The keeper of things Lost!

I’ve been reading this book called The keeper of lost things. It’s a sweet tale and I still have a way to go before I wrap up that tale. A part of the book is about a bloke who loses his wife. On the same day, he loses something she’d have gifted him. It’s all too touching and cinematic drama that is engineered to yank out them precious tears from your eyes. The author had done a decent job. 

The bloke goes on to collect lost things and he doesn’t stop there. The lost trinket of the world also inspires him to write short little tales centred around the said lost trinket. I reckon he goes on to publish the short tales. The publisher of the titular keeper of lost things, once notes that during the early days, the tales were short, sweet, and loaded with hope and optimism. The endings were happy. Everybody usually ended up living happily ever forever after. As days moved on, the hope started to wane and optimism soon started to take a hike. The tales got grim and the themes behind them short tales started growing dark. 

This assessment got me thinking. Pain , once again, had transpired a bloke who wrote unicorns and rainbows to look deeper into both himself and the world around and inspired him to narrate tales of complicated realities and truths that are waiting to be brought to life. In a world of misery and pain, the comforts of sugary goodness does hide away a view of the real world that the rest of the world choose to ignore effortlessly. Some defy the odds and bring such miseries to the limelight. 

And just like that, I digress. I couldn’t help but remind myself of the million times I’ve said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m lousy with names, dates and numbers’. That’s always been a handy excuse. To a great extent, that tendency of mine to remain comfortably forgetful has been a bliss. To a greater extent, it also is not always true. I do remember numbers. I do remember dates. I do remember names and faces. I just don’t extend that exclusive place in the memory bank to the wider world. 

It was a few days ago and the calendar read fourth of December. My phone number from India ends with a 412XX. And yes, it’s a date alright. The month. 12. The date, 4. The number also meant that for years now I’ve also remembered a fateful third of December where I forgot the significance of the day to follow. The clock struck midnight and instead of wishes, I spewed phrases in burning temper. The third December of a forgotten year was a time when I was supervising delivery as a brand new manager. Things were not going good. Now that I smile wistfully in retrospect, things weren’t going good in more ways than one that fateful day. 

The sorry voice on the other side told me that it a ‘happy birthday to you’ wish was in order. I had a meltdown listening to that. The tempers vanished and guilt replaced the anger. I sat restless for the reminder of the delivery window. Pish posh, deliveries managed, appreciations received , I head home a free man and followed the road that my heart pointed. 

There would never be a next time. It was the last time when I spoke to the person or even heard a voice in return. It was most definitely the last ever time I’d forget the 4th of the December. The irony is a laughing monkey. The lady long gone, the roads long parted, I have no reason to remember the birthday now. I’ve not had a reason for nearly a decade now. The cruel cold irony is that, I’ve also not forgotten the milestone date ever since. It just stuck. Somewhere in that thick dense convoluted mind rests a simple combination of numbers. it pops alive every year without fail. 

That date is just one of many other dates that are etched in my mind and awaiting a guillotine of forgetfulness. One day, may that blade swing and that day, may I forget the significance of dates and numbers and what they once meant to me. Like the titular keeper of lost things, I see myself as a keeper of vagabond memories. These are memories that are lost in time, lost through life. These are memories that nobody wants anymore. These memories no longer deserve tears or pain. I still keep them handy. They are stored , locked and not forgotten yet. 

From a profound hate for 5 star chocolate to an old black and white telugu musical about demons, from the twilight spent staring at the city from the terrace of a building to siting on the stairs and looking at busy bee workers, the memories are here to stay. I do mean it when I say that I don’t remember names, numbers and faces. Maybe I have all the numbers , names and faces already locked up in the mind and have no space left to accommodate newer ones. Maybe the cupboard is overflowing with litter and a herculean housekeeping is in order, I’d never know. Sometimes I do wonder if my world is a very small, cramped up space , that constitutes of a very few people and a billion gallion things about them. No wonder I don’t have space for the rest of the whole wide world. 

Keeper of lost things 🙂

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Fancy a cup of tea?

I was late. Late as usual. Parties are meant to be crashed late. I was rushed once and that left me in a whole world of a daze. I chose to not be rushed anymore. He does that. In fact he does that a lot. Prances upon other people’s business and always lending a ready hand to shove those who are waiting to be pushed. I fell for his trap once. I knew I’d not fall for that one again.

The day had been long. I could barely recognize where I was. Each step felt like I was in a land of magic. It was a funny thought that I had. I thought magic was meant to be a source of entertainment to jaded minds. And here I stood. In a magical land, with magical creatures around speaking their foreign tongue. A life was now in magic. The thought mustered. How jaded had to be my life for magic to be of this magnitude. I secretly wished to feel fresh and happy once this grand trick was over. If it got over. I didn’t sit on sureties over the matter. I accepted the new realities of where I was. I had to let time run its course. Besides, I didn’t know how to get back home. There was only way ahead. I was taking it with an open mind.

“Ah already late”, the March Hare( that would be Mr White Rabbit to us all) said. “Don’t you ever learn your lessons Alice? “, he asked looking at me. He was cross. He wasn’t all that great when it came to keeping a poker face.

“6 times, 6 times I tell you and still turn up late!!!!”. 

My face contoured to a disgust. The rabbit was mad. What did he mean SIX. This was the first time I was ever here. Here, wherever it was. I decided against putting up a fight. It seemed rather pointless to me at the moment. I was more interested in getting the day done.

“Over here”, the rabbit continued speaking . “That would be Mr Hatter, we call him Mad Hatter. He’s, ah well, a little mad. You’ll know once he starts talking”.

I stared at the hatter. He sure looked goofy enough. Explicitly long hat. Only his hat looked clean and crisp. His clothes were tattered. His clothes were dirty. Now that I got a good second look at him, he looked a little dirty too. I smiled out of compelled courtesy at him. I didn’t bother to wait and see if that smile was reciprocated or even acknowledged.

Towards my right, I think I saw a rat who was snoring. I shot Mr White rabbit a puzzled look.

“Ah, yes .. yess.. that would be Mr Dormouse” , he said. “Ignore him. He’s lazy as a , as a, Dormouse!!! That’s all he ever does. Sleeps. or pretends to sleep. Never does anything besides sleeping.”

