The on-road conversation

No, I'm not talking about conversations you have with people you feel aren't important enough to deserve your attention when you're not driving - I'm talking about the conversation you have with your road mates.

As I see it, we're 

Butterflies

How many people do we see everyday? Every day, we interact with a great many people - from morning 'til night, we perform a myriad transactions with human beings around us, in some form or the other...but how often are we consciously aware of the impact these interactions have upon another?

It is difficult, sometimes, to remember the fact that each individual human being feels about their life, the way you feel about yours - that it is exclusive, of highest importance, and perhaps the only truly valuable thing in their possession - and rightly so. To one, another human being is an image - an image of their influences upon one  - and the more intimate and varied these influences, the more this image means to us, and the larger this image is. It is, therefore, given the scope of the human being's interactions and remembrances of these interactions, quite natural to equate a human being to this image, this remembrance - but it is difficult to remember that the human being is a living entity, and not a remembrance, which in its very nature is dead, and incapable of true change. It is difficult, also, to be cognizant of the fact that an individual human being, at the present time, is a sum total of a unique set of interactions and influences, which makes it so that there has never been another quite like him before, nor will there ever be another ever again.

Given all these facts, one must think - what is one's influence upon another human being, however small one's interaction may be with another? For example, if I encounter a man in the coffee shop, and speak sharply or violently, causing him pain - does that vanish after that moment? Or is its effect quite unpredictable? I do not know this man - perhaps in that instant, he caused some irritation, which made me react in violence (albeit in speech, it is still the same violence - it is just that one's fear of physical pain and consequence supersedes the need to react physically) - but in doing so, how have I affected this human being? How do I know my transaction with him that day didn't cause him to be violent with his family, with himself? We therefore do not really know how our interaction affects another human being, because it is two lives that collide for a brief moment, and have their own destiny to chase - but what is to say this collision didn't alter one of these lives for good?

I have noticed, from when I was a child to now - there has been a steady desensitization of the human brain - we no longer pay attention to a flower, to the sunrise, or listen to the wind through the trees...we like to stay within our world of remembrances, experiences and images. We are no longer sensitive to another human being that we do not consider our own...and we are more afraid than we were before. We judge other human beings, as though they were static entities - judge them as villains or heroes, based on our personal (or sometimes broad) definition of what is right, and what is wrong. Be it that judging someone in your head causes anyone any grief other than yourself, doing so sets a pattern in your brain - a pattern that justifies violence and hatred. Violence, in the current context, is not restricted to the socially accepted definition of the word - which is to cause physical harm. No - violence can be much more subtle - a look, a word, an expression of the face, an underhanded comment - all this is violence, is it not?

In our interactions with other human beings, how do we remember that they have their own lives, full and rich with laughter, love, pain, sorrow, tenderness and grief? Is it as simple as just remembering this fact when we interact with another human being? Will this make us stop and think before we speak a harsh word, dole out a reprimand, or act violently towards another? We have all these philosophies about how we must love another, and love our neighbours - but it really is quite ridiculous. If we is really, deeply, honest - there is only one true interest in our lives - ourselves, and ourselves alone. This is okay. But I don't see why we have to cover it up with lies about compassion and love, and service to humanity...when all of it, in the end, is quite self serving. We needn't create love, or invent tolerance - because no matter how well-intentioned we are, these will be a farce. Perhaps we should spend our lives searching for that infinite quality, that immeasurable sense of beauty and poetry that is in creation around us - this seems to me the only truly incorruptible quality in this life.

So why talk about all this - the nature of man, his propensity for violence and conflict - when there is nothing really to be done? Maybe what we can do, is remember the weight of our actions - the effect a word, a gesture or a look can possibly cause - and interact with the world, if not joyfully, at least with this sense of responsibility.

You've heard this - a butterfly flapped its wings, and a thousand miles away, several weeks later, a hurricane was born.

Hi

In a night of drink and merry,
Declare did I to my lads,
“Her smile will light up the heavens,
Her eyes mischievous and kind,
Her hair darker than the raven,
Her skin like the moon will shine”

“A ravenous beauty is she,
The heart of a child inside”
Where, you dreamer, said they,
Will you find such a bride?

So I waited one morning,
By the countryside
Heart in hand, Rose in the other
Nervous, excited, a fish on land

I sat by the river,
Playing a song,
Watching the ripples,
And humming along.

My thoughts scurried --
Was it Fate I was after?
Was this meant to be?
Or just another chapter
Among dusty memories?

She unsettled me,
Why was I even here?
A new possibility I felt,
Yet strangely familiar

Will she come, will she show?
My mind it sank to fear
How long I sat, I do not know
A day, a month, a year?

