On Purpose and Community

Very broadly speaking, one's ability to feel fulfilled and happy in life is tied to two things:

1. Purpose - understanding, accepting, and following that which brings purpose and meaning to one's life; constantly pursuing "projects" to keep one engaged and stimulated.

2. Community - establishing a social circle - be it big or small. We are social creatures that need the company of fellow beings, no matter how reclusive we claim to be. Often times, the community around you is essential to feed your purpose, and to feel connected to something bigger than yourself. It is a means to look beyond yourself, to receive and give both tangible and intangible things that all add up to your overall well-being and happiness. 

I believe both of these things come together in one's definition of self-worth. Sometimes, you need one more than the other. Sometimes, you need to renew, reset, recharge, or reinvent your purpose or community, and it is a painful process. Especially as one grows older, or goes through major life changes like retirement or the loss of one's spouse, it's an extended community, the company of people around you that enables you to reinvent a sense of purpose by first cultivating a renewed sense of belonging. 

I often think it is plain luck and a blessing to be surrounded by people who foster positivity and love. These two wonderful books reiterate the value of recognizing and appreciating the blessing of loving people around you. Even when all seems grim, or without meaning, the right kinds of people around you will inspire you to find meaning, joy, and color in life. 

I loved both these books for their quirky wit and satire, the charming characters, and the simple but evocative writing. Both Fikry and Ove are similar protagonists in terms of their overall temperament. Ove especially reminds me of people in my life - crusty curmudgeons with a tender soul.  

I recommend these books for a feel-good read that also encourages you to think more deeply about the people in your life.

Reflections: The Goldfinch

After a really long time, a book caught me in its throes and wrung me out in the best way possible. 

When the dust settled down after the hype, and after my husband's fervent recommendation, I began reading this tome of a book with its intimidating size and intriguing premise surrounding an orphaned boy and a masterpiece of a painting. A painting plays an important role in the coming of age story of an orphaned boy? I think this apparent absurdity is what pushes one to get past the first few slow moving chapters. The author compels the reader into curiosity and establishes a firm investment in the boy's chaotic life. 

Let the size of the book not intimidate you. Once you get sucked in, you will wade and swim through it fast enough, because there are many questions - practical and philosophical - you want answered. And it's a refreshing bout of relief when nothing is left hanging to the reader's interpretation like most award-winning-cerebral books are wont to do. Everything is wrapped and tied, and concluded in the most practical and philosophical way possible. It left both my heart and mind satisfied and replete. If you are wondering how a book can end on seemingly contradictory notes of practicality and philosophy - that's where the book gets its well-deserved recognition and merit. 

"sometimes bad things need to happen to bring about something good in the end"

"sometimes good things lead to bad things"

We all react to life and its tragedies and triumphs in markedly different ways. But, during each phase, what we are fighting for is the desperate need to establish and find meaning, to attribute meaning to something instead of nothing, and to hold onto an anchor of support, a coping mechanism to help us stay afloat. How we establish meaning, and to what we cling onto as anchors/coping mechanism is up to the individual. Viewed from this basic truth, rights and wrongs, good and bad, have little relevance. Viewed from a detached and high-level perspective, the characterizations of actions/motivations seem insignificant in relation to the picture that emerges; all the numerous deeds and events transform to mere stitches and knots and zigzagging threads of colors when we step back and view the big picture of the tapestry that came together because of them. In the end, it's the forest, never the trees. Does it matter whether we followed an invisible (but existent) pattern, or if a pattern emerged incidentally?

We can try very hard to do the right thing to someone (and to ourselves), but that may not help that person find stability and meaning in their lives, because what "ought to be done" is never objective. Each person finds their own truth, or a version of the truth that they can live with. We weave our own realities, lay down structures with things that provide meaning to us. 

Some striking quotes that pulled together everything for me:

"How can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet - for me, anyway - all that's worth living for lies in that charm?"

"...I've come to realize there's no truth beyond illusion. Because, between reality on one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there's a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And - I would argue as well - all love."

"And just as the music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of colors across the sky - so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime"

"Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair."

Really interesting characters, compelling writing, and universal themes that are cohesively brought together in a unique context. Highly recommended read. 

Accumulating Little Joys

In the several millions and billions of moments that life encompasses (if we are so lucky), it is reasonable to expect happiness to only be bursts of moments than a constant flow. For it is almost psychologically impossible for us to be in a prolonged state of happiness (or sadness) before habituation sets in, and we no longer recognize or experience the emotion (kind of like walking into a perfume store and our olfactory senses becoming inured to the scents until everything is neutralized)

Then, it is reasonable for us to calibrate more achievable expectations towards what constitutes as happiness. If even our greatest achievements can only give us a small set of finite moments of happiness, then pursuing ambitions for the sake of happiness seems futile (Self-fulfillment is a different category)

 

So, it follows that accumulating little joys through the course of our day is a better way to infuse those bursts of good moments in our everyday lives. Fitting simple pleasures and joys into those many many small moments seems more tangible than wanting to win a Nobel Prize to be truly "happy". 

 

If we take care to notice, indulge, or pause from the constant running, there are endless things around us to bring joy, pleasure, or a moment of peace and contentment. Once something like that is noticed - like an unexpected rainbow arching across a bridge, pause and fill your senses with the beauty of the moment. Meditate and immerse into that moment, appreciate every shade and angle of the rainbow, the magnificence of the man-made structure towering to meet the colors, the clouds, the birds, the sun, the noises.... everything. A moment of joy could even be spotting a beautiful and elegant line of logic in a co-worker's code/writing. We often notice so many such little things that appeal and strike us, but we are quick to move on... so quick to dismiss the sunburst of light that they bring. What an irony that we should dwell so very much on the inverse of such things - a slight hint of rudeness, set-down, or disappointment. We immerse ourselves into every shade and nuance (imagined, extrapolated, and exaggerated), relive it so many times until reality blurs and takes on a new shape.

In the pursuit of accumulating little moments of joy that build through the day, I hope to dwell more on the joys, and dust, dismiss, and move on from the negativity as quickly as possible. For, happiness is achievable in small tangible doses, regardless of our bigger, intractable circumstances.

Linger in the joy of a well-brewed cup of tea, the tinkle of your new bright bangle, the warmth of your colleague, the courtesy of a driver, the beauty of the mountains around, the calming scent of the new candle, the innocent question of a child, the perfect comfort of your own bed, the loving voice of your mother, an unexpected compliment from a stranger, the lovely shade of your recent toe-polish, the satisfaction of a well-cooked meal, the endless stars on a cloudless night, etc. etc.

