Thursday, 31 December 2009
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Thursday, 10 December 2009
It would jump straight in your face, from the least expected nooks and crannies. It could turn around 180 degrees standing at its place. It would brush past you, rubbing your shoulder and depositing fear in your veins.
The crowd was scared... they needed someone to stand up for them... as the auto rickshaw crooned in a scary tune, sitting, smiling, ready to pounce.
Friday, 4 December 2009
When I talk of change, I am not talking about doing drastically eccentric stuff, I am talking about going with the flow and it's not like I am pointing fingers. This entry is actually a self evaluation. I want myself to extend my horizons, take chances, explore the possibilities and crap like that.
Sometimes, people or the circumstances push me to change my routine, and sometimes the motivation comes from within but, there is always this overriding feeling of fear. The fear of the unknown. My experience says that talking to oneself is the best remedy to clear out this fear. I can talk myself through things.
When my school finished, an insecurity crept in. How would life be now? New friends, new life? A search for a new identity. Life pushed me to deep waters and I learned to swim.
When I go to a new department after finishing one posting in college, I slowly grow an attachment to it.
Most new things we fear are the things with those we later fall in love. There is nothing in this world which doesn't take getting used to; there is nothing more taxing than the process of getting used to a new life; and what is life which is not a bit taxing and testing? It's a new life everyday with new people, old wisdom and new mistakes.
--A sunny positive Abhyudaya!
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
We all were born, and in a well-planned manner, we were each given our very own, personal, distinct lives. Then, came the crossroads, and our paths crossed. Very selectively, we stumble upon and like people that we should like. Internet, public gatherings, social interactions direct us in a well orchestrated manner to meet the people and interact with them. Isn’t it some plan? Isn’t it fascinating?
No, it isn’t. There is nothing that is “meant to be” in my view and I am not trying to be impressive here. I think we don’t just stumble upon people, we guide ourselves, direct ourselves to sieve through the crowd we meet and reach the people we “want” to reach. Within us, there is a planner. We plan to meet people of a certain type, those who don’t fit in, fade away in the background and those who do, stay and stick around.
I don’t think…. Love or friendship therefore, might happen by chance. It’s pure choice. It’s your choice.
And it’s funnier after the first few days when the choices are made. After a bond is established, the intriguing factors in the relation such as “who will dominate whom”, “what sort of humour will ensue in between”, “whose angst would give way to whose preferences” and so on.
It’s not for nothing that I find anthropology interesting.
Friday, 13 November 2009
This way of looking at things is very interesting though. One can read his horoscope and live a day before even living it. Prejudice comes easy with superstitions. Thoughts, actions, all of them get affected by thinking in this direction- the grand scheme of things, God's plan, nature's course of action. I would call it micro-time-travel. You live the immediate next moment before even it touches you.
A car is coming to hit you, if you are told that in the grand scheme of things, you are supposed to die today... you won't resist it. If you are told the opposite, you will drag yourself out of the deepest mud to make it come true. Knowing what someone would think, say or how he or she would react to you, may determine your course of action. It's even worse than not resisting a car accident.
If you think you know someone, you tend to project him into a virtual existence and daydream about his actions and behaviour. It kind of takes away the spice...
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
The other side of the fence isn't so pretty either. The majority of people consider someone talking to them as an opportunity to argue and to prove a point. Conversations should be had for the heck of it. When someone tells you how he or she feels about a particular person, it is not for you to judge their views and tell them what to do. It is more about letting them talk, providing the punctuations in their speech so that they can iron out the wrinkles in their soul.
It actually is easier said than done. It is hard not to advice. It is hard to keep a conversation going without arguments and suggestions. But, it is hard to keep a friendship going with their continual influx.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
So, in Bollywood, as Sunny Deol continues to play the umpteenth someone in the umpteenth movie who can smash pillars to dust, he wouldn't react well if told that he has failed as an actor. It is what I guess is called "playing oneself."
In life too, we assume roles and accordingly, we play them. If you don't choose a character, your friends will assign you one. The world runs on the fuel of simplification which is used to detangle certain complex situations. Typecasting is one way of achieving this simplification.