I pulled up a chair and sat across the table. There was a huge ceramic tea pot. I guessed we had enough tea for all of us. In fact, I suspected that we could go seven rounds of tea and there might be a little more tea left. I wondered why I thought of 7. I shrugged my shoulder. I had read it somewhere that 7 was considered a lucky number and 7 out 10 people would associate themselves with 7 as a lucky number. I was amused at how my mind was fixated over the number 7. I wondered for a second about what the rabbit said. Mr Hatter helped me dismiss that thought. His voice was not what I had imagined. He turned out to be pleasantly soft spoken fella.

“So , are you here? “, he asked me.

“I am here, so I must be here!!!”, I replied.

“That still did not answer my question” , he said.

“I didn’t realize that was a question. I thought of to be silly. I’m here. Why even ask if I was here!!!!!”, I sounded annoyed. The rabbit was right. Hatter was mad after all. He had a knack for making pointless conversations.

“But it is a question. When I asked you if you were here, you vouched that you were here. But that can not be right now, can it? A yes confirms that you know what here is ! Such an awareness of the whereabouts also warrants the cognizance of your raison d’etre (reason of being here). ” he said.

I could not believe what the hatter was speaking about. It made no sense and strangely it was all starting to make sense.

“Is there a reason? If there is, and you know it, yes you are here. If you don’t know and still here you are, so are you here? If you know it and not here, are you here? if you don’t know it and you aint here, then where are you, My dear?”. The hatter paused to breathe. 

“Would you like some tea?”, he offered

I nodded. I definitely needed some tea. He gracefully poured the brew into my cup. I took a sip and I smiled. This tea tasted like coffee. 

“Hey this is not tea, this is coffee!!!!!!”, I teased.

“Sure is. I call it tea. I drink this tea all the time. I call it whatever I please.”, said the hatter. “No matter what I call it, it is what it is. Self assured little rascal, this tea is, aint it?”.

I felt lost all over again. I came to wonder if the hatter was mad or profound. I couldn’t call the difference. He looked mad, spoke mad and his body language was equally goofy. I couldn’t judge him yet!!!

I heard a loud yawn that forced me to turn around and seek out the source. The Dormouse had woken up. 

“Oh, so you are here after all Alice, we’ve been waiting for you”, he said.

“Don’t worry, calm your bones. You have travelled far. You shouldn’t have. You hang in there, you’d be back home, safe and sound. None of this will ever mean anything to you. “, he continued. And as abruptly as he woke up, he was the same abrupt and sudden when he slipped back to his slumber.

I found the Dormouse’s words very comforting and yet there was this coldness to it. His kindness rejected my acknowledgement of being here. His comforting voice robbed me of my journey so far. He was quick enough to dismiss the distance I had covered. Yet, he did promise that everything would be ok..

“That’s it. we are getting late again” , the white rabbit announced. off the chair, lazy bones.. we have places to be and time’s not plenty…

I stood up. I took a deep breath. I inhaled deliberately, and exhaled the same way. For the very first time I realized. I was lost and I was finding my way. Not necessarily in that order.

Alice 

ABC’S of life

The doctor’s reception lobby was rather quiet that morning. The room was pristine and was painted in a rather dull shade of grey. It made sense for the room to be that sober. Patients were used to walking in with pain and possibly walking out high on pills.

The receptionist was a young lady of maybe thirty. Tall, composed and pleasant with a voice that matched all her traits. The calls weren’t pouring in and the room was as silent as it could be. The doctor was seeing a patient and that meant I had to sit around for a while. It suited me proper. It was one of those ‘Bring your kids to work’ days. Gladly I obliged. In fact, I was happy that the kid was around. I had all intentions to make the best use of that time. It wasn’t everyday where I got to hang around the kid and see how his life was shaping up. When you are ten years old, life does shape slow and steady.

We found ourselves seated in the waiting area. The cold metallic arm rests , cushions that were used aplenty. It wasn’t the best seating experience. I guess it couldn’t be worse either. The kid had opted to carry his backpack. He had brought along his favourite comic book, a ruled notebook , his box of colouring pencils, and an activity book of sorts. It was the kind of book that had a motley mix of puzzles, join the bloody dots and colour fancy animals. It was serving its intended purpose of keeping young mind engaged and occupied.

‘So what are they teaching in school these days’ I asked in a hushed whisper.

I had managed to interrupt his adventures with the Spiderman comic. The kid didn’t complain. Slowly and gracefully, he closed the book and placed it obediently in his backpack. I respected that in the kid. He was meticulous and thorough. It was a sign of a trait that he’d inherited.

‘We are learning the ABCs of life dad’ he casually replied.

‘What that again? ABCs of Life? What’s that about?’

The book took a practised deep breath. It announced that he wasn’t new to the routine of explaining the things that he had learnt at school. I must admit, when I was in school, we didn’t have that ABC. The school that we went, it wasn’t particularly a mainstream one. It had requisites. It worked on the principles of first getting invited, then getting interviewed. The filter process was stringent. I still do find it amusing that the demand is a lot more than I thought there ever would be one.

‘ABCs dad. Always, Be, Composed’ he articulated each word slowly , emphasising their significance.

‘What does that mean anyway? I’ve not heard of that’

The boy was excited about explaining things. Maybe, in a different life, he could have been destined to be a teacher. Then again, it needn’t be a far fetched idea this life either. There were those of us who taught. Maybe he’d grow one day into being an exemplary teacher.

‘As my teacher says’ he paused to check if I was paying a close attention. I was. Satisfied with intent of keep interest, he resumed.

‘We will end up in a lot of situations in life. For example, what If I miss the morning bus to school? ‘

He waited for me to express a dramatic disbelief. This was a lot more practiced than I had anticipated. This was delivered almost as clinically as them brainwashers impart misguided propaganda. I played along with a show of shock

‘Yeah, so if I miss the school bus, Do I sit and cry? Do I feel bad? Or Do I safely walk back home and inform mum that I missed the bus? That is about always being composed. No matter what happens, one should always be calm and think about the list of things to do next.’

The kid delivered his explanation with a pedigree of pride that is usually observed in celebrities who receive prestigious awards.

‘That’s fantastic’ I said. ‘What else is new? Made any new friends’

The kid didn’t bother with a response. He slunk back into his chair and reached out into his bag to resume reading his comic book.