Will I be living a delusional life filled with dopamine hits I get from vivid colors, music, and thoughts? Then, so be it! May all my six senses forage for everything bright and beautiful. 

 

Better a happy lunatic than a miserable intellect!

Coming into your own

This year I vow to feel the refreshing liberation of taking responsibility for my own happiness. It took time, but I may be finally coming into my own. 

A realization I have made is that life's lessons are unfortunately terribly cliched. And everyone has already talked, written, and theorized everything to death and beyond. But the true magic is in experiencing and coming to realize the enlightened truth for yourself. Give yourself time to experience life in all its forms. Be a part of all experiences - good, bad, and the ugly.
 Herman Hesse and many other wise souls have already advocated this philosophy.

As much as I would never wish anyone to go through ugly/bad phases in life, the terrible truth is that ugliness reveals the stark clarity of so many truths. Everything gets distilled and viewed through a sharp prism of reality. It makes you realize what is worth living and all the many many things/people/circumstances that are unworthier than a speck of dust. 

Live for yourself first. Never be dependent on others for affection, love, or happiness. Find ways to bring yourself happiness. Only then are you equipped to reflect and shine that positive light onto others.  There is much joy in spreading joy, but you should first cultivate it within yourself to enable the distribution. 

Learn to love yourself first. Everything seems to fall into place once you are able to find value in yourself. If you are unsure of your worth, don't expect anyone else to affirm it for you. Nobody ought to, and nobody will. The peace and joy that come from embracing and realizing your own worth is priceless. Consequently, when you come into your own, and live your life in accordance with your true self, you invite only kindred souls into your sphere. Those that see your true self may choose to love you for who you truly are. 

Nothing is unconditional, most specifically, love. All relationships - friendships, filial/familial, marriage - are based on a contract of giving something and receiving something in return. If the balance is upset, the relationship crumbles. 

If "Y" is expected to be received in a relationship, but you are unable to provide it, accept that it will always be an imbalance, a void, a bitter hollow. You cannot fill it or substitute with a million different types of "Xs, Zs, As, Bs, Ts, Fs, Ls, Rs, Ws or Qs". You will only end up weary and scraped raw from your efforts. 

Romance exists only in fairy tales. Life is about multiple contracts you make with the people you meet. Some contracts fail, some are successful. It has nothing to do with your innate self, and everything to do with the terms of the contract. Therefore, don't hesitate to know what you want, and demand what you want before committing to give anything to anyone.

When you are considering doing something "right" for the sake of upholding a principle that essentially involves shooting yourself in the foot - pause. It's okay to be self-preserving in such a scenario. Never try to do something "right" when you are sure to suffer the consequences alone for the rest of your life. If you don't stand up for yourself, no one will. Self-sacrfice and martyrdom must be reserved for truly significant issues. 

Self-actualization is empowering and beautiful. Do not ever shade it in negativity. 

Accept that life is unfair. The world is chaotic and ruthless. Selfishness is intrinsic to the very rhythm of this universe, and in every breath of survival. Embracing this reality, boldly exercise your right to actualize your self, to strive for your own happiness, to demand and go after what you want, to find meaning and worth in your own self. You may not be successful all the time or in every measure, but that's okay. It's better to strive and fail in some ways than to conform, contort and mold yourself to a version of "who you are supposed to be".

Give the ever-judgemental society in which we live the metaphorical middle-finger by living true to yourself, by reveling in the contentment of such an honest existence. Internal resonance is music to the soul.

Expect nothing from others. Instead, expect and extract everything from within your own vast reserves of self.

Memorable Non-Fiction Reads of 2014

Continuing from where I left off in my previous post, I actually did manage to read a few non-fiction books - cover to cover - and that's saying something. About the books, that is. So among the few that I read, I recommend the below two books.
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Ever since I heard the author's interview on NPR, I knew I was going to read the book. His unassuming humility and enthusiasm for his work is something to aspire for. This book is a collection of all his research findings and insights; his career packaged in an engaging read.

Anyone that's interested in evolution and human biology would find this book interesting and fascinating. There's much to learn and absorb, especially regarding the mysteries of human reproduction and early parenting. It might frustrate some that there are hardly any solid conclusions or answers, but just a very careful discussion of experiments and facts that separate correlation from causality - sometimes painstakingly. If you are a researcher, you would appreciate it. But regardless of anything, your appreciation and wonder for the miracle of life and the mind-boggling complexity surrounding it would only grow upon reading this book.
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Oliver Sacks and his books need no introduction.

Music plays a special role in most of our lives. And sometimes we wonder what role it plays in human evolution. Why does it bring so much happiness and comfort? How do we pull out compositions from the brain and store different notes in the abstractness of our neurons? Why and how do the arrangement of some notes bring so much harmony and appeal? etc.

I expected this book to answer some of these questions, but instead it was a collection of anecdotes of Sacks's interactions with patients who suddenly and (supposedly inexplicably) developed an unusual talent and interest in music after a traumatic brain-related injury, and those with special conditions that perceived music in completely unexpected, different ways. The medical cases and stories were interesting, and they further provide evidence that creativity and talent depend primarily on how our brain cells get wired and connected. I am not sure how I feel about that. Should I literally hope to be struck by lightning so that my brain rearranges itself a little, and I can paint and sing better?

In any case, this was a good read, and if you are interested in music and the brain, you would find this book worth your time.

Memorable Books of 2014

Last year was an interesting reading year. I ventured into genres that I previously never imagined exploring, and discovered that good writers and engaging themes exist in every stereotypical genre. It opened up my mind and made me less of a book-snob. By my count, I seem to have read more than 80 books last year, and I kept count hoping that I would eventually gather enough motivation to write about most of them, if not all.  But now, I am only alarmed, because most books in that list were light, fluffy reads and nothing exceptional. When I culled through the list, I was disappointed at the paltry few that stood out as good, decent reads. I realize I am in a phase where I can't handle reading serious books with heavy themes because my brain has taken a (hopefully temporary) reprieve.  How I manage to hold onto semi-logical thoughts through the day, I don't know...

Anyway, so here's a short reflection of my reading, and the few books that stood out.
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 I dreaded reading this book. When it garnered rave reviews in 2012, I was skeptical and I put off reading it until I picked it up on a whim.
It's a book that deals with sensitive topics regarding euthanasia, the freedom to choose to end one's life, and the struggles of trying to live life whilst paralyzed and trapped in a wheelchair. An active, intelligent mind only makes this worse. Having worked  and spent considerable time with such population of people, I am especially sensitive to this subject. However, this book and the author surprised me on so many levels. No book thus far has affected me like this one. I am sure it has to do with me personally knowing and losing people who have lived similar lives, but nonetheless, I was really moved by the sensitive handling of all the complex themes. Everything about the book is realistic and honest. Nothing is overdone. Almost every dialog, conversation, and situation reminded me of real interactions I have had, and that shook me and wrung out my heart. If there is one element that could have been explored more, it is the technology aspect. Technology has come a long way (but still needs a lot of research) in empowering the physically challenged population. And because of my background, I was awake at nights thinking of all the ways I would have "helped" the protagonist with the opportunities that technology provides... he could have continued with work, his business, started more initiatives, and done so much more! The fact that I obsessed over this fictitious character as if he were real, and wanted to desperately do what I could to help, shows how well written and well-researched the book is.

