Third Chapter (Ramblings - IV)

It is six in the evening, and I am sitting on my patio watching the sun shine on the world. Above the rooftops across the street, Seattle is going to witness another one of its spectacular sunsets. I have so much to say, and no one to listen - it is only when I feel this way that I write, and I welcome the feeling with a smile.

The air smells of flowers, I hear laughter coming from another balcony a few floors below me. Beautiful women in towels and bikinis walk into the building across the street, returning home from a sunbathing session at the waterfront that is two blocks away.

The sight of bikinis has made me lose my train of thought, and I find myself struggling to remember what it was that made me so contented and dissatisfied at the same time.

I guess I never realized the true meaning of the phrase 'today is the first day of the rest of your life'. I feel like that today. Not one for cliches or platitudes, I stay away from those kind of phrases. But today, it feels like the long dull winter and all the sadness it brought with it, are a thing of the past.

I remember so much and so little at the same time about the first part of my life - growing up in Mumbai, the most beloved city in the world, with my parents and friends - I remember days, occasions, moments, parties, laughter and so many other visuals and scenes. But I don't remember at all, all the little pieces that you don't bother to put into words when you life your life a midst them. But the life I lived in Mumbai will be always be magical to me, and by far the best days of my life.

My first four years in the US - the next notable 'part' of my life - mistakes, bigger mistakes, heartbreaks, failures, very little professional success, comebacks, desperation and resounding loss - these too, more eventful and recent although they are, are now behind me.

I am no believer in destiny, or in any of the beliefs that state a man's life is already charted out, and that unbeknownst to him, a magical hand has scripted for him all his victories and defeats, robbing him of the chance to ever feel in control of his own life. But today, I can't help but feel that the way the book my life has read up until now,  the third chapter of my life has now opened up, slowly and beautifully on this fragrant spring day.

Which road do I take? Will I find what I am looking for? Will I find out in the first place, what it is that I am looking for? These questions may well never be answered. The secret to life, I now realize, is to know when to stop looking and make peace with the unknowns, while never giving up the search altogether.

Dumas, my favorite writer, once famously wrote - "Life is a storm. One day you will be basking in the sunshine, and the next day you will be shattered upon the rocks". It is the precarious ledge we perennially walk on, is life as we know it - and today in this sunshine, I allow myself a smile on my face, knowing fully well that soon, I may be dashed and shattered on the rocks that this chapter of my life no doubt place.

I wonder

I wonder if now you smile, somewhere far far away,

And the world is warm, and waves on murmuring shores play,

Children laugh, lovers kiss, and the sweetest things mothers say,

And black nights lie defeated, by the golden purple dawn of day.

But as tomorrow recedes, day by day, and drink by drink,

I cannot but help, but of my lovely lost love think,

And through bleary eyes and the haze of smoke filled rooms,

An insipid today passes, and a vacuous tomorrow looms.

Photos

I log into Facebook. “Girls night out + XYZ’s birthday ” – 61 new photos. Night lights, dressed up girls, some club photos, XYZ is blowing into a cake, and a few photos later, his face is smeared with so much cake he resembles the cookie monster. OK, next item on news feed: “Europe!” – 197 new photos. Do I bother looking through? Hell no.  More photos, more photos, more photos. I lose interest. 

Since when did photos become so unappealing? I realize how few photos I have been in, and further, how few I have clicked in the last few years. 

I remember being fifteen and going on a three day school trip as part of my tenth class, my first time ever away from home with anyone other than my family. This was 2002, and my parents gave me the camera with a new roll in it. I could take up to 36 photos, they said. I have to say, I used the 36 very judiciously. To this day, in a corner shelf in my sweet warm home in Mumbai, sits that album. Same story with my school farewell, and all other memorable occasions from my childhood and teenage. When I visited home earlier this year, I entertained a couple of school friends at home. The first thing we did was pull out those albums and talk about each one of those photos, each one a story of its own.

A photograph. What a beautiful invention. A moment so beautiful, we attempt to capture it in time, for it is worth looking at over and over again, in delicious melancholy and nostalgia, or even simple pure joy. I hate how digital photos and phone cameras have reduced this beautiful idea to a near joke. I realize now, the day I stopped caring for photos was the day I got a phone with a camera. I simply wait for friends to take photos, knowing well that I can take it from them anytime. And the emotional value of a photo is not really a relevant concept anymore, mainly because of the excessive supply of almost everyone’s photos on social networking sites. 

I wish there were fewer photos, and more meaningful ones in this world. I wish the idea of a photo would not be how ‘facebook worthy’ it is.

The Meeting

A curious business problem has presented itself over the last few days. It has been assigned to me, and I am meeting with a very nice,very senior, and very smart man who needs the problem to be solved. He is excited at the prospect of getting help. We are in a meeting, in a nice plush conference room for two, from 11 AM until noon, and the clock shows the time to be 11:07AM.

We have discussed both trivialities and particulars, and seven minutes into the meeting, it looks like we are done. There is nothing much for me to do from my side for the next four weeks, so I am not very… attentive. I make the mistake of asking him if he is happy with what we discussed.

He says he is happy. He launches into a monologue on how this information will be helpful, and what more we can do by combining efforts. Monologues are inevitable at work, but one as long as this is hard to sit through, when you are not being attentive.

He is talking. Excited, hands waving, some dialogues between customers and buyers that he is enacting. I am bored. Almost involuntarily, my mind switches off. And starts running off on tangents.

I notice his glasses say “Omega”. Is Omega a glasses company? I always thought it was watches. Can a watches company make glasses? Or vice versa? Why is this important? Can I open facebook on my computer? No, there is a glass wall behind me and he will spot the reflection. I become conscious of my brain running at high speed, while the task at hand - listening to him - is being completely ignored.

