Knowing Self - The Journey - III

To go back to where the thought began, just imagine what my mind would conjure up when something closely relative happens in my life or I hear that somebody else had a certain kind of experience. Whatever that may be, I’d have relatively a large number of opinions or prejudices or perceptions. Of course, I’m lucky I do not indulge in blabbering away those becaus

e another thing that reading teaches or cultivates within a person is the ability to understand that freedom of opinion is a self centered aspect and it involves largely, understanding the person to whom you are portraying the opinion towards. Clint Eastwood mentioned it right when he said “Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one”. Might sound a little coarse but that’s the truth.

You can say so…but, you cannot argue and win so …’cause it’s just an opinion. In fact, opinions should stand as the beginning of a conversation and a discussion instead of being the end of it. You should listen to them and then let the imagination flow from there on wards.

  

But the interesting aspect of writing is that all these opinions – our own as well as somebody else’s can be presented in a manner which is acceptable to all parties concerned. This was a trick essentially; amazingly; unexplained within me. I pop an opinion about something or mention a point of view, the person to whom I partake this goes into a tirade on the dismal nature of my argument and pooh-poohs my theory and lets me know that I’m not worthy of even sheer mention.

I take the same thing write down the complete incident and also harp my opinions and disagreements about the thought add a little bit more due to the argument that took place and then publish it in some godforsaken, murky tabloid anonymously. The guy reads the same crap and later mentions that the subject matter of the article relates with the pow-wow we had. I’m sitting there acting all surprised. “Really!” But this time he says it all makes sense and my point view for him (now that it comes from some other mouth which has no face and has been published) makes all the sense in fact, he says unlike my thought or even his own original thought it has all the bearings of a perfect set solution to whatever the issue was. “Ridiculous!” I kept mum and moved on, as usual.

How is it that I got attracted to poetry? From what I remember it was William Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” and Robert Frost’s great poem "The Road Not Taken". It was not just the poetry but it was the person who first read it out to me and also explained to the intricate details. I was young and everything around me was romantic, loud, happy-go-lucky and boisterous. I wanted a peek into everything and I embraced all expressions with delight. The person who read this out to me was a wonderful woman and a great teacher. She made me sway to the tune of the daffodils. I could easily see those flowers swinging in the wind and so well embedded it is within me that I can still feel the elaborate happiness that it gave me.

“The Road Not Taken” was a masterpiece. Even at that tender age I could fathom the fact that I have just read or heard something really worthwhile, something which I would never ever forget. It’s etched within me. So here goes a part of it:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;      

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

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I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I— I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Then I was glued to Frost, who wouldn't be; that another poem that comes to the fore (of course a million others also might love to quote) is “Miles to go”. An exceedingly pleasing work of art using the simplest of imagery and no grandiose words. Within its simplicity lies its wisdom.

Whose woods these are I think I know. 

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here 

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer 

To stop without a farmhouse near 

Between the woods and frozen lake 

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake 

To ask if there's some mistake. 

The only other sound's the sweep 

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.

Now these are just presented here so that the widening of my mind is understood as I slowly and steadily enter the world of art. My friend Ashish, Dinesh and I had discussed the nature of Francis Bacon’s essays and Oliver Goldsmith’s classic piece of work on Pigs and Chinese cuisine. The discussion about who is great among Shakespeare and Marlowe and the extreme regard for anything which was closely related to Hippie culture was always something which we all looked forward to. Janus Joplin’s famous line “All I wanted to do with my life was get stoned, get laid and have fun” was in the forefront of our minds limited growth. We loved that line we felt one with that line of thinking with a few corollaries added to it. The corollaries made us what we are because it got personalized.

“All I wanted to do with my life was get stoned, get laid, listen to music, read all, travel and blossom for nothing but myself and just myself”

Guess what! We follow it to the T. I do and from what I know the other two also does. 

Knowing Self - The Journey - Books - II

I was amazed and intrigued by every book that I lay my hands upon. Russian Literature impressed me. I was a little bored by Tolstoy earlier in my time, but I loved Gorky and I was crazy about Dostoevsky and still am and shall always be. I was amazed by the way he would explain about his characters. How he built his characters and the way they obeyed his pen. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. The "Crime & Punishment" can only be written by somebody who had a deep observation of the human character. I had read it in one go, it enthralled my wits to understand that the greatest punishment of it all is the human mind for any crime. I read it again and again, and somewhere along the line I realized that the crime took may be about 6-7 pages (not completely sure, but sure that it was less) and the punishment, especially the mental torture almost putting me in pain all through, went on for close 200 odd pages. Stream of consciousness at its best.

