Combiflam & Coffee

Since January, life’s been giving me little nudges, little winks, hinting at times to come. There would be a spurt of energy…and then it would settle down into a hum. There would be a mad encounter…and then routine would take over. But the energy levels gradually escalated, manifesting themselves in impulses and decisions that in turn stimulated more energy, both of the positive and negative kind. And similar spurts of activity and irritation at work gradually increased in frequency.

And the music reached a crescendo the last few weeks – and how!

Key work milestones rolled out in regular succession, each bringing with it a cycle of attention, discussions, communication, reviews and some celebration too…

A devastatingly disappointing conversation at work got me to fall off the wagon and re-enter the world of Long Island Iced Tea…

Days stretched…sometimes the gaps between when the day ended and the next day began were too less even to partially switch off…

The silences increased, punctuated by an occasional conversation from one end and a poke through sms from another end…a poke that would sometimes draw a response, and sometimes not. Foreseeable, yes. Understandable, partly. Acceptable, no. Avoidable, no.

And I had barely learnt to cope with one rollercoaster, when another one threatened to take off, as if confirming that the first was just a trailer. One weekend spent in intense discussion…and then a week of the struggle between mind and heart. Five minds & hearts are dealing with this…and will deal with it for a while…

Catalyst, my “baby”, reached a conclusion point. Frenetic activity in the preceding weeks couldn’t hide the emotion I felt.

All this within a few weeks…and the coming days wont be much better, I have run through a strip of combiflam and god knows how much caffeine. Exercise is very occasional. My eyes look dull, my hair’s dull, and my skin’s terrible. Yet somehow I have done all the right things, said all the right things, smiled and laughed at the right time, and demonstrated or shared positive energy with the right people. Because its not as if I am unhappy, even if there have been some low moments.

I. AM. JUST. VERY. TIRED. 

The ego of mice...

The best laid schemes of Mice and Men
oft go awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!

Robert Burns, To a Mouse

I don’t know why we even bother. When we make elaborate plans for our life, when we construct watertight compartments for our mind, when we loudly declare our likes and dislikes, when we categorically state what we shall never do…all we are doing is pandering to our ego…and tempting fate.

I am all for individual will and I truly, honestly believe that our state of happiness, and maybe even gratification, lies in our hands. But that doesn’t happen because individuals are able to shape the events in their lives, it happens because individuals can respond to the events in their lives, and by the sheer force of their will or optimism quotient, remain on top of the events, rather than the let the events submerge them.

But what do we mere mortals care about the difference? We confuse one with the other, and are constantly seeking to determine our destiny through careful plans and predictions.

Eighteen years ago, I had my first lesson. Nan lived close by, I had started thinking of a career in journalism or the administrative services, and even started planning out the areas I would want to live in. We suddenly moved to Bangalore and life changed forever.

People that I relied on, treated as an anchor, would one day not be there. Leaving me shocked and gasping for breath.

Sometimes it’s not as dramatic. For many years, I had scorned the concept of a wash basin outside the confines of a bathroom, usually installed near the dining area. For four years, I lived in two houses which had that.

And even at work. A proposal, detailed with the painstaking craft of a Tanjore painting, wouldn’t see the light of day. It was either just not the right time yet…or it dragged on for so long that the right time passed us right by.

What I find particularly amusing is when friends and colleagues try and compartmentalize their lives, usually employing the statement “I keep my personal and professional lives separate” to laughable results. Six years ago, Mum told me I had become unrecognizable as a person, and I knew where that was coming from. A happy me has always been a productive me. We aren’t a machine with multiple compartments, where we can deploy different personalities depending on whom or what resides there. We are people. And there will be leakage.

But our ego and, to be fair, our desire for security and predictability, prevents us from acknowledging that, much less believing it. We keep asking ourselves (and others) the completely futile question “where do you see yourself five years from now?” That could be better worded as “if you continue to have control over your life, where do you see yourself five years ago?” of course, that would make the question redundant. When faced with this question, from colleagues, interviewers and assorted well-wishers, I am tempted to reply “the way the world is going, and how my finances are, I might just be sucking cock in the trenches of Taliban”.

But I desist. This is not something we can help. We will keep making plans, and God will keep disposing of them (hopefully, God shall also forgive me for using so many clichés in this post). Less than six months ago, I confidently told my close friends that, the ambiguity of the current relationship aside, I am quite happy as I am and certainly am not going in for anything that even remotely resembles anything that has potential to be emotional or serious.

Famous last words. 

Mama-shaadi and black holes

Mum found the “mama-shaadi” video (as we used to call it) on their computer, and copied it and got it here. This video was a regular source of entertainment for our family…one of the first to be taken, and since we were one of the few people to have a VCR then, this video was replayed countless times for visiting relatives.