‘The Doctor will see you now’ the receptionist announced.

I smiled politely and thanked her for the update.

‘Listen, this shouldn’t take me long. Sit back and continue reading. ‘ I instructed.

As I was about to enter the doctor’s office, the kid called out.

‘Can we stop for a burger? I’m hungry’ he said meekly.

‘Sure kid’ and I gave him a thumbs up to confirm the itinerary.

With that done, I opened the door and slowly closed it shut. The door didn’t make a noise. I appreciated a well maintained building. As far as buildings went, this was a properly maintained one. I couldn’t find a reason to detest it. The doctor was seated in his chair. Pleasant chap. He was slim, balding and had a pleasant welcoming smile. I could see why he was a popular bloke.

‘Doctor Mathew ?’ I politely enquired. It was redundant at this point. I knew who the doctor was. I knew I was in his room. I was a creature of habit.

‘Yes, That’s me. How can I help you today’ he said.

I reached into my overcoat and pulled Trippy. Trippy was my favourite German. Silent, efficient and never failed to deliver.

‘Doc, I’m sorry that I’m the hand of god today. God wants you squashed’ I said as I pulled tripped out.

The good doctor sat dazed and confused. Most people who come face to face with a German made gun do tend to behave that way. I don’t think it’s any tribute to the German engineering. I think the make of the gun is immaterial. It’s just the gun, the shape and the immediate thought of death that freezes people over.

Phew, Phew. Two shots fired. Two shots silenced. The world left unaware of the drama that transpired behind a closed door. That was that. I collected the spent shells and pocketed them. That’s a wrap, I told myself silently.

I opened the door and closed it again gently. I sat next to my kid and pulled out a piece of paper from my other pocket. I asked my kid to lend me a pencil. He reached out into his bag and a quick search and a yank later, handed me one. The scanned for the good doctor’s name from the list. It wasn’t a long list. This month had been ok. The business does tend to slump a bit around this time of the year. I stroke off his name from the list. Number 8. Done.

I returned the pencil to my kid. I folded the paper and placed it back into my pocket again. The work for this month was done. The rest could wait.

The kid and I got off our chairs and as we were about to leave, I thanked the receptionist for the appointment. The kid stopped and as good manners mandated, he also smiled at the nice lady and thanked her. I was proud of my boy.

‘Them ABCs, that’s a mighty good lesson there kid.’

‘Thanks dad’ he responded.

Burgers were next.

Karthik

Finding Marlin

Finding Nemo is an example of Disney at its best. The tale outlines the journey of a dad who is in pursuit of finding his kid. The dad labours through challenges, defies the odds, meets a whole barrage of strangers before winning the day. The movie , in a way, is a testament to how far the dad goes in his quest to reunite with his kid.

I do find it odd that the movie was called Finding Nemo. We , as viewers, join Marlin in his adventure. We both collectively grow up and evolve from our initial state of inertia. The kid endures a few character building lessons. Both fishes flirt with death and come out stronger and more compatible than they had ever been. From a sales point of view, Finding Nemo is a lot catchier than Finding Marlin. I guess that explains the whys of the movie being titled that way.

I am reminded of the movie. Partly due to proximity to the fishes, which I’ll explain in a few minutes and partly because I see the irony behind that adventure. Like all wonderful things in life, let’s start with the Irony.

The biggest irony to the movie is the fact that both fishes were equally capable of embracing a change to grow more compatible with each other.

Both fishes were victims of circumstances and in a way, they both dealt with fears in a way that they knew. The separation gave them both a much needed push to evolve from the forced change.

There wouldn’t be a story if they both woke up one day and opted to be a better , tolerant version of themselves. Let the irony sink in for a minute.

As a child, my enthusiasm knew no bounds, each time my dad took me to new places. I have a vague recollection of staying wowed by the animals in the zoo. I remember the curiosity of different species that inherited this ball of blue and green. I don’t remember asking many intelligent questions, but I do remember wanting ice cream. As I grew older, these ‘new places’ weren’t new anymore. Then my nephews and niece came into being. I remember babysitting them as I was forced to revisit these places. I remember putting up a futile resistance over how boring these places were. The kids got to experience something new and I got to experience a boredom that was gift wrapped in resentment. In time, I had evolved to equate the witnessed places as places of no implied interest. Unless the places had something new to offer, I wasn’t going to make an effort. It’s called the been there, seen that syndrome.

The weekdays are a usual bunch. There is nothing magical about them. I head off to work. I have my petty adventures through the day. The weekends are a new beast. Left to my own devices, I’d have probably dedicated them to laziness and music. With my folks around, it did give me the right excuse to tour the city of London. Last weekend, we managed to loiter the halls of the Sea Life aquarium.

The unplanned stop at the Waterloo station unwrapped the first surprise punch of the day. My mom made a very cautious effort to reading through signs and posts that adorned the station. ‘Is this THE waterloo, where the battle took place?’ I didn’t have an answer then and I cheated and checked wiki now. Her question had never popped in my head ever before. I silently made a quiet note of the innate curiosity over things that interested my mom. We made it to the exhibit without a lot of questions.

‘Do they have Sharks here?’ my dad popped his share of many questions for the day. I didn’t know and I thought it was a bit too silly for an aquarium to house a great white shark. I think so dad, I replied and we didn’t have to wait too long to catch a glimpse of the first shark. It was a huge fish. I don’t think it was the great white, but the fish had the popular features that we associate with them sharks.

From Sharks to Stingrays, I was amused and satisfied at the childlike glee that my folks expressed. I hadn’t really thought of their amusement when we opted to view the house of fishes. I thought they’d stroll through the place and walk out in a semi-bored stoic way. I couldn’t be any more wrong. The colours and the diversity of the species housed grabbed their attention. The exhibits on jellyfish was a pleasant surprise. Sea life hosted a plastic exhibit that shook and vibrated as we touched them. My mom wanted to brave and touch the star fishes.

I’d have expected all of that from kids and soon I realised that I was walking with a bunch of kids. We saw a large tortoise and it warranted our undivided attention and admiration. The sight of the creatures of the deep, swimming free , warmed us up. Sea life was flooded with kids of many ages and I got to witness a simple fact that kids of all ages usually acted the same way!

