A few words about a lot of things
Chemically speaking, we are run by triggers that can’t be explained in a simple tongue. They are above our presumption and beyond our reach. Scientists worth their salt help us understand why we do what we do at any given point of time, and yet, at a basic level, we stay confounded by our own actions. Why did I say that instead of this last night? What is the point of literacy if I can’t distinguish between PUSH and PULL on a glass door? Where am I going with my likes and dislikes? How long before my likes convert to dislikes and dislikes graduate to likes? Which part of me is real and which part, unreal? Maybe it’s high time we stopped looking for a scapegoat. Let’s blame everything on chemicals.
Somebody somewhere is complaining about her burger not being the same anymore. According to her, it lacks feelings. And we can all relate to this pure relationship because there is no love more upfront than food. But the problem is we ought to deal with people sooner or later, and more often than not, we’ll develop feelings for them — some affable, others repulsive. An overall picture of our species would show us swimming in emotions, trying to stay afloat. We are creatures of extreme emotions; every morning, we wake up with them and we go to bed with the same. Over a period of time, we change too and so do our feelings but for a brief moment, what we felt about others remains true. In conclusion, feelings matter. Just like the fillings of a burger.
There are over 8 billion human beings on this planet and my amma is one of the finest specimens out there. She is 67 and has proven again and again why one doesn’t have to travel the world — she has never been out of India and has visited only 5 states in the country — to be a learned soul. Her philosophy is simple: acknowledge joy as well as pain. However, there is only one subject I don’t agree with: her decision to dye her hair. My dad, like me, is pro-grey and chides her whenever she tries to “hide her age” during a family event. Her logic is impeccable though as she puts the burden of decision on me (and Palla). She claims that she will stop dyeing once she becomes a grandma. She doesn’t wish to look like a grandmother without a baby to play with. Touché.
One of my finest realizations in recent memory has to circle around the touchy topic of love. Turns out too much love can’t be held within. It has to pour out in one form or the other. Some of us, in the absence of fellow humans, show affection to pets. Having nobody to love can be a sorry stage. A strange place nonetheless provided the person doesn’t transform into a vessel of hatred. Isn’t that generally what happens around us? We hide behind the word ‘unrequited’ when in reality, we have fallen victim to indifference but won’t admit it openly. Remember how indifference is the closest relative of hatred; definitely the most futile of all human endeavours. For whatever reason one subscribes to, we are vessels of emotions. If you are happy, you will make others happy. If you are sad, you will make others sad… and so on.
In your existence, there are many things going for you and there are many that won’t. Yet, if you are wise enough, you won’t stay attached to any of them. Think of it as a mighty stage and you are an actor passing through hundreds and thousands of costume changes and recitals. If an actor becomes obsessed with only one role, how will he grow as a person? What do you think will happen to Joaquin Phoenix if he doesn’t leave Joker alone. Which means, on the aforementioned grand stage, there will be momentary delights and momentary heartaches. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is forever. Except perhaps halitosis. That shit never leaves.
Cancel culture might be problematic on so many levels but it’s also a reminder of our collective weaknesses. Weakness of those who do something wrong in the eyes of the others. Weakness of those who can’t wait to deliver justice. What’s common to both these categories is they pretend to be law-abiding citizens. Which is, again, problematic because none of them know the laws; that’s what lawyers are for. But in their head, they have already gamed the system. The former category thinks that they haven’t done anything unlawful, as moral codes don’t necessarily have to sit inside the legalese. The latter category believes that justice doesn’t have to walk through the slow corridors of judiciary before presenting itself at the altar. Now, please tell me what category does a Uber driver fall in when he cancels my trip?
Our ancestors were devices of fear. They looked up at the sky and couldn’t read why there were thunderstorms, shooting stars and lightning porn. It took them a long while to figure out a lot of what we take for granted today. Nature speaks to us in a manner it speaks to all the non-human participants of our world. Yet, we assumed that we must be spoken to in a special language. Anyway, long history short, we’ve come a longer way from being unsettled by the sight of animals and birds to reaching a stage where the idea of getting caught unawares unsettles us the most. Perhaps because we’ve learnt with our evolution that the elements of nature can’t harm us the way the norms of society would. People will never see you in the same light once they catch you picking your nose or breaking wind in public. Or private.
There is not one nation today that isn’t discussing the side-effects — no pun intended — of mass immigration. Even the most liberal countries have sections that don’t approve of people belonging to different cultures and religions. Regardless, humans are moving like never before. Such debates often condense to one question though: who’s going to take whose jobs? A sophisticated style of looking at these scenarios passes the lens of law. But then, the laws mostly don’t favour the indigenous population (advisasis in India, the natives in USA, the aborigines in Australia, etc) so what hope do the immigrants have in a legal bout? So, my suggestion is to look at them through the prism of empathy. How about thinking of all of us as immigrants who just happen to station in one particular nation or country or territory? No, this has nothing to do with the Great Migration of Africa. Our greatest migration happened when we left our mothers’ wombs and moved to this world. And that commonality unites each one of us.
The last time I boasted about my 20-game unbeaten run on chess.com, I crashed miserably and dropped close to 100 points over the following week. So, please bear with my cautious approach as I recently crossed 1200 points (currently at 1222) on chess.com — this marks the first time I’ve crossed 1200 in classical format in over 2 years. Since consistency isn’t one of my strongest traits, I expect to lose momentum in the near future and then crib about it on this very platform. Until then, cheers.
