Mental Joust

Song

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 11 Oct 2012 21:33:00 +0000

I’ve always loved..limited as my time here will be. But yet there prevails, a hope against hope. To survive this night and hear your voice upon arising tomorrow, to feel its silken beauty like I keep imagining it, to rise and fall in its variations like the waves of emotions I’ve dreamt of..

And yet hope fights hope..and glass dreams shatter on hard ground realities, shattering into gazillion fragments. Just to make it impossible to put them back together, even if with a strong will and an affectionate heart..

So let it be..let these hours pass by in futility of unheard songs in unadulterated voices that beam in an unseen delight. Just delight. Only because they are singing life’s song. Let this be the last of words. Let them reverberate for eternity after I’m gone. Our song.

…

The recipe for hurt

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Mon, 08 Oct 2012 16:01:00 +0000

The recipe for hurt is a unique one. Its not unlike a stew. It has elements that add to flavor, that add to pungency, that add to aroma, and to texture. That's pain for you - a rich and concocted stew of multiple elements. Its unique in that every one brews theirs quite elaborately and quite differently. It takes each a different ladle to stir this stew, though the hands that stir, almost always, are those of fate. Or is it?

We have different ways of dealing with pain. In intense pain, we are ideally sinking; uncontrollably so. We clutch at a single hay strand floating on water like it would save our lives. That one song on repeat loop, that one book that resonates in you, that one movie that you watch over and over till it no longer helps. Road trips, pub visits, smoke sessions, weed - every possible path is taken that will diverge you from the one you're destined to walk on. It's the path you will walk on nevertheless.

And then there's the muse. The ever-effusive and ever-elusive muse. Its respondent and reclusive, sharp and shy, termagant and teary, inaccessible and inconsolable. We chase it in mystic hours, awaiting the right hour to strike when the wandering mind will collide gently with the meandering muse. It seldom occurs. There's hardly such a collision when we seek it.

And then it happens. That one hour so much like every other hour before it. And yet, this hour is exclusive. It is when this fated collision finally occurs. And quite unlike your preparations and expectations of the deemed hour, you're blinded by the moment. There's an unprecedented light that overshadows your vision, a resonating echo that blocks out your own voice speaking to you, a hundred prick points all over you that hinder the warm touch of the glow emanating from the collision. The muse has struck!

It is said that one can never write without pain. And if it is written, it will remain at best, on par with the average writings of the uninspired mind. Evolution has been eliminating the weak from the strong. Features that were antagonistic to survival led to entire species getting wiped out. But of all the things that could be eliminated, why has pain remained? Why is it that the root cause of all suffering, in whatever form it may occur, continues to survive? Why hasn't evolution obliterated the weak, crying masses in one fell swoop?

We need pain. It has been the only pheromone actively seeking to draw out the muse, and seductively well at that. And this muse brings out the colors that have shone resplendent on canvases across the world, across centuries; the words that have reverberated in a million hearts in poems and stories that touch the human soul. It doesn't merely stop at that- it clouds, it moves, it crumbles, it moulds, it stirs the soul.

And therein lies the recipe for hurt.

The proverbial stew that stirs itself..
...

Sands of time

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Mon, 02 Jul 2012 16:21:00 +0000

Each day I sit on the beach of tomorrow. Each hour, I write your name upon its sands. Ever so often, tides of today gush onto the shore, and my writing is rendered meaningless again. And yet, I persist; I write again, hoping that this time the waves would a little kinder than the last I could remember. I write again, hoping that this time, my writing is just deep enough to survive beyond the first wave.
I wonder sometimes, if it isn't the waves being evil. Maybe it is just their curiosity. Maybe they come close so that they can read your name, but somehow cannot slow their steps. Today has that one defect that stands out among others - curiosity. It seems curious to know if the name I wrote now is the same as the one I wrote the day before, and the day before that. I wonder if it remembers. It must know, for otherwise, your name written on arid sand wouldn't glow moistly from the tears ‘today’ shed.
Or perhaps, I'm sitting on the wrong sands. For how often has it been (in the last couple of years that you’ve known me), that I've made the right choice? I imagine that there must be other sands that I can write on. Sands that would not bother when your name is written, that would not take the pain to erase it, that would not leave a little salt of memories each time it did. But I do not seek them, my love. For they do not know me. Nor can they comprehend why I persist on this path that is verily breaking me inside. Only tomorrow will know, for it will exact the cost for this persistence when the time is right.
Once more I write your name upon these sands, once more a wave washes my effort clear, I smile with gained wisdom and yet prepare to write your name again..
…

Entwine

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sat, 23 Jun 2012 16:02:00 +0000

Each waking moment and each unconscious pattern that manifests itself is a reminder of the beauty we house in ourselves. And where have I found greater beauty than your soul? It is this ephemeral, formless beauty that drives and motivates, loves and angers, cares and hurts, cuddles and violates, gives and makes love with my own soul. Every waking moment is a dream because you're in my life. Every unconscious pattern is a reality because I'm living my dream each day through us. I am unfazed by what another will be or already is in possession of, for nothing can compare to having you. To consume every inch of your body like it were my own, to love each wave of your mind like a turbulent sea, to entwine in your soul like our bodies do, so often in boundless time-spaces. This is my dream, my reality.

…

Soul

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 03:00:00 +0000

Long past the hours of the night, he sits staring at the window. Its dark outside, there is nothing to be seen. And yet, he has passed hours in this trance. Would it be wrong to hope as a man who lost everything? Would it be idiotic if he chose to look beyond the current state to one which he cannot yet see?
Several months ago, he was just another man. Just another man drudging through life as though it was routine to him now. He was young, but there was an oldness in him that reminded many of people of another generation. A misfit, that's what he was. Unknown to the masses was a secret he was hiding. He had been hiding it for years now.

Disorders bring a certain anxiety to people, specially rare ones. They choose to go beyond normal reasoning, they behave in ways that will seem odd to many, they will push away the ones they hold dear, they will ask for more pain because it's the only way they know they are still alive. About 8 years ago, he was tested for a rare blood disorder and found to be one in a million cases that has the disorder. Its manifestation is slow and later on in life, and hence, it was difficult to detect. Even worse, it was impossible to cure. It could be slowed down though.

As he looked out the window now, the different 'specialists' and their words of advice kept running through his head. "We're sorry, but there's not much life to look ahead to", "40 years of a well-lived life is something you can look forward to","While most other men will be at their peak, your mind will deteriorate, your nerves and organs will malfunction, but your spirit will be untouched. It should be".
It should be. But its been so long and arduous, that nothing can remain unaffected. Not even his spirit. There seemed to be some headway he was making. He got used to the weekly medication sessions, the fact that he won't be an athlete anymore, the awareness that he cannot start a family. He got used to it all. He reminded himself of this every time he looked in the mirror. He got used to it all. Till she came along.

She was an average girl, quite as average as he was. And yet, never could anyone move him quite like she could. There is a weird strength that certain people have. They can draw you to them, they can hold you in rapture, they can make you sweat on cold nights and make you shiver in warm afternoons. There is a pervasive force these people possess. Once they enter, they take over the whole mechanism. Every thought, every word, every song, every road reminds you of them. They are loosely termed as 'soul mates' and yet, there is so much more to them. She was his soul mate, and to his good fortune, she believed it too.
For several weeks, they got to know each other, spending time and effort in keeping the other one happy, and in the process being so much happier. He knew that this was the one who would change everything forever. Love is blind they say. Love is also unreasonable, it is also without a logic. He forgot his condition, he forgot his doctor's advice.

And one day, it came back to him. One day like any other. One day after several weeks of elation. He reasoned it over and over. He thought of how it could affect her. He thought of the possibility of making it work. He dug up old research on his disorder and tried to find any new treatments that could help. To no avail.
As a cold waft hit him from the open window, he was shaken. Her image flashed in his eyes. He recalled the day she was told about the disorder. He recalled her patient voice assuring him that she would stand by him. And yet, he could not let her. She meant too much. There was not much to look forward to in his life, and she could very well be the last glimmer of hope for him. He reasoned with her, he told her of why it was an improbability and why he thought she would be better off without him. She would not listen, she would not back out. He had to push her away, she won't go on her own.
Each day he would come up with a grand plan of pushing her away and yet keeping her happy. Logic and reason, he said, would somehow come through for me. He foolishly thought he could make it work for her. And yet, the end of each day brought with it weakness. He could not stay away from her anymore than she could. Meanwhile, she sensed something was amiss. She tried to calm him, tried to assure him. He would not listen, he was too scared.

And then the day arrived. The day he hoped would arrive. The moment he hoped would hurt less. Naïveté.
She walks away. Not because of the disorder or the love, but the man himself who could not bring things to terms. The man who chose to bring a sword to a gunfight, tried to fight love with logic. And failed.

