The thing about moving on..

I think moving on comes naturally to us humans.. Its almost a part of our genetic wiring, probably for the good sometimes as it helps us keep a sane head. It means we can move past personal tragedies and disappointments, and carry on living.

Personal grief is tough, but with time memories begin to fade, and the same moments that once seemed unlivable look like it wasn't the end of world after all.. Its even easier moving on when the tragedy is someone else's.. A part of you feels sorry about it and the people that it concerns, but then the rigmarole of daily living drowns this part, and we move on with life as usual. It sometimes feels absolutely inhuman to not feel other's grief and tragedy as deeply as one would expect one's self to.

It is possibly true that there are certain parts of our brain that work on their own accord, away and out of control of what we call the conscious brain. They interpret the happenings in our conscious self, and in response release compounds and chemicals that produce the feelings that we humans have. We have neither the control to summon these feelings at will nor make them go away as we wish. Probably it does more good than harm, or else how miserable our own lives would become with tragedies striking every minute and news of it travelling every second with few taps on screens...In the end, it means we carry on living, oblivious of events that surround us and that have the power to slow us down and force a rethink on the journey that we are on..

At a more personal level, i had moved on and forgotten about this blog for over seven years now, until today when i felt a need to write again. Who knows how long this companionship lasts, but til then i will treasure the conversations with my laptop about real feelings and thoughts, a break away from the usual numbers and business.

Office doldrums

Sitting idle without work can be the most exhausting thing. However, there are a few who would metaphorically describe the workless days at office as the 'Honeymoon period'. These are either the uninitiated types that are fresh out of college and are for the first time experiencing the luxury of earn-without-work or the self proclaimed happy souls who could gauge that life was one tedious rat race of ambition and so intelligently opted out even before the starting salvo was fired. Let me add some detail here for the sake of clarity. Whereas the former category is more a beneficiary of ignorance, the later choose to behave so for a variety of reasons. Some use this facade of perennial contentment to mask under-the-cover activities like alternative Job hunt while a few others are just happy to find free time which can then be purposefully employed to resurrect old relationships or building new ones or both. I (and most other practical ones) though have long lived with the realisation that Honeymoons are almost always illusionary little happy periods preceeding monotonous and often disastrous marriages and as such to be seen as harbingers of lifelong damnation. Anyways lets return to the topic and what better than with an example.

Now come to think of it -You leave your home all decked up carrying an air of significance as if you are going to deliberate the signings of the most important business deals or make the most crucial decisions that shall clinch that proverbial deal with the client and all you end up with is either surfing the most useless sites and not to forget the so called social networking sites on the internet or on some really lucky days playing Table Tennis in the ever so busy and brimming-with-activity recreation centre of the office. Though i lay no special claims to being an uptight and principled man, I find this whole affair rather unwholesome and humilitating. I have undergone this humiliation more than once in my numbered professional days so far and needless to say ( as you the very intelligent reader must have already guessed it) the Office Doldrums are back to haunt me.

Far more interesting is the way the so called Management tends to describe these 'Happy hours' of employees. In my office they are called 'Asset building and investment activity leading to Gainful Employment'. Some mumbo jumbo isn't it? well consider this now. Some of these 'under investment' employees claim to 'Work from Home' when there is hardly any work to do even at office. Everybody knows the truth but nobody makes an objection and nobody seems to take any offence either. We all belong to a common brotherhood, bound together by workplace secrets that we all share.

Now this one is really funny. I know of one firm where the leadership went on to declare (and with much theatrics) that " We shall be celebrating this year as the Year of Learning!!" ( as obviously there is no work to do). I haven't ever come across any more generous use of euphemisms in English literature. Its extrapolation stretched to infinity. How on Earth can whiling one's time on Orkut or solving crosswords on the internet be an investment activity is beyond me. But then i dont claim to be the sophisticated kinds who make these investment decisions.

Let's give them the benefit of doubt for a moment though. May be they really believe that all humans ( and hence by assumption all employees) are born good and shall continue to behave in the most befitting and honest manner. But could reality be any more different? This assumption if indeed true on their part would make them look all the more stupid. The fact is (and it holds for most things in life) any logic is acceptable as long as it is put in a manner that is politically correct and if it can be made a little more obscure to undertstand even better.

