MediaCrooks: At Your Feet, Obamaji

MediaCrooks: At Your Feet, Obamaji: Thus spake Rahul Gandhi while addressing a two-day media conclave of his party members on July 22: " Keep the level of debate dig...

No title (Contd)

21 years and 8 months are not enough for someone to know life inside out. Teenage is the age of committing incessant errors and after that comes the age, where one reflects back to their errors and try to mould their characters, accordingly. Even though when the introspections and circumspections of past are missing in one's life, one develops a character, nevertheless, but it will fail, when judged on the parameters of morality.

On that day it was raining heavily. Everything was gray and dark, including a small coffee shop. The age of that coffee shop must be over 100 years or so it seemed. Even the man sitting behind the counter looked much older than what he may actually was. There were about 4-5 tables in total, which, mostly were unoccupied, except one. The redolent smell of coffee beans, pancakes, which filled the room in abundance, along with the posters of great philosophers, thinkers, and writers of the past on the wall, was acting as an aggregation to the whole anachronism of that place.

On one of the occupied was sitting a young man, which seemed as an aberration, in juxtaposition with the ambiance and flavor of the place. He was wearing a white shirt along with a blazer (on the left pocket of which was a monogram of a university), tight pants, which in my opinion were a little short for him as his legs (without socks) were very much visible. He was wearing a black or may be gray or possibly brown shoes below his trousers (It was very difficult to identify the true colors of his shoes as there was a thick layer of dust and mud on them). From his external appearance or get up he seemed quite bourgeois. But his face and eyes were betraying his external projection of himself, in spite of his clandestine methods(dress-up) to make it obscure, his eyes and face were full of radiance, and were revealing his childlike curiosity to know everything about life.

(Contd....)

This young man aged 21 years, was looking out from the glass window of that coffee shop. The rain drops were falling slantwise on the window pane, and then after making a snake wise movement on the glass were falling in a nearby gutter, creating a hallucinating ripple in the muddled water. After a while he got bored with nature's redundant performance on the stage of that glass pane, with characters appearing and then going down the drain creating a ripple in the muddy water. He looked at his coffee which by now was still warm, so he took a sip at it before the warmth getting dissipated into coldness. Taking a deep and heavy breath he sighed. He waived to the 'just about' pretty waitress, and asked for his bill, the waitress giving him a fake, yet a radiant smile, brought his bill in a brown leather case. He opened the leather case and looked at the hand written bill, reached his pocket for his wallet took out crisp notes and left, leaving behind more than a generous tip for the waitress.

The heavy downpour by this time turned into a benign shower, with occasional winds blowing from here and there. Our young man had the habit of walking with his head bent, as much as his neck allowed it, making sure that each step taken, can be witnessed by his eyes. He was very conscientious about small earthen creatures, and avoided stomping over as many creatures as his conscientiousness allowed him to avoid.

Rain brings out the most subtle of human emotion and flavor. That is the reason it had and has been, one of the most favorite subjects for writers of past and of present. It (rain) brings out the true and driving character of a human, which will be evident from the following example.

The most supercilious hide themselves in shade, and can never assimilate the courage of a child to break free and drench themselves in the shower from above. They consider it trivial and banal, where at the same time, the most innocent and ingenuous, prefer to play, drench, and get itself dirty in the same 'rain', and that too with all joy, merry and enthusiasm.

There are other aspects and impacts of 'rain' related to childhood, adolescence, or adulthood. For some, rain brings the reminiscence of their gory past, and is a matter of great depression, while for some it brings joy, for some harmony and peace.

I am not wrong if I relate the effect of rain on a human soul, in accordance to their reaction towards it. The effect of rain on our hero was mixed. Though he was not one of those supercilious lots, so he preferred being drenched. But not with joy and merriment, or for peace or any hope of tranquility. It was freezing to bone, he wanted to suffer, suffer to his bones. But there was a sweet joy coming out of that bone drenching suffering, which was both physical ( Due to extreme cold) and psychological. This young man was dejected and rejected by everyone from human society, and was accepted only in the arcane society of aberrations and anomalies.

