Worth

The movie played in the background. The hero, playing a young martyr, mouthed his final words, “I give up my life so that my countrymen can understand what being free means”.

Oblivious to all this, she scanned the paper. “Buy one, get two free” screamed the headline. “Now that’s what ‘free’ really means”, she exclaimed.

until next time, free*     

*Conditions apply

Joy

The compartment echoed with the child’s cries despite its mother’s and others’ efforts, as the vendor slowly made his way around hawking his toys. He stopped near the child, trying to cheer it. And slowly the cries turned to gurgles, and laughing. The vendor smiled, the smile of a blind man who could create happiness.

until next time, and we turn a blind eye

You have a message

... and the song that was playing on TV when i switched on the comp to check the feeds happened to be Joan Osborne's 'One of Us', a personal favourite, mostly because of the lyrics. And one of the feeds that popped up first linked to this, a mail from God.
Now its very rarely that I have posts that links to things that make a good forward but there are times when that cool line from The Matrix Reloaded, which i keep mouthing regularly, is made believable - "We have not come here by chance. I do not believe in chance. ........ I do not see coincidence, I see providence. I see purpose. I believe it our fate to be here. It is our destiny." And so, I thought i should do my bit by spreading the message.
The reason I like that mail is because it keeps things simple, and brings up a point that I've increasingly come to believe in - the overbearing influence of money, on society.
Before you write it off as a pro-socialism tirade, I do believe that as a tool, money has immense amount of benefits, but when the accumulation of money becomes a purpose in itself, we become the tool, and that's what's increasingly happening.
Meanwhile, on a sidenote, the message also perhaps answers austere's recent question. Death is quite possibly God's way of saying 'long time, no see'

until next time, counting my blessings

So, what happened in the end?

Happened to see 'Via Darjeeling' last weekend. It left me with a very poignant thought. About storytelling. Lets take a murder mystery/ thriller.
When a writer develops a story, it exists only in his head, its origin, its twists and turns, and its conclusion. What happens when the author leaves the story open? Gives the audience all the twists and turns and refuses to give the ending? Worse, what if the story is such that it has many plausible endings?
Now different members of the audience could propose several endings, based on their sensibilities, but they will never know what 'actually' happened. These days, we are so obsessed with knowing ALL the facts, that it would be an absolute blow. And its not like the real life happenings on which we are okay with some ambiguity. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get out of our conditioning that forces us to accept nothing less than conclusive endings in works of fiction, especially in cinema.

until next time, unending

Faith

So, how did it all start off? An understanding that there was a higher power that controlled destinies and the world around beyond any level that a man could aspire or imagine ? A need to connect to this entity and lay out the easiest way to do so? A way of bringing together people and making them work towards a common goal? A physical platform to relate to the belief in a metaphyical entity? Perhaps, and perhaps not.
Somewhere in between, came the ones who claimed to have gone much closer to the entity than their peers. And they formed the higher power through prisms that were based on their individual realities and expectations, and their peers, who at best, were a confused lot, followed. Faith became religion and from a thought, became a set of practices, and from us, we became us and them.

And that makes me wonder whether He, any He, feels the need for religion. And brings me to an unintentionally hilarious but profound statement from an old Malayalam movie, where the character states, in all seriousness to a priest, " In religion, and in sex, I don't feel the need for middlemen" :)

until next time, profundity or profanity?

The real inflation

And the nation cringes as the inflation goes way beyond 8%, and threatens to go even more. A litre of petrol, which was about Rs.20, when i first started using it, now costs well over Rs.50.
I remember the kind of vehicles that used to accompany mine in the petrol stations. A few Ambassadors and Fiats, on their way to extinction, a lot of Maruti- the normal 800 as well as Omnis and the occasional Esteem, and mostly two wheelers. The scene has changed with global brands vying for the customer's attention. So we have the Hyundais and Fords and Chevrolets and Skodas bringing out bigger and costlier cars that are aimed to showcase its user's affluence and highlight his standing, which is er, a little above that of his peers.?
Of course, the way he behaves on the road would make you doubt this premise.I have very often, in the course of conversations, heard the owners of the big cars complaining about how their cars guzzle fuel. And how they feel the pressure when the petrol prices go up. And i have always wondered that even if we manage to control inflation, will we ever find a way to control inflated egos.

until next time, pricks... for the ego

Prisoners of birth?

