In the ancient days of chatrooms where the first internet romances bloomed, "asl" was the pick up line for people who didnt want to enter a bar. Age, Sex, Location. Determining factors. And people readily gave them out, as morphed as their answer might be into imagined fountains of youth or travel across the life long 10 km radius they called home.
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Today, I stumbled into a (pardon the cliche) charming little cafe that merged a "pre-loved" book rental and exchange cubby along with a what I imagine Parisian cafes to be like bristo. Colours and international borders crisscross here as I am arrested by the smell of strong simple coffee and chalkboard menus, the sponging in of the ambience is dramatic and refreshing; the sheer vastness of old people, new people, white people, black people, stiletto heeled louis vuitton tote carrying, barefoot out of bed breakfast having, coffee obsessed book lovers, spouse dragged book haters and all in between. I loved it. I was drawn to it like it might represent all humanity as it was meant to be.
Identity. A book lover. Well read. Branded clothes. Branded degrees. Cult books. Cult drugs. Latest movies. Latest girls. Mother's religious beliefs. Rebel. Dog lover. Orthodox. Liberal. Nationality. Last name. Skill with the paintbrush. Skill with a surgeon's knife. Infact one judges ones identity not by a universal check list. Each person develops his own checklist. Decides what is or isn't important. Money stays on the list. Religion doesn't. Sex stays on the list. Age doesn't. And more often than not, this check list decides who we respect and who we don't. It decides how we see a person's identity. More importantly, it decides how we see our own. To me, for instance, my gender is a more important identity determiner than my nationality. Not true for the guy who is fascinated when he hears me speak in Hindi. To me, the fact that he works at an awesome firm is a decider in my judgement of him. To him, its just a name on the building he enters everyday to make a living.
It strikes me that a person can be blind to so many aspects of himself if they cannot see some checkpoints other people have on their list that they personally never thought were identity builders. In some respects its a good thing. Weight, for instance, shouldn't be on anyone's list.
But it strikes me that an initial rapport is developed when you realise you have a couple of common points on your identity forming lists. Especially if you both match in a couple of the answers. It may be books read, profession, dreams and hobbies, hell in most male cases it can be the "instant-new-male-friend-maker " - sutta. A single shared cigarette. In a bar, it may be two people who discover they are in the same place in their love life. But our identities are different with each person. We know intuitively what each person's checklist is. If we want to get along with the person, we instantly try to ensure our behaviour is making them mentally tick as many points.
Me talking to boss - will be polite so he thinks I am good employee, will make intelligent comment as he is judgingme on basis of future employability.
Me talking to father - will be stable sounding so dad does not suspect psycho brain dwelling in offspring, will exhibit absolute oblivion to sins of modern society so father continues dwelling in 20 year old me holding finger while crossing road false utopia.
You get the point.
Brain has suddenly linked article with Amartya Sen's book "Pluralism of Identities : How it is responsible for all Political and Religious Wars Ever." Am sure book title is wrong, but distinctly remember the theme as being just so. Have inadverdently arrived at first premise of book that took world economists and political analysts by storm.
Am delighted to discover that am brilliant. Should be world wide economist so that imaginary daughter can live off my fame and get any crap published by Penguin using my legacy. Suddenly wish father was Amartya Sen. Penguin published book is dream that seems long dreamed of but recently discovered.
Will never have book published if write so incorrectly grammatically as though incapable of writing connected subjects and predicates, unless of course write book in manner of Bridget Jones or Devil wears Prada. Although guiltily big fan of such books, do not have guts to be labelled chic'lit mindless writer using simple Cosmopolitan style girl psychology to get money from self esteem based woman power themed book. Hence, must avoid all such grammar and be smart and suave mature observer of society.
God, I'm hilarious!Wednesday, January 23, 2008
This is a breathtaking song from the new Saab ecofriendly car ad. Reminds me of Terri Naomi. And the "I wish I was a punk rocker" style of music. Simple strong and power packed.
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The ad's on youtube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piDgTFaafNM
I am the wilderness locked in a cage,
I am a growing force you kept in place,
I am a tree reaching for the sun,
Please don't hold me down
Please don't hold me down
I am a rolling wave without the motion,
A glass of water longing for the ocean,
I am an asfelt flower breaking free,
but you keep stopping me
Release me
Release me
I am the rain thats coming down on you,
That you shielded yourself from with a roof,
I am the fire burning desperately
but you're controlling me
Release me
Release meMonday, January 21, 2008
The epidemic of ennui and faded ambitions seem to swarthe about me, quietly whispering its subtle victory in the now withering mundane lives of the people I know and love, people with so much to give, so much to create. I talk not just of people of my generation, but men and women whose thoughts almost scream once the children have left the nest or once they reach a time where they actually have time to listen to their inner voice.
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It is in such a time that I found inspiration and relief - albeit temporary - in the words of JRR. I decided to re-run an LOTR marathon, and once again fell deeply in love with the story. Here, then, are my favourite snippets (some of em have nothing to do with the life musings above and more to do with simply how they remind you to be funny in the most macabre of situations):
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
And whither then? I cannot say.