He thought of putting his headphones on, and after skimming through his playlist on his I-Pod, selected the album Dark Side Of The Moon, Pink Floyd, and hit the play button on 'Comfortably Numb'. He was possessed by one and only one thought, and that was of her. She was in his literature class. Now I have to describe 'her' first, before I can continue the dire predicament of our hero here.

She was a typical metropolitan girl, who liked to dwell in her outer appearance. Face full of make up, lips glossed with thick layers of lipstick. The type of girls, who don't miss the opportunity of checking themselves in elevator mirrors, car's windshields, after adjusting a few things here and there, and after admiring their own beauty, cannot hide their satisfaction and happiness (Thinking I am still beautiful and young). She was a plump girl of an average height, and was an advocate of 19th century Russian villages' charm and beauty. She had a stoic character behind that makeup that she wore everyday. Which was quite evident from her temple, which never twitched or contorted in any situation. But mostly she dwell-ed with the supercilious lot, and preferred the company of extravagant people.

Our hero was an outcast, and was not able to penetrate the periphery of her circle, with his average look, and bourgeois mannerism. Moreover he was a sissy, a feminist, and a meek creature (with no trace of any male chauvinism). He used to observe her behind his alibi of reading a book. What roused his curiosity in her was her makeup, her mannerism, and the stoic character she possessed, under those layers of external-isms. He wanted to penetrate those layers and wished to see the real human behind that female body. (Contd...)  

There was a food joint which was situated just outside the university where our scholar or hero was studying literature, philosophy, and philology. Which was mostly occupied by students or college professors. There was a vibrancy in that place. Attributed to the fact that the place was mostly occupied by young and energetic people. The food joint 

was not a very grand one, in terms of space, cost and quality of food and beverage served. Laughter, chatter and chaos were incessant part of that place.

Confusion

When this bitch 'confusion' strikes you, it stings like a bee or a wasp, or sometimes even a cobra, with all it's might have stung you, and that too on the most sensitive part of your body. Pain is immense, but you somehow have to distract yourself from it either being a workaholic, or alcoholic, or may be a sport freak. It helps, it does, but just only temporarily. Confusion is a state when you are an aberrant from your being, i.e. lack of self belief, lack of appreciation, lack of friends, but mostly it is an aberration from your core, former listed. How to get out of such predicament. I was pondering on the same subject for the last 90 days and was not able to reach to a prudent solution.

I drafted this post 90 days ago, not one day hither or tither. Today after 90 and a day more, I managed to find a solution to  this cowweb of confusion and havoc of my soul.

And that is simply, "simplicity".        

Is There Anything Wrong, With Us Feminists??

I will cut the crap out, and come straight to point. Right from childhood to adolescence I never felt any shame or male chauvinistic feeling about any annihilation, in any form, be it sport, intellect or any goddamn thing you may think of,  from the opposite sex i.e. female in my case. I respect them a lot, I adore them, I worship them, that was and is my upbringing. These teachings and initial upbringings were okay, till the time there is no line between love and lust, sex or desire, after that no teacher, no guide, you are on your own. Society is cruel for those who are sensitive and simply ignore to follow the norms, are subdued, suppressed, and are called eunuch, in this rapist and male chauvinist society. But the saddest part is, that the females think in the same direction. They demand or expect chauvinistic approach from a male, which in my opinion is ridiculous. Buddha was a hardcore feminist, Zarathustra was a feminist, there are so many Sufi Saints who were hardcore feminists, who changed the world and thinking of its people, for good, peace and tranquility. But the problem is not in being a feminist or in being a male chauvinist, the problem loses its obscurity when a male is a hardcore feminist, or if a female is a male chauvinist. If Anthony Susan, B is a feminist, historians will write pages upon pages in her eulogy. Majority is driven by the society and society is an antonym to aberration, so in my opinion, even if people (So Called Society) look down upon me. In terms, that I never proposed a girl (Based upon false pretentiousness), I never had any sexual relationship with a societal female, that too based upon false pretentiousness, and false promises, I am today proud of my feminism and conscientiousness towards paying respect to females. I ask this question to those, who accuse me of being an aberration, how can you commit without love, how can you, without discovering love, call your lust love and believe it, and make your counter female-part believe in the same, and still call us feminists an aberration. I think you need to introspect, and NOT us.