My heart it grew to long and yearn
The silence then it broke --
A soft brushing of slender legs,
A pleasing tinkle of anklets,
I paused my breath and turned

Eyes wild, sparkling, mischievous
Hair dark as the Raven's feather
A queen she looked, an empress
A lighthouse in stormy weather

Her hips gentle, undulated
Her skin, like the moon it glowed
Her smile, a gentle brook flowing
Even Time, as witness, stood still

Oh! Was she a sight to behold!
An ancient beauty
From Nobler times
From times 'twere lost and old

My gaze met hers,
Sparks they flew,
A page from some lasting book
I smiled and looked
In that fleeting moment,
At eyes with life anew

How queer a thing
A simple sound,
A trope so tried and wrought
A phrase I utter,
Day in and out
To strangers long forgot

It changed me through,
This simple word,
Though try I can't deny
That time I turned
And said to her,
One little syllable --
“Hi.”


H.

Just a little longer

No stranger to sleepless nights
Stay up in bed, I watch the twinkling lights
I let thoughts of gentle lips
And a bashful smile
Take o'er me awhile

Curled in anticipation
Of soft, tremulous fingers,
Grazing my chest, taking control
A touch that sets the body on fire
And makes the heart take flight
Let me drift away, just a little bit.

Just a little longer,
Says I
Just a little longer,
In my nameless ecstasy
Just a little longer,
I know
At the end of my fantasy
That smile is miles away,
Those lips are nowhere in sight.

In the shadow of fear

We hold many relationships in our lives, some more dear to us, some more intimate than others. And every human being, in his lifetime, at some time or another, sees his intimate relationships fumble, sometimes fall. When someone or something very dear to us is lost, it brings immense pain - pain that can hardly be filled by words, books, drink or entertainment. Pain that seems to dull every aspect of who one is, completely - pain, fueled by memory, that makes one yearn and long for the ones they have lost. I often find myself wondering - what is pain, and how does it really come about? I often wonder why we human beings have learned to live with pain. Not physical pain, that is fairly unpredictable and for the most part unavoidable, but rather emotional and psychological suffering. It seems we are always dogged in our  "pursuit of happiness", which seems quite natural when one first thinks about it - since our very biology tells us that pain is something to be avoided, and pleasure is something to be sought. Or, if the pain is too disabling, we "confront it". Our idea of confronting it is to seek therapy and professional help - where the process is usually explanations of the cause of some particular form of pain (for example, "you're feeling so-and-so because you were bullied/abused, etc. etc.). Even this though, doesn't seem to solve the recurring forms of pain that we experience in our everyday living, in our myriad relationships with other human beings - because it doesn't matter the scale of the pain or hurt, it could be as small as a look, a gesture, or an unkind word - pain is pain. And no matter what the scale of the pain, it inevitably breeds destructive behaviour - fear, aggression, violence - no matter the degree of subtlety. Obviously then, it does not matter if we get rid of one particular type of pain through analysis and therapy, we haven't solved anything - because the whole process could (and in all likelihood will) happen all over again. So we haven't really then looked at how to completely throw pain away, without obviously lobotomizing ourselves to the world - which means getting rid of pain completely, without losing the ability to laugh, love and admire a beautiful sunset : is such a thing possible? Perhaps, or perhaps pain and fear are, indeed, an eternal part of the human being. But we don't know, because we hardly give our attention to such things - we are more concerned with our jobs, careers, hobbies, entertainment - most of which primarily involve being one up above someone else, which again breeds more violence, more hurt...

One in ten human beings in America (arguably one of the most prosperous nations on the planet, in terms of material and physical well-being) is on anti-depressants. Over the age of 40, that number is one in four. What is it going to take for us to start looking inward at the source of our own problems?
For all the brilliant inventions and creations of the human intellect, the depths and brilliance of which one cannot even yet fathom, why has the human being himself remained bound by fear and pain for thousands of years? Religions have tried to bring about order in the human mind, and have repeatedly failed -  because any organized religion, no matter how pure its origins, is still an idea. And while an idea can inspire change, an idea can never bring about actual change within a human being, because it isn't a living thing - and a human being is.

So how do we deal with pain? How do we boil it down to its essence, so we can taste it, touch it - uproot it from the mind so we are free of it totally? Perhaps, as the planet's "most intelligent" species, it is time we started looking at this.

Journal entry - September 7th, 2014.

The night is still. The only lamp in the room glows and burns in a pencil thin flame, and the room is clad with a beautiful sadness. I am reminded of distant times when I lit candles with my mother and sister, sitting quietly around the warmth of the flame; there was a certain lovely intimacy about it all - the frequent power cuts, the candles, the dim, dancing lights you could see in every house on the street; so beautiful and dark the streets would get, and the dim candlelight from each home -  eerie, yet reassuring in a distant way..a sign of life in its essence - pure, uncorrupted by the mechanical, the routine, the familiar. 

