A quest – a search. For oneself – for meaning and purpose…
I find a paradox in me. Things that excited me do not excite me any more. Sometimes I ask myself a question, “Am I queer? Am I different from others?” Then other times there is this refrain within, “Why can’t I be like the way others are.” “Why do I have to think so much?” But I still know that it is part of me.
What is the purpose of my existence? At intuitive level, I know it is about "healing."
There are two planes I live in. And at times I judge myself as an imposter in both. For I don’t live both of them together; nor do I live them…. There is one within me that gets happy with the little things. For e.g., the other day we had gone to Bombay Gym for lunch – hosted courtesy my boss; today it was another place. It does feel good being there – the gentry, the works, the civilization etc. Yet, the moment, I step out, the question comes to haunt me, “for what?” There is one aspect of me that takes joy in buying a neat little cuff link, in picking up some good stuff, in buying and savouring a good Scotch, in just being “suave”. And then there is this other, that just has utter disregard for all this – this is so fake and fleeting.
It is this other that really questions all the little pleasures of life. I was sharing with a colleague of mine and she got concerned. The question that haunts me is, “for what?” The funny part is that in my mental scheme of things, either there has to be a negative push from the current situation or a positive pull from a desired future for action to happen. Yet, I find that I have neither circumstance in my life currently. I work with pleasure and I rest with pleasure. Paradoxically, even though I am happy, I do not find contentment.
My well wishers tell me that I should not think so much. But is it not “normal” to think of existential questions? After all, what is this life if not lived purposefully?
My boss tells me that it is all related to monotony and that I am trying to find a purpose and meaning in “work”; while real purpose and meaning lies elsewhere. I buy that thesis – but where do I get that purpose? How do I effect it? – for I know my purpose...
Is it that we give meanings in life? And live that meaning? Like a dear friend told me, “we all live the meaning we give to life – we do not live life.” How true – I ascribe meanings to all the things of life – the colour of the hat, the manner of speech, the socio-educational-economic background, the shoes worn. All are but meanings.
I remember JK who wrote somewhere that between someone in quest for inner peace and another in quest for hedonistic pleasure, there is no difference at a fundamental level. Both of them are still seeking; and real contentment comes not from seeking but from a deep understanding. From a deep understanding of what is and what should be.
Is it simply another phase of life? Or is it a desire to understand? I don’t know. I used to feel like Siddhartha earlier – in quest. But now while I am like Siddhartha, I do not feel like him.
I feel like myself. And “In Quest.”
Friday, July 31, 2009
Muse | On Relationships | 30th Jul. '09
In the train - on way back home. Met my brother after years. Don't like calling him my cousin - more like a brother. But that is odd. For it is not that I've been too closely in touch with him all this while in life. Still the bond remains.
Perhaps it is this shared common bond that makes a difference. Youngest of two sisters. Always protected and provided for. Physically too - we resemble a lot - both of us are have a slender built. And an intellectual (you may call it bookish) bent.
But that is not the point. The point is about relationships. What defines a relationship? Is it continuity of contact? Is it kinship? Is it shared meaning and purpose? Is it simply a bond?
Memories go back to childhood when we both spent a summer together after our sacred thread ceremony.
Then we grew up - each in different cities and on a different course in life.
A couple of years ago, he and I were in Bombay - but we hardly ever met. Our non meeting was punctuated by occasional visit of elders and then we would bump into each other. And this time he is back for a while after 2 yrs. in the U.S. And we did met - a while ago i.e.,. He married before leaving offshore - so it was the three of us.
It was as if life is still. An aspect of growing up that I missed. Maybe it would have been lovely to have spent more time together while growing up. Or maybe kept in regular touch thereafter. Does it really matter? I don't know. Yet, I know I like him and he likes me. And when we met, it was like meeting someone my own.
So what then defines a relationship? I am no longer any close to an answer than I was when I'd started off.
Perhaps it is this shared common bond that makes a difference. Youngest of two sisters. Always protected and provided for. Physically too - we resemble a lot - both of us are have a slender built. And an intellectual (you may call it bookish) bent.
But that is not the point. The point is about relationships. What defines a relationship? Is it continuity of contact? Is it kinship? Is it shared meaning and purpose? Is it simply a bond?
Memories go back to childhood when we both spent a summer together after our sacred thread ceremony.
Then we grew up - each in different cities and on a different course in life.
A couple of years ago, he and I were in Bombay - but we hardly ever met. Our non meeting was punctuated by occasional visit of elders and then we would bump into each other. And this time he is back for a while after 2 yrs. in the U.S. And we did met - a while ago i.e.,. He married before leaving offshore - so it was the three of us.