I learned and then I began to understand the need to learn everyday and I started devouring every goddamned philosophy or story there was. I was always seeking to understand the writer also. Deep within his own story, I've always understood we can seek the explorer of character. Almost all writers in their own way showed themselves autobiographically and delivered the results for us to fathom the intricacies of the human character and design.

An example of my growth is that "Don Quixote" by Cervantes when I read that the first time and discussed the same with few of friends in school sounded dumb, extremely childish and lousy to the core as a book even if I read the abridged English translation with extreme interest. But when I grew and during my college days when I read the unabridged version again in English but this time forgetting the preconceived notions of other readers whom I know I found that it’s a classic work of art. It shows the frailties, arrogance, piety and vanity of human nature. But it picks us up and shows us the infallible authority of the human mind which can make us believe and achieve.

It was the same with Voltaire's book on Optimism. I forgot the name of the book of the cuff, but I still remember me and my friend laughing away thinking how dumb the whole thing felt. But the truth is exactly different. My people did say then that these are books beyond the measure of the intelligence that I've developed at that particular age. But later on when understanding of the reality among several of such wonderful works of art, I figured it was good of me to have taken that plunge 'cause I knew the measure of development of my own intelligence and intellectual capabilities on the whole.

Kahlil Gibran was a wonderful study. Especially the well edited and amazingly classy "The Prophet". He had a big bent towards eastern philosophy but hell that was good. It rocked me for quite a number of years. Still when I pick it up and go through some the lines, it rejuvenates me. Richard Bach was amazingly precise and profound in his rendition of philosophy by correlating it with his understanding of flying. I've also seen the movie on those birds with Neil Diamond rendering some great music. I did get into the habit of remembering "The Albatross" as well as "Annabel Lee's" dream sequence whenever I read that "bird book" (By now you might have figured I forgot the name of the book) by Bach.

I continued into Sartre, Camus, and Robert Prisig etc and then moved into beat generation where I was more impressed by Bukowski and Jack Kerouac. Then I embraced a bit of Hegel, Einstein, Emily Dickinson, Thoreau, Emerson etc. That’s a nice mix; a little bit of poetry with a lot of philosophy intermingled with existentialism and Science (just to keep myself rational). Now, I can tell you the above might be sounding like "damn - am I geeky". Nope, you got that wrong, I got the right mix when I mingled all of the above with Tintin, Asterix, Jackie Collins, Playboys, History, adventure yarns, travelogues, Readers Digest and Nancy Fridays(just to keep all you guys happy, I've never read a complete one only tits and bits that could be vividly expanded for whatever purposes).

I would continue with my rendition about my development and also the same thought which bought me to write about books in a later post. Remember, digression is normal, because I jump into things just like that and that means I digress just like that. But failure or success, I do go back to where I began and get the pieces together so that it does not look like a jigsaw puzzle. I like it simple, I keep it simple. I mingle, I add, I subtract, I divide and I multiply but I use only ordinary numbers and make it easy to fathom. But the result is always an extended hand towards infinity....no endings.....just continuance...