Then came the biggest surprise of the day.

‘It’s really them’ my dad exclaimed. There was no denying the sense of awe and disbelief. His face lit up as we walked past the section that housed penguins. Them penguins were as real as real was. Some were standing lazy, some minding their own business.

The sheer sight of penguins brought out the kids in my folks. Their smiles symbolised the accomplishment of the day.

A few stories of ships and Andamans later, we had covered every inch that the house of fishes had to offer. The day came to a close with ice cream.

I don’t think I’d have ever found the time to take my parents out if I was still in Chennai. The best that I’d offer , the best that I had offered was to drive them to far away temples. I did that because I loved to drive and driving with them had always been a pleasant experience. The precious few hours of hearing them bicker and fight over things, conclude arguments and agree on decisions, I’ve always been amused by that. I don’t think I’d have volunteered to join my family on a visit to the beach or a zoo or any place for that matter. The newness of the land has been a good excuse.

I guess in that sense, this Nemo managed to Find Marlin. I cant put a price tag on that precious memory of my folks turning into an excited bunch of rug rats. I’ve never witnessed that childlike excitement. Far away from daily thoughts of being adults, it was a fantastic detour from adulthood. The irony doesn’t disappoint either. I definitely needed a push to embrace and evolve a change. It’s nice to be a supervising adult for once.

Karthik

Project Psychology and Paramatma!

Lets talk about a simple day to day way of life. The project that we are running, assume that it hits a snag and push comes to shove, you happen to be in the line of fire. The immediate world holds you responsible and lets face it, you are as nervous as politician sitting in an honesty summit!

I’ve been catching up on Cognitive psychology and so far, it has been a wonderful detour from my usual list of literary fiction and spiritual philosophies. In many ways, it affirms my bias. In many ways, the world of cognitive psychology is more familiar than I initially thought it would be.

Lets dissect the scenario through a few filters.

Let’s start with the easiest of the lot. Determinism.

Determinism as called out in google states that all actions, including human action, are ultimately determined by causes regarded as external to the will.

That roughly translates to Of all the projects in all of the companies in this world, you had to inherit this one. By virtue of determinism, one is fated for failure and it’s inevitable. Then comes the SKYNET argument. Through stones and studied trinket, one might manage to delay the inevitability. It eventually catches up and one given morning, one would have to face the consequences.

Through determinism, the outcome is predetermined. Either you walk off it or you are tarnished by the event. If success is written, no matter where you find yourself, something will open up. If a failure is branded, no matter what you do, no matter how high you jump, if not this, something else would manifest to bring you down.

The big benefit with such a thought is that there is no point in worrying over it. The ground reality , however, is that we are governed by fear and sit paralysed by it.

Then comes Innatism. Innatism is a bit more scientific and easier to quantify than the deterministic view. Innatism refers to the traits that you express. These are the behaviours that one picks through the formative years of life. We are stuck with it unless we learn to unlearn and adapt. Innatism mandates that just by virtue of being ourselves, we are predisposed to such failures. A good example is that if one is careless and unstructured at work, a slip is a matter of When and not IF. Eventually we’d slip up. Eventually we’d have to face the consequences of such a slip. Innatism is an unholy child of nature and nurture. Our traits, even if we are born with it, are also heavily influenced by the company that we keep and the environment that we are brought up in.

When we work in a toxic workplace, the smarter ones see the signs and plan ahead to keep a good trail that ensures that they are not blamed for all the failures of the world. When we have a lethargic sense of observation of our environment, by going with the flow, we also have to learn to react as and when surprises pop.

While nurture is explained in how we perceive the environment and how we adapt ourselves to it, nature also has a say in the way we are equipped to deal and adapt. Cognitive science explores the modular nature of the brain. The Brain, besides thinking and being underused, is also extensively at work all the time. While we do not acknowledge that, the construct of the brain, the way synapses and neurons work, it impacts our behaviour and hence dictates the way in which we lead our lives.

This is quite interesting because to a great degree, all crimes can be held accountable by the way the brain functions. It’s not in everybody’s construct to execute a cold blooded murder. Most of us don’t because the brain enforces inhibitors that keep us away from doing it. While the example is a drastic one , there are a lot of mellow examples around it. Some of us as people pleasers, some of us are agents of hell don’t care club. We are that way because our brain is hardwired that way. Nature goes hand in hand with nurture. While nurture minimises the risk of such behaviours manifesting, the nature warrants that we are only waiting for the right stimulus to go nuts. We are built for the crime. Unfortunately.

Then comes the philosophy around it all. The Paramatma.

Genetically speaking, the way we are is an outcome of how our mind is constructed and how our experiences fuel the way the mind operates, it also strips us away from accountability of actions. Yes. Purist science says that. Even if I commit murder, I did it because my brain is built that way. Legal definition of a crime is that if an individual is aware of what is being done, and is in the faculties to know the difference between what is right and wrong and still makes a wilful choice to commit the act, GUILTY.

The purist science flags towards nihilism. It says that nothing we do is part of a super plan. There is no grand scheme of things. We do because our brains work in a way they do. We are a product of how the mind operates and mind is influenced by our experiences.

Science sets us free from the burden of birth. Interestingly, spiritual philosophy aims to do just that. It is a means to relieve us from the burden of birth. Only spiritualists tag it to universe both inner and outer. Cognitive science talks about electrical impulses.

Viewing a problem statement through the hats of science , fate and spiritualism, the fundamental question that we ask is often a reflection of what we are.

Ask yourself a question based on the scenario outlined. Ie, the project that you are held accountable for, fails.

?

Done?

Good.

Now comes the kicker.

The question could be anything. There are a few themes that the nature of question could explore.

A few questions that I can think about are

1. What did I do to deserve this?

2. Why is it happening to me?

3. Why am I the only one getting blamed?

4. Hmm, how is this mess going to cost me?

5. Is this the end of my career?

6. Is this going to haunt me forever?

7. OK, Now how do I sort this mess out?

8. Who stabbed my back, who suggested that this failure was because of me?

9. What all and who all do I need to fix this?

10. Whom should I inform, whom would I have to call first to diffuse the situation?

There are many such questions. But the kind of question you ask, describes the kind of person you are. Questions could centre around fears, around resolution, around the future. That, again, is a wonderful thing to think about if you view it through the filters of Cog Psych!