"They're both oaks, even if they were planted in different forests. But then, m'lord, we all suffer in our different ways from being prisoners of birth.", thus spoke a wonderful character called Mr. Munro in Jeffrey Archer's 'A Prisoner of Birth'. Profundity !
I wonder how many of us are able to grow into oaks, irrespective of which forest we're planted in. No doubt, a few do manage, but the majority live a life that derives a lot from the forest it grew up in. Getting set into patterns and stereotypes that somehow define us irrespective of what we are and what we attempt to be. From the name that reveals your nationality, religion, to the tags that make you middle class/ cosmopolitan/ south indian and everything in between.
And by the time we pause for breath, and care to reflect on where we have reached, we can only wonder how life might have been different, if the settings chosen had been different. And sometimes we look around and end up thanking the higher power for the setting. The place, the time, the parents, the economic conditions which perhaps make up the where, when, who and what, but leaves us holding the one question that we'd love the answer to - why?

until next time, the path to freedom...

Heaven and Earth

The church wasn't a large one. But we reached early, and so its emptiness gave it a magnificence disproportionate to its size. The empty pews and the stained glass added to the effect. The bride and the groom exchanged rings and took their first steps into holy matrimony. It'd been a long time since I'd been to a church wedding and thus it made a great experience.

And then the choir started, a sound that shattered the alternate silences and the monologues of the priest. A sound that transported me into a different plane, and gave me a glimpse of what they might have envisioned when they made religion and with its temples and churches. Yes, you didn't need a special place to pray, you could do it anywhere, but this was a place of tranquility that would help man to converse with his maker. An atomosphere of serenity thatwould help him to hold on to his faith amidst the chaos around him.

Meanwhile, less than a hundred metres away stood a massive structure, a mall in the heart of Bangalore. The huge population that thronged to it made it seem much smaller than it actually was. But, as soon as they entered, they were transported to a world where they could forget their worries and shop and dine to their heart's content, a world of opulence and harmony. A world that sucked them into its chaos, but made them happy.Two worlds, separated by a few metres, and separated by a distance that each one must travel on his own.

until next time, to be worldly and wise....

The Cybernauts

Was reading a book a few weeks back - The Cybergypsies by Indra Sinha, which was a kind of autobiographical take on the early days of the internet, thats starting around the mid eighties. Its a tale of the early cybernauts, their addiction to the internet and how their real and virtual lives fought each other for attention and threatened to engulf each other.
It took me back to the turn of the century, my early days online, when the net of Indra Sinha was well on its way to becoming the worldwide web it is today. It reminded me of the a/c internet cafes, visits to which were not so frequent because of the steep costs, and the dimly lit computer labs in the university which had only the unreliable vsnl connection.The days of IRC and chats with unknown angels and merlins and superboys, the arcade games, the imaginary worlds created among friends across geographies, in a way, it was almost the kind of life the early cybernauts led.
And when you were asked what exactly you spent hours in front of a computer for, you really couldn't explain what made it so worthwhile. The days of usa.net and eudoramail and theglobe.com, names which have bitten cyberdust quite a whileback. I still have a friend from those days, almost a decade of only virtual friendship, well, almost, since she sent me flowers for my wedding :)
And then came the initial days of blogging, and friends made on rediffblogs, people whom I did not know really, but with whom i shared thoughts, and rants. And, that, i guess where virtuality started ending and reality started taking over. There were blog meets and the imaginary worlds created carefully gave way to the cafes of the real world.
It took a turn with orkut and co, where the networks were used to get in touch with people you already knew in your real life. And these days, on twitter, i meet a few who i used to know during the rediff days, but gone are the days of anonymity, for my linkedin profile would readily tell people who i was in the real world.
i miss those days, because there was only communication and a conversation among equals then. No virtual celebrities, no social media experts, no snobs, everything was virtual, your imagination and thoughts were the only thing that mattered, virtuality was a shell you could retreat to when the real world became too unbearable. Its different now, virtuality and reality are too enmeshed, and as with everything else in the world, behind every virtual interaction, there is a real intention. This must be Cybernauts 2.0