Each time, there was a comforting regularity around our observations and comments, chief among them being the lamentation that the “idiot” videographer hardly took any coverage of our family, which incidentally has turned out to be a pattern since then! Then there were the usual comments about what people wore, the laughter at Dolly’s antics, the irritation at my refusing to get on the ghodi and being replaced by “some child”, the not-so-subdued murmurings about the “chaalu” looking faces on the other side, the amusement at the height difference between the couple, and the sneaky pleasure of rewinding the tape and watching people taking food out of their mouths!

For so many years, this video’s been missing . We watched parts of it again today on the laptop, in its bruised and battered state. But the emotions didn’t change. Daddy standing tall, with a drink in his hand, quietly organizing stuff. Nanima looking devastatingly beautiful in that light blue saree, which was such a favorite of mine. Mama looked quietly happy, chatting, eating, glancing at Mami often. And us. Mummy’s sparkling eyes, without the pain that would dull them in later years. Dolly’s exuberant chatter and constant activity. And my simple acceptance that my lot was to be at Mama’s side throughout the evening, even sitting at the mandap with one arm on his knee, even as all the other kids played.

Yes that was my lot. To love so unconditionally and so simply that I didn’t know any other way. Nanima, Mama, Mummy…my three anchors, so unalterably a part of my life that till date when I nurse a bruised ankle or a high fever, I long for their touch. And Daddy…always fourth, yet he made his presence felt only his absence.

I continue to feel that yearning and that sadness as I think of them. But yes, the pain is better. At least I don’t live in denial anymore and can think and talk about them without disappearing into a temporary black hole. I guess that’s healing.

I have a dream...

...that all people who work with and around me will attain a P1 proficiency in basic oral and written communication skills, as well as professional etiquette

…that, by a sudden stroke of wisdom, our people will actually learn to register the fact that has heavy traffic and its not an aberration if it happens every single day for several year and it just means we need to leave home ten minutes early

…that our meetings will start and end on time

…that men will not wear shirts made of rayon, nylon or polyester or in prints that remind one of giraffes or tablecloths. They will also not wear pants that are tight enough to be a ballet dancer’s leggings or are loose enough to be a spare tent. The pants will neither sweep the floor, nor will display multiple inches of sports socks that we would rather not know existed.

…that women will apply restraint in the face of the relaxed dress codes they have to deal with. There will not be more than 6 colors at any point of time on the body, and that includes a color of hair that’s not black. The tinkling sound of the jewelry they wear will not exceed 20 db. They will also wear clothes that fit within 25% guessing distance of their actual measurements.

…that our elevators will be free of the coconut oil fragrance

…that our meetings follow a regular bell curve – 30% of the participants will drive the meeting, 60% will contribute, and not more than 10% are wasteful laggards – instead of the reverse.

…that our leaders will stop working QSQT (quarter-se-quarter-tak) and instead actually apply some of the stuff they read about in those leadership books stacked in their cabins. Or maybe I can amend that to – actually read some of the books.

….that everyone will know everyone’s salaries as soon they are fixed and no one will spend 25% of their working time speculating/ cribbing/ debating salary levels

…that all “publicly visible” leaders will be voted in only after a referendum with the larger population that shall use fundamental parameters to validate initial recommendations – intelligence and character

…that I shall replace Martin Luther King as the next visionary as the world changes as a result of these progressive achievements…

Quiet suffering

This is the second time I have done it. Heard a sustained level of commotion and raised voices, stepped down, rang the bell and politely enquired if everything was ok. The first time I knew I had thankfully interrupted something serious; the guy's white, apprehensive face told me. This time, I dont think so. Anyway, the commotion stopped. Or more probably, just got more subdued.

The thought of the quiet suffering that so many people go through on a daily basis is so immense and huge and frightening, mainly because it is invisible and immeasurable. Only the suffering that finally ends up as a significant tragedy gets to be seen and measured and tracked. Every day the papers have a new horrific story to report, one which you dont want to read, but cant take your eyes away from. The children thrashed and fractured, the maid abused and beaten, the baby smothered, the woman tortured, the parents blinded, the family burnt...and as one's heart bleeds for these people, I cant help but thinking of the many, many more who havent yet reached this point but exist and survive somewhere in that awful purgatory where there's no relief and no release.

While one does feel intimidated at such times, I do believe that as individuals, not everyone has to go out there waving flages or working in ashrams or slums. If each one could try and redress the injustice or alleviate the suffering of the people immediately within our control, its a start. The flow of decisive action and positive energy is the only way to counter the more dramatic and speedy flow of the negative, especially in a society like ours where every problem is compounded many times over by the sheer scale and lack of infrastructure to manage it. Mum is a great example of that...the amount she has done to truly help and uplift the people around her, is more than I have seen many so-called activists do.

