Random bullshit as usual
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As you grow older, you’d learn a lot from others but more importantly, you’ll learn about yourself. All your preconceived notions, all your pathetic delusions, all your deep issues, all your embarrassing biases, are nothing but your own manifestations. You could have moulded yourself in a different manner but your mind played a trick on you. It made you believe that you are at a constant war with the world when in reality, your mind remained your biggest manipulator. Shakuni. Quite a plot twist, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why the fabled rishi-munis strongly suggested that all human beings must learn to meditate even if it takes an entire lifetime to master. There is no way you are going to be a master of your world when you are already a slave to your mind.
Do you know how to drive smoothly? If yes, you’ve got my utmost respect. I don’t care if there is a dead body rotting in your car’s trunk. The trouble with learning to drive at a later stage in life is you are way too crystallized in head as well as body. The only way to break this curse—almost rhymes with cars, sorry—is to find that optimum level of subconscious driving early on. Otherwise, you will continue to be a sloppy driver for a while. At least I am. You look at all the automobiles on the road and you stare at people behind the wheels and you wonder how these idiots know how to declutch and play with the biting point so damn well on an uphill road. Maybe after a certain age, your brain feels foggy and your limbs aren’t supple. Driving requires mindfulness and being in your 30s can become a disadvantage. I reckon, when you are younger, your mental bandwidth is wider and your muscle memory is sharper. Saying all this because after a pandemic-long haitus, I am finally back to learning to drive and it’s a massive task for me to pay attention to the clutch+brake+accelerator at my feet along with gear at my left hand and steering wheel+honk+indicator at my right hand. Too much work, too little focus.
My niece was an angel and then she grew up a bit. Her place has been taken by my nephew now. He smiles a lot and keeps himself amused, moving around like a cyclone in the house, bringing down everything within his reach like a vengeful cat. His laughter is unique, not like Jimmy Carr’s (thankfully), but more like a squirrel’s which can pass off as a summer bird’s. Kids are wonderful, no doubt. They make you aware of your place in the universe. However, the most misused word for them is ‘innocent’: they are anything but that. They will pee on your face without a second thought and then laugh at you too. They will wreck your sleep at night and then sleep all day while you slog at the laptop with bloodshot eyes. They are nature’s own pranksters. My boy doesn’t expect the world for himself but he does look forward to getting entertained by everyone around him. Talk to him in funny voices and he will flash his toothless grin. His name is Agastya and I badly wanted it to have the same etymological roots as Augustus but alas. Well, I once managed to find a common ground between the ‘Islamic’ Kadar and the ‘Hindu’ Kedar.
What’s the difference between a good poet and a bad poet? The former gives up soon whereas the latter keeps trying.
In that spirit, here’s a beautiful piece of poetry for you. Please enjoy it thoroughly –
First thing first, I love you.
Second thing first, you love me.
Third thing first, we love each other.
In India, there is such a long queue that everybody is looking for a shortcut. Which is why you’d be amazed to witness genuine industry in front of your eyes. I’ve had several such moments with the so-called labour class. Gig economy can be a boon to diligent folks. Back in Gurgaon, three years ago, we had asked UrbanClap (now UrbanCompany) to help us with deep-cleaning our kitchen. Two guys showed up at 2.30 after lunch and stayed around till 9.30 in the night. They were splendid at their task and remarkably professional. The senior amongst the two was clearly grooming the younger fellow and even refused to receive their tips at first. When they left our apartment—with the kitchen sparkling clean—I couldn’t help but think about the quality of sleep a man can get after a honest day of work. Maybe the rest of us, the sedentary messiahs of our sorry lives, aren’t sleeping well for a reason.
Young parents, particularly in India, have two parenting obsessions: to name their children after A-sounding words and to keep their wards hypnotized as much as possible. During my childhood, there was a wide variety of names, touching almost all the letters in the Roman script, with nicknames that had nothing to do with the original names. For instance, my parents still call me Sunil: Shakti happened because I was a weak baby and Sunil because my dad was a fan of Sunil Gavaskar. That was then. As of today, parents start with the first letter and stop there for good. Which is ironic: when your child’s name is Aahaan, it leaves little scope for a nickname from the original name anyway. Coming to hypnosis, the reason why these parents are perfectly alright with keeping their young ones occupied with their little screens is thanks to the mismatch between want and need in the pandemic. The child needs something but they are made to want something else. Perhaps deep down, the parents know that they are not able to provide their children what they really deserve: a childhood.
Whenever I watch a show on Netflix/Prime/Hotstar, I am more invested in the dialogues than anything else. Given my obsession with words, I tend to place enormous weightage on verbal exchanges. A good dialogue broadens the magnetic field of a scene. Of course, where splendid images can do the trick, great. But if silence has to be filled, then it better be filled with non-mundane quotes. And if that can’t be done, please play some instrumental music. Thank you very much.
This blog has argued repeatedly (with myself) that we ought to ask better questions, in order to reach better quality of conversations. Nothing wrong with old questions but context is essential. Asking how are you again and again to the same person with no intention of facing how he is is bound to be a flop. As a consequence, I’ve started asking people what is their favourite month, season, animal and bird, etc. are. As soon as they answer, I ask them why. That makes them think harder because saying you like red is simple. Giving an explanation for your choice can be a responsibility: it can even reveal your psycho-killer instincts. You can add several twists to such seemingly benign questions and help find a conversation worth remembering for years. For example, what is your favourite ocean? Makes you think, right? If you are talking to a Pakistani, directly ask them why the Indian ocean isn’t their favourite ocean. You are welcome.
According to scientists and scholars, the desire to gossip is how language developed. Now, if you ask me, this sounds like a biblical reduction in the tune of Tower of Babel, but there has to be some anthropological baggage to this axiom. Human beings do display the deep-rooted addiction to discussing others, good or bad. The whole exercise of quick observation and quicker conclusion makes us grounded and we end up acting like we know better. If you ask me, you are better off ignoring what bothers you. Why? It’s simple: good qualities shouldn’t bother you in the first place and it’s not your place to judge other’s bad qualities.
Me: “You shouldn’t say shit about others that you haven’t seen yourself.”
We: “There won’t be much left to say then.”
Me: “Exactly my point.”
What’s the most underrated word in the English language? What. And how to enhance the scale of this already powerful word? Add an if to it. What if. That’s it. What if the bats are the only ones seeing this world the way it’s supposed to be seen? What if all mad women are different but the kind of men who drove them crazy are pretty similar? What if the real unspoken comfort zone is only found in the shadow of a mother? What if porn is a birthright in the 21st century? What if your eyes are empty because they aren’t impregnated by sleep yet? What if death, and not truth, shall set us free?
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