Who is the doer?
You walk up to the subway station. You see people bustling about. They are walking.
Imagine two scenarios. One where a lion is absent from the middle of the platform, and one where there is a lion in the middle of the platform. The behavior of the people will undoubtedly be different.
It is not only the people that walk. That think. That act. The environment contributes a lot to their being and doings and in fact is not separate from any of them.
Should we continue to destroy/ignore ourselves?
You walk up to the subway station. You see people bustling about. They are walking.
Imagine two scenarios. One where a lion is absent from the middle of the platform, and one where there is a lion in the middle of the platform. The behavior of the people will undoubtedly be different.
It is not only the people that walk. That think. That act. The environment contributes a lot to their being and doings and in fact is not separate from any of them.
Should we continue to destroy/ignore ourselves?
In the elevator
After one reaches twenty five, one should celebrate one's eightieth birthday the following year. People should give you walkers for gifts, perhaps some waterproof flip -flops and a cane.
I wish that people would celebrate my next birthday in this manner. I would wish for nothing more, especially after having seen the truth via two incidents.
I was on the elevator. There was this really old woman standing next to me. She had wrinkles growing out of the pores of her skin. I was careful not to sneeze in case she got blown away. I imagined her disintegrating into little specks of dust. I looked frantically at the elevator console wising for a button that speeds the contraption making it go down faster. There wasn’t. I looked at her wondering if she had the mental strength to stretch every moment during this period of futility and do something constructive…something that she had always wanted to do. She didn’t look like she was doing any such thing, even though time was fast running out for her (and this is not callous, the official position of this blog is that death is something that ought to be welcomed).
And then this morning I saw an old man on the corner of two streets. He was a spitting image of one of my friends, who is full of fears and very confused at this stage of his nascent life. I shifted my friend forward in time and imagined him thirty years from now. The mind I saw was one that was full of regrets, bitter rancid thoughts at a youth that had been habitually confined, so that free thinking actions had lost the ability to dance about.
These two incidents have convinced me of one thing. The key to do more is to believe that you are very old and not yet ready for death. Then act.
Why act? Gandhi has two reasons. To be the expert in your field. Or to serve people and things around you selflessly. I think that they both are essentially one and the same, as long as you have the supreme confidence to shred all veils of secrecy from all of your actions.
After one reaches twenty five, one should celebrate one's eightieth birthday the following year. People should give you walkers for gifts, perhaps some waterproof flip -flops and a cane.
I wish that people would celebrate my next birthday in this manner. I would wish for nothing more, especially after having seen the truth via two incidents.
I was on the elevator. There was this really old woman standing next to me. She had wrinkles growing out of the pores of her skin. I was careful not to sneeze in case she got blown away. I imagined her disintegrating into little specks of dust. I looked frantically at the elevator console wising for a button that speeds the contraption making it go down faster. There wasn’t. I looked at her wondering if she had the mental strength to stretch every moment during this period of futility and do something constructive…something that she had always wanted to do. She didn’t look like she was doing any such thing, even though time was fast running out for her (and this is not callous, the official position of this blog is that death is something that ought to be welcomed).
And then this morning I saw an old man on the corner of two streets. He was a spitting image of one of my friends, who is full of fears and very confused at this stage of his nascent life. I shifted my friend forward in time and imagined him thirty years from now. The mind I saw was one that was full of regrets, bitter rancid thoughts at a youth that had been habitually confined, so that free thinking actions had lost the ability to dance about.
These two incidents have convinced me of one thing. The key to do more is to believe that you are very old and not yet ready for death. Then act.
Why act? Gandhi has two reasons. To be the expert in your field. Or to serve people and things around you selflessly. I think that they both are essentially one and the same, as long as you have the supreme confidence to shred all veils of secrecy from all of your actions.
No bread, eat cake
Gandhi was not the biggest fan of buffets. He said that especially in an Indian context, the wedding feasts where guests (and uninvited people) pat their bellies and line up for second helpings of desert were criminal, given that so many people die of hunger on a regular basis.
Hence, I am sure that were he alive today, he would have declined the invitation to the birthday party of Mayawati, Chief Minister of Bihar yesterday. Not because it was freezing and so many people had just lost their lives in a cold wave. Gandhi would have served the poor. He would drawn attention to the root cause of the problem and questioned the lack of basic amenities in the state. There would have perhaps been a fast and the media would spread his news all around the world. The temperature would have little to do with Gandhi's refusal to attend the birthday party. Common decency would have been the major motivation.
