tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41927312057306994052024-02-19T23:33:16.349-08:00deep deep slumberPPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-86832993792801299172015-05-05T06:29:00.002-07:002015-05-05T10:11:05.874-07:00Laws against Marital Rape in India: A question of cultural relevance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently, the Union Minister of State for Home Affairs Haribhai Parathibhai Chaudhary claimed in the Rajya Sabha that marital rape cannot be criminalised in India as marriages are sacred in the country. Thus making laws against marital rape in India a culturally irrelevant concept. Of course, several jurists, activists and feminists were angered; not just by the statement but also by the fact that it would mean regression as far as the passing of laws is concerned. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The Justice Varma Committee, which was set up after the Nirbhaya case, had clearly suggested that marital rape be recognised as a malaise facing Indian society and relevant laws be made to make the act punishable. Then, what makes the honourable minister claim that ours is an exceptional society and laws regarding marital rape are not culturally relevant?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Firstly, a lot of violence against women in India continues because it is written off as being one of the private domain. You may go to the police to register an FIR and you will be told, "yeh ghar ka maamla hai" thus making it "okay" for them not to register the FIR. If one is not aware of her rights, one is most likely to return disappointed assuming that in fact the law does not cover matters related to our personal lives. A fallacious assumption. In any case, there are laws that govern marriage, property, inheritance, child adoption, dowry and violence and several such "personal" matters, then what makes marital rape an exception? It is good to remind ourselves in such situations that the personal is indeed, political. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Personally, I'm not sure why cultural relevance was a question at all. India is one of the most patriarchal countries there can be and I say this from personal experience. I understand my views may be biased in this respect, but again, I do have enough facts behind me to support my claim. There is no woman who can claim that she has not faced any form of sexual harassment in her life. Not even a young child of 2 years of age, who barely understands what it is to be human is safe. Nor is a 70 year old woman who is way past her prime years. What makes marital rape culturally relevant is precisely this fact that women in India, even today are forced into marriages and often to men who they do not wish to marry. The scope to negotiate the terms of marriage are limited, vis a vis her own family as well as the groom's family. If her consent for the marriage itself is not of much significance, then why do we assume that her consent would be considered important in matters of sexual relations? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Marriage in India is considered to be the legitimate access to having sex. It's easiest to check into a hotel if you can say and "look" married. Ask a non wedded couple their experience while getting a room even on a vacation, and you will know that I mean. With a cultural assumption that marriage is a free pass to having sex, marital rape only seems like a possible consequence of such an assumption. When consent to marriage is a consent to all that comes with it, especially sex, it seems only fair that such statements are made which reek of the same patriarchal assumption; that marital rape is a misnomer, something odd that doesn't fit with Indian society and it's concept of marriage because you consented when you signed up for the marriage in the first place. The concept of consent for sex isn't relevant in our deeply patriarchal, cultural imagination. But the laws against marital rape then, certainly are. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-84244114772236463252013-12-20T11:22:00.002-08:002013-12-22T12:26:21.087-08:00It's just an exam...Is it now?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s just an
exam. I’ve been told that before by very many well –wishers, friends, family
and the rest. And I want to believe them; I do, for my own good. <i>It’s just an exam, and I handle those well</i>.
But just when I want to believe myself, my brains sends off a contradictory message
to my body and I shiver. My pulse racing and my heart beats like it
were playing on a radio by my side. I break into a sweat. Of course, if am not
anxious about the exam, then I am anxious that I may be anxious and what am I going
to do then? How am I going to perform? How am I going to unlock the key to my
happiness that lies in <i>this very exam</i>?
It’s a vicious cycle and it can eat you up. And not just gobble you up in a
jiffy, it tears you apart, bit by bit. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After a year or
more of having been through this cycle, I have learnt to gauge it. I can dodge
it and protect myself at least. I will not let my fear consume me. This in
itself has been a great achievement. Of learning who I am; knowing that there
are things I am good at and there are things that scare me. Knowing, that we
are still as prone to fear as we were perhaps as children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why I initially sat
down to write this post however was to share an experience. I am unwell and I actually
managed to take the day off. Yes, so? What’s the catch here? Precisely what I
thought at the end of the day. Why does this surprise me? It’s because this
exam has taught me how to run and frankly, I have forgotten how to stop
running. Not to suggest that I am constantly working. No. but I am constantly
preoccupied with work, so much so that I can’t stop from myself from either
doing it or thinking about it or just worrying about it. I woke up and decided that I was ill and I would allow
myself the rest. No books for the day. But what do I do with myself? Watch a
movie? Read a novel? Sleep? What would you like to do, I asked myself. And nothing
came to mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I aimlessly spent hours on facebook, obsessively played a game
on my phone and then just read a little from a book I am reading for the exam,
academic book but not a text book. What has the exam done to me? It has erased
me off me. When I was in school and I had to study for the exams, there were a
whole list of things that would come to my mind just when the exams were around
the corner. And I would think, If only! In fact, I would make a list of things I
want to do just after the exams end. I no longer have any lists to make. I just
want the exam to happen, and I just want them to end. And perhaps then, life
can begin. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But life isn't on a standstill. That's my perception. There will be a time when I shall look back at these times and will most probably renew my perception. And given my track record, I'm mostly likely to look back fondly. Nostalgia as we say, or just time, changes the way we look at things. Mostly because the emotional upheavels subside, or are replaced with more pressing issues. The people, events, situations are all different and we can see things more clearly, minus the shading of events by our emotions. The problem that remains with such an approach is that in the present, I don't exist in a happy state. Surely, there are happy moments, hours, days, but on the whole, life feels blase, routine and almost monotonous. But I survive, because there is the promise of "life" that is yet to come. The life when I will have the perfect hair, the perfect body, the perfect spouse, the perfect children, the perfect home and the perfect life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Is the only thing flawed here is my perception? Or is this perhaps the only way to live? A little </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">reminiscing of the past, a little fantasy of the future and an occasional guest appearance in the present? </span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> I don't know, I can only think about it after my exam.</span></span></div>
