To breaking an old mould
In schools, we were taught about bonds in science: covalent, ionic, etc. All living forms function on the power of connection — internal as well as external. And this is true for unicellular and multicellular beings. Without bonding, how are we supposed to move forward in life? Ekta jeev, Sadashiv? Not happening. Ask the geese. When a goose dies, its partner tends to lead an existence filled with aimless walks and unfathomable sorrow. It’s common amongst the bereaved geese to give up food and gradually starve themselves to death. There are other creatures who exhibit this behaviour too. This phenomenon, if you can call it so, proves that some bonds are more faithful to the one who left than to the one who is left behind.
While growing up in Bombay, I was super-religious. My amma used to take us (my brother and me) to Mariamma temple every week and we performed all the rituals as instructed without a fuss. True to the secular credentials of Hinduism, she taught us to bow to local church and mosque just like she expected us to bow to a temple. Her logic was rooted in her mother’s wise words: “Every place of worship harbours an unknown god.” So, it became a practice to pray with utmost sincerity, whoever was in front of us. I followed this way of life until the age of 16: my three years in polytechnic hostel changed my overall perspective. Thanks to contact with students from hitherto unfamiliar geographies, especially the staunchly indigenous kids from northeast India, I saw myself drawing closer to atheism. By the time I completed my diploma and returned home, I was pretty much a different person. Not that I disproved my mother’s devotion to invisible gods but I became more critical of the senseless rituals. However, I mostly kept my criticism to myself because even back then, I knew it’d be inappropriate to defy somebody who sowed the seeds of equanimity in me. As of today, I’d describe myself as an agnostic who believes in the power of knowledge as much as in the quest of wisdom. The only thing missing in me is that good ol’ habit of praying for others.
Somebody once said that there are no strangers, only people we haven’t befriended yet. Whether online or offline, this statement doesn’t really make sense. First of all, it’s impossible to befriend more than 12 people in total (and one of them is going to be Judas). So, befriending all the people in the world — or even in your world — is practically improbable. However, instead of trying to cast the long net of friendship, one can attempt to like — and I am not referring to Instagram, Facebook or LinkedIn here — more people. For example, how about trying to seek goodness in strangers and not running our personal dislikeability pageant in public. This daily exercise could foster a world where we won’t let our petty judgements kill our nicer side. As a result, we’d be able to build a more positive society; a society that isn’t afraid of strangers because they might just be people whom you’d like to have around.
I am happy for you. You are happy for me. Yet, happiness is scarce. Why is this so? When so many of us are so damn happy for each other, how come happiness is fleeting? All these questions aren’t coming from a borough of sadness, mind you. These are genuine reflections of our generation. One theory could be that we are so addicted to happiness that we don’t care about sharing it with others. What makes us happy doesn’t always have the strength to keep us happy. Maybe happiness can last longer only if we bothered to learn how to share it.
We are living in exciting as well as excruciating times. For a change, in spite of dwelling on the throes of the celebrated Information Age, it’s difficult to be a true votary of free speech. I firmly believe that words are powerful provided we want them to be so. Which, in effect, means that anybody can say anything regardless of who takes offence. If words can hurt, then so be it. At least that’s the core principle I’ve held onto for over a decade now. However, as mentioned earlier, exciting and excruciating don’t mix well. I can’t condone hatred just because somebody feels it’s the new normal. When a comedian cracks a joke, she has the armour of humour. What is a politician’s excuse for hate speech? Particularly in a democracy where people are susceptible to extreme emotions? A joke doesn’t kill anybody — OK, Charlie Hebdo would disagree and rightly so — but murder isn’t the natural extension of words. In politics, chaos is usually the first outcome. If one has to draw a line between freedom of speech and freedom of hate speech, then the latter better be curbed with stronger actions and not just words.
Please feel free to agree with me but there are no introverts on this planet. Just like there isn’t anybody who isn’t dyslexic. Let me explain. In a social setting, we aim to group people under boisterous ‘extroverts’ and tranquil ‘introverts’, not because these are the only two available demarcations but because it’s a lazy procedure. Calling somebody an extrovert or an introvert, especially when you are an extrovert, asserts your extrovertism more than others’. In my opinion, introverts are extroverts with terms and conditions applied. Problems arise when extroverts take it upon themselves to dictate the socializing norms. A so-called introvert might be somebody who likes bonding sans loud music, or somebody who panics when too many people are in a room. Similarly, dyslexia affects all of us in one way or the other. I don’t think it’s confined only to learning. Not all of us are equally good or bad at anything. Most of us are adept at something while some of us aren’t, and vice versa. Labeling doesn’t help in the long run. Empathy can.
