Dialogue

Dialogue that absorbs different people of similar intellectual pursuits is what keeps the world going up. The needs of people to be happy also depends on their need to share thoughts about higher ideals and so on. Most people who have been in these conversations would disagree. They would tell you that these conversations make you unhappy - they accomplish little, they bring home the fact that things don't really work well in the world. It brings out the flaws that are in you and the world around. Yet once you have the taste of this type of dialogue, you know that you are going to go back for more.

The short story

The short story format allows one to write a short scenario that fleets across the mind, without reaching a conclusion. There is no moral, ending or purpose with which it is written. There is nothing except a scenario to convey. It is the result of a flash of something in the mind that needs to be put down with little thought to how it should end or what it must represent. That is the beauty of it. Pure imagination that draws the reader in to imagine a bit with the so-called story and formulate the rest of it by himself/herself. 

News and comment sections

I think, comments on websites have been most important in deciding and  influencing public opinion. I know this mostly from personal experience. I tend to read some youtube comment on a comedy sketch video and agree with whatever the comment says is the funniest part of the video. When I read some negative comment on some character that I hadn't really had an opinion of before, I end up disliking that character a bit. 

On issues that I have strong feelings myself, I do not feel being swayed much by people's comments. But I hate to read comments on news sites. It is not so much that some commenter disagrees with my viewpoint, but it is that I know that it ends up influencing people negatively. By this I simply mean that the reader is unconsciously led to taking some viewpoint that he/she has not considered and thought much about before adopting it as his/her own (and not that any view other than mine is negative, duh!). Also, the point of comments on a news site is a concept that is very unacceptable to me. I understand comment sections on opinions. In fact comments on opinion pieces are important and help keep a balance. Opinions must be open to debate and disagreement. But why on news reports?

Analysis of humankind. On the 20th floor

The twentieth floor. It wasn't all that high really. But it stood above the whole city. I could see the whole city, the next one and the one beyond that. The cloud's shadow moved from over a set of buildings and went over what looked like a clump of trees. I am sure this 'clump' was really close to a forest. The sun weaved in and out from between clouds and I knew this is why it was described as golden. It truly was golden. Not just bright yellow. It was the glowing, soft and exquisite colour of gold.

As the cloud moved over the forest of trees, I was reminded of this childish game that I played not very long ago (a very short while ago and I am quite embarrassed to admit it) In the game I was the emperor of a country and I had a castle and a huge set of workers, farmers and what not to serve me. I would click on some piece of empty land and command those workers to build a granary and a school for warriors and a blacksmith's workshop and so on. Meanwhile I knew that there was a dark forest where a dangerous vampire-like creature lived and ruled. I had to encroach on his land, provoke him and bring him out to battle when my empire was strong enough. He had his own minions - silly looking creatures which were vile and caused me to lose a lot of my people and resources. But they were easy to get rid of. When they were all finished, I had all the land to myself and I was free to do whatever I wanted without any more trouble. The game was a huge flop. I am sure you have never heard of it. I probably was the only "fan" of the game.

I suspect my game was only a limited version and that was the reason why I could do what I did. I built more buildings and did the job of a peace-time emperor. I am sure it wouldn't be a good move for game designers to allow a game to run forever without a so-called objective. In other words without a bad guy that you are supposed to get rid of or a mushroom to be eaten or a maiden to be rescued, the game wouldn't sell. What fun could you possibly have if there was nothing to claim it from.

So this cloud moved further and the sun came out. It shone brighter. My coffee was getting a bit colder so I downed it in a large gulp.

The job of a peace time emperor. An assurance that there were no evil creatures and no silly flunkies. What a pleasant life. An assurance that everything would only go up from here and that the land and its unlimited resources would sustain the whole empire to eternity. I am sure this is the dream of every human on this planet. Yet, even in computer games where we could have the chance to have it, we don't want it.

B o r e d

She was bored. Again. She was bored of being bored.

She remembered the days before GreaseBook had taken over the world. It was not very different from now really. But she could look forward to some pseudo-human-contact in the form of cheesy forwarded mails.
She didn't really miss them either. She was left with one less chore in the day anyway.

What a snob. What a prude. What was so special about her that she couldn't just be unique and special just like everyone else.

She was sick of people expecting her to jump in with the milling crowd, in to the bandwagon and be one with the herd. If she felt sick of the whole idea of putting her life online, trying all the time to be witty and special and intelligent and unique when she really was not, there was nothing wrong with it. There were enough people trying to be all that and the world really didn't need her to spend all her energy in that.