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PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-5830178990400934382013-09-07T20:44:00.002-07:002013-09-07T20:44:58.416-07:00Open Your Eyes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have spent over an hour thinking about what’s
lost. And of course, this is not the only hour I have doing that. It’s not even
the first hour of me having done that. I have done this far too often. I don’t
beat myself up about it because I understand people feel regret. And I let
myself feel it too. Is there an upper limit as to “how much” or for how long
you are allowed to mope over the past? I guess not. You may go on for as long
as you like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only unfortunate part about going on is that
when you choose to regret about the past, you are actually choosing to not move
on. In the split second when you choose to wallow is self-pity, in that very
same moment you have chosen to overlook everything else that is actually “okay”
in your life and focus all your energies on the past, which mind you, you
cannot change. The other aspect being that it is an entirely unproductive
exercise. But still we indulge. I guess it’s time to toughen up and learn to
take life’s experiences in your stride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-69415047117127158832013-08-06T00:01:00.002-07:002013-08-06T00:01:21.481-07:00Being Rational: REBT Workshop Session 1-2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A
shrink asked me to sign up for a workshop in REBT, that is, Rational Emotive
Behavior Therapy, a therapy proposed by Dr. Albert Ellis. I’ve heard a lot
about the guy from a counsellor friend who practiced it on his clients as well
as me. Over time, I’ve learnt a lot about what it entails to just be rational
as well as get someone else, that is, a client to be rational. The theory is
actually pretty simple, but as time goes by, I realise, it’s much harder to
practice and apply in daily life. Nevertheless, I try. I’m putting a bit down
about the workshop for people to learn about the theory, the workshop and my
experience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First
a little bit about, <i>the </i>Dr. Albert
Ellis! Apparently a great personality with a not so great personality, ironic?
At 21, he had never managed to get a date with a girl so he decided he would
spend a day in the park and ask out every girl he met. By the evening, he asked
100 girls to go on a date and nobody said yes. Sigh. If you were in the same
situation, what would you feel? I’d say, most of us are likely to think <i>“Man, 100 girls say no? Am I really that
pathetic? What is it that they don’t like about me? Is it my hair? Or am I too
fat? Too short? Do I have bad features? It must be the way I speak…I don’t
think I make good first impressions”</i> The negative self-talk just goes on.
The minute we experience ridicule, we forget what’s actually good about us and
question everything about ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This
is precisely the kind of thought process the theory seeks to check. In this
situation, what did Dr. Ellis do? Nothing much…He just went back and didn’t
read into the situation at all, at least negatively. He thought, “If 100 girls
said no today, is it that no girl will ever want to date me? Probably not”
(Statistically, it seems unlikely. 100 is not such a large number after all)
“Does it mean that if no one wants to date me, I’m not worthy of dating? No,
that’s not possible” (If you start to break down the thought processes we have,
we realise that we seek to achieve an ideal that probably doesn’t exist. It’s
more often than not a fictitious construct, only in the mind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What
this means is that in an event, you judge not the person, but the performance. Most
importantly, in your own case- judge your performance, and not yourself. When practiced,
you will see how the former can lead you to more rational, practical solutions
to the situation. It’s nice to wallow in self-pity and be angry at the world
and everything else around you, but what good is that? Life doesn’t change for
your emotions and the sooner we learn this, the better it shall be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Written at: Mahathma Nature Cure Centre, Kannur, Kerala<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-70382230994375654162013-07-13T08:30:00.000-07:002013-07-13T08:36:01.087-07:00Price Tags<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Written at: Mahathma Nature Cure Centre, Kannur, Kerala<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I only just realised how warped the concept of self-worth
has been for most of us. We’re constantly under the influence of the media,
social and cultural pressures, striving to attain an ideal we are rarely able
to achieve. Surely, some of us do. But I’m talking about those of us who
constantly feel a sense of lacuna, in spite and despite of having done
everything in our reach. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I realize we attach way too much importance to worldly
achievements: it matters what school you went to, what grades you managed, how
many extra-curriculars you participated in, career choices you made, how
“successful” you have been in getting to the top, how accepted you are in the
social circles and how many people you call “friends”. Of course, the list goes
on. I have been as much victim to this sort of thinking and I’m sure I continue
to be even as I write this, but the realization that I’m more than just these
is reassuring. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Having grown up in a city like Bombay, I have always been
too busy running after dreams that are far too ambitious. I may achieve what I
want some day, or maybe I shall not. But the problem isn’t in being ambitious,
or wanting to pursue worldly riches. The problem arises when these achievements
become conditions to evaluate the self. Am I worthy of <i>anything </i>if I’m not XYZ? I’m good at ABC but I’m not <i>that </i>(whatever that achievement might be
in our head) so maybe I’m not <i>that </i>good.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One always works with the assumption that once you have
XYZ, you will feel worthy, you will feel happy. But do we really ever get <i>there</i>? Perhaps not, I’m pretty sure if
we covered everything from A to Z in terms of achievements, there would still
be something, something we don’t quite have. Clearly, the problem is not one of
achievements, but one of perception. A perception of the self that is far too
conditional, one that undermines that everything that has been achieved or
learnt as being just another achievement and not <i>really</i> significant. Not quite <i>enough</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, it’s for the first time I realize that I’m more
than my achievements. It’s for the first time I find significance in doing
things I always thought as being far too trivial and “unproductive” (A
capitalist trap, perhaps?). At this point of time, I don’t have a job, I don’t
have a bank balance to see me through unemployment, I’m not in the best of
health and I have pretty much nothing a “modern”, urban-bred 27-year old educated
woman should have. I will not deny this fact haunts me often, but I’m not going
to let such ideas take me down. Our perceptions of self are far too conditional
and it’s time we decided the amount of value we place on our “self” ourselves.
