Objectivity

That day he ran. Usually, he liked to walk, on Her suggestion that day, he ran. He shrugged his hunched frame, opened up his shoulder blades, drew up his stocky frame to full height and ran. Uninhibited and carefree. He splashed through the waves and the surf, stopping only at the far end of the beach. Panting, he bent forwards and turned his head backwards to look for Her. She soon caught up with him. A quaint, serene and beautiful smile played on her lips. ‘That was fun’ ‘Sure was’. They turned and started ambling back to their group, which looked like a jagged blotch of colour on the sparkling golden sands, like a stain on a rug. They are strange, these sort of friends. Prized possessions.

This memory is bottled up in head, safe and tight. He struggles trying to get the facts straight. Not romanticizing good memories and demonizing bad ones is hard. He closes his eyes….

Was the sand as golden as he sees it in the mental projection of that beach? Was she really smiling when he turned back to look at her? Or just panting? Was the sun really shining that prettily? It was overcast that day, wasn’t it? Even more scarily, did he run on the same beach as he now projects in his memory? Or was it on the other beach, a few weeks later, the much less beautiful, and lot more crowded beach?...

He exhales deeply and violently. The stench of stagnant rainwater and decaying rubbish pile are overbearing. ‘Lets get it over with’. He hurries into the gate keeping his eyes low, wanting to avoid anyone who knew him even slightly. He slinks past the buildings, offices and warehouses. The clanging and chattering of machines seems obtrusively loud and jarring. Every shadow appears menacing. Suppressing a shudder, he walks into the office, signs the forms, collects his documents and rushes out. He virtually jogs to the main gate, exits and doesn’t even bother to make sure that the gate closes behind him. He just wants to get away from this ruthless monstrosity....

This memory is bottled up in head, safe and tight. He struggles trying to get the facts straight. Not romanticizing good memories and demonizing bad ones is hard. He closes his eyes….

Was it really THAT smelly near the entrance? Or was it just a small puddle due to recent rain? Were the lawns not lush green and pretty? Were the people there not really kind and supportive to him, despite their nonchalance about his work? Hadn’t this clanging and chattering sounded endearing to him initially? Was the aversion to this place not partially due to the fact the botched up some things? Did the people there not help him sort his mistakes out?

“Objectivity leads to disenchantment. It clears the mist of emotions, enhances rationality and reduces delusions. Being deluded about anything never helps. The first step in resolving a problem is accepting the reality”

How empty these words sound even to him. He snorts with derision, still the words fascinate him. Preaching stuff he rarely if ever follows. If only his actions mapped his words, if only the inherent hypocrisy of his ‘theories’ would be resolved. If he could just be truthful to himself foremost, before even bothering about the world around him. 

Objectivity is a big word to throw around.

Feminine Psychology Conundrum

The feminine psychology has been an enduring mystery for the masculine gender since time immemorial. Legends have been narrated, volumes written, wisdom of the ages has been referred to trying to unravel and appreciate this aforementioned mystery. As a member of the human race (though some of my friends strongly disagree to that and compare me to the apes shown frolicking around in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey) I too have had a few run-ins with the mystic area of feminine psychology. This is the story of one such incident.

Stage: Reading Room of my University.

 Actors: A female friend of mine, a male friend of mine, and yours truly. (The three of us are good friends)

I walk in as the girl and the guy are sitting beside each other in the reading room. She is obviously excited (high pitched voice, giggles and all) and is flaunting something on her laptop screen to the guy. I walk over, she sees me and with a flourish she turns the laptop towards me. There is this picture of her getting off from a car in a *PINK* <Humph!!> saree. Without me asking she informs me with all the enthusiasm of the world that this was the saree she wore to a relative’s wedding. Almost jumping up and down in her seat, she enquires that how she looked. I smile politely and even though I am remotely interested in that picture, I concentrate my faculties onto it. A seconds contemplation, and I comment “You look nice in red”. Suddenly the heavens split and the earth quakes. I shrill, indignant voice splits the heavy, morose ambience of the reading room. “That’s not pink, that’s RED”. A few seniors look up from their monstrous books. Annoyed, they frown and blink disapprovingly from behind their thick glasses in our direction. In an urgent whisper, I say, that’s not red. The symbol for acrobat reader is red. (Only legitimate example that popped up in my head, that too because of I suddenly noticed the minimized Acrobat Reader icon on her laptop’s Taskbar.)