So yes, that's how I try and approach it and let it not absorb too much of my thought and emotion. But once in a while, like now, I imagine I can just hear the anguished cry of a someone's soul in distress. And my stomach contracts in pain. As past and present collide.

A wish list

When someone puts me on a spot and asks me to say something witty or sexy or even gossipy, I am hit by a state of performance anxiety so acute that it’s surprising that I don’t enact the staple of most B-grade Hollywood movies and clutch my stomach, looking wildly around for the closest washroom. Needless to say, the moment passes and I am greeted by either polite silence or a polite change of topic. Of course, the moment the topic changes, I am struck by the most wondrous things to say, things that could make you blush or laugh or throw your mouth open in ape-like astonishment, as the case might be. That is soon followed by an abject sense of disappointment with self, and then a realization that I could place the blame elsewhere – my fate and my genes. Either way, its time for a self-pity session which, if conducted with friends, could actually yield some of the entertainment that started the whole thing off.

Once in a blue moon (note to self: google this expression and figure out what it means before the next time you use it), I am actually able to respond immediately to such a request. Unfortunately, that usually happens in the virtual world when I feel less distracted and pressurized and am able to assume a personality that I know I have no business misleading anyone with. Nevertheless, a recent question from someone “I am going to get a bouquet for you…tell me your wish list of what you want in it”, yielded the immediate response…

Rainy, cloudy, windy weather. Not so rainy that it floods the roads, not so cloudy that it becomes gloomy, not so windy that it spoils my hair. Just right.

Fat-free versions of Mojitos. Or whatever it is that’s my flavor of the month – LIT, white wine, martinis…(I could extend the same principle and ask for “angst-free” versions of relationships, but that would be a bit too unreasonable I think. Also, some bit of angst is good...unlike the sugar in Mojitos)

Home-kit for permanent hair removal. With no unpleasant, long term side effects. Fragrance free.

A lifetime voucher for unlimited spending at all LVMH brands, plus Zara, Kenneth Cole and Issey Miyake. Or a simpler way of looking at this could be to have this voucher applicable at all stores of the top 10 malls in India. And New York.

A personal assistance to take care of all bothersome transactions of life. That includes paying all bills and taxes, filing tax returns, maintaining the house, booking movies, keeping the car running, arranging for emergency evacuation from boring dinners/ dates/ meetings, carrying along an alternative set of clothes & accessories wherever I go, and clearing out crowds when I am going sight seeing or shopping

A service orientation and grooming management program for all waiters and salespersons across watering, eating and shopping holes that I frequent. Competency and proficiency levels to be approved by me, also the assessments. This will clearly be a social service masquerading as a solution to an individual whim or fancy

A personalized, friendly, good looking guide for every technological device I am expected to or want to manage. This would include specialized tutorials on how to download movies, and how to brush up your photographs to make yourself look better. The learning architectures would all be personal coaching, delivered by guides described earlier.

And finally, a flirt detector. Who’s interested…or not? Who’s flirting…or not? What are they interested in….? And (O Lord) why? A simple device that tells me all this. The device needs to be of a matt finish, in a color that’s not too boring. It could be an over the top conversation starter or a subtle accessory.

So this is my wish list. And I am proud of myself. Now get me the white wine.

Out of body. My body. My mind.

The weather irritates the shit out of me. Mojitos and messages quench some of my thirst but leave me wanting more. I am constantly needed to be more out there, talking, presenting, talking, presenting…and even sharing my “journey” and my “tpov” as if I am one of those stuffed-shirt successes. No siree…me no have checklist for life, me no have apartment, me no have kids in school, me no fit into conventional success mode. Nice people talk, or at least they open their mouths and I hear something. But I don’t really catch it. Like I said, the weather irritates me. I am genuinely happy for Sonali, I wander around in that space looking at the pictures and smiling vacantly, hurrah for mr. effective networker. And after that year’s ban, I am back on the long glasses of poison, thanks to one of the most horrifying conversations I have had in 9 years.

Just emerging from a Californication marathon, I am unable to stop wondering. Can I just be an asshole? Can I be a flirt? Can I (please please please please please please) just know the right, witty things to say? Can I just screw up every relationship around me? Can I just be horrendously sexy? Can I indulge multiple talents and nurture them, grow them? Can I get truly, crazily drunk and get thrown out of a bar? Can I pierce my body in multiple places? Can I make my body the focus of my life? Can I tell people what exactly I think of them, in the most humorous manner possible? Can I just take decisions that get me more money, and more money, and more money? Can I have intelligent conversations without meaning a single word I say? Can I switch my phone off sometimes and switch it back on a few hours later, and check on the missed calls? Can I cast a veil over my eyes that not a single person can read, letting my wit do the bonding? Can I make a 20 point action plan for my life? Can I systematically sleep through the blue world? Can I just have fun, and never look in the mirror? Can I be funny, and smart, and witty, and disappear the next morning? Can I dig, dig, dig and truly become an expert in some area?

Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I be someone else? How would it feel to be someone else entirely? To not be me. Me. ME.

HMV

Words, expressions, gestures, tone, language – I don’t trust them. They can be manipulated. They are manipulated. Not maliciously, not always intentionally either. Just at the behest of our inner logic, the one that tells us what we want to project, what we want to be, what we are. Irrespective of reality.

The truth is – the reality is usually more attractive. The real us, the real self, the real voice is a compelling vision, that absorbs us in its honesty, its directness. No shame, no pretensions. Just the way we are. Stark.

And that’s why we are attracted to some stories, the way we aren’t to others. We over-intellectualize it, figuring out why we like a certain picture, a certain poem, a certain book, a certain film, a certain song. But, unless you are looking for something specific and different, what usually makes us like something is the way its honesty speaks to us. Somehow, what the creator has said, or is trying to say honestly, connects with what we think or feel or how we view the world. We are able to hear the voice and we like it.

This voice tends to get lost in the cacophony that surrounds us. Every single moment of every single day, all our senses are assaulted. With hundreds and thousands and millions of images, sounds, words. They rush around us, into us, dizzying us with their scale and frequency, forcing us to spend most of our time filtering, organizing and making sense of all this. And all the while we are getting duller, tired out by this daily exertion. Clutching at vacations to help us regain something we know we have lost, but can’t figure out.

But…once in a while, we come across that special something that makes us pause, clear our minds and hearts and look upon it with absorption and interest, feeling an emotion that’s pure. A pattern in a textile, a poem circulated by a friend, a romantic comedy on a date, a peaceful sunset on a beach, a sunrise on a chilly morning, a 16th century painting in a crowded museum, an amalgamation of phrases from a conversation, a book read late into the night…the triggers are many, we just need to be alive enough to find them.

And…even rarer…we come across that special someone whose voice we hear. Beyond the goodness of the looks or the specialty of the talent or the charm of the words, there’s that voice. A voice evocative of the individual. Pure and clear. Passionate and chillingly objective. Romantic and cynical. Witheringly insightful into the world around and then turning that same gaze inwards, mercilessly examining each emotion and action and putting it out there. The voice of an intelligent rationalist. The voice of a poet filled with dreams and anger and love. Mingled into one unique strain. The strain that calls out to me.

ek aur hafta...

Quite a weird week.

Created and presented a solution. Exciting stuff. This is why I continue to work. The chance to create, to shape something that I know will endure.

Chat. Eat. Gossip. Plan. Eat. Drink. Drink. Coffee. Did the usual routine with Shw. We maintain that distance, yet manage to sustain a strong and soothing connection.

The soothing connection helped. The on/off/on/off act nearly got on my nerves. The fact that it got on my nerves irritated me further. Which actually made me calm again.

I realized I work more on others’ to-do lists than mine. So got tough a couple of times. Then felt bad. Then got tough again.

I am glad Arav is happy. Mum seems better too. Don’t know about Anjan & Dolly. Though I am a little ashamed to say it, I am a little relieved. I think I needed a break too. I just want to be human.

Did the many drinks/ loud music/ pleasant company (P) thing after quite a while. Perfect. Don’t remember how I drove back though.

Went for a meeting with someone from the global team. Ended up taking her shopping. Thiagi would have got a deck out of her in that time! What a flooze I am. Not to mention half a day’s work gone.

Friends with Benefits. Thoroughly enjoyed it. And I continue to like Mr. Kutcher. Hot stuff. My love affair with rom-coms continues. Oh well. Lets check in at 43.

And then – “I die a little and live a little when you touch me”. I have NO clue where that came from.

So…quite a weird week.

Describing Ms Daisy

I couldn’t stop laughing today when V referred to me as being made of “clay”. That’s of course in the very specific context he and I share but even then, that’s one description I haven’t yet heard about myself. Especially over the last few years as I have got constant feedback about how I am just too resistant to others’ persuasions, or too set in my ways etc etc.

Interestingly enough, the feedback at work is usually different – my so-called versatility and adaptability is my strength. That makes me wonder, yet again, how our personalities are essentially one though we try and compartmentalize them; also, sometimes I feel the insights and feedback I receive at work are usually much more astute and deep than the ones I get from people in my personal life. That’s probably the objectivity and relative distance at work – these factors do lead to a better judgment. Unless you are D. When you can deliver devastatingly astute judgments without battling an eyelid. Or L. When your compassion doesn’t make your eye, or tongue, any less insightful.