Knowing Self - The Journey - Books 1

We always begin journeys after some considerations. We all do. I would say, I am really not that kind I just jump into things especially things that I love. Failure or success is a lateral thought I keep that aside. "What’s wrong in trying?" 
My people used to tell me that that is a very wrong notion. Because it’s a risk which we take. And risks are dangerous and sometimes the results are outright awful. That’s the catch; my people were always worried about results, about what others would think and I was the rebellious elder born son who used to do things just for the sake of doing it. Forget the results. Now, if you ask me whether I do think of the results? Yup, I do, but that did not or does not stop me from doing a lot of the things that I did and I shall be doing. The ends do not stop me from working something out with the means. I have been trying to be like that since quite a long time and they are all tired about telling me how it’s bad. So they stopped and I continue...
The result is that my experience is something which I calculate in what I do on a given day and what I've carried further on any given day. All experiences need not be exemplary in its morality or its values. They just need to be experiences - bad or good. Would you have to learn from all of them? Well, I can tell you one thing somethings can be really outright pathetic and may be the whole world would think that’s a lousy way but if you like it lousy or way too awful keep it with you and enjoy every moment of it.
A lot of people have passed me by during my little lifetime that I don't even remember quite clearly each one of them. They are all there somewhere still living, some successful exactly the way the world wants them to be, some others successful but not what the world expected out of them and some others shamefully and regretfully failures the way they never intended it to be. But what I wonder is that why do we or they themselves have to differentiate anything or anybody based on some wondrous idea we generated in our long history or span of so called human growth.
Why can't we be just simple humans? It’s true that we are animals. I completely support that concept. The other day, I was watching "Animal Planet" and there was this program about Lions. They just go about their business. The females of the species have a pride to take care and they do that. Some days they are successful, some days utter failures. Here, when I say failures it means they do not have food for that given day. Now that is exhausting in a jungle especially when you are the king out there - on top of the food chain. But the pride sticks together and they stick together not to allow any other lonely pregnant lioness to be part of the pride. There idea is simple, it's a tough world (understand) but it’s also important to understand the economics of food. They can manage a big pride but no extras. Live and Let live but no concessions. We call them "Wild animals". Bah!!
But consider ourselves - humans, its way too dismal. We are worse than the wild animals. A group of people taking care of each other would complain and rant on the possibilities that were missed and not taken. They would cut each others throats and kick out at each other on every opportune failure from anyone within the group. Forget outside of the group that does not even exist. It’s just a mundane existence where what matters is just one's own self. We are considered social animals. We are not even close. I sometimes, feel that our problem is that we can think and that the mind can conjure up a million ways of figuring out a load of stuff, and most of that conjuring seems to be not very worthwhile in terms of the larger good.
Anyway, coming back to knowing of the self, me being human and social and all, my exposure with books and what I am has been designed due to the presence of books in my life. I began, I still remember with comics: Phantom, Mandrake, Bahadur (Indian), Superman, Spiderman and the works. I never felt even once that I wanted to become any of those super characters. Instead I always loved the way they went about their lives. I mean their homes, their girls, their dog etc all those aspects were cool to me. Then I moved to Secret Seven, Famous Five, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys blah blah blah. The next growing up stage was "Three Investigators". Hell, that changed my attitude towards books. I loved the way Jupiter Jones would think and how sensible even Pete (I hope that was his name) was. I loved the introductory element of having Hitchcock write something in the preface, I reckon. That was brilliant content management. I loved the idea, now that I think, it is brilliant way to bring me into the set-up because there was this massive aura about Hitchcock and he being the person introducing the story went a long way, at least, one me and my impressions. I reckon, my obsession with Jupiter Jones began due to that introductory aspect.
By the time "Three Investigators" was on I was thinking the "secret seven's and famous five's and Hardy's" were all absolute crap. Then one of the guys in my school introduced me to some Sidney Sheldon. Waoh! Now there was sex involved and that took up quite a bit of my time. I mean I loved every bit of it. The excitement of reading some cowboy "Louis L'amour" stuff and then switching to Irving Wallace, Ludlum, Forsyth and hell what not. How can I forget Perry Mason and Agatha Christie in this list? And, guess what I was hell bent on covering up all the books. I was keen on reading everything they have written. Then one day I found that they almost write the same thing over and over again, in different methods, vaguely different ways and we love the excitement of something which does not give us any answers. We just love the excitement of not wanting to think beyond. Just the matter written on those light brown pages, take them exactly by their face value. I could not relate with any of those people, those characters (except the guys who had a chick in bed anytime they talked - wonderment {how the hell!}. I was not confused or loosing it or anything of that sorts. But I started to hate the crap that the paperbacks were delivering.
Then started the development. I was introduced to Dostoevsky, Kafka, Russel, Sartre, Kazantzakis, Kant, and Shakespeare. I began to read poetry - Neruda (to impress the girls), T.S.Eliot (For myself), and Robert Browning etc. Satire - George Orwell was very impressive...

Pharrell Williams - Happy (Official Music Video)

Find Self...

Your story is all about crossing the horizon, passing the bend on the road, singing songs that you have never heard before, crossing the seas to see purple sunsets, going over the hill so as to find another one to climb, rowing away as the sun shows the way to places that most dare not even tread.. that is you.

You! you don't just want to know, you want to see and smell and feel, if possible touch, even the paint used...You want to know and feel and be,on how it feels to wake up on a man's chest and feel his heavy breathing and snuggle up his shoulders just to let him know that you would love him until the end of time and that broad chest and shoulders are all but yours to know of.

Once more on to the beach, dear friends, she may scream (all the movies that she may have watched by then, hopefully)... but she would never wanna be near one, she would never wanna know how it feels to hold her best friend's head on her lap and see her gasp for her last breath looking only to her for help, she may never wanna know how it feels to fail everyday and yet get up and place a smile and go back to doing what you are doing in a choice less world where the war is within oneself, she may never wanna know what it feels for a lady to pick a homeless orphan and see him cry looking longingly into her eyes as if there is no tomorrow..

You! you feel for most things moving, you want to be there, you want to embrace all that makes up life, not just listen or read stories...You are too grown up within of you, your age seldom speaks, your mind seldom falters but you are not grown up enough to fathom as to what a li'l fella whom you love can do to make your life a living hell just 'cause he thinks he is in love with you... seek answers from within of yourself, seek answers from the crevices of your mind, your heart and your soul.. now you have most of them left with you..soon a day may arrive when not much of all that matters would be left with you and that would be the rape of a soul which could have really moved a million others, a repository of goodness which would wither inside the tantrums of another's obsession.