If you are an angry young man, you cannot just wake up one day and start cracking hilarious jokes. It is out of your character. These are long-term deals. There is also something I call as "point typecastings"... or more accurately "instantaneous role-assignment."
If you are sitting with a group and among them, someone calls you a shy kid, you will, to a certain degree, oblige the comment with your acts even if you are one of the most chirpy kinds. This act of obliging is not voluntary. It just happens. This psychological tool is often used with hard to control, unruly children. Saying that, they are "good boys" or "good girls"... gives them an opportunity to change their image in front of the audience. It is another matter that kids have long deciphered this code language and have stopped obliging the orator and audience.
It is a nice thing, in my view, however, to understand this setting. If you know what is where on a stage, you can perform better, you can play more diverse characters, win more accolades. Likewise, in life, if you know which character to play, how to have a control over your character, and when to stop... you can win.
The last three words taken without permission from Mr. Shiv Khera.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
My last patient was a chatterbox. She wouldn't just stop talking unless I put my scalers or micromotor in her mouth. She tells me her mother is also the same. Well, she just lightened up my spirit... so, I don't know about those who have to hear her out daily but, she was a delight to me.
All kinds of personalities can be seen shaping up in childhood. Some will look at you in the eyes and put their demands forward, some would be tentatively bossy. The one I grew the most sympathy toward were the shy, unnoticeable types. They would be smarter than what they are made out to be but, are labeled as "dumb" by their friends. Once you get them into talking, you can really know, whether they are the silent genius type, the selfish cunning type or maybe sometimes what their friends think is right.
God bless them all.
Monday, 12 October 2009
At that point, an elderly female walked into the clinic. Avoiding eye contact was the first reflex of the interns as no one wanted to undertake a last minute case. Dr. Rohan who tried his best to hide from the duty was assigned the case by the professor who nonchalantly walked out of the clinic in holiday mood. In no mood to attend the patient, the intern dragged his feet to the patient's chair and inquired about the ailment. The patient gave the generic history he had given earlier to the other dentists he had seen.
The internee listened carefully not the patient's story, but the sound of his friends and colleagues packing up to leave the clinic. They were all excited as it was the much awaited weekend of diwali and everyone had plans of his own. Listening to the sound, Rohan asked the patient to remain calm as he administered local anaesthesia. His practice-perfect hands took out the teeth one by one as instructed in the case sheet. The patient was very co-operative.
The nurse took away the instrument plate from the chair and soon after, the patient and the doctor were the only ones left in the clinic. It was closing time, so the patient, after being instructed about what to do and what not to do, was about to leave. "Here is your case-sheet, Gopalanna", the dentist extended a leaflet to the patient reading his name from the sheet. The patient frowned and detested something. It was beyond the comprehension of the preoccupied intern. He questioningly, raised his eyebrows. "I am Ramanna" was the patient's innocent reply.
Rohan again looked at the case sheet, and saw his table. Another sheet of paper was lying there as innocently as possible for a case sheet. Rohan checked and cross checked. He had extracted the wrong teeth. The sweat drops on his forehead were enough to explain the matters to Gopalanna.
Gopalanna was furious. He was shouting his lungs out at a mummified Rohan who didn't know whether to die trying to say something or just jump off from the window. He was just an intern. His seniors would murder him for this. They would kill him! An image of professor Gowda suspending him from the department and blackening his, until now, clean sheet loomed into his mind. His knee jerk reflex was to beg the patient not to raise his voice. He promised to get the thing fixed. He also offered monetary compensations and finally Gopalanna melted. He settled with a prosthetic rehabilitation completely sponsored by Rohan and a compensation of Rs. 5, 000 for just keeping mum.
As the havoc was avoided, Rohan, with a heavy heart moved out of the hospital. The patient walked away with a straight face and a distant philosophical look in his eyes. The next morning, he was standing outside the conservative and endodontics clinics of the same hospital with two case-sheets in his hand- one labeled Ramanna and the other Gopalanna.