I interrupt my thoughts to open the bottle of ink laying on my table - the familiar sound of the metal cap brushing against the glass in the pristine silence brings back memories distant and forgotten...vague..these memories, they seem inseparable from the writing process itself. I start writing, guided by the light of the lone lamp. The night is cold, unseemly of late spring. These words flow out on to the paper, as if uncensored by thought.

The light from the lamp 
Burned tall; a blue crimson flame.
The wick was parched, as was the mind
A searing intensity I held in my heart. 

A strange beauty lay in the air,
a cold night, late in Spring.
I lay there on soft, soft Earth,
She holding me in her bosom
And taking in the air so sweet, so pure,
I wondered, what a strange mystery it is,
to breathe?

Flicker on did the little lamp,
a gentle breeze did blow,
so tall, these shadows, like Goliaths,
did readily dance at Her will.
I lay there watching with ceaseless intent,
the swaying of the Shadow and wondered,
what a strange mystery it is, to behold?

And it seemed the night got quieter still
Save the flickering light from my lonely lamp,
seemed a blanket there was cast,
so pregnant with darkness, so utterly still
Nay, not the stillness or silence of isolation,
of desolation; but silence of great depth,
great fullness, and beauty.
'Twas the silence that gives life to the manifest.
My breath grew shallow, and I wondered,
what a strange thing it is, to listen?

As I lay there in my Mother's arms,
watching these mysteries in great delight,
their infinite beauty sinking deeper, 
the mind was as quiet as the night itself.
My little lamp was running dry,
and I knew it was time to leave.
A last little flicker, and the flame had burned out.
My eyelids grew heavy with an abiding peace,
silent witnesses to the first ray of the morning sun,
my weary eyes closed to a lasting repose. 

Do you play not to lose, or for the love of the game?

22nd June, 2013.

As I sat watching the NBA finals, something came to mind seeing the world react to the NBA finals – the heartbreak shared by San Antonians (and sympathizers) when the Spurs sunk game 6, and the joy (and ensuing trash talk) shared by Miami fans when the Heat cinched the title – do we play games (sports) for the pleasure of the game, or do we simply play to win?

As superficial a question as this have initially seemed, the more and more I thought about it, the deeper it seemed to get – I tried to find the answer to my question with an open mind, trying not to get too judgmental, whatever the answer, because whatever the answer, it would shed some light on who I am – rather, what particular set of compulsions or actions define this part of my personality. 

Alright – so playing to win. Most of my life, in most of the things I’ve done (like I said, the answers I found didn’t necessarily restrict themselves to sports) – I’ve done to “win”. So when I play a game with the intention and objective to win, what happens? Well, what happened to the Spurs in game 6 with 5.8 seconds to go? They gave the game their everything, but when they smelled the finish line, when they (probably, almost certainly, no matter with how small a part of their mind) started fantasizing about lifting that trophy, they softened. Hesitated. What if I make a mistake, taking this jump shot, or making this play, and so on and so forth. Then you recede, don’t give it your all – then, against all your wishes, you lose the game anyway. The losing team doesn’t care about any of that, they’re in there giving it their all. And they won, didn’t they?

When you play to win, something within you stops you from giving your absolute fullest to the game. And nothing, absolutely nothing other than giving a game your everything, will give you a shot at winning. Do you see the irony in this?  You play to win – so you become completely aware of everything you do in the game : when your mind isn’t completely in the game, and is in fact thinking about what to do and what not to do, you’re finished. Even if you win, it won’t be enough for you. 

Let’s say you don’t give a rat’s ass about winning the game – and you just play. Play your heart out. If you win, you win. If you lose, you lose. But you lose knowing that you couldn’t have done it any differently! When you play just for the hell of it, just for the love of the game, whatever the outcome of that game, it doesn’t matter to you. I find this just ever so subtle and beautiful – try this the next time you’re in a pickup game, playing whatever – even if it’s a game of bowling or curling you somehow got roped into. Play it like a kid, give it your absolute everything. Lose yourself in it – you will see that you enjoy the experience on a very different level. I’ve seen this. 

I’ve played sports in my life – tennis, cricket, basketball, what have you – always with the aim of winning. It was frustrating, every single time, knowing that I had more, and that I was somehow holding back. That’s the difference between the man who plays every possession like his life depends on it and the man who plays every possession with the aim of dominating the opponent. The difference is that one way is a beautiful way of living, the other is an ugly abomination, even if you have the world’s adulation.

Losing isn’t fun when you play to win. Winning means nothing when you play for the love of the game. That’s the beauty of it. 

