The Death of Mr. Common Sense

A forward I received ... called the Obituary of Mr. Common Sense which had supposedly appeared in the London times..don’t know if it actually appeared in London Times but it’s quite pertinent.

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn’t always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student,only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Band aid to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband;churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife,Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 4 half brothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I’m A Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on.

Quagmire

Stuck on these thoughts- 


Is it in what i feel?
or is it in what i do?

What if i do what i don't feel?
What if I feel and don't do?

Should i do what i do
and then feel it too?

But what if i feel what i feel
and then do?

Karmic thoughts

Heard of a cousin's 10 year+ marriage disintegrating today. Kinda shocking to me, because I have known both her and her husband well enough and always considered them to be a cool couple.

When I called her, she left me with a poignant gem...."The worst thing in the world is not when somebody hates you or irritates you; the worst thing is when somebody is stoically indifferent to you."

Sigh. How true.

Also heard of someone who decided to get married after a long relationship.

Just made me think. Is relationship karma also like humans? Does the number remain constant in the world, like energy?

Anyways, Good luck to them both.

Tail of the Underdog

Was listening to Jen Foster today. Awesome words which struck a chord in my heart.

When everyone's above you, there's nowhere you can go
When nobody calls you, 'cause it's all in who you know
When the self-righteous say they're for you, telling you to win this fight
Nobody understands you, no they don't know what it's like

Coz we are the underdogs.

Could relate to it completely. As I am writing this article, am watching the IPL final Clash between the Deccan Chargers & Royal Challengers Bangalore (Ahem, am forced to support Bangalore this year, what with three huge Bangalore fans in the family- My Dad, Mom & Pavan). To think of it, Twenty20 cricket has always belonged to the underdogs, ain't it? Who would have imagined a final clash between Deccan & Banglore this season, the No. 8 & 7 teams of last season? Who can forget India's against-all-odds classic victory at the Twenty20 world championship. Another classic example is the last year championship winners, Rajastan Royals...they won when the chips were down & lost when when they WERE the hype...touché anyone?????

All of which made me think, we all love underdogs, don't we? How is it we so often relate with the one in the midst of the struggle, the one that won't surrender, the one who battles against the odds and through perseverance triumphs in victory. It is this person that makes us feel alive, that brings out our character that we've buried inside. Perhaps the reason why we love to hear about stories like David and Goliath. Perhaps the reason why movies like 'Lagaan', 'Chak-De India', 'Rocky Balboa' & 'Pursuit of Happyness' hit a home-run with many of us. The tail of the underdog wags proudly everywhere we go.

You see, there is a part of us, inside us all, one that perhaps feels trapped, controlled, and prevented from realizing our dreams. We all wanna do something hatke, but are trapped by our own insecurities which prevents us from doing precisely that. Can be anything- fear of failure, fear of loss of face, fear of rejection etc etc etc. And when we see another conquer these demons, champion over adversity or seize the day, we are one with them and in their glory, we feel as if nothing is impossible. We all try to live to live our lives through the victory of the underdogs.

But one thing really really amazes me. Our preference for the underdog is a mile long but an inch deep. When push comes to the shove, how many of us actually have the guts to rely on the underdogs? Take the example of you wanting to get a thing done by somebody, say something as mundane as painting a house. And there are only two people who can do it. So would you prefer an experienced guy in that field or a talented novice??? Therein lies the answer. So while we root for the underdog, we only root until it does not affect our self-interest. The hypocrisy of humans at play here again.

Whatever it is, the underdog theory rules. So the next time, you find yourself siding with the underdog, understand it is as much about you, as it is about them.

(P.S Going by this Underdog theory, one of the two next year IPL Finalists would be Mumbai Indians. Yipeee!!!! And therein lies my true loyalty....and the real purpose of writing this article. LOL!! )

Of Paradoxes and Oxymorons

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on 

No guys, I am NOT trying to take any grammar or poetry lessons here. Just a rhetoric on the paradoxes of life. To be more specific, a part of my endeavour to put forth my weird thoughts on Life. (I am really sorry, if u guys think that kya philosophical bakwaas hai!)