I’m glad I finally experienced a sense of self-worth which is beyond worldly
achievements. In spite of what I have or don’t have, I feel worthy of life!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">PS: The monsoons and the green hills work wonders for my
creative juices</span><span style="line-height: 150%;">J</span></span><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> thank you Mother Nature! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-60587457952472068402013-07-01T00:23:00.003-07:002013-07-01T00:23:39.424-07:00iTeach<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As
a student in school as well as in college, I took pride in being the in-house
teacher for my class mates. Several children experience difficulty in asking
questions in class for they are worried their questions are silly and people
may think they’re dumb. But with me, they were happy to ask whatever they
wanted and I was happy to help. It’s not just my messiah complex, but I
genuinely enjoy teaching. In fact, the prospect of teaching somebody else makes
me push myself. I question my intellect “Do I <b>really </b>know this?” and work extra hard to obtain absolute clarity.
It’s pleasurable. Too bad I didn’t want to become a teacher by profession. I
guess I felt it came to me so naturally that there would be no real challenge
in doing something you are already good at? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In
any case, I’m terrified of public speaking. I even repress memories of the few
times I’ve actually had to address an audience, be it a classroom or just
office colleagues. It only involved me being unable to prepare for I’m too
inconfident about everything I plan to say. <i>“Is
this what I really want to say? Does this really mean this? Am I too fast? Is
this unclear? Is this unstructured?” </i>Classic case of performance anxiety. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It
is only recently that I decided that it was time I stopped being so scared. May
be I do have something to offer to a student. I believed my gut and applied to
a coaching institute offering to teach sociology to their students. They
readily agreed. In fact, they want me to teach some other general stuff as
well. Woohoo! I went home happy. In any case, this is to start only a month
later, thus leaving me with enough time to prepare myself for the exercise. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
next day, the lady from the institute calls and says, “Hey are you free to take
a class tomorrow?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me
on the other side of the phone “Umm tomorrow? (Always pays to sound like an
eager beaver when it concerns a prospective job…dam) Yeah, sure!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lady:
“Okay see you at 7:30 AM tomorrow”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In
such a situation, what should someone be doing? Start preparing immediately,
perhaps! But what do I do? Just prance around the house restlessly, tire myself
out and sleep off. I’m so hyper that I’m dysfunctional to even prepare for
class. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It
is only by 11 PM that I decide that it’s high time I get my act together. Somehow,
in an hour’s time I conclude that I know everything I need to know and all I
need is a sheet of paper with pointers about what I’d like to say. I thought,
if I don’t know what the students don’t know, how can I even prepare?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I
reach class to see my “students” who are only a year or two younger than me. Gulp!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
class began; at first I was a little confused. I had to stop a couple of times
to ask if they were on the same page as me. Luckily, the class was interactive
and had more <i>gyaan</i> to offer than I
did. Fortunately, none of it was refined enough. Once I figured what it is I
knew more than them, it was easier to proceed. No one beats me at political
correctness and that’s all I had to teach them. They’re going to need it to
take the exam anyway. Soon, I got a grip and next thing I notice is that people
are taking notes in my class! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When
the class was over, I was elated. I was the same person who always feared
making presentations in class, struggled to articulate what I wanted to say and
was usually the student no teacher ever noticed, only because I made myself
invisible even as I sat on the first bench, always. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And
here I was, taking a class on Indian Society. A remarkable leap I say, iFear to
iCan!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-42324978000044297892013-01-15T12:20:00.000-08:002013-01-15T12:20:00.215-08:00Hide and Seek<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our mind is a funny thing, an entire universe resides in that little space. I find it fascinating, that so much goes on in there. Depending on our circumstances, events take priority. When you are hungry, you can think of nothing but food. But if you are loaded with work, you might even be able to forget that you are starved. It is only when you get time off and bite into a sandwich do you realize how hungry you have actually been. Almost like you can hide, even from yourself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am told my biggest fear in the world is to be lonely. Once this "fact" was known to me, all I have done is to work around it; worked towards telling myself that irrespective of "life", I will be "OK". At most times, I convince myself alright. Time and again, I have proven to myself my own capabilities that I may have underestimated or of which I have been mostly unaware. At other times in the day, there is no time to think except during the commute to work. The minute I step into office, work, like a whirlpool, takes over and makes me switch off, from "me" the personal to me, the "professional".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet, when the door at work shuts close, the mind opens up to itself the concerns that it managed to suppress through the day. But, there is the option to succumb to fatigue and just sleep. Let the symbolic world scare you with gory images; you can always wake up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is only times like these, when my artificial busy world crumbles down, when sleep evades you and your emotions loom large. It is only at times like these that I realise how much I hate to be lonely...how much I detest to "feel" lonely. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I guess it's good to know that irrespective, we all survive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br /></div>
PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-47146144763304243662012-09-10T13:51:00.004-07:002012-09-26T11:38:44.964-07:00Happy Realisation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In retrospect, I have to admit that the year 2012 has been relatively hard on me. But along with that, some wonderful things have happened to me as well. I went for Vipassana; had the opportunity to stay in silence for 10 whole days and get exposed to the Buddhist technique of meditation. And along with it, a philosophy, a worldview. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We learnt it on Day 4 after much anticipation for 3 days. The first few days you're just wondering what exactly you're doing "watching" your breath and how exactly this observation of inhalation and exhalation is actually going to change your life. In any case, before we began, we were asked to stay still throughout the 2 hours of the process where the technique was being taught and to keep our eyes shut. Turns out, it isn't as easy as you might imagine to stay still for 2 hours. What's worse, the more closely you watch yourself, the more aware you are of every itch, every tiny tickle, every stretch, every ache, every pain. It's hard. But I remember that day vividly. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The 2 hours ended, and when I opened my eyes, I felt like something had changed in me. I was never going to be the same again. And that realisation has stayed with me. And the realisation has become deeper, by the fact that I realise that with every changing moment, we change as people. Often, we find ourselves repeating our actions, words, behaviours. We can't stop procrastinating, we can't stop ourselves from feeling bad about ancient break-ups, we can't stop aching for the friends we lost, the opportunities we missed, we're unable to change habits in ourselves that we so detest. We feel like we're doing the same thing and even that cycle of repetition is irritating. But perhaps, with every passing moment, we're that many moments away from that event, that habit, that loss, that pain. That moment has passed and so shall this one. It seems like it's the same, but may be it's not. It's only a matter of being aware and knowing, that this too shall pass. Someday you will not ache so deeply and some day we will learn to embrace life in its entirety. </span></div>