He watched the curtains flutter with the wind, knowing this was all there was. A sudden pain entrenched him, tugging at his chest. He fell on the floor, writhing and pushing the table to hold onto something. There was not much to hold on to anywhere, in all terms of the phrase. Slowly, his struggle reduced. His writhing stopped. And then his heart.

…

Adieu

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 21:21:00 +0000

It was a dark cold night. The vapors from the street light had begun to fade under the fog. Warm breaths kissed into the air with a puff of cold mist. I watched her as she ambled across the street slowly. Slightly drunk. She would never get high easily; at least, that's what she had told me. Yet today, her walk seemed a bit different; frivolous even.

About 8 months before this cold night, on a searing hot summer day she had walked into my life. Not unlike a cool summer breeze that pervaded one's clothing and inhabits the senses, she had filled the emptiness I harbored. It did not take much. It took just a glance. And then several glances after that. I operate this small grocery store in this relatively small area. I did not have the resources or the range that bigger stores had, but I had the privilege of being the stockist of several rare items that food aficionados and hobbyists seemed to want.

I can usually read people well. Even before they can ask for an item of their interest, I can nearly predict the list running through their mind. But when she walked in that day, I could not read her. Or maybe I could have and did not. Maybe it was the grace with which she moved around my shop. She did not walk up to my counter and ask me for things, like the others did. She walked around the store, gently touching the tops of the containers of sunflower seeds and pistachios among others. I watched her patiently as her fingers stroked the bead curtain that separated the store from my warehouse. I did not stop her as she peered in. On my study rested a small statue of Buddha which was gifted by a friend. It caught her attention. The base had 3 red hexagonal rubies originally, but now had only two. She beamed an angelic smile, still looking away from me. And began walking towards the counter.

Just about then, our eyes had met for the first time.

Just like they are meeting now, this moment.

She crosses the street slowly, never breaking the eye contact or the seemingly surreptitious smile. Her last few steps are hurried, like a sprinter crossing the finish line. She walks into my arms and mutters a sheepish "Hello". I smile back and seat her down on the pavement. The cold seems to be getting worse. I watched her as she continued to smile and removed a cigarette from her pocket.

"You started smoking again?" I asked.

"Just for today" she grinned, looking remorseful as well.

She offered me a puff, it was too cold to refuse. And here we were, two kindred souls sharing a smoke. The cigarette tip glowed in the cold and even sputtered at times with each puff. Perhaps it was the only thing that spoke amongst us now. I took one last puff and handed the cigarette to her; she did not take it. She had her head down between her knees. I tapped her shoulder, offering it again. No response. I took another puff and stubbed it.

"Do you know if you will ever return again?" she asked, still with her head low.

"I don't know. I don't think so" I said.

Another long pause.

"I think you should leave here soon. It’s better for the both of us" she said, in a muffled voice.

"Hmm…"

She raised her head and looked at me, "What hmm? Why do you always do that? I never understood it!" Her eyes had welled up, though she bravely fought the tears from flowing.

I could not say anything. What does one say at moments like these?

"What time is your flight?" she continued.

I looked down at my watch and said "In about 4 hours…"

She laughed and then broke into tears, almost abruptly.

I put my arms around her, holding her close. It was always easier to isolate emotions when you run them in your mind, but it was beginning to seem difficult now. I held her close and kissed her skullcap. She held onto me tightly.

I don't know how much time passed since. I did not want to look down at the watch. But I had to. It was time to leave. I arose, picking her up with me as well. She clumsily took out a small box from her pocket.

"You aren't gonna propose, are you?" I joked.

She laughed and then hit my hand "Idiot! Any excuse for a joke no?"

I smiled and started opening the gift. She held my wrist tight. I saw that look in her eyes and I knew she meant it. I nodded and picked up my bags, pocketing the box in my jacket. We walked towards the Taxi stand. The slowest and longest walk I have ever been on. It was worth every minute.

"You leave first" I said, motioning her to a taxi.

She got in, and then jumped back out of the taxi. She hugged me tight, making me drop my bags right there. It was an embrace neither of us will forget for years to come. We parted, and she was still in sobs. I put her in the taxi, and kissed her forehead. The taxi started to drive away. I kept waving at her, she did not look back.

As I put my bags in the next taxi, I kept thinking about the past couple of months. I kept thinking about how this would all have been easier if only life was an option I had. I brushed away these thoughts as I sat in the taxi; they seemed to weaken me. As the taxi began to drive away, I removed the box from my pocket and opened it. Without a warning or even an inkling of what was to happen, my eyes welled up. I put the box on the seat next to me and looked out of the window.

Lying in the box, small and shiny, was a red hexagonal ruby.

…

Words

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 09:02:00 +0000

Words - those innocuous killers of things good and bad. Go back to the most beautiful scenery you can recall. Now, try and describe it. Kind of robs it of the whole beauty, doesn't it? What happens when a indescribable beauty is met with an expectation to word it in an indefinable space? We lose, and miserably at that.

Why is love any different? We forge bonds that outlast time and yet, sometimes they do not have a definition, they do not have a name. Bonds that seem so intricate and ethereal, that a mere whisper might break them. And sometimes, whispers do. Bonds that make you think that there is a reason to believe in a higher power, to believe in soul-mates, to believe in happiness. Bonds that are so endlessly meaningless that there seems to be a much better chance of moving a wall by pushing against it. And yet, we persist.

We press on when the end has passed us by. We press on when there is nothing to hold on to. We press on when the words, the actions, the love is of no avail. We press on till the nights merge into the days so seamlessly, they seem as one. And yet, we persist.

Words - those harmful harbingers of hope. They make you wait an extra hour even when the wait is futile. They make you see the good in people, the good that is just a blurry illusion to the rest of the world. They make you believe that no matter the outcome of yesterday or the situations of today, tomorrow will be better. They make you hope against hope that a chance exists, that the adage of every cloud having a silver lining could hold true. They make you believe in things that the practical mind and the wise soul vehemently disagree with. And yet, we persist.

We put our pictures, our memories on a wall of cobwebs held by the gossamer strands of hope. We know this, we know all of this. Soon, one memory will be too much. Soon, the wall will come down. Soon, the card house of hopes, of perceived realities and imagined possibilities will fall. Soon, the transparent dreams of tomorrow will shatter on ground realities. And yet, we persist.

Words - they are to blame.

…

To Sin – Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 03:46:00 +0000

There are sins common to all men that lies beyond the boundaries of right and wrong, or black and white. The boundaries defined by ethics or religion or moral conscience or a similar framework of judgment. While right/wrong, good/bad are a matter of perspective and insight, there are sins that are common to men from all walks of life. Morality as defined by this new framework seems more of a holistic understanding as opposed to the one we currently seem to hold.

In a speech given at Hyderabad for a forum discussion on Urban Development ideas, MP Dr. Jayaprakash Narayan spoke of two sins that plagued the country. These sins, according to him, were those of "Unfulfilled potential" and "Avoidable suffering". While it seems like something a personality development guru would have propounded, it is surprising that a politician (and a good one at that!) decides to talk about these as two critical sins. The root or the germinator of this study was this idea from Dr. JP.

Let us step away from the context of a country or a movement to that of our own selves. As we go along, we can try and understand why the focus on a movement can be removed for now, and instead, an individual focus may be mandated. Let us try and isolate these two sins to come to a broader understanding of the current human psyche. For the purpose of better focus (and easier reading!), this article will be divided into 2 parts. The first part will cover human potential and its implications today. The second part will cover unnecessary suffering and learning from that aspect.

Unfulfilled potential

Potential : As an individual or as a group?

The foremost and primary movement recognizing the need for humans to achieve their potential was the Human Potential Movement (HPM). Many names drove this movement, the most prominent being Abraham Maslow, Aldous Huxley and George Leonard (who coined the term HPM). The movement took ground on the premise that through the development of a human’s true potential, she would experience exceptional quality of life through happiness, contentment and creativity. And that those who begin to fulfill their dormant potential would direct their actions towards helping others achieve their potential, and thereby bring about positive social change. Idealistic, eh?

Well, the concept itself was not new. We have all studied/heard of Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs at some point in time. The need at the peak of the pyramid, defined as ‘Self actualization’, caters to the same idea. While HPM met some success at the beginning, and still has some followers, it fell into the trap that most movements fall into.
Movements are like individuals. Like a human is governed by his brain and its thoughts, a movement is governed by the few luminaries of the ‘tribe’ who propounded it. As it grows though, the ‘human’ effects of this luminary brain happen to hinder the movement more than it helps. Adherence to the HPM and its requirements led to hindrance in authenticity and encouraged groupthink. Instead of letting people decide what potential meant to them and how they could go about it, the attempt to monetize and commercialize it led to the creation of a rigid framework for achieving potential, which then became ironical, considering what it was started for!