“That’s maroon” she says. She whips her head towards our male mutual friend sitting next to her.

- “Tell him he is colour blind. Calling red as pink. That day he called my cute shoes green.”

-“Dude!! Isnt that pink?”

-“Naah! Its &#^##$*(Some colour I never had heard of before)”

- “No its not, but you are really close. This is a slightly different shade. But atleast you have some sense. He here calls it pink.”

-“But you look so nice naa!!” I try to douse the fire. But boy, was I late. REALLY late. She buldozes over my compliment. Her big expressive eyes flag red. She is hurt. That’s the problem, the hurt. You curse a guy, he curse back. You compliment a girl, somehow you are wrong and she gets hurt. And you are screwed. Royally.

-“This is a Kanchipuram saree, 1g of Gold embroidery, 20 thousand rupees. First time a wear a saree, took me hours to get it right. Cant believe you said that.”

Uh oh! I think. What did I do? WHAT did I say? Didn’t I praise her, although I hadn’t the slightest interest in her saree? Stunned, I stand there dumbfounded. She sniffs, frowns and looks back towards her laptop, resolutely turning her back towards me. I turn appealingly towards my male friend. He just smirks – he is not in the line of fire presently. My senses hum slightly. My shoulders droop, I mumble a goodbye and walk to the next table and slump into a chair.

We talked about it later, and things were fine. This story has been presented to show the conundrum, We, the masculine gender often face in our daily lives about simple situations. Any help in trying to resolve this conundrum is appreciated.

Disclaimer: A purely personal opinion on an incident. It is an attempt to caricaturize certain situations. No offence intended to anyone.

Black and Blue!

He stands there clueless. His hand hovering an inch over the pile of T-shirts. Reluctantly he drops his hand. Thinking about what you are going to wear is a tough job he concludes glumly. So much easier when you don’t pay even the tiniest amount of heed to your physical appearance. Not a lot more you expect out of a person who lets his mother do his shopping – even at 21. Then; panic blasts through his mind – I can’t look stupid, what should I do? A pair of black jeans in one hand, and eyes still on the bright red  T-shirt. It had been a gift from his elder brother, years ago. He tries to remember what had made him stop and reconsider wearing that red T-shirt. Suddenly that memory – crystal clear - came to the surface of his mind - his brother’s sharp sarcastic taunting voice rang through his head. “ Red and black? Dude! You are stupid aren’t you? No clue about dressing sense. Haha” Back then he had just made a face at his brother and worn what he felt like. Now he isn’t so sure. He self consciously thinks about looking presentable. All the apprehensions he had buried away with weeks of effort; start simmering in his mind. From his hideout in the cozy little cavern in his mind, his shy introvert avatar pokes his head out and smiles distantly. His thoughts drift.

You don’t want to be late for a casual meeting with an acquaintance and – daresay- a casual friend. Especially if the acquaintance is of the opposite sex and you are meeting after 3 years. He curses himself silently for his laziness earlier. Today morning, as of habit, he had turned off the alarm; set it to an hour later, rolled over and gone back to sleep. – ‘Forget breakfast and the newspaper, just a quick shower. I’ll be good.’ The lazy-him had spoken in a drowsy voice then. The alarm dutifully had rung again an hour later; he had snapped up his phone, turned off the alarm, stretched and slowly gotten out of bed. He still had sufficient time, had it not been for the dilemma about shaving. As he had begun walking out of his room for a shower; he eyes fell upon his dishevelled image in the mirror – and subsequently on his 2 day stubble. - C’mon! This complicates stuff. Should I shave?  His natural aversion to shaving – he had made a fetish of not shaving during his exams; plus laziness and a general nonchalance about the way he looked made it a hard decision. He absently rubbed his hand on his face. ‘Fine I’ll shave.’ A shave and shower later; he is standing there in front of his wardrobe foolishly.