On Selfishness and Indolence

Don't I love to be a slave to the inept attitudes
Don't I like to sit saddled on a wooden frame
                                   crouched within a world of my own

As the lights change colors on the use of the remote
                                    the dark solitude surrounds me
and I'm bound to my selfishness
the milkman straddles down to the door
                          I wait until the dawn settles within the confines
I gather myself in paces,the remote still hanging to my fingers
                      I'm ensconced in my dull, lethargic mass of flesh

where has the optimism of life withered
where did I loose the symptoms of acknowledgement
Are we not adding reason to the disbelief's

Did we pass the ram-shackled quarters in disdain?
Are we not supposed to look within?
                                    Have we deep within us lost the humaneness?
                                   Are we dour and indolent to the mass ineptitude?
Lest we think, let us forget and...

                              Let us watch the sunset and cuddle up once more in our oneness
                              let us loose the world outside to its grief and wanderings
                              let us create a nest of love and nothing but love
                              let us partake only in our own agonies and ecstasies

My withered wisdom has imparted me nothing today
another day of indolence and solitude does not surprise me
I've tasted the forbearing fruit of lazy boredom
it has its own delightful elegance ....

On Kids

I had the quaint opportunity to witness something really memorable in my early morning walk today.
A kid in a nearby slum about 5-6 years old was on his tiny little bicycle riding away at the best possible speed that he can. The mother screamed from inside of her dwelling some place as to where the hell is he thinking he is going. Prompt came the reply that he is going to the shit joint to do what he needs to do in the morning. Mom retorted " on the bicycle' and the kid hollered back that it allows me to reach the place early and also get back fast.

It was quaint because he was a scrawny little fella and he already seemed to have a great sense of practical humor. The ability to pick up the bike and travel to the shit joint which is about a a few hundred meters away and then his retort making his mom giggle made my day. Kept a smile on my face for the whole time.

I have a friend who keeps bringing a smile on my face whether it is over chat or a phone call. whatever the situation and the environment around she would always be buoyant in her spirits and yet always considerate about what is going on.

It is easy for the kid to do what he did and I have seen kids come up with amazing one liners that no copy writer or author can ever fathom. In fact art copies real life. It is great to listen to kids. On an earlier occasion I had mentioned about the advertisements that TV keeps doling out. The kids lap it up and come up with perceptions of their own. They would talk about it. We Indians have a habit of repetition in our language. One of the kids was expressing his disgust on complaints to parents and said please do not complain-shamplain about this matter...and the other kid who was told this, retorted quite firmly, "I understand complain and I would not be doing it but what the hell is 'shamplain' . Things like these are quite common among kids. Their positive energy is infectious. They see everything in the light of now. There is nothing else that matters. The ability to stay in the now and recourse your actions based on the current incidents and scenarios without worrying where it is going to take them, makes for a great human spirit in a relative sense. Dig deeper and yes there are flaws in that too.

But the primal human nature is necessarily to be free willed and free spirited, to be one with nature and enjoy in the partaking of this brilliant celebration called life. Of course, we have complicated this whole easy going wonderful way of life to something of a quagmire that we cannot seem to untangle from. The need for positivism in speech, thought and action emanates from the fact that we have crumpled ourselves into the deep throes of painstaking wants and needs that do us no good than bring in more wants and needs. This imbroglio we pass on to our kids and further to our grand kids and keeps going on and on.

But the primal tendencies showcases itself whenever we witness a kid in action. It is pure pleasure to watch and listen and learn from these minuscule brilliance of a creation with its insurmountable, unconscious love for life.  

Listening to them is a gas, at all times and sometimes, they could be this small monsters but still cute and funny...

" I like these holes on electric things, it makes me want to place my fingers in them" - Curiosity

"There is a monster behind the door, I can here the sounds he is making" - Imagination

" That bike is good, look at the number of girls who love it" - I dunno what this is exactly hopefully it is that the kid is going to be straight - I am not anti gay or anti- LGBT community, but I would like it if the kid I love is straight

"Grandfather was young then he became old and with graying hair, now he will die, then papa you would become old and graying, then you will die and grandmother also looks like she will die soon, but momma would be there with me forever" - Matter of fact, clarity and love

Adding further after a few seconds of thinking "You would not gray Papa, I think you will not have any hair. you already do not have any" - precise in observation and dagger to the heart straight forwardness.

On the question of vegetables and having a vegetarian burger: with mom asking the question " How come you eat this burger, it is vegetarian and you do not have any vegetarian food I make at home" Pat comes the reply "If you make vegetarian food like this, I will surely have it" - And the truth shall prevail.