Key to the door

“You think you’ve arrived, doncha?” he said. “I hate to break it to you but you’re only in the first room.” He paused. “It’s not nothing—don’t get me wrong—but it’s not that great either. Believe me, there are plenty of people in this town who got to the first room and then didn’t get any further. After a year or so, maybe longer, you’ll discover a secret doorway at the back of the first room that leads to the second room. In time, if you’re lucky, you’ll discover a doorway in the back of the second room that leads to the third. There are seven rooms in total and you’re in the first. Doncha forget it.” 

This was Graydon’s ‘seven rooms’ speech in the book and later film 'How to lose friends and alienate people.'

It does seem that to grow and move towards the next room is most important. Or else we keep going round the same room, rating the same rants, stuck with the same prejudices. And our state of being is not a dynamic equilibrium. We are not moved or surprised by events. We don't lose ourselves and later simmer down to our normal state. Instead, nothing seems to take us out of that room. We have closed down the windows and doors. We remain static. Set in a fixed temperament. 

Whatever we do in that room is less significant than getting out of that room. Growing out of it, rather. Just as individual achievements are secondary to the result - pass or fail. Have you moved to the next class? There you get more exposure. Eventually there will be a time when you can choose subjects which you love to study and ignore those that don't excite you. However, it is important to get there. And to get there, we have to keep moving to the next room. 

Doing your job and just that!

A sense of wonder combines with an expansive spaciousness when some new perspective is introduced to the mind, usually through books. The mind just shifts paradigms or enlarges its views. It is an exhilarating feeling. And it feels empowering, even if the paradigm is one of pathos or of bitter truth. So I have grown fond of reading books. New ways to look at life, new dimensions to explore the world. I would want to see things in entirety through these understandings. I would perhaps want to come to an idea of a big picture and then chalk out my place in it. Which is, as a famous biologist put it, infinitesimally small in the unfeeling immensity of the universe.

But say I manage to gather an idea about all of this stuff, how would that affect me? Perhaps it would help me go about my day to day activities in a different way. What if I apply myself to my day to day activities very well, instead of aspiring to become this or gather that? If I am happy to be a prisoner, content in jail, then the very term loses relevance. I am not in a prison anymore, I might as well be in a Vipassana centre or Shangri la itself. Just as brilliance excites the imagination, humility moves the soul. There is a tension between these two aspects in many facets of our life.

And being present in our workplace, mentally also, posts us in different situations each day. The way we react to them and engage with the people involved throws new insights on how to proceed. It helps us improvise and intervene in issues in a better way.

Perhaps then, doing your job and doing just that, may lead to a deeper appreciation of what is going on all around. And perhaps, studying other issues and books, would help us do our daily job in a better way. Reinventing ourselves as each new book is finished. Polishing our understanding of theoretical things as each experience is lived through. It may be complementary. Enabling us to do our jobs well and do just that.

An extra second of tickling!

There was a good conversation yesterday afternoon. A healthy exchange of information and ideas. And I felt there was also some shared goodwill. How did this particular conversation get that flavour? Before the conversation took place I had been deliberately silent for at least two hours. Something from those hours extended to the conversation. the silence out me in a mindset where I could wait and watch. During dialogues, it gives that extra second to pause and reflect. To really listen. And perhaps ask clarifying questions or collect my thoughts on the topic. Instantly, the process itself is more genuine, the words that come out are meant by the person speaking them. That pause of one second. It also quality checks our statements. Am I saying what I am about to say for self aggrandizement? Is it true? Is it a standard rehearsed reply? That helps. Can't underestimate that extra second.

Every conversation hinges heavily on the way it begins. The first greetings are important. More than wit or smartness, affection/respect helps set the right tone. After the initial greeting and pleasantries, it then boils down to listening and observing. Noting down interesting points helps. And keeping 'to do' lists are also very helpful. To get on with life, 'to do' list is the only management tool necessary. When you look at it that way, life seems to be one long 'to do' list. Of course, the aesthetics of living is for self consumption. It tickles you everyday in myriad ways.