And there is humor and wit, without anything being the least bit misplaced or insensitive.

Not everyone will "agree" with how things end. But, this is one reality. A tragically real one at that. I know it exists out there, and I have felt enough anguish from people and families to come close to understanding the helplessness of things. The questions and divergent thoughts the story invokes are several people's sad reality. Morality takes a back seat; compassion and dignity come to the fore.

This is a book that makes you feel and think deep, and really brings in perspective to your own life, making you want to live it to the fullest.

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 Classified as Romance, this book is much much more than that.

Amy Harmon writes beautifully in this coming of age story that sounds simple, that seems to address hackneyed themes on beauty/inner-beauty like countless other stories, but this one stands apart. This struck chords within me so deep, there was such resonance. It triggered so many many memories and reminded me of my blessings in life. Maybe the emotional resonance is why I like the book so much.

It is moving and thoughtful, with some extremely beautiful quotes sprinkled throughout the book.

"Have you ever stared at a painting so long that the colors blur and you cannot tell what you're looking at anymore? There's no form, face or shape - just color, just swirls of paint?
I think people are like that. When you really look at them, you stop seeing a perfect nose or straight teeth. You stop seeing the acne scar or the dimple in the chin. Those things start to blur, and suddenly you see them, the colors, the life inside the shell, and beauty takes on a whole new meaning."

That about sums up the book. Parts of it might be unrealistic, but the strong thoughts and emotions it conveys make up for those parts.

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What does infidelity mean to us? Is physical infidelity different from emotional infidelity? Is one worse than the other? What if one follows all the "rules" but still blurs the lines of fidelity? When is the spirit of fidelity violated when all the rules are followed to the tee? And is it even possible to equally love two people?

Interesting questions, interesting explorations. I am drawn towards subjects with such gray areas, so no one will be surprised that I found this book to be an absorbing and interesting read all the way until 2/3rds of it. Then it became yet another romance novel and things turned mushy, and everything was tied up neatly, far too neatly in the end. But it's okay, happy endings are good too, and for the most part, things were honest.

I was pleasantly surprised that such topics are being explored in "new adult"/romance genres. Even more refreshing was the fact that there was not much drama in the story, just a lot of angst and introspection, and open communication. Plus, none of the characters were stereotyped - no one is termed pure bad or pure good. Well, the guy is too good to be true - a talented musician/computer programmer with a severe hearing impediment - but, oh well. My heart melted into a puddle at several instances.

All in all, a different, unexpected read. Other books by the same author were not that interesting, though.

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Enough with all the angst and sorrow! For an intelligent, hilarious, emotionally moving read, turn to this lovely book. Even Bill Gates recommends it ;)

The premise of the book:
What if someone like Sheldon Cooper of The Big Bang Theory sets out to scientifically find a wife?

If you are a nerd/geek or are frequently in the company of such specimens, you will appreciate this book all the more. I am a nerd who is almost always surrounded by super smart geeks that make me (unknowingly) feel dumber than rocks, and I'm married to an obsessively logical nerd. So, it is an understatement to say I could appreciate every line of the book. I deeply, deeply appreciated and empathized!

This is not just a fun read. It is intelligently written to explore topics on identity, acceptance, and the hilarity of social structures and stigmas.

This is a combination of light and deep read - if that makes any sense. You can dig deep through simple lines, if you choose to, or just enjoy the craziness of Prof Don!

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And finally, onto something that totally falls under the guilty-pleasure-reading category. Yes, these books are unapologetically romantic, but so very different from the usual angst-ridden, nauseatingly irritating ones.

No one would believe me, but until 2014, I'd never read more than 2 romance novels in my life (well, if you discount Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte). I hated them with a passion. I wanted to burn most of them. Yet, last year, I happened to fall back on the comforting fantastical notion of rainbows and unicorns to escape my reality for a little while. And I somehow discovered Julie Garwood, laughed my way through the first book, and got hooked. Humor along with romance seems to be my cup of tea. After all those Wodehousian years, it's not much of a surprise...

Julie Garwood writes romances that balance all the elements I enjoy. There is plenty of humor, strong-willed, intelligent (yet flaky) heroines that boldly speak their minds to hilariously gruff warriors and pirates, lots of heart, warmth, some intrigue, witty and humorous dialogues, enjoyable characters, and good writing. This is like my perfect recipe for chocolate cake.

If you read one book, you pretty much know the rest, because yes, they do follow a "recipe" of sorts. But just like you resort to your well-worn, fail-proof recipe when you crave for a piece of chocolate cake, I resort to Julie Garwood when I need a dose of fantasy every couple of weeks. I know what to expect, and yet there are enough differences and a decent plot to provide a truly satisfying read. And don't worry if you are a feminist - you would find these acceptable too ;).

I have read around 11 books of hers so far, but if I had to pick, the above three (The Gift, The Secret, and The Bride) would be my top 3 favorites. I laughed out loud in the middle of the night and woke the house while reading them. And I wonder whom I'm reminded of when I read about flaky, accident-prone, absent-minded women with a pitiable sense of direction...

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Hopefully I read better books in 2015!

Mad World

All I can hear through my mind... over and over... at least for now...

"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere
Going nowhere

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world"

Mad World

Of Alternate Realities

While researching and reading on something entirely different, less-than-perfect search results led me to this paper. And I couldn’t help reading it, because the content of this paper is something that I have often thought about.

I know I sound like a stern middle-aged matron with her hair in a severe bun, with tight lips and narrowed, scowling eyes framed with thick catty glasses when one reads this post – BUT, I want to believe I am not exactly such a severe, prudish person...

I am not really sure why I need to type this out or even post it, as this brain dump of mine has been languishing in my draft folder for several months. As with most of my posts, I don't see the point it would serve if I posted it, other than perhaps hurt, anger or irritate people. And worst of all, I know I come across sounding bitter, caustic, and judgmental, when I (hope and think and believe) am not holding onto any such emotions. I am merely voicing because I understand myself and my thoughts better when I do. In a way this blog is my narcissistic attempt to mainly understand and help myself. 