</div>
PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-48238979445647889742012-04-18T11:09:00.003-07:002012-04-18T11:15:10.074-07:00Paranoid Android II<p align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0cm; "><span style="text-align: left; "><span>I suppose the last time I wrote about my paranoid myself, I thought it was just a tiny part of me that was activated in certain situations. That it was really the situation, you know.</span></span></p> <p align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; "><span>And it's only recently that I realize, it's not a part of me, paranoia is me. And no, I don't intend this as a joke. Humour isn't really what's on my mind nowadays. Though I sincerely hope, that someday, I can look back at these troubled times and laugh out loud at myself and my fears, which will be amusing then. A little like how the day your best friend said she didn't want to be friends with you anymore in class IV and it seemed like life was the worst thing that happened to you. </span></p> <p align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; "><span style="font-size: 100%; text-align: left; ">The first time a friend of mine said to me, “Perhaps you are a little too anxious. May be you should get help”. I laughed. I thought it was just him and his "counsellor self" that was getting a little too creative. And I don't know what came first, me feeling anxious or the label of being anxious. Did him mentioning it actually lead to the realization or it's creation? But all throughout, it has been funny. My first visit to a psychotherapist had a part of me telling myself, “Haha, you don't really need this. But you may be better off if you got help. You're okay without”</span></p> <p align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; "><span style="font-size: 100%; text-align: left; ">At first, there was a feeling of anxiety and I always managed to put a face on to my feeling. I had a good reason to be anxious, or worried or just sad. But it was usually phases. And the problem was never me. It was always <i>other</i> people. Or so I thought. It's only now that I realize that there is perhaps, a problem. I still wonder, was it the label that brought this upon myself? Or did it actually give me an opportunity to sit back and be honest with myself? May be this will be a chance to confront my deepest fears? Ideally, a psychiatrist can help. But I'm thinking, if I can can get through this by myself, then may be I won't dread living so much. Life won't arouse so many fears, so many worries. For there is nothing more serious, nothing more scary in the world, than losing your mind.</span></p> <p align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; "><br /></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-22516443791551747242012-03-24T09:55:00.002-07:002012-03-24T10:00:00.065-07:00The Knot<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; "><span >“So when are you tying the knot?”</span></div><span ><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; ">For most women beyond the age of 25, the question is not very uncommon to hear. The chachis, the mamis and the buas do start to get a little concerned about the spinster lot in their extended family. Surprisingly, I haven’t been asked that question too often, mostly because of the fact that I went to Xaviers’ college and pursued higher education in Delhi. The former already qualified me as being ‘different’ since the college carries a reputation of admitting all the hippies in town. The latter of course, is explained by the former explanation, ‘She’s different’…(And different, in a not-so-good way). Almost like for a girl to want to be well-educated disqualifies her from normalcy. Anyhow. </div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify; ">But the more important point that I have been preoccupied with is the one about tying the knot. When friends ask me that question, I’m wondering...Where is the suitable boy? Cliché as it sounds, I’m beginning to wonder if I have ever met a man who doesn’t in a tiny part of his brain actually believe that he is entitled to do whatever shit he likes, cuz well, he was born a ‘man’, the privileged birth amongst the two genders! Oh, the lucky bastard! He has a penis! His job is done and he needn't work any harder to achieve anything more in life. The rest of his life shall be a pursuit of activities that only go to reassure him of his masculinity. Of course, most men would deny this allegation when questioned about it. It’s not in any part of their ‘conscious’ being that they have managed to acknowledge even to themselves that this belief underlies all their behaviour. But their behaviour is the key to most actions. Ever tried asking a man to change, or to be different, or to be more sensitive, understanding or caring? The response is universal. They all either think that they ALREADY ARE all of those things and more…and that you expect way too much out of them. OR that they shall change in the future. But did he really change? Find me a man who ACTUALLY once sat down to question himself or his beliefs or understand the sentiments of other people? Why should he? He’s a man! Take it or Leave it. </div><div style="text-align: justify; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify; ">So what are your options? Either you tie the knot with the hope that they will actually change or if you care even a little bit about your well-being, steer clear from the ‘knot’ lest you’d like to sign up for life full of knotty situations! </div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-31357155795407222982011-05-17T12:09:00.000-07:002011-05-17T12:10:50.971-07:00Of Time and its Toll<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Chronologically, I’m not that old. Perhaps this is the prime of my youth. I should embrace life with open arms, take risks like I never did before, weekends should strictly be spent being intoxicated, relationships should be stuff I indulged in only as a teenager and ‘action’ (pun unintended) should be the only aspiration. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But strangely, none of the above things seem particularly exciting. Neither incessant states of inebriation nor the idea of being wooed by a host of men…cheap thrills seem to be rushes I grew out of even before I began to entirely appreciate them. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Perhaps the one activity that always put me in touch with my youth was driving. The car was not the vehicle to drive me to the destination, it was as though the mere technical skill of shifting gears and pumping up the speedometer drove me to the moon. And it was an overwhelming feeling; it was the feeling of being capable, of being independent, confident and powerful… the feeling of sheer possibility, of hope! But after yesterday, not even that remains. The car is a car, a mode of transport I’m licensed to move around and it brings me home. Somehow, I’m led to believe that old age is making its presence felt in my life in more ways than one, it’s not just the premature graying of hair; it’s the state of my soul. </span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-40539912545934556282011-05-15T11:52:00.000-07:002011-05-15T12:31:56.380-07:00Paranoid Android<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;line-height: 150%; "><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">Last week a friend told me I perhaps suffer from an anxiety disorder. Promptly I googled the symptoms and I seem to ‘suffer’ from most of them, and not just once in a while, pretty often, enough to perhaps call it a ‘disorder’. It’s not that I ever doubted myself to be perfectly ‘normal’ but then again I thought, why? What am I so goddamn anxious about? The past that seems so inexplicable or the