Daily Musings

Chandidas and Rami

Ghazals are one of  the purest form of expression I have experienced in my life till now. The metaphor clad meters chalk out the palpable  feelings of lovers howsoever hyperbolic and exorbitant they may seem. They are all so foolishly romantic that they seem incredible and prodigious.

In one of the ghazals of Ameer Minai performed by one of the artist, he recounted the tale of Chandidas and Rami. Chandidas was a poet famous in the medieval period and his poems are many times used to draw parallels between human and divine love. Then, Chandidas was a priestly class while Rami was a washerwoman and the love between them was not only frowned upon but impossible in the era of division and class. They took their love as sacred as the love between Radha and Krishna; Chandidas refused to forgo his love for Rami and also his priestly duties in the temple much to the despair of his family. Many legends say that he was arrested by the queen and later whipped to death but no one knows the true story.

Why the story of Chandidas and Rami holds significance? Much of later Bengali literature, art, and societal thought found its foundation in the legend. The urge to show the face of society and the characters involved without any exogenous and dramatic variables became an integral part of the art. The spirit of defiance and being recalcitrant in the time of social disapproval might have carved the room for breadth in the thought process.

A walk past the historic lanes

Last month I visited Chicago – my old home. The gold coast neighborhood, the barnes and noble on State street, oak street beach, treasure island on Clark, the big bowl (now closed) – where I always ended up whenever I wanted to eat out, Ra sushi ( whose veg tempura tasted like sea food), the yogurt land and myriad number of spots invoked many memories. I enjoyed a coffee in the Starbucks lounge, where I spent countless evenings, listened to multi ethnic music, and made acquaintance with the baristas who knew what two drinks I order. The $7 movies in AMC on Michigan st. were something to look forward to. The limonata of eatley, miller’s pub on wabash, the two lions in front of Art Institute of Chicago, the numerous rides in L, my meditation classes with Andrew in Montrose, origami meeting in Garfield park, and the biting wind of Chicago in winters stir up many pictures in my brain. It was my last week in Chicago and I was strolling around downtown and my neighborhood in the rainy night and was taking photos; It started pouring down so I decided to go into this McCormick and Schmick on Rush St. Only one old woman was in the bar and I sat couple of high chair next to her, after a while we started talking and she learned my plans to move out of the city to NYC. She scolded me for roaming around in Chicago at night alone as it’s not the safest city. I told her that I do it all the time, it’s no big deal. We spoke for couple of hours before parting our ways. I wonder how and where she is now.

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I, for sure, miss the view and the enormous red and orange sunsets from my window facing west.

 

San Francisco To Plant Pure Nation

I spent last month in traveling, both for official work and for leisure. A trip to San Francisco is always inviting and I grabbed it with both hands when my mind finally decided to utilize the memorial day weekend at last minute and I booked a hotel and flight to the golden state. I didn’t have any agenda per say, I decided to roam around the familiar neighborhoods of Mission, Richmond, Tenderloin, Japantown, Russian hill, Nob hill, South of market and so on. After savoring the wonderful view I had  from the balcony of my room, I decided to go out and roam around.

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My first stop was Bartlett Hall to check on a friend who wasn’t there that evening and then starting roaming around the streets. After few hours I was wondering what I am going to do in the city formerly knows as Yerba Buena for three days and the first thing that struck my mind apart from my holy visits to fisherman’s wharf int he morning was the vintage book stores. There are some wonderful book stores in the downtown area but the one that I adore are Kayo books on Post st. ( one has to take appointment), Green apple on Clement street between 6th and 7th avenue ( massive used books store, a must visit for bibliophiles ) – I would compare Green apple with the Book Cellar on 79th st. & York av. in Manhattan, my former home, although Book Cellar is much smaller; and the Books Inc. on Van Ness and Turk. I had ample amount of time and I decided to leaf through every possible book I could and enjoy my coffee, isn’t it a dream?