If you think about it, all the explanations in the world, have absolutely nothing to do with the next step of actions that ought to be taken 🙂 Cest, la vie

Karthik

Giving into it

‘Chalo, lets go for a drive’ I said.

Being a dad is not about always being there. There are just a few right enough moments that mandate my presence. Being a good or a bad dad is about being there during those moments. Today, it felt like I was in the right place at the right time. The last few weeks were foreboding at best. The world was still intact, but my kid , apparently, wasn’t. The chirpy cheerfulness , that he inherited from his mom, was on a slow fade. He was there and quite not around. There was something amiss. We gave him time to recover and we kept telling ourselves that we’d be there to support him when he needed it the most. Years ago, even before his time, we had spoken at great lengths about the kind of parents that we’d be. We wouldn’t pamper him and smother him with care, we had agreed. She kept her part of the bargain. She buried the worries in her heart as she faked the courage to let him grow untamed, in a wild word.

That was that.

I jangled the keys in front of him and offered him to drive the car. He politely declined the offer. I found his state of relentless disinterest rather interesting. I guess that boys get their best traits from their mothers. We took our seats and I eased the car smoothly onto the street. The car hummed its boring siren as it backed. I threw the stick to drive and the road was set for a smooth drive.

The silence in a car is two things. It always feel amplified and depending on the moment, that silence is either unsettling or reassuringly comfortable. Today, it felt the latter. I didn’t want to shatter the silence. The darkened night looked splendorous. The night came with a kiss of a gentle mist that left behind the signals in a subtle haze. The passing lights didn’t have to try too hard to leave my mind mesmerised. As the road rolled, the pleasantness of the silence had overstayed its welcome.

‘So, who is the girl’ I popped abruptly.

I guess boys will always be the same. His surprised take reminded me of my first intervention. My dad had defied my expectations and had asked me in a calm manner rather than slapping the be-jeebus out of me. I guess a similar sentiment was running in my kid’s mind.

‘Forget about it dad. You won’t understand’ he said defensively.

The silence swept us again. Only this time, it didn’t last long. His tears followed his helpless sniffle. I couldn’t help but feel amused by the universality of a heartbreak. It affects all of us the same. The first time it attacks, it takes us back to the cute helpless suffering of our childhood. We see no shame in it. Our dignity does not feel threatened by it. Even the strongest of us break down. Especially the strongest amongst us break down.

‘Hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be alright da’ I said.

The kid wiped his tears and picked his moment to man up. ‘I’m ok dad’ he said.

We both stared at the distance. We both felt robbed of the words that we couldn’t bring ourselves to say.

It was the right time for me to be a dad. ‘Know what, your mum wasn’t the first person that I fell in love with’.

It made no bloody difference to him. I heard the big bubble of my ego burst.

‘Thing is, the first time I lost my love, it wasn’t losing her that scared me’.

Something struck his interested. For the first time that evening, he turned himself towards me and appeared to be interested in what I had to say.

‘Know what?’ , I paused.

‘The moment the reality sunk in that I wasn’t in a relationship anymore, the moment I came face to face with the fact that I didn’t have my love, the moment I knew that love was over, I felt scared. It wasn’t the loss that scared me. I felt afraid that I had loved someone with all my heart and that it didn’t mean anything. I felt afraid that I didn’t have love anymore to repeat the process with anyone else. I knew that eventually I’d meet someone. I also knew that I couldn’t love them the way I had loved and lost. There would always be something that I’d holdback. There would always be something that I held on, within the deepest recess of my heart. I knew that I’d never be a holistic version of myself. I was afraid that I was afraid.’

The lad sat to soak the things that he had just heard. I could hear his heavy breathing.

‘And then what happened’, he finally asked.

‘And then I realised everything I feared was true’ I smiled.

‘I don’t understand dad.’ he said.

‘I was right about it all da. I wasn’t myself anymore. The failure always has and even today, it continues to haunt me in one way or the other. No matter how hard I tried, I always knew that I wasn’t the me that I knew I was. And then something strange happened. I met someone. Initially, I made a conscious effort to not replay the love that I had lost. I stayed away from presenting chocolates and soft toys. I consciously kept myself away from doing everything that I had done before. But I soon realised that she was a different person, different ideas of the world and love, different interests and different needs. In time, it didn’t feel like I had lost in love and tried my hand at it again. I just felt the joys of falling in love with someone and the simple satisfaction of knowing that I was loved in return.

‘And then you married mom? It’s barely a tale of life experience dad’

Yup, not all my son’s best traits came from his mum.

‘Naah, your mom was 5th in the list. She was the 5th and the last one on that list’

‘How did you manage to fall in love 5 times appa. I mean apart from the fact that you were lousy bad at it, how do you even say that you could love 5 times!’

The kid had a point. I couldn’t even remember the last time that I had asked myself that question.

‘It’s just that I managed to find the courage to give da. I tried to fall in love with the people in the way I knew how to fall. I did my best. I smiled when I could. I broke down and cried when things didn’t work out. I was angry for a while. I was frustrated for a while. I was miserable all the time. It’s just that people came and some caught my attention and fewer caught my heart. I took my chances.

Love is love da. There is nothing like first or best about it. Either you feel it or you really just don’t. Thing is, give it all your best. It’s nice when it works and it crushes you when it doesn’t. You get the hang of it. That’s part of life and growing up’

The kid sat back and let his thoughts guide him.

‘Dad’, he called out after a while of thought.

‘What if I don’t find love ever again?’ his voice shivered.

‘When your mother died, I knew I couldn’t bring myself to love anyone ever again. In fact, I don’t think I have it in me to fall in love with a woman anymore da. I just realised how much I love you and how much I see her in you. Love always finds a way. Don’t sit scared that you’d never have ample of it to spread around. If you find the courage in yourself, you’d find ways to express it. Trust me on that’ I concluded.

He put his head back and drifted away into another stream of thought. We both welcomed the silence that came sniffing. We drove for a while more. He started to hum tunes in silence. It was a sign of his mind clearing up. It was the sign that I had not really lost my wife. It was a sign that she was around, sitting amused at how much I had grown up.