When the trailers of 1917 (2019) came out, I heard/read gushes and high expectations from this war drama. As a part of 2018 new year resolutions, I stopped watching movie trailers altogether. My idea has been to consume movies directly with zero inkling about what’s going on happen next. No scene/dialogue spoiler, please. When 1917 (2019) finally released, I had to watch it somehow; long paragraph short, I wasn’t disappointed one bit. It’s an incredible feat in cinema and I won’t be surprised if it continues its award run and grabs the Oscars come Monday morning. There is a touch of theatre to the whole experience — long shots that aren’t really long shots, movie set goofs that aren’t movie set goofs, ad libs that aren’t ad libs. Yet, the overall outcome is a stunning cinematic output. During the climactic scenes of Parasite (2019), you take a minute to fully grasp that bloody chaos in the sunny lawn. 1917 (2019) is similar through and through, and that’s precisely what makes it a gem of a watch.
Adam Sandler doesn’t give a shit. At least that’s what I felt about him for as long as I’ve watched his movies. In almost every release, he has played the same droopy character who wins your heart in the end. You may love him or resent him but the industry adores him as his filmography is what box office profit looks like. And it was anybody’s guess that he will continue to stick to his DNA of mediocre comedy. But something changed in 2017 with The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected); he played a disarming son who finds in him the courage to forgive his father (played by Dustin Hoffman). In 2018, he released a standup called 100% Fresh, and he delivered to the name; it was mind-blowingly unique and hilarious. Last year, he took the surprise level a notch higher with Uncut Gems (2019). Never have I associated the phrase ‘intense onscreen performance’ with him before but this movie proved me wrong on several counts. If anything, this constant Sandlerian plot twist is a lesson for each one of us that there is no such thing as mould.
Apart from 1917 (2019) and Uncut Gems (2019), I also watched Togo (2019) over the past weekend. If you love dogs, you will adore this movie — plain and simple. One doesn’t have to be an anthropologist to feel the unconditional affection shared by these furry blessings. But some of them went far beyond their calling to ensure we succeed in our endeavours. Fortunately, they don’t care about getting their due for the good work they do/did. Along with the aforementioned bond, dogs across the world, belonging to varied breeds, continue to work like a clock. Be it the bomb sniffing labrador in Iraq or the golden retriever proving therapy works. A lot of training goes into this but by the end of their shift, they do what they do only when they feel a connection with their hooman.
All roads lead to cities. And those who build our roads don’t want it to be occupied by public transport. Let’s roll back a bit here. The very idea of building roads extensively sprouted in the USA after the end of WW1. The automobile companies had a stake in this development because they wanted their four-wheelers to spread far and wide. For these fancy inventions to go there, you needed the hot asphalt to pour linearly, thus creating an unholy nexus between the bureaucrats and the businessmen. This model was quickly adopted by a lot of countries across the world who couldn’t wait to call themselves ‘modern’. However, there is a limit to the space granted to the private vehicle owners. Now, this is where you say hello to traffic. If everybody aims to own a car, public transport is destined to take secondary status. Public sector should ideally look out for the interest of the public but that doesn’t seem to be the case, is it? Any given day, compared to a car, a bus occupies a lot less space while accommodating a lot more people inside. Therein lies the crux of the space problem in our cities.
Poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s not your place to romanticize human suffering unless you are a poet. Also, unlike the birds in spring, most of us make bad poets. With this realization, let me present my latest haikus:
Being in love with you is an ordeal
Like the moon being in love with itself
You are close to my heart but far from sight
I hope we find a cure before it’s too late
Why is there no space between corona and virus?
My favourite pastime used to be thinking. I am that guy who gets lost in his thoughts in front of the mirror and staring aimlessly with the toothbrush stuck in his face. Of late, being a changed person thanks to 2020 resolutions (more on it in my next blog post), my favourite thing to do is missing. I miss too much. Stuff from the past. Stuff from the present. Stuff from the future. I miss the smell associated with the marshy creek in Vashi. I miss the collective sigh of passengers spotting the inbound train. I miss the aroma of filter kaapi. I miss the greens of my little village near Manipal. I miss being fit enough to swim 10 laps nonstop and grabbing toes while touching knees with my forehead. I miss people I know contributed immensely to my progress. I miss saying sorry to all those I betrayed with my insouciance. I miss people I haven’t met in ages. I miss people I have never met but dream of meeting someday. I miss so much all the time that it’s a miracle that I am still capable of thinking out loud.
Beverage is what you get when you know precisely what you want from life. If you have a certain beverage attuned to your taste, you’ve already cracked the merry code. Whatever your poison is, be it tea or coffee or shikanji or hot chocolate or even soda, as long as something in a liquid state can brighten your day, even if momentarily, then it’s a better place to be in. Personally, I don’t have a favourite beverage as such. In fact, I like the idea of coffee more than coffee itself. My goal in life is to never be as disappointing as strawberry jam. My second goal in life is to never be as big a fraud as coffee’s aroma. Scientifically speaking, coffee smells better than it tastes because our nose isn’t as advanced as our tongue. That said (read: ruined), I enjoy the company of those who take their sips seriously.