It was as if life is still. An aspect of growing up that I missed. Maybe it would have been lovely to have spent more time together while growing up. Or maybe kept in regular touch thereafter. Does it really matter? I don't know. Yet, I know I like him and he likes me. And when we met, it was like meeting someone my own.
So what then defines a relationship? I am no longer any close to an answer than I was when I'd started off.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Musing on a Quiet Sunday evening | 26th Jul '09
It is a quiet Sunday evening. Remember the poem "Leisure" by Henry Davies. A senior colleague of mine introduced me to the poem. And like Davies, I wonder what life is about.
So here am I this Sunday evening, sitting by the big window overlooking the hills (with some green cover due to the rains) and enjoying the clouds passing by. I recollect that as a child, I would spend hours staring at the sky, the clouds, the stars and everything around. Contrast it with the life today which is spent in Bombay locals, laptop computers, books and sleep.
The other day, I was in conversation with a friend. I posed this question, which I pose to the blog too: what is the life that we will lead in time to come? My friends will laugh at me, but despite not being married, I wonder what will my kids grow in? Will they ever experience the joy of chasing a hen, of running after a cow and playing with her tail, of being kicked by a horse, of shooing away the birds that cover the sky the moment grain is spread out for drying?
A few years ago, my cousin had to take his son to a dairy to show him that milk indeed comes from cows and buffaloes. The little one picked up an argument with his school teacher who taught such nonsense, when he knew better - milk came from the Mother Dairy push button technology. Drop a small coin, and out pours the white liquid they call milk. I had laughed my guts out then, but come to think of it, I feel worried.
Every generation cribs about the forthcoming one. With that reality in mind and the realisation, I am not here to crib about the coming generation; but about my own generation. Actually, I am not going to crib - these are some of my own reflections - for myself - to make myself a bit more clear. In the process, if it helps you as a reader, so be it. The muse is for me.
So coming back: would I want to trade off my childhood to a Nintendo V (I didn't even know what it was till a few wise colleagues - wise after kids - of mine enlightened me). I remember that come winter, we would convert a part of our garden into an open air badminton court. It was time of great fun. A man would come over with a measuring tape and put some lime powder marking the court. Then the nets would be out and voila - we would all play badminton every evening as a family. The joy was in the game, and not to forget the fights between us siblings as to who would play first and for how long!!!
Maybe I was fortunate - to have been born and brought up in a rustic place. Perhaps that's the reason why I love rusticity. Why I associate 'civilisation' with plasticity. They are all meanings I give. I recognise my prejudices, but then I see that some of them are my preferences. Give me an option between a movie and sitting in the park, I would choose the latter. Offer me chocolate moose vs. a desi 'gulab jamun', you know by now what'll win hands down.
So why am I worried? Surely, one aspect is that the environment around has changed. But can I sit and crib about it? Is it fair? Is that not a choice I have made - a choice to be in the cacophony of a metropolis? Am I willing to admit, that other choice which possibly may be more affirming to me, may mean sacrificing a few other things that accompany city life - privacy, anonymity, comfort, opportunities and not to forget Godess Laxmi!
Maybe you'll say that I've got all the time in the world - what else will a single "unhooked" man do? Except be with himself. But then, the question does not get answered. Or are there ever any answers? Thus far, I don't think so - at best they are my tentative views. And in that moment, I take an option based on the limited view of life that I have. But seek I still must...
As I sign off, let me post the poem.
"LEISURE"
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
By Wm. Henry Davies.
So here am I this Sunday evening, sitting by the big window overlooking the hills (with some green cover due to the rains) and enjoying the clouds passing by. I recollect that as a child, I would spend hours staring at the sky, the clouds, the stars and everything around. Contrast it with the life today which is spent in Bombay locals, laptop computers, books and sleep.
The other day, I was in conversation with a friend. I posed this question, which I pose to the blog too: what is the life that we will lead in time to come? My friends will laugh at me, but despite not being married, I wonder what will my kids grow in? Will they ever experience the joy of chasing a hen, of running after a cow and playing with her tail, of being kicked by a horse, of shooing away the birds that cover the sky the moment grain is spread out for drying?
A few years ago, my cousin had to take his son to a dairy to show him that milk indeed comes from cows and buffaloes. The little one picked up an argument with his school teacher who taught such nonsense, when he knew better - milk came from the Mother Dairy push button technology. Drop a small coin, and out pours the white liquid they call milk. I had laughed my guts out then, but come to think of it, I feel worried.
Every generation cribs about the forthcoming one. With that reality in mind and the realisation, I am not here to crib about the coming generation; but about my own generation. Actually, I am not going to crib - these are some of my own reflections - for myself - to make myself a bit more clear. In the process, if it helps you as a reader, so be it. The muse is for me.