Its past six already and that ends my quota of investment activity and asset building for the day. On that note time to go home.

Coming back to life!!!

The title of the post is a well known song by Pink Floyd and as such carries an obvious resonance with me an all-out Floyd fan. It also happens to be the first line that came to my mind after i could no longer contain the desire in me to revive this long forgotten blog. Yes, this very blog of mine was once a menifestation of my creative passions, a celebration of the joys of writing before I simply lost interest in it. Much like a child that gets bored after a while with his new toy train. Its routine run round and round the tracks that once got the child excited now barely evokes any interest. Soon after, it is relegated to the shelve of old toys to join the ranks of old and abandoned play things. This blog,my child, was reserved a similar fate.

To narrate its story, this blog of mine was born a premature child to the passions of an uncertain parent - my desire to write, the prolific word churner of once that now lives in a state of abandonment, longing for the return of its beloved muse. This muse whose beauty was once the object of its passions, whose trail led it to unknown territories of the heart where stories lurked in unformed shapes and words lived in the shadows, left it after she could no longer feel in it the same zest and virility of the past. Living in a state of perpetual bereavement, it soon forgot of the existence of the child(blog).

To carry the bored kid's and the toy train's story further, this kid grows up to be an adult and one fine day discovers this very toy train of his childhood in one of the delapidated cupboards (in a junkroom of his house). With tears in his eyes, he lifts and holds it close to his heart remembering its ritual circular runs and the sense of wonder that it once evoked in him. He desperately looks for its missing pieces, hoping to give it a new life. But is it really the train thats coming back to life or is it something in the child (now an adult)? To put the same question differently, is it that the train had ceased to live or had something in the child died?

I for one know that its not merely this blog thats coming back to life.

A modest Proposal

LIFE FOR CHILDREN IN INDIA

• About 17 million work, 2 million in hazardous jobs
• At least 6 million live in slums
• About 300,000 - at least - engage in commercial sex
• About 200 girls and women enter prostitution daily, 80 per cent unwillingly
• More than 30 million women and children have been victims of trafficking for sexual exploitation in Asia in the past 30 years
• Under-5 mortality rate: 85 out of every 1,000 births

Sources: Indian Government and Census; Save the Children India; UNICEF



I could not overlook the connection with Jonathan Swift's A modest Proposal.
It might seem farfetched but...
http://art-bin.com/art/omodest.html

The cult of 'make quick money' salvationists

This post is a sequel to the last one called Beware of the friendly. Before i begin here is a piece of disclaimer: The characters described are as real as the story i am about to narrate and if that posits even bigger questions on its credibility, i will only say that a story should still get its due if it is worth its pinch of salt, its authenticity or the lack of it notwithstanding. The names of the characters have been made up here and there, but that is to be viewed as a weakness of my memory rather than a regard for the anonymity of people i least care about. So without blabbering lets take it further:

He seemed in no haste to hang up while i continued with my big talks on the whoswho of business fraternity and how their ascendency always had very humble beginnings. He had deliberately let the noose loose, sure all the while i would walk into it. He revealed that he had other plans for he despised the rat race that life is, the details of which he could not reveal over the phone. I tried some prodding and poking but then desisted. This was probably a ploy to lend a degree of authenticity. I hung up after promising to meet him the next day at his friends' place.

The next morning i dragged myself out of the bed for i hate early 'waking ups', trying to convince myself that this one promised a real Purpose. No wonder most men meet their damnation walking down the reason's lane!! I was still not familiar with the labyrinthine streets of Koramangala so he helped me with the directions over the phone. After a lot of trouble with the oneways and the usual romance with the Bangalorean traffic, I reached the destination only to learn that the 'session' was already underway.

Now this was interesting! A Session!! Hold on. Weren't we supposed to discuss a new business venture that would catapult me overnight into the likes of the multi billionaires, my snaps appearing on the frontispiece of business magazines with the 'Dream On' slogan in the background?? I anyways reined the cynicism and decided to get on with things, now that i was there. I opened my shoes on the doorsteps of a closed room anticipating the world that lay inside.

