Beginning or Continuation | 01 May 2015

So is this a beginning?  Or is this a continuation?  I am supposed to be back.  Well, what does that mean?  I am wondering myself.  Having blogged for quite some time, at a furious pace, as if every thought was worth a precious gem waiting to be lapped up, I typed out quite some of my experiences / thoughts / ideas for a couple of years.  This was a few years ago.

And then came the silence.  It was like a night.  A sense of retreat.  Words did not want to come out.  They wanted to be contained.  They wanted to be within, as if to engage with each other and commune in that silence.  And so for the next couple of years, I was silent, with an occassional blog post here and there.

In due course, I even lost the password to my blog.  Much trail and tribulation followed before I could get it back and now I learn that the company has been taken over by Google.  Well, I could not care less, as long as I managed to get back access to my blog.  For some time, I actually thought, I had lost it all.  And that earlier blog posts would just trail off into the vast anonymous world of the Internet.  But it seems like, that for now, I can claim them to my fame (or notoreity, as the case may be).

Beginnings...

Coming back (previous readers of mine know I meander a lot and I am not ashamed about it), the last few months have seen me get an urge to write.  First, I wanted to trace my ID and reclaim it.  That happened.  Then spontaneous thoughts came by: 'what would you want to write about, Ashish?' asked the voice within.  Damn - there is that word again, 'Inner Dialogues'.  I had told a friend of mine once that that would be the name of my first book.  Well, someday... So anyways, I sort of let those questions pass by.  A couple of months ago, I was seeking guidance in life from a Tarot deck (yes, I am a bit cuckoo and am happy that I am).  The guidance I received was to give expression to my talent and said: 'Artistic Expression'.  And what do you think I did?  I thanked it and continued with life.  You see, I was too busy, with 'things of consequence'.  Busy fretting and fuming about life and worrying about things I could not control.  Of course, I was also busy doing work - both inner and outer.  And I thought that because I was helping someone edit a book, my work with her could pass off as artistic expression.  How wrong was I.  It was her work - not mine.  Sheepishly, I now realise, that I had to find my own way of artistic expression.  

The inner clamour started again slowly till it reached a crescendo.  So today I did one more round of guidance (for something unrelated).  And the guidance comes, yet again... 'Artistic Expression'.  Now once can be a fluke, but twice - nah...  I am not that scientific to compute the probability and then wish it off.  I guess, you would say that I would be an ass, if I were to ignore it this time.  But I also wonder what does that mean?  In what manner or form, do I give an Artistic Expression?  My general fantasy tells me that I should do something artistic.  Huh.  how enlightening!!! Like what?  Paint? Sing? Draw? Dance?  And I can't do these for nuts.  But a more fundamental question beckons: what is being artistic about?  What does it mean to be an artist?  And what does the act of expression mean?  You might say this is a quibble, but should I not try to understand what it means rather than what I mean of it?  Or perhaps both?  And refine my own understanding?  So here am I, trying to decipher the meaning of the term: Artistic Expression...

Artistic...

The adjective Artistic comes from the noun Artist.  Now, the Google god tells me that the word 'art-ist' (/ärdəst/) comes from early 16th century when it denoted someone who was a master of the liberal arts.  The word comes from the French artiste, which comes from Italian artista, which in itself comes from arte (meaning art), eventually tracing the root back to Latin ars, art-.  The Online Etymological Dictionary (http://www.etymonline.com) opines, "Originally used especially of the arts presided over by the Muses (history, poetry, comedy, tragedy, music, dancing, astronomy), but also used 17c. for "one skilled in any art or craft" (including professors, surgeons, craftsmen, cooks). Now especially of "one who practices the arts of design or visual arts" (a sense first attested 1747)."

So, one of the essential element in the art of being an artist seems to be 'skill'.  This seems obvious when we take an example.  Let us take painting.  In earlier times, before the advent of the industrial era and shops, the painters had to make their own paint.  Aspirants spent years apprenticing with a master learning the basics before they started doing their own work.  They experimented with the colours, the pigments, the dyes to make their own variants that suited their own style, composition and final placement of the work they were undertaking.  In today's world, the 'paint' part of the art of painting is for most practical purposes (for people like us), a pre-packaged commodity bought off the shelf of a supermarket.  Yes, that said, there are many other skills needed to paint and I am not saying that we should go back to the old era.  I am trying to explore what it may mean for myself to be an artist.  Voila, it means that first, I need to be skilled!  But what does it mean to be skilled?  I can keep going iteratively on this, but I think at some stage, life has to be made simple.

So assuming that we are all in agreement with an over simplistic definition that a skill is something that we can do habitually, let me therefore turn to the question: how does one develop a skill?  Keeping aside complex cognitive-behavioural theories, a skill develops simply as a function of practice.  When taught right, and practiced with dedication, a person can and does develop his/her skills.  Think of the moment when you rode the bicycle the first time.  How awkward was that feeling?  And then sooner than we know (if we have been at it), we all reached a stage of life, where we could cycle and talk - at the same time.  It got integrated in our life.  What that does mean?  As I see it, it means that the knowledge ('know how' of how a bicycle works) is not sufficient.  One needs to be able to sit on it and pedal away.  And that comes with practice.  Skill may include or exclude knowledge.  For example, I may not know the mechanics of engine technology or air flow dynamics but can have the skill to drive a four wheeler.  If I practice a lot, I can perhaps drive different types of four wheelers and in different types of terrain.  But that just makes me a skilled driver.  I am sure that no one will say that I am an artist at driving a four wheeler.

So what makes someone an artist if mere skill is not enough.  We go back again to etymology and it tells us that the word was used originally for those who practiced the arts presided by the Muses.  Now the Muses were the Greek goddesses and inspiration to / of the people who followed the subject they presided over.  The word 'muse' comes from them and a sagacious reader may have noticed the title of my blogpost - but that is for another day and another blog.   In the Greek times, life was not (so I suppose) as differentiated as it is today.  Scholars studied various subjects.  Aristotle wrote on philosophy, logic, ethics, aesthetics, biology, metaphysics, physics, theatre, linguistics, poetry, etc.  This is partly due to what I believe was their love for wisdom and partly due to the fact that unlike today, where there is a pre-existing abundance of a body of knowledge in each area of life, the people back then were in an exploring mode.  In a way, they were not burdened by the past and could explore a lot.  Ok, so I come back to my point of the Muses.  

Now, these Muses were the Goddesses who inspired people in what they did.  Often they were remembered at the beginning of an event, just like in India, we worship / invoke Goddess Saraswati as the Goddess of wisdom before a classical dance performance or a literary event - for she is the Goddess of knowledge.  However, the Muses were more in number.  At some places, it is mentioned that they were nine, others mention them as three or even four.  The online Encyclopaedia Brittanica (http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/398735/Muse) mentions, "There were nine Muses as early as Homer’s Odyssey, and Homer invokes either a Muse or the Muses collectively from time to time. Probably, to begin with, the Muses were one of those vague collections of deities, undifferentiated within the group, which are characteristic of certain, probably early, strata of Greek religion.  Differentiation is a matter rather of mythological systematization than of cult ..."    Our good friend, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muse, mentions that the Muses were the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne ('literally memory').  "In later tradition, four Muses were recognised: Thelxinoë, Aoedē, Arche, and Meletē, said to be daughters of Zeus and Plusia or of Uranus."  Wikipedia goes on to say, "The Muses were both the embodiments and sponsors of performed metrical speech: mousike (hence the English term "music") was just "one of the arts of the Muses". The nine subjects (along with their corresponding Goddess) overseen by the Muses included epic poetry (Calliope, She of the Beautiful Voice), history (Clio, The Proclaimer), song and elegiac poetry (Euterpe, Well Pleasing), lyrical poetry (Erato, The Lovely), tragedy (Melpomene, The Songstress), hymns (Polyhumnia, She of the many hymns), dance (Terpsichore, Delighting in the Dance), comedy (Thalia, The Blooming) and astronomy (Urania, The Heavenly).

So, now we can see how and why the word artist has a slant for someone who is skilled with the area presided by the Muse.  My curious mind asks, 'but why was this so?'  The other point that strikes me is that they were Goddesses, i.e., they were the representations of the feminine.  What may that mean?  Well, now you will accuse me of sucking you into this endless game of uncovering one meaning after another.  For the purpose of this blog, I stop here (and let you run your mind) as I move on to the next exploration. 

Expression...

Now lets come to the next piece of advice I have for today, "Expression".  My good friend Google god once again leads me to the Online Etymological Dictionary, which this time describes the word as a noun and goes on to say this: "early 15c., "action of pressing out;" later "action of manifesting a feeling" (mid-15c.); "a putting into words" (late 15c.); from Middle French expression (14c.), from Late Latin expressionem (nominative expressio) "expression, vividness," in classical Latin "a pressing out, a projection," noun of action from past participle stem of exprimere"represent, describe," literally "press out" (see express (v.)). Meaning "an action or creation that expresses feelings" is from 1620s. Of the face, from 1774. Occasionally the word also was used literally, for "the action of squeezing out."