Journal Entry, December 17th, 2012

Life will knock you about in the most unexpected of ways. You may think it’s all smooth sailing. The experience of life is what you make it – either you can take these blows and hide deeper within your shell, or you can stand up and reorient. Reorient yourself, so your life is as effortless as is your very breath. To live and to live intensely is the only purpose of life – not money, not fame, not people, friends, family, or all the crap that you surround yourselves with. When was the last time you did anything with intensity? I know I certainly haven’t had as much intensity as I did when I was four, falling repeatedly from my bicycle and scraping my knee off with every fall. I know certainly haven’t had as much intensity as I did learning my mother tongue, or learning my first words, or learning how to walk. Somewhere along the road, the intensity of life lost its expression, to be overshadowed by layers and layers of what I call my personality. This personality seems more inhibits me than defines me. Somewhere along the road, I made assumptions upon assumptions – assumptions so weak they would crack at the slightest tremor – assumptions which are apparently credited to holding my life up. When did I start doing things with expectation? What expectation did I have as a child, learning a language or learning to ride a bike, learning to throw a cricket ball? That I wanted to become an orator like Lincoln, a rider like Armstrong or a bowler like Alan Donald? I just did things. There were no expectations, and no fear of consequence. Why is it that we can still count on things we learned as children? It’s the purity of simply doing something with complete involvement and intensity. If only we spent as much time simply doing whatever we do with total intensity as we do worrying about what we like and dislike, we’d be a far joyous generation that we can even hope to be right now. The whole damn planet is going about finding out “what you want and what you like”, when what you like is in and of itself a collection of garbage from your surroundings. In essence, you and me are just carrying around unfulfilled promises and dreams, and slapping a new coat of paint on them, making them our own.

What story will your life tell?

Who will you remain after you draw you last breath? A conqueror of nations, a hero, a lover, a coward, a liar? What legacy do you leave behind, other than your possessions and your riches, that fall to the floor at the drop of a hat?

Did you ever give someone so much love that you didn’t care for reciprocity? Did you shed a tear in the wake of human suffering? Did apathy take over, or did you act? Did you bring misery to the ones around you, or did you make their living experience a little more pleasant?

Will people remember you by the empires you built? Or will they remember your sacrifices so someone else could? Are you content with being the storywriter, working to his heart’s content behind closed doors, or do you want to be the actor, that plays the part, bathed with glamour and spotlight?

Are you willing to be quietly radiant, like the sun, regardless of gratefulness or acknowledgment? Are you willing to acknowledge your ignorance of and your irrelevance to this cosmos, and embrace the humility that comes with this affirmation?

Are you willing to work without clamoring for the fruits of your labor and live life without expectation?

http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/metroplus/the-patriot/article863344.ece

What story, after curtains, will your life tell?

Message in a bottle

My dearest love. I think of you always. Your smile, your laugh, your eyes. You taunt me in my dreams, an angel of warmth, my shield against my darker self – so close to me. I reach for your hand, and you are gone, just as you came. I fear daylight; with each piercing morning ray, I awaken to my reality. The torturous routine begins – I try desperately to unbind the shackles your absence bound me by. I cannot shut out the deafening silence you left behind.

My dear, sweet, woman – whose visage was the only one my eyes sought in a crowded room…your mischievous smile, the innocent lock of hair that so gently swept across your eyes, the only hand that could hold my sway, when I was locked in eternal conflict with my own mind, the only bosom I could rest on when the world wore me down – what on Earth possessed me to leave your side?

My heart, my love, my soulmate. Was it Fate that led you to me, and Her cruel hand that drove us apart? Every lash delivered on me, every moment of agony and every ounce of anguish I feel, I consider Just retribution to every Tear you felled on my account. It is your Love that binds my every nerve and sinew on this island of Perdition.

I lay here, night after night, the sounds of the ocean my only symphony. I may never see you again, but this much I vow – though my body be broken, I will hold you in my heart so tightly…though I may die, my memory of you is indestructible.

My grace, my comfort, my everything…I wish you well, always.

Yours forever.

If we must...

I see a humanity without pain, hunger, greed or war; without fear, hate, disappointment or violence; without sorrow, discord, deceit, or death.

But if we must be painful, let us know the pain of ignorance;

If we must be hungry, let us hunger for wisdom;

If we must make war, let us make war on apathy;

If we must be greedy, let us insatiably desire selfless service;

If we must fear, let us fear a world without love;

If we must hate, let us hate injustice;

If we must disappoint, let us disappoint the naysayers;

If we must be violent, let us be violent, nay, passionate, in our work;

If we must weep, be those tears shed in the name of our brethren;

If there be discord, let it lead to ingenuity;

If we must be deceitful, let us cheat death;

And if we must die, so be it in the pursuit of a better tomorrow.

You have *five* unread messages.

Aah. I really feel like writing something serious today. Probably something deep and philosophical – something that will make my readers stop dead what they are doing, and think.