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Social networking serves many purposes - mainly useful, heartening, positive functions of bringing people closer, comforting those in need of social support, quickly and efficiently promoting products and services, and voicing out issues that need to be heard and spread.

But to the majority of us, the majority of the time, they are distracting indulgences that subtly and deeply latch onto our insecurities and vices. I have seen this shift in me, and it has scared me; it still scares and disturbs me, so I am not judging. It's an observation - something that many can relate to and are already aware of.

Social networking sites are also a means to carefully construct one’s identity and reality – with narratives that frame idealized versions of how we want our lives and our self to be perceived. It’s a meticulous snapshot (well, sometimes, or most times, a relay) of who we want to be known as, not necessarily, who we are. It’s a tireless attempt at competing for and maintaining this idealized version – always thinking about the next best picture to take, how to take it, how to post it, how to caption it; what smart, witty, and nonchalant observation to make about trending news; how to turn a mundane activity into x number of likes, etc. And this surely encourages a form of narcissism that’s a blow to any attempt at truly realizing and accepting our inner-self – of who we really are and of who we want to be. Worse yet, it robs one of those many many moments within the present, because they cannot be captured through a post or a picture, and hence are lost from observation or enjoyment. Like when a person concentrates very very hard to take that perfect (clichéd) picture of wine glasses “casually” arranged around plates of fancy-looking Hors d'oeuvres while also capturing a hint of the background scene to make it look just the right amount of hip, cool, “elite” and sophisticated. After 10 or more attempts with the camera and 5 or more minutes of missed conversation and good food, the person is still focused on posting the picture online to frame the narrative of their elite lifestyle on weekends, and is eagerly checking their status to see the first series of likes and comments. If this is not an obsessive need for validation, that too for merely projecting an identity that one wants to step into, I don’t know what else is. If one fails to ignore the interpersonal connections within the present and tries to seek it through digitized, sometimes mindless, notifications that assuage their notions of identity, isn’t it a cry for help?

And selfies just bring up so many more hidden layers about one’s need for approval and validation on so many aspects, ranging from vanity, body-image issues, self-esteem to perception of social popularity. Sometimes, the insecurities that bleed from a selfie are too embarrassing to ignore. Why would one want to take so many pictures of themselves so frequently and with such calculated precision that makes it seem casual? I think gone are the days when we relied on mirrors to reassure or spike our insecurity. Now, everyone whips out their phone camera (sometimes in front of a mirror – the irony) and relies on the picture rather than the reality staring them in their face to understand how to feel about themselves. And after several attempts with angles, poses, and lighting, when that perfect selfie is taken, what is the point of sharing it? To share what exactly? Of how effortlessly pretty and put-together they look almost every hour of the day? Of how their days are filled with a ceaseless flow of interesting activities and people that want to be near them, hug them, and smile with them? Of how happy they are with their partner, seemingly all the time, wherever they go, and whatever they do? Like several others, I am no stranger to seeing couples that put on fake smiles for a selfie to craft an alternate version of reality. Sharing one’s happiness and special moments with people in our close network is something I definitely understand. But the compulsive need to share fake happiness and smiles to convince people time and again of something that doesn’t exist – is disturbing and sad. Or is it because the picture becomes authentic and “real” in our mind as it garners more likes and comments? Does it take a life of its own and grow into something that we want it to be when we release it within our network? Almost like planting an idea, a thought within ourselves because we want to believe in it so much?

And with all this careful framing and manipulation of reality, all that one does is to show how much they conform to the homogenous clique of people that eat similar kinds of food, that travel to similar places, do similar activities, and post similar kinds of updates. They make a statement that they are all similarly cool, happy, and even edgy. But with each post and picture, there is also an equally desperate attempt to show that they are also slightly, ever so slightly, different. And everyone is scrambling to establish their own “delta” of edginess and uniqueness with repeated attempts with their cameras and mental rehearsals of things to post. But to what end? As with most things in life, will superficiality and fakeness also level itself off at some point and will there be an equilibrium in and of itself within the online world? I think so. There will always be a point when alternate realities crumble and crack. And even within the hundreds of thousands of people that thrive with some measure of external digitized validation, a truly “needy” and "fake" person stands out, eventually. And they would need to start working on “damage control” if they want to be accepted into the pool again.  

I understand that most of us need to create our own haven of reality so that we can live through aspects of our lives that are less-than ideal. I get it. I am not immune to it. All of us have good reason to be selective of what we post and share, and how we choose to project ourselves to the world. Our need to look our best is rooted in our core. So this post of mine is not to chide or judge anyone, nor to make a sweeping, generalized comment on everyone that is active on social networking sites and that post or don’t post selfies. It’s about how destructive this indulgence can be, especially on individuals that are lost, on young adolescents and teenagers that are trying to figure out who they are through the lens of made-up profiles and superficial relationships. Maybe that’s just the next phase of our evolution. Maybe this is how people will make sense of the world and themselves, and this is the future (or rather the present) form of establishing and maintaining interpersonal relationships.If you can thrive on social networking sites while maintaining a reasonably healthy sanity - you are one of the fittest that has survived, or that will continue to survive.

Decisions

Where do decisions come from?

Those who believe in their own rationality believe decisions float from the head, the mind.
Those who believe in their instincts, believe decisions come from the heart, from deep within.
Those like me, who are perpetually against blacks and whites, look to a gray area - a place that's between the mind and the heart.

But at the end of the day, it is about a strong feeling. Pros and cons and checklists and spreadsheets and equations and math can only bring you up to a certain point.
The rest is up to the feeling. You wait for that feeling of knowing.
It's also up to the people. The vibe you get off of them, the feeling of trust, of security and geniality.

Life is about living through moments that make your heart sing. And when the heart is happy, the mind is at peace.
I have never felt the mind to be at peace, even in the knowledge of what is right, when the heart is heavy.

Sometimes decisions are made to appease both the heart and the mind.
You are lost in a dialogue between the two. You carry on inner monologues and debates that come back to the same thing.

Trust the feeling.

Intuitions don't have to necessarily come from the heart. They also come from the brain, the root of our awareness and consciousness. Trust them to emanate from incubating thoughts and wisdom that stews unbeknowst to you.

Such sixth sense is the best form of feeling to bank on.

Self Worth

How does one measure their worthiness? 

In terms of the roles they play? Child, spouse, sibling, friend, colleague, parent, grandparent, boss, employee? 

The activities they do? Or don't do?

The things (material and otherwise) they receive or amass?

An interconnection of all of the above to make a delicate web of worthy, meaningful existence?

And what if, at one or point or another, stuff happens in life, and all of the above crumble? 