Karthik

A culture of cultures

I’ve been reading this book by Steven Pinker that goes by the name , ‘Blank Slate: Modern denial of human nature’. I must admit, the book has left me massively humbled. As I struggle to comprehend the theories and brave one paragraph at a time, I’m also left with a lot of thoughts around the whys of the way of my world.

Interestingly enough, with mom and dad in the new city , I opted to hit a few temples to gain brownie points. I must admit, I do enjoy the temple experience. The architecture is quite breath taking. I also happened to notice that a few of the temples, in their efforts in being inclusive, had left a few brief descriptions to describe the significance of the deities and what they mean to Hindus. With that introduction on one hand and the book on the other, my thoughts have started running wild.

Now what if I tell you that it is believed that once upon a time there was a bloke. Boringly monogamous at a time where polygamy wasn’t frowned upon. A little red herring deal that soured and he had to relocate bases. The new land led to newer challenges and in course of the process, the bloke ushered himself into a new social circle of sorts. The social circle was trippy at best. Humanoids , who varied in genetic splices, were a part of that social gathering. Bada boom, another unforeseen adventure later, he eventually returned home.

And millennia later, the land saw a nasty riot that shed a lot of blood.

Reading that verbose, one can conclude that the riot was an ludicrous outcome and was barely a warranted response. Which society in its right mind would encourage, tolerate or even allow such a violence. And then suddenly everything changes perspective if I were to tag a name to the bloke. Ram. There is an ocean of difference between Ram and Lord Ram.

While Ram is just a name, Lord Ram is a symbol. Lord Ram , or the place that name has in our hearts and minds is a reflection of culture driven behaviour. There is nothing instinctive or innate around the fact that the name espouses respect and reverence. We hold it valuable because we learnt of its sanctity. We learnt it by aping the behaviour of our parents, grand parents and possibly neighbours. We learnt it because it was embraced and adopted by our immediate world.

Man has no culture. Man has a history.

The book does introduces us to thoughts that can help us debunk the mythos of our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. The story of Lord Ram is a classic example. Unless one is aware of the history behind that name, the legacy associated to it, the wider script of God that it stands to represent, the story remains unknown. We aren’t born with our faith. We aren’t born with the culture that we choose to be a fanatic over. In a way, we are born as a blank slate. The book possibly goes on to explain why we aren’t blank slate either, but it meets the current agenda and I shall use it out of sheer convenience.

The values, the moralities, the definition of good and bad and what’s tolerable and what’s not, all of these are born out of personal and borrowed experience. Through intellect, we run a sorting hat to translate things into different buckets. Speaking of intellect, there was a passage in the book that simply blew me away.

Man, us, could possibly be one of the best machines ever devised. The brain is a machine too. Through the senses, it sees, feels, hears, tastes, touches and then translates all these into different interpretations. These interpretations are factored by our experience and hence bias comes into play. It’s this ability of the mind to personalise every stimuli based on experiences that makes artists out of us. Some draw, some write, some paint, some make music. This ability to create, based on the simple complicated machine that is human, makes us a human.

So can AI do a lot of that. We have BOTs writing symphonies today. AI is writing reading materials. AI is moving away form parroting responses to triggering new responses and creating new directions for conversations. Where does an AI end and a human start.?

The immediate answer is that behind every successful AL algorithm, there is either an overworked, underpaid, stressed employee or a super passionate bloke who is giving a 10000% into the job. The distinction of Creator versus Creation comes into play. Even if an AI gains sentience, Man would still be it’s creator and hence it is not human. The same logic applies to mankind too. Since , arguably, God created us and by virtue of being a creation, we can not be God. The best of human can only aspire to mimic God. The best of AI can only aspire to mimic Human.

I like the reading experience so far. So far, I’m fascinated by the world that Cognitive Science has unlocked. While I don’t really understand a lot about it, it does ask simple questions that challenges the boundaries of our assumptions. Having an open enough mind is very helpful in this journey. As a spiritual aspirant, it kindles my curiosity even more. If man wasn’t born with it, if culture doesn’t come from my blood, Why did I still manage to take the steps that I took to reach here?

That question is not unique to me. It’s to all of us. The current outcome of our reality is a trail of choices either made under the influence of the world around or just made for the heck of it. The choices don’t interest me anymore. The motives of what took us to embrace those choices is far more interesting. It’s going to be an interesting month ahead, as I inch across each paragraph.

Karthik

[Book Review] : Shantaram

“Sooner or later, fate puts us together with all the people, one by one, who show us what we could, and shouldn’t, let ourselves become” – Shantaram

Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts is a sublime tale of a journey towards life. The book serves as a fictional , semi – pseudo auto biography of sorts. This is a book where fiction and reality hold hands together and they both , rather conveniently, chose a cinematic narrative approach to story telling. The book starts with a bloke who flies into Bombay with a fake passport that belongs to a certain Lindsay Ford. The assumed identity becomes the only identity of the tale’s protagonist. If I were to sum up the tale into a line, it would read as the journey of a man from being Lindsay Ford to Lin to Shantaram. While the sentence is short, the road taken by the protagonist is wonderfully entertaining , thought provoking and long.

Lindsay or the bloke who soon is addressed as Lin, is a man of violence. There is violence in his heart. There is guilt from that violence. A shade of repentance and a longing for redemption. Lin, as he starts, is no saint and the Bombay of the 1970’s happens to be the perfect city for vices. The retro vibes to the 70’s set amidst the blossoming Mumbai Mafia sets the stage for the tale. From substance abuse to suckering unassuming, unsuspecting travellers, Lin beings to offer a bespoke professional service of procuring and delivering instruments of vice based on fluctuating demands. That’s fancy for Lin working the streets and peddling whatever he can.

At every page there is crime and its holistic view. Crime , is both a source of escape and a means of entrapment. It keeps the characters in a state of inertia. The characters endure a distinct sense of irony. Their lives of crime keeps them free. It’s the crime that keeps them chained. The world revolves around a subtle balance.

The characters are the strength of this book. There are far too many characters and the best part is, as readers, we’d grown warm to most of them. We’d passionately root for them. We’d vengefully want some of them to suffer. The heart of this tale is the nurturing of the bonds that the characters share. From the smiles of Prabhakar, the wisdom of Lord Abdel Khader Khan, the friendship that is with Abdulla, the charismatic Didier Levy , the whacky-do-doodle that is Vikram and the frustration that is love in the form of Karla.