At night, there was a compromise. that gave a way forward. Being true to ourselves, as far as our understanding allows us to be, helps us during tricky times. And relationships are strong when one doesn't bluff the other. So 'I don't bluff you, you don't bluff me' works pretty well, especially in tough situations. It adds a certain grace to the occasion. Activates the humour compartment and lends levity to the surroundings. With all these elements, truth can be addressed and the situation can be handled. So you tackle it and then life tickles you and then it is a tango of tickle-tackle, tickle-tackle.

Sailing in the sea

''You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts'' says Kahlil Gibran.

There isn't any hurry. Or any loss. When you can live with yourself amicably. Some days, you just want to go through once. Others, you wish you had done them differently. Nevertheless, there are certain themes running through the phases of my life. Right now, the themes are about doing my work properly and being a good family man. However there is a strong undercurrent. The mind is trying to acquire a coherent worldview. It often leads to the moral questions of living and working. Do I believe that morality has a place? If so, what are the contours of mine? 

"And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart, you live in your lips" 

The more I think about this, the more I am assured that I need not think so much about it. Things are fine the way they are. However, I do wish to slow down. Not as a lifestyle thing. But in my mind. To slow down and dig deeper. Place myself in placid waters. At the same time to be disciplined and skillful. 

"And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly."

People I've admired in life have been people with skills. And they have been soulful. The respect for their sharp minds was as profound as the endearing yearning for their restrained companionship. The more I train my resilience muscle, the more I increase my mind's capacity to digest things completely, the more I can listen and see.   

"And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand."

For both of these things, I think silence helps. it checks impulse, lets one sink his feet into the day and get a feel of things. 

"And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words. In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rythmic silence."

Of the many ways to get to patience, silence probably is one. Of the many ways to get to peace, patience probably is one. 

How the books spoke

A stocktaking of the books I read in the last three months

Life of Pi - Yann Martel gave that imaginary sweep and depth of research. 

This divided Island - Samanth Subramanian, that meticulous industry and a gradually unfolding narrative. 

The Book Thief - Markus Zusack played with history and suffering. 

The song of the magpie robin - Zafar Futehally narrated his story with gentle, aristocratic sophistication. 

Fallen Leaves - Will Durant laid down wholesome thoughts and disruptive insights. Yeah, there. When Will Durant speaks, it is as if the truth has been there with us and he has given it a tangible voice. There is excellence and there is simplicity. 

Wings of Fire - Abdul Kalam was full of drive and integrity. 

Lajja - Taslima Nasreen called out the duplicicty and petitioned for justice. 

Joy in the Morning - Wodehouse played around, funnily in funny situations, free and English-like. 

I am yet to introduce myself to Malala Yousufzai. Meanwhile discussions have thrown up Milan Kundera, Italo Calvino and Harold Bloom.  

Weekend travel

Spiraling down the NH22 from Shimla to Chandigarh, one tries to think of anything that won't turn the stomach. One must definitely try and ignore the the musky diesel fumes. Any imagination that makes one wonder if the excess oil from the chola bhatura that was devoured for breakfast would be processed by the roundabout travel to become a petrochemical product or paraffin wax must be checked. Nor should one concern himself about the narrowness of lanes suspended on alarming precipices supporting a disproportionate number of vehicles whooshing past at high speed. Hunting for the silver linings, at such scenarios, is but a natural thing to do. Apart from noting down the places we passed through in a notepad -from Shimla to Shoghi to Kandaghat and then on to Solan and Barogh till we reached Pinjore- there were also other fine things to take note of without a dashed notepad. Travelling in hills gives unusual vantages and lightings to appreciate the landscape. A slice of orange sun here, a deep cliff there, hill ranges, fields in valleys. The diversities are sharp and the landforms are closely packed. The forested hills at times appear like sheep clothed in green wool on the northern slopes. The bushy trees uniform and fluffy, covering the hills snugly. The southern slopes are barren, the cold winds and lack of sunlight not allowing vegetation to take root.