Okay. Then why complain? She had chosen this for herself. She had made herself the outcast. And stuck to her deep and passionate boycott.

A shudder ran down her spine as she realized that she stayed away out of fear of being connected irretrievably and densely with hundreds, maybe thousands of witty, special, intelligent, unique people and yet be what she was already. Bored.

Musical Memory

That voice, that delicate twist in tune, every variation in beat, every little imperfection, takes me back to that moment in time when I first heard it. It takes me back to every instance since.

Does that mean if my life had a continuous soundtrack, I could remember every instant of my life forever?

I remember every lyric of a song even after years of not having heard it. I can hum the instrumental fillers and tap out the beat on my table (or in my head). To an extent that I freak myself out about how I could possibly remember that detail.

After having thought about it enough, I am convinced that this could only be possible because our brains are made to understand and communicate through music much more efficiently than any thing else in the world. Which means that our memory is able to interact with music better than words.

Wishing I was there

There is something very romantic about being a tourist. You see people and places and admire them. You imagine what it would be like to live in those pretty places. You dream of their perfect looking lives and wonder if there is that life in store for you sometime. You wish it was, because it looks so perfect and you have this idealized view of yourself and your life in the future.

I remember visiting Bangalore as a child and wondering how exciting it would be to actually live there. A city full of neon lights and buzzing restaurants and different people, exciting events happening all the time. When I did live in Bangalore, I don't think I enjoyed it as much as I had dreamed I would as a child. 

I sit on my favourite bench here, watching tourists from different places, races, cultures and think of their exciting lives. I think of the fun that they will have in their next destination. I think of the people they will meet, the food they will sample, the places they will admire and wonder if there is any of that waiting to happen to me. And while I dream on, I catch them looking at me, with the same wonder and longing in their eyes as when I look at them.

The Bench

She looked around 20 years old. She wore a strapless white dress with red flower prints and some flecks of green that dropped to a little below her knees. She moved chairs back into position and as she did, she turned her back to me, revealing a glossy red ribbon tied into a bow around her waist. She seemed just a little conscious of her dress and tugged at it slightly.

She was tall, but her dress made her look smaller. She was not skinny, but you wouldn't call her chubby either. She had slightly freckled, fair skin.

She wore her long hair in a complex braid that rested on her right shoulder. She wore blue flat slippers with a thin strap that she held on to between her second and big toe. She wore a silvery anklet only on her right ankle. She held a tray in her right hand, with a couple of beer mugs on it, hoisted slightly at shoulder level.

She often slipped into a narrow doorway and re-emerged, each time with that tray in her hand. She came back to serve some new customers, very cheerfully.

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She wore her short hair with a middle parting. She had black rimmed glasses. A fluorescent green polo t-shirt, with khakis folded upto below her knees. She wore black strappy sandals. She was about 5 feet tall and a bit stout.

I could imagine her at a desk, or a store, but not at a job that required the attention and admiration of other people. But of course, my opinion is based on her appearance, the way she sloppily and very ineffectually tried to catch someone's eye with a wave, the way she wore a handbag as well as a backpack on each of her arms, looking quite uncomfortable. I lost sight of her many times as I tried to observe the details of her appearance, specially because of the person with bubblegum pink hair who was walking a little away from her.

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"What time the ice cream shop close. Because I like to eat ice cream." Two girls sat down on the bench next to me. They were obviously not from the same place, did not know each other very well and not comfortable with speaking English at all. Yet, they shared laughs. They made a very active and enthusiastic attempt to be friendly.

They left my bench and went over to another one when it became vacant. I wondered, where the conversation would have gone from that point. What do you talk about after asking about the closing times of ice cream shops. What do you say after sharing tremendously unique details like your love for ice cream.

I glanced sideways at them again, expecting to see moments of awkward silence that have crept in to their conversation and I was surprised to see them still at it. I could not hear them talk, but I could see their faces reflect genuine interest in what the other had to say.

The Universe Speaks

Music makes the world seem worth it all. The heartbreaks, the sorrow, joy, love, nature, everything makes sense. Life should be written to music.

Sugary sweetness, overflowing and sickening is okay but for a very very short while. Like a 3-minute song with lots of repetitive chorus that sounds like sugar-high cheerleaders, the most annoyingly catchy tune. Hearing the same song years later reminds you of the time you heard the song first, how foolish you were back then. How much more foolish you are now.