There were and will be more movements that will focus on the human potential in some form or the other. However, like most movements, they are limited in terms of their applicability and relate-ability to a particular generation. There are numerous examples of highly successful movements of their time which did not do much for even the generation succeeding the one it worked in. So let us forget the social/planetary empowerment promised by movements and focus instead on individual empowerment, that has and will be the onus of the individual himself.

Understanding individual potential

In the Humanist Manifesto published in 1933, signatories agreed to the statement that evinced a strong belief in human potential-

“Man is at last becoming aware that he alone is responsible for the realization of the world
of his dreams, that he has within himself the power for its achievement”

While this statement by itself does not say much about potential, it drives at the heart of what potential means to an individual. Potential as defined in the words of Maslow, “What a man can be, he must be”, i.e. to become more and more what one is, to become everything that one is capable of becoming.

This concept isn’t new either. The Renaissance movement was started with the intention to honor learning and to honor men who were striving to achieve their full potential. These people were (and still are) called ‘Polymaths’. Leonardo da Vinci was from this era and is undisputedly, one of the greatest polymaths to ever walk the earth. Michelangelo, Francis Bacon were others. Benjamin Franklin was another polymath – inventor, statesman, businessman, philosopher, and much more. Polymaths are not always geniuses though. Nor is it the other way around. Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein and Marie Curie were considered geniuses, but their exploits and knowledge were confined to some very specific fields. They were widely acknowledged as geniuses but may not be considered polymaths.
Polymaths have larger subject areas and a deeper understanding in these. Its not a ‘jack-of-all-trades’ proposition, they are genuinely good in the fields that they pursue. You may have come across people like this in regular life as well – people who seem who be good at almost everything they do and seem to have answers to so many questions tucked away somewhere in their brains.

Polymaths are not restricted to arts, science, philosophy or other such fields. Consider Max Woosnam, a sporting polymath, considered “the Greatest British sportsman”. Max Woosnam toured Brazil with the famous Corinthians football team in 1913 and later captained Manchester City and the England national football team. He won an Olympic gold medal for tennis, played golf off scratch, scored a century at Lord's, and made a 147 break on the snooker table. He was also one of the 300,000 men to enlist in the first month of the First World War, fought with distinction, and endured the horrors of Gallipoli. He lived up to 72 years, and not long after another decent all-rounder, the journalist, soldier, painter, writer, orator, politician and statesman Winston Churchill.

All historic you say? Need a more recent example? Then turn your attention to Nathan Myhrvold. Nathan was CTO at Microsoft, and is co-founder of the venture capitalist firm ‘Intellectual Ventures’. Apart from being a holder of over a dozen patents, he is an award winning nature and wildlife photographer, a paleontology researcher and academic, a master French chef, author, and a social advocate. Even in pop culture, the concept of a polymath stands out. Case in point: Gregory House of House M.D, Gil Grisson of CSI and Fox Mulder of X-Files. How can one forget that eccentric polymath Sherlock Holmes? So as you might see now, the concept of a polymath is not something historic and not something impossible today. There are people who go about achieving their full potential or at least striving to achieve their full potential, even today.

What is the need for fulfilling one's potential?

Quite simply, we have to go back to Maslow. As much as there is critique for his pyramid of needs, it still remains elementarily what man strives for. The error made today is to club financial success with achieving one’s full potential, while this is far from the truth. Striving to achieve one’s full potential has very little to do with financial success. In fact, it could only be the by-products of one’s quest for achievement.
There are detriments though. The extent and variance of their learning and potential, makes polymaths seem eccentric at times and normal at other times. Forming social relationships and catering to social norms fall by the wayside in favor of furthering one's knowledge. The limits that we place on learning are usually self-imposed. While it may not be possible to be an equivalent of Ph.D in 4-5 very different subjects, the aim must be to learn as much as possible, which is what the famous polymaths have done over the years.

In our world, there is an increasing effort to specialize. Even in a regular profession (unlike doctors, where specialization is necessary), people seek to specialize in one or the other aspect, while leaving out a major chunk of learning. Seek to learn, seek to learn more and seek to learn more varied – this could be the mantra to the path of achieving one’s potential.

To conclude, I would like you to ponder over a famous quote from Robert Heinlein till the next post -

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”

…

What’s your story of struggle?

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 13:52:00 +0000

“Time makes heroes but dissolves celebrities. .” - Daniel J. Boorstin

The wriggle of an earthworm on rough land does evince us of some sort of struggle. So does the bloody swim of some types of salmon upstream to find love (read: mating). And also, the flight of millions of birds down south for the winter. Every organism on the surface of earth has a story of struggle.

Quite similarly, and yet so differently, we humans have great stories of struggle too. Books on history have had us reading about men over the ages who had struggled to make something of themselves. Yet the most common of struggles is the unseen. It is the struggle we face each day with ourselves. The fight we face with the one who is you, and yet will not let you be yourself. Its amazing how we expect our loved ones to treat us as we are and 'let us be' when we cannot do it ourselves.

Think of this. The people you want to be with, but simply cannot. The group you think you are most like, and yet you cannot be one of them. The dreams that we harbor so deep, and yet they slip away each moment. The naive, optimistic half of our selves that tell us to surge ahead and not worry about the risks is often shadowed by the street-smart, pessimistic half that pushes you to play safe. The voice in your head that plays out a thousand sequences whenever you are faced with a decision. The memories that dwell and parasitically leech upon every moment of today. Its all a struggle. And its all internal. One of the shoe giants summarized this in an ad campaign some years back "Its you V/s. you".

The struggle is not to be greater than yesterday, the struggle really, is to be present in this moment. The struggle is not to think any less of yourself but to think of yourself less. The struggle is not to love less, but to love more and risk losing it all. It is not the things we perceive on the surface level that trouble us, it is the spiritual side of things that we all see from time to time and are scared by what we see.

But with this struggle comes pain, comes rejection. We are often faced with people, choices, consequences that push us against a proverbial wall. And yet there is much to be gained from this pain, from this rejection. Maybe it is the naive, optimistic half of me that is writing this now, but there is a lot that one learns from pain. People familiar to the science behind bodybuilding would know that the real growth of muscular tissue happens post the breakdown of fibers. It is post the breakdown and with proper nourishment that one gains musculature. Not too different from that is the science behind our personal growth. The breakdowns in our lives are there for a reason. It is the nourishment post the breakdown that lets you grow. And yet, we wallop in our misery and find a weird joy in remaining miserable, instead of nourishing the mind to recoup.

Another cripple that we run by, that snatches the struggle from us is the ease of procurement. We constantly seek templates for work, we seek precedents to do any task assigned to us. We find so many shortcuts to do a task that we forget or do not even learn the way to do the task normally. And in the process, we achieve a fleeting success. The kind that leaves you unsatisfied. Louis Binstock said this in a way that makes more sense “Too often the shortcut, the line of least resistance, is responsible for evanescent and unsatisfactory success.” Enough said.

Being present is hard. Being in the moment and committing every ounce of energy and drive to what you are doing at this moment is not easy to do. But it is the struggle to achieve this that drives people to greatness. Superior athletes that compete on similar grounds do not lose because they prepare any less, or that they are slower, weaker than their counterparts who win by a whisker. After the line of ability has been crossed, it is the state of 'now' that makes winners. Mihaly Cziksentmihalyi spoke about the concept of 'flow' through his research. A state of mind when the body is on autopilot and yet performs better than the mind can will it to perform. In flow, the emotions are not just contained and channeled, but positive, energized, and aligned with the task at hand. We have all felt such moments of 'flow' in our lives. The struggle is to be able to turn this flow on and off as we will it.

The learning, if any, from the struggle we see around us is quite simple. We see it in the people we meet everyday. From the most common man you meet each day to the extraordinary humans that chance upon our lives every once in a while, they are all in a state of struggle. It is in our nature to be. The lesson is not the struggle itself, but the stage of comfort one gets into from taking on the struggle. Change is tough, and unfavorable change is tougher. Getting to a state when you can 'roll with the punches' and yet win the fight is a struggle. It is what we all aspire to reach. At least it should be.

…

Words

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 01:57:00 +0000

The broken windows of the room let a cold, dark air sweep through. He sat there, alone. He only awaited the next cold wave. To awake him, to make him move. Wave after wave, cold breezes gushed at him and broke against his slouched frame. He did not move though.

Her words resonated in his ears. Words that are seldom used to describe a person you love. Words that are used one at a time but in his case, were used all at once. Words and phrases like 'complacent', 'lazy','wasted potential', 'never took risks', 'unmotivated', among many others. Like a statue should remember the cuts that chipped away the most stone, he recalled these phrases as the ones that hurt most.