Chandigarh, the planned city in the plains was a stark contrast. Le Corbusier's 'open hand' greeted us as we entered the UT.  Neat and spacious, spreading wide and even, it felt like the earth had freed up its muscles and was stroking the pacemen freely in mid-season form. When we are going on about pacemen and being in form, let me also state the reason for our descent to the plains. We were to play a cricket match there in the ground in Sector-16. A day-night match it was and was played enthusiastically. A spectacle of sorts for most of us, making our debut in an international ground.

Later at night, we took a stroll outside our hotel. Right opposite was CAT (central administrative tribunal). We went round the shops, crossed the lanes and kerbs and parking lots. A city that looks near perfect to the tourist, the planned modernisation, breezy traffic. An exemplar of what Indian cities could be. If we go about arranging our cities in our living room, Chandigarh would take the best shelf in hte showcase. Anyway, after the match, we could walk only for a few minutes. W eessentially only went a few paces sniffing around the CAT bulding and a few shops. After the CATwalk and banter, had a sound sleep. Woke up and made our winding way back to Shimla. To the clean and cold air again. There, in the auditorium, watched India beat Pakistan at the Eden Gardens. All that remained was to snuggle up under the sheets with a Wodehouse paperback. Right Ho! 

Some pictures of the match

On learning

Curiosity and questions scan the horizon,
for quiet observations to bring answers


We fail and try again
Fail again and laugh aloud
Lest we take ourselves seriously


A teacher offers his heartfelt lessons
and earns an enthusiastic silence

A place to thrive in

Sitting in the library surrounded by books gives a feeling of comfort. At the same time, it also stimulates the desire to read more, know more. As I was reading Rajmohan Gandhi’s ‘Mohandas’, something of the spirit of sacrifice and service that was in the book seemed to enter the surroundings momentarily. When I came back to my room, my roommates were rearranging the study tables. So I joined in. I started the exercise hesitantly. But when it was finished, it opened a new space in the room where we could study peacefully. Cut off from the beds, facing the beautiful lawn of the academy and natural light coming through the windows, it was a place that would tempt anyone to come and spend a few minutes there.

So after the arrangement was done, we all sat together and began studying. The weather was simply disarming. It rained and a moody mist engulfed the hills. The scene from the window was perfect. Study progressed slowly. The seemingly trivial task of arranging the table and chair at a good place and giving some thought to what we need and setting up the room accordingly facilitates actions such as studying or being active so much more. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the day as much had I been studying from my bed. 

View from the window

The Gangtok Girl and the Shimla Security

This story was related to me by a person who had traveled widely. Once he was travelling in Gangtok in a bus with fellow tourists. When they were coming back from a visit in the bus, one of the passengers had a bout of nausea. So the bus stopped and the person got down to puke. When he finished, the passengers realised that there was no water left with anyone in the bus. There was no shop nearby and it was night time. Just then, a little girl, aged 8 or 9 walked through. There were a few houses nearby and she probably lived in one of them. One of the passengers asked her if she could fetch some water if her house is nearby. The response she gave reflected an outlook that is precious and pure. She asked, simply, 'Warm water or cold water?'.

After a few minutes, she was standing near the person who had vomited with a jug of warm water and a glass. He took around 10 minutes to compose himself and get back to the bus. She went back to her home.


In the Mall Road of Shimla, a couple of decades ago, a prominent personality went for a stroll. He lit a cigarette as he walked. After a few steps he casually discarded on the road and walked on. The security personnel, in charge also of enforcing the cleanliness rules, saw the littering done by this famous personality. As a typical Himachali would, he walked and caught up with the famous personality and told him humbly 'Sir, you have dropped something of yours behind.' The famous person spent a moment taking in the meaning of the statement, slowly walked back, picked up his dropped cigarette and dumped it in a dustbin. Both the security and the person went their separate ways.

James Allen, in his famous work 'As a man thinketh' says 'Of all the beautiful truths pertaining to the soul which have been restored and brought to light in this age, none is more gladdening or fruitful of divine promise and confidence than this—that man is the master of thought, the moulder of character, and the maker and shaper of condition, environment, and destiny. Thought and character are one, and character can only manifest and discover itself through environment and circumstance'.