The weirdest feedback I got recently was after the release of Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Mum, DB and a couple of close friends told me that Hrithik’s character reminded them of me. Since this was right before the time I was going to take off, they heartily endorsed my decision and felt I too needed to “unwind”, “slow down” and “let go of my baggage” like Hrithik did. A couple of days, 2 more people also told me something similar – except that they said Farhan’s character reminded them of me! These were friends who weren’t really that close, which probably explains the difference. But even, the gap is very stark. And puzzling. Yes, we are different people to different people, but we cant be THAT different – or can we???

Apparently I can. V (again!) had sent me an extract from my orkut profile a few weeks ago, which made me cringe. It was essentially a list of adjectives used to describe me. I immediately deleted that profile, but I do remember the time when I wrote it. I actually listed down all the adjectives my close friends have used for me, and so many of them contradict each other. Yes, descriptions are usually situational but even then, I am sometimes a little surprised by how differently I am perceived by several people.

But considering that I believe contradictions are a part of my (and nearly everyone’s) personality, I am not as bothered by these differences, as I am amused and puzzled. What really gets me is when someone who I like or respect or might potentially do so, describes me in a way that is completely NOT what I am. I still remember that pinch I felt when LC told me Vishal thought I had attitude. Though she quickly clarified and sorted it out, I still remember that awe struck moment! Or malicious. Or patronizing. Thankfully I haven’t had many such instances but even the few and far ones are inscribed in my memory. Call me the worst of names if you like, as long as there’s even a kernel of truth in them. But don’t call me what I am not; and yes, I do know what I am not. Even if sometimes I tend to get blurry about what I am.

Yet more musings on a late Saturday night

I am restless, yet a curious calm pervades my world.

Beyond the gentle hum of the air conditioner, hundreds of houses are perched on top of each other. Each contains its own story. Children look forward to, or dread, the vacations that have just started. Men bemoan their lives. Women count their jewellery. A servant girl thinks about the security guard who’s been flirting with her. Power point presentations are created, meals are cooked. Some do up their apartments one room at a time, using the cash that comes from onsite assignments. Others plan for a career change. A few young men want to have sex and plan a party. Teenage girls plan for a movie the next day. An elderly lady fumes at the way a household is run. An elderly gentleman quietly spends time with his grandchild and pretends to live. A child sobs himself to sleep. A woman gazes out of her window, thinking of a time when she dreamt, and lived.

In another apartment a couple of blocks away, a group of people much closer to me than all these strangers have retired for the night. Tomorrow shall be a change of scene for all of them, maybe even the beginning of a new chapter. This family of five will be in four different directions the coming week and each shall pursue his or her own destiny, the heart wrapped in fear, yet hoping a little too. Clouds of painful grey occupy the minds, and there is a baggage that the backs carry. Over the next few days, we shall be occupied, busy, laugh with others, spend time with other loved ones. But inside we will wait, for we know that another time of reckoning has come. And this time, the reins are in our hands. And in the hands of a link that could be the weakest or the strongest. We don’t know. That’s why we fear. That’s why we hope.

And I? I read my Death Comes to Pemberley with absorption and enjoyment, yet my eyes keep flickering to the phone next to me; after all, it’s that time of the day. I am restless, yet a curious calm pervades my world.

My nemesis, my savior

I think I was in the 8th or 9th standard when I got this little playbook with fun facts about zodiac signs in it. By then I was already fascinated by this subject and considered myself a bit of an expert on it, so some of the terms and phrases from that book stayed with me.

Under Leo, it said "their egos cause a lot of clashes and will result in failed relationships" - or something to that effect. Over the years, there have many times when I have paused and remembered that statement and smiled.

It is true...that my ego has often led me to flare up even at slight provocations (like today!) and sometimes even led me down the road of cutting the nose off to spite the face. At such extreme moments, I have got irritated with myself and sometimes felt a little foolish later. Though I must say that even then my ego supplied me with plenty of reasons why I shouldn't feel foolish! And credit to a lot of people - they usually realise my bark is worse than my bite, and therefore dont allow me to destroy something really good.

But never ever have I really regretted having that ego. Because its that same ego that has also provided me that core of strength, dignity and determination that I believe keeps me going. At numerous times, it is my ego that has prevented me from falling into the traps of accepting dubious favors, or displaying vulnerability, or getting into a mood of self pity mode during tough times, or believing that I am lesser than someone else. Sometimes it takes longer than usual, but I finally get there - put my chin up, and say "fuck you" to the world, and move on.

Yes, sometimes it bruises me a bit...but mostly, my ego saves me.

Rotten tomatoes

I have reached a point where I now react in the extremes if I hear crap that’s a waste of collective time. And by that, I just mean wasteful meetings. I get irritated, or switch off completely or just start getting hysterical, like I did today. I amuse myself by finding double meanings in every second word uttered (and therefore going into hysterics) or texting friends who share my sentiment or just pretending how nice it would be if I could just state my mind and shock the hell out of everyone. Not that I haven’t done the latter sometimes, though I have done it so politely that some of the intended recipients didn’t even get it. But that’s another story.