I was always fascinated with paradoxes and oxymorons...words and phrases that seemingly contradict themselves. And nothing like these lines from John Keats (from his immortal “Ode on a Grecian Urn”), to depict paradoxes. [Fact:  The word "oxymoron" is itself an oxymoron, deriving it's meaning from the Greek words "oxy," meaning "sharp," and "moros," meaning "dull." (Thanks Wikipedia.)] Etymology aside, I am fascinated by the way that two diametrically opposed concepts can collide to create something counterintuitive and, oftentimes, powerful.

I think my fascination primarily stems from my own paradoxical personality:  

Organised Chaos: Often I have a haphazard pile of clothes on the floor in my colour-coded wardrobe unit. Managed to have good successes on the academic & professional front, but still consistently mix up my right and my left. Always smiling, idiotic, happy go lucky me; yet told that ‘my thoughts run as deep as an ocean’ [Ahem, Thanks MG for that poetic description; girl, amazing display of your artistic ideas!!]. And the worst of the lot is the fact that though I am publicly very savvy, when it comes to expressing my emotions I clam up! Everything gets bottled within me. I could go on and on, but in each example, the idea is the same:  that I am who I am - a colorful, eccentric, unexpected ME - and I would not be me if these contradictions didn't exist side by side.

It is with that collision of contradictory thoughts and feelings and colors and ideas that I write now. I have often thought about the concept ‘Life’. Rather have always pondered over the ‘Meaning’ of Life the last couple of years. And thought that the paradox that explains life best is bittersweet. We are sometimes bitter that things didn't work out as we had hoped in the past, but isn’t it sweet that we are constantly given the opportunities to do something which we love so much (though it’s left to us whether we convert these opportunities into realities!). Bitter is the feeling of sadness and nostalgia that we have of days gone by that will never return, but sweet is the hope we have that exciting new possibilities may be just around the bend.  As I go through the ups and downs of life, no other word could possibly portray the combination of thoughts and feelings, the way that bittersweet does.

I always thought that it's the oxymorons & the paradoxes that make life life. They give it a meaning. They make it art. They tell the story. They keep it interesting. The wonderful disasters, the organized chaos, yes, even the bittersweet moments... Who would want to live a bland,uninteresting life, right?

Until I came across the ultimate paradox of life (No, I am not going to explain it, just leaving it for you to mull over it!).If you understand this paradox, it sets you FREE, because its akin to understanding that small four-letter word which confuses the hell out of all of us- LIFE!

“The meaning of life is that Life is Meaningless.

And it’s meaningless, that Life is Meaningless.”

Running Away....

Yes, Run away.

Run away. Run from everything that claims you as your own

Dont stop the run, because the moment you do,

your heart tells you to return back to those who wait for you.

Run away. Run away from what you have or can have

with have-beens dwelling in your mind.

Run away with the past so entrenched in you

that you forget to see whats in the present

Run away. Run away with the citadel that you call your heart

which has stopped dreaming, stopped living.

Go, lose yourself in some nameless obscure world

where people dont know u, u dont know them.

Run away. Run away with the shadows that have gripped your eyes, 

making you blind to the people around you.

Run away from the destiny you had once chosen for yourself,

onto unchartered unknown paths.

Yes,  run away. Nobody will stop you.

And now that you are running away, pray tell me-

How can you run away from yourself?

To MK. Girl, you know why.

Hope

Every morning I see him standing at the same point, giving me a broad smile. And every morning I ignore him. 

‘Him’ is an 8-9 year old street-kid who stands everyday at the corner of Marine Drive, waiting for the traffic to crawl to a stand-still, before he can get into his practiced routine. And inspite of me ignoring his entreaties, he never fails to recognize me & give a cute, lopsided smile. It has become a sort of a tradition, amidst my daily morning chaotic schedule to rush to office in time.

Today I didn’t see him. And kinda missed that grin the whole morning. Was pondering over it in the evening while returning back, when a curious thought stuck me, ‘Why does he stand there smiling at me everyday, knowing that I will ignore him yet again? Surely it can’t be hope alone that one day i will give him something?’

And then an equally baffling answer: ‘Somebody surely must be answering that hope in his eyes & his smile, for him to be pursuing it earnestly for so long….’

‘By faith we begin, by hope we continue’

In search of Cold Coffee...

Inspired from my conversation with GL, my closest pal nd one of the nicest, funniest, whackiest guy in the world. And also a guy who always strives to hide his philosophical side from the whole world. Buddy, this is for you....