I already am a vegetarian, to be specific lacto vegetarian but then too I observed some gain in fat in past few months thanks to the whole milk and yogurt and my travel to the parts of USA where the word vegetarian invokes curious glances along with derisive mumbles. I don’t venture into the self help and cooking sections in general, not that I have akin to George Carlin’s aversion to self help but I have a different take. Let’s not digress here; So, I took a stroll into the cooking section this time and leafed through many vegan and vegetarian cooking books. They ranged from basic such as putting together an edible salad to much advanced one such as eggplant tagine with roasted freekah, what caught my eye was the various combinations that were put together and the emphasis on calorie count, reduction of sugar, salt, and oil in food. I enjoyed them thoroughly and enthused, eventually ended up buying two of them.

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Plant pure nation is more aggressive on no usage of oil along with veganism while vegan one is just true to its name. I brought them home and being motivated made a trip to grocery store where I purchased different types of grains such as freekah, mixed quinoa, bulgar wheat, oats along with other vegetables. My fridge hasn’t been so well equipped before but the results? They have been abysmal. When I cook, I am meticulous of the recipe, the heat, ingredients, the steps I have to take, and I don’t think twice to improvise. I started putting these recipes together such as mushroom pâté, or over baked potato chips but they didn’t turn out fine at all. It feels like I don’t know how to cook at all; even today I burnt my 4th batch of potato chips ( baked in oven without oil, not fried ). I used to think I can’t do wrong with chutneys but after today’s results I am wondering were previous ones all fluke or what? Pâté’s quantity is so massive that I need to invite people over few times to finish it over and in those invitations I would have to shove it down their throats.

I need a success soon sans which these books will start biting the dust like so many other books I have bought in the past are biting and stamping the concept of tsundoku in my life.

The Impulse

Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, I feel that I can almost reach out and touch the littleness of my being. In those moments I ask myself what is the meaning of being alive, what it means to breathe, to touch, and to see? In those moments I believe that there is a greater purpose for everyone on his planet. It sometimes reminds me of my time to Zion last year. Out there the modern world turns to begin hazy. The rulebook of the society with money, religion, and human identity starts to become irrelevant. For once in your life you embrace the happiness of not knowing what lies ahead and you realize that all those notions from the world belong to the shelves and you are you and life is right there, right in the open in front of your eyes. So, pack your bags and hit the road. You might not come back with the answers but you may come back with the questions that would lead you to self discovery. Our time on this planet is limited for us but the quest of our brain is not.

While you can, make the leap!

The Conversation

Gene Hackman was the actor of this classic but the conversation I had the other day didn’t feature him. So, without further adieu I would tell you about the conversation I had few days ago. I was on a business trip to southern part of USA, where people are quite different from the east coast. They take food, religion, matrimony, spending time with each other quite seriously. Oh, I couldn’t have lived in Manhattan is a frequent expression and the reason that’s cited is – it is too fast paced for me. Fair point.