Aha.  So if we read this carefully, the word that calls out to me is 'feeling' (as also 'pressing out' but the latter is obvious, to me).  Yes, you got it...  I will now ask, 'so what is a feeling?'  Again, I take the help of the Online Etymological Dictionary, which defines feeling as a noun, "late 12c., "act of touching, sense of touch," verbal noun from feel (v.). Meaning "a conscious emotion" is mid-14c. Meaning "what one feels (about something), opinion" is from mid-15c. Meaning "capacity to feel" is from 1580s."  As an adjective, feeling comes from "c. 1400, "pertaining to the physical senses, sensory," present participle adjective from feel (v.). Related: Feelingly."  I am tempted to explore the word 'emotion' and as a noun it comes from, "1570s, "a (social) moving, stirring, agitation," from Middle French émotion (16c.), from Old French emouvoir "stir up" (12c.), from Latin emovere "move out, remove, agitate," from assimilated form of ex- "out" (see ex-) + movere "to move" (see move (v.)). Sense of "strong feeling" is first recorded 1650s; extended to any feeling by 1808."

So, where does this mass of etymology leave us.  Confused.  Yes, and yet at the same time, it speaks something interesting.  That 'expression' is about pressing out the feelings, and feelings are themselves a 'conscious emotion' that can be related to the 'physical senses'.  Thereby, something its about making something concrete.  Oh, and yes, you got it right yet again, as to what I would say... Feeling is traditionally a feminine quality.  Need me to continue more?  Go figure.

Artistic Expression...

Now if we take a moment to reflect back, what may this mean?  What may the advice of 'Artistic Expression' mean?  In light of all our etymological and classical explorations, what is the simple meaning we can take home?  I venture to give my own inference - feel free to have your own.

First, let me look at the word Artistic and see what that may mean.  Keeping in mind the fact that the Muses were feminine and that these Muses presided over certain knowledge areas, we now see why people who were skilled in those areas were called artists.  But why is it that only these areas had a muse.  Why for e.g., sword making did not have a muse?  Was it because none of the areas presided by the Muses were not exact sciences and accomplishment in these spheres required one to not only have the knowledge and skill but also the blessing of the Goddess?  In other words, when I use a hammer or a sword, I take power in my hands; but when I work with poetry, while I use the words, they flow through me.  We can learn the syntax, grammar and vocabulary but if that alone was enough, all of us would be poets.  No matter how much dancing I learn, the real dance comes when the life energy within flows i.e., when there is a blessing from the Goddess.  It is not an act of will, but an invitation to surrender.

Which brings me to the next point about 'expression'.  I take the simplest explanation that an act of expression is about concretising something of the emotion that is in the inside.  It is about taking something from the inner mental recesses to an outer form, which can be seen in the outer physical / concrete world.  It is about listening to the inner stirrings, and taking them out in the outer world.

So the job of an artist is to be skilled at making explicit the inner feminine that wants to emerge.  The consecration of this inner feminine presupposes the existence of a form and structure, of a masculine.  One can see that the artist has to first have the knowledge and then build the skills before he/she can venture to express; both of these require hard work and discipline and a boundedness of a structure.  Only with this masculine structure in place, can an artist go about about giving expression to the stirrings of the inner feminine.  She pours out as thoughts, ideas, images, inspirations, verses etc.  Because she is the life force herself.  In the Kundalini tradition, the life energy of the universe is the 'she' - the 'Chit Shakti'.  She is who permeates this universe and lets it flow.

Continuing...

Ah, I suddenly seem to have a halo of enlightenment around me?  Don't you see it ;-)  Well, for me the penny drops as to why the advice on 'Artistic Expression' continued with the warning, "This card signals that your artistic talents are in need of a creative expression.  You have hidden talents that lie dormant.  This trapped energy can make you feel tired, restless, and anxious..."  And rightly so, that has been the reality for me for some time.  As I write this, and pound away at the keyboard, I feel a sense of flow, a sense of energy, a sense of direction, a sense of guidance, a sense of surrender.  It feels that the fingers have a connection with the brain and then without me trying to filter or assess or understand, they move about like in an orchestra   I can see what it means to have the link between the inner and outer.  And what it means by Artistic Expression.  Of course, by the time, it goes up on the blog, and you read it, I would have edited it, proof read it and sanitised it for faux pas.  But then, this process is indicative to me of the power of listening to the inner.  Of flowing and yet having a structure.  

Perhaps, I might be here (on the blog) full time.  Or perhaps part-time.  Or perhaps never again.  It does not matter.  Maybe I might start painting tomorrow - who knows.  Or dancing.  Or cooking, which I love.  But what matters is that in this moment of time, I feel I am doing something meaningful.  I feel as if this act of blogging has been an act of Artistic Expression.  So would would you say - is this a beginning?  Or is this a continuation? 

Elated... Hip Hip Hurray !

Hip Hip Hurray !

Elated !

Yes, that is the word. Or maybe something that I can't think of.  

Finally got access back to my Blogger account. That's what happens when you don't log in for long and with multiple passwords for multiple ID's. You forget - S I M P L E. Six months and many attempts later, I am back again into the game.

So watch out for more - in due course.

Cheers for now.

 Hip Hip Hurray !

Why am iSad? | 7th Oct. '11

Why am iSad?

Well, that last word is from a phrase doing round online. A tribute to perhaps an icon - Steve Jobs.

I remember as a kid having read that Steve Jobs along with his friend had made the Apple computer in a garage. And from their they moved mountains. As I was grew up and learnt about computers, I was saddened that despite having the best features, Apple was not the number 1 selling machine. Much later, not until I had done my management, did I understand the difference between a great product and great business.

The non-understanding of why Apple was what it was and the understanding of why Apple is what it is, does not change one thing - I feel sad on the loss of Steve. Honestly, I do not care what happens to Apple's share price. But I do care, on what has happened to Steve Jobs.

And, I am surprised at myself. He was not related to me. I am also not a gadget geek - I have till date not worked on a Mac or an Apple machine. I have seen the fancy stuff around me, but never worked on them. I am fairly technology neutral. I do not particularly love inventions, nor do I love challenging the rules of science. Steve and Apple did not change my life - as they perhaps did to the millions around. Yet I mourn. And paradoxically, the death of a figure that is impersonal to me.

Or maybe not. Perhaps, it is about the Steve Jobs - the person. Not the inventor, the creative genius, the maverick - but the person, who relates to the person within me. I remember having read Steve Jobs Commencement Address to the Standford University graduates in 2005. It lodged itself at some place in my heart. And I forgot about it. And now, I see it all over the net once again.

As I read each and every word of it - again and again - I realise what profundity of thought lies behind those words. Behind the creative, maverick, genius, lay a person willing to see himself vulnerable. A person willing to chase his dreams, a person willing to fail and then rise up again. It is not the spirit that moved Steve - he moved the Spirit within. For a person who is willing to be vulnerable is a person with the maximum strength.

As I look back at the history of Apple computers and of Steve Jobs (from whatever little I know), I realise one thing - what made Steve Jobs the man he was, was his strength of vulnerability. It sounds paradoxical - but to me, it does not. Only a person who has the courage to be vulnerable, is the person who has the 'courage' in life.

I am reminded of Rudyard Kipling in "IF" (ladies, please pardon the sexist word 'he':

"If you can fill the unforgiving minute,
with sixty seconds worth of distance run;
Yours is the earth and everything that's in it -
and which is more,
You'll be a man, my son."

To give the unforgiving minute, the sixty seconds worth of distance run, requires one to put all at stake. For each second is just in the moment. Giving that minute a run means letting go of yourself and running. And that is life. Steve Jobs perhaps lived that. We do not know his deepest thoughts, but from his actions and life, we can surmise, he had the courage to be vulnerable.

Or perhaps, is it that Steve Jobs, though a being outside, is also a construct and a concept inside. A voice somewhere deep within me - that calls me to my destiny. That calls out for me to listen to my own self. And perhaps the recognition that one man i.e., Steve Jobs lived it all. As he said in is Stanford Lecture:

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma -- which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

Perhaps, it is that voice within. Maybe, he is just the archetype (to borrow from Jungians) - the archetype of Steve Jobs - and it is this archetype that calls me. And at this moment confronts me - with an example of a life lived. Maybe, all this while, while Steve lived the life he did, I could project my own archetypal Steve Jobs on him and not live it myself - the life that the voice deep inside wants each one of us to live. And perhaps, with his death, the curtain has fallen and now we are confronted to see our own selves as the actor has gone. They say that the actor is actually in the audience and the audience create the cast. As we stare in the mirror, all that we see is a vacuum where we cannot project that voice and live our lives vicariously.

Perhaps, that is why I mourn the death of Steve Jobs. In some ways, it feels like a stage of suspended disbelief. And however, hard I try to write or think or feel, deep down in my heart, I still do not know:

Why am iSad?

Reflections | On Life as Pilgrimage | 17th July '11

I wonder...

I sometimes feel I am weird. Actually, it is just this sense of strangeness with my own self that comes across at times. The times when one feels so familiar with oneself, or an aspect of self; and yet, that aspect or the self at that moment seems so distant and so different. Maybe not 'normal' as far as the events of the world go by.

Have you ever had that sense of waking up one day and realising that there is something at work. Some hand that you cannot name or hold or see; yet, that hand is behind you - guiding, beckoning and taking you forward. No matter what happens in your daily life, you go to bed with the sense of something or someone just there. The presence is so palpable, yet, it is elusive. And the frustrating question: What is the meaning of it all?