My Own Experiences And Realizations In BPO Industry.

"If a man is called a streetsweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry.  He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and Earth will pause to say, Here lived a great streetsweeper who did his job well." 


~Martin Luther King, Jr.


Why I quoted the above lines of Martin Luther King, Jr.; when I am supposed to be writing about life in BPO industry? I shouldn't have done it, if, I would have not been living in India. In the bourgeois circle or class of our Indian society, which is the mass manufacturing factory of engineers, doctors, MBA's etc. etc., BPO industry is considered to be a mere trifle. So this post might put-off a few people belonging to the same typical bourgeois circle, because I am going to advocate here about the BPO industry, through my own experiences and realizations, which are not vicarious, but real.


When I first landed into a BPO, as an employee, I got this feeling from looking at life all around (people chattering, laughing, smoking, eating) that I got into a new world where I can apply and testify my philosophical, moral codes and, whatever I had felt, realized and tried to learn vicariously through books, now I can live each bit, all on my own. 


   "The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind death stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head." 



These words from the movie 'Into The Wild' started a cadence in my head. 


Lessons, Realizations, And Feelings:



At the very beginning the contrasting shift timings made my this realization more and more firm that life is never constant; it's the change that is always constant.



During the V&A training I realized the grandeur of sounds, which I would have missed, otherwise. My eyes used to get stuck at the mouth of our trainer, in order to comprehend the formations required to produce that particular sound with it's subtle variations.



In an environment where male-female ratio is healthy, one tends to lose his/her temperament of not judging a book by it's cover. 


"George O'Hearn: Beautiful women are invisible.
 
David Kepesh: Invisible? What the hell does that mean? Invisible? They jump out at you. A beautiful woman, she stands out. She stands apart. You can't miss her.
 
George O'Hearn: But we never actually see the person. We see the beautiful shell. We're blocked by the beauty barrier. Yeah, we're so dazzled by the outside that we never make it inside."


This above conversation from the movie elegy came to my mind, and I thought that this is something I need to implement, in-order to prevent myself getting beguiled from the mere pretense of things or their pretentiousness, so that the priority of knowing people from inside, from their hearts, remains. 
'Now I find myself surer in this task.' 


Whatever you do, give it your heart, and carry a feeling of humility towards your work and the company which is paying you, for your work. This world is not fair at all.  It's not like 'I work and I am getting paid for it'; it's 'I work and they are paying me for that'. I realized that one should always carry this feeling of gratitude towards the people or organization who are paying you for your work, in an unfair world.


There is a spectrum of people from different age groups, backgrounds and thinking, which is very exhilarating in itself and fundamental in bringing out the flavor, essence or color of human character. But I was very gullible or credulous, because of my transparency, and tended to give away my personal thoughts and feelings to people (I had this habit of trusting people very readily), who either made a mockery out of it, or disclosed it to others, which in turn lambasted me a lot. But now I learned the art of keeping some very personal thoughts and feelings, secret.  

The best part I liked about BPO is that it teaches you the art of controlling your moods and emotions. It is a requirement that whatever happens you have to sound energetic and enthusiastic, either you can repress your moods and emotions or you can practice Vipassana meditation, I'll go with the latter. 

In the end...


'Only unconditional, and love without expectations can bring you happiness, wisdom and peace' One more thing that was vicarious, now turned into real experience. 


I'll end this post with a quote.


"The wise man makes his own heaven while the foolish man creates his own hell here and hereafter."


~A Buddhist Saying  
       

Transmogrification

This simple looking old man in the picture is a tattoo artist. India have had a history of tattoo making, I learned this from my Grandmother. She used to tell me that women in her time used to get tattooed not for a style statement, but to secure their identities. In her time there was a big insecurity of forced conversion from one religion to the other. So women used to get their names tattooed on their hands. Writing a name with too simple a font, requires no or some aesthetic qualities.