When people are starting out in their career, I can understand how this may happen – you are so focused on achieving your daily tasks and targets that the finer points of working just pass you by. How to schedule a meeting, how to starts it well, how to structure it (or consciously avoid structure if that’s the need), how to make sure that the meeting adds value in some form of the other, how to optimize the time of a group…these are things that usually get hammered into us through trial and error and the feedback of supervisors and/or stakeholders. Sometimes in a written form, which can be very embarassing.

Apparently, some people didn’t have that tough a life. They have gone through life without getting a rap on the knuckles every time they started a group meeting without a clear agenda…or spent 30 min discussing the potential topics for another meeting of 60 min planned two days later…or joined an important 10 min late, for the fourth recurring instance…or got started on their presentation without bothering to learn the context…and the list goes on.

So how does this work? First - I am the one who gets rapped on the knuckles as I grow up, and over a period of time start understanding how to utilize my and people’s time effectively and conduct meetings of some value. Not that I am great at it, I do slip up, but I usually don’t have disaster meetings any more. Then again - once I am grown up, I am the one who is at the mercy of colleagues who didnt learn all those things and inflict these disaster meetings on me. And then of course I am the one who has to clean up and do damage control when meetings where I am an interested party get screwed up.

So basically, who’s the loser? Me. Maybe I deserve the rotten tomatoes and someone else’s having the last laugh.

Blah. It was a fucked up day anyway.

Spinning around...

Think. Re-think. Examine. Dissect. Face in the mirror. Peer in, peer out. Peer in again. Then turn away. Question. Answer. No answer. Fuzzy answer. Guess. Second-guess. Then guess again. Worry. Transpose. Guess. Second-guess. Predict. Leave to chance. Partially predict.

And so it goes on...this indulgence of over-analytical, over-sensitive selves. And to what end? Who can control fate? or for that matter, our own heart? But our natural egotistical, controlling, practical, sensible, self-chastising, moralistic personalities refuse to let go....and so we continue...spinning around....

"In Your Eyes" - Kylie

What on earth am I meant to do
In this crowded place there is only you
Was gonna to leave now I have to stay
You have taken my breath away

Is the world still spinning around
I don't feel like coming down

It's in your eyes
I can tell what your thinking
My heart is sinking too
It's no surprise
I've been watching you lately
I want to make it with you

Destiny has a funny way
When it comes and takes all your cares away
I can't think of a single thing
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in

Is the world still spinning around
I don't feel like coming down

It's in your eyes
I can tell what your thinking
My heart is sinking too
It's no surpriseI've been watching you lately
I want to make it with you

A constant headache, a little heartache and many tiny beams of happiness

At least this weekend gave me space. And instead of a blur of exhausted happiness, I can look back at some good times...singing along exuberantly to first Shaan and then MJ on the long drives; smiling in glee as I furiously typed out messages that were part heartfelt, part fun; dissecting movies with D; curled up on a large white chair, a cool breeze on the terrace, sipping Mojitos and exchanging notes with Adi at midnight; the glow of the "good morning"; carrot juice & angry birds with Arav; rediscovery of an old favorite poem...and a host of lovely memories along with it; a blissful Sunday nap after ages.

The damn headache continues though. Its been three days.

Ozymandias - blast from the past!

As usual inspired by V, I am reminded of this poem from my school days. I remember our English teacher (dont remember who exactly it was, could have been Mrs. Mazumdar), explaining this as I listened rapt, because even then this poem had a massive impact. And as she unravelled the key message to me, about how all his power and wealth is nothing but dust down the ages, it struck a chord that has stayed with me to this day.

Incidentally, if I were asked to identify the biggest artistic influence of my life, it would be my English teachers - Mrs. Mazumdar, Mrs. Rodrigues and Mrs. Uma Thomas - people who helped me discover and relish and decode a world that is my anchor to this day...the world of literature and poetry.


Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Tough times, hard questions

I am possibly the only person that Dolly has been able to speak with on an off-and-on basis over the last year or so. Speak honestly, with some objectivity. And that's because I am also able to respond with some degree of compassionate objectivity, trying to maintain a balance between what I need to say and what she needs to hear.

But that doesn't take away the seriousness or the inherent painful content of the issues. Like today, I have returned with a heavy heart; at one level, thinking about the spiral of destruction we as human beings are capable of getting mired in, causing pain to themselves and the world around them; at another level, feeling that pain myself.

I also cant stop thinking about what I could have done to have prevented it from getting here. When thinking about my various roles (as distinct from my "self") I have always believed that I am a good friend, a good uncle, a reasonably good son and a middling-to-average brother and lover. But sometimes I feel that I am being too kind and this assessment is probably based on the efforts and the ongoing relationship. But if I just look at a current state and call it an "outcome" as it were, then I have probably been quite a failure in many ways, especially as a brother. Have I let Dad & Mama down?

