Wake up call

He liked watching her sleep. She looked so much at peace now, wrapped up in that something-like-a-shawl thing. But he’d have to wake her now, to tell her that he’d finally cracked a puzzle. Now he knew why reality shows worked. People would rather watch someone sleeping than the movie for which they paid Rs.200.

until next time, in reality....

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 Art of Breathing

‘Breathe in’ said the instructor. A collective intake of breaths followed. ‘Now hold until I tell you’, he continued. The stillness followed for some excruciating seconds. Just as he said ‘Exhale’, a sound erupted which prompted quite a few giggles. ‘..through the mouth’ said the instructor, with a deadpan expression, and without missing a beat.

until next time, gas chambers

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

Happy Father's Day?

until next time, a billion plus wishes ;)

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...

Child Talk

She had been visiting the park for years now, to watch the children play. So many years, that now some of the 'children' could be seen with toddlers oftheir own. And in the last couple of years, she'd made a new friend. A young girl, who also loved to watch the children play.
There was something she wished to ask her new friend, she thought today would be a good day. So, after she came and they had dispensed with their usual small talk, she asked the girl about her plans to have children, now that it had been a few years since her marriage.
"Well, tell me your story and I'll tell you mine. Why didn't you have any kids" asked the girl
"My husband and i began seeing each other quite late, and by the time we married, we were too old to have children. So you see, we met too late. And that's why i asked you, to advise you to not put it off for too long", she said
"Hmm, well, as you know, we met when we both were not even twenty. So its as though we have known each other forever, and know each other inside out. Perhaps that is the problem. You see, we've already started our divorce proceedings. Maybe we met too early"

until next time, not just a matter of time

Urban Yogi

He couldn’t believe he’d reached a higher plane so fast. While Yoga was known to be effective, it took people years of practice to get there, but he’d briefly glimpsed it in his first session itself. He was safely brought back to earth, when his trainer told him that weakness had possibly caused his blackout.

until next time, kickaasana

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

Fairytale Endings

We hurried, after all it was not everyday that we could listen to a Lord. We didn't make it early enough because there was already quite a crowd in attendance, most of whom were not pleased to see latecomers trying to squeeze their way in between. The lord came on time, and had his audience spellbound with his anecdotes and immense sense of humour. He promised to autograph every book that his audience had brought, but there was a twist in the tale. The peasants at Landmark wouldn't let us near unless we'd made a purchase then and there. So we left, with the satisfaction that we at least got to see him.

But that wasn't the only reason we left early, we had one more audience left, a Prince, no less - Prince Caspian. There's a reason why i was eagerly waiting for this film. Unlike the modern day children's tales of magic, this one is absolutely fairytale. Good and evil are clearly defined and there are no greys in between. It takes you back to a time when you would believe in talking animals, magic, witches, wise kings and all the folk who appear in fairytales in all their innocence. Its a completely different world, and as i read somewhere, some things have to be believed to be seen.

until next time, back to reality

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

A colorful personality

She was always interested in colors, ever since she was a child. Not that many people appreciated her work, but she couldn't care less. She had a way of mixing the most varied of colors and producing what she thought was sublime harmony. Of course, the masses never seemed to agree with her, but she was sure if the critics got a chance to see her works of art, they would fall short of words to praise her with.

And that was the only thing that kept her going inspite of the harsh words from her parents and all those who came in contact with her works. But even her detractors would have to admit, thosethat came in contact were profoundly affected.

Once she grew up, she decided to focus her energies on fabric. Though the opportunities that she got were not many, she tried her best to do justice to all the ones she got. The brickbats continued to come, but she was not to be deterred.

And today, she had decided to create a work of art that would knock the air out of whoever saw it. And knock the air out she did, as I could only gape in shock as our maid nonchalantly showed me my new bottle green corduroys that now sported violet gashes in strategic locations.

until next time, maid to disorder

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