Dance music is like the heart beat. Life dances to it. The sun sets, trees grow, trains rush keeping beat to this music.

Sad music is pure joy. There is a sense of pure love that washes all over and hushes the mind filled with thoughts that are so fast and mixed up that they hurt. Sad music wishes all that away.

Violins and guitars are the voice of the universe talking to us in the language in which everything resonates.

Lyrics to a song are sometimes like sugar in honey - pointless, sometimes like a fly in honey - annoying, and sometimes honey itself - sweet.

Why blog?

I recently started writing at a new blog : lifeandpepper.blogspot.com and I have been thinking about why I write on a blog made public for everyone in the world to read and write some thing there while trying not to talk about my identity in the real world while also giving out the blog address to people I know personally. (Phew, long sentence)

What do I write on the internet for. Is it some kind of deluded sense of being a good writer / an attempt to improve on skills / a record of life and the way I am going through it / trying to tell people "look I exist, I am witty, I am talented!!!!" and sounding like a big bore really.

If you blog, tell me why you do. I want to know what the reason for this endless number of blogs that are written and very rarely read.

People? Pigeons?

How lonely you can be in a crowd
When they are pushing, jostling, shoving, yelling, cursing
When they are everywhere
Trying to go somewhere, ending up nowhere
Like a pigeon - fluttering its wings, not knowing where to go

How alive can you feel
When they leave traces of their existence everywhere
Just traces of existence
Nothing more than that
Like a pigeon - "trapped" in a room though its doors are open

The poor chap made into my workplace today and could not find his way out, in spite of our efforts to shoo him out through our various windows and large door.
"He", if He really is there, has a twisted, convoluted sense of humour. Nevertheless I had a laugh, thanks.

Beautiful Mathematics

I met a person recently who told me that he was doing a PhD in Mathematics. I always have had awe for people who are researching in Math or Physics. Having read stories of physicists and mathematicians who were glorified by war efforts to build "The bomb" and all the frenetic activity that went with it, I always have wondered if the people of the present generation have much to offer that will take the whole world by storm like Einstein and others did in their time. Does anyone today, have the opportunity to capture the imagination of the entire world, with theories that would destroy the theories that we have held to be true for a few hundred years?
What does this Math PhD guy do really? I regretted asking the question after I saw how uncomfortable it made him. He mumbled a few words about how "research in Mathematics is never really with an application in mind. You know, you have some math... and... you work around with it you know... and see what you get from it.." he trails off. I am still listening expectantly. "You know, you can work with it for years and never really get anywhere..". Then he goes on, "You know, math is full of axioms, so we never can say if we are getting anywhere by accepting them". His voice trails off again. Then I got his point. He thought I was too stupid to get it in technical terms.
"So it is more like free thinking? You turn axioms out of your mind and try looking at things differently?", I asked. At my mention of 'free thinking' he jumped. He excitedly says that is so and that it was free thinking without being bothered about applications. "More like art for art's sake?" Yes he says, beautiful Mathematics. They have trouble getting funds for their work. No one can explain why beautiful Mathematics is important. That is if you can explain to someone (especially people who are in charge of supplying funds) how math can be beautiful in the first place.
Then again, isn't Mathematics our feeble attempt to understand a universe that has so many mysteries? We take pleasure in knowing that there are some numbers that seem to resonate with the universe and occur everywhere - like pi. There are others that we will never understand, never feel and never be able to imagine like infinity. Yet Mathematics is our only tool aiding us in hope of understanding the universe - a means to find order in chaos, an attempt to structure and organize life. Almost like religion that is based on strong beliefs, passed down from generation to generation, and little else.

This blog

Today I gave a fresh look at my prized blog. I wondered why I had started writing in the first place. I re-read many posts trying to find a thread, trying to find what the blog can be classified as. I have kept out personal details of any kind here. Unless you know me personally, you wouldn't even know my name from the kind of anonymity I keep up. I have not named my occupation. I have left an inkling of what I have been educated to be. So the blog leaves out these important details that have to be filled in every form and letter - considered to be most essential to your identity. Yet, the blog is filled with an essence of who I am, even if it does not convey every aspect of who I am. At the end of this session, I am appalled at the amount of information I give away to a reader who would care enough to read into every word that I have said here. I have taken pains to keep out my identity on the net and yet I have ended up telling you so many many things. It tells me so many things about myself, about my evolution as an individual. But all this is only because I think I know myself. I wonder what it tells somebody else.