future that I can’t predict? May be both and neither, only to be coupled with an absolute inability to live in the present. The sheer inability to focus on the present which wouldn’t seem so troublesome if I were to evaluate it for what it’s worth rather than anticipate the dooms that my myopic vision is unequipped to grasp completely. While history repeats itself to the extent that we often make mistakes that we’ve made before, can I jeopardize every relationship or every venture with the baggage of my past? </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span>As it turns out, as I let life take its own course, life seems to be filled with surprises. And if you were to really be fair in your evaluation of life, I think good and evil always break even, irrespective of your mood or your existential crisis. And most importantly, the things that actually screw you over are only ones that were incapable of being conceived by your worried mind. So much for the anxiety attacks! </span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-41848836567165343312011-02-16T10:15:00.000-08:002011-02-16T10:19:06.083-08:00A Fresh Start<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">As a child, I had a room which I shared with my sister. I’m not sure if it was her idea or mine, but very often we would rearrange the furniture to make the room look different. When the pushing, adjusting, cleaning, wiping and aligning was all done, we would breathe a sigh of accomplishment and part ourselves on the back. This strange desire has remained with me, until now, one of those quirks I haven’t grown out of. Every time life feels monotonous or too routinized or stagnating, I rearrange the furniture, spread new sheets on the bed, pile up some new books and knick knacks on the side table by the bed and voila, a rejuvenated soul and a clean slate to begin life.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">For a week I have been overcome by this very urge, only exacerbated by the dysfunctional tube light above the bed. Of course lethargy got the better of me, but then again, I thought to myself: would a neatly ordered bedroom placate the disorder I feel inside? I guess not. So this time, I leave the piles of newspaper just where they have been for the last one month. I don’t bother folding the clothes and shoving them in the cupboard either. I think the dust settled comfortably on the photocopies would be terribly troubled if it was required to move some place else.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">At some point in life you realize that it’s time you stopped deceiving yourself. No amount of people in life can compensate for the inadequacy you feel inside. And even if they do help you constitute your sense of self today, there is no certainty that tomorrow they will be there holding you or your self together. In which case, it’s time you looked in the mirror, see that what you rather not see and confront that which you hide behind sparkling eyes and infinite smiles. Sooner or later, you’re bound to make progress. I'll start by purchasing a new tube light. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-65519935906726444702011-01-24T06:09:00.000-08:002011-02-21T23:47:49.354-08:00Significantly Insignificant<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Of Speeding cars,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And Flashing lights,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Of Nights of passion, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And abundant desire, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Of States of inebriation, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And Fluid emotions, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Sailing through life, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Rising as we fall, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Comfortably unaware, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Blindly we crawl, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And when nothing truly remains, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The realization befalls, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Of that that was found and lost, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Tears that melted away like frost, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Too late to perhaps redeem, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Lament over mistakes that went unseen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-19520236779263257062011-01-13T03:56:00.001-08:002011-01-13T03:58:02.646-08:00Jinxed<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >It all began on new years’ eve,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Our home we decided not to leave,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Followed by a tedious term paper deadline,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Our body clocks we were forced to realign,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Disillusioned by results, marks we had not received,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Secluded in our apartment we lay, heart broken and slightly peeved,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Followed by desperate attempts to produce a better dissertation, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Times of confusion and endless bouts of procrastination,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Unable to focus on neither work nor play, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >About this messy phase, I’d rather not say,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >On the whole, the year was a total mess, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Memories that do nothing but depress,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >More importantly, friends and foes were lost and found, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >My world seems to have completely turned around,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yet it seems life miraculously fell into place, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’m forced to wonder, was it God’s grace?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >The year is nearing towards an end, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Good wishes I hope the Lord will send,</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >In search of meaning and a goal,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >On the journey called life, I continue to stroll…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-80042797454964793302011-01-12T01:59:00.000-08:002011-01-12T02:01:31.373-08:00Youth<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Before I actually begin to write this, I must put out a disclaimer. That even though I recently turned 25 and the (premature) gray hair on my head suggest otherwise, I am a staunch believer of the phrase ’18 till I die’. In fact, every birthday I do a little jig and sing it aloud in the shower. Fine, I’m exaggerating; in fact I’m lying only to prove to you that I am not <i>that</i> old. In fact, I’m a kid at heart. I kid you not. But then again, who isn’t? My parents are in their 60s but sometimes I find them more childish than almost every kid I went to school with. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >But the point is that there is <i>something</i> to being youthful, something that has little to do with how young you feel inside or how old you actually are but just with being inexperienced. Often, that has a lot to do with how old you actually are too, but then again it depends on what kind of experiences life threw at you. But just the mere idea of not knowing; not even knowing that you don’t <i>really</i> know…You are young and every time you hit a mile stone which seems like you are now a grown up, you raise your collar and walk all proud as though you’ve figured it all out and know everything that there is to know. For instance, the move from junior to senior school or may be when you get into college after school. You think of yourself as one of the smartest beings there ever was. You think your parents ‘know shit’ about the world today because they are from the times back then. You strut around the streets thinking nobody really knows what they’re doing but you <i>actually </i>do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" > <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >But as you grow older, you gradually lose all the pride and the smugness only to realize that you don’t really know much. Perhaps worse, you realize that not only do you not know but that you’ll never really know enough. Worst case scenario is the realization that you might know all you want; but none of it will actually protect you from the impending challenge called life. You’re forced to accept that the world is not as pleasant as you thought and perhaps never will be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >But truly speaking, unpleasant experiences aren’t all that bad if you think about what you learn, not just about life but about yourself. You may find inside you immense strength to battle everything and everyone around you, may be even yourself. The only thing worth reminiscing about is the loss of innocence. The innocence that lets you have faith in yourself and the world, the trust and affection with which you open heartedly embrace people around you without a thought, the pretty picture where except a few minor bumps, the world is rainbow colored and in every living being around you, you see a sprightly soul! Of all the things I lost on my way here, unfortunately <i>that</i> probably qualifies as an irredeemable loss. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-24848751513839829852010-12-13T20:09:00.000-08:002010-12-13T20:11:44.079-08:00At this Silly Moment...<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The sickeningly-sweet fragrance of incense sticks,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">To the mugs of coffee I constantly replenish,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">At this silly moment, I truly, truly cherish. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The blandest, boring meals that I regularly pick, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Suddenly seem to be the most desired dish, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">At this silly moment, to be restored to my apartment I truly wish. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">This feeling of deracination is rather sick, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And particularly inexplicable; for this place is much better furnished, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">At this silly moment, my thoughts are nothing but boorish! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Perhaps the chaos is nowhere else, but within, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">But to disentangle myself from the world, where must I begin? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I always seem to find someone to blame, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh Lord, how may I stop playing this game? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Tired of being severely misunderstood, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Act differently? Perhaps I could!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">But then again, I wonder if I really should,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Pretend as though there exists a sisterhood?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">At this silly moment, this is my lament,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">That however hard I seem to try,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The tears never completely dry, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">On this self piteous note, I relent. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-39111238563340265492010-12-11T21:56:00.000-08:002010-12-14T02:45:16.998-08:00Familiarity<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><i><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Dedicated to BB, a flat mate, a friend, a support system, a buddy all rolled into one mass, err…mess. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">There is something nice about everything that is familiar. Not because you’re acquainted or that you have experienced it before, but merely because there is exists a connection between you and the object/subject which comes alive every time you interact; a connection that becomes real only when it is absent or when that which is familiar makes an appearance. What is seemingly profound occurred to me only when I happen to visit SA’s place, the house which was a shelter to me when I first moved to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Delhi</st1:place></st1:city> for M.Phil. A junior turned friend, SA, kindly offered to make room in her flat. Of course I lived there only 1 week but everything about the house is so familiar. Starting from the main door that doesn’t shut, to the tap in the kitchen which is always temperamental and the flush that doesn’t work…A similar story is with my flat mate. It’s funny how you can get so used to some one that even their presence just blends in with everything that there is around. They just exist around you, much like the heap of clothes, the piles of books collecting dust and the scattered shoes in ways that you hardly ever notice them. But mostly I realized her presence only in her absence, when she was lasted stranded at home due to jaundice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And it’s all so familiar. The much too many yellow lamps, the green bean bag (the one which has been used to sit not more 6 times in the last 16 months) turned into a dumping ground, the ashes of the incense sticks on the floor, bundles of jewellery callously strewn all over the wooden stand, the wrought iron mirror that serves more of an aesthetic purpose than a functional one, the fancy (over flowing) jute dust bin, the earthen ash tray, the bright pink mat…things which seem so familiar because whatever happens, they’re always there serving as little signifiers of the inhabitant of the room, the markers of her identity. Her love for green, her ability to horde things, or perhaps her inability to discard the sentiments attached to each one of those things, her belief in aesthetics over mere utilitarianism and her disbelief in neat structures, order…the anarchy not just in the room, but her thoughts. Her <i>everyday</i>-struggle for permanence, establishing an order of her own based on renewed ideas of what is right and wrong, ones which are more meaningful to her than what the majority preserves through mindless morals and regulations too restrictive for her spirit so wild. In the cupboard that over flows with clothes, I see the heart and mind of a woman, forever overflowing with ideas and love, thoughts that she rather mull over while the world passes her by, and love that she willing to offer anyone who may be running a deficit in their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">In a room where things are falling apart each day lives a lady who is a pillar of strength, to her family back home and to the girl next door. Over cups of aromatic tea and frothy, bitter-sweet coffee and the occasional smokes, they philosophize traversing several fields…emotional and intellectual; sometimes frivolous and sometimes serious! Passionate discourses on regrets of the past, betrayed relationships, lost loves, impending futures marred with uncertainty as much as hope and dreams. Brought together in a little apartment by the need to share expenses of a household, when they are not philosophizing, they share the insignificant details of their mundane lives; the woes of not having change when you need it most<i> </i>to the stalkers in the streets of Delhi, the inane gossip of D-school to emotional <i>atyachaars</i> inflicted by friends and foes. Together they prod along the path to a brighter tomorrow, stumbling and falling, assured of a hand to hold on to every time they might fall. May be familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt; sometimes it’s the most comfortable place to be in simply because it’s all so familiar, almost familial. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-44794965083280016062010-11-26T05:10:00.000-08:002010-11-26T05:12:35.372-08:00Vague<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I wrote this long ago, and it made some sense at the time, but now it’s just a vague piece about I don’t quite understand myself either. If it makes sense to you, good for you.