Frodo, in the dark of the Mines of Morea: "I wish the ring had never come to me, I wish none of this had happened."
Gandalf: "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."
Gandalf: Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee! Have you been eavesdropping?
Sam: I haven't been droppin' no eaves sir, honest! I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you'll follow me.
Gandalf: A little late for trimming the verge, don't you think?
Sam: I heard raised voices.
Gandalf: What did you hear? Speak!
Sam: N-nothing important. That is, I heard a good deal about a ring, and a dark lord, and something about the end of the world, but please, Mr. Gandalf, sir, don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anything... unnatural.
Aragorn: The same blood flows in my veins. The same weakness.
Arwen: Your time will come. You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it.
Frodo: "I miss the Shire. I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else. Off with you, on one of your adventures. But my own adventure turned out to be quite different."
Aragorn: "You have some skill with a blade."
Eowyn: "The women of this land learned long ago, that those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."
Aragorn: "What do you fear, my Lady?"
Eowyn: "A cage. To be kept behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valour has gone beyond recall or desire."
Aragorn: "You are a daughter of Kings, a shieldmaiden of Rohan, I do not think that will be your fate."
From the book, more boring but infinitely better than the movies (hm, weird):
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.
Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
But the hearts of men are easily corrupted.
And, my favourite:
Frodo: "I can't do this, Sam."
Sam: "I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. 'Cause sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How can the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end it's only a passing thing. A shadow even darkness must pass. A new day will come and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were to small to understand why. But I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folks in those stories had lots of chances in turning back only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding onto to something."
Frodo: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"
Sam: "That there's some good left in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."
I love these movies! Mr. Tolkien, Sir, thank you! :)
And this picture, as a pure reminder of how fantastic Viggo is on screen and off it.
Friday, January 18, 2008
When your dreams are broken
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By the expanses of circumstance
When you chase even their rivals of reality
And they simply look askance,
When you don't have the guts to read a sad book
Or even listen a cheesy romantic line
Because you know it'll have you crying
In a minute's time
When the stories of great strugglers
Make you wonder what's wrong with you
When the lives of those with less
Seem to speed ahead of yours
Where did the strength you thought you had
Disappear when you needed it the most
Abysses of self pity wasn't my refuge
I still hate the stench of blaming fate
Something there is that breaks me down
Each time I hear a no
Something there is despite my beliefs
That doesn't let go.
Taking it back
Letting go
Taking it back
Letting go
The cycle is sickening.
Damaging
To the belief that one can do what one loves
And live to tell the tale.
Give me something to believe in
Give me a reason beyond close ones
Give me a cause that is all my own
Give me a calling that only I can fulfil.
I swear to you
There will not be a woman more committed
There will not be a worker more determined
There will not be a child more demanding, dear God
Once I find that calling that is mine to own.
Till then we lie
Like globules of energy that sputter intermittently
Yet, for most time, go quietly about our meaningless businesses
Type type, click click
Tring tring, sign sign
Weekend, quickly to the party
Back again and lock the doors
Head to pillow, good citizens with well balanced financial portfolios
Taking safe risks and smiling incessantly
Happy, happy,
Ignoring the vast capability inside us.Sunday, January 13, 2008
The thing is, people blog. People read. Where were we before blogging? Diaries? Journals? For the select few, newspaper editorials. For the even more select few, autobiographies. And it seems to me that there isn't much to blog about anymore. I mean, obviously you can't write out everything. Privacy blah blah. Plus, my conclusion from personal experience is that there is a large drop in quality when you write about your own life. Don't ask me why. You just have a more organized and objective (duh!) thought process when it isn't to do with your life.
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So then what is your audience when you are writing about your own life? You resort to weird metaphors to protect your privacy, which result in the people who know you to go "is that really how she felt *$&@(&$" and the people who don't to go "what again? (puzzled frown)" (Case in point : Onkar's befuddled comment to me putting down selling electricity as something I hated!).
Maybe I'll rephrase this. I am a cynic of journal-style blogging. I'll leave that for my diary. Perhaps a blog should be limited to only those fragments of thought that are completely removed from your day-to-day life.
To me, writing has two big payoffs - one, creative outlet (scary at times how much you need it and how much putting it down empties you of whatever negative feelings you have and redoubles the positives). Second, someone who's day is improved by reading it - maybe just as an escape from 3 hours of debugging or as a person who, hey awesomeness, was feeling the same way and is relieved that someone feels the same way.
My reason for cynicism is this. Blogging is too much about too less. Yes, its fantastic to put down your thoughts and know that anyone can read it. Is that what we want? Out of a million opinions on so many blogs about the US election or even on something as simple as a frustrating day at work, what makes your stand out? How is your day/thought more valuable just cause you have a place to put it down or an audience who cares? How does it make you feel "unique"? What right do you have to get a voice when people who should don't? There are currently a hundred Kenyans who's opinions are a million times more valuable than mine. Even the thoughts of a bright student of politics would have a more heavyweight opinion. Yet, at least five people (hopefully) will read what I think about it, just cause I have a blog, and these people don't. Makes me feel like a bit of a hypocrite. So half way through the article, I just rewrote the title and signed out.