Another cold gust swept through the room. A chill ran through him and the hair on his arms stood up to protest it. His thoughts, though, remained with that morning. She had moved away. She packed her bags that morning and left the house, but somehow she had moved away much before that. He did not blame her. She deserved a better life, and the man she now loved, would provide that life.
He looked out of the broken window pane. A frail tree in the distance was swinging violently with the gusts of wind. With each toss, the tree seemed to get weaker. It was as though it had given up, and was now only waiting for the final blow that strikes it down. They were much akin, him and this tree. He recalled the last happy moment he spent with her. It seemed so long ago. One weekend, she had come home with a packet of cake mix. She wanted to learn to bake. The look on her face that day was worth a man's life in hell, if that's what it cost. Her eyes beamed, her words did not stop flowing, her hands were trembling with excitement and her voice oscillated between varying tones of energy. It seems so long ago now.

The streetlights outside his window flickered with the cold wind. He did not realize that he had been sitting in the dark. He also did not realize that he had left the radio on. A voice echoed through the room. It was another song, but somehow it was not just any other. Tear drops rushed to his eyes as if to distract the memories that were conjured up in his mind now. He brushed them away; he had to.

The cold air was getting severe by the minute. He cupped his head in his exasperated hands and took a deep breath, filling up cold air in his lungs. He arose from the seat with a jerk, and mindlessly went to the storeroom. He returns with a hammer and a small plank. Deftly, and carefully, he nails the plank to cover the hole in the window pane. He switches on the lights and the heater. He walks up to a desk and writes "Complacent, Lazy, Wasted potential, Never took risks, Unmotivated" on a piece of paper. He pins it on the wall above the desk. Life, as he knew it, would not be the same ever again.

…

A Tale of 3 Letters

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 04:37:00 +0000

Dear M,

My beloved, fair M. I miss you so much it hurts my heart with a pain beyond the shrapnel bits that the enemy has lodged in me. I ache to live a day more that I may reach you safe. Each day my arms cry out for more strength that I may reach you and hold you in my embrace. We are in the wrong times, M. There is nothing I want more than to someday raise the kids we will have, on a quiet farmyard, with your love and warmth guiding my days.

Wars are a cruel and unjust means of politics, M. So many men shed their blood, and to what avail? To allow a bench of narrow-minded, deep-pocketed bureaucrats to live better? It is hard to watch my men being demoralized at the hands of this travesty my love. My love for you is only superseded by my love for my country, and it still is a battle that rages on. The only hope I have is to end this war and come home to you.

Oh, how the days pass by M.. It seems years ago that I last saw you, and I keep hurting within. I keep praying that the scars of the war do not erase my visage from your heart. For now and ever more, I have only loved you with every nerve in my body. Even now, frail and battered by the beating of the battle I return from, my heart still beats your name. M. I remember the time when we walked up the fields on the river banks. It was nearing twilight. For years, I have travelled the world and have seen many wondrous things, but I cannot ever recall seeing anything as wonderful and beauteous as your visage that day. I can remember it like it happened yesterday. Oh, the agony of passing hours, M. I kept hoping and praying for the hours to pass by slower so I may walk with you for a little longer. Your gentle, caring hands in my strong hands, clasped ever so firm that I should never let go. And I will never let go, M.

The beating of time is hard, no matter what the outcome of this war, we shall all be beaten. There is an uncanny sense of guilt to being here. While my heart is at guilt being away from the woman who inhabits my senses, my mind is at war with the reasons for being here for more time. I do not know these enemies anymore than they know me. Someone among them may be writing a letter this moment to their love as I am writing this moment. Yet tomorrow, at the break of day, we shall fight each other till one of us no longer lives. I despise being in this war M.

There are a few hours to daybreak, and I must return to rest for the day ahead. I could not rest until I wrote to you my love. The war’s end is nearing. Sometime soon, this will all be over, and we shall be one again. I hope you will await me as I run across the fields to your door. I hope to walk with you once more along the river banks, hand in hand for days at a stretch, if time would let us be. Until that day, M, hope is all we have. And love.. Strong, abundant and loyal love. Take care of my love, M.

Yours forever,

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My eternal love J,

I received your letter today and it is still with moist eyes that I focus on the words I now write. It pains me to spend each moment away from you, hoping and wishing for your return. I pine in the moments that bring your memories to flood my thoughts, because there are so many memories of you, and so many fond ones. I wish it were easier, I wish I was stronger to endure this separation in time.

The weather has turned gloomier than ever before. It has been 3 months since I last saw you. The light dancing off your face when you left that summer morning still haunts me, for I believe you took the light along with you. It is easier to know that each passing day brings me one day closer to being with you, but each hour passes by in count of that one day when you shall return. When will you return home, my love?

I pray each day for your life and my love. I pray for the battle wounds to heal quickly or pass their pain to me to endure. The pain of being without you has made me stronger to pain. With every news that comes into being, I pray that it has the end of war in its content. I await in open arms to the day you will return, my love.

Of course, I do remember that day, when we walked along the river bank. I had never felt such warmth in my hand before. It was as though the warmth was surreal, it was emanating from your strong loving heart. These are much colder days without you here. It is still summer, and yet neither its light nor warmth has ever been close in compare to your warmth, your light.

I know that the times are trying, my love. I wish it were easier for us both. We will persist on this path, for this is the path that similar kindred spirits have walked before us. Love is the quiet, soothing balm for a hundred wounds, and I pray that my love will soothe your wounds as your love soothes the hurt I harbor within me.

May Glory be yours and the Gods by your side. May the valiant strength of your arms strike down upon those that stand before the country that we both love so deeply. Now and forever more, I will be strong knowing how you will be safe because you will be guarded by your brethren as they will be guarded by you.

I will await with my ears to the ground, your mere footsteps shall awake my spirits and I shall run to meet you across the fields. Until then, guard thee well. And fight valiantly, my love.

Eternally yours,

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

---TELEGRAM----

Respected Madam,

It is with a heavy heart and a broken spirit that we write this to you. We regret to inform you that Col. J has passed into heavenly abode this morning.

The war has ended this morning, but has come with a severe loss to us. It was a death that he valiantly embraced. He fought for several hours, rallying around his men and guarding the honor of his country and his battalion. He fought till his last breath could. The country has lost one of its bravest sons and its finest soldier. He will be revered in our memories forever more.

Please accept our heartfelt condolences. Members of the battalion will escort Col. J and his possessions home by this Friday.

Maj.Gen. K

---------------------------------------------------------------

24

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 13:30:00 +0000

What is the power of 24 hours? You can experience an entire array of emotions within 24 hours. You can go from being overly ecstatic to being totally depressed in a matter of a day. Heck, there’s even a TV show on the theme!

You could meet "the one" in one day. You could spend a day with the person you want to spend it with and end it on a high note. You could find your dream and decide to pursue it in one day. You can forget pain and learn to move on in one day.
You could also lose a friend in a fight you had on one day. You could lose a loved one to death on one day. That dream you have had for years now could get shattered in a day. It is only one day and yet its powers are practically limitless.

Its amazing how different we all use the same time given to us. Everyone is given the same 24 hours, some end up going through the roller coaster of emotions and yet come out successful or accomplished at the end. And yet some of us end on an ebb.
If you had visualized a life that was better, that meant more to you, it is about time you picked it up and ran with it. This could be your one day. If you thought you needed to get physically fit, and just wanted to start, pick this one day and start! Who drives you? What motivates you to get up in the morning groggy eyed and yet without regret or pain to start doing something? If you've found it, and are afraid to walk the path, decide to walk just 5 steps on that path today.

With the limitation of time, also comes the energy that we use to fill it. If everyone were to follow Tony Schwartz's belief on 'Energy Management' rather than managing just their time, it would make so much sense in what we did. To be able to physically do everything that we mentally set out to do, in a way that agrees with our spiritual mindset and remaining loyal and observant of our emotions in doing it - this is the crux of energy management.

Life has never been easy. Well, maybe in bits and pieces! It usually demands that you meet it all the way, nothing half way will ever impress life. When you have such a demanding boss, it seems inevitable to prepare to be in shape for the same, in all possible forms. For all you know, today might be the last day. And if its not, rejoice! For you still live to see the next day..

…

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 15:32:00 +0000

Today she went from a dear shortened name to the one the whole world knows her by.

Today she went from being the pain I fondly lodged in my heart to the pain I don't know if I want to hold on to.

Today I questioned the love I had for her because I had to question her love for me.

Today I realized the inevitability of the world we live in, how different despite it being the same world.

Today I sought once more her approval, once more to appease her, to see in her eyes the truth I so badly want to find.

Today I sunk the maniac heart to the depths of its madness to see once more if a reason existed to persist.

Today I realized the timelessness of strength and the uselessness of experience in matters of the heart.