You are unable to play the roles you want to. Unable to do the things you want to. Incapable of receiving that which you want.

What then?

How does one measure their worthiness then? Where would one begin? And where would one end? How does it end? Does it end at all?

How does one search within oneself to find that speck of innate worthiness, if at all there is such a thing. Cloistered within oneself, in an island of our own, with no roles to play, no meaningful activities to contribute, and nothing to receive, what does it mean to feel worthy of one's existence?

To resurrect sanity and confidence, does one then reinvent new roles, search within our depths for activities to do, and hope to receive something in return? 

Does self-worth always revolve around such external dependencies - on other people, activities that affect the external environment, materials that come from the external space, and love, approval and validation that come from the roles we play?

Is there no way to find any other measure of worthiness about who we are, by just seeking and searching within ourselves, for ourselves, with no reliance on anything external?

Is it possible to do so even when one's life skitters and jogs out of control like slippery globes of marbles that scatter everywhere, yet again? 

As you watch the pieces of your life regressing and you focus on holding onto wisps of your worthiness, how do you hush these incessant questions: How did you slip? Where did you slip? When did you slip, when you thought you walked with such measured caution, placing each foot behind the other and reigning as much control as you could?

I don't have any answers. Only questions...and more questions that clamor and cry and squeal inside me.  The more the questions, the lesser my worthiness of who I am and what I ought to be doing. Are my answers hidden within my definition of my own self-worth? Is it possible to pick one form of worthiness over the other? Ah, miserable choices.

I ought to have answers. I ought to have plans that shape up and come to fruition because I worked hard at them. I truly did. But it was not enough. Every plan needs a stroke of good luck. And luck and me... haha, we never get along.

So I stand like a foolish person who didn't pay attention to where she was heading, who is forced to take the turns that life imposes, because life is always what happens to her when she is busy planning for it. Do I hop, skip, and run to a safe place, or weather this rough road ahead hoping to find a destination that promises to nurse my dying self-worth back to health? I choose the bumpy turn, and I watch as chunks of my self-worth fade and die as I make the turn. Is it ironical that I always lose something in order to gain the same thing?

Popularity: A fresh perspective

I have realized after several years of denial, that your popularity and your ability to be at the right place at the right time determine most things in life.

It's not about quality.
It's not about persistence or hard work or diligence.
It's not the least bit about virtues or ethics.

It's always about making yourself known and popular, which means of course, likeable. No one cares how genuine you are. The shallower the better, because it is easier to be likeable then.

I have come to accept that one of the very important things (among others) that parents should teach their children, especially if they are naturally shy or withdrawn or introverted, is the social skills to be confident, to promote oneself, and to learn the strategies of how to make oneself be noticed. It might be tiring and even incredibly difficult, but to survive in today's world, one needs to absolutely have these qualities.

If one has true talent with popularity, the sky is the limit, or rather, the end of the Universe is their limit.

Reflections: A Breath of Fresh Air

Our local library was having an awesome book sale. Although I have drastically reduced buying books, it was too tempting. This book caught my eye. Having read Amulya Malladi's Mango Season several years ago, I expected this book to be similar to the former - a light, entertaining read. But after reading the premise, I had a completely different expectation from the book for a more thoughtful and deeper read. So, I put it in my basket. However, upon reading it, I think there's more that could have been done with a very promising storyline. 

Anjali, the protagonist of the book, miraculously survives the infamous gas tragedy in Bhopal, India. However, she carries physical and emotional scars left behind by the tragedy. Her marriage to her handsome army-officer husband crumbles and she remarries an honest and kind man, Sandeep. They set up a humble home in Ooty, where they work as a teacher and a professor. Both of them work to their bones, trying to constantly meet the staggering medical costs accrued due to the illness their son faces. Anjali's life goes on, until one day she meets her first husband and his present wife in her very own hilly town. Anjali goes through an emotional upheaval as she relives her past, and revisits the pain and fury that she had buried. Both families grapple to face the uncomfortable realities of the past as they try to deal with the present and move on. Amidst all this, society's judgmental eyes threaten to destroy everything that Anjali has built since her divorce. Each character is stuck in their own emotional whirlpool until they confront their mistakes and make amends. 

Sounds like a deep and heavy book, right? I was particularly interested in how the dynamics between the characters play out and how the story would progress in India's conservative society. Although there are interesting parts to the storyline, and Malladi delves into each character's mind and analyses their points of view, there were some parts of the book that went astray and read like every woman's ultimate fantasy. For one, the characters were too stereotypical. The first husband is bad and inconsiderate - a Bollywood movie's villain. He does everything that a filmy villain does. The second husband is good, far too idealistically good. Anjali's sister-in-law and parents are also quite cliched and predictable. And Anjali is the naive and strong woman who is trying to rise above the wrongs done to her. Secondly, Malladi narrates the story from the perspectives of the three important characters - Anjali, her ex, and Sandeep. While this was a nice touch, after a while every character's inner monologues ran to several pages of emotional venting and carried the same "voice". Everyone vented in the same manner, they always glorified how wonderful Anjali is and how horribly wrong they were, and I found it amusing that all their inner monologues concentrated on the minutiae of events. Is that how we sort out feelings? Although I have not gone inside a man's brain to exactly know how men think or reflect, I do know that it is different from a woman's way of thinking! Everyone's inner thoughts read like the ramblings on a an emotional woman's diary, such as mine ;)

Finally, the story itself read like a woman's fantasy of avenging all her wrong-doers. After all, it's only in one's fantasy where one's ex, a hardened egoist until days before, would miraculously regret his mistakes, profusely apologize to you, your current partner, your parents, and even more profusely glorify you and put you on a pedestal that reaches the clouds! If only people had so much self-awareness and kindness! So, a lot of the dynamics and characterizations were quite unrealistic because the characters had no shades to them. They suddenly turned uncharacteristically good or bad.

I also thought that some depictions of how conservative Indian society is, were exaggerated. True, it is still a conservative society compared to the West, but things like the treatment of widows is surely not as archaic today (or even 10 years earlier) as depicted in the book. Even the concept of divorce is not as alien in India as it was 20-30 years ago. I am always nervous of books and other media that inadvertently instill an even more outdated view of India than most people in the West already harbor. So, this was just something that I was wary about.

This is Malladi's debut book, and I am sorry to say this, it does indeed read like a debut book. Everything carries potential, but lacks finesse. I cringe when I write this, because I sound supercilious to say all this, especially after understanding how difficult it is to craft an engaging story. However, these are just my thoughts, and I am just one more clueless person on the internet expressing them.