I open my laptop, power it on , curse the multi-core processor for being slow, and wait. Finally. The home screen shows up, I eagerly type in my password and crack my knuckles. Man, this is going to be a good post. I finally get a few hours alone, no noise, no distractions.

I launch Chrome. “Most Visited” – gmail, facebook. Aah…tempting. Just a few minutes to check my wall, maybe. The newsfeed floods my screen with posts – news articles, memes, pictures, some one liners, more memes, dumb opinions, some more memes. 3 notifications, wonder who. The thing about messages from long lost friends who find you on facebook is that there’s no such thing as a quick hi – I am in the middle of a rather happy reconciliation with such a friend, when I notice a little red light going on and off out of the corner of my eye. Not now. I realize I’m now giving programmed responses to  this chum of mine, my mind being more preoccupied with who could be messaging me on my smartphone.

Aah..I can’t take it. I do a quick butchering of the English language with a brb to my friend, and unlock my phone. Again, a volley of notifications flood the tiny screen of my phone – new emails and chats. I might as well have told my long lost facebook buddy to fuck off, I realize. This new tributary of distractions was going to take me a while to meander out of. I see a few emails from work – priority one. I take my time to type out replies, and move on to some personal emails. A sale on RayBans, an hour left to get a pair of Aviators for less than a hundred bucks. Damn, I need my credit card. I put aside the laptop and fish for my wallet. I find a note sticking out of it, hastily scribbled on a postit – Renew Library books. What books, I cannot remember. Maybe next time I need a reminder to read the damn books. I put my phone aside, making a mental note to reply to those chats on my phone.

I renew my copies of Time Management for Executives and Think and Grow Rich from the library website on my laptop, and close the tab. My facebook tab has its cursor still on “brb”, and it’s been over forty minutes. So much for reconnecting with my long lost friend. Giving up on that relationship, I pick up my phone again and catch up with my chat notifications. I’m just about to move on to the sunglasses sale when a calendar notification pops up – “Manager your life – Step 1: Write down time goals for daily activities” – one of the dumb reminders my past self has naively set for me from that Time Management book. That guy never learns. I dismiss the reminder with a condescending smile.  The facebook newsfeed on my laptop scrolls down with new updates from my favorite television show, I notice on my periphery. An hour or so later, still confused about the nature of the smoke monster, I realize I’m hungry. I get a sandwich and take a bite, when the bright glare of the mid afternoon sun hits me square in the face. My sunglasses! Shit. That dumb tv show just cost me a hundred and fifty bucks. Even as my phone starts blinking again,  my irked brain starts to see a pattern here.

Each distraction had branched off into a new one, and another, and another. I realize I am so far from what I set out to do that it is impossible for me to even try to allocate time for anything anymore. These distractions were making me dumber and less productive than a five year old. I don’t think I have ever had to set this many reminders for anything in my life when I was younger, and I remember learning a lot more and interacting with a lot more people. It slowly strikes that the constant barrage of distractions costs me dearly.  Not just in terms of money, time and friends, but possibility. The possibility of seeing something through to the end and reveling  in that joy.

My thoughts are interrupted by a reminder from my phone. “Write blog post.” I smile to myself and dismiss the reminder. Maybe tomorrow, then.

Downtown

I hopped on the local inter city transit bus - I was unusually effervescent. I was quite looking forward to my appointment in Toronto. And the bus ride - always a good chance to catch up on some sleep. I find it odd that my sleep cycle forms some kind of peculiar balance sheet in my head. As though I'm saving up for some early retirement at a sleep clinic or something. As I boarded, I ran a cursory glance. Why? Call it force of habit. I chose to take the reserved seat - it was rather roomy, and I am rather spoiled. I plopped into my seat, rather smugly - looked up at the people filing in to the bus. Male, late twenties, wrinkly suit, cheap tie, unruly  hair- accountant, fresh out of school, maybe? Woman, mid-thirties, generously proportioned, excessively made up - receptionist. Most probably single. Male, early sixties. Long hair - tattooed arms, mullet, slight limp - trucker, perhaps, retired after a rather bad accident? Could just be arthritis. This little game kept me entertained for a while until I observed what seemed to be an endless parade of accountants and lawyers. Time to catch up on that sleep, I told myself. Why I need to mentally instruct myself to "go to sleep" like a child instead of just falling asleep, I don't know.

I was awoken by a girl's laughter. No, not soft, like a water meadow. Sharp, loud, and annoying. My neck was sore from sleeping like a corpse hanging from a parachute - I managed to look up behind me. It took me a few seconds to realize - but all the subjects of my painstakingly detailed observations had been replaced (save the lawyers and accountants, of course). The source of this cacophony was apparent - a girl, couldn't have been older than myself, was beside herself with glee. Save the thin headphone connected to her mobile, one would have had the urge to prescribe her some antipsychotics. Shut the fuck up, woman! Have you no sense of public decorum? Yeah - you wish I'd said that. Actually I wish I'd said that, sadly. I just sat there, shooting nasty glances which went largely unnoticed. To my surprise, so was everyone else. Cowardice wearing the mask of civility, I suppose. I found that interesting.