Today more than yesterday and much more than the day before, I realized how strong my affinity to her is..

…

Riding through hell into eternity

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 17:09:00 +0000

“I hate public transit. The smell of sweat, bodies gnashing against each other, an occasional motion-sick traveler.. The more I travel by this, the more I want to ensure that sick people are banned from traveling.. Coughing, sneezing, sounds of burps.. I want to put a stop to it all.
And hence, this week I called it quits with public service. If I was going somewhere, it was going to be fueled by my unending desire to get somewhere and the ability of my foot or my bike to take me there.

I am riding right this moment. With the proverbial wind in my crop cut hair and the sound of the engine grunting like a Arabian in its prime. The standup comedy in my head that always goes into overdrive in a public transit is silent now. No running commentary, no deep thoughts, nothing. Just the rhythm of a random song and a catchy beat guide my speed and a tapping foot on the footrest.
Riding alone into a city I've never been to, to stay at a place I haven't heard of, to try to converse in a language that I can only understand in aural terms, to eat a cuisine I've yet to savour fully..the uniqueness of this experience does not overwhelm me.

To be closer to the elements, including dust, gives one an old-world feel in his life. It reminds one of a time when gadgets and gizmos didn't rule our schedules, where meeting a person for a cuppa somewhere brought more joy than interacting with them online (whatever the form). Even as my Blackberry rests on silent in my bag pocket,I do not bother checking it. Apart from this and my watch, I've left every other device back home. This trip doesn't warrant communicating with anyone unless absolutely necessary.

No faces, no name, no places, no dame – nothing intimidates my memories. It is akin to Bellerophon riding Pegasus to slay the Chimera. Astride this beast, nothing seems impossible, nothing seems out of reach – even the skies are for the taking. Yet common to fate and the ties that bind us both, the machine and me, to the real world, we return home. Knowing fully well that tomorrow will bring with it more of the impossible, and knowing fully well that the strength to overcome it lies not far from oneself.”

…

Gen Next?

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sat, 28 May 2011 12:42:00 +0000

We are a miserable generation. A generation of confused, battered souls that prides itself with the devices that have come to dictate our lives. A generation that wants more and expects more but is not willing to work for it. A generation that takes pride in the national anthem when its sung but will not bat an eyelid as they fill numerous applications to study and settle abroad. "I'll come back. I want to do something for my country". These words were said at least for sentiment at some point of time. Now even that sentiment is missing. We cuss at the country that provided 20+ years of life and move away as if it were just another dysfunctional relationship. The generation that looks at the recent Cadbury's Ad and goes "aww..I want that" without putting the effort to get there and maintain a relationship.

Our generation that thinks that trying hard is uncool,that it should look like it came without effort. The fact that info is just a few clicks away makes us take knowledge for granted. That ‘being’ means much more than just ‘doing’. We say we live life unplugged but are bound by unseen wires to the very technology that lets us live unplugged. We know we can take tech for granted because it is not going to stay the same. But we do not take a moment to appreciate the world around us, because we are too busy multitasking. Or at least the twisted version of it. True multitasking is productive. Checking mails, FB, SMS during work is not multitasking, its just being distracted! We've all done it and continue doing it each day..

Recall the last time you thanked someone for something they did. Not a customary 'thanks', but genuinely meant it within you. I challenge you to recall more than 5 in the past month, or two. We are not only ungrateful, we're also more selfish. The world expects us to be. Each day Darwin and his theories bear light as we struggle in the survival of the fittest.. And in the course of this struggle, we end up becoming selfish. Fending for ourselves becomes our primary instinct.

We're not progressing, we're retrogressing. Not only in clothing, but in manners, in application, we are increasingly going backward towards the era of the Cro-Magnon man. Survival has begun to mean more than co-existence. Evolution hasn't done much mentally for us. Sure we've made some tech advances, made touch screens, speakers that blow one's ears (literally), sent dogs and men into outer space and so on..but have our minds evolved, really? We just have shifted our focus. And all that is seemingly human; that which binds us to other humans, is taking a back seat. Even chivalry, which was ordained as a highly valued virtue has become a laughable issue.

Motivation theories were in fear of people becoming more profit driven and less purpose driven. And yet, the problem today is that we're highly purpose driven to making more profit, for us. That money has become a blinding higher purpose. Among the ones who have worked, you must have made a faint commitment to making someone's life better when you start earning. Ask only yourselves, have you?

Its high time they stop calling us anything like the generation that will lead us to the next century. If anything, we're only taking it back.

Awake now.. Before its too late..

…

Smitten – Part 3 : The Intro

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sun, 15 May 2011 17:13:00 +0000

Sam had approached the week with some gusto. A week had passed and he kept hoping that she would turn up at least once. To his ill-fated mornings, she never turned up. At least, not in the same bus ever again.

“Maybe she was visiting the city. You know? Maybe she doesn’t work here after all” said Ranil, hoping to assure him.

“At 8 in the morning, which girl would roam about Bangalore if she didn’t have to go to work?” retorted Sam.

He was right, thought Ranil. He wouldn’t normally expect Sam to work his mind this quickly but here he was, pointing out the flaw in his logic.

“You’re right. Look, it’s a Friday. She might come on a Monday, you can never say. Infinite possibilities…” said Ranil.

“Is that your company’s tagline? Infinite possibilities? Really?” asked Sam, whimsically.

“Ok, forget that. You are coming to the play tonight right. Don’t make excuses like the last time and stay at home. This will be good for you. You might find a new dream girl there, you know?” he said, nudging Sam.

Sam looked up and gave an empty stare. Ranil shook his head and looked out the window non-chalantly.

All of the week, Sam had spent in misery. Love does that, doesn’t it? It eats you up little by little each day, and the more you try to regain a normal state, the more you slip away from what currently was. Normal suddenly doesn’t seem so normal once you’ve seen what you can be. Quicksand - that should have been a synonym for love. Somehow no one else had quite felt this way to call love that, he thought to himself.

That evening, Sam dragged his feet to get to the play. His friends awaited him at the reception. They greeted each other and awaited the usher to let the people enter. Sam behaved as normal as he could be, only Ranil knowing his sordid plight, and only partially.

A burst of giggles was heard a few feet away from where they stood. A group of friends, mostly girls, were sharing an old joke and laughing about it. Sam looked up at the crowd. It’s nice to share a joke in a group, he thought. He quickly surveyed the group. A thin guy in a muscle tee, a girl who constantly kept playing with her hair, a girl in blue rimmed spectacles…

“That’s her!” screamed Sam.

Unmindful of the crowd around him, he had let out a loud, excited yell. Ranil walked upto him. People gave him a quizzical look and went about their business as usual.

“The bus girl? Where is she?” he asked.

“There. In that group. The one wearing the blue specs” he exclaimed, still unable to hold his enthusiasm down.

“Her?” asked Ranil “Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. That’s her alright. Same glasses, same smile, same laughter. It’s her, no doubt” he said.

Ranil smiled. He walked up to the group now. Sam froze as he stood.

“What is he doing? I thought I was the mad one!” he muttered, but stood still, hoping for the least embarrassment this situation could lend.

A few minutes later, Ranil seemed to be making some progress, because they seemed to be talking to him normally. No screaming, no anger, no slaps. Yet.

After a few more minutes, Ranil beckoned to Sam to come to them. Sam tried his best to play cool and waved back, indicating it was alright and he was going to stay right there. Comfortable, and unhurt.

Ranil beckoned a second time, and this time, Sam didn’t see any sense standing and making an ass of himself there. He might as well do it there in front of her. So he mustered his courage and walked up to where they were standing. His eyes were planted firmly on her, but kept shifting focus to avoid looking like a creep. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the group.

“Guys, this is Samarth, also known as Sam. And Sam, this is my friend Nikki and her gang. I’m sorry I can’t remember all your names” he joked, as the whole group smiled at Sam. “Let me try anyway, this is…”

Sam muttered a seemingly warm “Hi” to everyone in the group as Ranil did his best to remember their names and introduce them, albeit in a coarse voice, dry from anticipation.

“And this is Neena. Neena joined work at Bangalore a few days back” he said as he finally introduced the only person in the group that mattered.

“Hello” said Sam, shaking her hands.

“Hi” she said.

A short pause. And the rest, as they say is as history would write it.

…

Dreams, and their weird power of changing us.

Smitten – Part 2 : The Dreamer

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sun, 15 May 2011 16:31:00 +0000

All of yesterday, Sam had spent his time pondering over those few minutes on the bus. He kept wondering when he would see her next and if he would see her at all. He counted the hours into the day, and work suffered as a result. He didn’t care.

It wasn’t surprising though, that the next morning he arrived at the stop much before Ranil did. Impeccably dressed, neatly combed and suave, both in attitude and style. It wasn’t unlike how he dressed every day, but somehow he seemed to be a man on a mission today.