And events such as the above two, which bring together circumstance and character in a kaleidoscopic beauty, throwing light on beautiful values and their genial expressions, the human experience is momentarily lifted to a higher level of appreciation and awareness. Stories they may be or hearsay, yet they give the common mind something lofty to hold onto.

The floating moment

In the rumble and tumble of events, there are moments when a combination of external circumstance, internal serenity, absence of any lingering bitterness or future anxiety, all combine to produce moments of fine leisure. Sitting in the deck of our academy, incubated in the cool spring sun and surrounded by mature minds, my mind was floating like a butterfly sheltered in Shangri La.

   

Hanuman House

Came back home for three days. Chennai. Had forgotten how sultry and oppressive it could get here. Met many relatives. A few were designated family trolls. Smiled sheepishly at their provocations. The youngsters, of course, were the redeemers. Had good fun with them. Like the stranglehold Mrs. Tulsi keeps over Hanuman House, Mrs. S hovered over things here. Add a new element to the already spicy concoction. My wife. Although she was a mute audience in the proceedings, enduring her time stoically, conversations revolved around her and kept coming back to her. Many people, varied levels of childishness, some understanding eyes, lots of drama. Two more days to sit back and ride the roller coaster. 

Witnessing a house in session

Last of the three days in the parliament. Witnessed an hour's proceedings in the Lok Sabha. Went smoothly. Later paid our respects in Rakaab Ganj Gurdwara opposite the parliament. India has finished its 20 overs of batting in the series versus Bangladesh. Dhoni came in to face the last two balls of the innings. The first ball went for an awkward 2 runs. After a smile and an understanding nod at Sir Jadeja, he lifted the last ball nonchalantly for a six. In Lok Sabha TV, discussion on the recent turmoil in JNU has come to a close after a detailed clarification from Minister Smriti Irani. Things stand there. Where are we on the Oscars list? Out of the eight movies nominated for Best Picture, four I have watched. Brooklyn, Mad Max, Room and The Martian is left. Will have to choose one to watch today. Bye. 

Parliamentary bagpipes

Two days inside the parliament has taught me how to listen to foolishness without a smartphone under the table to help out. The classes were sloppily organised and the speakers were generally putting on a talk show without substance. All was not gloom and doom though. There were a couple of redeeming sessions. They were bot informative and engaging. One faculty talked of the Somnath Chatterjee-era. When he was speaker, he had admonished Shivraj Patil, then Home Minister for not being present during laying of papers. Shivraj Patil had to tender a public apology after which the House carried on its business. There was also an incident of the Indira Gandhi government resigning because of the failure of the Privy Purse constitution amendment bill. The bill failed to get the two-thirds majority by one vote. And incidentally, one Congress MP was busy in the outer lobby when the voting took place. If he had been present, the bill would have sailed through.

The delicacy and finesse of having a Rajya Sabha was also elaborated on. A check for democratic tyranny. A Lok Sabha majority would be not just enough. The federal structure is represented in the council of states. The founding fathers, though mostly from the Congress, had the foresight to put it in place over riding objections to constituting an Upper House on the lines of the House of Lords. One objection by an Englishman was interesting. If the Upper House agrees with the Lower always, he said, it is just superfluous, if it does not, it would be mischievous. Why then, have it?

Another interesting event was a visit to the Parliament Library. It housed the original copy of the constitution which was kept inside a nitrogen filled chamber. It was on the first floor, inside a tiny room. Above the entrance of the room, a print out was pasted with cellophane tape saying this room housed the original constitution. Inside a copy of the constitution was covered with crudely cut dark green silk cloth. The edges came out in strings. It wasn't exactly disrespectful but it didn't have any sanctity either. It looked a little sidelined, the constitution, a reflection of the times perhaps.

There was a session by Murli Manohar Joshi on financial committees of the parliament. The real work is done in committees, he said. When in session, the politics is played out for the gallery. He said another important thing. Inside the houses, the game is between the ruling party and the opposition. In committees, it is between the politicians and the bureaucrats. What he meant was, the committees are the forums where the accountability of the executive is taken stock through seasoned parliamentarians.