</span></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Everyone is scared of the dark. But darkness comes to mean different things to different people. Sometimes darkness takes different forms in the life of the same individual. Be it the fear induced by the absence of light, or the black cat that stares at you while you’re trying to sleep, or the failure that defeats you, perhaps mere experiences that are timed wrongly. Or that the timing was right but you were unaware. Retrospectively, some experiences seem to be blurry images buried in our psyche, perceived and experienced long before they are ready to be understood, rendering a dark shade to them, by the mere fact of them being incomprehensible. Sometimes you are to dig them out from the depths of your memory that you once tried to hard to hide or just lost them all along the way, only to realize that you are now left with interpretations that reek of uncertainty. What happened then seems to be more valuable than it’s worth, perhaps only because you didn’t know what it meant. And when you begin to become aware of its absence, you find a space left unoccupied by a more suitable replacement. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And when you stumble upon a replacement, you expect yourself to take off from where you left off. Unfortunately, the passage of time took along with it memories that seemed so insignificant, perhaps even wrong or meaningless. It is unfortunate because memories made sense in a nonsensical way, thereby fitting perfectly well in the moulds of my innocence. Today I look back and the canvas that once seemed so colourful seems to be painted over by splashes of darkness. As I write this, I begin to uncover the life I once deeply desired before I changed my paths. What I am not sure is whether I am actually on a road less traveled or merely lost my way...</span></span></span></span></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-81192087677958957052010-11-01T08:44:00.000-07:002010-12-20T02:10:57.251-08:00To All the Cynics of the World<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;line-height: 150%; "><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This post is dedicated to all the cynics of the world, who I’m increasingly realizing are a pretty lame lot. Excuse the judgemental nature of my thought post but I just had some realizations and I’d like to voice them. It seems to me that cynicism is just a way of being lazy. You keep telling yourself that nothing good comes of anything anyway so put in all that effort? You tell yourself that all things (good and bad) come to an end just so don’t allow yourself to feel too much so when it actually ends, you are not surprised at all. It was expected, so duh? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;line-height: 150%; "><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But what seems to pass in the name of a ‘realistic’ approach to life seems to be just a way of being comfortable in your lethargic skin. That, or perhaps the complete inability to give life the opportunity to let you believe otherwise. If you’re comfortable in believing that life has little to offer in way of happiness, why live at all? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;line-height: 150%; "><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Strangely, I see a lot of old people who look really happy. I suppose they’ve been through the worst and they know it can’t get more fucked up than it already has. And if it does, they have the strength to deal with it. They are not anxious anymore. A good instance perhaps is my father. Even though I shall hold him forever responsible for handing down to me his paranoia gene, he seems to me like a happy man. At an early age he had to take on the responsibility of the household, marry off his younger sister and start a family of his own, a story common for people of his generation. Life doesn’t seem all that stable from his point of view because he often lost jobs, lost children leaving him with little stability and no real reason to be happy. But every time I speak to him about how I’m unhappy, his only advice is, ‘don’t take so much tension, we take too life seriously but life is really to have a good time’. I cannot help but wonder, where does he find the optimism, the courage to let himself be happy when life never offered any evidence to believe otherwise? It seems like as life gets more comfortable, people cease to explore their own limits, the limits of their hearts and minds. You’re so comfortable in your zone that you are too scared to even try, to reach beyond your self and see what life has to offer by means of experiences. To give yourself completely to something is take a risk, a risk that no one is willing to take nowadays. What a bunch of wimps! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-58954367424005228402010-10-23T07:01:00.001-07:002010-10-23T07:01:59.514-07:00Being Liberal<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It seems like being liberal is the hardest thing to do. After being a humanities student for almost 6.5 years now, I am now qualified enough not just to exhibit the insidious workings of social institutions ranging from religion to marriage but even quote a whole bundle of theorists who have a problem with the way society seems to be designed. But often it seems like the problem with being liberal is that there is no end to it. If premarital sex is not an issue, why have sex only when in a committed relationship? If casual sex is not a big deal, then perhaps we needn’t expect our partners not to cheat on us? If open relationships can be comfortable, why be in relationships at all? Perhaps it’s not worth risking all that emotion into a relationship only to suffer heart burn when it ends. May be I don’t know enough about relationships, but I find it hard to tell whether the critiques of social structures elude the emotions of individuals or emotions of individuals try to elude a critical approach to their understanding of the social structures. It seems like the worst part about being liberal is the constant sense of conflict in your mind; once society and its ways are rendered meaningless and illogical in a never ending discourse of ‘critique’, there is nothing that can help explain why you feel the way you feel; the only explanation could be that either you’re not </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">truly</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> liberal or you’re not liberal </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">enough</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (just yet). </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Most</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> of you thinks everything is okay and acceptable while a tiny part of you grapples with that little voice in your head that causes a strange feeling of uneasiness. I suppose it’s a journey towards change you’re expected to make, a journey to a place where nothing </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">really</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> matters. Not even being liberal itself. </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-43888212598723900522010-09-30T07:24:00.000-07:002010-09-30T07:26:24.787-07:00It must be Love<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For years on end, one of the most exploited themes in literary and philosophical writing has been that of love. And it’s not just them; every individual grows up hoping that some day they will fall in love and that their love will be requited by someone special, at least once.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With the popularity of the media, we are constantly exposed to varying notions of love and romance, so much so that it is almost </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mandatory</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> that you fall in love. Of course besides the pressure from media, friends and family, there are times ranging from a lousy day at work to a chilly, winter evening or just the desire to share the overwhelming feeling of joy and happiness that one feels a </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">need</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> for love, a lover just to be able to share your sentiments, or at least the empty space right beside you on the couch. But in the midst of all the romanticism that goes around the idea of love or love itself, no one I know, including myself seems to know what love</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> truly</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> is. Perhaps everyone I know is strangely unlucky or may be unaware of the love in their life.