until next time, really virtual

Value for money

A term that is bandied about a lot these days, especially since we live in an era of consumer monsters, who insist on getting every paise's worth. But i remember the time when two of the words were used differently, and remember the generation which worked hard to make us understand the value of money. That generation lived most of their life before liberalisation, and are yet to come to terms with the plethora of choices that are now on offer.

It hit me a few days back, when I was sitting in a desserts joint working my way through a chocolate mound, and saw a man, perhaps in his early sixties looking into the shop, and for a fleeting second, at me. The melancholic look said it all. The look of a man, who has perhaps spent an entire working life making sure that his family was well provided for, that his kids got a good education, and they had a home they could call their own, and while doing all these, mostly missed out on things that he'd like to have done.

And now, when the kids are all grown up, and he finally has the time, he realises the world has changed, and the value of money has been drastically altered, and that the plans he might have made are rendered useless, thanks to the prices and the amount of people who are capable of and willing to pay a premium for the same services. People, like his own children, who work hard to make sure they earn enough to pay the premium, and end up not having enough time for the people who kickstarted their lives.

Long ago, when he gave up that new shirt piece, so that his child could have a new toy, could he have imagined that one day, his child could buy shirts from brands he thought would never see in India, but not have time to remember the toy his father had once bought for him? Could he have imagined this was the way it would all turn out to be? And after he looks at me through the window that separates our worlds, i look at myself, and wonder whether it'll all work out the way we plan, or will we also be unable to comprehend the lives we bring out into the world?

until next time, values

Long before we had single button publishing.......

A few days back, a friend buzzed me on GTalk to ask if i was the kind who contributed to magazines. She had seen a 1996 issue of Reader's Digest which had an item with my name and hometown, a combo which was too coincidental to not check out. And right she was.

Took me back to 1996, second year of Engineering, a time of upheaval. I was still getting used to staying away from home, and books were something i clung on to, not the engineering type, but fiction, perhaps as a link to a life i left behind. And since RD was something we subscribed to, at home, i sometimes carried it to the hostel. Incidentally, Dad still subscribes, and when i go home, i still get laughs from 'Humour in Uniform','Life's Like that' etc.

I remember the time when, after reading the 'Towards More Picturesque Speech' section, I sat down to make spanking new oxymorons. It didn't matter that i had no clarity on whether 'Picturesque' was made of two separate words i knew, though i couldn't see what sense their joining made, or it was a totally new word. Meanwhile, dozens of oxymorons made their way to RD, but only a few managed to get published. Maybe they are still laughing at the ones that didn't get published.

In the old days of India Post exclusives, I waited for the postman to bring me news of RD accepting my entry and er, paying me. When, eventually they did, I also remember the thrill of getting paid, and for the first time, seeing my words and name on print. Of course, I was also asked to explain the humour in (for example) 'Mutually Exclusive' and why it got published. I usually failed. For that particular example, the one that got published in 1996, I remember the picture on the cover too, because that was the last entry i ever sent to RD. Something must have changed after that.

Have you ever tried to look back into your past, a sort of bird's eye view? And sometimes, while doing so, have you ever felt conflicting emotions? SometimesI cannot understand myself and why i'd done things I did. And sometimes, I understand myself totally and wish someone had been there to give me a hug that I was longing for. And that still brings a lump to my throat. Maybe I have't changed after all.

until next time, published

Views

...and we lament, 'Oh, he has changed', without pausing to consider the objectivity of the statement. We like people to stay whoever they have been so long, because it then means we don't have to alter the patterns we have set for them, and when, in our view, they alter themselves even a wee bit, we frown, and even that small changes causes a butterfly effect on the set of patterns, however irrelevant they might be to the particular change.

