Reach out, look within
It’s that time of the year when Nobel Prizes are handed out. As always, the favourites never win. Murakami has now gone two decades without bagging the golden medal. The Academy continues to pick up an obscure name nobody has heard of before — though everybody would have an opinion on this person and their work now — and make them viral on the internet. It’s a beautiful circus, if you ask me. Physicist Richard Feynman once said that winning the Nobel didn’t bring him any added happiness because he already enjoyed his work. The recognition was a bonus because with the added fame, he got to spread his work, and its impact, further. On the contrary, writer-philosopher Sartre declined the award suggesting that pure practitioners of literature must avoid getting ‘institutionalized’. Fortunately, I read about his stance many years after watching The Shawshank Redemption (1994) so I know what that word means.
Nothing can explain a kid’s fascination with holding a baby. Even adults are scared of carrying the little bundle of joy in their arms lest they do it incorrectly and leave a permanent damage. The toddlers don’t have such inhibitions. They just want to hold the baby. The question ‘how’ doesn’t occur to them. They watch the parents and other family members do it and think they can do it too. I’ve been noticing my niece repeat this approach with her younger brother who is a few months old now. She recently learned that babies burp and for that to happen, you are supposed to gently rub their back. Imagine her excitement when her baby brother makes those cute little post-feed noise. I can only equate her thrill with adults popping bubble wrap.
All mothers are very similar in their quest to be there for their children through thick and thin. Irrespective of the societal status, a mother’s heart beats for the well-being of her offspring. I find this congruence endearing as well as mystical. Although parenthood is a very sacrificial crown, the extent of a mother’s participation can’t be gauged in words. Time and again, one can notice that the load of raising children falls on one gender more than it does on the other. We can accept that evolution has a huge role to play here. Even in nature, almost every second female species ends up as a single mother, leaving her entirely responsible for the safety and nutrition of her babies. In a human society, the man is expected to provide but this assumption comes at the cost of forgetting what all a woman provides without getting recognition.
I don’t know about you but when I don’t sleep well, my mind keeps repeating a sentence — like retweeting itself — and I am basically stuck in the middle of an echo. Last night, the sentence was “a mother who doesn’t have a mother must know how it feels to be without a mother”. On waking up from this spell, I couldn’t place why this happened. I hadn’t watched or read or spoke about anything remotely connected to motherhood. In fact, even this thought wasn’t premeditated. A brand new sentence showing up in the middle of an uneasy sleep cycle. Thank you, universe, for your perseverance in fucking up my sleep.
After being addicted to chess for three years, it’s nice to know that I can do without it. I barely play online chess anymore and don’t follow grandmaster tournaments either. However, it would be inappropriate if we don’t appreciate Magnus Carlsen for his latest milestone. The Norwegian chess genius has now gone a record 125 classical games without registering a single loss. That’s 801 days since his last defeat. Can you believe that? I wanted to ask something else — “Can you beat that?” — but we already know the answer.
Idiots are everywhere. Religious idiots, more so. I recently posted a quirky story on Instagram about Salma Hayek claiming Laxmi fills her with inner peace. You know the Hollywood drill. Anyway, I commented that in these times of financial uncertainty, the goddess of wealth has become my favourite too. A majority of the reactions were warm but there were two specific voices that are worth highlighting. One touchy self-proclaimed proud Hindu said that it’s not cool to make light of somebody else’s faith. To which, I responded that I am not at all doing that, mainly because I admire cross-cultural — culture runs deeper than religion — introduction and acceptance. If Hayek is enamoured with Laxmi, good for her. If Julia Roberts believes she is a practising Hindu, great. But neither of them are dictating how others should think or act. The second fellow was a Christian who replied to my story: “Only Jesus can bring you inner peace.” If only this modern day apostle knew that inner peace is a myth sold by scriptures the same way insurance companies sell financial security.
Some of my friends and acquaintances are under the impression that I am moving to Mangalore to finally focus on my long-pending book. Their problem is they think writing a book is as easy as getting published nowadays (thanks to online outlets). But I know me. If it has to happen, it will happen whether I live in Mangalore or Mogadishu. JD Salinger once wrote to a friend, in the middle of WW2, that he is embarrassed to look at his writing, as he is never happy with his work. Something is missing, something has gone awry. The usual unsatisfactory relationship a writer shares with his words. Referring to his manuscript, he said that it felt like “he hadn’t wiped its nose clean” — I can totally relate to this peculiar emotion. It’s never good. At least, to his credit, he published one book before turning recluse.
If you’ve got 9 minutes, do watch Ethan Hawke’s TED talk. It’s presented in the most socially distant way possible. But he delivers several good punches there. Love it. He is one of my favourite actors and the aspect I like the most about him is his courage to take up testing, unflattering roles. From being the first young man to climb on the desk in Dead Poets Society (1989) and delivering “Captain, my captain!”, Hawke has come a long way. In his recent interview, he shared something very personal about his craft. He admitted that working in Before Sunrise (1995) liberated him as an actor. He apparently stopped imitating other actors after this gorgeous movie. Turns out it’s only when you accept yourself (and the artist in you) for who you are, that you get to revel in your art.
When you read Mughal history, you are amazed by how frank they were about the tiniest of details. If you aren’t into deciphering the past, you may fail to celebrate such candidness. For instance, the first Mughal emperor Babur, in his memoir Baburnama, drops priceless gems about his accomplishments in the land to the east of Indus river. Apart from his pickiness about food (he clearly despised Indian cuisine), the most striking are his religious exploits. He seemed to take immense pride in demolishing temples (not just Hindu but also Buddhist and Jain) and wrote poetically about doing God’s good work. To his conscience, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. If he were tweeting back then, he could have just posted: “Felt cruel. Might destroy later.” with BEFORE-AFTER pictures of his ransack.
Being angry is not the answer. If you are in a situation where you don’t know how to go about, reach out to people who might guide you. Resigning yourself to a shell is a spiritual suicide. Granted life is a personal journey, most of the answers (unlike the questions) lie outside of us, not within. I’ve learned it the hard way. When you are in silo, you even justify your inaction as a course of action. Reaching out to those who know better doesn’t make you small. It merely teaches you how to take right decisions in the near future.
