Message in a bottle

11/22/12, 8:43 AM

I want that love where the rapport you share leads to fewer moments of mental self-flagellation.

Let me explain, I believe I am decently good at articulating feelings or random thoughts. Imagine I am trying to conjure up the image of a beach and I am gathering all the small things that remind of a beach - the bright sun early in the morning - rising as it shimmers on the vast ocean, the full moon light that glitters on the roaring waves and still inspires a sense of quiet peace and uncontrollable passion simultaneously, and the shade of the coconut trees while you curl up with a book - in a whatchamight call it - netted thingamajig that you tie between trees (yeah, my mind just generated vast amounts of flatulence as I tried to recolled the simple word 'hammock'). You see how I totally ruined the image of a beach? This is when I resort to mental self-flagellation.

So, as I was saying, I want love which allows me to speak in pronouns sometimes and still make total sense ("can you please get that thing thats there") without as much as pointing fingers or providing gestures - the way my parents speak after twenty five years of cohabitation.

I want that love where the religious familiarity with each others bodies leads to remembering the most unwanted details. You end up with this mysterious power to feel them, like a phantom limb. Yes, creepy. A mole on the shoulder, the patter of hair on his chest, the cadence of varying toe sizes on his feet, the curve of his calf muscles, the crookedness of his fingers, absence of a widow's peak, attached and squared earlobes. 

I want that love which brings endless fascinating fresh ideas and arguments into your life, every day. You function as two very distinct individuals, and you dont grow together, you shouldnt. You should in fact guard your interests like its your most precious offering. Can the magic of new love last a life time? Can two people cohabitating be fountainheads of opposing, or at the very least, distinct and yet completely rational ideas? 

The love that started with an immersion into existentialism. Aah the charm a morose, rational individual over-dosed on Nietzsche and likes of Dostoevsky can have on you. For someone who is in the constant struggle to find the 'meaning of life and living', existentialism is very convenient and mildly frustrating at the start. It's simple teaching being, there is no point to life. Everything is meaningless. Anyone who dabbles in this reverts to the 'pursuit of happiness', because that is about the only journey that seems worth embarking. Then Buddha strongly beckons. I can see it as a very natural transition for a person who wasnt pushed over the edge.

My only fear with this kind of love, is in Camus' words "She mumbled that I was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me, but that one day I might disgust her for the very same reason". This 'she' is deeply in love with the 'he'.

Luckily, I have (had) all of these loves in life. (Besides all the tlc from family by virtue of being related.)

...and that is what I am thankful for. 

Holiday season is here! The world really ought not to end.

The art of seeing through it all

My one month in the crux of India's poorest district definitely taught me to see through random 'optimistic' news, with a lot more confidence. This is very surely a skill I wouldn't have acquired in any other way.

For instance, this Economist article that claims that conditional cash transfers have been successfully implemented in Bangladesh. I cant help but snigger a big 'yeah right!'. I don't see any kind difference in behaviourial reactions to social programmes across the Indian sub-continent. Bangladesh, I am sure, is no different from India, as far as corruption is concerned. Even India has a few conditional cash transfer schemes, one of which is giving pregnant women a sum for delivering babies in government clinics (to tackle high maternal and infant mortality rates).

Here's how cash transfers fail in India:  after traveling a long distance and finally reaching a government clinic, a wailing pregnant lady in labor is denied medical attention by the doctor/medical staff, unless the family pays a sum (which is usually almost half of the cash transfer cheque). Any sane person will not refuse to pay in that fragile hour. I have talked to several women about this and it is a standard practice across clinics.

So why do people still use these facilities?
The classic, all-pervading answer - something is better than nothing. In this case even half the sum that they were entitled to.

How do you solve such problems? Cash transfer is a good policy, but not having a working, complaint-lodging system, against a miscreant public servant, is signing up for failure.

America, has food stamps for those who don't earn enough.
- How do they manage corruption? They fail too.
- They have issues of over-usage and inflated costs. Over 15% of the population is on food stamps now. Numbers of recipients went from 30 mil in 2008 to 47 mil in 2012.  A failing economy and the President are blamed for that.
- The developed world  and it's cash transfer problems. Obesity and corporate America. Here! Bit of a misleading title, I thought. Highly rabble-rousing.