Is there an Attorney-General here? What happens when there are too many blogs and you have to select which ones to keep and which ones go? Do the ones that get the max readership automatically win? Will the celebrities get to keep theirs? Will Stephen Fry and Condelezza Rice get to keep theirs and a sweet 12 year old in Arkansas have to delete hers?
How does all this fit into the bigger scheme of things? Is there a bigger scheme of things when it comes to blogging? Does anyone agree with me here? Or is this just blog babble?Friday, January 11, 2008
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Wednesday, January 2, 2008
ciggies : none
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instants : none
calories : what's that again?!
I have, in the past 24 hours, pretty much run through the entire gamut of human emotions. Started with overwhelming depression as I started to get ready for new year non-extravaganza. Missed new year 2006 (spent partying with old school friends at local community club in hometown back in India), 2007 (spent red, swollen and itchy with rare sudden outbreak of "allergic urticarea" at best friend's home watching James Bond movie with her and her family, i forget which movie it was). Miss sense of partying and imminent hours of dancing till I drop...miss friends. Sudden realization, will have to go through at least 3 more of these without them. Gravity of physical distance suddenly shooting up to highest possible level - like when ball is rotating and direction of angular motion is at highest point of circumfrence and parallel to ground (pls God don't let my Class 12 Physics teacher ever read this).
Being newcomers to a new city and country, we set out to see the famous Melbourne fireworks (actually the pre midnight ones at 9pm, aka Family Fireworks). At around 8 pm we set out to catch one of them free trams. Please remember that the sun starts setting at 9 pm out here. Was quite an experience as the trams strategy of keeping cars/drunken drivers off the roads on new years eve by providing free tram transport after 6pm worked a little too well. So my sis and I jumped on to one of them, with a promise to Mama of a pre-midnight return. Emotional turmoil worsened by giggly-dolled-up-obviously-close-group-of-girls being all girly right next to us in tram. Nostalgia. Nostalgia. Ugh, why don't I stress smoke? Why don't I smoke? Coz I have an awesome baby sister, who listened to me as I ranted and raved in the tram. And an awesome friend with awesome timing who, by the time I reached, called from overseas. He promptly reminded me that this was my chance to do all I always wanted to - be the adventuress who explored the world, met new people on airports, swapped life stories and opinions on random topics with strangers and experienced all moments to the fullest - without the disadvantage of being a single girl in a country with loads of oglers. Good point. As he hung up with the statutory warning of not taking his pep talk too seriously and entering a crashable rave party which would leave me as one of the many bodies the City Police pick up off the St Kilda beach and sometimes had to deliver home in semi-conscious state next morning, I felt happier. Nice music. Live band. Lotsa people. Young people. Old people. Nice people. Not so pleasant people. This was quite okay.
Noises. Sudden rush of people in one direction - hey preliminary 9pm fireworks. Yay! Saw. Liked. Reminisced some more about Diwali back home and how beautiful it wouldve looked from my 6th floor bachelorette pad back home. Then settled down with some nice tangy lemony semi-ice-lolly semi-lemonade thingy and pringles. Said sorry to sis for messing up the start of the evening. Soaked in the atmosphere. Picked up some Lindt for Mama. On way out, saw police taking away person with bloody nose and holding back expletive-spewing-supposed-girlfriend. Ah, the essential New Year violence episode. Maybe this would be a traditional celebration after all. Saw masses of people on streets. Felt sudden i-am-part-of-humanity-unity-in-diversity happiness twinge. Flinders Street has changed into a massive nightclub it seems. Its quite nice to have New Year in the middle of the sweltering summer, it only adds colour and festivity to the dresses worn and makes it all like one beach party - people actually come down to watch the show with beach towels. The street is actually the best party of em all. Trams have been disallowed in the area, which means we must walk up two blocks to catch our ride home, a fact we realize after waiting at the now-non-functional-tramstop for about 15 minutes. Tram empty at 10pm except for parents who's children got too cranky for them to stay and some love stuck couples who - oh im not going to imagine.
Reached home. Happy. Dinner with Mum. Nice. Watched some TV specials. Midnight, yay. Hugs. Kisses. Goodnight then. Thoughts just before sleep - 2007, long year. 2008 - probably even longer year. Thankful for friends. Remind self that I'd much rather have a slightly struggle needing interesting life than a boring and strugleless one. Write panicky email to friend about state of 3 deteiorating friendships with very nice peopl and self introspectory psychological babble. Sleep.
Next morning, wake up at noon. Shop for much needed fan in sweltering heat. Difficult since few shops open. Note on one shop - TOO HOT. GONE HOME. I like this country. The people are so cute! Buy fans. Bring home. Assemble fans. Lose a bolt (of fan). Find bolt thankfully. Switch on fans. Motor not exploding. Not bad for a person with a degree in Electrical Engineering. Receive reply to aforementioned psychobabble filled email. Relief from appreciative you-will-be-okay standard feel-good fare.
Must sleep now.
Happy 2008 ! May it be an eventful year that will make us all stronger, filled with adventures to be remembered, silent evenings to be cherished, good books, good music and of course, good company (pun intended).