Anyway, this is not about me. And the past is past. Right now, I just cant help but worry and feel for the pain, confusion and destructive ringlets that mar, or may potentially mar, the lives of many of my loved ones. Can I count on myself to be sane, supportive, firm, focused and all that's required for me to be?

Blah Blah Friday

So Mrs. Skittles tells Noddy "Oh dear! I haven't been knocked over all day"

I wish I could say that. Sometimes you just have one of those days. So despite some really warm laughter with old friends, a few racy messages, good feedback from the boss and a heavy duty purchase, my headache continues. Maybe its the weather, maybe its work mess I was sorting out at 7:30 in the morning, maybe it was the appearance of yet another example that Shw & I are just very lazy, maybe it was my bad skin/bad hair day, maybe it was the re-appearance of flab due to the pause in exercise, maybe it was the relatively blah-ish & kinda wistful conversation of the evening....I dont know.

Its just been one of those days. I am going to just call it quits for now and trust that the weekend brings happier times.

Looking back at my blog archive...

So on Friday I took the highly unusual decision of sharing this blog. I won’t go into the why and how of that decision, because that’s another story and that’s anyway something I would rather not think about (the sharing, i.e., and the implication it may have on my own honesty as I vomit here).

But one of the results of that decision was me reading through all my blog posts, right from now back to where I started.

How did I feel as I read through the numerous entries from 2003 to 2006, the sparser ones of 2007 and the occasional ones from 2008 to 2011? As if time stood still for a moment; I closed my eyes and a whiff of a particular emotion, of a specific smell belonging to some post came back to me, bringing it with a plethora of memories and moments. I indulged in each of one of them, savored each one of them, smiling at something warm, giggling at something silly, appreciating the play of words that gave incidents a life that they sometimes didn’t deserve.

Bull shit.

Mostly, I just cringed at how self-indulgent, narcissistic and childish I sound most of the time! At the sharp polarity of emotions that were on display, usually tending towards the negative. At the whiny tone. At the badly structured sentences and inappropriate use of some words. At the use of brackets in every second sentence, which usually acted as unwelcome speed breakers. At the cryptic notes without context, which I am sure sounded like a very intelligent idea to me at that time.

Not that it wasn’t interesting.

One of the things that struck me was how cyclical life tends to be…and more than life, what we go through. Despite vastly different circumstances, I can see a repeat pattern in what I do, feel, think, which indicates how much of baggage we continue to carry despite our believing it not to be so. Mistakes are repeated too – I keep going through this oscillation between “I am a lonely rock” to “I am all about people”, rarely finding that middle ground. Look at what I am doing right now – what’s the difference between this and what happened 13 years ago?

There is a difference though. While I may still appear to be a yo-yo, I do feel that the extremities have lessened. For example, I no longer seem to have the tendency to fall into a crevice of depression after every single disturbing conversation, which is something that many of my posts are about. It also means that I have become a little more guarded, a little more toned down in my expectations – which I could take as a sign of diluting my self, but I won’t. I think it’s just a sign of maturity. It doesn’t mean I have the lost the ability to feel great or be exuberant or relinquish control – that still happens, though more rarely J

Another point I tried to delineate was the change in my opinions on many subjects. I can sense such a departure from the black & white approach I used to adopt earlier. Others sense it too. D keeps commenting that I am far too relaxed in my assessment of movies! I have a couple of friends who have lives that would have had me running to the nearest spiritual center to find holy water in the old days; now I am a little more compassionate. I don’t even get so angry at some of the behaviors I see senior leaders exhibit, the way I used to earlier – there’s now a sobering acknowledgment of the vast majority of their pressured lives that I don’t really know about. So there’s a lot of grey in my opinions now. I am still damn opinionated though. When I look at the expression in some people’s eyes as I voice my opinions at work, especially if they are new, I am reminded of what Rajul said when he and I went out for a movie for the first time in 2006 – “do you have an opinion on everything?” I of course responded with a simple “yes”.

What I really did treasure were the rediscovery of some poems that I had recorded in the posts. For many years I had been copying my favorite poems, as and when I would stumble across them, into a word document. Which I lost when my hard disk crashed! So it was so good to re-read some of the earlier ones I loved. The Tree of Song. The Dirge of Music…I recently kept thinking of the line “I am not resigned, I do not approve” and couldn’t remember where it came from. Now I do. I hope this spurs me to read more poetry.