I needed coffee. Not just any coffee. A cold coffee. Desperately. The craving hit me in the evening, when I was roaming the streets of Bangalore. Alone. Solitary. Reminiscing about life. Rather the have-beens of life.

Memories. They dont necessarily hit you when you are alone. You can be alone or in a crowd. They just creep upon you slowly and surely, enveloping you in their confining tendons. You try to shake yourself out of them; but they are stronger then they seem, entangling you deeper and deeper in their black core. You struggle, you scream. They just dont let you go. They suck you surely, deeper and deeper in the heart of the dark abyss. And suddenly, when you have lost all ur struggle, all your hopes of being free, they just disappear; as if a light dispels darkness, banishing it from the dark dungeons.

And here I was, roaming. Trying to shake myself from the blues enveloping me. When suddenly it hit me. I needed to have something. It could have been something stronger too-something which would me make me exorcise my demons for a while or something hot to fight Bangalore's chilly winds but Goddammit, I dont know why, it had had to be a cold coffee.

Suddenly I saw this quaint little place beckoning me. Lost in a obscure corner. Enveloped in a shady light. Just like my thoughts. I entered it and signalled to the waiter. 'Ennu Beku Saar?' came back the waiter. 'Cold Coffee hai?', I asked. The waiter looked at me askance and replied in halting Hindi 'Nai hai, kuch aur chahiye?'

My heart told me 'No. I only want cold coffee. Nothing else'. I admonished my heart, glanced at my surroundings, took a deep breathe, and told the waiter 'Ek chai laana..'

Just like my life. Just like your life. The life which goes on, regardless.

Woh Kaagaz ki Kashti....

Her majesty, Royal princess Ananya has deigned to pay us a visit in her Diwali holidays. And as usual, she has left it upto her maasi to design new ways of entertaining her. Me and AD (my cousin) took her to Crosswords yesterday where we were fortunate enough to spy on the 'Jungle Book' VCDs. And so home came the warriors, having conquered HRH's boredom for atleast the next day or so.

Yesterday nght over some sweet-corns nd cornflakes, we sat down to watch the movie. And immediately on hearing the song 'Jungle jungle baat chali hai....', i was transported back to the good old days of my childhood. When Sunday morning was the time to catch up with those eagerly awaited toons on DD- 'Junglebook, Ducktales & Tailspin'. I remembered the old man who was undergoing reverse ageing and used to distribute stories out of his 'Potli Baba Ki'. When summer holidays meant playing badminton & carrom the whole day and in-between catching the 3.30 pm shows of 'He-man: Master of the Universe'. When the on-set of the rains meant making paper-boats and dancing on the terrace in the first showers. When winter meant making new ploys on winning the neighbourhood kite-flying competition. When Mom had to literally drag me away from my buddies at dinner time. When the only worry was how to destroy the kite of the neighbourhood bully!

Then came Cable-TV. And i grew on the daily dosage of 'I dream of Jeannie', 'Different Strokes' & 'Bewitched'. My first crush: Capt. Anthony Nelson of 'I dream of Jeannie'. And yeah, not to forget the taklu who used to make participants run & play for money in 'The Crystal Maze'.

Thanks Ananya, for making me relive my childhood again, albeit fleetingly. How I miss those serials! How I wish those days were back!

Follow Thy Dreams...

"I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.”

These words of William Butler Yeats always put me in a melancholic mood. When we are down and out; when we become extremely vulnerable with our dealings with the world, it is the dream of something to achieve, which keeps us alive; egging us to move ahead in life. Once we get over the initial fear of the unknown, we gradually become accustomed to follow the only course of action available to us: follow our dreams. Having courage to dreaming what we want in an extremely unenviable position, is the only way of showing our trust in God. Something which I believe in a lot : 'The magic of dreams'.

But then, these lines question us...When do we feel safe to capitulate these dreams to another? To give others a power of walking on them- knowing this can make or break our life. Is it really worth giving others the power to do so? Or should your own dreams be something kept to yourself- protected & nourished in the embers of your heart, lest they are invaded, ransacked and made to wilt? And if indeed it has to be given to others, how do we recognise the people who will nurture our dreams for us?

When do we confidently say, “I have spread my dreams under your feet” knowing that that “other” will tread softly upon them?