I have learned to constantly ask, 'what are ways in which a system can fail?'. People are amazingly ingenious in creating ways to destroy well-intentioned policies or smart products/services.

Holy crap!

You know that moment when you read something, about a feeling, that you couldnt possibly put into words as awesomely and any better than what you just read.

Yeah, this website is full of those. So aptly called 'obscure sorrows'. Inconsequential worries in your life, that you would pay attention to only if you had nothing better to do in life. Suggested for night-time reading. Very aptly. 

My favourites so far (also quite popular):

http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/20832951870/heartworm

http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/22019547629/kairosclerosis

I very definitely kept reading after this- 

http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/31988454291/hello-i-would-really-love-to-know-what-the-source-is

Fighting midnight's monsters

As a kid everyone has played with the idea of building a home. Be it in the form of pitching a tent and pretending to camp or (the more 'girly') serving tea, playing good host to a bunch of other kids.

The need to feel safe and comforted, the need to call something your own, the need to find your comfort zone, the need to call a place home, sets in early in life.

Over time, this transforms into a person.

A person becomes your comfort zone. A person becomes...your tent, your make-belief cave, your comfortable dark corner under the table. That place where you seek refuge every once in a while when all else seems lost.

Coming back to that person feels like homecoming. 

Although you resort to seeking that kind of comfort rarely, knowing that both people get as much solace from such moments is, weirdly, satisfying.

Much like nuzzling in the lap of a loved one after a long, tiring day.

Senses

There is a scheduled power cut at 6AM ever day, its almost unintentionally Orwellian. People slowly wake up by this hour, and the sound of devotional music, tinkering vessels, early morning banter starts pervading the air. It is a constant reminder that you live amidst a group of people. A "society". How much does this atmosphere make Indians the highly society-conscious lot that they are?

Even the smallest of squabbles can be heard across parapit walls in India. On the contrary, even screams fall on deaf ears in America (tried and tested). Doesn't necessarily imply that one is more safe than the other. In fact, if anything there is a slightly greater sense of moral responsibility to help a neighbor in trouble, in some parts of America (not the crime ridden inner-cities).

There was a lot of coverage on the murder of a young advocate woman, living alone in an apartment in suburban Bombay (in such close quarters with other people) by the apartment's security guard (who apparently was lusting over her and stalking her). The news coverage clearly showed that the young woman struggled for her life, after being stabbed, perhaps even managed to get close to the elevator lobby and screamed for life.

I am always highly offended by the lack of empathy in Indian men. Being groped in broad daylight in India is not uncommon. I was dressed in the modest of clothes, walking on the poshest of streets in Hyderabad (when did clothes ever imply permission for advances and breaching privacy anyway?). There were witnesses whose facial expressions didn't changed despite what they saw. I am not the only victim. I was, perhaps, shaken for a day, discussed and argued about it for a week.

In India, you very definitely fend for yourself, resorting to law & order doesn't cross my mind (calling the police is never a very plausible option). It is another way of life. I am always reminded of it.

Home is where the heart is

I landed in Independent India on its 65th. Saleem Sinai turned 65 too! Rushdie took over most of my flight journey (shuffling between Luka and the Fire of life and Midnight's Children). I had a long layover in Bombay. It was a painful layover due to some immigration hassles. I was not carrying a print out of the receipt for the extra baggage. India needs to turn digital sooner, and cross-communicate across departments. Instead I had to shuffle between the arrivals and departures sections of the bombay airport, and if you know the rules, you know how much of a hassle that is. I did this with a trolley of 100 lbs.

The airport staff was just changing shifts, there were fresh faces every where, increased security, and people sporting tiny flags on their daily attire. Every boarding gate I crossed, I was greeted with a "Jai Hind!". My mind immediately drew a parallel "Long live America/God bless America" in American airports on July fourth. I am not sure if this happens, but Americans are a patriotic lot. I was in Boston the last year and everyone was in blue, red, white. Girls painted their nails in these colors too!