With a shake of his head he sends his thoughts away – to rest peacefully and drags his himself back to the problem at hand – T-shirt. 11:03. – Damn! I better hurry, or I’ll run late. The fretful him spoke in a high pitched tinny voice. He gingerly picks up a few of the T-shirts and flops them on his chair. He eyes a green and a blue one and then without much thought picks up the blue one; hoping with all his might that at this attire may not make him look stupid or negligent in appearance. (Hours later; his blissful oblivion about the shades of blue came to an end, when the internet helped him differentiate between cyan, navy and royal blue; STILL he had a hard time discerning the exact colour he wore that day. Cyan? Turquoise? Electric Blue? Sky Blue?)

Taking a deep breath; he hurriedly dresses and leaves. On his way; in the metro, the wisps of the idea of consultation a friend take up concrete shape. He types out half-a-message to his female best friend; then erases it, not wanting to answer the inevitable deluge of questions that is bound to follow such an inquiry. “Gosh! I am poor at colour coordination. Does light blue go with black jeans?” Precise, direct and to the point – just like his favourite professor, who has unintentionally influenced a lot in his life. He fires off this text to his male best friend. “hehe. Generally, light and dark go well. N yeah, blue goes well with black jeans.”- Comes the reply. The soothing and unassuming tone relaxes him a bit. The next message says “Why the sudden heed to what goes well with what? Hmmm” He deftly sidesteps the question and changes the discussion to a random topic. A little jolt hits him as he sees a new message from his acquaintance. “I am there. Call/text me when you get here” All through the journey half his attention had been towards the time and the realization dawns on him that he is already a little late. “See you in 5. Almost there” He replies.

          Familiarity with the area helps him in easily finding the designated place to meet; and he stands there squinting in the bright sunlight looking around, unsure and tentative about his next move and sudden indecision creeping in. Silently but surely nerves and self consciousness creep up on him. “I am there” he texts and waits. The scalding sunlight hastens his decision to enter the mall. Without waiting even for a minute; he texts “I just entered the mall” His eyes darting around, anxiously looking for her, he enters into the cool air conditioned atrium of the shopping mall. He soon finds her waiting near the entrance inside, and both of them spontaneously smile.

It takes a minute for him to register – she is wearing blue and black as well. Royal blue top, black jeans and sneakers – whose shoelaces are undone. And as suddenly as they had appeared all his inhibitions, nerves and self consciousness vanish. The shoelace pleasantly flops around as she walks besides him and he smiles. The next three hours just glide past, the conversation flowing like water from a spring – cool, quick, light and relaxed.

          On his way back; he texts his best friend: “Yeah! Blue and black works! :-P”

Roger Federer: Finesse, Magic and Inspiration

Roger Federer – all of us know this guy. At some point; we all have watched him play – even if we are all crazy for cricket or; especially the girls; don’t feel interested in sports at all. It’s a foregone conclusion that he is a great player. Maybe the best ever; but who am I or any of us to conclude? Much more experienced and knowledgeable people have written about him. Hundreds of articles abound the internet; analysing why is he so special, what makes him him. A polite peek at the stats shows that he is one of the most successful athletes of all time. All this is common knowledge. Then; why am I writing this? There is no great secret about him that I can reveal; no mind-boggling new analysis of his nimble footwork or dextrous wrists or stunning single – handed backhand I can offer.

          A confession first: I am a die-hard Federer fan. When I saw him lose to Djokovic last week in the French Open 2012 semi-final; something deep inside me stirred. I walked back to my room; dejected and depressed. That day; I ended up spending an hour and a half watching Federer videos on Youtube (bless the internet). I looked up videos of the time when he was at his vintage best – 2005 to 2007 or 2008. The time he completely dominated the game. Slowly but surely; my sullen mood lifted. I cheered his amazing shots; and clapped like a child with the shots. It got me thinking again; why did these make me feel better?