He would have balked at the news that the chief minister of Bihar "laden with diamond jewelry" cut a cake weighing 51 kilograms yesterday. The costs of celebrating her birthday ran to millions of dollars. This is the same state where the previous chief minister embezzled millions of dollars for purchasing huge quantities of fodder for imaginary (or oversexed, highly reproductive) cattle. When jailed (which was a miracle), he continued to run the government from jail via cell phone. In captivity he was accorded the greatest luxuries. If Bihar is one of the poorest states in India today, then one has to only cast a look at the general attitude of callousness and lack of community benefit that has taken root in the government officials and the populace.
It would be easy to say that the fault lies with the common man in Bihar, who even when well to do, travels on the roof of the train without paying for the ticket. The person who sells Fanta in a Coke bottle and when questioned insists that it is the fault of the company. After all, in a democracy, isn’t the elected leader just a public face of the people? Bakers elected Marie Antoniette. (Although in some cases the electorate is well versed in the art of eating pretzels, they are the exceptions that prove the rule).
There is little to be gained by pointing fingers, for it is not one of those problems that will disappear once the culprit is apprehended.
I heard a joke recently where the Prime Minster of Japan visits resource rich Bihar. “Give me Bihar for a year, he says, “ and I shall make it like Japan.” The chief minister responds, “Give me Japan for a day, and I will make it like Bihar.” I don’t know if this true or not. I don’t know what the solution is. If you notice this blog has meandered around like an indecisive gypsy. This is one of those issues that are like a very, very large onion. Layers and all. One thing is for sure though. No more jokes. No more indulgence in the form of laughter. Sure, it is cute when a chief minister places an air conditioner in his jail cell and goes about his daily business with the same demeanor of rustic humor and simplicity. But it is not very funny, when this ignorance takes on other forms and results in the hanging (or boiling alive, depends on the water availability) of people based on their caste.
The next step? I can only think of a child. A school. And a syllabus of some merit.
Gandhi was not the biggest fan of buffets. He said that especially in an Indian context, the wedding feasts where guests (and uninvited people) pat their bellies and line up for second helpings of desert were criminal, given that so many people die of hunger on a regular basis.
Hence, I am sure that were he alive today, he would have declined the invitation to the birthday party of Mayawati, Chief Minister of Bihar yesterday. Not because it was freezing and so many people had just lost their lives in a cold wave. Gandhi would have served the poor. He would drawn attention to the root cause of the problem and questioned the lack of basic amenities in the state. There would have perhaps been a fast and the media would spread his news all around the world. The temperature would have little to do with Gandhi's refusal to attend the birthday party. Common decency would have been the major motivation.
He would have balked at the news that the chief minister of Bihar "laden with diamond jewelry" cut a cake weighing 51 kilograms yesterday. The costs of celebrating her birthday ran to millions of dollars. This is the same state where the previous chief minister embezzled millions of dollars for purchasing huge quantities of fodder for imaginary (or oversexed, highly reproductive) cattle. When jailed (which was a miracle), he continued to run the government from jail via cell phone. In captivity he was accorded the greatest luxuries. If Bihar is one of the poorest states in India today, then one has to only cast a look at the general attitude of callousness and lack of community benefit that has taken root in the government officials and the populace.
It would be easy to say that the fault lies with the common man in Bihar, who even when well to do, travels on the roof of the train without paying for the ticket. The person who sells Fanta in a Coke bottle and when questioned insists that it is the fault of the company. After all, in a democracy, isn’t the elected leader just a public face of the people? Bakers elected Marie Antoniette. (Although in some cases the electorate is well versed in the art of eating pretzels, they are the exceptions that prove the rule).
There is little to be gained by pointing fingers, for it is not one of those problems that will disappear once the culprit is apprehended.
I heard a joke recently where the Prime Minster of Japan visits resource rich Bihar. “Give me Bihar for a year, he says, “ and I shall make it like Japan.” The chief minister responds, “Give me Japan for a day, and I will make it like Bihar.” I don’t know if this true or not. I don’t know what the solution is. If you notice this blog has meandered around like an indecisive gypsy. This is one of those issues that are like a very, very large onion. Layers and all. One thing is for sure though. No more jokes. No more indulgence in the form of laughter. Sure, it is cute when a chief minister places an air conditioner in his jail cell and goes about his daily business with the same demeanor of rustic humor and simplicity. But it is not very funny, when this ignorance takes on other forms and results in the hanging (or boiling alive, depends on the water availability) of people based on their caste.