I wondered if I would do that.

I actually did. I was decked in Indian tricolors for the World Cup final, last year, at 4 AM, on a weekday (yeah, I skipped work) at a friend's apartment. I sat on the same spot on his couch as every other match that I watched at his place (all of which India won). What fun!

I flew by Jet Airways to Hyderabad, what awesome service and food. I bought Mohsin Hamid's "The reluctant fundamentalist" at the Bombay airport, and my buried my nose in it till I got to Hyderabad. I had a major crush on him, by the time I got home. Lovely prose. I folded every page where I found an interesting line, and read them over again. Oh the joys of physical books. Must to lay hands on his Moth Smoke.

I just finished Albert Camus' The Outsider, and re-discovered my love for philosophical fiction, and Absurdism (which started with Kundera four years ago).

I just discovered I can blog from my phone, doling updates is going to be all the more easier.

Ten days to Ganiyari, Bilaspur district, Chattisgarh!
Stay tuned for daily accounts.

Star gazing amidst moonlit hills

As they lay in flickering trances,

and waded through unexplored waters,

her mind was racing between this moment and its next,

conflicted between encompassing love and overpowering desire.

He caressed the small of her back and traversed across her midriff,

The djinn was unleashed and soon - wishes granted.

Nuzzling bodies shifted closer,

Moist waiting lips grazed,

Postures realigned, to give in

to beastly displays of passion,

mollified by endearing embraces,

and satiated appetites.

He was indeed the place,

where she was meant to be lost.

Woody Allen - The Man!

It's been a while since I have laughed hysterically while reading a book. Before the comic relief in one sentence sinks in, you are bombarded with some more. Woody Allen is my new muse.

This genre of comedy might not be for everyone, but here is a snippet. If you were in splits for this, then you are in for a good ride. Pick up his complete collection of short stories.

Following is an excerpt from one my favourite short stories by Allen, The Scrolls (mockery of biblical references!)

..And it came to pass that a man who sold shirts was smitten by hard times. Neither did any of his merchandise move nor did he prosper.

And he prayed and said, "Lord, why hast thou left me to suffer thus? All mine enemies sell their goods except I. And it's the height of the season. My shirts are good shirts. Take a look at this rayon. I got button-downs, flare collars, nothing sells. Yet I have kept thy commandments. Why can I not earn a living when mine younger brother cleans up in children's ready to -wear?"

And the Lord heard the man and said, "About thy shirts . . ."

"Yes, Lord," the man said, falling to his knees.

"Put an alligator over the pocket."

"Pardon me, Lord?"

"Just do what I'm telling you. You won't be sorry."

And the man sewed on to all his shirts a small alligator symbol and lo and behold, suddenly his merchandise moved like gangbusters, and there was much rejoicing while amongst his enemies there was wailing and gnashing of teeth, and one said, "The Lord is merciful. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. The problem is, I can't get up."

Laws and Proverbs
--------------------------

- Doing abominations is against the law, particularly if the abominations are done while wearing a lobster bib.

- The lion and the calf shall lie down together but the calf won't get much sleep.

[If you are not aware of abominations in the bible, here's a 101 -

Leviticus 18:22 You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.

Leviticus 20:13 If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.]

Reading his work was inevitable, owing to a quote that I chanced upon many years ago -

In my next life I want to live my life backwards.

You start out dead and get that out of the way.

Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day.

You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day.

You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement.

You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school.

You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play.

You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born.

And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm!