Reflections: The Whale: In Search of the Giants of the Sea

Whales endlessly fascinate me. They have a strange allure on me, causing a curious mix of fear, wonder, and an eagerness to know more. I have heard several personal stories from colleagues and friends from the Pacific coast on how pods of humpback whales have swum inches by their little rafts, making sure that not a drop of water splashed on them while they gracefully rose and dove at just the right intervals to avoid the rafts. Such consideration and compassion is so moving! I regard whales as truly gentle beasts of the sea with so much enigma around them. So, this acclaimed book was an apt gift from my husband who is fascinated with me being fascinated with whale watching.

Anyway, I was quite excited to read the book. I expected it to be a glorious book on whales - expounding on their behaviors, biology, habitat, and a little history rendered through a literary style of writing. However, this turned out to be mostly history - specifically the history of whaling and the misconceptions and metaphors surrounding whales before science clarified and debunked almost all of them. Being a fan of Moby Dick, the author frames most of the book using Moby Dick as his muse. I definitely enjoyed most of the book, but those parts of Moby Dick that were not captivating to me, specifically about the history of whaling, were present in this book too. So, I generously skimmed those pages/chapters.

But what I really loved about this book was my connection with the author's palpable enthusiasm, excitement, and wide-eyed fascination with whales! It was a wonderful resonance! If I had heard him talk in person, I think all my hair would have stood on end with excitement! All those elusive words that I have grappled with to articulate why I am so moved by whales are present bountifully in this book. And what beautiful words and apt sentences are spilled through this book! The writing is truly beautiful and literary. So, my heart raced, my head was nodding and my lips were breaking into a smile as I read through passages glorifying this magnificent beast. I particularly enjoyed reading about all the myths surrounding whales - the beasts of the sea that no one could see before the advent of aquariums and documentaries.

One aspect that clawed at me was my guilt at understanding how whales are (or used to be) transported to aquariums for public viewing. I don't think I will ever see beluga whales at an aquarium with the same mirth.  Side note: aren't beluga whales awesome? Such cheery, calming creatures. The author briefly discusses the costs and benefits (if at all) of bringing these animals to captive habitats - even if the habitat is set up with good intentions.

If there's one thing I would wish about this book, it would be to cut short on the historical aspects and concentrate more on the behavior and biology of whales. I guess, that means I should just walk into a library and pick a biology book. But if only biology books were as well written as this one!

The historical aspects of whaling do have a lot of social and environmental relevance today, so I appreciate that. However, more on the whales themselves would have been fantastic.

To wrap up, this is a wonderful, well written book that idealizes and empathizes with whales. The book engulfs whales with so much romanticism and glory. History buffs with interest in marine creatures or fishing will appreciate this book all the more.

Being the Best

I realized something valuable about pushing oneself to be better, to be the best. The realization is not ground-breaking, but it's something that I need to understand and internalize. And I internalize best by talking and writing about it.

I think it's natural for everyone to want to push ahead of the crowd. This spark of ambition is required for survival, and it fosters healthy competition. However, over the years, I have come to resent this urge within me that constantly nags me to get ahead and be better, because I've been losing inner peace and failing to realize a feeling of contentment despite anything I do. There's always a voice within me that says, "It's still not the best". Previously, I used to be perpetually flustered that I was lagging behind, not doing the best, and therefore thought I was failing. I wanted to be perfect at everything. As everyone knows, perfectionism is the evil that puts an end to every dream and attempt. I was afraid to try anything because I was discontent that I was not doing the "best". So I did what I always do best - retreat inside myself. Opportunities passed by me, and I was safely cocooned inside telling myself I would anyway not be the best, so why even try? I realized that my very ambition came back to hurt me, and I ended up doing the exact opposite - not nurturing an ambition at all to save myself from the fear of competing and excelling and being the best. 

Now, after lessons learned, I have tried to strike a balance between ambition and perfectionism. But only very recently, did I realize something significant that altered the way I was dealing with perfectionism, and being and doing the best. 

There's a difference between being "THE best" and being "MY best". MY best might still not be THE best ever, it might not even be someone's idea of being "acceptable", but it is the best I can be. And I have finally understood this and embraced this. I'm now trying to accept it at every phase of my life. I now know when I did my very best, and when I did not. Some self reflection has taught me my own limits, and that no matter how hard I push, after a point, I am who I am, and my improvements in certain areas can only be a minor increment that perhaps will not count in the grand scheme of things. However, realizing and filling in the gaps within yourself to be your very best is the most rewarding form of self-actualization.

Watching the Winter Olympics taught me this. I had never paid so much attention to the Olympics ever before. But this year, as my own insecurities, anxieties, and uncertainties were whirling inside me, I have been observing people all the more. I was more interested in the hundreds of people that did not win anything at the Olympics. Seeing all the athletes that dedicated their lives to being their very best at a sport lose the medal over fractions of a second or a few seconds, tore my heart. I marveled at their spirit, for trying and continuing to work hard despite knowing the incredible competition they faced, despite realizing the possibility that they would not win. They did not do what I would have done - throw down the towel and say, "What's the use? Why bother? I am not the best anyway". However, they still pushed themselves, they still vowed to dedicate four more years of their lives to grueling training even if it meant they might never win.  It warmed my heart to see the genuine smiles and happiness on the faces of those athletes that did not win, but were proud that they showcased their personal best at the Olympics. What makes them do it? Passion, a realization for what they can do, actualizing the best they can ever be?

We cannot all be winners or the world's best at everything we do. The world is large, and the talented people in it are astounding. Even if we are not the ultimate best at what we do, it does not mean we are worthless. It's only realistic to aim for our personal best and to keep improving ourselves in areas where we recognize room for growth within ourselves; this room should not be measured against everyone in the world or the best in the world. Such a gap is far too huge to close by everyone. Besides, is it even possible to truly quantify "best" in the world?  It is also just as important to realize when we have hit our limits and to accept them. No use banging on an iron door with no key or tools. A sloth can dream and train and practice and work hard, but he will never be a leopard. We are who we are. Cultivate those aspects where your limits stretch out far and beyond. You may still not be the absolute best at it, but make use of the skills you have to try and push the fringes of the limits as much as you can.

Now that I have realized my limits, I need to make sure every work that I do is taken right up to the frontiers of my limits, of my own very best. That's the best that I can ever do. Then, I should sit back and let the Universe take its course. Whatever is the outcome, I should have the magnanimity and equanimity to accept it and be content with the knowledge that I did my best. And bask in the contentment of actualizing the best in me.

It's great to strive to be the best you can be, for yourself.