I work in multiple geography system, so I have my calls in the morning and there is a lot of email exchange in early part of the day. That day was any ordinary day until the house keeping lady knocked on my door. I was speaking over the call, so couldn’t have shouted – come back later and I hadn’t put no room service today tag on the door handle. So I got up to let the person know that come back later, there was an old woman at the door and I signaled the same to her and turned back. By the time I went back to my laptop, I could hear someone walking behind me and as it turned out the old woman didn’t get my signal and walked right in to clean. I was still talking to the team on the other side of the line and that lady started to make a lot of noise around the room. I had to apologize to the team for the background noise. The talking resumed and I kept on hearing the feeble background noises with things falling and being rearranged. Once my part got finished, other people on the call resumed their discussion on other topics and I stole a moment to see how the old lady is doing. I craned my neck to look at her surreptitiously and found her putting the stuff that had fallen down back on the shelves and slabs. I went ahead and tried to help her, and she Thanked me with a smile. I resumed my call and contributed sporadically wherever it was needed. On finishing work, she came to me and asked me whether I needed anything else. I immediately put my hand over speaker and mouthed No and mouthed Thank you to her. I think she was really bad at catching signals, no wonder she isn’t in traffic police and it would be a mystery if she still had her driving license with her. She started talking to me and I told her that I am on a call, I can’t talk to her, Thank You, Ciao, Goodbye, Dasvidanya. But she wasn’t ready to listen and resumed talking. I put my phone on mute and before I could say anything to her, she interrupted “For how long are you here?” I said ” I will go back tomorrow, umm..I actually am on a call. You have a good day and Thanks for coming in”. She turned a deaf ear to it and said ” Has your significant other gone for breakfast?”. I said “WHO? What significant other?” She sensed and said out twice ” Oh, so you are here alone!!” Once to herself and second time to maker herself believe that what she heard was true. The inner Manhattanite woke up and I replied curtly ” Thank you, I am busy”. She started towards the door and just before going out she said ” I feel so sorry for you son! You came to this romantic city alone. I came to this city on my honeymoon from my village”. At this point I thought ” Yeah, why not!! Arkansas is the most ‘romantic’ place on earth. How can Paris, Prague, Hawaii etc would ever measure up to it. ” I told her  that not everyone has to marry or be with someone necessarily, it is not some law. Our lives aren’t scripted by story writer of The Lobster movie. She was completely oblivious to what I was saying and reached out in her pockets and fished out a card and gave it to me while saying ” You should go here, it is the best tavern, with country music, friendly people, you can meet girls there”. I said ” I am on work here not for meeting arbit girls”. She asked what is arbit. I said it is short for arbitrary. She repeated arbit and arbitrary a couple of times and then said ” No, they aren’t arbitrary at all. They are very nice girls. Best of the lot. One woman can handle 10 cows by herself, very disciplined” The old lady kept on extolling the girls of her ‘city’ and I kept on sifting through my emails in my mailbox. After her rant was over and she moved herself out of my room graciously ( not united airlines style), I resumed call over phone and the person on the other end asked me ” So, will you be going to that tavern tonight?”. I was startled and found that even though I did put my phone on mute, it never was on mute and everyone on the other side of the phone line heard the entire thing. It became interesting conversation for them to listen to.

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You know, as we come to the end of this phase of our life, we find ourselves trying to remember the good times and trying to forget the bad times, and we find ourselves thinking about the future. We start to worry , thinking, “What am I gonna do? Where am I gonna be in ten years?” But I say to you, “Hey, look at me!” Please, don’t worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day… make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular.

Loneliness is a construct that binds the people. I used to think the worst thing in life is to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone. The loneliest and the saddest people in life try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.

These are not my words but of a man who lived and made his life spectacular.

Bukowski 9 to 5

 

Few days ago I watched an old movie named Barfly starring Micky Rourke. The movie was based on the formative years of Bukowski when he was drinking himself to death and was on verge of destitution. He wrote the screenplay himself and portrayed the lead who finds solace in writing poetry.

One dialog from the movie is remarkable. Wanda asks Henry “Do you trust me”?, Henry replies “Yes, why not! It is easier that way”.

I am pasting one a letter here that goes hand in hand with what we feel today. How insecurity, the comfort, the society influences our actions and make us do things which we might not have done if free abstractly.

 

December 8, 1986

Hello John:

Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or make films about it, they don’t get it right.

They call it “9 to 5.” It’s never 9 to 5, there’s no free lunch break at those places, in fact, at many of them in order to keep your job you don’t take lunch. Then there’s OVERTIME and the books never seem to get the overtime right and if you complain about that, there’s another sucker to take your place. You know my old saying, “Slavery was never abolished, it was only extended to include all the colors.”

And what hurts is the steadily diminishing humanity of those fighting to hold jobs they don’t want but fear the alternative worse. People simply empty out. They are bodies with fearful and obedient minds. The color leaves the eye. The voice becomes ugly. And the body. The hair. The fingernails. The shoes. Everything does.

As a young man I could not believe that people could give their lives over to those conditions. As an old man, I still can’t believe it. What do they do it for? Sex? TV? An automobile on monthly payments? Or children? Children who are just going to do the same things that they did?

Early on, when I was quite young and going from job to job I was foolish enough to sometimes speak to my fellow workers: “Hey, the boss can come in here at any moment and lay all of us off, just like that, don’t you realize that?”

They would just look at me. I was posing something that they didn’t want to enter their minds.