So coming back: would I want to trade off my childhood to a Nintendo V (I didn't even know what it was till a few wise colleagues - wise after kids - of mine enlightened me). I remember that come winter, we would convert a part of our garden into an open air badminton court. It was time of great fun. A man would come over with a measuring tape and put some lime powder marking the court. Then the nets would be out and voila - we would all play badminton every evening as a family. The joy was in the game, and not to forget the fights between us siblings as to who would play first and for how long!!!
Maybe I was fortunate - to have been born and brought up in a rustic place. Perhaps that's the reason why I love rusticity. Why I associate 'civilisation' with plasticity. They are all meanings I give. I recognise my prejudices, but then I see that some of them are my preferences. Give me an option between a movie and sitting in the park, I would choose the latter. Offer me chocolate moose vs. a desi 'gulab jamun', you know by now what'll win hands down.
So why am I worried? Surely, one aspect is that the environment around has changed. But can I sit and crib about it? Is it fair? Is that not a choice I have made - a choice to be in the cacophony of a metropolis? Am I willing to admit, that other choice which possibly may be more affirming to me, may mean sacrificing a few other things that accompany city life - privacy, anonymity, comfort, opportunities and not to forget Godess Laxmi!
Maybe you'll say that I've got all the time in the world - what else will a single "unhooked" man do? Except be with himself. But then, the question does not get answered. Or are there ever any answers? Thus far, I don't think so - at best they are my tentative views. And in that moment, I take an option based on the limited view of life that I have. But seek I still must...
As I sign off, let me post the poem.
"LEISURE"
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
By Wm. Henry Davies.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Muse | The Quest | The Search | 22nd Jul. '09
A quest – a search. For oneself – for meaning and purpose.
I find a paradox in me. Things that excited me do not excite me any more. Sometimes I ask myself a question, “Am I queer? Am I different from others?” Then other times there is this refrain within, “Why can’t I be like the way others are.” “Why do I have to think so much?” Yet, even without trying, thoughts simply come.
What is the purpose of my existence? I know in intuitive way, that it is about healing. Healing the self and in that providing a safe outlet for a few others to heal. I don’t know if that sounds pompous.
There are two planes I live in. And at times I judge myself as an imposter in both. For I don’t live both of them together; nor do I live them…. There is one within that gets happy with the little things. For e.g., we just returned from Bombay Gym where a few of my colleagues were taken by my boss for lunch. It was good being there – the gentry, the works, the civilization etc. yet, the moment, I stepped out of it, the question comes to haunt me, “for what?” But it is this former me that takes joy in buying a neat little cufflink, in picking up some good stuff, in buying and savouring a good Scotch, in
Then there is the other which really questions all of this. I was sharing with a colleague of mine and she got concerned. The question that haunts me is, “for what?” The funny part is that in my mental scheme of things, either there has to be a negative push from the current situation or a positive pull from a desired future for action to happen. Yet, I find that I have neither circumstance in my life currently. I work with pleasure and I rest with pleasure. Even though I am happy, I do not find contentment.
Is it simply another phase of life? I don’t know. I used to feel like Siddhartha earlier – in quest. But now while I am like Siddhartha, I do not feel like him.
I feel like myself – different. In quest.
I find a paradox in me. Things that excited me do not excite me any more. Sometimes I ask myself a question, “Am I queer? Am I different from others?” Then other times there is this refrain within, “Why can’t I be like the way others are.” “Why do I have to think so much?” Yet, even without trying, thoughts simply come.
What is the purpose of my existence? I know in intuitive way, that it is about healing. Healing the self and in that providing a safe outlet for a few others to heal. I don’t know if that sounds pompous.
There are two planes I live in. And at times I judge myself as an imposter in both. For I don’t live both of them together; nor do I live them…. There is one within that gets happy with the little things. For e.g., we just returned from Bombay Gym where a few of my colleagues were taken by my boss for lunch. It was good being there – the gentry, the works, the civilization etc. yet, the moment, I stepped out of it, the question comes to haunt me, “for what?” But it is this former me that takes joy in buying a neat little cufflink, in picking up some good stuff, in buying and savouring a good Scotch, in
Then there is the other which really questions all of this. I was sharing with a colleague of mine and she got concerned. The question that haunts me is, “for what?” The funny part is that in my mental scheme of things, either there has to be a negative push from the current situation or a positive pull from a desired future for action to happen. Yet, I find that I have neither circumstance in my life currently. I work with pleasure and I rest with pleasure. Even though I am happy, I do not find contentment.
Is it simply another phase of life? I don’t know. I used to feel like Siddhartha earlier – in quest. But now while I am like Siddhartha, I do not feel like him.
I feel like myself – different. In quest.
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