I closed my eyes to fall back asleep, but right then the bus took a swaying turn to the right, triggering some long dormant nostalgia - the downtown Toronto off ramp. I haven't been to this city in years, I thought. I wasn't exactly sure what it was - call it a nervous energy. Like before you go on stage to deliver that well rehearsed speech - you know it could go really well, and you also know it could go to absolute shit. 

Speaking of, the smell of steaming gutters greeted me as I stepped off the bus. I observed my surroundings - the city seemed to breath life. Not the deep, calming breath you would deserve after an ungrateful day at work - no. It sort of gave the air of being asthmatic, if anything, if you can picture that. Almost sporadically, people poured in and out of buses and trams, walked between fast changing traffic lights, with certain (and i'm sure in their minds, regal) purpose. I noticed little conversation - just very attractive, well dressed people plugged in to their worlds, in little invisible boxes. 

I will be honest. I've always been a little skeptical of walking downtown. I dislike the smell, do not care for the crowds and find the lack of parking rather irksome. I fear the street musicians and hobos - not because they might kill me or anything, but because I'm very inadept at social situations that require me to part with cash I do not actually have. You'd think they'd have some kind of hobo Interac network by now - they can be very inconsiderate indeed. Seriously, who the fuck carries cash? Pretentious prick, you say? No. My innate laziness costs me the proclivity of carrying money in my pocket.

And yet I love walking downtown. Conflicted idiot, you say? Very much so. Sure - you've got to love the giant mirrors on the side of every building, my ego was certainly competing with some of the taller buildings after I'd walked a few blocks. You've got to love how massive and awesome the buildings are - architectural marvels, some might say. You've got to love the hot dog stand on every block. You've got to love the gazillion taxis at your beck and call. But that's not why I love walking there, and that's not why I would very much love to live there sometime.

It's the feeling that you could pretty much run around downtown singing "stairway to heaven" at the top of your lungs dressed in a chicken suit - and no one would give you a dirty look or a stare down. No one could care less for you, yet there's always a chance that someone would join you and probably run around you playing air guitar. It's this cold, yet inclusive and welcoming place. It has buildings with rich character - and also some odd shaped, just plain ugly looking ones. It's an oddly neat balance of crazy and normal.  It makes you forgive the blandness of the suits and ties for the eccentricity and fun it promises. 

I was getting close to my destination. I'd walked almost eleven blocks, day dreaming about downtown while being downtown. I stopped and turned to look back. A group of professionals on their smartphones skillfully navigated around me, never once looking up from their phones - not even to curse the guy stopping dead right in front of them. I watched as the sun glowed orange in between two mammoth structures, and the horizon narrowed to a close, the streets busy as ever.

Fair Trade

This is a topic I happened to chance upon during the progression of my Ethics and social responsibility course at school. I thought this topic was particularly interesting and decided it was time to shove some more opinions down your throats.

Fair trade is a tricky topic – while Fair trade takes a good stand for imposing ethically sound principles in manufacturing goods, it also has its criticisms. From a first look, what I can say is that Fair trade is good in principle - it protects farmers and small scale producers from foreign companies that poach cheap labor. Under the right guidelines and circumstances, it has seemingly done well - it has alleviated working conditions, increased employee wages and helped in structuring unions that elevate workers’ rights. Fair Trade, to an extent also balances the lack of strict government policies for minimum wages, working conditions and worker payoffs. It also protects workers from local companies that might want to exploit this lack of regulations to act as middlemen providing the cheapest product to both local and foreign markets, who may be unaware of the working conditions in which the product has been made. It is a great step towards increasing ethical standards of working all around the world.

As wonderful as it sounds, why hasn’t it caught on as quickly as some of the other larger world movements – like the green movement, for example? A movement such as the green movement has much more tangible benefits for the countries involved than does Fair Trade – a lot more people are sufficiently educated on the effects of climate change, melting of the polar ice caps, global warming and their carbon footprint than they are about the unethical working conditions of a farmer in Colombia or Costa Rica.