“So, all set to meet her again today, eh?” asked Ranil mischievously, as he arrived at the stop.

“See, this is why I shouldn’t tell you things. You’re the one who says pessimism is overrated. I’m showing some optimism for the first time, is that so wrong?” Sam blurted.

“You still have to work on your mood though” retorted Ranil,”can’t expect to charm her with a tone like that”

“I’m sorry dude. I’m on edge today, really. I know you’ve seen me at my worst, but trust me, today I’m in a different zone. I really hope I see her today” said Sam.

“You plan to approach her and talk to her??” asked a surprised Ranil. He had known Sam for so many years, it seemed very unlikely that Sam would go up to a girl and make conversation.

“I’m hoping I will. But you know I can get” he said.

Ranil smiled. Yep, he knew.

“Here’s the bus now. Good luck buddy boy” said Ranil, walking upto the bus.

Sam took a deep breath and followed suit. He got in at the center door behind Ranil, and hurried up the steps to where Ranil was standing.

For a good minute, Sam looked at everyone in the bus, trying to see if she was there. He kept playing back the memories of the day before, hoping that they aid him remembering her.

“Do you see her?” he asked Ranil.

“See her?” Ranil asked with a quizzical look, “I didn’t even see the girl yesterday. If it wasn’t for your confession on the way back, I’d not have even known about it“

“Utter waste you are!” he muttered to Ranil, moving from side to side, trying to see if she was there. Today his luck had run out on him.

“Maybe she took another bus. It is a public bus. It’s not like she goes by the same bus everyday like we do” reassured Ranil.

“That’s what we’re doing wrong!” exclaimed Sam. “We must start traveling in different buses from now. All in the same direction but different bus numbers. That should do it, I should be able to see her then”

“Whoa Romeo! Relax. You have a better chance of meeting her if you stick to one bus, trust me” said Ranil.

He had a point there. It made more sense once he thought of it. Besides, Ranil was an ace at statistics. It is quite unlikely that he was wrong about these things.

Assured about the plan for the next month or so, Sam still was restless. At every traffic signal, he peeked out the window as any bus pulled up by the side, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of her.

“Would you stop it? They’ll ban us from public buses if you behave like this” mocked Ranil.

“Yes, yes. I just don’t know how I can get through the day without seeing her” sighed Sam.

“You’re nuts! You get through it just like you did the day before you met her. You whine through the day, work your ass off and get back to the room and whine some more. Nothing has changed. Stop making a big deal of it” said Ranil, now getting a little irritated with Sam.

“It’s like a reflection in the water dude. When its calm, it’s all the same, unchanged. But once a pebble falls in, the whole surface is disturbed. Ripple effect, you know?” said Sam, almost philosophically.

Ranil fell silent. He had known Sam for a long time now. Always a dreamer, and always restless, Sam lived in a world that very few others seemed to understand. It was why he always struggled with the commonalities of the world around him. He could never remain bogged down by them. Smiling at his friend, and the understanding that their friendship had brought to each other’s lives, Ranil was silent for the rest of the journey. He knew that Sam had now crossed the point of return.

…

(To be contd.)

Smitten – Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sun, 15 May 2011 15:23:00 +0000

“Here we are again” he muttered to himself, waiting at the bus stop.

Another day, another morning in this city. Samarth was in his usual blues, inside and outside.

“Why do they call it Monday blues anyway?” he asked Ranil, who patiently waited for his ride. “It’s not like it gets any better on a Wednesday!”

“OK, firstly calm down. It’s just a bunch of people waiting for a bus. And why are you so grumpy so early in the day?” asked Ranil, in his trademark calm manner.

“Why?? Are you really asking me why I’m grumpy?” blurted Samarth. “The same reason all of these people are. The same sick jobs, the same routines, the same bus routes. Everyone is sick of it. A bus comes in, and a chasm opens in a squeal and dozens of people get off. And a dozen more get in. And it squeals and gets moving again, a hundred times each and every day. They all hate it.”

“No Sam, I think you’re speaking about yourself. Relax, the bus is here” Ranil says, as he walks towards it.

Sam follows suit after a shrug. There’s not much one can do about it anyway. It seems to be the same everywhere, he assured himself. The bus starts to move before Sam could get on board. To avoid missing it, he gets in through the front door instead of the center like Ranil did.

“Late again, Sir?” the driver quipped.

“Yes Uncle”, he smiled weakly and headed towards when Ranil was standing. The driver smirked, not taking the ‘Uncle’ comment too well.

“He knows I’m usually late? The bus driver? Of a public bus? How routine has my life become?” he muttered, and stumbled towards the center.

As he walks through, a light perfume titillated his senses. He couldn’t look at the face, but he managed to see that she was wearing an orange chudidar.

“You’ll never change, will you?” smiled Ranil, as he placed a hand over Sam’s shoulder.

Sam wasn’t listening. He was trying to see the girl that he had just passed.

“Orange, orange… Orange!” he exclaimed as he saw her.

Dressed in a simple orange hued chudidar, she was holding the overhead handle grip that all buses seem to have. A maroon-watch strap adorned an adequately fair hand, that was partly covering her face. She was wearing glasses, not very thick rimmed but enough to notice that they were a regular pair. Light blue and quite unlike any frame he had seen before. Unique design, he thought. Her eyes lit up now and then as she spoke, and he could see her eyes smile when her companion said something funny. Even from across this space and despite his morning blues, he could have argued that they were the most gorgeous pair of eyes he’d seen in a long time.

She lowered her hand to gesture to her friend about something. Sam gasped in awe as he saw her now. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had seen. But there is a charm that some women exude that is quite incomparable to any beauty, ever. She was that and more. Simple, classy, exuberant and charming, he could go on in his rant describing her in his head. Ranil was talking to Sam all this while but not one word had gone through.

“In the most unlikely of places, one finds inspiration” he said out loud, forgetting where he was.

“Sam, what’s the matter with you?” said Ranil as he tugged at his hand.

“What?”

“You’re weirder than usual today dude. Is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. They just got better” he said, and smiled at Ranil.

“Ok, good. Our stop is the next one. Stop daydreaming for some time”

“I’m getting down this early?” he thought in a mix of surprise and anxiety. Every morning, he would spend the drabbest 30 mins of his day on this journey to the office. And yet today, it seemed to have gone by in a flash.

A train of thoughts ran through his head now. How will I remember her when I see her the next time? Her glasses, never seen anything like it. Her smile; and that laughter that seemed to have been sponsored by the who’s-who of the Indian Dental Association, perfect in every way. He knew he couldn’t forget her for quite some time.

‘Will she remember me? Has she even seen me?’ he wondered.

But the time for questions was done. The bus screeched to a halt. Ranil tugged at his arm to get down as Sam reluctantly alighted the bus. He kept looking through the large, lightly-tinted windows to see her again. She was still busy in conversation with her friend.

…

(To be contd.)

8 Questions – Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 18:58:00 +0000

With new found time, I was able to think a little about the things that meant most to me. Somewhere in that process, there were a few questions that surfaced which force you think. So thought I might share them here-

1. Why is it that the more I read/contemplate, the less ambitious I get?

As I’ve observed, the more we read about philosophy/spirituality, the more grounded we get. As that happens, we begin to lose value for the material things in life. Everything that seemed so important and worthy a couple of years back, will begin to seem futile.

2. Will bachelors be able to avoid a mid-life crisis?

From the men I’ve observed, there is hardly any married male who is not going through/has not already gone through a mid-life crisis. There are variations in the magnitude of the crisis depending on the individual’s equanimity, but bachelors don’t seem to be affected by it. The few single men in their 40s have encountered a crisis much earlier in life, when others seem settled with families and they were not. But being younger gave a better chance of dealing with the crisis as opposed to the married ones who dealt with it at an older age. This could just be a few exceptions from the norm, but it does seem like a pertinent question.

3. Will we raise kids who will make a name for us in history or will we make history worth remembrance by our kids?

In the movie ‘I.Q.’, Meg Ryan plays Einstein’s fictional niece, Catherine Boyd, who believes that her contribution to the world would be through her children. As far-fetched as that may sound, it still seems to be a question one could ask. Is that why people seek intelligent partners? So their progeny may be smarter? Funny if it turns out to be true.

4. What foundations are we building – for change or for growth or both?

When the Duke of Wellington defeated Napoleon, he said he had prepared for the battle from ever since he was in school. The foundations laid then, he says, aided him to defeat the man who set out to conquer the world. When some radical idea changes our mind, we believe it was an instant of illumination that did it, but really, our minds were being conditioned for this change through multitudes of experiences. However, when we grow as individuals – either personally or professionally, our growth is again conditioned by the foundations laid by our experiences and lessons registered in the mind.