Serendipity

(picture from my private collection)

Stood on the shore yesterday staring afar
The sun settling down for the night,
The remnants of the disappearing pink sky
Casting its silhouette
on the endless queuing mile.

The gentle evening breeze,
Blew tendrils across my face.
Felt the calmness seep into me
Allaying my fears; the longed solace.

Borne from the greyed ripples
Traveling far & yore
The waves- sputtering, burgeoning, rising, falling,
Finally slipping into oblivion,
Beneath my tired sole.

As the dark encroached the horizon,
A thought approached my mind
Now nothing can keep apart
The sea & its beloved, the land.

And I stood there.
Watching the play of nature,
Trying to figure what it means.
And it came to me when I was turning back
The Maker’s greatest creation:
The Serendipity of Life.

Mumbai Blues-I

Heard this very interesting story last week. Made me really question my own goals in life.

On the Juhu beach, an young ascetic was relaxing, stretching himself out. A passer-by noticed & asked," While everyone else is rushing around & working, why are you lying down doing nothing?"

The sage asked," What is the use of working?"
"To earn money, of course!", came the reply.
"And what if I work & get money...?"
"You will get all the comforts of life..."
"If I get all the comforts...?"
"You can relax & remain idle!"

And the ascetic replied with a smile,"Well, right now, I am doing the same thing, aren't I?"

The story somehow reminded me of an old Ghazal lyrics -

Seene mein jalan, ankhon mein tufan sa kyu hai?
Is sheher mein har shaks, pareshan sa kyu hai?

Kya koi ajeeb baat nazar aati hai hummein,
Aaina humein dekhke hairan-sa kyu hai?

In search of Peace

This is something I found today in my old diary. Some words penned down at a particular point of time. Can't call it a poem, neither a prose, not even a lyric. Just some random thoughts...

I often think..What exactly is peace??
Is it something which we find only in happiness
Or can we find it in sorrow too??
Where shall i seek peace? Or will it find me?

Is it necessary to go to a temple to find it
Or could it be found in the teardrop of somebody's contended eye
Is it necessary to donate money to others,
Or can it be found by fulfilling wants of people we call our own
Can peace be found by seeing others making their farms lushly abundant,
Or could it be found in the sweat of our own brow seeping in the mother earth.

Can peace be found in the appreciation of the peers,
Or can it be found in the blessings of your elders
Can it be found in the the great emptiness of the oceans
Or in the lilting echoes of the mountains.
Can it be found in the embrace of a lover
or could it be sought amongst a child's joyous peels

And I found a answer that I already knew
Peace can be anywhere & how
Yes, It is present when I close my eyes,
But most of all, it is present, when I open my heart.

How One Thing Can Contain Everything

A beautiful concept-

A meeting in the house of a Sao Paulo born painter based in New York. We are talking about angels & about alchemy. At one point, I try to explain to the other guests the alchemical idea that each of us contains the entire universe & that we are, therefore, individually responsible for its well-being. I struggle to find the right words, but cannot come up with a good image that will explain my point of view.

The painter who has been listening in silence, asks everyone to look out of the window of his studio.
'What can you see?' he asks.
'A street in Greenwich Village,' someone replies.
The painter sticks a piece of paper over the window so that the street can no longer be seen; then, with a penknife, he cuts a small square in the paper.
'And if someone were to look through this hole, what would he see?'
'The same street' comes the reply.

The painter cuts several squares in the paper.
'Just as each of these holes contains within it the whole view of the same street, so each of us contains in our soul the same universe.'

And all of us applaud the lovely image he has found.

(Excerpt from the truly wonderful book 'Like the flowing River' by Paulo Coelho).

Who packed my Parachute??

Charles Plumb, a U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a jet pilot in Vietnam . After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a Vietnamese prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience.

One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk . You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied.
Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude.
The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked!" Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."

Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform, a white hat, a bib in the back, and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said, "Good morning, how are you?" or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't even know.

"Now," Plumb asks his audience, "who's packing your parachute?" Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory --- he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.

Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason.

As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachute. And tell them thanks for packing your parachute.

This mail was sent to me by a friend. Thanx Nikhil, for sharing such a wonderful message.