If you have had that sense, then perhaps, you can understand what I mean. Why do I write this? I write to commune with you. So that the same spirit / principle / Being / Entity / call it whatever is honoured and reflected upon. You need not be alone, nor do I need to be alone - in this experience of mine. There is a great temptation to put a name, a label, an image to this experience and to this Being. We can call it God, or Divinity or The Holy Spirit or whatever. But that I feel would be missing the point.

It will be missing the point, because then it is so easy to get away. So easy to walk away from what is calling me. So easy to duck what comes along with it. So easy to rest in the warmth and comfort of humanity and be with it and yet duck what is at hand. Modern depth psychology has a principle of 'projection'. Simply put, something that you have deep within but cannot admit it as yours - so you go ahead and dump on the other. Now this could be good or bad (when viewed as a moral judgment). I may feel you are the biggest liar on earth (and deep down not acknowledge that the liar lies within me too). I could equally see the Divine in something 'out there'; and not within - for acknowledging that is so so so difficult.

I guess part of the reason (at least for me) is that there is a confusion between that spirit and 'goodness' of daily life. There is a moral judgment I have about what I do, how I behave and how I am in my daily life towards people and things. And inexorably, to live this life, I have to be all - good, bad and ugly. For e.g., I may think of myself as the gentle helpful nice person; but one day when I caught myself boarding the local train pushing and jostling away with people equally ready to throw you off and get inside, I saw that I was not all that nice and gentle. It was painful to see that. For I have a moral judgment about it. But then I learnt to forgive myself. To own up and realise that I owe myself a duty of survival, of care. And then it helped me a lot - it helped me as I learnt to be less angry at others - for the pushing and jostling they did. I could understand them. I could understand their fears, and concerns, and anxieties. I had them all within me. Jungians would call it an encounter with the Shadow.

So I was at the point of acknowledging the spirit. I carry this judgment within me, having seen the bad and ugly of me. And with this judgment or view of my own self, I make it an either - or situation. That if, I am not wholly pure, then I cannot really have the spirit within me. I find this logic cracking now within me. And that is what causes me bother. I am reminded of Lord Krishna - for all what his life was, he is still a manifestation of the Divine, of the eternal spirit. So what is it really to be in touch with the spirit. Yes, at one level, there is a certain degree of detachment, but at another level, it does not mean being completely above and over the emotions and thoughts of human life - of la vie quotidienne.

And this is what bothers me. We all have those experiences. And I wonder how do we make sense of it? What is the meaning of it all?

Sometimes, I feel that life is like one endless pilgrimage. The only thing that happens at times is the inversion of what constitutes a pilgrimage. It is something like what pilgrims encounter in their quest for a glimpse of divinity: Whether they are doing the pilgrimage or the pilgrimage has happened to them? The other day, I was reading the book, "Tibet's Sacred Mountain: The Extraordinary Pilgrimage to Mount Kailash" by Russel Johnson and Kerry Morgan. At one place, they write: "A true pilgrimage lifts the traveller out of his everyday self into a realm beyond ego. When it returns his self back to him, all of life has become a single, endless pilgrimage."

So it is with life: Do I live life? Or does life live me? No, this is not rhetoric; but a real struggle within me. And I share with you - maybe, you may have something to offer to me. What I mean is this: If the circumambulation around Mount Kailash (or any other holy place - call it Kaaba, or Jerusalem or anything), is a physical manifestation of the urge within to glimpse divinity, is not this daily life a circumambulation around the divinity one can call as the Self. The walk around the temple, the altar or the mosque - are they not symbolic of the walk I do every day around my own inner being? Is not the life that I lead every day, nothing but a small inwardly going circle to the centre - the centre of being that we can call Self and that which is perhaps the spirit?

But why all this circling? Why not go straight - as the Americans say, 'straight to the point...'? I guess maybe there is some meaning in the circling - in the meandering.

I've started liking the word 'meander'. It is the fate of every major river in its middle stages. What is the purpose of it all? - I can ask from a general standpoint. What purpose does it serve? If ultimately, the river is to meet the sea or the ocean, then in its course of its evolutionary journey, the river is wasting time. It will be better off if it moved straight on. But would we value such a river? Would such a river ever make the land fertile? Would such a river ever be respected? You see, it is paradoxical that the same river whose purpose is to meet the sea or the ocean has to meander. It has to go through apparent purposelessness. I use the word 'apparent'. For, to the river, the purpose is not clear during the meandering phase (I write it if I was the river).

But then, it is the very meandering of the river, that gives meaning to so many; that gives purpose to so many; that gives life to so many. And perhaps that is what happens to us all. We meander during our life - and we may feel that we are lost, actually, that may really be the process of generating and creating meaning. Is meaning and purpose found or is it created and generated? Does it exist outside of itself or does it exist within? For the river, is meaning present in its destination or in its journey? Paradoxical.

I don't know I like what I just wrote because it holds true or because (as I suspect) it provides me with an answer with which I can assuage the questions that emanate from somewhere within - at least for the time being. When the mystery is too great, one has to unravel it bit by bit. So maybe, this set of reasoning helps me find meaning in where I am. Maybe as I meander more in life, I may find other sets of questions and other sets of answers. Till I reach my ocean / sea.

And that's when confusion happens. Where am I? What is my sea? Do I have a sea? I don't know. I just have some questions. I still search for answers.

I do not have the answers. I wish I had them.

And then, I wonder...

Reflection | On Blogging & Meaning Making | 16th July 2011

I saw a light flickering. Oh, that was a beep also from my cell phone. Message from a friend, "What is your blog ID?" I smiled. The sense of shy pride that fills our heart when someone asks about what we consider our own; but somehow refuse to openly acknowledge it.

I shared the blog link and as I sat wondering on the long silence I've had on my blog, saw another message, "You better start writing... as i want to read and reflect." My fistful heart simultaneously swelled with pride and cringed at the thought. I am still trying to sort myself out.

I mean, this is the second time I have received something like this. While I now do acknowledge that what I write has its own strength, I also can't help but wonder at the underlying thought: "Hey man, help me make some meaning." Is that not what I do myself?

As I write, I help uncover some meaning, to my thoughts and to my experiences in life. Sometimes, I wonder if the Forum Leader at The Landmark Forum was correct in saying, "We are nothing but a meaning making machine." At one level, meaning making gives purpose and a sense of direction; yet at another, it just robs one of the spontaneity of life. They say that in the Taoist thought, 'meaningless' of life is the greatest virtue. My little reading of Carl Jung tells me that even in his scheme of things, there is a similar metaphor for the highest objective of life.

Where does the sense of meaning and purpose reside? We can explore it from all angles, but eventually, I wonder if anyone ever has a sense of what is "it" all about! I like the word 'IT' - a good word to use when something can not be defined; alternately, at times a way of getting to state without stating yourself. For e.g., "It was a great function." Superb - where are you in the statement? What were your feelings? No - that all can be avoided by use of the word "it". And as you can see that is precisely what I have done too!

For I don't know what to even feel or think. Sometimes, there is that deep sense withing that life "is" - on the "isness" of things, people, events, place, whatever... But still "it" eludes - and so I try to fill with meaning and purpose. Somehow, just sitting and doing nothing is so ridiculous. I am reminded of another friend of mine who once said: "We are so scared of ourselves, that we fill ourselves up every moment with anything that comes our way - anything that can occupy us." Even Krishnamurty used to say something similar. How convenient (and necessary) it is for us to "fill" ourselves up.

And so as I write this, I am "filling" myself up with the meaning of writing - the purpose of writing. Perhaps you will read this and comment on it. Good / Bad / Ugly - while all comments will have their affective level response from me, yet, underneath them all, I will smile inwardly - for the I would have gotten some meaning!

Perhaps my friend who asked me the question might also read this - and find some 'meaning'. Did I give her something to reflect upon and find meaning? Or did she invest in me to get this writeup for herself and find meaning? Having said that, the question comes back: What does it matter? And how does it matter? Maybe, it matters just as much as a candle matters - it burns and shows its alive and finds its significance. Maybe, that is why it matters. A candle of me!!! Aah.

A see a light flickering...

Muse | There are those times... 26th March 2011

There are times...

Ah, well; this one starts out on a reflective mode. "Oh Yeah! Which one does not?", asked a friend of mine to me once on my blogs.

You know sometimes in life it is that feel - that feel to which you cannot give a name or meaning; or rather you "DARE" not give it such. The feeling that there is something in life which is far deeper than what we experience in every day life (la vie quotidien)? The feeling that, borrowing from Carl Jung, there is a rhizome underneath and what we see is only the exterior. The feeling that there is life in that subterranean that is always 'as is' despite all the mental and emotional complexities of our daily actions and reflections.

I was talking with this friend of mine. Incidentally, in today's world text messages also are counted as 'talk'. Well, coming back to our conversation. We got sharing on how our lives have been the past few months and both of us felt that there is a life other than what we call life or live or see it every day. It is the inherent silence, depth, richness, call it whatever which is ever present; and possibly what we call life is only an offshoot of that real life.

How else do you account for the experience that despite feeling terribly low or mighty high, there is a sense inner calm that we experience at times. There are times when no matter what our emotional and mental state is, there is a sense of peace deep down. No matter what happens on the outside, there is still something within. I wonder often what it is; and I pine for those moments more and more.

Yes, There are those times...

Muse | On being lost...

“Where are you?” “Kahan ho tum? Kahan gayab ho gaye, yaar?”