The next step? I can only think of a child. A school. And a syllabus of some merit.
Wanted: me
Once upon a time not so long ago,
When people wore pajamas and lived life slow.
That's what I was jamming to last evening. I must have been grooving, because it was only after a while that I finally sensed my name was being shouted in increasing decibels of intensity.
"Could you stop tapping?" I looked at my errant fingers. Somehow they had gotten away from me and were creating their own rhythm, skin against trackpad.
She had that typical white American, "Look now buddy, I am frank by disposition and hence request you to stop exploiting/violating/disturbing me." Actually, that is a very wrong thing for me to say. There is no need to split this request along ethnic lines. I was tapping; she is the type of person who does not like tapping. That's all there is to it.
My reaction was to say sorry, smile, say, "Have a nice tap free evening", smile some more and leave. But in my heart I did bear her a little ill will. I started jotting her defects mentally and noted how she never answered the phone when the receptionist was absent. Plus she kept gossiping all day, and if man had not invented earphones and poets didn't rap or rock, I would be a mess.
No more excuses. Let us stop beating round the bush and make a frank confession. I was wrong to assume that the magic of my earphone filled world could be permeated to all people and things external merely through my fingers. So not only should I be sorry, but also have absolutely no reason or right to bear her ill will.
I find this impossible to do. After all, she has pointed out a flaw in me. An individual entity full of grand designs, hope and aspirations.
Why is so difficult to see that there is really no such thing as “me”? The same God that is in me is also in her. God has just taken on different forms just to spice things up a little. He has a life too and takes on all these manifestations to avoid getting bored. If she insults me, then she is also insulting herself and the rest of humanity to boot. I fact, all it really means, that one entity has cast aspersions on itself, which is really nothing more than introspection. This incident is nothing more than a throwback to the days of Maya and serves to keep the grand Shakespearean drama going.
Even if you don’t go to the theater, there is still no reason to piss on Broadway.
Once upon a time not so long ago,
When people wore pajamas and lived life slow.
That's what I was jamming to last evening. I must have been grooving, because it was only after a while that I finally sensed my name was being shouted in increasing decibels of intensity.
"Could you stop tapping?" I looked at my errant fingers. Somehow they had gotten away from me and were creating their own rhythm, skin against trackpad.
She had that typical white American, "Look now buddy, I am frank by disposition and hence request you to stop exploiting/violating/disturbing me." Actually, that is a very wrong thing for me to say. There is no need to split this request along ethnic lines. I was tapping; she is the type of person who does not like tapping. That's all there is to it.
My reaction was to say sorry, smile, say, "Have a nice tap free evening", smile some more and leave. But in my heart I did bear her a little ill will. I started jotting her defects mentally and noted how she never answered the phone when the receptionist was absent. Plus she kept gossiping all day, and if man had not invented earphones and poets didn't rap or rock, I would be a mess.
No more excuses. Let us stop beating round the bush and make a frank confession. I was wrong to assume that the magic of my earphone filled world could be permeated to all people and things external merely through my fingers. So not only should I be sorry, but also have absolutely no reason or right to bear her ill will.
I find this impossible to do. After all, she has pointed out a flaw in me. An individual entity full of grand designs, hope and aspirations.
Why is so difficult to see that there is really no such thing as “me”? The same God that is in me is also in her. God has just taken on different forms just to spice things up a little. He has a life too and takes on all these manifestations to avoid getting bored. If she insults me, then she is also insulting herself and the rest of humanity to boot. I fact, all it really means, that one entity has cast aspersions on itself, which is really nothing more than introspection. This incident is nothing more than a throwback to the days of Maya and serves to keep the grand Shakespearean drama going.
Even if you don’t go to the theater, there is still no reason to piss on Broadway.
What's not on my resume, but should be
In the forest, a lion was feasting on a jackal. Not that the jackal had done anything wrong, it was just the circle of life. The lion was eating the jackal with great abandon without much thought to any part of his dinner's anatomy in particular. After the lion had had its fill it walked away, leaving the remainder for the vultures.