“Nothing grieves more deeply or pathetically than one half of a great love that isn’t meant to be.” – Shantaram

I don’t think there are any stories worth telling that do not concern the matters of the heart. Lin shares the same sentiment. Neatly set in the backdrop of a violent mafia, wars across the world, poverty , the human spirit (aka the Mumbai spirit) that never gives up, is a frustrating love story of Lin and Karla. The two are equally matched, in coefficients of both the intellect and emotions. One cannot be a lover unless one is a certified fool and this tale is a testament to that foolishness. Not that there is anything wrong with being a fool. Karla and Lin, all the other tiny tales of love and life, render the characters to either remain as fools or volunteer to be one. I’m a romantic and I find that state of foolishness as cute. Reality does come and it comes biting. Wisdom, I reckon, is attained by not staying a fool forever.

There is a lot of philosophy plastered across the pages of the tale. Lin shares his view of the world and the principles that he holds close. Lord Abdel is another wonderful source of wisdom that covers all realms of existence. The moralities are put to the test. We, along with Lin, have a glimpse into the world that sits comfortable between the two extremes of black and white.

One of the best feature of the book is the way that all the characters are flawed and broken. Nobody is holier than the rest. The virtues and vices grip everybody alike. There are no saints in the land of the vice. Despite the evil, it is the quintessential struggle to do good, that quest to make this world a better place, that effort to make life better for others, that sets the book apart from rest of the fiction. As Abdel says, it’s the capacity to do bad for the right reasons is what that defines us as humans. I’m tempted to both agree and disagree. Good finds a way. So does evil. We are left to our own wits to embrace either, or even both.

Speaking of the huge list of characters, Bombay, or the present day Mumbai is also a subtle character in the tale. Mumbai takes in people from all walks of life, accepts all moralities and ethics that people choose to live by, and lets its people be. Some bring it pain while others endure pain to spread joy. The book is a fantastic tribute to Bombay. It lives and breathes the fabric that is the city. Right from the underbelly that has the slippery grime that is crime , to the most humane face of humanity that’s expressed through poverty, from the front where money buys a £150 cup of coffee to humble villagers who migrate to the city with nothing but hopes and dreams in their eyes, the book has the city painted all over its pages.

The big theme in the book is around what it means to belong to someone or even some place? Why do we yearn that sense of belonging? How does that belonging change our life? Each character in the book is , in one way or another, an alien to the city. They all walk in, fall in love with the city and endure and survive.

The next big theme is around ‘Karma’ of things. The big question around should we continue to be what we were or do we allow ourselves to evolve and in time, repent, atone, grow , and adopt a new path? Lin is a perfect example of man of violence who blooms into a man with a golden heart that has a few thorns that adorn it.

The biggest payoff from the book is the mention of the name “Shantaram”.

The many lives of Lin reflect the many conflicts that arise within his heart. Lin is driven by love, loyalty, anger, regret, guilt and he embraces all the choices that he makes and is forced to make. As Lin adapts to the consequences, we as readers, no longer remain blind to the way he evolves. The fantastic irony to the tale is that Lin is soaked and bleached in crime and yet there is a saint in him that comes out strong.

A name is just a name and it seldom defines the nature of the person that it is tagged to. Shantaram is a beautiful example of a man living his life, in pursuit of earning that name that emanates peace that is Shantaram.

Definite read. Give it a shot.

Karthik

Chicken, Egg and 50 shades of evolution

I’m usually not in the habit of maintaining a cheat sheet to structure the flow of thoughts. There is always a first time and first time it shall be now.

The crux of the thoughts are around the following lines

Tabula rasa – > Innatism – > Nature vs Nurture , that challenges evolution ; Empiricism in conflict with determinism and not good friends with innatism. Nihilism vs opposite of that!

Righty roo.

I have my eyes on the book, The Blank Slate and to prepare for the book I started to read a little on the subject. In a way, this blog would be a pre condition check and once I’ve read the book, hopefully, I should have grown wiser! Tough luck there, but I’ll keep an open mind. it’s not everyday where I get to mock my opinionated self.

Lets try to structure the circus that runs in my mind. Chicken , egg and evolution. The age old question, which came first is a classic example of pointlessness. We were not around to witness the birth of the chicken or the delivery of the first egg. Ergo, the loudest wins or the most geekiest explaination stands to win. To me, I couldn’t care less about the origin of my omelette.

The journey of words led me down a wonderful path. The path is outlined as the following

1. I am what I am. – > What I am is a collection of all my bias, experiences , innate talent and acquired skill. The whole conversation of acquisition of skill trumps innate talent is still wide at play.

2. I am what I’m meant to be – > The big predisposition of fate and destiny comes into play. In my futile attempt to justify all the bits and bolts of life, I can take a little comfort, and I’m lying through my teeth here , in knowing that I’m meant for things and whatever that I’ve gone through and will go through, will be in line with what’s in store in my destiny. I don’t subscribe to this view of destiny and determinism. That’s an open area of contention.

3. Like everyone else, My life will have a purpose or just like everyone else, none of our lives are meant to serve any purpose at all.

These three are often indicative of all the justifications that we offer in the face of a defeat. Either we accept, learn adapt and bounce stronger. Or we accept and drag in the universe to assure ourselves that our loss was destined. Or, we say things are meant to be that way and something better is in the making. The degree of our failure is dependent on what we choose to believe and what that keeps us comfy and smug in denial.

Tabula Rasa , aka, blank slate states that we are like clay. We can be beaten and shaped up to be anything. It also means that entire life ahead is an outcome of stimulus and that means, we are what we are and that is defined by our experiences and our reactions to them. This makes sense and only it doesn’t as well. Our genetic fabric has information locked within it. We carry forward information that helps with our survival. While at the primal level, this makes sense, it need not mean that everything that we need , comes within our blood. Should that be the case, why would we bother learning anything at all.

The fact that our blood does not define what or who we are, it’s not a stretch for me to debunk the role of an entire vast universe in deciding my fate.

