Chit Chatni

Hairy Scary

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 10:45:00 +0000

There goes a saying in Hindi, "Bhookhe bhajan na hoye gopala" , which means that when you are hungry you can hardly sing prayers. Likewise, on a bad hair day, I can hardly be philosophical. So this one is going to be about beauty, hair and all things frivolous. All things that matter.

I was always warned by my mother to not get haircuts on Saturdays. Apparently Shani dev does not take too kindly to it. And why would he? It is the one day beauty salons are so busy, that chances are that your hair will not be done justice too. If you ask me, Shani Dev is probably the most pragmatic guys we have up there, unlike the whimsical image they paint of him.

But the incorrigible rebel in me just had to get a haircut on a Saturday, precisely because they asked me not to. The modern rationalist in me reasoned, "I am going to the best hair salon in town. Three out of five women with gorgeous hair cuts recommended them. They are expensive, which is an obvious affirmation of their being the best. There is nothing about the day that stands between my hair and their scissors."

So spring in my feet and wind in my hair, I waltzed away to the salon with my housemate and friend. Believe you me, the excitement in anticipation of the dream-haircut is more palpable than the excitement of meeting a potential dream-date. There was just one problem. Those who know me will second its gravity. My hair, well, are not exactly very docile. They defy gravity and spread out in all directions, they love playing tug of war with the comb, and make a mockery of hair serums by having a mind of their own. Indeed, some have likened me to the mythical Medusa. My heart goes out to the poor woman. But, allow me to digress, I have a theory for this.

Recently, in one of my infrequent 'knowledge-enhancement' phases, I happened to watch a TED Talk about 'fractals'. My little understanding of it is that the parts are a miniature copy of the whole - a concept called self-similarity. Extending that logic to my hair, if my hair are indeed copies of my self, then it is only too obvious for them to be so delinquent.

Coming back to the original story, as I waited for my turn in the salon, I watched women with poker straight hair enter and women with hair with a straight line equation so perfect that I suspected they were computer generated, leave. This was not a good sign. Going by my previous experience, it meant in all probability that the beauty parlour had a standard, stereotypical, media generated notion of 'good hair' = 'straight hair' and 'beauty' = 'orderliness'.

There are some other tell-tale signs that spell doom. The most common one is when the moment the hair dresser touches your hair, she grimaces, as if it was a wild boar that she touched, and says something like, "what shampoo do you use?". If you aren't using the shampoo that they sell, till the moment you pay up at the counter you shall have heard a thousand horror stories of how your next ten generations are going to be born bald. Then there is the standard, "your hair is not washed properly". My advice to you. Straight hair or funny hair, when you hear that run for your life because you have entered a money making machine which only wants to charge you an extra 200 bucks for hair-wash! Proof? My poor housemate fell for this trap and got her hair washed by Person A. In the flurry of Saturday rush, Person A forgets that she herself had given her a wash. When Miss A comes for her blow-drying she tells her again, "your hair is not washed properly", much to the puzzlement of my friend. They say, never tell a lie for it is easily forgotten.

Despite the universe trying to paint signs for me in red, bold and font size 100, I overlooked them. My implicit faith in the goodness of womankind and their empathetic understanding of hair-matters got the better of me. I had scarcely placed my optimistic rear on the hot-seat, when my hair dresser asks me, "what shampoo do you use?". Warning bells are ringing! I battle them and say, "Head and Shoulders". That name always gets you a disapproving look, the same kind of look working mothers get when they tell their non-working friends how they leave their babies with nannies. Yes, Head and Shoulders is downmarket. But it works for my urchin, vagrant hair much better than Lo-ho-re-hal.

I then say, in defense of H&S, "It's not the shampoo. I was born with those hair." She says with the air of the patronizing psychiatrist who knows when her patient is bluffing, "You should try our Hair Mask Therapy. It makes the hair smoother. At this rate your hair will become so brittle...", she left the rest to imagination. She then asked, "How do you want me to cut your hair?" I told her exactly what a brilliant hairdresser had done to my hair the only one time I got the perfect hair cut. (Unfortunately I lost her number. Very important moral: When you meet your dream hair dresser, you might want to take her entire family's number. Just to be sure.) She shook her head in disagreement and said, "That is going to make your hair look messy. Already they are so...er... curly." If I had any sense in me I should have darted out of that place. How many times have I heard incompetent hair-dressers blame the hair and not their scissors for their lack of both skills and imagination to turn what they have into something that is 'in character'? I mean, if someone has wild hair, it does not take a DNA scientist to ask them to get their hair straightened. But it does take some creativity to leverage their 'true nature' and turn them into something beautiful, instead of altering their biology. If you cannot, what am I paying exorbitant prices for?