The Papad-Seller

Train-traveling time is perhaps the only time in Mumbai when you have the time to witness a gamut of human emotions. Due to the fact that I can never sleep in trains unlike others, if I am fortunate enough to get a seat, I pass my time either reading novels or even more interestingly, observing others or reflecting.

Today, I was reading a novel, when I suddenly heard a soft voice speaking in polite Marathi,
“Konala Papad havet ka?” Does anybody want Papads?

Thinking who was adventurous enough to try & sell stuff amidst the huge peak- hour crowd, I glanced up briefly. What I found shook me to the core…For the seller was a very old woman! She must have been atleast 75 years old & from her appearance & language appeared to be from a very cultured Brahmin family. Bent at the waist, but still carrying a huge jhola from which she was disbursing the home-made papad packets. Everybody was moved to see such a frail, tired body being jostled by the rush-hour crowd & within no time all her packets were sold.

Having sold her packets, the woman was trying to find a place to stand. I got up & offered her my seat. She sat down, throwing a look of gratitude in my direction. Then she closed her eyes. And I proceeded to observe her unwatched. And thinking, what must have been the circumstances that must have forced an eighty year old woman to come out of the cocoon of her house.

Suddenly, I saw the old woman crying. Silently. She wasn’t even sobbing, just silent tears running down her cheeks, which she wiped periodically. What was she crying about; I wondered…has she lost someone? Problems at home perhaps? Or worst, a child had thrown her out of his house. I can’t really say. But felt really helpless & wretched, standing there…

After sometime she got up suddenly, wiping her eyes with her Pallu for the last time. And said to me “Tumhi basa, mala Thanyala utarayche aahe” Please sit, I want to get down at Thane. She turned, getting lost in the huge vortex of crowd which rose up to swallow her frail body. But before she turned, our eyes met for the last time. Her eyes arrested me. Or rather the lack of any expression in them. Completely vacuous eyes.

Some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.

On Halla Bol & Conscience

Was watching the flick Halla Bol yesterday eve with a group of friends. A film about the awakening of a man’s conscience, forcing him to take a second look at his own jaded, disillusioned existence in the glam world & inspiring others to have a second dekko at their own so-called principles through his efforts of bringing out the truth. Really thought-provoking movie.

But the conversation that followed the movie was even more thought-provoking. While returning from the movie, my friend Shipra (a civil lawyer) & I had an animated conversation in the train, discussing the flick. Do the awakening of the conscience which occured to Ishaan (the protagonist of the film) really happen to people when they actually see a women being molested, teased or even beaten by her own family members? Or are such cases restricted only in the celluloid Utopian land? Our thoughts particularly turned to the recent New-Year’s eve incident of molestation of two women by a group of 70-80 hoodlums outside the J.W. Marriot Hotel. And the much-publicised Jessica Lal murder case, the incident which has inspired the said film. In the above two isolated real-life cases, it was the public outrage which forced the authorities to atleast take cognizance of the offence, leave aside meting out punishment to the guilty. But there are so many unregistered, unnamed cases of crime which go unnoticed because people choose to turn a blind eye to the appalling happenings… Either the people have suppressed their conscience by adding layers of their fear to it or have become too indifferent to even let their conscience find its own voice…

At night, I asked myself what I would have done, if somebody was mauling another in my presence; be it a woman or a man…To be honest, if the victim were to be a woman, I would definitely try to curb the violence…but even I don’t know what would be my reaction, if the victim were to be a man…

In the dull drudgery of living, some choose their own conscience & pursue the cause till the end; the majority is content watching by the sidelines. What would be your reaction?

The Good,The Bad & the Ugly!!

Hey, I am not discussing the western cult movie here.... I am writing on certain happenings in my life...Part of my endeavour to learn from the past & letting it go completely...It’s often said first impression is the last impression…What we perceive about a person at first instance, influences all our future interactions… but is it correct to judge a person at the first instance?

My blog entry is about perception or rather to be more precise polarity of judgements. How this came about?? Well, a couple of weeks back, my boss told me that I am a very perceptive person, she meant to say I have this ability to understand people very easily (plz don’t take this to a self-praise article!).Obviously, I was very pleased with the compliment…But a couple of things happened at the beginning of this month, which made me question my own ability to judge people…First, a misplaced trust in a person whom I thought to be a very good friend for a couple of years & whom I had really admired from our first meeting, but who didn’t think twice before hurting me badly & later on, another person, whom I had dismissed as having a very frivolous nature on our second meeting (our first meeting didn’t last for more than a couple of minutes), but who really helped me keep my spirits up at a stage when the chips were completely down…Ironical, ain’t it??

