was holds a VERY significant place in the life of ANY student. The day one gets free from the drudgery of the phenomenon that we refer to as examinations.
The day started off with an unusual trip to college, as it was supposed to be a standard lazy saturday. Instead, our IT batch was called up to give a presentation/report of the project - yada yada.. not the point...

So anyway, reached college@1013hrs, after having spent a sleepless night fighting the elements in an attempt to codify the by now bed friends that were LRU, MRU and that wily old CLOCK.
Till 1300hrs I wait for our turn, literally writhing in the sense of angst, insomnia induced pseudo drunkenness, a nagging semi stomach ache, and general impatience that accompanies such a circumstance. THEN, the universal Lunch Break intervenes to further defer our little rendezvous.
In due time, the destined hour arrived at 1600hrs, where we presented the fruit of my blood, sweat and tears. Fun it was... as it should be i guess... again... not quite the crux of the issue here...

FINALLY, 1630hrs, we're FREE. The world outside has darkened, and a frolicking little storm seems to be brewing. As the raindrops fall, I cant help but take a much needed "lie-down-in-a-state-of-delirious-smiles-and-racing-mind" on my beloved turf... lush, green grass... I could've sworn a tear was present in the midst of those free falling rain drops, but yeah, still havent reached the climax of this little story...

So eventually, after lots of such implosions of joy, and an illegal ride in Shubham's car with Rabbi, reached home. There, was greeted by my adorable little nephew, and eventually decided to go for the weekly spic meet, now that the exams were well and truly done away with.

NOW, a brief recap. Over the past few days, the sound track of "Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi" a VERY beautiful movie, has been the latest thing to capture my imagination, in particular, "Bawra Mann" and "Mann ye Bawra". They were partly responsible for fueling me through the sleepless night aforementioned.

RETURNING to today... On my way to the metro, the mostly senseless radio trumpetting in my ears... I wished for JUST a second... If only Bawra Mann were to come to me now... And yes, as is the case on magical days such as today, within 15mins, it was there. Good ol' RadioCity 91.1FM providing the dope which had me flying to the metro platform, in a state of inexplicable and unadulterated high-ness.

THEN, half way on my trip in the metro... just sitting... radio in my head as usual... skipping channels thanks to the return of the moribund music stream. and BANG! come Hit95FM, and there it is... THE ultimate tribute to the device enabling my constant access to random music... Queen, with "Radio Gaga".
THAT, was when the burden of awe and gratitude to the one above was too much for me to take. One after the other, tears streamed down those vehemently smiling eyes of mine... Feeling every word touch my very existence. The taal, the voice, the very meaning behind the song...
THAT was a state of bliss...

To those who disagree with my view of happiness (and even those who don't), and the series of idiosyncrasies listed above, I shall say "May God Bless us Everyone, and may we all always be happy.", and I shall leave the following:

"In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be."
- Ben Jonson

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to
front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn
what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I
had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is
so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite
necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of
life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all
that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive
life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it
proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to
know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in
my next excursion."
- Henry David Thoreau, in his classic, Walden.

May we all LIVE all our days...

Kandisa!

Can the pursuit of happiness lead one to sorrow?

This is one of those things that has haunted my very existence for a while now. "The path to happiness", "The way to LIVE life" are just some of the MANY (by now) cliched one liners that we see around ourselves these days.

Perhaps the gyaan that I unwittingly am about to profess here is that, Happiness is something to be accepted, as something that comes to you as and when you "do something good" etal. We shouldn't live in a state of constant "I'll be happy as soon as I complete that thing/accomplish this task/etal". True, our goals MUST play a role in our joy and gratification, that is the very core of human progress, BUT one must not forget that life is to be lived, and its best lived when happy.
What that effectively means is that, the happier we are (sometimes consciously even), the better we can work, and the better it is for all of mankind.

Rather than chasing a dream of the perfect life, of a state of happiness, I feel its MUCH better to acknowledge the countless gifts strewn on our life's path, derive a certain degree of happiness from them, and them propel oneself forward to improve on on the self and the rest of the world thereafter.


Of course one must keep ones eyes open on the look out for complacency, that can wait, hiding in the shadows, for its chance to usher in the decay of our active and alive self. A few reality checks now and then should suffice in my view.

So in effect, my message would be, to BE happy, and then work towards a better tomorrow, rather than the other way around.


PS: More on this absolutely fascinating topic as and when I learn more about the intricacies of being ALIVE, and being happy.

PPS: This post has no connection with the truly beautiful movie that is "The Pursuit of Happyness".
The toil and effort on the part of Will Smith in that story was a necessity considering his responsibilities as a father etal. Moreover, his love for his son kept him going at his lowest moments, and even before he landed the job, he didn't lead an "inwardly unhappy" life. Yes, regret and discontentment might have been there, but at the end of the day, he wasn't a SAD man. (That was perhaps one of the reasons he was intent on keeping his son with him, his source of constant love, hope and HAPPYNESS.)