I took a deep breath and repeated exactly what my ex-brilliant-hair-dresser had told me when I fell in love with her, "There is nothing like good or bad hair type. Each person is different and so is their hair. We can bring out the best in the hair by letting them retain their character." All that was missing from my motivational speech which sounded more like a pitch for an NGO was, 'together we can!'. I think the gyan hit her skull and bounced back to hit mine, because then she said, "Er.. that's right. But what you are saying is not in fashion. These days what is in fashion is to..." I had stopped listening. My fight or flight systems were seriously competing now. Fight won. In retrospect, that is usually a bad thing. In my final attempt to educate her, I emphatically said, "It is not about fashion! My hair is different! A standard formula of what is in vogue and what is not is not going to work!" I think she saw in the redness of my face the loss of one customer, so she quickly added, "Alright! Just let me try what I understand from your description, ok?" And then came one of those moments in your life when you have no idea why you said, "Yes".

She cut my hair like she were cutting grass. No pins. No attention either. I nearly choked when I saw her casually cropping my hair off while she incessantly conversed with her assistant, managing the Saturday Rush. Multitasking is the greatest myth computers have propagated. If only our minds worked like that. They don't. It's a simple lesson: You cannot cut hair looking away. It is not like driving cars that you do it automatically after experience. Specially when you have a challenging countryside track like my hair.

What happened then? My friend will probably pin her hair till they grow long enough for another cut. I will leave them open as bad publicity against the salon. In the dry state of Gujarat, the only thing she and I could drown our sorrow in was a good old cup of coffee at Shambhu's.

To Power. To Hope.

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 10:40:00 +0000

There is something about struggle. Perhaps it gives meaning to life. Perhaps it makes me feel that I shall "earn" the fruits, and enjoy them without guilt. And even if I do not get the fruits I was waiting for, I hope that somewhere in the grand cosmic balance-sheet, my returns are due.

In struggle is hope.

However, that the struggle yields to the fruition of my desires, is not in my control. But that it leads to a change in character, is in my hands.

In struggle is power.

Come 2012! I have walked into the furnace. Now, by all means use the hammer. Mould me until perfection. Beat, till i'm strong within. Grind, till you remove all that is unworthy. And yet, like a skilled artisan, leave me malleable enough to not break when forces of change arrive.

2012. To power, to hope.

HoHoHo

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 10:12:00 +0000

Coffee shops do smell divine
and carols add a joy sublime
In two days it will be christmas
Bombay sprinkled with gold dust

And though there ain't no snow to white
the reds and greens are happy-bright
Goodie bags with teasing eyes
wait eagerly to surprise

The sleeping hope of withered hearts
wakes up to the smell of tarts
The cynics wish they could unlearn
and steep in some ignorant fun

Pockets full and pockets half
look forward to better scarves
Blues can wait till some Monday
Hohoho it is today

Politically Incorrect

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 11:25:00 +0000

Since everyone seems to be posting about Anna Hazare, here is my politically incorrect, frivolous take on it-

Q) What song's on the PM's mind these days?
A) Anna na hazare na re na re
Anna na hazare na re na
Sade naal rahoge te aish karoge
zindagi de saare maze "cash" karoge
sade naal.. hoye hoye

Q) And what was the response from the other side?
A) Anna haan hazaare haan re haan re
Anna haan hazare haan re haan
twade naal rahenge to trash karenge
zindagi rahi to back-lash karenge
twade naal.. roye roye

Other Wordliness

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 04:33:00 +0000

Words are like my imaginary friends
My playmates in solitary absence
Potent, virile, energetic, they beguile
entice, devise, impromptu improvise
Dastardly imps in innocuous bodice
Cowardly shrink in vacuous spaces
when someone wants to have a word

Ostrichised

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 05:18:00 +0000

I like it even when my earphones stay in my ears and don't play music.I get this feeling that I am cut off from the rest of the world,safely ensconced in my cocoon, invisible, just as I am when I wear shades.