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I suppose, love means different things at different ages. In primary school, love is about the one person who shared crayons because you forgot to bring your own. May be he/she happened to be your bench mate, and always shared their lunch with you. Or because he/she walked back with you everyday from school while you discussed the woes brought forth upon your lives by the complexity of algebraic formula. In college, love is the first ‘best friend’ of the opposite sex. Or may be the first one to notice your sense of humour or your ability to make interesting conversation that underlies the awkwardness you display because you just realized that you are not the ‘most sought after’ of the lot, be it a class of 100 or 20; and will probably never be either. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As we grow older, most of us have had our hearts broken in some way or the other. Either because your relationship(s) didn’t work out or because the one person whose attention you craved for decided to fall in ‘love’ with someone else. Perhaps you realized that relationships are more than just holding hands during class, making out in the movies or showing up at parties as a ‘couple’. Or simply that ‘love’ can happen again; that your belief in tales of waiting endlessly for love to be reciprocated was more a part of your naïveté than love itself. Cynicism is inevitable, for all. Those who thought they were in love or the ones who never had it requited, everyone starts to believe that love is nothing but a myth. That all that there is to it is an attraction driven by hormones, physical needs which must be met, irrespective of ‘love’ which you now think is meant for teenagers, not for adults like you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I guess what none of us are willing to confess is that secretly we are all hopeful, that love might happen; that it is possible to love someone more than yourself. That is possible to find at least one person who loves you for who you are; whether you are dark or fair, fat or thin, deep or shallow. To this one person, it doesn’t matter that every time you’re dressed up, you look like you could walk the ramp or that you have a 5-figure-salary, because they find you more loveable when you have a running nose with a voice that actually resembles the croaking sounds of a frog. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In retrospect, love is not one thing or the other, there is neither better nor worse; for it was all a gamut of emotions that felt more real than reality itself. In the midst of changing definitions of what love possibly means to each of us, there is a feeling which is a constant, and that feeling is true. The feeling that their happiness means more to you than your own, the feeling that it would hurt you more to see them unhappy than yourself…the feeling that it is </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">worth</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> all the madness that it entails. That love is not always about togetherness, but the ability to love knowing that at the end of the day, all you might be left with is a broken heart and an empty space right beside you on the couch. </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:150%"><span style="line-height: 150%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-61060915082348250132010-09-05T22:24:00.000-07:002010-09-05T22:53:16.971-07:00Sabotage<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In different ways, they are both victims. They both take themselves too seriously. She? She overanalyzes situations to the extent of sabotaging everything that there is, willing to throw it all away at an impulse driven by an ambiguous feeling which she identifies to be best resembled by dissatisfaction. It is not hard to do, she has always been impulsive. But the stakes have never been so valuable before. She tries to create a match between an ideal and the reality and take the lag to be a problem. It works like this: take a perfectly jovial, loving conversation; ignore all intonations of affection but certainly remember the uncertain ‘hmm’ and the occasional calls missed by him to be the unanticipated doom in their togetherness.<br /><br />He? He seems to be one to take things at his own pace. But his predominant style is to preserve what there is from the power of change and corrosion. The cynic in him never forgets that everything, including love is conditional and is based on concealing everything that makes us human. He too, attempts to create an ideal in their reality albeit differently. This too, is another recipe to sabotage any form of acceptance that lies before him, in the revelation of himself.<br /><br />And it’s all a vicious cycle. They are both unable to identify where the problem truly lies. Is it her paranoia or is it his complacency? Or is it the miles that separate them? They don’t know.<br /><br />But to me, they are mere victims. Victims of poor self esteem…She, who creates little obstacles to overcome, ones that to her seem like tests to prove his love for her…He, who tries too hard to do everything her way not knowing the abundance of undiscovered possibilities in himself, the ones that she fell in love with to begin with. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />If only they were aware of how wonderful they truly are, they would’ve known that they are a match made in heaven. </span>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-50743269917061165082010-08-31T06:13:00.000-07:002010-08-31T06:25:14.534-07:00I wonder<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I often wonder what is the purpose of life? </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Generations are born, people come, people go; each of them making some sense of their existence and their reality. Your agency lies only in your ability to make meaning for yourself. But largely, things are meaningless.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Perhaps each of us come into this world to make a contribution, do our bit and perish. May be there is a grand plan that is panning out; a plan that has nothing to do with you or me but has something to do with the order of existence. An existence that is layered with multiple meanings at multiple levels but you are unaware of this meaning itself. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">May be meaning exists in relationships, in the bonds that we create in spite and despite the differences between us. Differences that can perhaps never be bridged except in the good faith we establish between us, the faith which perhaps exists in that little space between you and me.</span></span></div>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4192731205730699405.post-23233257112411484352010-04-03T10:51:00.000-07:002010-10-14T10:48:52.636-07:00Threshold<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:0in"><span lang="EN-US" style=" line-height: 120%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">There is nothingness in everything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:0in"><span lang="EN-US" style=" line-height: 120%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I once saw a movie called ‘into the wild’ and I liked a quote which I had scribbled in my notebook and forgotten about. It goes, ‘the core of man comes not from human relationships but from experience’<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:0in"><span lang="EN-US" style=" line-height: 120%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">This seems more meaningful than anything in the world at this moment. I’m overwhelmed by emotion not knowing where to anchor any of it. I can’t even identify the emotion. All I have is a residue that is merely short of rolling down my cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:0in"><span lang="EN-US" style=" line-height: 120%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">It’s one thing to theorize emotions, but it’s another thing to experience them. And I’m not sure which one came first. But theory and experience only just seem to have formed an incomprehensible unified whole.</span></span></span></p>PPPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10019771589316091354noreply@blogger.com0