          As a 14 or 15 year old; I ardently followed Tennis on TV. I myself play table tennis. The more I saw of Federer; the fascinated I became. The on court demeanour; the calmness; the eons of time he seems to have to hit the ball; the reflexes; how quickly he moved around the court; the impossible shots he hit; the way he dismantled his opponents, and a million other tiny things. When I play; I turn into this raging, aggressive, gesticulating, shouting maniac. I have a hard time controlling my emotions. Also; I see the ball coming; but I can’t hit it the way I want to; put it where I want to. Federer did these with effortless ease. A valid point that I can myself make is any professional player has these attributes. But something in Roger Federer was different – he inspired me. Maybe it was because there was more to his game than brute strength. The pleasing-to-the-eye way he carried himself. How he turned the game into a show of elegance. I read more about him – he had anger management issues as a teenager. He was expected to conquer the world of tennis; but his start was slow etc etc. Watching him play inspired me to improve. If you have played any sport; even at school level; you’ll appreciate the fact that you need a constant source of inspiration to push yourself.

          He left a deep ingrained impression on me. Watching him was an exciting breathless experience – you never knew when the next audacious shot came up, the cross – court single handed backhand winner, the sliced backhand passing shot, the amazingly agile serve – it still surprises me how he managed to put the serve in any corner with the same ball-toss. He made me his lifelong fan and source of inspiration. When Marat Safin defeated him in Australian Open (2005) semi final I remember foregoing dinner as I was so upset. That match showed me his mortality. He is also a human- and can make mistakes (he blew away a match point that day). The 2006 Wimbledon final is an epic classic – no one can deny that. Now as I realize that he is past his prime – with changing priorities (he is a family man now) and age catching up – I may not witness the bewitching grace and fluidity of Federer very long now. It saddens me. It’ll be a great loss to tennis when he calls it a day, more so, a lot of youngsters coming up wont be able to learn from him by watching him in action. Tennis will lose a role model.

Now as Wimbledon approaches us; I cant help but hope, c’mon Federer turn back the clock – show us your A game – just once lets us all be mesmerised again!!

Keeping your Sanity

                                                           Keeping your sanity

Chaos. Cacophony. Commotion. Contradictions. I can a bucketload of adjectives beginning with a ‘c’ here. Do these words ever start to describe the world that surrounds us? Perpetually lost we are. Hopelessly; pointlessly looking around for directions to our lives; as the world rushes by; and we run along with it. Doing a million things. Talking, thinking, working, almost like automated stoic drones. We are standing still and hurtling towards a black vast unknown at the same time. It's terrifying and enthralling. Challenging and demoralizing. bringing the best and worst out of us. 

                   But do we Actually know what is going on? What we want? Who we are? What we want to be and what we are becoming? The validation of our actions? The questions are fine; but where are the answers? There is light at the end of the tunnel (or is there?) but how long is the tunnel? How to keep your sanity? How to NOT lose the plot (Is there a plot at all?) Alright; enough said! Time to plunge into the monstrous; frightening ocean of the real world again. Time to transcend 'back' out of the realm of thoughts. Pearls cannot be found in this parallel dimension. Pearls lie in that murderous ocean; gather your courage and plunge! Back to work! \m/

Communication

                             Communication

One of the deepest desires of any person is to be 'Understood'. We all use this word; this sentiment; we all keep on searching for the true meaning and implication of this concept in our life. Relentlessly and subconsciously our brain; amazing organ that it is; keeps scanning the people and places around us; trying to 'connect' us with the outside world. The very basis of the 'understanding' and 'connect' that we all long for is Communication. It is the simple art of making others understand what you think or feel, your emotional status quo.