The room with due respect to my knowledge of dimensions was not at all big and to avoid making it ambiguous i might well put it as small. There was a staircase at a corner with its steps running up and down like the usual stairways. I was still considering the wallpaper of a bikniclad model hung smartly on the wall opposite when i suddenly became conscious of a sea of gazes sizing me top to bottom. Yes, there were people and about twenty of them sitting on the floor, their faces brimming with cordiality and that unmistakable smiles scripted all over their face likes school boy uniforms. I was surely in a congregation of friendly people !!

" Lets welcome our new friend with three rounds of clappings" , the voice came from a fat looking bald man sitting at the centre with a pate that shone even in the gloominess.

The clappings ensued soon after the proclamation ended and i strained hard not to show the embarassment on my face. The well of bodies began to shuffle and twist and squirm and soon there was some space which i figured was enough to accomodate my lanky figure. I sat beside a bespactacled girl, happy to find the attention slowly drifting away from me. And what did it return to?? Well ofcourse the session again!!

" Lets continue Amar", announced the bald man again while addressing the words to a boy who wore a cream TShirt with a denim jeans not to forget the spectacles that made up much of his face. He had a dimunitive figure and i was happy i could not see the clown's face from where i sat.

" I sold this oil bottle for 250 rupess and the profit was no less than Rs. 50. I sold it to my friend", he announced to a roar of appreciation and approbation from the crowd.

" How do you always manage to extract the best deal out of people? You must disclose your 'trade secrets' to all of us", the bespectacled girl sitting beside me exclaimed, trying hard to be heard above the din of the crowd. And yes her efforts did not go in vain for she sure had claimed a victim as my hands impulsively moved to my ears to cut out the raucous voice. I looked at her wih disgust but she had already settled at her place and was busy smiling coyly at people around.

My usual self- reprehension and cursing was at its peak as my eyes continued to look for the rascal who had brought me to this mess. Seeing me look around anxiously, a middle aged man who had little clusters of hair growing sporadically on an egghead asked me with genuine concern if everything was okay. And i said, yes okay it was except for his leafless bonsai head and thought why he did not buy the hair oil from our 'Mr. Salesman' Amar instead of clapping.

Meanwhile people small and big, XX and XY , fair and dark, young and old continued to hog their salesmanship for having fooled their close friends, neighbours and relatives. And I once again decided to take refuse in my inborn talent with indifference.

If you are already empathising with me, without dishonouring your intent which i assume is to go back in time and extricate me from these 'make quick money' salvationists, I would only remind you of the cliched saying (the exact words of which i have forgotten but the essence i shall quote ) that others' sorrows and miseries can be fully understood only from their position by getting into their shoes.This my dear reader is not to be misconstrued as any ill intentions for heaven forbid i would never want any of you in a similar situation but the extent of my misery will dawn on you only when i reveal the climatic torture this poor soul had to undergo. So read on.

Just when i thought that deliverance was nigh, I discovered that lord had other plans or was it just the bald oldie. He anounced with a flourish, " Friends! I hope all of you thoroughly enjoyed the session that we just had. But before we take leave lets hear what our new friend has to say".

Like a tidal wave the sea of faces turned towards me and i turned with them obviously having ignored the grand promulgation. With all his experience for having shed his hair at every nook and corner of the world, the bald man was to first to notice and comprehend my predicament. And he jumped straight to the rescue act." Comon now! Aren't we all eager to hear what Mr. Amit has to say?", he said with the display act of his thirtytwo.

I can't exactly remember what went through my mind as i heard the reverberations of my death sentence echo in my ears. It sounds funny now. However, I cleared my throat, swallowed the lump forming in my throat and did other stuff that precede grand phoney speeches.

" Its been a truly enriching experience and not to forget the intellectual insights it brought about forming and running symbiotic enterprises of its nature, that makes our life so much better". They clapped with more enthusiasm as if it were any vindication to their beliefs. I bet had i talked more some would have even cried. It was all so damn phoney!! Probably they knew it too and which is why they clapped even harder applauding each other for having kept up the charade.