Monday, 5 October 2009
She really wished it was something funny. Some law of physics or some error of hearing but, currently it was the biology of human brain that was driving her nuts. She...
To be continued
Saturday, 3 October 2009
It was a cold, windy afternoon. It had just rained and pools of mud had been created to acknowledge the attempts of rain Gods to derail the normalcy flowing through the veins of the city. Mary, a young, dreamy girl just about the age when you are bordering between gullible and worldly mature was taking a walk. She hated the rains. She couldn't handle the tackiness but, was to outdoorsy to just sit at home. Anyway, it had tested her patience to an extent. She had postponed her short walks till today. It had not stopped raining until now since last friday and today was wednesday.
Coming back to the walk, she was hopping across puddles with a smile on her face. Apparently the joy of coming out had overridden the tackiness of mud.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
marked by erratic changeableness in affections or attachments; "fickle friends"; "a flirt's volatile affections"
faithlessness: unfaithfulness by virtue of being unreliable or treacherous
There is more than one way of being and acting fickle. You may not call yourself fickle but others would might not concur. It is not as subjective either. There are mores, morality and very objective questions. I wouldn't want to be called fickle but, I do agree that there are standards of conduct that keep fluctuating in my head. I would behave in a certain way at a particular point of time which I otherwise wouldn't. I cultivate guilt and feel awkwardness in my throat while trying to swallow my own acts. The throat becomes thornier when I see others easily swallowing the things that are not permissible under my psyche.
Double standards are readily attachable to fickleness. You are so fickle when you do it, but it's ok when I do it. I am an honest hypocrite. Now, what you gonna do?
Monday, 14 September 2009
I was given the sucky job of making sure that the girls reach their hostel safely. Just to make it sound cool... I called myself "The Transporter".
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Monday, 31 August 2009
Be yourself, don't stress, just act normal. Isn't the stressed out, abnormal behaviour a part of the person's personality. How can one teach someone to be oneself? No one knows me better than me myself. If I act in a pressure situation in a certain absurd way, am I not being myself?
Or perhaps what they mean is that one should act as one would had there not been any stimulus of pressure or stress situation. But then, isn't that acting abnormally? Acting like everything is fine when it is not?
I think we should abolish the phrase "just be yourself", instead use "just pretend as if nothing happened. Blindfold yourself and jump into the well with a smile." But then it would be a very long phrase for common usage. Anyway, till I get the changes done, you can continue to be yourself.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
And just like in cricket or any other sport, there are no set champions. A long reigning champ falls on his face, flat! And an underdog pounces to the spot of a top cat! Well, that's heavy stuff. I am here to talk about me. I have not been feeling quite cheerful of late. I thought of romanticizing my situation, saying I may have lost my smile. Well... ! Turns out, even in my most dull days, a silver lining streaks across the mental clouding every now and then.
No mood is permanent. No matter what the etiology.
Friday, 6 March 2009
Stealing glances is one of the stupid things they used to indulge in. I mean, c'mon, if you wanna stare at someone's face, do it in a way it doesn't look like you're deriving some sick pleasure out of it. Lovers are perverts... not that they were lovers, but... their friendship could have very well lead them to the unsafe waters of ocean called love.
Other stupid things include-- expecting phone calls at 2 am in the night, blaming each other for everything bad that happened to them... and the list goes on.
One day, the guy "decided" that he was in love. Enough is enough!
He went up to the girl, shameless, no blushes... and said he "thought" he was in love with her. She was amused; which was slightly embarrassing to the guy. She didn't like where he was taking their relationship, she knew it wasn't love; for her the guy could be anyone but a lover! A good friend, a special friend, brother... anything! The guy, on the other hand, was trying to get the birdie inside a cage. Cage of love!
He realised it wasn't to be. Thought he should curb these thoughts if he wanted the life to go back on the routine track.... tricky business. The thoughts haunted him day in and day out.... almost one year passed with the ghost of love.
One year later.... she found someone who looked good, smiled a lot and made love seem a little less crime-like. Our loverboy was left grumbling. He too moved on though...