The parliament complex is filled with statues of great men. Mahatma Gandhi himslef, sits as a mammoth statue outside the main entrance. The soul of great men, however, is hard to find. It feels like a badly orchestrated show business performed by uninterested actors and impatient, haphazard support staff. There are some high profile cameos though. Tomorrow there is a visit to both the houses. Hopefully, it won't be adjourned before we make it inside. 

Fraternity

Have I taken writing seriously enough to cultivate a bit of doggedness, I wonder? To keep at it consistently I would need a certain amount of grim determination to go with the interest and intention.

Our team had a cricket match with senior colleagues today. A pleasant time of the year for outdoor sports. There was an easy relationship without much fuss or hierarchical control. The game went well though we lost. The driver was in a hurry to drop us and head off home. It was an hour's drive from the cricket ground, he drove skilfully but there were a couple of close calls. And of course there were children begging at a few signals. When we reached our institute, he said to us 'Sir, sign this, let me go home also. I reported at 6 a.m. today.' It's like that song. 'Them that's got shall have, them that's not shall lose.'

After the match, I had a long nap in the room. When I got up the pleasant afternoon had given way to a dull evening. I had a sore back and a mild headache. But a hot shower and a sushi dinner fixed that. Would now hit the Oscars list again. 'The Big Short' today. A heavenly weekend. 'God bless the child that's got his own'.   

Lunch, Dinner, comaraderie

To write well, one has to live well. The tingles of excitement in anticipating ironies, in discovering subtleties and in measuring rhetorics, there lies the rub. Having decided to write every day, I often had to pinch myself into attention and observe things at least a a tad more deeply than I usually do. I went to have lunch with a friend today at his house. It was a hazy afternoon in Delhi. I got into the cab with a kilo of apples and looked out into the smog. It was, by Delhi standards, an easy ride of 18 kms through NH8 and Dwarka road. The sites along the route were the standard sites you would see all along Delhi. A profusion of people, cars and buildings, customary trees along the road and in apartment complexes and public institutions coated with thick layers of dust, elevated metro corridors and inescapably, a couple of flyovers en route.

After greetings, we had a fragrant ghee rice with just the right flavour, boneless pepper chicken with mild flavours and onion raita. Then there was steamed rice and rasam. The good food and conversation made for a relaxing atmosphere. Three hours slipped unnoticed. Time to leave. Again a cab, again the dusty highway and back to my room. The day had been just a little sultry and my room was cool and welcoming. From the balcony, there was a constant chatter of birds. The mynas and parrots were chirping and tweeting away. The two pigeons which had made their nests on top of my room's air conditioner were oorh-ing and clucking. A busy weekend for the birds. Unfortunately there was no cuckoo but now and then there was an odd crow cawing distractedly.

Watched Spielberg's 'Bridge of Spies'. Exquisite sets. Marl Rylance was fantastic as Rudolf Abel. Has got a nomination in this Oscars for best supporting actor. Would have to wait till 28th to know. Then a lovely dinner in Dana Choga's Kitchen with another friend. The touch of ginger in the mixed vegetable gravy, the smooth makhni and the layered and crisp toasted lachha parathas were fabulous.

Photos of the parakeet and pigeon

Here we are

Distance and leisure gives a person sober eyes. The scene seems a little less cluttered, the way seems visible a little further. I have been attending classes for the past 50 days. Classrooms usually leave some elbow room for imagination. The speaker addresses the general audience and there are hardly any specific responsibilities. So sitting in class today, I was taking stock of myself.


Health: Fit but not robust
Wealth: No cheer there
Career Prospects: Comfortable
Marriage: Solid


Not a bad square to be in. But from here, where do I want to go? That was not very obvious. Hence the thought of recording the next hundred days' experiences here. Decisions are tough without analysis. Analysis is vague without data. So for empirical reasons, we start the 'One hundred pages of personal observations', shall we call it? Or 'diary' will also do. Except it is out in cyber space. Not a very cosy choice for a diary to be out parading in public.


