When the crows cry
One of my many favourite words in English is ‘thing’. You can mould and twist it however you like and it will still come out clean. For instance, the thing is I don’t know a thing about what I am thinging about. Or do you have a thing for me? Surprisingly, in Old English, ‘a thing’ meant the Parliament. No joke. When people in the 13th century mentioned ‘the thing’, they weren’t into sexual innuendos. They were talking about the model of governance. Serious shit. Democracy was yet to fruition into how we perceive it today and that huge building initially comprised barons and later, lords and commoners alike, was in all amusement, a thing to be admired from a distance. Thanks to the spread of the Queen’s language, we no longer associate that building with this word anymore.
Apart from food and closure, validation is a non-negotiable requirement of every single human being. One doesn’t have to exhibit their curated coolness on social media platforms to get validated. Even those who don’t know the difference between Instagram and TikTok are seeking the same amount of approval that a so-called influencer does. The only difference being some of us know our target audience (non-strangers) while most of us don’t (strangers). From your early days of sketching a stupid scenario with a sun caught between two interlocked hills to your college days where your standing mattered both socially as well as academically, validation remained the most common of quarters. You couldn’t escape it. Even the most introverted of folks know how this monster looks at you.
Today, out of curiosity, I posted my first-ever Instagram poll asking my readers whether they’d be interested in buying my book (if I ever manage to write one) or would they wait for a free PDF to upload. So far, 86% had opted for the former while 14% chose the cheaper version. Some readers messaged me to enquire whether I’ve started writing and, if yes, what would be the book all about. Since I can’t reveal confidential information, let’s just say that it’s best kept a mystery until we have further details. In my experience, writing is a lot like working out. You go steady for 15 days and assume that you are doing great. For some sorry reasons, you skip a few days and you are back to square one. When your flow is interrupted, your form suffers. Turns out it applies to both your body as well as your mind. If you sit with me, I’ll leave you with at least 15-20 book ideas and if you are a smart person, you can end up with a book yourself within a few months of hard work. The problem here is I am damn lazy. Also, why I’d have chosen the second option on the poll too.
E. E. Cummings wasn’t your everyday poet. Not to follow the herd, he decided to track his own path and benchmarks. From adopting an unconventional style of poetry to choosing grave topics, he appeared to be in command of his craft. A rare feat amongst poets. Although biographies and essays dedicated to him sing long paeans for his mastery with words and emotions, very few give him enough credit for paving the route for mixing copy with design. He was probably the first to see the role text can play for a creative. Take for example his anthology aptly titled ‘No Thanks’. It was published in 1935 and the dedication page featured the name of 14 publishers who refused to publish his book. You can clearly see how he combined ‘NO THANKS TO’ with the shape of a funeral urn. A free masterclass in copywriting.
Speaking of which, what is the significance of poetry in adulthood? When you are a kid, it makes sense to be lost in the rhythm of sweet poems. In fact, the innocence of childhood complements the dreaminess of poetry. So, is it safe to suggest that poetry — obviously, a mature version that deals with the harsh realities of life — have the same effect on a grownup? Personally speaking, every time I read a lovely couplet, in whichever language, I seldom float. Most of these verses drag me back to earth. Grounded, if you may. If it’s a hard-hitting verse, it has to be heavy. The light ones get converted into happy songs by movie lyricists.
Two year ago, Vivek and I started a chess club wherein we invited our friends and colleagues to my place to play chess over weekends. We called our august gathering ChessNuts. Long story short, in less than three months, we packed up. After a massive failure like that, I am venturing into my second non-profit idea: hosting zoom quiz on weekends. The participants happen to be my friends whom I haven’t met in ages. My ultimate goal is to spend some time with them, even at the risk of making them feel utterly useless. To be fair, most people are genuinely scared of quizzes because they think it’s all about knowing something. In reality, a good quiz is about guessing and connecting the dots and most importantly, having fun. More than half of the answers are safely hidden in the questions framed. All you’ve got to do is see them.
Where do all our learnings come from and more intriguingly, where exactly do they go? Especially when we need them the most. I’ve often found myself transposing into a statue during critical moments. What’s the point of learning something in the past and not applying it later? That’s the existential equivalent of finally finding a comeback to a snarky remark from six years ago. Again, what’s the point then? I am sure I am not alone in this. There must be individuals like me who are brain-dead and tongue-tied when they shouldn’t be. I think butterflies fare better than us in this regard. They apparently remember stuff they learned as caterpillars, even though they dissolve most of their tissues in the metamorphosis.
My maternal grandma (ajji) was a wise soul. Despite being an illiterate, she unmistakably saw day from night. To me and my brother, her stories and morals are relevant to this day. She observed and reacted, never the other way around. Perhaps life taught her well by putting her in very difficult circumstances. According to my mother, ajji received most of her stories from her mother. A generational heirloom of tales. Anyway, when she passed away in 1998, a lot of crows gathered for the ritual feast. According to ancient beliefs, well-fed crows meant that the departed soul would attain moksha. I like to believe that this is true. Interestingly, she also told my mother (during her childhood) that crows don’t leave their kin behind. For a crow, all crows are family and when one of them dies, they hover and scream to create a commotion of the most sorrowful manner. If you were to ask my ajji, she’d tell you that they do this so that the other scavenging birds don’t feed on the dead body immediately. A bit of decency is indeed necessary. I continue to find this story touching.
Very few sportspersons can dominate the way Magnus Carlsen does chess. He is unparalleled in so many ways that I won’t be surprised that we soon reach a unanimous conclusion that he could be the greatest chess player of all time. Last night, he went a step ahead and resigned an online game against Ding Liren just because his Chinese opponent had a bad internet connection. Such gestures are a reminder of how much he respects his chosen discipline and the amount of respect he has for his rivals. Sports exist so that we, the lesser mortals, can attain glory in our everyday lives. Movies are edited but what happens in sports is the closest we get to competitive reality. Hence we need more champions who know precisely how they should be the champions.
Legacy matters. When Napoleon crowned himself the king, he made one of the biggest statements in modern history. For a change, he declared that he doesn’t need god’s will — read: a coronation enabled by the pope — to affirm his regal destiny. Before him, almost all celebrated European monarchs sought the approval of the Church. In fact, the thirst for legacy goes way beyond the foundations of Christianity. When Caesar was killed theatrically, his name left a lot to be desired. His trails and trials inspired the following generations of conquerors to such an extent that for centuries, rulers clung to his name — Tsar and Czar are basically corruptions of Caesar — for legitimacy. Later, the first Holy Roman emperor Charlemagne trickled a similar chart of honour. As a result, I wasn’t surprised to learn that the male name ‘Magnus’ was first taken by a Scandinavian king in the 11th century. He simply wanted to style himself after Charlemagne, who was called ‘Carolus Magnus’ (Charles the Great) in Latin, but mistook ‘Magnus’ for a personal name! So, yes, in conclusion, the past matters for the present. Without a past, there is no present and more embarrassingly, a future.