5. Why are moral development theories skewed?

Harvard psychologist, Carol Gilligan points out in her groundbreaking book ‘In a Different Voice’, that moral development theories propounded so far have mostly been based on men. Recall the theories that you can recall. Somehow, every theory/case on morality seems to be associated with some man/group of men. Her theory makes sense too – women probably reason with morality quite differently from how men do.

6. How much do parents affect a kid’s growth as an individual?

In the book ‘The Nurture Assumption’, Judith Rich Harris put forward a theory on behavioral genetics that parents do not mold their children beyond the parental genetic contribution. The biggest socializers of their children are their peers, according to her. I would question that on both children raised in insecure households and in introvert kids, but overall the theory makes sense. It also brings to mind the many times you parents asked you to keep good company!

7. Why is the TV an idiot box?

This question really is the depth of my joblessness! But I seem to have found an interesting answer. It simplifies reality. When you look at a character/role on TV being shown as an evil, manipulative person, we buy it. We do not need to process it deeply. Whereas in the real world, people do not go about giving evil looks in slow motion – we need to use multiple inputs to judge people. By making it simple to process information, we are skipping critical analysis that our brains perform otherwise. This explains why watching TV relaxes – you can switch off for hours together without requiring to process the information conveyed.

8. How different are the parental instincts of animals and birds with respect to humans?

Come to think of it, animals and birds only fend for their young ones for short intervals. Perhaps if a ratio of the nursing period to life expectancy was calculated for other species Vs. humans, nearly equal ratios could come up. However, it still seems like a short period in terms of absolute time. They are trained to take care of themselves from an early age, at least from the stage when they can process their food themselves. This puts early survival instincts in these species. In humans, we are cared for almost till our late 20s in our country and early 20s in other countries! The learning curve is much more gradual for us to pick up survival skills and complex situation handling. The longer time period may have to do with the complex structure of our upbringing and the enigmatic way humans operate in the world.

Well, these questions seemed important to me right now. I hope to make this a regular series every two months or so – ergo the Part 1 in the title. Let me know what you think of these questions and if you have any to add to the list.

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History

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 17:18:00 +0000

For those of you who have a passion for teaching or the ones who have a crush on Ryan Reynolds, you might have caught the school-flick ‘School of Life’ about the ‘coming of age’ (so to speak) of a high school teacher. Ryan Reynolds teaches students that its not His-tory but His/Her-story.. Corny as that may sound, the connection between one’s past and present is customized to deliver the maximum level of user experience possible! :D

Consider the elements from history that keep repeating themselves. First off, think of the son who always aspires to be like his father as a kid and as far away from his fathers personality as a grown up. No matter what he does to change his behavior and mould it in a way he desires, sooner or later, the father catches up to the son. Practical application of the “Son becomes the father, father becomes the son” theory!

People keep thinking that the mistakes they make in past relationships won’t keep happening as they ‘evolve’ and get stronger. Somehow, our core beliefs as we faced the first conflicts are not drastically different from our core beliefs as we evolve. Our maturity may have changed, but our conflict resolution is not totally evolved. Our views and priorities may have changed, but our necessities and insecurities only get worse.

The past has a funny way of catching up to you in one form or the other. And like every problem out there, solutions are bound to make inroads in one form or the other as well. There are hypnotism sessions and therapy centers that help individuals deal with the trauma/memories associated with their past. People come up with their own ways of dealing with their past, some much weirder than the rest! Whatever works should be used whenever needed.

Our past is like our shadow, and aptly so. No matter how much we try, we won’t lose it except maybe a few times each day. People won’t sense its relevance on the current situation unless they pay close attention to it. The theories, methods, counseling, hypnotism may all help you ignore or live with your past, but getting rid of its effect is near impossible. Its like a perpetual learning curve that has no fixed equation and thereby, no fixed slope. All we can hope for is that for a majority of the time, the curve shows a positive curve. Learning as much as we can from the past, puts us in a better frame for the present. Or so we may hope.

Till next time, cheers!

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How?

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 19:13:00 +0000

How you do you it? How do you make a man feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time? How does every span of time seem shorter when it is associated with you?

How is it that you can stay so unperturbed while the turmoil in me in eating me whole? How is it that you can smile through your own pain when I can’t even smile through yours?

How is it possible that I see you everyday and yet yearn to see you one last time more? How difficult will it be with you gone and not having anything to look forward to at each meal?

How tough is it to walk up to you and tell you everything all at once? How much tougher is it to hold it all within, waiting to explode?

How convincing can I be when I tell myself that my silence is for the best? How agreeable can I be when I reason that some man will love you more than I do?

How calm can I be when jealousy swirls at the surface, disturbing every transient memory? How angry can I get when you praise another man, when I can see the lips that do the praising?

How sane will I be in a few weeks from now, knowing your eyes would not meet mine for a long time to come? How brave will my spirit be, to pick up the pieces scattered plainly around me?

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Disclosure

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 13:23:00 +0000

Been trying to write for a long time now. Half and nearly complete articles that sat in my archive are mercilessly deleted. Starting afresh, here goes--

“I believe that merely the passing of time can wear out the edges of anything remotely sharp. Case in point – sharp blades, peaks, anger, excitement. Anything that has attained the attribute of sharpness will wear out with time. But there are certain things that seem alien to the theories that my demented mind keeps peddling. I cannot for one, understand how she continues to maintain her steely cold reserve. The passage of time has had not an iota of effect on any of her actions or thoughts.

I watch her as she walks in each day, composed in thought and bearing a gritty resolve on her face. She works for hours at end,and remains undaunted by the challenges or the drab routines of our lives. An occasional flash of anger immediately subsides without giving away too much. Blinded by my affection for her and bound by my loyalty, I silently observe her actions each day. Not once do our eyes meet for long, but the moments that they share keep me going through the day. Never is there talk beyond the bare civilities that are exchanged on long corridors, but beneath the hushed hellos is a sweetness that I yearn for each morning.

But today was different, she was different today. A cool evening, thick clouds that cover the remnants of twilight, and a playful shower that promised to head back soon. Away from the eyes of the common crowds, she walks up the road to the hill. No rain could stop her, she marched on, resolute. A lone bench eagerly awaits her, but she does not spare the time. She lays her bag on it and walks to the edge of the road. She perched atop the concrete walls that lined the hills. I stood far away, unnoticed, uncertain. In two minds whether to walk up to her in the rain or stay here nestled under a distant tree, a lucid one among them ran scenarios of what could happen.

I watched her as she clutched her chain, tugging at the locket. She looked up at the sky gods in silent rebuke as if she was challenging them to a duel. Anger seemed evident, even from a distance. She did not hold on for long though, for in the patter of the rain I heard sobs from where she stood. A loss, an unshared pain – she held it close in the insolent rain. I had to decide, but it didn’t take much time; at least that is what I can recall of those moments. Before my conflicted mind could decide, I had. I walked away.”

...

Insight,Love; Incite,Loathe

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 16:50:00 +0000

It is amazing how Ekta Kapoor (Sorry if I missed an extra ‘k’ or ‘a’ or ‘o’) is able to churn episode after episode of Saas-Bahu drama and people take it all in. They may forget to ask their spouses day at work but will not forget to discuss that last juicy bit that happened on a TV soap. BTW, have you ever wondered why it is called a ‘soap’?

Why these soaps run well should be no mystery. I mean, C’mon- Rebirth, Plastic surgery (read: Multiple), Bhagvaan’s miracles, the filmi song stuffed with bad TV actors; it is everything that James Cameron can show on a ‘Punarjanmaavataar’ movie and actually win an Oscar this time :D. However, this article is not about TV soaps, it’s something else entirely. Read on.

This article would probably make more sense to men, though I am hoping for some feedback from the women. Before I continue ranting, let me break this article up in the phases of the title itself.

Phase I : Insight

As infants, we spend a lot of time with our mothers. We begin our lives being ‘physically suggestible’, quite simply meaning we learn in these stages by touching, tasting, biting, and in my case, tearing apart things. We tend to model our behavior and patterns based on our mothers. All of us, gender unbiased. Eventually, we choose other similar role models – father, teachers, seniors, elder siblings. With increasing independence, boys tend to look upon our fathers with more respect and grant them more authority. Though boys go through a stage of disliking/hating their fathers at some point in their teens, till that stage we look upto them for insight, and likewise with other role models.

Phase II : Love

We almost always get here at some stage or another. School, college, parties, pre-marriage, post- marriage – irrespective of the location and the Eastman color song sequence, we get there. More often than not, we tend to pick a person quite unlike us- the old ‘Opposites attract’ theory. If you’re timid, you try to pick a confident person. Overly talkative-Quiet Listener. Free spirit-studious Class topper. And so on. Similarities exist, but cores are opposite. Psychologists have termed it as our ‘sexual personalities’. Try it on the time-tested couples around you – parents, relatives, friends.