The full cycle

Snake-like, the cycle wheel goes while crushing leaves on the tarred road and leaves you wondering what is more wonderful - foliage that is just sprouting this spring or the memories of the last year that are strewn on pathways. You look up and the future calls with translucent green - fragile and yet sturdy and strong enough to last the summer and the winter after. You look down and you see orange, brown and red of last year's follies and foibles, fun and frolic - the past. Your cycle wheel crushes every crumpled reminder that goes "scrunch" on the road and that scrunch travels right up to your head through the rubber and metal. Then another attack of wind, forces down more leaves that shower down on you, covering you with orange, brown and red again. You try to weave past every one that threatens to attach itself to you, but they still do. The images of them falling down straight in individual spirals in a slow-motion-shot force your lips to turn up and acknowledge the sight. The permanence of this process of change that makes the whole earth be born again, taking you with it, taking something away and giving you something in return, keeps you in awe of perfection embedded in that which can never be perfect, permanence that is so ephemeral, meaning etched into meaninglessness and past replayed and recorded in that which is yet to come. The full cycle.

WYTIWYG

There are several layers to anything that is deep and meaningful. Anything with true depth is not lying there with everything that is there to it, available for vandals to rip through and see the bales flying in the wind. That which has great depth seems to be nothing, puts on no pretense, is ordinary to the senses of the world. It is to the thinking mind that it reveals itself in its true colours and attraction. It is to the thought process that it appeals. Like every other wonder of the world, it gives a choice. You either see it as it is or you see it as it appears to be. But what you see does not define it. What you see defines you.
"Its complexity is directly proportional to the time that you put into understanding it" and that makes it all the more beautiful.
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

Pearl of wisdom #192

"If you don't know where you're going any road will take you there"

But if you do know where you are going...

... any road will still take you there.

Keep at it.

Power(puff) girl

I once blabbed in a packed class that I see myself holding a position of great power and control in my life in future. I was scoffed at and the instructor gave a very sarcasm laden comment about it that I forget now (very conveniently). This was around 3 years ago. I wonder now, what it is about power that people are crazy about. Power over other human beings? Power over nature? Power over destiny and future? Power to make, break and demolish? Or simply power over myself and what happens to me. Why should anyone go after the power to influence or control other people and their happiness?
I believe the power to choose what happens to me is much more important than the power to "control" the people of the world or any other power for that matter.

Mirage

I searched for the blue sky. It takes me in every time I see it because of the way it spreads out and over and around. It sees no beginning and no end like every piece of truth that exists in this world and yet there is no bigger illusion than this image that we call the sky. That day, it had spread in every direction that I turned till the land devoured it. It was telling me that there was something that I did not know but could feel - there was something that I could believe in without seeing. It seemed as though it ended where it touched the land, but I could feel that it did not.
Today I searched for the sky. I searched for that huge play on my eyes that had me enamoured and in awe and that had held my imagination for years. I looked for it in the distance as my cramped bus moved among dusty buildings. I searched for it like a parched traveler in a desert looks for an oasis. Like a parched traveler I trudged on - up and down sand dunes and looked to see a spot of that which holds life and body together.
Then like a parched traveler I looked out the window and found something that spread out and over and around. It took me in its grip and made me believe that it was a vast expanse and a huge something that was larger than me and my world. Like a parched traveler feeling the misery of having seen a mirage that created false hopes in his mind - when the smoke cleared I saw there was no sky - only more skyscrapers that shielded the blue from my eyes.
Later, I wondered. When the blue clears will I be as disappointed?

Patterns

One essential thing to learning and discovering things for yourself, without the aid of information from work others have done before you, is to look for patterns. A pattern in the kind of feedback you get from the system will let you categorize what you see. Finding these patterns is essential to understanding the system.
This is precisely the reason why people judge others. But if you try judging others from the patterns that other people have already spotted before you , it is meaningless and not justified. You see it is only fair if you are finding patterns where you know of none. That is why people are so against judging others.
Incidentally, people who claim they do not judge are the ones who cannot stop doing that.

Are these questions?

What do you admire someone for. For what they have achieved? For what labels people have thrust upon them? For who they are? Or do you just admire them for what they are?

What do you believe in God for. Do you want to feel safe to think that some one else is there to watch over you? Do you want some one else whom you can praise for your achievements? Are you afraid of the power of your happiness? You want it to be in the safe hands of someone else?

What am I asking these questions for? Do I want to know their answers? Do I want you to think of the answers? Do I want you to share them with me? Do I want to tell you what's on my mind?