Objects that make me ostrich.

(a passing thought.. probably will glean these up someday and string the beads)

Ghost Love

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 05:11:00 +0000

There you are

love lost

love unrequited

that never quite was

Turning into poetry

only because

I have to have you

and somehow salvage

the dying cause

to matter, to matter not

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 07:17:00 +0000

i am a dot

indivisible

invisible

to your naked eye

here now

there then

here and there

now and then

i am a shape

manipulable

malleable

before your eyes

at your disposal

here now

here then

as you left me

found again

Unedited

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 09:23:00 +0000

i do not know my poems

they just become what they want

this moment glad

that moment scared

this moment naked

that moment clad

words keep adding

falling like raindrops

till the make a puddle

maybe there was a ditch before

maybe they forged one

like right now

words think

they should end

Sleight of Hand

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 04:54:00 +0000

Space lost in form, silence in sound

The magician plays his trick

shepherds the gaze toward the empty fist

while hides away in the hand unseen

Truth to be magically found

I

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 07:30:00 +0000

Pride is the devil

Diffidence, deep sea

And 'I', everything that lies in between

To be or not to be

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 07:25:00 +0000

I was so busy showing, I forgot to see

I was so busy being, I forgot to just be

I was so busy making, I didn't let it emerge

I was dying too fast to hear the funeral dirge

Nana

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 08:55:00 +0000

Wisdom to him was not an afterthought. His wisdom was in the action, in this moment. Here and now. Perhaps it was something that came from years of practice, years of thoughts and afterthoughts. How will i ever know? Perhaps my hope lies in his poetry. Like the eternal naad of the Omkar, the sound of his truth reverberates through his poetry. Light split into colors of the spectrum- that is what each of his poem is.

And the rest will just have to be walked and found.

Mobile गणेश

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Mon, 09 May 2011 08:16:00 +0000

आज जब laptop bag में Pen खोजने के लिए हाथ डाला, तो हाथ आये bag -वाले गणेश.

Bag वाले भगवान अलग श्रेणी, अलग category के होते हैं. वही फर्क जो landline और mobile में होता है, bag वाले और घर वाले भगवान में भी होता है. Bag वाले भगवान light -weight और compact किस्म के होते हैं. इनमें भी अलग अलग varieties आती हैं - जैसे कि calendar वाले हनुमान, photo वाले साईं बाबा, locket रुपी माता रानी, वगैरह वगैरह. और यदि आप मूर्ती पूजन के विरुद्ध हैं, तो ख़ास आपके लिए आता है chewing gum के size का विभूति का packet , या फिर 108 बार राम नाम लिखा चावल का तिनका. गिनने का कष्ट न कीजिएगा. यदि श्रद्धा न हो तो उबाल के खा लीजिये.

हाँ, तो bag वाले गणेश जी मुझे मेरी दीदी ने दिए थे. दीदी ने मुझे कई bag वाले भगवान दिए हैं. भई अब जितने bag होंगे, उतने भगवान भी तो होने चाहिए. तो मतलब समझ लीजिये, कि जब भी किसी shopper's stop में सेल लगती है, हमारी पारिवारिक परंपरा कि वजह से, भगवानों के business में भी बढौतरी होती है. Economics की भाषा में इन्हें "complimentary business" कहते हैं. और कुछ लोग कहते हैं कि economics और religion सगे नहीं!