Lesson: Love is not a crime. Don't let your girl feel otherwise. Love is to be proposed, not to be confided!
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Anyway, I have a plan of a series .... of blog entries... it's fiction, it's romantic and it's humourous. Don't know how it will go but it is all based on the dictum that one should never take himself so seriously that life starts taking itself seriously. The dictum is mine of course!
See subsequent blog entries for consequences....
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
It was just yesterday... my cousins, me and my brother went to the Gwalior fair. It is held annually and it never has anything new to offer other than the details of the lost child's undergarments announced on loudspeaker throughout the fair!! Why are these stupid parents let inside the mela (fair)!?
"Why, what are you hiding there?"
"It's a 4-year old!"
"Oh, and what is written on your forehead there!??"
"Sorry, we have strict orders! We can't let you inside the mela."
Anyway, after much insistence, I mister dumbhead was convinced to once again sit in that ride of suicide they call the giant wheel. It went up, and it came down. Wow! Thrilling! See? I am not scared anymore!!
Wait a minute, they are just warming up! *Speeding up now* Gosh! I feel pins and needles all over my body! I am growing numb! I feel my heart beating against my chest! I am cold! I feel like throwing up. My brain is floating in the excessive cerebrospinal fluid produced during this activity. I think it is tossing and turning. This is deja vu. Why am I stupid enough to ride this thing again thinking I have grown stronger with the heart of a lion now. Damn you, Swami Vivekananda! It's your fault. It's all your fault. It's you who wanted the youth of nation with the courage of a lion! I was striving to fulfil your dream and I am gonna die doing that!! I am yet a virgin! What a waste of youth!
At last, the wheel of death stopped..... with my cabin hanging on the top. Murphy's law!
Thanks to this experience, I now know what it feels like just before dying from a heart attack!
Never again! No! Or maybe next time is the last time.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
One such notion defining it is the higher sense of morality which feeds its ego. It is like saying, "Look! We have risen above ground and touching new heights but, we still haven't forgotten (unlike you!) where we come from and what we were spoonfed with; and that we will continue to plant the saplings of the very same ideology into the minds of posterity. This notion is kind of ok at certain points but, when it starts taking the shape of intolerance, it needs to be met with an iron hand. Else, we'd all continue to do the same mistakes our forefathers did without learning from them... because it would be a liability. We know it's wrong but, it ought to be right because our forefathers lived their whole lives on it.
Just like the line between middle class and the so-called progressive class, there is a gap of generations. The upper member of this gap needs to somehow negotiate tactfully its way through rationalism. The walls of faith need to remove their blindfold and it would be heartening to see if it happens without a hard fought revolt.
Speaking for myself, I am glad I didn't find myself into this cultural clash as I am not as deeply in love with anyone that I would fight my parents to marry her. I would need to negotiate my way through though when the time comes... until then, the waters are calm. Any ripples?
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
I sat where I wanted, I thought what I wanted and I did what I wanted. It was a day filled with positive energy for no reason. Remarkable.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
As I was typing the last entry in my college library, I ran out of time and had to go. Didn't get a chance to come back since then. And, as I left Davangere and reached back home, things just kept me busy and I totally forgot about this unfinished story. Besides, in my absence this ol' 'puter of mine took quite a beating from the trojan horses, worms and viruses roaming out there.
Anyway, back to business (Thanks threeiceys for reminding by the way... and a happy new year to you!)-
I'll start from the beginning.
Once upon a time, there lived a town... a living, breathing town. A small town with little guile, tact or cunning. A town which knew only the language of simplicity and charm. The seasons seemed to be pleased with the town. Summer was optimum just to give the autumn leaves enough contrast against the golden brown soil. Winter just prepared the environment to welcome spring. And rain? Rain was a close friend of this town. Never did it fall uninvited. Never did the clouds dare roar on the denizens. Politely, they would shower it so that everyone takes his own sweet time to reach home, take out the umbrellas and take guard. The rain would then soak the city in its freshness. The green would go greener and the pink would go lavender. It was all orderly and planned. God's perfect plan. Mishaps did occur from time to time, where don't they? But, the town recovered in a heartbeat as no one was guilty... just hard luck... so, life would smile at itself and go on.