- Next Life by Woody Allen

All the diaries

I have been reading many articles on happiness and love lately (central themes of anyone's life), and as a result I have collected many modestly inspiring quotes that I hanker to read at various times of the month. One of my new year's gift was a gorgeous calendar diary that chart's out the Telugu film industry (in kitschy art). I have started noting quotes in this diary. It has also become a mood/state-of-mind diary. Considering how many interesting dreams I have had this month, I am considering maintaining a dream diary as well (the recurring theme is missing a flight to some place, which a friend interpreted as missing my 'chances' in life *shrugs*, how very aptly doomsday-2012 of my subconscious self)

This very poetic line sums up the gnawing feeling I have had since the beginning of the year, "As a hopeless bibliophile, an obsessive lover of bookcases, and a chronic pursuer of voyeuristic peeks inside the minds of creators"...I am left with no choice but to assuage myself by compiling long lists of books to read. Obsessive is probably an understatement, I have started monitoring my reading and processing speed, calculating number of books I can read in a week (projected a year) vs. interesting books I encounter in an average month. It is a sad state of affairs really. The realization that I will never be able to read as much as I humanly want to, makes 'librarian' or 'bookshop owner' viable career choices.

If only the looming burden to change the world wasn't as great, and yes, I do take obsessions to a whole new level.

Obligatory April countdowns:
3 days to first ever half-marathon (woot!),
9 days to 24 (woot woot!) and,
3 weeks to temporary freedom from corporate shackles (any number of woots will underplay the joy here)

Of good things in life and worries

Books and music are really the only reason why I will ever believe one very intelligent and truly altruistic creator exists. One moment you are bogged down by all the world's pain of hurting someone very dear to you, and another you are immersed into the plot of of a world you can barely even conjure up, even if you were 5 years old (also read most creative and imaginative). Sometimes a plot (or a tune) has an almost ethereal meditative affect of creating abstract (or palpable) vibrations, that you really begin to wonder if another human's neural network is really capable of creating such beautiful and enchanting distractions. Then the Joy of Life abounds you, and you wonder how you could get so self-involved in trivial insecurities and guilt.

It's amazing how my rapport with books has changed over the years. I had maintained through my college years that I was incapable of finishing a book if I am not in good spirits. Perhaps it was sheer confirmation bias. Either way, I am not one to complain.

Currently reading - Ishmael by Daniel Quinn and The Complete Prose of Woody Allen (He had me at 'The Whore of Mensa'[link])

Did I mention I love Spring and April? :)

To be in their shoes

I pick up my weekly TIME magazine and read the international snippets about many countries. But rarely any stick. I often tend to read the same piece of news a couple of times. I even try to regurgitate the piece on a paper when I am doodling. I tend to obsess over my memory skills. It's gotten worse over time, just in the past 7-8 years. I always dread being diagnosed with a memory loss condition. I am THAT paranoid.

Anyway, coming back to news. Remember the Arab Spring of 2011? I read so much about it, but nothing ever sticks like a visual memory.

I have realized that the best way for me to remember all the little facts, that I want to, about different countries and people is through books (fiction) and movies. Stories and characters paint history like none other. I am going through a phase of Iranian fascination. I started with Marjane Satrapi and her Persepolis I and II (in the same league as Spiegelman's Maus) and I am working my way through a lot of other good work set in Iran, since the 20th century. Middle-East is a black hole for me. I have no perception of their culture and history. Two things that come to mind are Islam and Oil. Thanks to the American war propaganda.

I am not sure how I did not realize this before, especially since I immersed myself in the German culture for quite some time since college. When I read an article about the German Green party or Angela Merkel, I at least feel I see more than what a foreigner does.

Hopefully one day I can pick up that same TIME magazine and be able to relate to a lot of the news that I read. I am sure it would foment a pleasant unifying feeling.

Don't do a shoddy job of it

(Because I get to dole out advice, as I wish, here)

People are dropping like flies, into marital bliss, that is.
Soon they will be on their way to biological perfection (The 'dream' of every cell is to become two cells, remember?). Whilst it seems like a natural transition in life, I hope they realize a few things...quite as naturally too.

If you are going to expose your kid to science, realize that if he understands science fully, he will embrace it fully, and there will not be any room for God. Not even the tiniest bit, on his car dashboard.

If you are going to expose your kid to good, urban (possibly even) international education, realize that he will meet many people from many places, and he will shed cultural prejudices, and there will be no room for stereotypes and racism, not even when it comes to who his girlfriend should be.

If you are going to expose your kid to the taste of freedom, and independent thinking, understand that he will make his own decisions and believe in his gut more than yours, and your wisdom will be trumped, not even when it comes to 'when' he will move-in with said-girlfriend.