लाल रंग के छोटे से गणेश जी जब अचानक bag से निकले, तो बिलकुल वैसा लगा जैसे पुरानी किसी jeans में से 50 का नोट निकल आया हो. मन में ख़ुशी कि लहर दौड़ उठी. "क्यों गणेश जी? कहाँ छुप के बैठे रहे इतने दिन? हाथ आ ही गए ना !", थोड़ी देर हाथ में पकड़े-पकड़े मैंने उन्हें निहारा. क्या सोचते होंगे दिन भर बैग में बैठे-बैठे? "ये आया pen drive ! ये आया 2 का सिक्का! अरे! Design बदल दिया? पुराना वाला बेहतर था. कम से कम फर्क तो समझ आता था 2 और 1 के सिक्के में. खैर! अरे, ये क्या? नया mobile ? शुक्र है! Reliance CDMA को तो अब मैं भी नहीं बचा सकता. ये 3G है. अब wi-fi से दर्शन दिया करूंगा सबको. ऊँह हूँ ! फिर इस लड़की ने hotel वाला tissue घुसेड़ दिया! कब छोड़ेगी ये चिंदी-चोरी. वैसे तो बड़ी बातें करती है, दुनिया बदलने की. अपना bag साफ़ कर ले यही बहुत बड़ी बात होगी. दम घुट गया इस कबाड़-खाने में. मैं भी घर-वाला भगवान होता. मुझे भी इसकी माँ रोज़ प्यार से नहलाती. गुरुवार-गुरुवार साईं बाबा की खीर में से मैं भी कुछ प्रसाद चख लेता. लेकिन नहीं! इसे मेरी याद दिलाने के लिए तो कोई hard disk ही crash करानी होगी. या फिर जब लड़ लेगी किसी से, बैल की तरह, तब आएगी विघ्नहर्ता के पास रोते रोते. खैर! Wallet वाले साईं बाबा के पास हो के आता हूँ."

Wallet वाले साईं बाबा की condition थोड़ी बेहतर है. लेकिन आजकल उन्हें भी फिक्र होने लगी है, "क्या बताऊँ गणपति! पहले पाँच सौ - पाँच सौ के नोट हुआ करते थे, अब दस- पचास- सौ ही रहते हैं. सोचती है मुझे wallet में कैद रखने से पैसों की कमी नहीं होगी. अगर ऐसा होता तो सरकार नोट छापने के बजाय, मेरी तस्वीर न छापती?"

"हाँ, बात तो सौ आने की करी आपने"

"हा हा हा, तुम अभी भी भी आनों में ही अटके हो, गणपति ?"

" बुरा न मानना बाबा, अटके तो आप हैं. पाँच साल हो गए आपको इसके boyfriend की तस्वीर अपनी तस्वीर के पीछे छुपाये हुए. कभी मम्मी के सामने खुल जाता, तो इधर उधर तो आपको ही adjust करना पड़ता ना? अब शादी हो गयी है दोनों की, तो भूल ही गयी की अपने मियाँ की photo छुपाने की अब ज़रुरत नहीं. हमारी और उस बेचारे की एक ही दशा है - भूले- बिसरे, बंद, अँधेरी कोठरी में.."

"शुश्श.. गणपति, लगता है हाथ अन्दर आया!"

"भगवान! आज तो बाहर निकाल ले !"

और बाहर निकले गणेश जी!

गणेश जी, I am sorry . आप बहुत cute लग रहे हैं. जी भर के आपको निहार भी लिया. लेकिन अब आपको वापस जाना पड़ेगा, काल-कोठरी में, उन्हीं pens , headphones , tissue , post -its और wallet वाले बाबाजी के पास. माना कि आपके बारे में भूल जाती हूँ, और दुःख में ही सुमिरन करती हूँ, लेकिन mobile गणेश जी! अच्छे network कि यही तो ख़ासियत होती है. ऐसा साथ निभाता है कि अपनी कमी महसूस ही नहीं होने देता. आदत भी इतनी पड़ जाती है, कि उसी कि वजह से काम होते हैं, और उसी को भूल जाते हैं. तो फिर नाराज़ न होइए! "Wherever you go, our network follows" का मंत्र अपनाइए! जो किया, सो किया. अब Nokia कि तरह अपना बढ़िया वाला connection लगाइए.. और ये गए bag के अन्दर!

और सुनिए! मैं इतनी बुरी लड़की भी नहीं हूँ. ख़ास आप ही की सवारी के लिए HP का मूषक, यानि की mouse बैग में छोड़ा है.

क्या कहा? "Made in China" है? क्या गणेश जी! थोड़ा adjust कर लीजिये ना!

मौन

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 05:40:00 +0000

एक बार साधवी ने मौन व्रत धारण किया.

कुछ ने कहा, तपस्या है, फल में मिलेगी शक्ति अपार.

नहीं भई, ये तो है नियम, आत्म-संय्यम का अभ्यास. साध्वी ही सही, पर देह तो है मनुष्य की, करना पड़ेगा प्रायश्चित.

मेरी मानो, मौन व्रत सन्देश है, बहिनों को, चुप्पी ही है औरत का गहना.

