Bliss?

Why does bliss always reside in an atmosphere that's not now?

In the clouds of smoke, the fury of cars, the coziness of drink, its tempting to think of a blissful day - vistas of rolling green mounted by swirls of white; a cool wind on the face, a comfortable chair. A warm drink, a book that soothes the eyes when it tires of the beauty. The sound of silence amongst the living, only the trees talk. And maybe a loved one, letting you be yourself yet making you want to be your best.

But I look back and I know that this bliss is just a tangible that I yearn for, and that I have found this bliss so many times (so many lucky times) in the most unexpected of places. Terraces cooling in the summer sun.....concrete steps of a juice outlet....the impersonal unconditional comfort of a bed....the glimpse of wet trees enhanced by the smell of the wet earth....the shimmering highway with the pulsating music....the post party sweat and the tears of the early morning...the crowds against the backdrop of mountains and dry fruits sellers...the clasped hands of a loved one....

And when I look back. I see the ghosts that walk with me to this very day. Some of them are changed, some of them only exist in memory....but they lie within me. Causing me pain, bringing me comfort; loving me, consoling me.

And yes, its been bliss. I dont need to run after vistas of my imagination because I have loved. And those vistas are a reality.

Here n there

Too many things have come into the "fire" category now, esp due to my procrastination over the past few months....there's career - accenture or outside; roles - here n out; there's certificates; there's money - for now n later, there's health - damage control; there's relationships - old n new, at work n personal, Blr n out.

Tired. Mentally, physically. And the way things are going, I am sure pretty soon emotionally too.

where?

Uncharacteristically unclear. The space between expressed wants and quietened desires bothers me. The inertia irritates. People disappoint and excite in equal measure. Work looks grey, with specks of red that turn on and spotches of black that repulse. The relationships track is fogged out and more and more bogies grind to a halt while others speed on into low visibility territory.

Where do I go from here?

Parched soul

Never mind that the roads were slushed out; that traffic jams sprung up all over the city like crazed wildflowers; that the gleam of greed appeared in the eyes of the auto drivers; that my drying clothes & rug got wet and dirty; never mind that the evening plans of thousands of people got spoiled....I loved every moment of it! The rain came in sheets of blessed white, splattering and frisking and creating a dun and demanding absolute attention! As far as I am concerned, it didn't just get my attention, it got my devotion...for providing relief from the monotony of dry, cranky, grey days that had begun to even destroy the remnants of my liking for this city.

The evening rain was the icing on a lovely day. A bit of exercise, a bit of shopping, a bit of pampering and then a long drive with blasting music. A quiet evening with a cup of hot tea and an interesting book. No conversation more than 5 min. Practically alone. Peace.

Fatal choices

I just read an extremely boring interview with Orlando Bloom in GQ. This judgment is partly due to my aversion to him as an actor ("you, sir, are no actor")and partly due to my aversion to the obvious meticuluous craftsmanship that went into his responses in order to project just the "right" image that he wants.

After all, being a star is more about the right marketing and positioning rather than just pure talent, and its obvious that Bloom (his second name is vastly more appropriate for him) is more than aware of that. He takes painful care to introduce the right mix of daredevilry with level headedness; the classiness of old Hollywood with the trashiness of new; the detachment of the seasoned lover with the enthusiasm of a romantic.

What is as obvious is that this craftsmanship is in play pretty much across the board in the celebrity circus and even our Indian stars are now very much into the game, sometimes powered by a PR machinery a la Ms. Rai and at other times sustaining themselves on their own steam like Ms Sen. Most of the times the objectives are achieved and this effort goes unnoticed in the avalanche of multiple communication that keeps reinforcing the messages - interviews, fanzine artciles, TV snippets etc. The effort behind the facade comes into light when it backfires, like in the case of Sanjay Dutt who carefully cultivated the living-on-the-edge image for years before the image turned into unpleasant reality prompting a sudden spurt of photographs and articles about Dutt as the doting father.

While its easy to dismiss the effort as necessary evil to maintain the fame n glory (not to mention big bucks) that these stars are used to, I often wonder at the price they need to pay for this evil. There is plenty of output already in this area so I wont dwell on it...what is interesting is that the very tension and pressure that I believe these stars live with, is something that resides within each one of us in our daily lives as well.

For what are our daily interactions but a series of conscious and subconscious communication designed to project ourselves, rather than to reveal? Each of us is painfully aware that the people around us are not interested in the truth. The truth is, after all, often complex, harsh, uncompromising and dull in appearance - all contrary to the principles we operate on. All people want is the right surface; the engine in the hood can take care of itself, at least until a breakdown. (and who wants to think about breakdowns anyway?)

This, I believe, is universal irrespective of boundaries drawn by generation/culture/socio economic background/sexual orientation and however else people normally want to identify themselves. Where these factors assert themselves is the kind of surface one wishes to acquire.