Reflections: We Need New Names

Short-listed for the Man Booker Prize and garnering some prestigious literary awards, this is a powerful and raw debut novel that candidly addresses the inter-tangled issues of immigration, identity, and coming of age. Darling is a young ten year old girl in the poverty-striken, ravaged land of Zimbabwe. She and her friends live through their family's despair by playing simple games through which they try to live their fantasies of living a better life; a life in the precious country of United States, a life where they can wear good clothes, eat decent food, go to good schools, and lead a dignified life. Darling's aunt lives in the United States, so Darling nurtures the strong hope that she would one day leave her wretched country and her bitter memories, and start a new life in America. One day, she manages to go to the U.S. But reality is different.

In the U.S, her aunt lives in a different kind of poverty and desperation. Darling sees her aunt working round the clock to send money and materials to the hungry family in Zimbabwe that assumes that everyone in the U.S lives a wealthy, comfortable life. The family back home appears parasitic to Darling. Amidst all the changes, confusions, and bitterness, Darling grows into a teenager who realizes she is now in no-man's land. She does not have enough money to go back home, nor a valid visa status to legally study or work in the U.S. Her only option is to work for low wages, be in constant hiding from the authorities, and make ends meet in a foreign land that does not offer any of the things she was hoping for. She has to face the heart twisting reality of probably never seeing her mom, her friends, or feel the familiarity of her land again.

When I read the book last November, I did not think much of it. It seemed like yet another book on immigration concerning a lost African child. What did strike me was how confident the writing was, and how un-apologetically raw, sharp and honest everything about it was. It has a rather abrupt ending, but rightfully so, because such stories have no ending in real life. Such real life stories are left hanging, just like the people that are hanging onto fragments of their past and present in hopes of making something of a future. I have realized that the more I let a book live with me in my thoughts, the more I learn about it, the more honed and mature my opinions of it are. After all these months, thinking about this book has made me revise my initial neutrality towards it. All the scenarios described in the book are coming back to me with rich, vivid frames that will always stay in my memory when I think about immigrants that have left their lands to barely make ends meet. And I think such strong recollections of key scenarios and characters of the book are marks of a good book. I can forget the story and the details, but I will never forget Darling's emotions and that of her aunt's. I may even forget Darling's name, but not some of the core scenes.

There is one scene in specific that clinched the book's essence. It's something I will always remember. Darling's aunt who is making her living in the U.S. decides to phone-order something for herself from Victoria's Secret. Her conversation with the sales representative from Victoria's Secret was so poignant and evocative of all her internal struggles and sadness that I will never forget the emotions that transpired. Her struggle to make herself understood to a foreign representative, her adamance to not change her accent because it is who she is, and her attempt at convincing herself and the girl on the line that she can, she ought to, and she deserves to order an expensive inner garment for herself said it all about the illegal immigrant experience.

Zimbabwe's socio-political scene is extremely complicated and riddled with historic legacies of racism. Bulawayo doesn't go into details, but merely outlines crucial aspects of it through the observations of a child's eye. This makes it all the more tragic.

In all, this is a strong and impressive debut novel that seems to require some time and reflection for the raw sadness to settle in. Although the book is short and the writing is simple, the writing evokes scenes and characters in a unique way, making the book memorable and powerful. I am looking forward to more of Bulawayo's books!

A Tribute

With smiles and happiness all around me, I find myself unsuccessfully controlling my tears. 

Because I am reminded of you, R. I am in tears knowing that I will never see how you would have been proud, happy, and satisfied to read and see what I did with all your words, tears, thoughts, views, and emotions. I was so close and yet too late. And for that, I will be forever disappointed in myself. My gigantic document sags with the realization that people to whom the content matters the most are not around to read it. I can hear your jokes and wisecracks about my tears, and I smile and cry a little more.

Last week, you would have celebrated your 30th birthday. As I thank the Universe for one thing, I curse it and demand explanations for many things on behalf of you. Karma does not make sense anymore. Nothing - no theory, no pacification, no explanation makes sense anymore when I see the world through you.  It is unacceptable. But you managed to see above all that. With all the pain and tragedy you lived in, you still smiled at a senseless, cruel life, and gave back so much love, laughter, warmth, and goodness as a wonderful son, uncle, brother, and friend. As unfair as life can be, you showed how to live through everything with grace, dignity, and a sense of humor.

And your smile, it is forever etched in me. Your smile will continue to teach me to value the deeper things in life. You showed me that it is possible to see the goodness and positive light glinting within every moment, and you taught me to live life through these small, shining moments. The lingering memory of your smile will always light up the darkest alleys I have to cross in my life. 

I cannot begin to thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me; and for trusting me enough to let me in to your most personal and private space.

You will be dearly missed, even by those of us that only knew you for a grand total of eight hours of your life. Only a few among millions can touch people like you did within a small slice of time. And you really were one in a million.

Fitting In and Standing Out

A snippet from the sitcom Modern Family

Manny, a middle-schooler, feels bad that he gets picked on by his peers for being "weird" and "different"

Mitch, a smart gay man, tells him,

"Yeah, they [kids in school] would, um… they'd call me weird. I was weird… fun weird. But I… this is the funny thing about growing up. For years and years, everybody's desperately afraid to be different, you know, in any way. And then, suddenly, almost overnight, everybody wants to be different. And that is where we win."

I don't know if people like us ever really "win".

However, this is a tussle that is more than just a phase that people go through. It is a constant, continuous struggle to get the balance just right - to fit in just enough, while still standing out just at the right distance away from the crowd. Not blending in, but not ostracized either.

No matter how many years have elapsed since those "growing up" years, no matter how well you (think) you know yourself, the desire to fit-in (to just the right degree) lingers. Despite your inner monologues, rational chit-chats that invoke the power of your individual choice, the expression of your true self, the impossibility of having been anybody else or done things in any other way, a part of you withers for standing out - a little too far out. You tell yourself that you are tired of always being different, of always being the "weird" complicated one, and once in a while, all you want to do is walk a simple, straightforward, uncomplicated, natural path to get to a few conventional things that add meaning and validation to your life; like everyone else that did and continues to do so, seemingly effortlessly. 

Even as I write this out, in my characteristic way of venting to a computer screen rather than talking to someone, I wonder why I am being so...

Why I need to think so when most people don't...

Why I struggle to just keep moving and pushing through, brushing off things without the need to analyze and ask the nagging "why" questions...

Yes, the last question is a classic irony... Why do I ask "why"... 

Because I am, and will always be weird, complicated, sensitive, and different. Always trying to catch up with the course of "normality", I end up on convoluted detours that give me joy on one level and a dull ache of inexplicable yearning on another. 