Be there to clean up behind his mistakes, if and when he comes to you for help.
Be there not as a hurdle, but as an enabler.

Don't leave any room for your kid to hate you, after they turn 16 at least. Because, before that they can't help but hate you.

"When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years"

- Mark Twain (summing up the journey of every rebellious teenager to the semblance of an adult)

C'est la vie! :)

An early morning by the fire

Stories from a cold, jet-lagged Saturday morning at a Panera Bread




I walked in at 6 AM, bought a bagel and a cuppa coffee and settled into a sofa chair by the fire place. I dug myself into Lahiri's 'Interpreter of Maladies'. Lahiri continues to inspire me to write. She uses unpretentious language and manages to word mundane and complicated emotions in a surprisingly sufficient way.

I walked into what looked like a prayer meeting of a group of 60 year old men. They were just finishing up. I silently recited the last few lines of the Lord's Prayer with them, and couldn't help but smile; it is the only conventional prayer I grew up with.

A gentleman (in a suit) sat down by a table near me, and planted a small stuffed toy of a bear and a coffee mug. He sat across the table from a 5 yr old kid and his dad. The kid had his eyes fixated on the bear. The suited gentleman continued to get busy with his binder full of paper and a very executive looking pen. A young man walked in and sat at his table, after they shook hands. After a few minutes, I realized the suited gentleman was a Columbia alumnus-interviewer and the 'young man' was a high school kid. The kid blushed all the way through his college interview; he tried to convince the interviewer about his passion for Engineering. His dad is a mechanic, and he grew up with machines in his garage. It was the typical interview. Eavesdropping on an interview is quite fun. I remembered my first college interview with a Princeton Alumnus. My application was good enough for Princeton, but Princeton was quite smart in rejecting me, because it was the worst interview I ever gave. I very definitely needed that reality check after burying myself in JEE books for two years, and not realizing there was a world beyond me. A real world, that made you understand engineering and science much better than the JEE books ever did.

It was 8AM, the sun rose bright and heavy.

I managed to finish reading 100 pages. Not bad, despite all the distractions.

A lanky woman in black stockings, a blazing pink dress and a tan overcoat walked in. She was quite loud (both in her appearance and her manner of speaking) for an English blonde. I guess she picked up the worst of American culture. She sat at a table with another man, who seemed to be a recent acquaintance. She started talking about her kid who is learning music and wants to be a musician. She complained about how he is stuck in the 70s with Pink Floyd and Iron Maiden (Be thankful, woman!). The man and woman continued talking about kids in general and their cognitive abilities. Nothing new. Boring. I don't enjoy parental talk, as yet.

I spent another hour and finished Lahiri's collection of short stories. She manages to transport you to the world of interracial relationships and estrangement with such ease. Her stories are repeatedly set in wintery North-East America (more often than not Boston), or Calcutta. Well, Lahiri is Bengali and grew up in Boston/Rhode Island/New York, and is married to a Guatemalan-American.

It makes me think about where my short stories will be set (Yeah, the writer bug frequents me quite often these days). Stories can be most comfortably set in Austin, Hyderabad, Bangalore and probably Chicago and New Jersey/New York City. One day I wish I can write stories set in California, London and Delhi. A city needs to live under your skin for you to write stories set in them...and so I drifted to story-writing.

A mom walked in with a pretty blue-eyed girl. Looking into her eyes and smiling back derailed my train of thought. Her mum tempted her to sit close to the fire. The kid was quite fascinated by the fire place. Kids who are learning new words are amazingly entertaining. This kid was served up a souffle for breakfast. She repeated 'Sooooo-flay mommy, S as in soo-flayyy' till she chewed down the last morsel of it.

While I walked out, Lahiri's words came back to me.

"She was excited and delighted by little things...it was a quality he did not understand, it made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate or see."

I pulled my jacket closer as I walked to the car and smiled.
Because sometimes you read lines that feel like they are describing you.

P.S: Lahiri is a gorgeous writer, some bong-beauty oozing there, and it's not just skin-deep.