Some of the phrases I’ve heard in the recent past. And reluctantly, I am now coming out – like a crab. Crab – aah, my moon sign is Cancer!

Yes, I have vanished. Vanished from my blogs, vanished from my ‘witty repartees’ and ‘soulful thoughts’ on Facebook. I wonder sometimes that do I really need to do all this? Why do I blog? Why do I make my presence felt on Facebook or LinkedIn? My friends find it silly that one should “think” so much of such trivial matters. A colleague of mine said, “You know what – I don’t know why you think so much. I cook because I like to cook. I go for a movie, because I like to see a movie. My life is simple and not so complex.”

Complex – well, can’t help but think if my life is complex or I have a ‘complex’? Somewhere, something deep down does not allow me to rest in peace. It craves for more and more. It craves to know me more. It craves to go deep down to the deepest.

Ok, I digressed. Back to the point of vanishing. Well, I did partly because I was in touch with myself and trying to get to reality. Well, I made a trip to the Holy Kailash Mansarovar – the desire of lifetimes (yes, I believe in rebirth) and the fulfillment of purpose and meaning. Coming back, I just had nothing to write. What can I write of? What can I write about? There is no place of majesty and serenity as is the divine place of Kailash Mansarovar. Where our mere standing is a fulfillment of universal grace. English does not have an equivalent word for what in Hindi we say, “nistabdh” (loosely translated as ‘the awe of silence’). Yes, I was ‘nistabdh’ after my trip. Thank you Lord. Thank you universe.

How does one describe the sense of oneness? How does one describe the sense of being? How does one describe the sense of ‘feelingless feeling’?

But now that I am back from the trip, back to ‘la vie quotidien’ – familiar problems plague me – of job, finances, education, love and so on. But I was supposed to have transformed? After all, a trip like this acts like the alchemist’s stone. But here I am back to earth and worried over what I used to worry over. So is it that I have failed or what? Was this trip a pass-fail examination? My deep inner sense says it is not. So, perhaps the answer may lie in my understanding of transformation?

Dr. Wayne Dyer in one of his books writes about transformation as a conjunction of ‘trans’ + ‘form’ + ‘ation’. Which means going beyond the current state through action. While I agree to this definition in some ways, I also find it is incomplete. It is incomplete because it talks of reaching an altered state by way of action. Logical, Cartesian-Newtonian physics would make me agree to this statement. After all you need action to alter a state.

But is it so really? Does transformation come from action? What is action? Is it something that you see (as in breaking a wall)? Or is it something whose effect you see (like a seed becoming a sapling)? In case of former, there is an agent who undertakes an action. In the latter, who is the agent? Does the seed which we all agree is inert act? When does a seed sprout? My biology tells me that it sprouts when it gets the right conditions for germination – adequate water, temperature and nutrients from surroundings like soil etc. So lets assume we put all the necessary conditions and the seed in that condition. When the seed sprouts who took that decision to sprout? Did the inert seed take it? Or did the environment take a decision? That cannot be, for then it means admitting that wind, air, water, soil are animate! So the question still remains – who took the decision to sprout? A seed that has germinated is said to have life – it is animate and alive. An ungerminated seed is intert – it is inanimate and does not have life. But what happens in the transition? Or can I use the word ‘transformation’?

If this transition of seed to sapling is a transformation, who took the action? There is no agent (and I don’t mean this as a laboratory usage) – even then a transformation has happened? So do we really need action for transformation? And if transformation can come about without action, then what / who makes it possible? Extend this logic further, and this is what I’ve been grappling with. Do I take action and write a blog OR is a blog written (just like a seed grows when right conditions exist)?

And then I ponder over these questions? Pondering is going within – away from action. But alas, I find no answers.

And then I ask myself this question:

“Where are you?” “Kahan kho gaye ho?”

Reflection | On appreciation | 22nd July 2010

Do I really need to shy away from appreciation? Why do I shy away from admiration? What happens to me when people admire me?

A follower of my blog wrote something yesterday which I have conveniently taken in as admiration. For all you know, she may have simply left a comment / remark from her side which expressed what she felt. And I choose to look at it as admiration.

Well - this is surely one inner process I need to examine. What happens when someone says something? Why is there a need to attach a 'meaning' to it - so that I can then feel something about it? A friend of mine tells me that I think too much asking me, "Is it really necessary to think so much? Yes - we attach meanings - so what? Everyone does. So let go on with life..." I usually hear some variant of this from a lot of friends.

But somehow, my heart deep inside is not convinced. It wants to delve into depths hitherto unexamined. It wants to examine each and everything that comes the way. My quiet rejoinder to my friends is: If we are unwilling to examine ourselves and want to be what we are because everyone else is, then we should be ok in the way everyone else is treated by life. We need exceptions on how we should be treated; yet we are unwilling to examine ourselves.

Coming back to the issue of admiration. I feel cornered. Let me admit that I do like it. Come on - who won't. Sometimes we don't. I recollect the times I used to cringe from it. Now I at least accept it, though still find it difficult. It occurred to me in one instance of an intensive self work that for me the sense of appreciation was linked to the issue of feeling 'worthy'. There is this inner voice within that constantly used to ask: Am I really worthy? Do I really feel that it belongs?

It has been a troubled quest and in that quest, the quote from Marianne Williamson, which Nelson Mandela had once used, has helped me stand in good stead:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are younot to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” (Marrianne Williamson in "A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles").

If this is so, do I really need to shy away from appreciation?

Inner Dialogues | July 09, 2010

Inner Dialogues - well, that's the name. The name of my first book. It has not come out yet, but it will. I have the name now with me. It came to me as I was traveling in the train on way to work one morning. For a moment, I took a pause. What does it mean? What is it for? Will I really write a book?

Well, if I look at it, ultimately, it seems that we live life all in dialogues. The more I see of life, the more I realise that what I create and live in is my view of the world. I feel safe inside, and the world feels safe outside. I feel insecure inside, and I am scared outside. And I realise that it is so beautiful. Just as in a movie, multiple dialogues can keep happening, so is the case with me. I suspect it happens to others too - including you, the reader.

What is a dialogue? The online etymology dictionary has this to say:

dialogue: early 13c., "literary work consisting of a conversation between two or more people," from O.Fr. dialoge, from L. dialogus, from Gk. dialogos, related to dialogesthai "converse," from dia- "across" (see dia-) + legein "speak" (see lecture). Sense broadened to "a conversation" c.1400. Mistaken belief that it can only mean "conversation between two persons" is from confusion of dia- and di-. (Source: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=dialogue).

So, basically it is about a conversation - of coming across to each other. When I speak with myself, I find that I do not always come across. Speak with myself !

Yes, I find that I talk with myself. Not like the way I used to in childhood as part of growing up (well, to confess, sometimes, I still do that); but as a way of communing with myself. I go out and see a finely dressed person and I say to myself, 'what a gentleman!' The next moment, I see him spit on the road and my thoughts are: 'ughh! what a disaster.' Usually, it happens this way.

So I come back to my dialogues. No one hears them, or knows about them. Yet, they feel it. I however, not only feel them, but also know and hear them. Remember how as a child, our parents would catch us and ask, '...so what are you thinking...' God - how I hated it, to be caught. But then, come to think of it, they perhaps experienced the outcome of the inner dialogue within me. And that inner dialogue creates my reality. I experience them in various forms: thoughts, emotions, feelings - call it what.

If you thought that the Inner Dialogue is about having a thought, then you are both right and wrong. Right because it is indeed a thought. But wrong because the Inner Dialogue is that primordial conversation that I have with myself that there is no one really there in that space to be there with me. I am utterly alone in that conversation. It is that conversation which blends all myriad forms of expression known to me: feelings, thoughts, emotions. It is that which keeps me alive to myself and to this world OR it sometimes divorces me from myself.

The inner dialogue is my inner frame of reference. Long ago, I read that behavioural scientists use a peculiar terminology: "schema". In their view, each individual has a "mental schema" which put very simply is a 'mental model' of the world. And we live our life based on that model. I suspect that that mental model is composed of the Inner Dialogues.

But sometimes, I pause and reflect. What is reflection? Comes from the verb, 'reflect'? And that is what a mirror or any polished object does. It shows what is. And the degree to which it shows is proportional to the degree to which it is clean and shiny. The degree of cleanliness and shine is proportional to the effort gone into cleaning or the process of making it. So does that mean, that for my reflection, I need to have something clean within?

Well - what does that mean? I suspect it means that I should be able to examine the thought for what it is? And not add on other pieces of data. Something that the humming voice within my head does. And what happens in these moments of reflection - of the pause?

I stop. I find that when I just stand, I do not see motion elsewhere. In the motion of my thought, is there a motion of the next - one I say, the other, something within me does. Call it 'sanskar' or 'karmic imprint' or 'memory' or whatever. And that is what I mean by inner dialogue. This inner dialogue is what keeps going on - till I pause and reflect when if I am blessed, it slows down.

But more often than not, the dialogue goes on. In my understanding, this dialogue goes on irrespective of our level of consciousness - awakening, dreaming, sleeping. In wakening state, I can hear it the loudest - if I pause. As for dreams, I guess it is obvious - they are the conversation. I am not so source of sleeping, but I suspect that it is still there - for I wake up to the feeling of having been there as I lay sleeping.