Nevertheless, the journal of a hundred entries begins with the first one.


Ciao. 

The Chore of Everyday Living

"... 'Honesty is indeed a respectable virtue; but how much higher may men attain! Shall nothing more be asked of us than we be honest?'

For the present good friends, nothing. It seems in our aspirations to be more than that, we have to some extent lost sight of the propriety of being so much as that."

                                              - Extract from 'Unto This Last' by John Ruskin

Getting better is a chaotic task. On the face of it, just honour two values (truth and love) and you're on the right track.  But practically, it is full of subjectivity. 'To be or not to be, that is the question.' When all that is needed is to be cool and be in the present, the mind constantly keeps sizing up situations, analysing responses and judging consequences. It is the duck and the paddle story. There is superficial calm while the mind operates furiously and churns out reason and tracks logic. The mind simply refuses to let go.

And there is the problem of loquaciousness. You see it in others but not in yourself. As Viktor Frankl says '(our meaning of life) must consist not in talk and meditation, but in right action and right conduct.' But right action is more as much about not doing the unnecessary things as about doing the right things. To remain masterly inactive is a difficult chore. Warren Buffett says, benign neglect, bordering on sloth, remains the hallmark of his investment process. Sachin apparently leaves more balls in the matches he hits a century. And Gandhi in his autobiography says 'silence is part of the spiritual discipline of a votary of truth... a man of few words will rarely be thoughtless in his speech.' Tolstoy, amidst much rambling says in 'The kingdom of God is Within You' - 'The ideal is to love the enemies who hate us. The precept, showing the level below which we cannot fall, is not to do evil to our enemies, to speak well of them, and to make no difference between them and our neighbours.' So much for dos and don'ts.

Now apart from providing inspiration, the thing with reading the works of great men is that it puts your life in a rather harsh perspective. The mind is constantly trying to get in sync with those elevated thoughts and at many times when you lapse into being your own dilatory, unrestrained self, there comes an essay of Tolstoy or an example of Gandhi which again puts the mind into churning. The last two weeks went much this way. Now there is a faint light, a bit of clarity, some sense of understanding. And again, there is the difficulty of being in the present, to listen and be truthful. And of being sincere and not serious. Vanity steps in now and then, mind reverts to calculations. But precedents of great men help. And it helps that these men have set the bar very high. Gandhi took a vow of celibacy when he was thirty seven. THIRTY bloody SEVEN! He of course says that it is not just physical abstinence but also mental detachment from horny thoughts. Bloody hell! And now that the winter in Delhi is coming to a close and girls in JNU are shedding their clothes, the mind has to constantly remain on guard! ;-)

Most inspiration I've received during this process is from a now well marketed quote, which originally was released by the British government, in their inimitable style, when the bombing of London began in the second world war. It reads 'Keep Calm and Carry On'. It is rewarding when you get the hang of it.

Day 0 - At RCVP Noronha Academy of Administration and Management, Bhopal

"It is not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame;
But the captain's hand on his shoulder smote,
Play up, play up and play the game" - Vitae Lampada

It is 11:30pm, Sunday, the 1st September, 2013. I have checked into my room and after a refreshing shower, have unpacked most of my stuff. Tomorrow the training starts. For now, I have spread the bedspread over starched bed linen, have hung the suits and arranged the formal clothes in the cupboard, set my laptop conveniently on the table near the large window. From this window of Room No. 40, I can see the adjacent temple and the road that is butting it.

I have been allocated Indian Information Service, and from 10am tomorrow, I'd be commencing my training. I hope to do well. More than that, I hope to embark on the journey of becoming a better person. A challenging, confusing journey it seems as of now.