That’s just me. Empiricism talks about our ability to learn and adapt through experiences. It says that we are a product of our society and our interaction with it. The case of nurture versus nature. It banks on Nurture and conditioning. While this is true for most of us, This view also conflicts with both Destiny and Innatism. Since we learn from the world around, we are a product of our choices, we therefore are not left at the mercy of the universe and we aren’t at the mercy of our genetic markup.

If we are a product of the choices that we make and refuse to make, it also conflicts with the ‘Ghost in the machine’ ideology. Ghost in the machine, like it’s cyber punk relative, Ghost in the Shell, talks about mind and the body as separate entities. The impact of choices on mind as an entity and the body, now that baffles me. Mind has a mind of it’s own and so does the body. How do the two work in order to evolve us? That’s a question that has many answers and it depends on where one is looking for those answers.

The mark of a good book is not around how many questions for which it offers an answer. In fact it’s quite the opposite. It’s around how many questions that it makes us ask.

I’d like to believe that this book would open up a few questions that I didn’t know even existed. All that said, it’s been fun to contemplate around the many fears that surrounds our existence. From doubts around capabilities, to fears around history’s ferocity in wanting to repeat itself. From fate that wants us to fail to stars that remain mute and stones that bring better luck. Us humans are complicated and we are so , only because of the things that we tell ourselves to justify the soil upon which we make our shaky stand.

Karthik

Failure Fixation

The science and sanity of a time machine and the holy fabled time travel aside, lets suspend our sense of belief and assume that we all had unrestricted access to a ‘fictionally accurate’ version of a time machine. That ensures that we have the whole nine yards of time travel at our disposal. Pop a button, zoom back Marty Mcfly, go change the past. Ripple effects that alter the future. Repeat and rinse. Whole nine yards.

While the notion and the wish list for a machine , that facilitates this feature of fiddling with time, is something that might exist in the near/distant future, I have a few thoughts that are grounded in the present. Technology has never been a problem. A pencil in the right pair of demented hands does become a weapon of crude violence.

Failure fixation is a reality. It’s a combination of two things. Failure and a duh! . Fixation over that failure is the second one. The average joe fixates on the problem statement once something fails. It’s what we are conditioned to be. The usual lifecycle of an unhappy path (in both spheres of life) can be summed up as

1. A failure positions itself on a given friday

2. In the name of root cause identification, we rack through our brains, read and assess a million things in a very short duration of time

3. When we don’t find something, we feel obliged and very compelled to sit with it till we find a clue and a road to the solution

4. once the source of the flaw is identified, we try to fix it.

Fixing again goes through point 3. The lifecycle of a fix again holds the same challenges of unhappy paths

5. Get the fix into place.

While all of these are happening, there is that nagging fear of ‘Oh I’ve screwed things up REALLY REALLY BAD’. In short, I call this as the ‘End of the world’ panic. The experience of failure, the fear of being tagged as the harbinger of bad omen and the village idiot who burned down the town, we coast through life in constant fear of future failures and desperate means to avoid such failures in the future. Have ample failures pinned to your chest, it’d be a miracle if you manage to retain an ounce of self esteem and confidence.

In a delayed nutshell view, failure attracts fears. Fears attract failure.

What’s that got to do with Fixation and time travel.

Here is the deal.

Life , as we know it, is linear in nature. Point A to Point B. Thoughts on Point A, eventual death at point B. We have the freedom to live with a lifetime worth of regrets but jack diddley squat chances of going back and having them changed. Given the nature of the average Joe, we aren’t brave trouble shooters. The first point of failure, we’d sit with it, obsess over it and break heads till we resolve it.

I’ve come across a few blokes.. and lets pause it there. I don’t want to sugar coat the most important point of this blog. I’ve not met many folks who harbour the attitude and inclination to LEARN from a mistake. I’ve met a lot of folks who have expressed explicit desire to get rid of their problem .. Do what it takes to have their bodies whisked away from the line of fire. When crisis comes calling, most want to escape than face it or own it or even learn from it and walk out stronger. I’m not judging. I’m all of that too. I’m some of that too. I’m none of that too. It really depends on where I’ve failed. I have my strengths and some failures, I smile and coast through. Some, I cower and succumb. I’m at least honest about it.

That established, do you see where I’m going with it. The ability to correct a mistake also robs us of the learnings that we stand to gain from it. A woe from the past, the flexibility to change it, we’d sit obsessed to doing what it takes to keep altering the event till we feel that we’ve set things right. And then comes the kicker.

Now what if I told you that failure builds better character than success could ever dream of? Had I not failed in my past, I wouldn’t be half the bloke that I am today. Regrets and disappointments are stocked in my skeleton cupboard but that does not deny the fact that I’ve grown stronger , wiser, better because of my failures.

Going back in time, wanting to change it all , might feel like we are changing the past to change the future. We are and we are not. Fixing the past robs us of the journey of growth that we’d have experienced. In that sense, without lessons picked, we also stand to repeat the same blunders in the future. By changing the past, we are not changing the way of the future.

Then comes the HG Wells view. Time machine, the fictional novel, it talks about a personal tragedy and one man’s futile effort to change it. He does a million things and fails in a million new ways. In the realm of fiction, it makes dramatic sense. In the context of real, It’s simple cause and effect. Without causes, without effects that affect us, we don’t have the capacity to grow as individuals. In effect, the difference between us, as tiny tots and today as adults is a lifetime of lessons and experiences gathered. Without them lesson and experiences , we’d remain the kids that we once were. Only older and with the same sensibilities that we had as a child.

Nobody likes an unpleasant experience or that uneventful memory. It’s not worth hoarding and celebrating. That does not mean that such failures don’t serve a purpose, besides rendering you useless. The simple truth is that things happen. It’s a myth that our actions or lack of them have a say in the occurrence of events. Things happen all the time, with or without your explicit approved blessings. Outcomes are born from those events. How we react , respond, grow is all about the tale called life. We all grow old in numbers but we don’t age the same

My thoughts on the fabled time machine revolved around the desperation to change things from the past. There are other good uses of such travels. We gather insights into how things can be, so we can change and align the present to benefit in the future. All of those actions would definitely catch up in the form of cause and effect. The principle of being a human continues to remain the same. How we react, respond, grow, now that is a constant irrespective of the nature of day that we are talking about. It didn’t change yesterday, it hasn’t changed today. It probably wont change tomorrow.

Karthik