One way to become more aware of myself, is to examine these dialogues within. I realise that the next step I take is based on the outcome of the inner dialogue held previously. And I continue and I go on. I have found it of meaning to stop and pause from time to time. And just see the dialogue. Sometimes, I have found that it is not just a dialogue - it is a complete script. Other times, it is a full play. Sometimes, it is just a playful banter - at other times, it is a wall of stone, as strong a wall as any medieval castle or fort would have.

Over time, I have learnt that it is this inner dialogue that gets entrenched and makes my reality. It is the inherent tension between the uttering of the 1st statement by myself and the 2nd by something within (I as of yet don't want to label it - but you may equate it with a variant of 'subconscious'), I find that creativity exists. That is the space for choice. Of an alternate. Of creation of an alternate reality. Of examining a possibility.

But what exactly is an 'Inner Dialogue?' I seem to have meandered all over as usual. To be honest, the answer eludes me. Perhaps, that is why I search for it. Quantum physicists tell us that reality is changed in the way it is observed. In my keenness to observe this Inner Dialogue, and give a definition to it, I seem to be changing it. Honestly, I don't want to chase. I seem to like the fact that I can sometimes (and I wish I could do it more often) just observe and be with it. That moment is so empty and yet so full of itself. So nothing of fullness and so full of nothingness.

It is to these Inner Dialogues that I pay my respect to. Respect: you may ask why? For it is these inner dialogues that have helped shape and sustain me - to be in this world. Granted that not all are the ones, I would like to have, they nevertheless have served a purpose - a purpose that I chose at some moment. Only when I can respect what is, can I move to 'what could be.'

What could be: _________ (fill it for yourself). In the space and pause between the Inner Dialogue, there is nothing and there is everything. And that too is an Inner Dialogue.

Muse | Khoj | 29th May 2010

Ek khoj mein hoon main!
na jaane kahan kahan na dhoondha:

dehleez ke paas,
tehkhane mein bhi;
par nirash ho kar main
baith gaya hoon

thodi der apne aap ko sambhalne ke liye
apne wajood ko jaane ke liye;
lagta hai ki main woh aadmi hoon -
jo bhari dupahar mein andhkaar khoj raha hai

haan haan... dhoondh raha hoon main -
un taaron ko, un sitaaron ko;
jo mujhe ej saagar kinare raat ko
moti ki tarah ret mein jilmilate hue dikhe the

jinhe choone se keval ehsaas hota tha
girti hui ret ka;
par us ret ko toh main thoda choo to saka -
woh baat alag ki kuch pal ke liye hi

waise to ab bhi main un smritiyon ko choota hoon
jo mujhe apne ki khoj mein phir se chala deti hain...

aur mere lad-khadate kadam phir se chal dete hain
ek khoj mein...

Tribute (to the one who knows its meant for) | Tum | 12th May '10

"Tum"

Tum jo baith kar shaant
aatur hoton ko sun
meri jeevan kavita saar
--- us se mujhe jeevandaan mila.

Tum aakhir ho kaun?
jeevan ka ek musaafir,
jo raste mein kahin milte hain -
apne un sambandhon se -
jinhen weh jaante he nahin;
par koshish karte hain:
ek seema lagaane ki,
ek naam dene ki...

aise tum ek pathik -
mujhe jo mil gaya -
aur meri kavita sun
--- mujhe alankrit kiya...

Reflection | On ISABS | 12th May '10

My journey - I never quite understood
My path that just came along
as i walked - pulled on by a
force unknown.

But I cry now - in joy or pain
I know not - for which
Now - when I get in touch
with the stops of a journey.

When a human heart
logical and on its quest of life
A life on mission and purpose
marching ahead to its own drum
deaf and mute - to the grass,
the lilies and the butterflies.

And then at some point
at some moment,
at some occasion,
when something happens
and there is a stillness, a silence:
of reflection, of realisation, of introspection.

It is for the joy of that moment, that silence
that I pursue the path...

Muse | How much do I need? | 30th Apr. '10

How much do I need after all?

The though troubles me – a question became a niggling doubt and now it seems to flow as a muse.

The thought struck me yesterday when I took out a few old clothes that did not fit me any more to give to my bai (maid). She has a son who is about my age and nearly my size; as also a younger son – so, my stuff pretty much fits either of them. As I took them out, I realized that in the past 1 year, I had let out and given more than half of my wardrobe to different persons. And still, I do not find that I have a dearth of clothes.

It is not that I ever had too many clothes – for I’ve naturally liked things sparse. No – it is not austerity or anything; its just that managing too much is too difficult a task. So the less there is or the leaner things are, the more easier they are to manage. Typical management gyaan – but it works for me. So instead of buying bulk packs, I buy food in packs that can be stored till I can consume them. A couple of times I have made the mistake otherwise on persuasion from friends, I have ended up regretting it. So over time, I find it better to have less to the level I need.

The other day, a friend of mine was shocked to note that I have only a couple of bed covers – to me a sufficient enough change when one goes in for laundry. I was greatly persuaded to buy more – to stock up for future needs. But what need – I asked? If one goes to laundry, I put the other one – simple. Well, no doubt there are times, when I want a change, and I would want to put different colours, but for the sake of that how much do I need? Ok, I might be a bit more leaner than others, so maybe I can do with a few more. But five: what for, as was suggested?

Coming back to clothes. So, it was quite funny as I reflected upon it. I had nearly given out half of my clothes – and from the above para you know how much I actually have – and still have clothes. Well, ok. I don’t have all clothes that I need. I don’t have separate clothes (and accessories) for an evening wear, an office wear, a party wear, “a whatever else” wear! Well – back to management concepts. KISS – keep it simple & straight. The more manner I have, the more trouble for me. Having different types of wear means: having the ability to match them; having the finesse to manage them having the capability to carry them off. And that is so so difficult – for me as a person. So KISS!

A few of my friends call me mad. A few others mad. And some real perceptive ones call me ‘eccentric’. Maybe I am eccentric. But hey – who is not. Had read a quote once which was, “Eccentricity / Idiosyncrasy is like having an accent – its what the others have it!” Brilliant – whosoever wrote that line.

Long ago a friend of mine had taught me a fundamental difference between “quality” and “quantity”. Except for a few people who have both quality and quantity, most of us have to manage with a combination of either. A typical Englishman would have quality. He would buy one good coat but keep it such that it lasts him years. Many of us to the contrary buy one every winter – cheap and cheerful stuff that lasts only that time. Which one do you choose? I found some wisdom in the former. The energy grows on you with time as also on your clothes. Now this is freaky stuff. Where you inhabit or where you are, you invest your energy there. So the more your clothes stay with you, the more their energy is.

I recollect my mother telling me as a child: if you respect your clothes, your clothes will respect you. I used to be a careless child who never gave a 2nd thought to keeping things properly. Some treatment of advice, counseling, cajoling, coaxing, and not sparing the rod helped me tide over my rebellious years and I find that I’ve pretty much liked that philosophy in life.

Not to say that there are no pitfalls of such an approach. When you choose quality, you need to manage it well. That calls for time and attention. At the same time, a replacement comes with a cost – of both time and money. So if you’re going through a lean patch, you have to compromise or wait. The choice seems frivolous, but sometimes it is a question of life and death. Would you rather wear a shirt with frayed collar (obviously not visible to all) for a while and wait a while for the new shirt or replace with a new rough and tumble shirt? I guess that’s the moment of reckoning for each one of us. Philosophy is not such a boring subject – when life is looked at this ways. Or maybe such mental gymnastics provides a touch of Tabasco to what they say, ‘la vie quotidian.’

But having said all this, I still don’t know why I don’t feel a dearth of clothes. I can count my pants in single digits and still I don’t feel I have less – so was it that I had too many to begin with? Or have I changed with time? That my needs have reduced? Or that I don’t consider them worth it? But what is my need after all – do I know it? I guess not. If you gift me something, I won’t back off – will gladly accept. “

And so, the question is, “What do I need?” And, “How much do I need after all?

Muse | Paribhasha | 21st Mar. '10

main - aur meri paribhasha:
lagta hai ki main ek nibandh hoon;
apne likhe hue lekh -
kuch shabd jo vyakt karte hain
apne astitva ko;
cheshtha karte hain: bolne va batane ki

-----apni ek kahani

jo shooroo hua likhna toh
na jaane shabd kahan se
anayaas hee aa jaate hain;
mano gomukh se jaise na jaane kaise
ek boond jal - ik ganga bana deta hai.
is silsile mein na jaane aaye kitne
gadya aur padya, prishtha va pustak

-----anokhi - par ek dooje se gunthi hui

par kabhi kabhi lagta hai ki main
to sirf baadhya hoon,
ik nibandh ke shabdon ki tarah
jo apni bhasha ke dwara
paaribhashit karte hain;
aur us paribhasha mein hi

---mujhe lapeete hain - baandh kar, seemit karte hain

aise kshanon mein jab maayoos main
un lekhon ko padhta hoon,
unke arth jaannee ka prayaas
toh na jaane kyun shabdkosh vyarth lagte hain;
mere shabdon ka arth keval
meri hi likhit shabdkosh mein hain;

-----unme nihit poornta meri abhivyakti hi toh hai

mera hi lekh, meri hi shabdkosh
mere hi arth, mujh mein nihit saamarth;
jaanne ki koshish karta hoon main
kai baar bhatak kar doojon se raasta pooch,
main pathik chalta hoon; ek bindu vishraam baad,
naye shabd jaal likhte hue...

