100 years ago, nobody could dare imagine having democracy as a way of life. Today, the majority of the countries in the world follow some form of democracy to run themselves. Similarly, a century ago, even the most reasonable person in the crowd would have scoffed at a technology that would make it possible for you to see one another’s faces despite being thousands of miles away from each other. The point being, we don’t know what is going to happen next. No amount of prescience can help us envisage the future. There is an interesting video featuring Warren Buffett pointing out that 30 years ago, more than half of the top-20 companies in the world were Japanese and today, there are less than 5 from Japan on the prestigious list. When the Berlin Wall was falling down, the world at large had accepted Japanese supremacy in technology and finances. But nothing lasts forever. Absolutely nothing. We like to tell each other that whatever we are doing right is what’s in the best interest of time but in practice, time follows a script of its own.
It’s undeniable that there is a wave of nationalism in India that otherwise stayed dormant for the most part. Of late, people are enthused to participate in exercises that are supposedly bringing them together as one people. Not very long ago, such emotions were restricted to India-Pakistan cricket matches—no, not even field hockey matches between the two countries managed to evoke a similar fervour of oneness—despite the fact that hockey is the national sport of both the conflicted countries—and stayed on for a few hours or days at most. Of late, thanks to the overwhelming reach of social media, and the deeper penetration of the internet across the country, greater participation for civic activities is witnessed. You could notice these changes before the pandemic struck, during the pandemic as well as during the recent independence day celebrations. As long as our offline actions are productive in some ways, we can take pride in the ongoing parade of unity. Otherwise, rebuilding a nation, free of its rickety past, would take a bit more than hashtags.
You know what’s worse than suffering from nostalgia? False nostalgia. If you are attached to wonderful pieces of your own experiences, then it’s perfectly normal to crave them. It could be anything from a childhood marked by fun to a teenage marked by awe to an adulthood marked by luck. But to let your mind play you, by making you believe that you had a lovely past, when you didn’t, is a tricky place to be. And if you ask me, most of us are willing victims of false nostalgia. We refer to it as ‘good old days’ when they were neither as good or as old as we like to assume. At the core of our being, we are creatures of myth. We create stories that suit us and we remain invested in them because they add value to our self. A rather strange equation. Sometimes, it’s important for us to break out of the room and tell ourselves that our past wasn’t that great but in all fairness, our future can be.
I haven’t done an AMA on Instagram in over a year now but I do keep getting questions from my readers. One of my favourite being: what is the difference between knowledge and wisdom? Earlier, I used to answer this question by suggesting that knowledge is what somebody else teaches you whereas wisdom is something you learn on your own. Nobody can sit down and do it for you. It’s like breathing. However, the question remains the same but the answers change. So, my latest attempt at answering this query is predicated on exact time. Knowledge will meet you even when it’s not even your turn to meet it. For example, I will give you some trivia on a subject you don’t really care about. Wisdom, on the other hand, will meet you exactly when it’s turn for you to meet it.
Last Sunday, I watched an entire cricket match for the first time in over 7 years. Interestingly, the last match I watched fully was an ODI on February 15, 2015 between India and Pakistan (again). As you must know from this blog, I am a former cricket fan and am presently more invested in chess, football and tennis. But while watching the T20 match—I am not sure I’d be willing to put myself through an ODI or a Test—I realized the reason we love such intense games is because we are gamblers of the highest order. We keep betting on moments, without mentioning it. When the bowler is pacing up, we are not concentrating on his movement as much as thinking about the result we want from the ball he bowls. It’s a continuous stream of manifestation. You just want your team to win. When the shot is played and the ball is hanging in the sky, you want to catch the ball for your team. Or maybe it’s just me. Once an ex-aspiring cricketer, always an ex-aspiring cricketer.
To me, sound is mostly noise. I am easily annoyed by loudness. Forget the mixer, even a running water tap in the background bothers me when I am talking on the phone. Which is why I am always amazed by how people in stock exchanges or other crowded places like customer service centres manage to talk on phone. In my defense, the four years I spent in transcription during my early career fucked up my ears, right one more so. As a result, I am rattled by the high volume. My friend Karan, on the other hand, doesn’t mind sounds at all. In fact there are many I am aware of who draw energy from exposure to loud music. I wish their eardrums the very best. Anyway, Karan recently referred to AR Rahman as a sound scientist and that made me go aha. If you think about it, he is more of a curious scientist—who wants to know what will happen if he uses local train beats in his songs—than a commercial music composer.
