Monkeys, Stars and LCDs

Stupid little monkeys on a planet in the Milky Way Galaxy. That’s what we are in the grand scheme of things. We are grabbing on to our little treasures and thinking we can hold them. Addicted to the things, people and feelings, we are just dopamine chasing monkeys.

Yeah, I am one nihilistic monkey. You wonder where life will go, you try to control it, you think you can hold on to stuff with your little hands with opposable thumbs. And then it slips out of your hand. You try to find it, maybe the same thing or just similar and hold it tighter. And it slips out too. At some point it becomes a comforting idea that all this holding and slipping is meaningless. It’s nothing.. in the grand scheme of things.

I sit around and wonder, how many things that I yearned and craved for are with me. How they lost their charm once I had them. When I was growing up, I had a CRT Monitor for my computer. The luxury of a thin LCD Screen made me drool. Maybe it’s because of the macroeconomic situation that LCDs became quite cheap , but I do have thin LCD Screens. And they feel nothing special.

Sitting on this blue planet, blankly staring at stars, I wonder if it was the chase. Maybe it was the chase that I loved. Maybe if you and I were together, life wouldn’t be good. Maybe it’s a sweet dream that I hold onto. And I wake up every day hoping that dream will become a reality. But what happens when we hold too tight? It slips out. So maybe life is about yearning for LCDs or staring at the stars and wondering how life would be in the vast probabilities of you and me, together.

Facing yourself

I have been walking for three hours. I wonder if it was a good idea to just walk through Rishikesh from place to place. I wonder if even this trip was a good idea.

The pessimist in me always resisted the idea of solo trips. My perpetually procrastinating mind never let me think about it. It all made sense when a friend suggested I should take a short trip. To spend some time with myself. Away from clutter. Away from the person I was becoming.

Reluctantly, I went ahead. A weekend trip, just me.

I have been wondering. What am I looking for? Can the company of mountains and breeze help me find what I am looking for? It’s hard to fight your own people and harder to fight yourself. How will I do it? Two days and I will be back to the same grind. Same clutter. Same me. I rummage through a thousand thoughts.

I enter the ‘Beatles Ashram‘. Named so because The Beatles studied meditation here for some months in 1968. The walls of the abandoned Ashram quarters are painted with psychedelic graffiti. The main hall has gigantic artwork depicting members of The Beatles.

I take a closer look at the dilapidated walls of the Ashram and they are all filled with text and drawings. Couples and people trying to etch their presence on walls in a little defacing way.

I was fine. I was trying to ensure that I take something good back with me from the trip. I was pausing at moments to think about where I have been in life and is it a good place to be. Trust me, I was trying. And I was fine.

Then I saw something. Written on the wall. It said “You are here in Rishikesh, ? (Question) remains, now what will you do to solve your life?”. I was fine. And then I wasn’t. I didn’t want to bawl in public. I managed to hold the barrage of tears. Eyes moist, I felt the futility of trying.

No one wants to face it, but there it was. The truth, mocking me right in my face. One thinks a change in landscape will help. But I was right here, and I was still the same.

I stood there for moment. Just staring at it. I realized it. It’s never the places that change us. We change ourselves. Places just give us the pause that we need to look into ourselves and make amends.

How long can I long

Tiptoeing through sombre moonlight, these memories hit me again. Relics of past, now my friends of night, they turn up unannounced. I am tired of this fight. What should I even write? thousands of words spent in vain. . Have been set free from you, but vexed with the thought of you. Can’t sit idle and empty, or these memories engulf me, and make my ears ring with our song. Making me wonder how long can I long. guy-sits-alone-at-night-light-coming-through-window-and-sad-memories-engulf-him

भूल जाता हूँ

भूल जाना कितना ज़रूरी है | हम याद करते रहते हैं, डरते हैं की भूल जायेंगे | कभी परीक्षा में, कभी दिन भर में करने वाले काम और कभी किसी का जनम दिन | याद रखना कोई सुपर पावर नहीं है, भूल जाना है | कोई शिकायतें, कोई गिले, यूँ ही भूल जाना एक अलग शक्ति है | हर नया दिन, बुरे दिनों को भुलाने में मदद करता है ! मैं खुश हूँ, क्यूंकि भूल जाता हूँ|

Today the child writes

It’s tougher and tougher to write anything these days. The passion for writing was to bring honesty to paper (or the web). Things that couldn’t be said or bottled up were laid bare on the web for everyone to see.

Growing up, you compromise with your blunt feelings. That’s what growing up is, in a world driven by capitalistic courtesy and niceness. It’s hard being upfront and honest, that’ll make you lose your job or relationships in a jiffy.

I find myself too engrossed and comfortable with the facade of being ‘pleasant’ that it has become uncomfortable to put out honest words for everyone to see. It was easier writing about a broken relationship or a budding romance in past. Now I feel constrained by my own judgements, about age and maturity. I find myself deleting words after words, drafts after drafts, saying “You’re 27, this doesn’t suit you”, “You’re a lawyer, what are you even writing?”

It’s wrong. The part of me that’s still holding on to the impulse and euphoria of writing things and etching them forever on the world wide web knows it’s wrong to suffocate the inner child. That’s why today it has taken command, today the child writes.

Questioning everything. And then taking it too far.

Falsehood flies, and the Truth comes limping after it,” wrote Jonathan Swift in 1710.

The post-truth era is here. Our political and social discourse is rife with emotional appeals, loud polarizing views and ‘alternative’ facts. The dividing line between facts and opinions is muddled now. Truth is not the god anymore; all hail our new overlords – perceptions built over narratives.