You invest time in what you feel is close to you. It could be something as diverse as cinema or somebody as transient as a person. Either way, you derive your own meanings as you put yourself on the line. It’s a selfish exercise; you are doing it for yourself. To give you some personal context, I’ve watched thousands of movies over the past few decades and as of now, I tend not only to forget the names of the films but also their stories. Earlier, it wasn’t so because I used to write about something about all the movies that I’ve consumed. If I don’t scribble, I forget. Back then, you mention a movie and I’d tell you who the director, screenwriter and cinematographer were, along with a garnish of useless behind-the-scene trivia. Feels like a century ago. Did you realize that 1917 (2019) starts with George MacKay sitting under the tree and then ends with him at the same position? I didn’t. As a younger cinephile, I’d have noticed these details but of late, I am missing stuff. Now that I don’t write reviews — apart from the short tweet reccos that I post sometimes — I am growing more and more forgetful. If this trend continues, it’d be tragic to see me forget about the people I had once dearly invested in.
My friend has been single for some years now and cuts a sad figure as he goes on a tangent bent on loneliness. His goal was to celebrate V-Day with anything other than Netflix but it appears like he’ll have to chill a bit longer than intended. Being somebody who advises only when requested, I’ve tried to make him look at the brighter side of singledom. He can do whatever the fuck he wants and go wherever the hell his heart desires. Couples don’t have this luxury; they are tied to each other’s convenience. According to him, he is a third wheel in all our gatherings and it’s a travesty that he hasn’t been able to find himself a suitable partner. Although I am not an expert in relationships, I understand what he means. There are things you don’t tell your friend and would prefer somebody you share your bed with. For instance, your buddy doesn’t need to know how yellow your urine is or how you sound like when you sing from your heart. Despite all these advantages and some more, I still try to embalm his worries with the band-aid of freedom. After all, I am a brilliant friend.
Sharing our opinion on who should have won a particular award at the Oscars is like standing outside Buckingham Palace and suggesting what the Queen should have had for lunch. In other words, it’s not our place to pontificate one thought over another. Why? Because the Academy, like most prestigious awards, isn’t a democratic platform. At best, it’s a private club and at worst, a very biased private club. Whether I think that The Irishman (2019) should have won the Best Picture Award doesn’t mean anything to those members who voted in the favour of Parasite (2019) — which is, no doubt, a cinematic feat — because a few have to win and a lot have to lose. So that we can call it a night and move on in life.
Speaking of which, not very long ago, people were wondering why Renée Zellweger appeared like she has gone under many knives; she was almost unrecognizable. Anyhow, when she won the Best Actress gong yesterday, it felt like she had emerged victorious on so several fronts. In her acceptance speech, she said, “I love you all. You won’t forget me, will you? Promise you won’t.” The most poignant words uttered as it betrayed all the cosmetic bits attached to entertainment and its entertainers. A part of me wanted to say, “No, Renée. We’ll never forget you.” Another part of me wanted to say, “We’ll always remember Judy Garland because you (re)immortalized her on celluloid.” After all, the so-called big screen is a weapon of deception. When the former New Zealand cricket caption Stephen Fleming visited the mid-day office during my stint there, I couldn’t believe that he was so much taller than I expected. Similarly, I couldn’t wrap my head around how fair Abhishek Bachchan was in real life. Far away from home, I would love to know about John Krasinski’s dental routine because Jim Halperr looks like he has never had a mouth ulcer.
I spend my entire working hours (and weekends too) listening to music. Of all kinds. No discrimination here. For better or worse, music puts the ear in heart and makes our mundane lifestyle slightly bearable. There was a time when I didn’t bother to know about the songs (songwriter, muse behind the lyrics, etc.) but now I do. As mentioned above, I am invested. So, the next obvious development for me was to try myself at understanding music as intimately as I relate to lyrics. With this mindset, I got into the world of ukulele. Not going to over-promise-and-under-deliver, but let me just confide that it’s light, easier to learn (compared to guitar which I abandoned in hostel itself) and fits very well with my poor man’s version of everything.
Your name is the most personal as well as the most powerful word you’ll ever hear in your life, right? And still you are least interested in learning people’s names, even those who are contributing to your daily lives. Your regular grocery fellow, the security guard of your building, the domestic help in your apartment, the office boy who quietly keeps your desk clean, the uberwallah whom you dismiss as ‘bhaiya’ and so on. In my observation, the biggest victims of this attitude are our friends’ mothers — whom we affectionately call aunty — whose identities are washed away without a blip. We visit each other’s homes for ages but never make an attempt to know who she really is. Perhaps the first step would be to know her name, no?
Ranga, as is expected of the canine family, is easily motivated by the sound of plastic. Apparently, wrappers create these enticing noises at a weird frequency that make their juices flowing (yuck, drool). If you ask me, I hate any sound that polythene makes and will do anything to avoid it. In fact, I avoid chips, wafers, etc. just because they are passed around in aerated plastic bags instead of bowls. If you put your hand inside to pick up a few, you make contact with the plastic and that kills my appetite. Call me old-fashioned but I even like to have biscuits right out of a jar instead of those annoying the nature-destroying covers. Thank you for attending my TED Listen.