हुँह! ढोंगी ! जब सच सामने आया, तो मौन व्रत का नाटक!

सच सामने आया था. सूरज की तरह. पर शब्दों के डिब्बे में भर सकती अगर,

तो कैसा मौन? कैसा व्रत?

The Velcro Song

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 13:41:00 +0000

I'm not a string

I'm a velcro

I attach, detach

attach, detach

I do not do knots

They take longer

to do and undo

So I chip, crich

chip, crich

It's like a song...

Afterlife

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 17:54:00 +0000

And long after they've buried you

Some will still shed tears a few

You might do well beneath the ground

To think if you've been more around

For those who still stop by your grave

Or to whom away your life you gave

The Well Beloved

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 21:09:00 +0000

One of the favorite questions that grown-ups like asking kids is what they will become when they grow up. At the age of eight or nine I was fairly sure of it. I wanted to be a detective, teacher, singer, IAS officer, prime minister, doctor, and secretly, a movie star! And I wanted to be all of them. The only thing that would change about the list would be the order, without any deletions. I remember that the grown-ups would laugh or smile, endeared.

Eighteen years have since passed and I realize that not much has changed. There still seems to be a list that I am following, though not by design. With the exception that it’s not the same list (well, except the movie star bit!). And that the grown-ups do not seem to be as amused about it as they used to be. I don’t blame them. I am not very amused either.

We live in a world that values specialists above generalists, a value passed down through proverbs like “jack of all trades, master of none”, a value that perhaps derives from its parent values of loyalty above fickleness, of focus above diversion. Words like “expert” and “master” have implicit in them a sense of respect. And while we have begun to beat the trumpet of multi-disciplinary with greater vigor than ever before, it still means, for all practical purposes, a gathering of the experts.

It isn’t to say that this is all bad. Just that this is how things largely stand. Perhaps this system has, indeed, evolved to be an optimized one, and people like me just got stuck-up somewhere in the evolutionary process. People who want to grow their crops and make their tools instead of devoting their energies to being great farmers and trading with other great metal-smiths. Perhaps this behavior is not economically rational. And if economic rationality is what that matters, it brings me to its anti-matter - Love.

Love means different things to different people. It is, after all, a word with a set of complex and abstract signified. Whatever it means or signifies, it is an idea that we obsess about, an idea (or a set of ideas) that is universally felt, across time, space and cultures. And I now realize, that like many, many others, I too have been driven by my quest for love or the idea of it. Only that the quest did not ever stop at the boundary between the personal and the professional, between home and work.

As I sat through a seminar on Typography, watching people speak of fonts, letter forms and italics as if they spoke of their beloveds, I felt a sense of envy. Not because most of them were revered specialists or masters of typography, but because they had felt love. A love so strong and loyal that some of them had spent their entire lives being married to their a,b,c,d’s. And here I was, with many an affair, but none that lasted. Which made me wonder, is choosing a profession like arranged marriage? You choose first, based on a set of limited information and then grow to like it, love it, despite the compromises and imperfections? Or for that matter like any marriage, even love, where to fall in love is easy but to remain in love requires some work? In either case, it seemed like I was the 21st century Casanova. But to be fair to myself (and to Casanova as well), I have, on occasions felt love, if only momentarily. Like the protagonist of Thomas Hardy’s “The Well Beloved”, where his perfect lady love, his “well-beloved”, is but an image in his mind, whom he sees in all the women that he has an affair with, if only ephemerally, I too have an idea of what it is and I do see it in whatever I do. Only that, like a ghost, it possesses my profession for a while and then goes poof! Either the idea of a soul-mate is overrated or I am just a lustful wanderer.

And yet, despite all warnings and advice to “settle down”, like the archetypal “Fool”, I take the leap of faith, over and over again. Maybe there isn’t one size that fits all and one formula that suits all. Maybe the wise man’s path to happiness is in knowing and reason and the fool’s path to happiness is in not knowing and passion. Or maybe they are both equally unhappy paths that one must tread. Then again, happiness and unhappiness are as elusive ideas as love!

On the brighter side, my current relationship with design management does allow me to flirt with other disciplines of knowledge as well. So maybe I’m still a fledgling in the art of love, but am definitely getting better in the art of flirting! And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun!