There lived a single mother with her young boy. The son was any working mother's dream. Early to bed, early to rise. Charming, polite, assiduous... respectful and all. The mother and son put up in a small cottage with a passive fence all around. Passive because it didn't give an impression of intending to prohibit encroachment. On the contrary, it seemed to invite it. The low lying barbed wires and beds of beautiful flowers all around were an open invitation to stray goats in the vicinity, but the outdoorsy nature of the mother made her ears so prone to any movement outside that the goats et al would ignore the open invitation, after so many failed attempts. When the mother and son won't be at home, the harmony of the town was such, that there won't be any cattle around. In short, everything was in order.
One day, as you had begun to expect, the order broke! The son who'd be back home before the evening showers started hadn't come back from school even after it started coming down heavily and even eventually stopped. Mom was worried but, so used to the order, she wasn't much perturbed. Only when it started getting really dark she went out in search. Something, somewhere was wrong- she could sense it.
She inquired at school, met his friends... as she was tracing the path back, anxiously- she stopped to see the crowd collected around something which she had ignored in hurry while her way up. Disappointment leads us to deeper places but, this one was an ugly one. A pool of blood, a body, same fuzzy hair, same eyes, same... she fainted.
Her child was dead. Her reason for living. Why would she want to carry on? The rest of her years would be devoid of happiness. The smile from her lips was snatched away. That night, it didn't rain. It just thundered. The clouds mourned the death at the top of their lungs.
The spirit of the town was bigger than the grief of a lonesome mother. It dawned. Life went on as usual. The colours were everywhere. They did offer everyone their share of joy, their share of life. Only that the mother didn't accept their offer. The neighbours, friends, friends of friends- all came and went but she was inconsolable. Well, not exactly. Actually, no one was able to answer a simple "Now, what?". The same old "meaning of life" question.
One evening, as she was sitting under the verandah staring at the zeroness, a goat passed by the side of the fence. She sat motionless. Usually, her eyes would go alert and ears as pointing in direction of a prey. But, she sat blank. Goat noticed this and cautiously looked back. Na-ah, she wasn't feigning it, dear! The goat, out of instinct, hesitatingly waited and slowly hopped inside. The mother still stared- right into the goat but as if it was a transparent object. The goat slowly started eating into one of the plants. The flowers were marred. The yellow and the orange started disappearing into the white of the goat.
The lady suddenly sprang from her chair. The goat, too timid to react, turned back and ran with all the force it had, never to look back; except once maybe, to have a last look at the garden of pink tulips, roses and what-nots. This timidity seemed to amuse the lady.
She took a walk in her garden, noticed the changes and smiled.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Wait for it!
Wait for it!
Now breathe out...
How does it smell? How does it taste? The new air of the new year.... filled with same old crap!! Terror, plunging economy, falling standards- nothing changes...
Nothing changes if you don't want it to. Just before 2008 was leaving, saying its good-byes, it asked me to close my eyes, and from its tightly clenched fists slipped a feathery note. It had a picture of a key. A pretty, slightly obese, highly independent and oh... so... effervescent key. She showed me the way... to unlock... wait for it, wait for it....
Yes, the lock. The lock that couldn't be unlocked even with a thousand good deeds or a million fake smiles. It was the lock which safeguarded the doors. The doors with no creeks, no squeaks.... the doors almost invisible. Doors that are now within your reach and now they are not. Sometimes you ram your head so hard on them that you start bleeding from within. The doors to happiness, they were.
Ehh... excuse mua for the use of such colourful language. Anyway....
I had almost forgotten how to be happy in the past six months or so. A joke coming from someone would undergo a thorough scrutiny before reaching my funny bone. She helped rediscover myself. I dedicate this story to my key-
Once upon a time, there lived a town. Yes, lived. It had a living, breathing soul. An active spirit to keep its denizens cheery... (Arrgh! Gotta Go... will come back sooner than possible)