Consider, for example, an urban 27 year old man wishing to get married, preferring the convenient option of an "arranged love" marriage that is currently popular. If he enters the marriage market, how will he position himself, especially to prospective in laws? Financially secure, respectable family background, pleasant and courteous, no visible skeletons in the closet. And if he enters the dating market? Professionally successful, funny (preferably witty as well), well groomed, respectable interests, just a hint of a past. And so it becomes a long series of interactions where one can "tick the relevant box" to assess another person or "draw up a balance sheet of assets and liabilities" to assess oneself.

Its all about having the "right" appearance for whatever group you want to belong to or whatever type you want to be associated with. What you actually are is immaterial. This may sound unnecessarily dramatic, but is a highly believable point when you think about how people describe or even view their friends nowdays - "smart, funny, cute, adventurous, attractive, cool....and (most importantly) FUN" there's quite a list of adjectives up for usage. What are usually under used are adjectives of another kind - "intelligent, sensitive, strong of character, determined, kind, courageous, loving...." etc etc. I could give in to my romantic notions and argue that years/generations/decades ago, these qualities made much more of a difference than they do today, but that would be foolish. Its human nature to have fast-food companions and that's true today as much as much it was yesterday. As I said earlier, only the nature of what constitutes good fast food differs. In a Jane Austen world, it was about making good conversation on a dinner table; in a Britney Spears environment, it's about wearing the right brand of jeans and being knowing how to be calculatedly casually cool.

What toll does it take? Whether one be a celebrity or a "normal" person, the pressure and tension this exerts on you is tremendous. At least up to a while. What's even more fatal (and I use the word carefully) is how this becomes second nature to us.

Fatal or not, does an individual have any choice in this matter? One can argue that there is always a choice; but its unarguably a difficult one in cases like career, romance and marriage, where the exercise of a choice different than normal can virtually mean giving up on your dreams or at the very least, cause conflict more significant than one would even like to address.

I dont know whether I have really made a choice in this matter at all. Or rather, its a question of the multiple choices I have made. In my work life, I have more or less learnt to keep my real self under the hood and use projection effectively. In my personal life, however, I have consciously steered clear of subscribing to stereotypes, ignored precedence and done what I wanted to do. I have righteously refused to objectify myself in the markets of the flesh, or the heart, or other worldly matters. And remained steadfastly "independent". Thereby constructing a series of life events that puzzle and contradict all but a rare few who think, if not speak, the same language. Sometimes I even deliberately use the surface to amuse myself, laughing within as I say something deliberately contradictory to the image I may have carefully constructed and watch the other knit the brows in puzzlement, sometimes good humored, often just irritated.

But the laugh is harsh. And it mocks my moral self as much as anyone else. For who can truly reach the motives that drive onself? As to the fatality of one's choice, it's anybody's guess.

wake up

Towards the beginning of 2004, L told me to wake up. I reacted with raised eyebrows and fumbling words. In the next few weeks, V's behavior and sundry events at work/home brought with them a level of turmoil and depression I had kept at bay for maybe too long a time.

Deja vu. Towards the beginning of 2006, L told me to wake up. I reacted with raised eyebrows and fumbling words. In the next few weeks, K's meeting, the Leadership Survey and sundry events at work/home brought with them a level of turmoil and depression that I hadn't seen for quite some time.

Whether coincidence or self fulfilling prophecy, I dont know. What I do know is that it's practically impossible to negate your basic, true self. You can control the projection and the implications of being what you are, to protect against the vulnerability of being naked. You can move elements around to construct a labyrinthe of red herrings and dead ends, so that even you forget where the core lies. You can wrap yourself up in so many layers that only the most determined and compassionate get through.

But you cant disturb the core.

Locked up. Screwed up.

I sip the hot tea; the sugar and caffeine merge and allow me to open this page and try and articulate the sinking feeling that I have been living with since I woke up today (or was it since the Sunday encounter with R?)

But how does one articulate what one refuses to acknowledge? What thoughts contribute to the knot in the stomach? What emotions cause sudden tears to emerge? What is this platter of feelings that I keep locked away in a vault, the route to which I have caused myself to forget? And once in a while, when my heart refuses to listen to the cautionings of the mind, I stumble upon them and look upon them a bit in wonder, because I had nearly forgotten they existed. And, without warning, they have taken over. I clutch at the pillow and the steering wheel and I know that I am in the grip of something so intrinsic that it has ceased to be recognizable. And I know its a downhill ride from here, there's no one around to hold me, to clutch me hard as I tumble down, it's all up to me and me alone, as it usually is, and I swiftly try to close the vault and put the mask back on, my hand shakes once and the mask falls, and then i pick it up again more firmly this time, and put it back on.

And now it's settling back into my face. The vault is closed but I can still feel the dread it evokes. I wonder how long it will take before the mask hardens and the smell disappears.