Now in industry, there are vast layoffs (steel mills dead, technical changes in other factors of the work place). They are layed off by the hundreds of thousands and their faces are stunned:

“I put in 35 years…”

“It ain’t right…”

“I don’t know what to do…”

They never pay the slaves enough so they can get free, just enough so they can stay alive and come back to work. I could see all this. Why couldn’t they? I figured the park bench was just as good or being a barfly was just as good. Why not get there first before they put me there? Why wait?

I just wrote in disgust against it all, it was a relief to get the shit out of my system. And now that I’m here, a so-called professional writer, after giving the first 50 years away, I’ve found out that there are other disgusts beyond the system.

I remember once, working as a packer in this lighting fixture company, one of the packers suddenly said: “I’ll never be free!”

One of the bosses was walking by (his name was Morrie) and he let out this delicious cackle of a laugh, enjoying the fact that this fellow was trapped for life.

So, the luck I finally had in getting out of those places, no matter how long it took, has given me a kind of joy, the jolly joy of the miracle. I now write from an old mind and an old body, long beyond the time when most men would ever think of continuing such a thing, but since I started so late I owe it to myself to continue, and when the words begin to falter and I must be helped up stairways and I can no longer tell a bluebird from a paperclip, I still feel that something in me is going to remember (no matter how far I’m gone) how I’ve come through the murder and the mess and the moil, to at least a generous way to die.

To not to have entirely wasted one’s life seems to be a worthy accomplishment, if only for myself.

Your boy,

Hank

A day without emojis

Smileys, furious face, tongue sticking out, crying faces have become integral part of daily life. The phones and various chat applications keep on updating their emoticons palette; Emoticons have the ability to replace the words to the degree that complete sentences can be formed using them. There are puzzles based on emojis in which you have to decipher the name of a movie, some food, emotion, a proverb or something else from them when used in a particular sequence. So much so that. I remember that I wasn’t agile enough to use them straightaway. When I started talking to a girl online some 10 years ago, I never employed smileys in my texts and little did I know that my humor, sarcasm, and other statements not supplemented by emoticons would be misconstrued. From then on I reached a point where there is one emoji in 15% of my social texting. Not there anything is wrong with it but I did notice it and decided to cut down the usage for a day and see whether pre emoji era conversation would be misconstrued. I asked a friend of mine to try emoticon sans conversation, though she is a frequent user of emojis and was reluctant initially saying she can’t stand it, she did agree to participate for a day. The argument that I used was the books don’t have smileys and it has been working out very well for them without them. She retorted that books have longer sentences for touching the emotional chords. Long story short, she agreed. Another precursor of communication was that we couldn’t have asked questions such as are you mad, disappointed etc.

We started our day, went through it and wrapped it up exchanging 308 messages between us including the Oks, Yeses, Nos, and notorious mono question marks. I did supplement lol and haha to indicate humor but there were times during which the conversation veered off in a tangential direction despite the fact that we knew each other quite well. I was wee bit adventurous by bringing more controversial topics on the table to see whether emojis are needed or not. At times explanations were needed and at times we might have obviated the details. The deliberate obliteration of the colon, semicolon, right and left round braces revealed a macroscopic picture about linguistics. I once attempted to study hieroglyphics and understood that pictures can tell the same story as the words can; Mandarin, Cantonese, Kanji, Hirangana, Katakana are the visual scripts in which symbols stand for words or phrases. I am not leading anti emoticon protest but I wanted to see whether I can convey emotions and pass my word across without being misconstrued and I would say the experiment didn’t fail.  I don’t want to make a case that as a human race we have evolved and should use the words rather than the smiley or winking faces to convey the messages. Sometimes a thumbs up or a smiley face can work fine but one should take a step back and check whether he/she is capable to put the word across without use of emojis and if one is inept then it could be a red flag for the declining literacy and decimating self confidence that if veered off, the communication can’t be brought back on track.