--- ek nayi paribhasha mein apne ko khojte hue...

Muse | Reflections of a humbling experience | 22nd Feb. '10

I feel humbled.

She must have been in her early 60’s – but looked in her 70’s. Or maybe she is indeed in her 70th. As I walked towards the station in the morning, I saw them walking past in a file. Once again, I saw all three of them – women ripe with age, yet carrying the responsibility of life – on their head. They walked steadily; this one had a staff in her hand to support herself. They walked exactly like they had done the previous few days – around the same time that I head to the station to take the morning train to work.

Why did they catch my attention? As I walked wondering what the purpose of life it – trying to iron out an intellectual debate within myself and feel great at the end of one more such resolution – I saw them again. Defining and re-defining life and exploring its various facets is such an intellectual high for me. Sometimes, it makes me oblivious to the mundane reality. And in front of me was the mundane. Was that profane?

They were carrying a pile of dry wood on their head. At 7.45 in the morning headed back; that means the wood gathering would have started much earlier. A quick calculation told me that they would have been out of the house not later than 6, maybe, even earlier. That wood would see them through the day – it is that wood that would warm the hearth and feed the stomachs. It would be fair to assume that they would be staying in houses without titles. Equally fair would be to assume that the concern for keeping the hearth warm is a daily affair. Needless to say, they would not have a gas connection or the like.

In some ways, I felt a bit miserable. For a moment, I experienced a pang of guilt – here was I wondering about life and trying to solve imaginary problems and there I saw them fulfilling what life demanded of them. Were they happy or not? I don’t know and I dared not ask them? Why did they carry it – and not a young son or daughter or daughter in law or even a grandson / grand-daughter? That was not within my right to ask them.

Yet, I experienced a sense of resoluteness on their face. The feet and hands were callused. As they walked, they covered their head with the ‘pallu’ of the saree. Perhaps I was a bit too rude – in retrospect, I realized that I had stared at her long. And she glanced at herself to see if her saree was draped properly around her – one tug, and she gathered her saree. Another tug: and she managed the pile and her gait with the staff. I had not intended to intrude into her space, but I could not help look at her in respect. I took my glance away like a recalcitrant school boy chastised by the teacher’s “glance”.

I had no business to analyse her and intrude into her dignity.

Muse | On grooming - a babble | 21st Feb. '10

"Change your specs. "

That shook me up. I had heard this before, but this time round it was different - it came from my mother (once again). And it came more as an “insistent pleading directive.” Yes, that sounds oxymoronic, but there was a sense of pleading, as if, "why don't you please do this for me?" At the same time, it was a bit authoritative, just like parents do when they really want to say, "I am saying this for your own good and so do it."

Well, I realise that times have changed. My being has changed. My equations have changed. Of course, what's the big deal? Things change with time. But some things don't change - or so I had assumed. And that is the mother - son relationship. That my mother would suddenly be interested in how I look, how I groom and preen myself is something new to me. I had never experienced that aspect of her.

In fact, while growing up, it was quite to the contrary. Spending more than half a minute in front of the mirror aroused her curiosity (and I guess some suspicion that I was dating girls) that led her to "innocently" comment, "you take quite a while in front of the mirror". And as if to discourage the behaviour, the stereotyping was completed with, "...just like girls." And this when in my whole of school days, I must never have stood in front of a mirror ever for more than 2 minutes at any given point of time.

But this is new to me. Suddenly, I found my mother different. She has a view on my clothes, accessories, and my grooming. Not the regular types that mums have, "have you had a bath" etc. Usually with boys, mums have this issue. This is not the issue I talk about. She can’t find fault with my personal hygiene. Well, let me share some examples. "So do you use the ‘Tabac’ Eau-de-Cologne that your sister gifted you?" Or, “which perfume do you use?” Weird - mum never asked such things. Or something like, "...that's not quite a combination…" referring to the North-South looks of my pant and shirt.

I am partially colour blind (I am not joking - I take a friend along for shopping). To add to it, I have not yet mastered the art of matching colours. So usually I stick to the solid colours. Of course white and black / blue are eternal matches. I mean, I just find it so difficult. I must confess that I've given up. I don't really care now except for ensuring that I am "by and large" ok. When it is some important occasion / meeting, I will ensure that I land up in black/blue and white - it just helps me skirt the whole issue of ‘making a choice’. Maybe I don't want to learn - well, not maybe, definitely. I just find it too boring and complex. My mind stops working. My heart beat increases as soon as I see multiple colour dresses - how on earth does one figure out the combination. I feel like a rat in a maze who has no clue of his / her surroundings when it comes to these issues. And so I console myself by saying that it is a man thing; finally, I have this excuse of colour blindness (God bless)!!!

So coming back to my surprise when my mother had a view on it. As a kid, she did have a view, but on most occasions, it was she who simply decided what we'd wear when going out of home for an occasion. I took that for granted - sigh, life was so simple (at least in that context). But now it’s all on my own. The other day we were to go and meet an acquaintance of ours. I put on a kurta and jeans and found my mother's piercing eyes examining me from head to toe. A volley of questions followed.

Post which an inquisition on not having had a hair cut. Just to pacify her and not give her the opportunity to pounce on me to have my specs changed, I went out and got one. In military strategy parlance, I did not want to be attacked on multiple fronts. I land up in office the next day and my colleague (a lady) tell me, “…hey, you got a ‘crew’ cut done – you look like a school boy!!!” So much for keeping mother happy!!!

It did not require me much time to figure out the change. Has mom changed or have circumstances changed that have made her change? She herself blurted it out, "... with this kind of dressing and grooming, how girls will like you..." Aha - mom interesting in me being liked by girls. That was new. And good. As a kid, I always got not so approving looks when I happened to share a story regarding any girl. The moral of the story was, "good boys don't go out with girls." So, at some subtle level it became, "good boys don't groom to impress girls."

And then came college, girls, and friends. Then came work and so on - and I moved on in life. To a stage where I am comfortable in the "mediocrity of my grooming." Well, that phrase actually applies to me. I have had so many friends (both men and women) come up and say, "...why the hell can't you follow what we suggest?" But you see: I am a rebel. The youngest of the 3 kids - what else can you expect? My attitude has fossilised to something like, "...if you like me for my looks and my presence, I don't care a damn about you..." In the process of growing up with my own insecurities, I learnt early on the psychological principle of "compensation." Because I could not make myself "up there" by my looks and grooming ('coz my grooming IQ tends to single digits), I actively worked to gain approval from extra curricular activities. Debating, Writing, Elocutions became my passion. I learnt to "intellectually challenge" peers around. That also provided me a safe play area - especially when it came to girls.

I grew up at a quaint rustic place (it really was rustic back then). So, given that I was not sophisticated and as I moved to various cities in progressive stages of "hep-ness", I too learnt to sharpen my defense mechanisms that provided me acceptance from peers and others. With time, I've learnt to accept my own inadequacies; and this is a journey that will continue for the rest of life. I've found that there never ever is a stage where I've been able to say, "I've ironed out myself and I am ok." Every time I see myself saying that, the universe conspires to create a meltdown (like a nuclear meltdown) and I am back to square one. So as I move towards "wholeness", I find that I have chosen consciously different approaches to different things. In some areas, I strive to excel and better myself. In other, I've chosen to let go and not try to keep up with the Joneses.

Grooming (beyond the point of personal hygiene and basic decorum) is one such area where I've given up. I mean I just find it plain silly to fret over what I consider the smaller things of life. I like things of utility - bless my professor who administered MBTI (Myers Briggs Type Indicator - look it up in the net) and gave me another excuse to comfort myself. Being an INTJ, I look for utility in things. So my choice of specs is based on utility. I like to read; so when I am home (post work or on weekends), I like to lie down and enjoy a good read. You can't have some slender delicate sophisticated frames. You need sturdy, durable and flexible frames. I had one rimless specs earlier, but the trauma they went through coz of my lying down and reading ensured a very small lifeline for them. So when my ophthalmologist changed the numbers, I took that as a God sent opportunity and promptly changed my specs. They've been faithful for a year now and on occasions I've even managed to put some of my weight on them. They are now part of my identity and utility.

And my mother wants to take that away!!! No wonder I felt so insecure. Then followed a dialogue with her. My mother thinks I am now of a “marriageable” age - which I am for quite a while. But now she is concerned and worried. So every little thing matters. She (of all the people, mum) gave me a lecture on how one should keep up with changing times and how she “knows” (from newspapers and page 3) that girls these days don't like guys who wear specs which make them look "studious / professor". Gee - I just wished my mum asked me to carry a condom in my pocket ;-) But sigh – that advice has not yet come :-( Then followed another chapter and verse on the importance of having a good haircut. It is true - and I admit to it - that many a time, I take a while to go and get a haircut. Its not laziness - or maybe it is. If you spend 3.5 hours a day traveling to work and back and work for 12 hours every day, who the hell wants to get a haircut done on a weekend!!! Consider (if you wish to) that as an excuse, but I do ensure that I don't look like Andre Aggasi ever (when he had the pony tail). So why the hullabaloo?