भ्रम

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 07:49:00 +0000

हृदय में मचा भूचाल
बढ़ते हाथ कलम की ओर
मानो कलम न हो, हो ढाल

भ्रम में रहती जीवित
न रहते उसके होगा
मन आघातों से पीड़ित

कि करती कैद कहानी
और हरते हर मंशा को
शब्द-रुपी सैनानी

जैसे कागज़ की ओर
नस-सी कलम में बहता
रक्त हृदय को छोड़

करता शब्दों को संचित
जागृत होती कविता
मंद-मंद मन मूर्छित..

To all my multi-vitamin pills

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 15:44:00 +0000

I was wondering what makes me hold on to some friends better than the rest. What makes some of them way more special, way more indispensable than the rest? And I think this may be the answer (or at least one of the reasons)...

Most of the relationships in life are compartmentalized. So there are mentors, people you can go out and watch a movie with, people you are agony aunt to, people who are agony aunts to you, people you can share your philosophical angst with, people you can talk work with, people you can discuss ipod with, people you can bitch about with, people who you can just be silent with without the silence being uncomfortable...

But there are very few people who are ALL or most of these. And fewer still are those who are all of these without being judgemental about you (and vice versa). Who can understand and reciprocate many dimensions of your conscious existence. And who let you be who you fundamentally are (if there is anything like that).

And though I may not be the friendly, buddy-to-all, girl next door, I think am very lucky to have a few such multiple-role friends. When you have multi-vitamin pills, you don’t really need a sackful of A, B, C, Ds...

Ball of Yarn

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 17:46:00 +0000

You lift me up, throw me down
Merrily laugh, as I rebound

You nudge me sore when I sleep sound
And when I'm awake, you turn around

You pump me up to prick me flat
You say "this" when I say "that"

How you love the games you play
And how I love being played your way

Losing Virginity

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 18:15:00 +0000

"I am leaving."

"Why?"

"I am trying to get a project in Kerala"

"Then leave after you get it"

"No. I have made up my mind"

That was a short conversation between a guy and a girl i know. The guy was leaving the college (a college many dream to get in and still can't) because, apparently, he felt he will get better experience doing something more 'live' and 'actually hands on' like a live project. He still hadn't got the project.

"What a stupid decision", the girl said when she was out of his hearing-range.

Rationally thinking, she was right. Rationally is the way we are supposed to make our decisions, right? But what surprised me was not the fact that someone made this comment but the fact that that someone was from a design school. In a design school we are taught to look at things alternatively, to understand, if not agree on, difference in perceptions. Could it not be true that what was 'madness' to her, could be 'reason' to him? Can it not be that going out in the world and playing with the 'real clay' out there may have seemed to him more worthwhile than staying in the protective realms of the institute and playing with 'simulated clay'?? Or maybe he figured out what not to do (staying in the college) before he figured out what to do?? I do not know what his real reasons were. But what i do know is that as people who constantly talk about 'thinking out of the box' in front of an audience, it is time we thought out of the box when it comes to judging people, people who 'live out of the box'.

This incident made me ask myself a few questions. Like what is it that has changed in me in the deepest and most fundamental way in the last few years? And i realized that it was being less fearful of doing what i believed in. Less insecure about my future (at least inasfar as my career is concerned). What brought that about? Quitting my job. Quitting my "sacred, happy, comfortable, high-growth-potential, globe-trotting, justifying-my-technical-education, secure, high-marriage-market-value, nice-girl" job. Yes, it was easy for me because my parents did not kick me out of the house. But it was difficult because it meant disappointing them, so-called 'wasting' of my education for which i worked hard, opting out of the race that used to be at one point in time my raison d'atre, my highest ambition.

And i thank God and two of my friends who first came up with the idea of starting a business. The business did not work out and we all hit our lowest lows (not all the 3 idiots in the world end up with breakthrough patents and Kareena Kapurs :) ) but it made us more confident of our survival abilities. Even today, we are still unsettled in our lives, still clueless about where we will go. But that fundamental change has made us different people with reoriented priorities. It has taught us to look at the world inside-out (who you are --> what is your role in the world) rather than outside-in (what others think should be your role in the world--> defining who you are).