A little history : Scott E. Fahlman, computer scientist at Carnegie Mellon is credited with inventing the smiley face. https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~sef/sefSmiley.htm

Hygge

Hygge was among the finalist words in words of the year year 2016. Oxford dictionary defines Hygge as – A quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being. I think the definition of the word is subjective and being able to enjoy the passing moments of life, howsoever transient or ephemeral they might be, should come under the larger set.  To start with I had been pronouncing the word incorrectly for a long time. It is not Hy -gee but Hue-gaeh, but my laziness made me adapt to the former pronunciation than the correct one. I have always wondered what exactly would I say as hygee in my life. My Swedish friends have Fika for hygge but I? I might have myriad answers to it. Sitting at Fisherman’s wharf  feeling the wind from the pacific and the heat of the sun is definitely hygge and so is letting the cool breeze dry the sweat from your back. Enjoying every sip of hot coffee might be hygge for many but I have burned my tongue and entire pallet on this account multiple times and have been rendered incapable to taste for few days on multiple occasions. The Portuguese word cafune seems like hygge but I am not sure. Cafune is running your fingers through someone’s hair. It would make me sleepy before I decide whether it is hygge and moreover I am ambivalent on number of people that can participate in one person’s hygge ceremony. Washing the dishes doesn’t seem very hygge-istic to me either, it can be therapeutic but mundane and trust me when you have to clean a pressure cooker after cooking Sambhar ( an Indian curry) in it then all hygge will vanish from your life.

I have assumed that reading a book and curling up is hygge-ing but on the other hand it can be a result of my anti-social, tight upper lipped behavior that quashes me to spend time with people. Sleeping on my yoga mat in Central park is definitely fun but there are many who would disturb my inner peace there. Smokers and birds are two culprits to begin with. Apart from that there are multiple hygge related events – binge netflixing, slurp sounding while having soup (many would call it plebeian style but who cares), able to generate perfect crease on trousers, stretching your body and hearing the clicking sound from various joints, smelling the soaked urad lentil ( split and dehusked black grams), leafing through a glossy magazine, listening to a song of your liking on radio and may be many more.

BTW…here is the the Hygge Oath

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The Purpose

I don’t know why am I writing this post today. I should have written long time back but that is how it is and I am writing it now. Today, a friend of mine and I were talking about world war 2 and then we switched to Adolf Hitler and then to Gandhi. I gave her a detailed account of Indian struggle for independence and the phrase ” winners get to write the history”. I sent her a link of Rang De Basanti – one of my favorite movies. I don’t know whether she watched it but I watched it again and so did I watched The legend of Bhagat Singh. I admire both of the movies to no end and to pieces and the related events.

It’s not the movies that I admire but the events and the heroes who were part of it. India adores Mahatma Gandhi and ignores the 700, 000 other people who died for the country. Is that fair? May be no! But again – winners get to write the history. I am not denigrating or castigating anyone here but as a citizen of India, it is my responsibility to understand and read my history properly before engaging in an argument with anyone. Although, the premise I am presenting isn’t understood by most and most reach the conclusions hastily.

Indians have mostly been non-confronters, timid people and among them rose the likes of Chandrashekhar Azad, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Batukeshwar Dutt, SukhDev, Jatin Das, Udham Singh and many others. Most of them fresh out of college, 22-23 years of age but unknown to the fear. At such young age they had unparalleled focus, the will to give up their lives for the country, the clarity of thought and the will to act upon what they thought. I don’t want to compare our generation with them as it won’t be apple to apple comparison. Rang de basanti has a dialog – there are two ways to live your lives – 1. Keep on absorbing what is happening around you and keep on adapting even to the worst of circumstances. 2. Take the responsibility to change the conditions around you and change them. The above mentioned names chose the second one. There is a dialog in the movie Predestination – What does anyone want? Love. Oh fuck love, a purpose. I strongly agree with the statement. To be able to give your life a purpose is a life fulfilled. Bhagat Singh would agree with that too. Multiple people believe in multiple things but it doesn’t mean that one is right and the other is wrong. Creationist would always be against the believers of Darwin’s theory and would term the non believers as arrogant, baseless who are floating on the cloud of their own notions. Many say that a rational society can’t be helpful to humanity but is is really the case?