Sometimes, I realise that I am obstinate to the point of cussedness in these matters. I just find a great amount of joy like Calvin in harassing the harried person in front of me who considers this very meaningful. A friend of mine shared with me her first impressions of me - not so flattering though. We had met at a workshop and she told me that by day 2, she could predict what I would be wearing when she would see me next. Well, no smart guesses. For a week long workshop, I had taken 3 T-shirts and 2 jeans. My logic of utilitarianism: "Why on earth do you have the laundry service in a hotel? And if I am to spend 8 hours inside a room in a lab, why should I carry trunk full of clothes?" To add icing to this cake of logic, “travel light!” What I did not share with her is that half of my suitcase was filled with books – so where the space was for clothes?

We are good friends now. And that is exactly my point. She did accept me for who I am and not how I groom. This provides me enough fodder to stick to my guns and not attempt the painful (to me at least) process of re-orienting the brain to pay attention to such matters. After all, how much can a human brain handle!!!

Thank heavens, my mother has not yet thought of what some of my colleagues and friends tell me. "Shave off your mustache." One day I was quite taken aback by this comment from a colleague. She told me that I needed to become more "hep". Pat came the tongue in cheek reply from me after which I experienced her as a slab of ice frozen in Pleistocene era, "will you give me a kiss if I shaved off my mustache!!!" Soon she laughed it off and said, "...not me, but maybe someone else will."

"MAYBE". You mean to say that I should remove my mustache in the hope of getting a smooch from some hot nubile babe. And ‘hope’. Sigh – might as well live the current reality than hope!!! Well, as I said, I've been a rebel. If a girl does not like me the way I am, too bad. But if things do work out, I would be glad to hand over expertise of professional grooming to her (assuming that she has a better sense than I have – which usually is the case). After all, it is my Achilles heel and I do need some help in that area. Will I accept it from everyone - maybe not. Will I take it from my girlfriend - why not, if that is what makes her happy. But should I do all this in order to get a girl - no, thank you. Maybe I feel scared. Scared that if a girl likes me for my grooming and looks, she may not really appreciate me for who I am. So I follow the reverse psychology: show the worst of yourself and if they like you still, then you can become normal and better.

All these thoughts were going up in my head, when I heard mum say once again,

"...change your specs..."

Muse | On being single and exploring sexuality | 20th Feb. '10

“How does one explore sexuality whilst being single?”

Well, an odd question. And I can’t help but ask it - at 11.30 in the night. I guess only because I am single, I can get to ask this question at this odd hour. To which the question I need to explore first is, “What does it mean to be single?”

A good friend of mine, now married for a while, shares sometimes with me how his life has changed post marriage. On how he juggles between sleeping, pretense of being asleep and listening to his wife who is ready to handle him after a good afternoon siesta (she’s a housewife). In the past 1 year, I’ve seen him change. Earlier, he would get some whacky ideas at midnight and off he would shoot a text message to me and other single friends. Now I hear a silence! Naturally, things change.

But coming back to me – I am actually questioning as to why am I still single? What’s the trigger? Actually, I am very angry right now. I was online and met a friend of mine who asked me something that triggered it off. A few hours ago, I had updated my facebook status to something like, “…feel content – found my first love in school…” You see, I had finally managed to meet my first love. A cute girl in 2nd grade who had taken me under her wings as I moved to the new class without friends. For some reasons (beyond the scope of this blog), I had moved directly to 2nd grade from Upper Kinder Garden skipping 1st grade. Obviously, I was miserable and had no friends. This girl made friends with me and I used to hang out with her during lunch time. She just made me feel me – accepted me when no other kid spoke with me. I was a shy kid – very reserved for most of my school life. In some ways, I still am reserved. But talking of school and that time, I was mortified on not having friends and she was my saviour. All my life, I had carried this sense of gratitude for her and a sense of warm affection. Which is why she was / and is my first love. Through social networking I met her again. And we realized that we had both known each other as grown ups too for the past 3 years – how little interest do we take in the other!!!

Oh – ok, as usual, I’ve wandered, so coming back. This friend of mine (who had read my status on facebook) wrote to me on chat – hope it is a girl!!! What the heck. Just because I am single, does it mean, you will come and question my sexual preferences? A part of me asks me as to why am I so touchy? And in fact, at one point of time, someone did ask me that question. I must confess that I carry with me a sense of anger on being judged. Yes, I do feel let down in allowing others to judge me – and more importantly, in letting myself get swayed by those judgments. But I am a human being. I have my own frailties and soft spots. I feel scared and afraid of expressing them – and I am aware that this is my blog, it would be in public domain soon. But will I be free – if I am scared of what you feel upon reading this? No, I won’t; so inspite of knowing that I may be judged and I would have to deal with those feelings later on, I will write on. What you feel is your feeling – don’t project on me; and I’m learning not to introject.

Quite a few times in the past – while growing up through college years and beyond (in early working life) – I had experiences that left a sad taste in my mouth. I am slow in building relationships – that is just who I am. I tried changing myself, but I’ve found that it has not helped me. I like my own pace of building and maintaining relationships. I realized that when I tried to change what I was deep down, it was a charade. I needed to be me – and so I decided to trust my own instincts and not judge myself for not being ‘social’. A couple of women had asked me point blank, ‘… are you gay…?’ Well, let me share that I have nothing against anyone’s sexual preferences / orientation. In fact, in my early working life, I’ve shared room as a boarder with a friend who had a homosexual orientation. He was actually a very honest guy and from him I learnt to be empathetic to the other person and respect the person for what he or she is and not his/her sexual preference. Both of us learnt what respect means. And I define it as: the ability to be with and for each other and remain non-judgmental despite knowing the contra preferences of the other while managing boundaries of self and other...

So coming back to the times I’ve heard this question in various shades – questions on my sexual preference. Sometimes, I’ve asked them as to why they got so moved to ask me the question. To which the most common reply has been a variant of: well, you’re young and single and don’t chase girls. As if underneath that is the statement, ‘…we expect you to and if you don’t something is wrong with you…’ Sometimes, I’ve felt like replying back, “…why, do you wanna jump in bed with me and so want to test me out – do you want me to chase you – is that your fantasy?” On most occasions, I’ve ignored it. But I have indeed felt hurt. As if it is a crime to be single.

At the same time, I also guess in some ways, that question has opened up something that I’ve not been able to close on my own – and that is about exploration of my sexuality. Reminded of a woman who had told me once, ‘…how can you be with yourself unless you give yourself to another?’ She was explaining her stance of asking me the question about my sexual orientation. I can see that underneath my anger and resentment lies a hurt – that perhaps she too has a point of view. Her view may not be complete and it perhaps requires both of our views to co-exist. The Yin and the Yan.

Let me handle the easy part first. What does it mean to be single? To me it means the ability to be. The joy of taking care of my own self – the narcissistic delight of loving and pampering myself! The freedom to do what I wish to. The joy of being a vagabond. The pleasure of dating multiple women at a time – without either one realizing ;-) The ability to sit back on a Saturday late night and write a blog. The freedom to be with myself and read. The joy of meditating.

At the same time, I must admit, being single also means a lot of other things. On occasions, it means loneliness. The pine and yearning to hold a woman (other than a mother or a sister or a friend) who you can call (to whatever extent) your own. The helplessness on being with my own feelings of vulnerability or intense joy and searching for someone to share them with in that moment (so that they remain significant).

The other question that I’ve asked (or am asking myself) is about exploration of sexuality. How does one explore sexuality despite being single? To a certain extent, given the word, there is no going back that it is connected to the 3 letter word ‘sex’. But the question that then crops up is, ‘what is sexuality?’ Obviously, sexuality is not about the act of sex. To me, it is about a quest for inner self. Is it about an exploration with another being or it is about exploration of my own inner self with the other person as the instrument? Is it not about coming face to face with the rawness of my own nakedness – the fantasies, desires, vulnerabilities, fears in the deepest recess of me? And if that is so, would not this coming to terms with happen in presence of another? Is it possible (theoretically even) to come to terms with it on your own? Men of God (the monks et. al.) may perhaps do it – but even for them, there is the other. The Lord is the other for them. For mortals like me, it necessarily means another person – depending on your orientation a man or a woman.

In some ways, I do see merit in what the woman was telling me – I can’t explore myself completely without surrendering to another. And that is scary. It means giving up the meaning of being single. And till such time, I find someone, the question remains, ‘how does one explore sexuality whilst being single?’

Muse | 19th Feb. '10 | On Relationships

An afternoon question that nags me and here am I sitting and writing. Yes – a Friday afternoon that one thinks is associated with TGIF (Thank God, Its Friday). Personally, I’ve never really understood the concept. For a Friday afternoon only heralds the coming of the next day.

Coming back to where I am. Am actually in a phase of deep cogitation… A friend and colleague of mine this morning remarked, “…don’t think so much…”; she takes my face book messages as indicators of my existential reality. Well, in some ways, they indeed reflect what I feel within; but then am I not eligible to be what I am? Or what I feel?

I don’t want to get into the bit about “what / who am I”. Go to the philosophers for that or religious preceptors for that. Not to me. But yes, I am in quest. My blog name says it all; and the quest is different. It could be for a thing, a person, an idea, an abstract concept, an image of self or other – the list goes on.