There is a lot i can share about this. And what i have said, in fact, does not say it in the best manner possible. After all, i still am in my random-half written-incoherent posts phase. Let me not have given you the impression that i am campaining for quitting jobs. That will make our economy chaotic! But let "quitting jobs" be understood as a metaphor for "doing what one believes in as a both thinking and thoughtful individual". And in that sense, "quitting your job" can be like "losing your virginity". Till as long as you don't do it, you are apprehensive about it. But once lost, you aren't afraid of it anymore and you realize how much of it is truth and how much myth.

Half written notes, cryptic poems,and unstructured posts

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 17:37:00 +0000

i wanted to write a post.

But then i couldn't, really.

It has been happening all too often.

Sometimes i forget what was it that i wanted to write about.

But most of the times i find writing about things that truly stir me- be they bad or good, overwhelming.

Writing is like catharsis to me. It's discomfitting while i go through it but gives me peace when i'm done with it.

Is that the problem? Have i realized that peace is not where revolutions happen? That maybe writing will take me away from doing? That writing will change an idea into beauty - something to be admired and that's it!

Half written notes, cryptic poems, impulsive, unstructured posts... they are my friends for now. Maybe because they understand my mind and don't let the secrets out...

Mellow D

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 08:26:00 +0000

The night before, i could not get any sleep. Not because i was perturbed. Just that there was a disquieting quiet in the campus. So i logged on to youtube and came across a melody that made me, for some reason, nostalgic. That's when i realized i had heard it before. It was one of the tunes in an obscure collection that a teacher (non-academic) had once given us to help us concentrate. I was 15 then and my mind was too full of 'activity' to find that 'concentration technique' very useful. But i remember it made me feel a certain way. A way very, very few music compositions make me feel.

The night before, too, i felt that certain way when i heard the piece.

I googled it and found out that it is the most famous piece of music called 'Canon in D' by German composer Johann Pachelbel. Call me illiterate, but i had never heard his name before. But this post is not a wiki post so i will not delve into the factual/ technical details of it. What amazed me was that of the thousands of music compositions that i have heard, very few have remained with me the way this one has, AND it turns of to be one of the not just most famous or acclaimed, but also most POPULAR (liked by normal people also and not just connoissiers) classical compositions. A composition played not only in concerts but also at weddings! So what was amazing about that? That there probably IS something fundamental about us as human beings,no matter which part of the world we are in, that makes us naturally like certain compositions. I probably knew this fact before, but saw it in action only the night before.

But before i make this a post about music, psychology and ethnicity, which will be like talking about how an alphonso tastes instead of tasting it, i will share some renditions of it with whoever's accidently found this post.

Sit back. Close your eyes. Dream.

Warning : Do not have alcohol in the vicinity. May make you tearful! (except link no. 5, which some may find kitschy)

1) From London Symphony Orchestra

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Af372EQLck&feature=related

2) A beautiful fingerstyle guitar interpretation

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pCiCsGVsrw&feature=channel

3) A piano version

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSEXefwPpJI&feature=PlayList&p=0D062602C4A5DB71&index=21

4) A celtic/ wedding version!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvtdqPKHk8c&feature=related

and also....

5) A Violation???

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWitXo2sgJ0

010110

noreply@blogger.com (the who) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 20:56:00 +0000

Dear 2010,

Your predecessor was kind to me so you too had better be. I know I have big expectations from you, but they aren't very unreasonable. I asked 2009 for some direction in life, and direction it did give me. But it was a little like asking for directions to Haridwar and being handed out a map in Parsi. I thank it for the map. But i dont really understand Parsi. Although it does give me some idea of where I am located, but then to figure out the way forward, i need to know which side is upside down.

So, first, i need a map in Hindi/English. Or, you can teach me Parsi too. Something tells me you will have me take the second road because it is longer and rougher and that's just to your taste! But then, sarcasm apart, i know you do it so i can learn a new language altogether. (Btw, have you heard of GPS??)

Second, If you think Haridwar is a bad idea, you might also want to point out to me Hong-Kong. But, please, unlike some of your fore-fathers, let the pointing out be loud and clear. Like maybe a big red blinking light with atleast 5 redundant feedbacks (audio/visual/olfactory/tactile/taste) for minimizing errors.

In case you are too drunk or too jubilant to comprehend such boring metaphors, i will state it in simpler terms.

DO NOT SCREW THIS ONE UP!

You may now party.

Happy Birthday!

Love,

Santa Claus + 1