                Whether its Barney's hilarious attempt to get your attention by pointing to his eyes and then yours repeatedly; or Sheldon's socially awkward scientific jargon filled monologues; all are attempts at making others understand or 'communicating'. 
It is the expression of yourself; and your own unique perspective to the world. A slight motion of your hand; a fleeting expression; a boring monologue, a glint in the eye; a smile; a word whispered; or say this blog- all are attempts to communicate.

                Sometimes; communication comes easily and naturally: like breathing or say talking to your mother. Just writing about it makes me smile. The easiest and strongest connection/bond/rapport, that I, personally, have felt till date. For the first 14 to 15 years of their life; everyone will agree to this statement. But raging pubescent hormones and the need for freedom makes many of us question this 'bond' of understanding, to rebel against it, to deny its existence.  And; from my observations of the world around me; especially in the case of guys; things are never the same again; but alas it is all a part of growing up. Pardon me for my digression. But the basic imbibed fact remains; just one look exchanged with Her is enough to render a book obsolete; in terms of the amount of communication achieved. One of few guaranteed constants in this fickle world.

                Communication between siblings is another amazingly versatile and vibrant thing. Friend, mentor, guide, critic all rolled into one. Without the fear of judgement and punishment clouding or inhibiting a person's forthcomingness; 'understanding' between siblings comes easy. Doesn't it?

                The more you think about it; the lesser sense it seem to make. Its hard to overcome the undercurrent of fear. Fear perhaps doesn’t entirely capture the feeling. It is more than that. Its not the same fear as a kid would feel in a dark room. It’s the fear of your emotional security. In the silence of the night when you want someone to be there. Someone to whom you can reach out anytime; who can hold you; caress you; care for you; and tell you everything is going to be fine. After a certain age; it cannot be your parents; it has to be someone else. That’s where communication with your beloved takes over. You know the person underneath and you look for comfort. A comfort that no one else can provide. its funny that its with this person that communicating is very easy and very difficult at the same time. Simplest of the things will be stonewalled and the most complicated things unravelled and understood in seconds. The desires and expectations render the simplest of the things unfathomable; and the bonding renders the toughest things as a piece of cake.

                                From the verbose blabbering on a phone call at random times to the reticent hints and looks dropped when you are hurt/ angry or secretive-communicating with best friends is an experience in itself. The fluidity and the pointless laughter during any conversation. something as stupid as a goodnight message or as important as career decisions or the favourite movie- all discussed in the same fashion - this level of 'bonding' is rare, to be cherished and sweet.

The socio-cultural exercise of interacting and exchanging pleasantries with people around you is the basis or foundation for deeper and more meaningful interactions you may or may not have with one or more than one of them. The juxtaposition of the chaos in your head to the tranquillity that you want to portray when talking to a casual acquaintance is extremely thought provoking and hilarious at the same time. The incessant obsession of ‘coming off well’ on the elaborate stage our society is, drives us to do uncharacteristic things. 

Re-reading the above few lines makes me wonder - I have used big words and long sentences - but have I made myself clear? Can this be put in simpler words?

Meeting and talking to new people helps you build your bonds and basis for deeper understanding. The entangled thoughts in our head are in stark contrast to the simple and easy talks we have with people we dont know that well. I find this amusing and fascinating. Sometimes we all end up doing things which we dont usually do; as we want to leave a good impression on everone around us.

                                For me; A two way conversation is so much easier than writing about stuff. Facial expressions, tone of voice, hands, eyebrows...... all tiny little indicators to the going ons in the other persons head. Writing makes me 'feel' around and explore my own mind. That is what impresses me most about a certain Mr. Garcia Marquez. Magic - plain and simple. Using the 26 alphabets and the right combination of simplest of the words - he does what i cannot even fathom. He touches your heart, makes your senses tingle and most importantly - communicates.

                As i look through this piece again; I see slight, might even be deliberate intellectual snobbery; reference to two popular Sitcoms and loads of 'sentiapa'and it still makes me wonder - did i make my point? :)