And even on the style and quality of writing – yes, while I did cringe most of the time, I need to accept that I was much younger etc. etc. And there definitely was an improvement over the years. In fact, much as I despised the “corporate-y” influence in my writing, my experience at work has certainly helped me articulate complex thoughts in a simpler manner, present compelling arguments based on the audience and structure a large assemblage of ideas without boring or confusing the reader to death. I still don’t feel I have it in me to produce a book, something that several of my friends believe, but maybe I will get there someday.

Looking back with some surprise

Watching the season finale of Project Runway last evening, I was struck by how emotional the finalists appeared to be. And even though one has to remember that this is a TV reality show and demands a higher level of drama than banal reality, the individual stories of how these guys faced tough circumstances and choices and still pursued their dream struck a true note. And they were all in the age zone of 29 to 33….the same as mine.

Which really led me to the question of what I have really achieved till date. Surprisingly enough, this question doesn’t really bother me as often as it seems to plague most of my friends and acquaintances. I am not sure why. It can’t be a lack of thinking capacity (though the lack of depth is evident)…as my perusal of this blog showed, there’s plenty and more of thinking going on about several areas and topics, related to myself and the world around me. Maybe it’s my usual denial strategy – I know this is a potentially thorny topic so I have locked it up, along with many others, in that little black trunk at the back of my mind, just not having the energy and inclination to deal with it. Or maybe I am just a little smug, with some bit of tunnel vision – chugging happily (and sometimes not so happily) along in this relatively stable life, achieving less than my potential, earning less than my potential, but disregarding the world roaring past. Or maybe I am just too rooted in my past – there is so much gratitude for what I have today, compared to the nightmare it could have been, that I am superstitious about questioning it at all.

Whatever the reason, the point is I don’t really think much about the question of achievement. Whenever I get asked a question about it, my response is pretty simple, and pretty true at the surface as well – I have my physical and mental faculties, I love what I do, I am able to enjoy more creature comforts than seemed possible 15 years ago, I have a lot of people that I love and who love me. Is there really anything more to life?

So I won’t think about that achievement bit right now either. What I do want to think a little more about is risk, and how much risk I have truly taken to get where I am today. And the answer is – negligible.

For someone who believes that his life takes on the character of a roller coaster ever so often, and who willingly gets on it, it’s a little bit of a surprise to realize that when it came to working, to chasing professional dreams, I didn’t really take that much of a risk.

When I think back to my teenage years, there were some things I was passionate about, especially books, movies, fashion, dance. And I had a reasonable amount of professional understanding about the art behind these fields – writing, critiquing, creating, directing, designing, choreography – to have made a serious try at one of them. Fashion seemed the most accessible and the most likely to yield a living, and I, along with my parents, did give serious consideration to pursuing an education on those lines.

I am not sure when, but somewhere along the line, that desire just seemed to dissolve away. And got replaced by a more fundamental need to secure the future of myself and to an extent my family. The very specific objective of doing an MBA came from there. And so did all the determination of getting there – fighting with well meaning relatives (who wanted me to do the more immediate, safer thing of getting a “computer education”), securing a personal loan and getting the support of Mum and Dolly to spend 2 years doing that. So I guess that was a bit of a risk. Again, when I decided to specialize in HR and chase placement in that field, I was told, by another group of well wishers, that I was taking a large risk. Therefore, within that relatively stable field and option that I chose, I did decide to do exactly what I wanted to do and took some risks to ensure that I could chase my own dreams.

But I wonder how it would have been if I had remained stuck to my original options. I say this to a lot of people now and I do believe in it – everything is possible. It might cause some pain initially and there would be some change management involved, but instead of giving up, it is possible to chase your dreams, personally or professionally. And yet I didn’t. Dulled by grief, fueled by a desire for security, missing any inspirational and knowledgeable figure around, I muddled my way through my thoughts and desires and did what I felt was right. And it was right in a way – like I said; I genuinely love what I do.

But that shouldn’t have stopped me from building a deeper level of knowledge or expertise in these areas over the years. I know so many people around me, wonderful people who truly inspire me, who have now let their “hobbies” take over their lives and found a different level of fulfillment at a stage of life when financial concerns are lesser and the spiritual hunger is more. I observe, accompany, support and encourage these friends to find that higher level of fulfillment and sometimes this change of direction is sustained and sometimes it isn’t. Both ways, a risk is taken and one is more a man for having taken it. So to speak.

And I? Except for the occasional vomit through this blog, there’s been no serious attempt at developing the craft of writing. Except for movie marathons, there’s been no attempt at taking advantage of multiple opportunities to actually visit the insides of the movie business and get inspired there. Have pretty much stopped following fashion, except a monthly GQ read. And never bothered to enroll at the thousands of classes that would have helped my natural talent for dance be built further through some technique.

Basically – no discipline, no depth, no follow through. The last 11 years of work life have been spent working, shopping, eating, drinking, reading, watching movies…and yes, loving and being loved. Not a bad deal. But where’s the risk?