Now the purpose of getting a tattoo has changed tremendously, and demands trendiness. This old, simple looking tattoo artist belongs to the period of my Grandmother. But I was amazed to see the transmogrification he was able to pull off, and that too in such an age. He had all trendy designs under his little roadside setup; from tribal to celtic font tattoos. I was thinking from where did the motivation came, to learn, when learning becomes more and more difficult as you start growing older and older. There was a whisper in the winds there, that 'with life; possibilities are endless'.

A picturesque or personification of an ingenious tattoo artist in this modern era is that of a long haired, immensely tattooed, immensely pierced individual. It is now the era of 'Judging a book by it's cover'. In such an era; this old, simple looking tattoo artist compels us to believe in those anachronistic lines 'Never Judge A Book By It's Cover'.   

Love; Perception; aesthetic qualities.

You walk down a road, or stand on your balcony, or drive a car, bike, cycle, or anything else. Do you see anything ecstatically jubilant, worth noticing (Unless you are not in Laddakh or Alaska) ? I guess it will be a meek yes or probably a no. Have you ever wondered why people want to break free, why they have this connotation of being a footloose, and break this chain of irksome obligations and oppression?

I cannot say about anyone else, but I pondered over this subject for many years. In my 24 years of life I read many sages (of the likes of Buddha, Kabeer, Bulleh Shah, Tolstoy etc.), but no one emphasized on leaving your home, family; and live a deserted life of an ascetic. Yet the idea of such life fascinates us and stirs up a kind of wild fascination. Why is it so? Are we not content with the life we are leading? Is there a kind of hidden beast, inside all of us? Or are we too busy in affectations? Or is it our curiosity towards the ultimate truth?

I cannot be sure, nor can I provide you with a readymade answer.

But what can I do is that; I can discuss love, complacency, and inexpectation. But to doubt is humane. Who am I to talk about such intricate issues? I am not Lord Jesus, nor I am Gautama The Buddha or any other enlightened or wise soul. I’ll quote Dostoevsky here

“When the whole essence of an ordinary person's nature lies in his perpetual and unchangeable commonplaceness; and when in spite of all his endeavors to do something out of the common, this person ends, eventually, by remaining in his unbroken line of routine--. I think such an individual really does become a type of his own--a type of commonplaceness which will not for the world, if it can help it, be contented, but strains and yearns to be something original and independent, without the slightest possibility of being so.”

Again Dostoevsky says

“Of such people there are countless numbers in this world--far more even than appear.”
I am an apotheosis of the same commonplaceness.

But since there are countless numbers in this world of the same commonplaceness; so many will be able to connect with what I write from now on.

I’ll take up love; since perceptions and aesthetic qualities all depends upon love.

But before that let me put up this audacious question, that ‘what makes up a sophisticated human?’

Sophistication? Intricacy? Circumlocution? Politics? Philosophy? Nah!

My experience says, simplicity, ingenuousness, and innocence.

I used to go to this tea shop every weekend. There are many vehement forms, contours, formations and arrangements of nature which usually goes obscured and dissimulated, under the kaleidoscope of resentment, apathy, aversion, craving and other such mind dwellings.

But when the mirror of the same kaleidoscope changes with the mirror of love, everything becomes so conspicuous. Beauty shouts at you, subtleties of things exhilarates you, simplicity towards ingenuousness amazes you, and you expect no more, at that space and time.

Above picture is the same clichéd arrangement of nature, I go through every weekend. But this weekend was a bit different. When I encountered this same old clichéd arrangements of nature with the goggles or spectacles or kaleidoscope of love, empathy, complacency, I was awestruck with the magnanimity of it. It was huge and unexplainable. 

Love is the base of every magnanimous perception which in turn becomes an aesthetic quality. Without experiencing crystalline love, human life is incomplete, and without getting habitual of it, human life is a waste.   
Unadulterated love has the power of such; to turn obtuse into acute. It gives you a clean pair of glasses to look at the world and childlike world is what I call paradise. I do not know how to develop such kind of love and how to sustain it. I just know that don't create an affectation of it.