Another reason is how profit making companies can choose to contribute to the movement – with Fair Trade, they see an obvious increase in product prices, which they will, eventually, pass on to their consumers – they will see a drop in consumers, drop in profits and a dip in share prices. They’d rather stick to their current plan than be a part of this dim forecast. On the other hand, companies can contribute to the Green movement in any number of ways, starting from small changes on the factory floor to exchanging emissions with other companies (or countries) or making use of Personal Carbon Trading. This brings me to my next point – government intervention. Notice the extent of government mandates with regard to reducing pollution and global warming versus their decrees to impose Fair Trade. As long as a profit making organization has a choice – it will not choose to produce something more expensively unless it has to. The reason is simple – if it does take the moral high ground and try to lead by example, their loss in profits will simply crush them in the free market, unless it has some encouragement from the government to do so.

There are a multitude of other problems with Fair Trade, starting with corruption to plain old boring demand and supply. Starbucks – it is a company that has such a strong brand name and loyal customer following. When they decided to offer the option of “Fair Trade Coffee”, there was criticism of the company acting unethically and “depriving farmers in Ethiopia of $88M a year by opposing the Ethiopian government’s efforts to trademark three popular varieties of local coffee bean.”  Take another company with a strong brand loyalty – Apple. The company that produces Apple products, Foxconn, has factories in China with workers working inhumane conditions and horrendous work hours. The result - a brilliant piece of engineering innovation at your nearest electronics outlet for a fairly reasonable price. What would happen if Apple decided to go “Fair Trade” and route the manufacturing to a place with better government regulations on working conditions? An iphone 4S that costs CAD749 may end up costing twice, maybe three times as much. The question we would then need to ask is – how high a price do people want to pay for “ethically made goods”? Will they be loyal enough to the brand to take a stand along with them and support their initiative? Or will they desert them and move on the next company that offers a reasonably priced phone?

As it stands now, Fair Trade, while good in principle, sadly has a very real possibility of quietly fading away because it is impractical, and simply does not tie into the economic framework within which profit making companies operate, unless the governments involved take steps to making Fair Trade a mandatory policy.  The only way a movement like Fair Trade will ever become a revolution is if society as a whole is willing to pay the price for it – as they are with global warming and the green movement. They need to be educated in the long term implications of producing something unethically, and what it speaks about them as a culture, from a perspective other than the ones offered by charities and non-profit-organizations. 

Random thought #343 :)

Just realised that the 2nd of October is a few weeks from now. Wondering whether we still hang on to any of that pride that made the little man from Gujarat the father of an entire nation. I wonder if we have lost that grit and utterly enduring belief in our principles that made us an independent nation 64 years ago. Yes, I think we are a proud people. Pride is good to have. Maybe not so much so that we paint a picture of perfection not even we can live up to. 

Masks we wear

I am prompted by nothing in particular to write this journal entry. Truth be told, I am not the most deliberate individual, and writing journals is, unfortunately, not a habit of mine. It is not pessimistic to reflect that there’s a time in every individual’s existence when he seeks the pleasure of his own company- where family and friends remain but a distraction, albeit a healthy one, one could reflect in hindsight- but I remain sheltered and nourished by the depths of my own conscience.  It does not bode me well to hurt others by the solitude I seek, for that is not my intention. But, as does often occur in the pursuit of isolation, the ones around you are affected, invariably.  Questions about my destiny remain now nothing but wild musings with no answers, casual social debates with no resolution. My soul remains troubled with uncertainties, uncertainties that have nothing to do with the outside world –am I a puppet that exists to entertain the world around me, or do I truly have any dreams of my own? I do not know. I may never know. But, in my own world, the outside is filled with apparent warmth and love. I, like every other person on this planet, have a job, a family and good friends. But I understand not the guises that people wear, the veil of lies and deceit behind which they hide. I do not know if the smile across the room comes from the lips, or from the eyes. But I hope I make them smile from their hearts. I hope the disguises I wear disarm theirs. I reflect mirthlessly on the irony of my profession. For alas, one must understand, must one not, the art of subtle deception, before one hides behind a mask?

Masks we wear

I am prompted by nothing in particular to write this journal entry. Truth be told, I am not the most deliberate individual, and writing journals is, unfortunately, not a habit of mine. It is not pessimistic to reflect that there’s a time in every individual’s existence when he seeks the pleasure of his own company- where family and friends remain but a distraction, albeit a healthy one, one could reflect in hindsight- but I remain sheltered and nourished by the depths of my own conscience.  It does not bode me well to hurt others by the solitude I seek, for that is not my intention. But, as it often occurs in the pursuit of isolation, the ones around me are affected, invariably.  Questions about my destiny remain now nothing but wild musings with no answers, casual social debates with no resolution. My soul remains troubled with uncertainties, uncertainties that have nothing to do with the outside world –am I a puppet that exists to entertain the world around me, or do I truly have any dreams of my own? I do not know. I may never know.

                But, in my own world, the outside is filled with apparent warmth and love. I, like every other person on this planet, have a job, a family and good friends. But I understand not the guises that people wear, the veil of lies and deceit behind which they hide. I do not know if the smile across the room comes from the lips, or from the eyes. But I hope I make them smile from their hearts. I hope the disguises I wear disarm theirs.