The princess of the kingdom that the jungle was located in had lost a ring. The next day, some investigators finally deduced that the jackal had eaten the ring. Since they had forgotten to carry their ouija boards and could not communicate with the jackal, they went to the lion. We are looking for a small ring, Mr. Lion they said. Did you happen to notice a ring in the course of your meal? However, the lion had eaten without paying any attention and didn't want to sound lost, what with him being the king of the jungle and all that. No, he said, there was no ring.
Now, this is not a lie. It is a guess. But the moral of the story is that to be truly truthful (the most important quality of a non-violent soldier), one has to do everything with great care.
It would be nice to have "detail oriented" on that resume.
In the forest, a lion was feasting on a jackal. Not that the jackal had done anything wrong, it was just the circle of life. The lion was eating the jackal with great abandon without much thought to any part of his dinner's anatomy in particular. After the lion had had its fill it walked away, leaving the remainder for the vultures.
The princess of the kingdom that the jungle was located in had lost a ring. The next day, some investigators finally deduced that the jackal had eaten the ring. Since they had forgotten to carry their ouija boards and could not communicate with the jackal, they went to the lion. We are looking for a small ring, Mr. Lion they said. Did you happen to notice a ring in the course of your meal? However, the lion had eaten without paying any attention and didn't want to sound lost, what with him being the king of the jungle and all that. No, he said, there was no ring.
Now, this is not a lie. It is a guess. But the moral of the story is that to be truly truthful (the most important quality of a non-violent soldier), one has to do everything with great care.
It would be nice to have "detail oriented" on that resume.
God is your friend
Now that we are well into the New Year, it is that time of the year when a young man, looks within himself, then towards the heavens, unfolds his collar over his neck, draws up his sleeves and says, "This is that time of the year when I shall update the blog on a daily basis."
By daily, I mean one thing. Daily.
For last year, this blog took a day off during Sunday. Not anymore. If God wants to rest let him/her. He/she has worked very hard all these years. On the contrary I have much catching up to do. Sunday postings shall be full of church ruminations such as, “Why do people get angry when a baby cries in church, is it because they are in a quest for something?”
Speaking of church, it has added a whole new facet to my life. We are in an era, where founding principles of even science are called Heizenberg’s uncertainty principle and the like. So how can we justify reason and rationale in our day-to-day existence, which to say the least is chockfull of conflicting, unpredictable factors. We must make a leap of faith.
What is an effective way to do this? Imagination always gets dulled when mixed with purpose. Before we know it, we shall be selfish, hateful and petty again. Ourselves. The way to get around this is to have an icon to keep in the mind. It could be the purposeful face of Jesus. Or the serene aura of the Buddha. Someone who enters your body in times of crisis and says, “Go for it. Do it. I am watching you.”
Hence, I find it silly when they ask us to fear the Lord in church. Why must we be scared of our one true companion? Should we not look upon him/her as our friend? Someone to confide in? Someone we can show our weaknesses to?
Jesus is my friend. If he were my boss or someone to fear, would I waste precious weekend time in furthering his acquaintance?
Now that we are well into the New Year, it is that time of the year when a young man, looks within himself, then towards the heavens, unfolds his collar over his neck, draws up his sleeves and says, "This is that time of the year when I shall update the blog on a daily basis."
By daily, I mean one thing. Daily.
For last year, this blog took a day off during Sunday. Not anymore. If God wants to rest let him/her. He/she has worked very hard all these years. On the contrary I have much catching up to do. Sunday postings shall be full of church ruminations such as, “Why do people get angry when a baby cries in church, is it because they are in a quest for something?”
Speaking of church, it has added a whole new facet to my life. We are in an era, where founding principles of even science are called Heizenberg’s uncertainty principle and the like. So how can we justify reason and rationale in our day-to-day existence, which to say the least is chockfull of conflicting, unpredictable factors. We must make a leap of faith.
What is an effective way to do this? Imagination always gets dulled when mixed with purpose. Before we know it, we shall be selfish, hateful and petty again. Ourselves. The way to get around this is to have an icon to keep in the mind. It could be the purposeful face of Jesus. Or the serene aura of the Buddha. Someone who enters your body in times of crisis and says, “Go for it. Do it. I am watching you.”
Hence, I find it silly when they ask us to fear the Lord in church. Why must we be scared of our one true companion? Should we not look upon him/her as our friend? Someone to confide in? Someone we can show our weaknesses to?
Jesus is my friend. If he were my boss or someone to fear, would I waste precious weekend time in furthering his acquaintance?
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