Right now I am examining my relationships. Of late, I’ve become superstitious. I use the word in the sense of a belief or extra attention to synchronistic occurrences. One can debate the idea of synchronicity, but right now for a change, I am with my heart. For the uninitiated, synchronicity is about examination of near simultaneous occurrence of two events that are acausally related and yet are linked with each other. Carl Jung (to the best of my knowledge) was the first one who extensively worked on it in scientific manner (whatever that word may mean)! Deepak Chopra in his book, “Synchro Destiny” gives multiple examples.

Ok, ok – I do meander a lot. But what the heck – this is my blog!!! Well, I am reflecting on relationships. It started off sometime (means a fortnight or so) ago when the inevitable question cropped up from my mother, “so what about marriage?” I’d once written a long blog on marriage; but what I’ve been thinking about is about relationships? The past 2 days has seen me receive forwards on “relationships” like never before. They provide different and interesting perspectives – some find favour with me while others seem pedestrian bookish discourse.

What does relationship mean to me? Logically, a relationship cannot exist standalone. It needs two or more. Let me get into it a bit deeper – so let me google it out. Got an interesting take, at the site: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=relation which goes thus:

relationship
1744, "sense of being related," from relation + -ship. Specifically of romantic or sexual relationships by 1944.

Let me see what it has to say about “relation”

relation
late 14c., from Anglo-Fr. relacioun, O.Fr. relacion (14c.), from L. relationem (nom. relatio) "a bringing back, restoring," from relatus (see relate). Meaning "person related by blood or marriage" first attested c.1500. Stand-alone phrase no relation "not in the same family" is attested by 1930.

So, where am I: back to square one – the etymology has not really helped. So I will go ahead using the word in the way I understand it viz. building the ‘ship’ of ‘relations’. And for me a relation is about the investment made in order to build / sustain / nurture a sense of emotional connect with the other. And that other could be any thing or any one.

You may ask what am I looking for? Well, I am looking for a relationship – a means of relating to myself. I see many different aspects and facets of myself. Some that I like and some do not agree with me; yet, they are aspects of me. How do I relate to myself? And what does it really mean to relate to myself? Does it mean relating to my dreams, thoughts, ideas, ambitions, fantasies, wishes, desires, feelings – what else? These are all aspects internal to me – private of me that originate in my being (either at cognitive, emotive, conative or psychic levels). Or does it mean relating to others – to the outside world – to the world of men and women, plants and trees, animals and materials? Actually, all of us relate to both.

But why is it that I find that in my relations I am not there? Or in some cases, the other person is not there? An act of relating pre-supposes an effort on part of self. When I say, “I relate”, I am in effect saying that I take responsibility and invest emotionally in…” The only question that nags me now is, “what about the thing / person invested in?” Am I aware of and sensitive to them? When I say that I relate with (say for example) my mother as her son, I am saying that in my eyes she is my mother and assuming that in her eyes I am her son? I will not know the latter till I ask her. So does it mean that a relationship is built on part projection and part assumption? And further, does it imply that to the extent of my assumption and projection, it is not based on what the reality is / could be, but on what / how I perceive it?

To clarify that muddle: Do I love my mother for who she is or for my perception of who she is? The same goes for any relation (and we talk of persons here). Does it mean that I relate with the person or my idea of / about that person? In all honesty, I must confess, that in many of my relationships (with family, friends et. al.), I relate to my idea of them. In that sense, I am not fully aware to their world, to their reality and to them. With both conscious and unconscious projection, I impose my view on them – on the idea of who / what they should and can be.

And if that is so, “do I really have relationships and what do they mean to me?”

Muse | What is a Question | 14 Feb. '10

What is a Question? Aah - what a question, I thought to myself. As I sat this morning (13th actually) spending some time with myself, this thought cropped up. And ever since has bothered me. I tried doing many things, but have not been able to come to terms with it. So late night, I sit here - writing this blog. And its 14th morning. Wish you all a very happy Valentine's Day.

Ok - so what I just say, "...come to terms..." But are you not supposed to "answer" a "question"? Let me see what the dictionary has to say. And the prize goes to Wikipedia!!! (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Question) for the answer (searched on 14th Feb. '10 at 0005 hrs.):

"A question may be either a linguistic expression used to make a request for, or else the request itself made by such an expression. This information is provided with an answer.
Questions are normally put or asked using interrogative sentences. However they can also be put by imperative sentences, which normally express commands: "Tell me what two plus two is"; conversely, some expressions, such as "Would you pass the salt?", have the grammatical form of questions but actually function as requests for action, not for answers, making them allofunctional. (A phrase such as this could, theoretically, also be viewed not merely as a request but as an observation of the other person's desire to comply with the request given.)"

{I do hope this does not constitute a violation of copyright laws - does it (now that is a question too)?}

So does that help me? Well, it "defines" what a question is - but does it tell me what a question really is? Is that splitting hair or is it really about getting into it? Now this is a question too? But do you sense what I sense? Do you feel what I feel? Does it communicate what I am trying to do so hard viz. communicate? Does it bring to you the sense of frustration I experience in not being able to find what I seek? If it does, then, to me that is a question - right here, right now. So I can see that for me, a question really is something that has an emotional valence (I guess I'm borrowing this word from Freud - or was is someone else?).

What is emotional valence (in this context). It is about the underlying feeling - of non-completion that propels me to ask what I want to. It is that urgent call that a sensitive friend responds to. Underneath the articulation, you connect to me - with my vulnerabilities / frailties / sensitivities. You experience empathy. Unless it elicits something like that in you, would it really be a question? For how can a question gain its legitimacy without the voice of someone who articulates. And that voice is a quest.

You see, to me a question then is not necessarily an issue of syntax. Yes, grammatically, a question is something to which you give an answer. But is a question really that? Or is it the first of the many stages of enquiry? An enquiry into something that is not known or held in the immediate present (immediate - in this moment) realm of know-how (or something we can call "consciousness") of the person who seeks? By that statement, I also imply that a question pre-supposes a seeker. Or rather it provides for the existence of a seeker.

Can a question exist without a seeker? Even if you ask my question and say that is Mr. X's question, you would be able to attribute the question to me - I suppose so. And I am thus the seeker. So what existed first? The question or the seeker? I think it was JK who said what runs in my head right now.

Come to think of it - can a question really exist independent of the seeker? Let us consider this question I just asked. It exists. In black and white. Independent of its own - a few words joined together coherently in an interrogative manner seeking something. It just stares out of the screen - to you the reader (as much as to me - the writer). What did you say, "the writer"? So that means someone wrote it - yes, I did a while ago. So it's existence came into being once I wrote it? What if I just thought and did not write - would it then still not exist? After all, can existence only be defined in what can be written? Surely not. So even in my thoughts, a question can exist.

But that brings me to the next part? Did the thought exist independently? Rene Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am." This is an area for a big debate. So I don't want to get into it - not right now. But I can't help not recollect the Advaita Vedanta epistemological analogy, "When we get up after a sleep, do we ever question as to who slept? Is there ever a doubt that the "I" who woke up is different from the "I" who went to sleep? Is there a continuity or a discontinuity in the experience of that "I" that sleeps and wakes up? That "I" may feel / think many things, but that "I" never fails to experience its non-existence." Taking this reasoning forward the Cartesian doctrine of a thought existing 'a priori' can be rejected.

So if a thought did not exist 'a priori', then can a question exist as such? For after all, what is a question? Is it not a thought? A special form of thought - something that has the note of a search? So, the differentiation between a question and a thought is the degree of emotional valence? The degree to which it causes the one who seeks to move out from within to the without? Because would not a question arise only (and only) if there is nothing within w.r.t. the issue at hand? Let me take a practical example. I know sugar tastes sweet. And if I have sugar with me, do I not know it? Do I go and ask the question, "what is the taste?" No, I don't (not normally). Because, I had the knowledge within, I do not seek outside.

And by a corollary, if I do not have it within, I would seek outside? Or would I not? Is that a right corollary? Let me try to tease that. If I do not have it within, I have two options: seek it or do nothing about it. The latter leads to no activity; while the former does.

What does it mean "to seek"? Is it not a search outside? Outside of what / whom? The taste of sugar is a search on the palate while the query, "does she love me / does she not?" is a search on the mental faculty (that leads to thought) - apart from the word called fantasy!!! So coming back - a seeking implies an activity (be it mental or physical). And that is the hallmark of the emotional valence of a question. Which means that because of the emotional valence, there is bound to be activity by a seeker. That activity could either be mental (non apparent things like thoughts and feelings) or physical (demonstrated observable behaviour).

But I think I am into a contradiction here. The last paragraph is valid IF and only IF we accept the notion that there is a seeker who seeks. The view that thought (and therefore a question) exists 'a priori' is untenable. And that leaves me with two possibilities: a seeker who does nothing and a seeker who seeks. A seeker who does nothing does exactly that - nothing. And because a question distinguishes itself from a thought in terms of its emotional valence and thereby the propelling activity of a search, a seeker must seek (in order to maintain the legitimacy of a "question" to be called a "question").

And if the seeker seeks, and going by what we speak above, the existence of a seeker is independent on its own. And if that is so, what is it that the seeker seeks that which is not present already? For if something exists outside of the seeker, it is an 'a priori' existence. Since I am talking not about matter but only about the special thing called "thought", which cannot exist 'a priori' (ref. above), the case for a seeker seeking outside is redundant.

So that means that I now have no seeker who seeks. This contradicts the paragraph above. After all this "round the mulberry bush", I am left with one question:

"What is a question?"