When I was musing over these instances today, I was stuck by a related thought: that often we take an extreme view about a person, thing, idea or event on our first acquaintance or on their first occurrence- be it good or bad. But we often forget that our judgement is only relative to what seems to appear to us. And when we judge other people or ideas, in relation to this perception, we are actually doing injustice to them as we may be actually erring in our original perception [Sounds confusing, does it?] Let me simplify it...For eg. When I say that a particular idea as difficult, I am judging that idea in relation to some other idea, which I have already judged it to be easy…But what If I was erring in originally estimating the other idea as easy? Then isn’t my judging this idea as difficult incorrect? This is what I mean by polarity of judgement.

The following extract from Tao Te Ching (The Book of The Way) by Lao-Tzu [This book is an entire philosophy in itself] sums up the paradox:

When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly
When people see some things as good,
other things become bad

Being and non-being create each other
Difficult and easy support each other
Long and short define each other
High and low depend on each other
Before and after follow each other

I realized that we should really appreciate our perception, but keep an objective mind that our perception can be faulty… True good & bad things are much deeper than the picture we have formed in our mind. And maybe this idea will prevent me making such errors of judgement in the future…

The Realisation

A very beautiful thing has happened in the last few days..After a very long time, I am feeling that I am at peace… At peace with myself & with others… It is a similar feeling to having come home after staying away for a long time…To put it poetically, Jaise Manzilon ko Saahil mil raha hai…

As I had mentioned earlier too, I had been feeling quite restless the last couple of months… I was pushing myself hard, trying to find that elusive ‘something’… Then a couple of days back I read a wonderful book called “The Present” by Dr. Spencer Johnson (the author of Who moved my Cheese). In the middle of that same night, in a sleeplessness induced soul-searching exercise I suddenly realized that the maybe on reading the book, I had inadvertently stumbled on something monumental. No, I had not found or even realized what I was seeking. But I realized that in pursuit of that ‘something’, I was loosing out on the most important thing: My Present…I realized that I had stopped enjoying what I was doing at that moment; stopped appreciating the smaller joys of life, in search of the bigger ones…That was the moment I also realized that I had been dwelling too much in the past & worrying too much about the future. And once that realization came, I decided to work on it…to gift myself my present!

That night I decided to live for the moment…to learn from my past, but to let it stay where it belongs- the past & not let it encroach on my present. Also have decided to stop worrying about the future, yet plan to enjoy my present activities in such a way, that I am ensured of a good future…I know that, it’s easier said than done… but believe me, when I say, that when u start implementing this, its not that difficult either!

My decision (not calling it a resolution; as resolutions are meant to be broken) made, I stirred myself from my musings. Went outside to the balcony & really Looked at the sleepy night skyline…After a long time, I appreciated the silhouette of the coconut tree branches against the burgeoning dark sky & the birds’ late night chirping… And all of a sudden, I became aware of so many things that had been right in front of me, but was too obtuse to notice or feel all along… Finally, could appreciate what the book was telling me:

The Present
Is not the Past And
Is not the Future.

The Present is
The Present Moment!

The Present is Now!

Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi....

Reading Ghalib these days...A Beautiful book " Love Sonnets of Ghalib". Could instantly connect to one of his famous couplets:

"Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi, ke har Khwaish pe dam nikle
Bahot nikle mere armaan, magar phir bhi kam nikle"

Roughly translated meaning (pardon my translation!!)

Thousands of such desires, each worth dying for...
many of them I have realized...yet I yearn for more...

One of the issues that is plaguing me these days is my unending search for, well... something more...This constant evaluation of life..where is it moving? is it good now? Was it good back then? Am i waiting for something? Why inspite of so much love & happiness, somewhere, somehow, something is missing... The pieces of this jigsaw are yet to fall in place.

Pushing myself hard, but still thinking kuch to baki hai..Maybe, just that little bit more and I shall be happy....

Hazaaron khwaishein aisi, unse jude hue hazaaron sapne,
thode sach hue, thode chur hue, thode sapne hi rah gaye...