And that was what i discovered the last time I checked - 'our view'. In many cases, it may not be the person that changes, but only our view of him. Our views, which change constantly as a result of all the experiences we keep having. Our views, which keep adding layer after layer, filter after filter,so that the tint that we see once may never be seen again.That perhaps is why the youth are not able to have a child like innocence in their perspectives, and the middle aged can never find their youthful exuberance in their views, and so on...

And so, the next time, i say 'You have changed', I shall perhaps do a quick review of what really has changed.

until next time, next change

Growth, or the lack of it....

At every cross road, there are opportunities that have not been taken. There are choices that have been made, options that have been taken, the first with a steely resolve, and the second, with a sense of compromise. The first is more often than not, a happy tone that comes from knowing exactly what we want, and the second one is a tone of resignation, which comes from knowing somewhere deep inside that by giving up a little, much could have been gained, if only we could bring ourselves to do it, if only we could be sure...

I've always wondered about why I have a problem with giving up a few comforts, a few perks, a few advantages in life, especially if it means I could have an opportunity to connect with what I was meant to do in this life. At first, i thought it could be because I wasn't sure what exactly it was. But then, I was even giving up chances of finding out what it could be.

I came across a new logic a while back. One thats rooted in my small town origins. Of course, its no longer a small town, its what they call a tier 2 city. :) Growing up in a small town means that you're always on 'add to shopping cart' mode in terms of aspirations. Growing up in an age when the cans of cola in the hands of videsi relatives evoked a sense of envy, didn't help. While a lot of the shopping cart items were thrown out with age and what I hope is maturity, there are some deep seated ones which are difficult to get over. Which explains the constant striving for growth. And as each upgrade is done with, it becomes more difficult to give up what has been achieved after so much of work has gone into it. While it can be argued that the potential growth by letting go is much larger, or that the movement is only lateral, when you come in from what is relatively nowhere, it is difficult to imagine even risking going back there.

until next time, hedging the bets

The Journey

And they walked on, through the twists and turns of joys and sorrows and mundane experiences. They were happy, they knew that such was life. The only sadness was that through the twists and turns, they lost sight of who they were when they started out, and now there was no time to go back.

until next time, keeping track

Paradox

There are times, usually on those starlit nights, when one realises the insignificance of his own self in the context of the cosmos’ vast expanses. But then one sees events around him, considers his own actions, the effects it has on others, and the butterfly effect that starts from then on, and realises his significance.

until next time, signatures in the annals of time

Turn Turn Turn

Relationships. Hugs and backslaps give way to handshakes and then smiles. Swearwords give way to way to polite greetings and then a ‘Hi’. Long chats give way to short conversations to scraps on orkut and then to nothingness. Maybe that’s the way life is, but maybe its also time, place, context and things unexplainable. Fade.

until next time, we say 'it depends' :)

Hide and Seek

..and some embrace the world in all its flamboyance, exploring each and every pore for all its worth. Some retreatinto self made shells or spaces where no one can find them, literally or virtually. Some of us succeed in losing ourselves, some of us in finding ourselves, and the unfortunate ones fall in between.

until next time, where art thou?

Love Handles

After a tough day at work, after a deliberation on the purpose of life, after a windfall, after getting stuck in a traffic jam, after pondering over all possible whys, after a promotion, after all the rollercoaster days that make up life, its all worth handling only when you have someone to go back to….

until next time, happy valentine's day

The Non non conformists

There was a time conformity was common. When the non conformists became the majority, they changed the rules. Belonging suddenly became cool, and new herds were formed. But if you really look at it, not much has really changed. We’ve only traded conformism for a sense of belonging. The options are many, the choices few.

until next time, heard the post begin here :)

LOC

And we draw our lines. They might be invisible to those who come in, but we expect strict adherence from them, and sometimes we communicate it subtly or explicitly but sometimes not at all. And when they leave, we can’t complain. Perhaps they don’t like our lines, or perhaps they have their own lines.

until next time, draw your own conclusions