Since pre-historic times humans have relied upon a common understanding of facts to survive. For example, in the wild the first step to co-ordinate and safegaurd from a danger like nearby wild animals was the collective understanding that the wild animal was dangerous. In the midst of such discussion imagine a pre-historic human shouting that I don’t believe wild animals are bad, this is fake news!

The example is arguably hyperbolic but the same is happening today. Case in point – climate change deniers, anti-vaxxers or flat-earthers.

Doubting, questioning and analysing established norms is an essential human tendency without doubt. If not for the audacity of Copernicus to question established beliefs, we may still believe that the earth is the center of Universe.

But things are getting out of hand. We have too many Copernicuses.

Rhetoric, appeal to emotion, ignorance of established facts, we-vs-them, etc. have always the tool of social and political engineering. The only problem is in this point of history it is just too easy to concoct alternative beliefs and portray them as ‘facts’ without backing them with evidence. Like a virtual hit-and-run.

It can be argued that the handy tools of modern mass communication have in-fact democratized political and social dialogue. But negative and polarizing news is much easier to spread and make ‘viral. There has been extensive research to back this proposition in recent times.

Politicians take advantage of this phenomena by spewing hatred and painting their opponents as literal incarnation of evil even when there is no evidence to say so.

Here is a thought soup. With the daily reports of crime, violence and polarization do you believe that an average person was better off in past?

With the never ending information streams around us, full of violence, outrage and polarity. One can’t be blamed if they think the past was much better.

However, we are in one one of the most if not the most peaceful times in history. Life expectancy is much higher than it was a century ago, dreadful diseases are being eradicated, wars are rare and violence is at an all time low.

The world is not becoming worse, it’s the ease and frequency at which negativity reaches us that makes us susceptible to hopelessness. This hopelessness is exploited by mass media.

wayAn example of an established fact I talked about initially is ‘increase in fuel prices is not good for public at large’. Be it any nation, any place this fact remains universal. But once you hammer that the an opposition party is so bad that even exhorbitant fuel prices are good rather than having them in power or when you somehow, through elaborate mental gymnastics, bring national interest at the heart of fuel prices, you can get a minor but substantial populace to defend even that.

As my friend Shubham puts it, in the modern inter-connected world, real power doesn’t come from the barrel of a gun. It comes from controlling of narratives through mass and social media.

Without an agreement on some established facts, there can never be a stable public discourse. Without the safegaurd of basic beliefs, every conspiracy theory can be painted as absolute truth.

Not That Kind Of Love

It is not that destructive kind of love,

where we go around trees and monuments

and engrave our names.

We don’t bother people,

with our reeking obsession of each other.

and no one ends up crying like movies

It’s the stubborn kind, which refuses to die,

frozen in my poems and prose.

It’s forever trapped in that dried damned rose,

stuck in midst of some pages in my diary.

It isn’t loud, it doesn’t scream,

It sobs in silence and shadows.

It doesn’t see you daily,

It just visits you some days.

It lets you roam and then it pulls the leash.

It lets you see but makes sure,

everywhere you see you look for them.

It’s not destructive, our love.

Just a little stubborn.

Raano

It’s different this time. This place was always the second home to me. As I walk through the eerie silence, I feel suffocated with dread. The dim lights don’t help. I am not 7 anymore and this place grew up too. It was always bustling with kids playing in the courtyard and I would join them eagerly. There are no kids, just an uneasy silence. I break it with each of my footsteps. 

Uncle points to the spiralling stairs going up. It’s Raano aunty’s house. My grandmother’s neighbour in Amritsar. I have never known what her actual name is. For us she was always Raano aunty.

When I was little, she used to call me ‘Pambiri‘, meaning a spinning top in Punjabi. I don’t think she could help herself, looking at my volatility and escapades in childhood.

There she laid. A thin, weak and bony figure. Her hair all gone. It was only today that Dadi told me that Raano aunty had cancer. She wanted to see me. I can’t help but notice how different she looked from the etched memories of my childhood. A healthy frame, full of energy and a raspy voice that would call out my name from her terrace. I used to play-act and impersonate my grandfather and her entire family would burst into laughter. 

It’s the eyes. They are the same. She looks at me and smiles. The Raano aunty I have known forever peeked through that smile. That’s something cancer couldn’t take away from her. With all her strength she opened her mouth and called me ‘pambiri’. You have grown so much!” she said. 

I could only muster to ask how she was before realizing the futility of the question.

Around a month later, there was no one left to call me ‘pambiri‘.

I know

Once it was everything, today it’s just a mundane memory.

Seasons changed, we changed and so did the hand we held.

It’s fascinating to think about the times when we thought world would collapse

If we did.

And we did try, as if the world would collapse.

We can make fun of fairy tales today but they were real when we were little.

In this moment we know they weren’t but the bliss was in the belief that it was all real.

I smile thinking about the times. It does feel stupid occassionally. Funny too.

How things that don’t matter today, mattered the most then.

I don’t know about what was right, wrong, true or false.

But I just know it was real. For the time it was,

It was real.

Moment in the Moonlight – III

It’s that time of the year. First blush of rain. No one’s prepared.

Little droplets of rain tip-toeing on her hair. The fragrance of first rain is taking over my senses.

We walk to get some cover. She’s saying something, probably about rain.

I am thinking about the moment. How could I keep it with me forever. It’s beautiful. I look at the moon for answers.

“You are going to write about this, right?”

I was taken aback.

“Haha, probably yes!”

“What if we don’t last?”

“Another reason to write”