At this phase of life, your male role model forms your viewpoint in your inexplicable attraction to a particular girl. If your model is your Dad, you will tend to be attracted to women with personalities similar to your mother.

Phase III: Incite

I just used this because it sounded similar to Insight and made the title much cooler. Anyway here goes. If by some weird stroke of luck, you end up marrying the woman you chose, and happen to live with your parents under the same roof, things are going to get pretty hot. Two women under the same roof with similar natures will cause a ruckus, no matter what you try to avert it. Again, the old ‘Likes repel’ theory. Each one will inadvertently incite you by presenting a viewpoint that seems logical and correct, and you end up confused.

Phase IV: Loathe

The growing cracks get bigger and bigger, till Saas-Bahu are at it all the time. Meanwhile, you are turning hairless from all the tension and hair clutching!

So you see, we men are responsible for the Saas-Bahu fights in households. It may not be as common today in split households, but still holds good elsewhere. Wake up men. Before you fall in to something you can’t crawl out of, analyze the ‘would-be’ with the ‘has-been’. The ‘what-can-be' may not be all that pleasant. Fair warning aside, you will still fall there. So might as well toughen up. :D

Cheers. Or not.

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8 Lessons from Jim Braddock

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 05:42:00 +0000

I’m sure everyone has that one movie that they keep going back to. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, you wouldn’t mind another watch. You cry and laugh, get inspired, resolve to be a better human, decide to er… take up boxing, and so on.

My one movie is ‘The Cinderella Man’. Russell Crowe stars as Jim Braddock in the movie, and there could not be a more convincing portrayal of Braddock ever. (If you haven’t already seen it, slap yourself twice and go see it as soon as you can!) I have posted a little background info about Jim Braddock here, if you’re interested.

There are valuable insights in the movie that could put some perspective in your lives too. Here’s my take on the lessons from this Ron Howard masterpiece-

1. Family comes first: Line right out of a Godfather movie. Braddock was one of the millions affected by the Great Depression. The man who was touted to be the next big boxer, was led by fate and a spate of injuries to sheer poverty. His priority was straight, keep his family well at any cost. When many men dumped their wives and children and fled to other states looking for jobs, Braddock stayed on. He worked on docks, in bars, would shovel snow, fix houses – all kinds of menial jobs to get by. All this because he did not want his family to suffer.

2. Love is all you need: Braddock found his love in Mae, who was a constant support in his pursuits. Their love for each other and their kids gave them the strength to overcome the toil they were subject to. Even when they were down in the dumps, they made sure to spend time with their kids and teach them that values were paramount in life. Braddock was very well off before the depression, but despite the turn of events he never treated his family any differently. A poignant scene is when their young son decided to steal some meat for the family, and Braddock advises him on the street. (I get very senti here!)

3. Friends are your strengths: Jim Braddock and Joe Gould, his manager were the best of friends till their last days. They even enlisted in the army together. Gould was absolutely loyal to Braddock. When his career hit the skids, Jimmy told Gould to go find some other, more profitable fighter to manage but Gould refused. Even when evidence was scant, Gould always believed in Braddock’s potential, that he could turn it around and whip any comer. When Braddock was down during the Depression, it was Gould’s unflagging persistence that secured Braddock his match with Corn Griffin so that he could earn $250. Gould also setup fights with his subsequent opponents and hence, helped revive Braddock's career. The shy, soft-spoken Braddock was perfectly complimented by street-smart motor-mouth Gould.

4. Hustlers rule: Max Baer was a killer in the ring, literally. He had killed two men during his fight with them. When Braddock secured a chance to battle for the title against Max Baer, he secluded himself in the Catskill mountains to prepare for the fight. His routine was rigorous and disciplined. He ran 8 to 10 miles every morning, then shadowboxed and jumped rope, sparred, and shadow boxed some more. The press dubbed his training camp “Homicide Hall” as Braddock’s training regimen was more brutal than anything they had ever covered. Gould had brought in the very best sparring partners available, and he threw a fresh one at Braddock with every round, constantly keeping the boxer on his toes. Braddock packed on 10 pounds of pure punching power during the camp.

5. Calm beyond ability: Braddock was a picture of calm as he stepped into the ring. This stemmed from the confidence and poise he had acquired for having left no stone unturned in preparation. Baer expected Braddock to be nervous and slow to start, but Braddock began swinging immediately. Braddock was known to take the toughest hits and still be standing. He had never been knocked out. (Eventually he was knocked out, but that was almost at the end of his career when he lost the title to Joe Louis). As one contemporary newspaperman put it, “Serene was Braddock and unafraid. There was about him an inspiring calmness that transcended his ability.” He was so calm before the heavyweight championship that he laid down in his dressing room and took a nice nap. Now that’s calm.

6. Weaknesses into strengths: Braddock fractured his right hand (his regular boxing arm) in three places during a fight. This was in fact the point when he had to “retire” from boxing. When Braddock worked at the docks during his “retirement” he was forced to use his left hand while his right hand healed. This greatly strengthened his left hand and when he returned to boxing, he found that his left jab had finally turned into a potent and powerful weapon. Instead of ignoring your weaknesses, work on overcoming them and sometimes they can become your greatest strengths.

7. Relish being an Underdog: A man who is down and out can simply resign himself to always being on the bottom, or he can use his failures to spur his comeback. Braddock chose the latter. The odds on the Braddock/Baer showdown were 10 to 1, the biggest in heavyweight history. Braddock was always the underdog. Heck, he enjoyed being one! Braddock had the hunger of a man who took absolutely nothing for granted. He thought about all he had been through-the booing crowds, the mercilessly journalists, the injuries, the grinding poverty-and used it as fuel. He wanted to show all the naysayers that they were wrong for writing him off. And all his life, he did just that.

8. Personal Responsibility: During the Great Depression, the U.S. government used to provide relief for people who could not earn. This was the last resort and people would feel like failures taking them. He held out as long as he could, trying to make do with his meager earnings from working on the docks, but he was behind in paying the milkman, his rent, and the utilities. Considering the risk he was putting his family through, he puts his name on the relief rolls. Braddock saw the checks he got each month as a loan, not a handout. He carefully kept track of how much he received, intending to pay it all back once he got back on his feet. After he started his comeback and beat John Henry Lewis, he went the next day to have his name taken off the relief rolls. And when he beat Art Lasky, he went to pay back all that he had received. This was unusual, even for the time. But Braddock took honor and personal responsibly seriously.

This was my learning from ‘The Cinderella Man’. Which movie moves you on a visceral level? Which is your ‘one’ movie? Or are there several? Let me know. Leave a comment.

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Sources

+/-

1. Cinderella Man

2. Wiki

3. Jim Braddock Site

4. Braddock V/s Baer fight videos

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Unforgettable..

noreply@blogger.com (Adam) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 15:10:00 +0000

"Today my journey back home seems longer than usual. Work was always drab, but nothing that a little music and a little solvent wouldn’t help dissolve. No, it wasn’t that. Today is the day I started hating my subconscious. Imagine the hate you have for the worst person you have known, now multiply that by a zillion times and you might be able to understand the hate I am feeling right now.

It is really ironical how some faces from the past get glued to our subconscious. Do you have that one face that haunts you in everything you do? As if parental critique wasn’t enough all your life as a kid, that once face that makes everything seem not good enough. When on certain mornings you wake up with a dream about this person, and you can’t face the mirror without the thought of shattering it several times. I have a good family, a loving wife, two adorable kids, then why does this face from the past haunt me?

It could not be that I’m not happy with my life, because I am. It is something else entirely. Someone has to find a way to switch off dreams because my mind is bordering on the psychotic. She is practically dead to me, she passed on a long while back, or so I believed. When was the last time you woke up with a dream that you were sure would come true? When was the last time you felt fear in each of your actions? I feel that every single day. My workspace, my family, my morning jog, the evening mug – nothing is sacred anymore. She has taken over them all.

Dreams. They are said to be mind’s way of unwinding into a state resembling normality. Normal. That word does not even mean much for me anymore. I would gladly settle for ‘depressed’ right now. On my ride home, street lights pass me by with a constant tempo, sounds similar to a baseball bat hovering over my head. I am gripped with fear each time the bus stops, fearing a strong blow to my head. Maybe I should deal with it. A blow to the head is probably what I need.

Going home each day, I face my family with a smile so fake, it pains me to even bring it on. Years have passed, and I have slipped deeper and deeper into this dungeon of mine. No ray of hope, no voice to reassure me. Darkness shrouds me, darkness embraces me…"

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P.s: This is a fictional write up! A similar post is here. A movie set me on a thought process and I ended up imagining this. Do tell me what you make of it – problem, solution, criticism, anything.