Apologies in advance for using this platform for cribbing about my friendless existence but it struck me last week that I haven’t been invited or have attended a family function in a long while. In other words, no proper Bunt wedding. My earliest memory of a community event is attending my cousin’s wedding in Bombay and falling asleep. I still remember how amma fed my half-asleep face there. After growing up a bit, I would meet interesting characters at such weddings who spoke broken Tulu like me and made me laugh and then they were gone, never to be seen again. No keeping in touch et al. Like mythical characters who appeared only once in my life at some Bunt wedding. My fondest memory of such weddings is holding a sleepy little girl in my arms while the pheras were going on. I had no idea who that child was but an elder man—whom I didn’t know either but he clearly knew me—entrusted her with me and I babysat (babystand?) her for an hour or so. If you are from Mangalore and are getting married or know someone from your circle who is, feel free to invite me.
Do you do something thinking that this might be the last time you’ll do it? That you may never get a chance to do it again? No, I am not referring to skydiving in Thailand or scuba diving in Madagascar. I am talking about everyday incidents. Well, I do feel this way every time I visit my favourite old person in this tiny city. Her name is Lalita Rai (dodda) and she is 94. Although she doesn’t keep well, her mind remains sharp and her language, eloquent. Since the lockdown restrictions were relaxed, I’ve been visiting her once or twice a month. She shares her imageries of pre-independent India and how it was immediately after the British left. During her younger days, she worked closely with theTheosophical Society, with focus on women empowerment in villages in Dakshina Kannada. After 1947, she worked extensively with All India Women's Conference (AIWC), meeting Congress stalwarts on a regular basis. While listening to her, it became obvious why we presume that women were always weak in our society: we aren’t aware of the stories of those who broke the mould. In that era, one didn’t have to be a Maharani Gayatri Devi to lead life by her own terms. There were so many admirable ladies belonging to the lower rung who fought for equal education and built careers—not just a career as they were pulling up other women—and made it possible for so many more to be able to dream big. Anyway, given dodda’s precarious health, whenever I kiss her and leave the room, I wonder if it’s my final visit.
When you don’t have children, you tend to become an expert in naming babies. At least that’s the case with me. Although nobody really reaches out to me to tap my talent, I can drop some names. Anytime. Just tell me what are the characteristics you wish to exhibit in a word and I’ll share some options. Pro bono. An engineering day friend of mine named his son Vashisht, completely overlooking the names I suggested. Happens. Most of the time, the best name doesn’t win. There was a time I thought I’d adopt a girl and name her Sindhu but that’s not going to happen either. Anyhow, if it did happen, boy or girl, I’d have named them—I am more woke than you—Nirail. It’s Tulu for shade or shadow; somebody who provides others what a tree does. I don’t think anyone on this planet is named so, and that also makes it a unisex name. Like I mentioned above, untapped talent.
The strong independent woman in me wants to seize the day. The weak dependent man in me wants to sleep all day. Yet, I am to sleep what rain is to potholes. After trying many things to catch forty winks, I have reached a conclusion: you either go to sleep or you go to therapy. Maybe that’s why more and more people are giving it a try. It’s not that it will solve all your problems and you will sleep like a dead log. Nope. On the contrary, it might very well make you aware of the problems you truly have and the problems you think you have. After filling online self-assessment surveys, I learned that I only felt I had insomnia but in essence, what I have is an existential crisis. One of the most common side-effects of being alive. But I make the most of it for my writing. Whatever. Some of us will sleep uninterrupted only after we die.
When a wealthy man throws parties after parties after parties, it’s clear what is going on. He is lonely and is buying time with people by providing them free food/drinks/entertainment. It’s a classic barter system. Irrespective of your income, you may not relate to this sad hero of our story but if you are active on social media, you could be that man. Content creators understand what it means to be validated. They sing and dance so that others can be entertained and the cycle of attention continues. Something is given so that something is received in return. The currency might be different from the aforementioned parties but the value system is pretty much the same. A content creator is a lonely creature and he thinks he deserves love from a lot of (anonymous) people. And to reach that goal, he will do what needs to be done. Yes, it’s quite a sad story.
False nostalgia portion hit hard ✨
ex-aspiring cricketers of the world unite.