I reflect mirthlessly on the irony of my profession. For alas, one must understand, must one not, the art of subtle deception, before one hides behind a mask?

-A. Clown

In the fall of 2006, I was what you'd call the typical Indian teenager. Pimply faced, slightly overweight and generally distracted in life. My first year of college was a blast - I had great friends, I was studying in a great school, and best of all, it was in Goa - India's own Vegas, you could say. The lifestyle on campus could be described simply by one word : unleashed. All of us, having prepared for some form of crazy entrance examination, were finally settled in to start enjoying life for four full years.

*For those unaware, the Indian schooling system will take full credit for manufacturing millions of students that for the most part only take up two streams of study - Science (read Engineering, not Research) or Commerce (read Chartered Accountancy) : to set their lives up for two of the most paying and broadly divided job sectors in the country. This involves spending the majority of high school with your nose buried in books, and your bottom on a chair. While this maybe a good strategy for a top notch GPA, the collateral is quite simple and obvious : we tend to churn out really smart, but physically unfit college students (I'm speaking of the majority here, and I'm sure you wouldn't disagree).

I'm trying here to comprehend the difference in lifestyles between our 

Change

What comes to mind when we encounter the word Change? Every word, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has a place in our mind - and it associates itself with a certain emotion, a certain memory, a certain reaction. In that sense, for the most part, what does the word Change trigger in the majority of us - Excitement? Apprehension? Fear? Dread?  

Why, as a society, have we become so content in our little cocoons of comfort? When did we lose the ability to break out of the ordinary and try some extraordinary for a change? Why is it that the more we grow, the more we rapidly lose touch with that childlike wonder and energy that drives us to keep our mind more open to change? Why is it that the more we grow as individuals, the narrower our focus becomes? Shouldn't our experience in fact widen our gaze, make us receptive to more and more, rather than slowly killing each field of possibility from that seemingly infinite sea of possibilities we had as innocents? Were the words grow up meant as wisdom one needed to be grateful for, or were they meant as sharp reminders to keep our dreams in check? What is our comfort zone but the constant chiseling that we take from society as we grow? Do we take this as the artistic and deliberate chiseling of the sculptor in the road to achieving some meaningful end, or as the ruthless erosion of the river bank at the mercy of raging eddies? 

Or is it ourselves that need to pick up the chisel and define what this marble with limitless potential is to become? Does this mean remapping our minds and meandering away from every crippling thought and instinct we have come to possess? Could it truly mean that all those years of conformity were just wasted, and that our destinies can be altered instantaneously by a single thought? 

Why then, is Change so hard?

The Sai Babas of the World

The recent passing of the Hindu guru Sathya Sai Baba brought up an interesting discussion recently, and I want to share my views here. For those unfamiliar with the name, this man was considered by many to be an ascetic with healing powers - some even go to the extent of calling him a reincarnation of god.
On the one hand, if you were to presume that the quality of a man's life is judged by the tears shed when he is gone, then one can only conclude, by the thousands that wept at the Sai Baba's funeral, that he was a leader and shepherd of men. Superficially, this seems like a reasonable conclusion to draw from a reasonable presumption.

But, all this is just that - on the surface. There is this basic human need for fulfillment and belonging that is met somewhere in the process, but we are prepared to endure so much pain, just for those few moments of happiness. Why else would people lead their entire lives believing in "gods" and ideas that have no basis in reality and fact? When viewed objectively, these are just blatant lies, aren't they? They are a jigsaw of all the little pieces of fiction created along the way to make our lies seem like a intangible truths backed by the conviction of faith. Take the time to think about this.

When someone says, "I don't know that God exists, but I believe", it is tantamount to an admission of pure ignorance. Ignorance isn't bliss. Ignorance is painful. The reason our lives are filled with so much pain and internal turmoil is simply because we refuse to acknowledge the fact that most of the groundwork we lay for our lives is not based on anything real! Things that go wrong because of our lapse in judgement or action become "the mysterious ways in which the lord works". Think about how easy it is to pass the buck to this fantastic character : God - your perfect personal life insurance policy! All the important aspects of our lives are in our control, but just in case, just in case we screw up, we need coverage from the divine insurance policy. And in case we don't, what do we do? Why, we do what any rightly indignant customer would do - complain.

There is a distinctly satiating clarity that comes from accepting the Unknown as what it simply is - unknown. A clarity that we will never achieve by being shepherded by anyone other than yourself. Simply doing this gives us something we unconsciously spend our whole lives searching for - a sense of purpose. It is this sense of purpose that will pave the path to true knowledge of ourselves and of the universe, of which each of our lives is a microcosm.