It is remarkable how berserk the brain goes, when it is brought face to face (brain to brain?) with its own truant behavior, especially when one track attentiveness is expected of it. Thoughts of random spirals, volcanoes erupting, the earth from outer space and the remarkable guitar riffs of John Frusciante enter my head. I need to stop. How does one stop thinking but?

More specifics on customer experience improvement. Meanwhile, within, I am plagued by the turmoils of existential questions. How can light be particle and wave at the same time? How can the space time continuum as we know it be breached inside of a black hole? Speaking of time, 11:19 AM now, I sneak a glance at the bottom right corner of my screen. Hm. What if time moves at different speeds for different people? What if what I perceive to be a second, is actually much more, or much less, for you?

“What do you think Bharath? I mean, I just threw it out there, but what do you think?”

Oh shit. But wait, I have an exit strategy. I delay my response, with a thoughtful “Umm…”, I furrow my brow and tilt my head, tough choice as it is (whatever it is), and utter,

“I think the more thought we put into it, the clearer it will become.”

“Very true Bharath, very true. Hey this is great - lets catch up again in a few weeks, we are so excited!”

Meeting over. I cannot help but grin to myself as I walk out the door, and back to my desk. I realize there is another meeting at noon, and there is much to prepare.

A Question for the religious man

I admire your unfailing devotion. I really do. I wish I could be as attached to an intangible concept. I admire the way your devotion translates into positive energy and beliefs. . However, for all those inclined to call themselves religious, I have a question to ask of you. I do not intend to slight you, or to belittle your devotion or beliefs in any manner. I merely wonder,

Why is it "good" to be religious?
For, if I, without any religious beliefs whatsoever,
- Do not hurt others, for I know what it feels like to be hurt
- Do not take lives,  for I know what a wonderful statistical improbability life is, and is therefore so precious
- Do good to others, for I would like good to be done to me
- Try to give to the world, for it is immeasurable how much good my family, friends and a good society have given to me, and I feel nothing but gratitude and warmth towards society
-Believe all humans are created equal, and deserve the right to live as equals, for no one can choose at birth their color, race, nationality, sex or sexuality

Am I not the same as you? If anything, am I not less likelier to break these rules, for I have formed these out of my own thoughts and sound logic, rather than from a book which I have learned to repeat as a child?

Is it not the ability to think and choose for oneself that makes one a free human being?

Ramblings - iii

A year and a half since I last sat down to write. When I brought my computer outdoors with me, I knew subconsciously that it was to write again. I have always dreaded in my mind the next writing session. I thought I would be seized with nervousness, and thoughts would crowd my mind with my hands frozen, incapable of taking notes. And the moment would pass, as have so many other in the past, like opportunities lost, or lives that could have been lived. But now...

A balmy balmy Saturday afternoon. In a city like no other, a life being lived like any other. A chilly breeze outside makes me feel warm and happy to be inside a coffee shop with the homely smell of roasting coffee, and a strangely comforting Moroccan decor. What am I doing here? So much has changed, and yet, nothing has changed. I live alone now in Seattle, the most beautiful city I've ever seen. I see the waterfront through the glass windows. The Pacific Ocean, in some shape and form makes its presence felt in the city. Distant snow capped peaks beyond the water. What lies beyond the peaks? China and Russia on the other side. It is already mid day tomorrow on the east coast of Russia now. How can today and tomorrow exist at the same time?

I am just as clueless about the future, and just as nostalgic about the past as I was before. The essential and existential questions of life still plague me. I realize how fake my own claim of maturity is. I know nothing more than I did yesterday. Its just that I do a better job of faking faking composure today than I did in the past. I am aware of a certain bubble I live in, and how little I try to step out of it. Is this what growing up is all about? A passive acceptance of the gradually growing impossibilities in life and trying to create happiness within a well defined world? 

I guess this is why everyone longs to be a student, or a kid back again. No one can tell you something is impossible when you are a kid. The confidence that comes from not knowing the word impossible is what makes those years so wonderful. But life is not all about the past. The passing moment too is magical in its own way. How do I capture it, and make it last? Or at least, leave a mark on it and in my heart, to always remember fondly? How do I battle 'impossible', and be a kid again?

Gentle rain begins to pour. The ocean seems like a hazy promise of permanence in the distance. 

I always hope for a lightning bolt of wisdom in moments of contemplation like these, and when nothing of the sort occurs I end up feeling more lost and little than ever. I get that familiar feeling, and I prepare to leave. 

The rain and breeze will be cold, but it is only a short walk back home.

O Memory!

O Memory!

Speak to me O memory, of times bygone and more,

As your old lover nostalgia slips in through the door.

The winter evening is snowy, and winds blow in cold,

Dance your besotted dance, and regale me with tales of old.

Whisper to me O memory, the name I so long to hear,

Make your soft voice softer still, for I’d like the word to linger.

And just what I wouldn’t give, to once more feel her scent,

For my senses to become, with her thousand fragrances, redolent!

Tell me O faithful memory, of the days and nights spent,

With my friends never knowing, that soon it would all end!

If we had known back then, that good times too cease to be,

Would we with our new wisdom, have done it differently?

Remind me O memory, of all that I left behind,

And why, when on thinking of happiness, yesterday comes to mind.

But love and friendship are special, for even when oceans apart,

They grow warmer still, and stake stronger claim to the heart!

Dismiss me not O memory, and think not of me as weak,

A stormy night’s refuge is all from you I seek.

The day is ever for mountains, and paths not trodden yet,

My happy past is but my talisman, from which my inspiration I get!