The Story of Krishna - Part I

People intrigue and fascinate me. My conviction is that everybody is essentially trying hard to live a life as best as they can, and therefore along the way, they acquire traits and habits, some that are viewed as positive/good and some that are viewed as negative/bad. But there are always reasons for those “good” and “bad” traits. And I’m drawn to those reasons and the ways in which people mutate or evolve because of them. For a while now, my mind has been jostling with caricatures of interesting personality types, because I can now begin to see overarching commonalities and patterns across categories of people who go through similar experiences. As a creative writing exercise, I'm attempting to write descriptions and stories of these characters. These characters are a mixture of fact and fiction, not representing any one particular individual, but a persona of characters. Any direct allusion to any living individual is purely coincidental, but since the stories are born from reality, they will probably remind us of someone in our lives. This exercise is to mainly to let out some of my thoughts and to truly understand what it takes to write a story and develop a fictional character rooting from reality.

More than a year ago, I started this exercise/experiment and have been slowly writing once every few months, whenever inspiration strikes. And then I forgot about it until I was clearing out a folder today, and saw this untitled document. One of my kind and generous friends keeps insisting that I write a book someday. I tell him that I have a long, long way to go and I’m nowhere close. But he is consistently encouraging and reminds me that I have to start somewhere, and be ready to make mistakes. So, I am sharing this little tidbit, bravely. Thanks to you, Karthik!

My exercise is to focus and write on just one character’s journey through life. It’s not a story, just a character sketch, that is seemingly long and endless, now that I have begun writing. Yes, there is redundancy and need for editing, so please feel free to give me feedback for improvement!

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The Story of Krishna 

(Inspired from Flowers for Algernon, a deeply touching book that makes me cry just thinking about it. And inspired from parent-child relationships I have seen over the years)

Krishna was born on a sweltering summer’s day.  At his moment of arrival, his grandmother had received him with more relief than any other emotion akin to joy, because she had been panicking if her daughter could make it through much more of her labor. When the old woman's thoughts were wrung with anxiety on whether to call the neighbors for help, and if her daughter could endure a ride on a bullock cart to the only hospital situated at the outskirts of their village, Krishna had miraculously made an entrance. The old woman first checked on her gasping, but alive daughter, and then fixed her gaze on the small infant in her hands. It was a boy, and for this the old woman fervently thanked Lord Krishna. Her daughter had delivered her first born child, that too a son! Oh how much more relief could she bear. It was only when the old woman hobbled to her feet to show the child to her daughter did she realize how quiet the child was. Her panic came rushing back, coursing through her body and pounding on her feeble heart. She swayed in a black haze of dizzying shock. She careened unsteadily with the child and cried, “Why is he not crying?!” Although she had given birth to 7 children in this very room, and had been the midwife to countless women in her village, her emotions as a grandmother holding her divinely still grandson took over and erased every last thought of hers on how to revive the child or do anything. As Krishna’s mom began to wail in alarm, his terrified grandmother shouted her anguish to the maid, hoping she remembered how to help the beautiful child lying in her hands. Just as the maid rushed in to take the child, Krishna let out his first cry. It wasn’t a piercing scream of a child announcing that he was alive and well, but a mellow coo, a gentle whine like that of a little bird. All the women blinked and listened closely, bringing the child close to their ears, and cried with relief and happiness when Krishna continued to breathe and cry softly. And so, the child was named Krishna, for his miraculous survival.

Krishna was a beautiful child. He always wore a beatific smile on his face that made him look even more beautiful and endearing. Although he was a really small child, his features were sharp and alert. While nobody called the child active, his eyes were bright and glowing. They closely followed people and objects, betraying an infectious vivacity and pure goodness of spirit. Krishna’s birth was often talked about in his family. He was good-naturedly called a slow-crawler, because his birth was slow and arduous, his first cry was slow and feeble, and even all his milestones were slow in arriving. He sat up late, crawled late, walked late, and uttered his first word only when he was 3. “Slow” became an adjective that was constantly attached to Krishna.

His father, a stern and domineering man with his own wounds and insecurities, couldn’t stand his son being called “slow”. He treated it as a personal affront. He fumed and raged from within and resolved that he would mold and raise Krishna to be a successful and smart man who was anything but “slow”. He assuaged himself by imagining the pride he would feel when Krishna proves everyone wrong. With this fierce resolution in place, he built a strict and ambitious regimen for Krishna. Everything was planned for the child - from the time he wakes up in the morning to the time he goes to bed - every hour was meticulously and carefully planned so that Krishna didn’t have to waste any minute doing something that would detract him from his goals. And his goal, which was decided for him, was to become an engineer, no less. So, at 5:00 AM every morning, 4 year old Krishna was dragged out of bed despite his mother’s protests, to start his day. His face was splashed with cold water to jolt him from his sleep, a toothbrush was thrust into his mouth, and the child’s morning rituals thus began. He would then sit next to his father and practice his writing and reading. Every time he slumped on his little desk because his weary eyes closed, he would feel the cool slap of the metal ruler on his leg, and he would snap up awake, fearing his father’s anger. Though the fierce discipline in his father’s heart thawed every so often, he reigned in his emotions and tied them up tight. Rationality before emotion, he told himself. Krishna needs to do all this to be successful and happy! He will thank me one day, I am sure. And so, the father, a man of steel, consoled himself every time he faltered, and relied on rationalized justifications whenever Krishna’s mom pleaded with him to relent.

Krishna didn’t mind waking up early, didn’t mind staying indoors and peeping through the the metal grills of his window to watch other children play in the yard, as long as he could get his father to crack a smile at him. The boy longed for his father’s love and tried really hard to win his affection and approval. Every day that passed, his father had nothing more to offer than rattle off a list of attributes that Krishna lacked. It seemed to Krishna that he was just a boy with an endless list of things that were wrong with him. As an innocent 6 year old, Krishna repeated the list over and over in his mind, and thought of going to one of those factories that his father keeps talking about, and asking one of the smart engineers there to replace his brain so that he could be as smart as the engineer himself. That’s what engineers do - his father had told him. They build things and make them move! They fix things that are not working, and they replace parts of a machine to make it work better! Don’t you want to do all those things?! Krishna couldn’t find it within him to nod, because he was completely awestruck with what engineers could do! It’s like being God! And how could he ever become a God?! Maybe the engineers knew, he thought to himself. So, the first step was to meet one and place a request to replace his brain or fix it, because he knew it wasn’t working properly, and it was upsetting his father.

But he needed money to fix his brain. Krishna knew that much. His father reminded him of the value of money every day, especially on those days when he playfully squirted a little too much toothpaste or accidentally spilled some of his milk.

But where could he get the money?

To be Continued… 

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I don't know when I will finish part 2, but hopefully sometime within the end of this year!