In retrospection i might admit that may be they were really happy and i was being only too judgemental. But at that moment and place, as i rode my Pulsar back home, it was only the reprieve of being back into the world i had spent twenty two not very bad years of my life.

Watch out for the friendly

Have you ever encountered a human being who makes you hate the class of those pretentious friendly conversationalists, who would superficialy appear to be the most innocuous and affable guys around and then ambush you the moment you have fallen into their trap?? Wow!! Now that classisfies as one of the lengthiest accusation i have ever made. But as you will soon find out that is not without a reason.
It was one of those sunny sundays and I was hanging around at Landmark, a bookstore in B'lore, flipping through the pages dreamily thinking about many a things in life. "You have a good choice!!", a voice says from behind me. I glance over my shoulders and there is this guy standing by my side with a wide sagelike smile spread over his face, looking at me as if he can read me in and out. I at once felt conscious as i usually do talking to strangers and muster the faintest of smile, my mind performing the arithmatics of Who is this guy? Why the hell did he choose to talk to me when there are so many people around? Doesn't he resemble the gay male protagonist of some movie i had seen ?? All this while he continues to smile, a smile that grows in a crescendo with each passing second, now contorting his face as it rises a notch higher. The silence that has now ensued for eternity finally concludes as he says with an overwhelming ease, "You have a great taste. I have been noticing you for a while now." I now felt ashamed of myself for having been so curt, also beginning to savour the subtle flattery in his words. And there i had it. Before I could evaluate the situation and its possible repurcussions as i normally would, I had let my guards down and allowed myself to be talked into a situation that would soon culminate into a cynicism i now carry for all friendly strangers walking the B'lore cityscape.
He introduced himself as Abhishek and asked me questions about my work, my experience so far in dealing with the nighmarish B'lore traffic and ofcourse he talked about how he felt i had a superior reading taste to others around who were just fad readersin his opinion. Huh, a nice compliment!!Now there is something so very sinister about flattery. It works where all other instruments of persuasion fail. And boy wasn't i feeling good about myself. He told me he had recently shifted to bangalore , having worked for two years with some MNC in Mumbai. Perfectly normal and innocuous talk by any standards. Anyway it was pretty late already and i was getting into the usual calculus of how to draft a good goodbye statement. There again he came to my rescue and reached out for his wallet from which he would later draw a busniss card and holding it between his index finger and thumb, give it to me with that characteristic smile of his. I reciprocated the card giving ceremony and left, by now in total enchantment of his suaveness and easy manners.
The next evening he called me up and the confabulation took the usual contours of work and life and traffic before it finally got into aspirations and futuristic visions, which in retrospect i feel was purely by design rather than a coincidence. He revealed that he had recently gotten into an exciting business venture and asked how i felt about startups and big business ideas. Now this was the trick. He had talked me into feeling that i was the trusted one, someone who belongs to the inner circle of trust. Basking in the warmth of his confidence in me, i spoke at length about the success stories I had heard of and how i would love to be a part of one someday. How neat! The iron was now hot enough to be hammered..( to be continued in the next post)

Writing dreams to dreams on writing

There have been countless nights when i have woken up with this desire to write whatever i had been seeing in a dream, to hold on to the sights perched perilously on the lashes of my sleepy eyes and to give them the identity of written words. But as soon as i switch on the light, they seem to dissolve in the vividness of the surroundings as if silently acknowledging their insignificance to a higher reality all ready to set in. Suddenly there are no visions to contemplate, no words to ruminate over but the materiality of objects around staring at me. The surreality is all lost to a blink.
I have long nurtured this habit of sleeping with books surrounding me in a pile by the pillow. I can't say the reason for sure but guess it has something to do with one of those childhood fancies of mine. I would sleep with my textbooks around thinking that would obviate the need for a revision afterwards. It makes me laugh to think about it. But then such is the nature of childhood. Lately I have started keeping a diary and a pen by my side thinking someday i will have the patience to sit up and brood and may be pen down something. But my lumbering pace with words has always lost to the effervesence that thoughts are. May be when i grow a little old and when my mental faculties slow down as days and years in me pile up, the twain shall meet. And I will write.