The feeling is almost of going from primary school to secondary school for the first time. You've covered your textbooks with brown sheet, you've pasted labels on it and have written your name and subjects with a newly bought fountain pen. The uniform is ready (pants for the first time!). The smell of new things lingers in the air. New books, new clothes, new schoolbag. Well, it is a bit like that now. The only advantage of being older than a sixth grader is that I can contextualise these feelings and give them some names. There is anticipation, apprehension and nervousness. Well, ready or not, the journey has begun. Let us see how things turn out. With an open mind and an embracing heart, I sign off :)

Peaks and Troughs

"Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play;
Belinda smiled and all the world was gay." - Alexander Pope

The sea water collectively moved gathering speed, as if to break into a charge, the blue water turning into a frothy white wave. And then it calmed down, spent its energy in trying to overwhelm a retreating wave, dissolved into a smaller muddy mixture which then retreated back to the sea. Meanwhile, the next layer was collecting its horde of water droplets and forming another wave. As he sat there, more sober today and a bit obstinate, the waves formed, crashed and dissolved over and over again. Each time rising with hope, riding with grace and fizzling out in the end. The beach was lively, the breeze was gentle, the evening sun mild.

How was he doing? he wondered. He was 51 years old now and these questions kept bothering him nowadays. He was doing alright. Like the Bay of Bengal before him. Not very tempestuous, not really roaring out but adequately supplied with life, sufficiently providing to others and with a generous, inviting attitude towards social exchange.

How was his life going? Well, it was dynamic, much like the shore. And it was repetitive, much like the waves. Yes, there was a pattern emerging, contentment and curiosity, satisfaction and moral debate, all taking turns. It was repetitive and yet dynamic. Yes, much like the sea. Much like life.

What was he becoming? Trying to make a beach out of the seaside, really. Trying to erode the sharp boulders and smoothen the rough edges. Trying to row past the superficial distractions and get to the calmer, deeper side of things. And trying his best to avoid cyclones.

It was all contained in the beach, the story of his life was there. Playing out itself in abstract form, wave after wave, showing him the way it works. The beginning, the journey and the end. He had succeeded at some of his efforts, like the wave that managed to reach out to him, to just touch his feet before lapsing out, at other times his efforts had failed, like the baby wave that got smothered even before it could pan out, take shape and put up a fight.

But come now, come, come, what does it matter? When there is always the eternal bond between the breeze and the water that makes the waves a perpetual reality. What does it matter, when he is sitting there besides the love of his life, feeling the water and feeling the breeze and watching before him the dancing waves play out for them the story of their life, full of peaks and troughs, full of missed chances and fulfilled opportunities, driven by the bond that makes the world go round.

PseudoSacroPsychoSanct babble!

Here I am, sitting in the good old Anna Centenary Library again. I have been posted to a village called Sirwar, near Raichur, in Karnataka for my 3rd branch training. I have taken the week off and am trying to get back in touch with studying. In the mainframe of my mind, from the far left corner, economic survey is staring back at me with apathy. In the centre, the incredibly hot and arid village of Sirwar is looming before me, right beside the economic survey. To the right, nudging Sirwar and Survey coercively is a face - the learned, judging, no-bullshit face of Dr. Purushottam Agarwal - the man who presided over my half-an-hour long Civil Service interview.

Future beckons, it has been beckoning for quite a few months now. Destiny awaits, without hurry and with no hesitation. And life moves forward. Ever so coolly. Ever so unfailingly. All the decisions that have to be taken are coming close with their own deadlines to a not-yet-ready/just-getting-ready mind, just like our underdeveloped/developing country's dozens of flagship programs.

I'm standing, yet again, at crossroads of life. I have to, yet again, make a decision. It seems I keep coming at crossroads every three months in my life. The question is - am I progressing or am I just running in circles?  Fuck it, I'm okay with crossroads nowadays.

What do I feel now? I feel at peace but there is also a can't-be-bothered feeling. Solace is there, yes, but not certainty. Rest is there, but I don't feel any leisure. There is fun but no madness. There is hunger, but no craving. Appy is there, but there is no fizz.

The date of results is coming close, so is the date of the next preliminary exam.

There is this blanket of numbing relaxation I feel and I'm not sure if it is complacency or weariness. Or something else. But I feel love, for the people around me. I feel satisfied about the way things are unwinding or winding up. And I'm blogging, just for the sake of blogging, just to put my thoughts out there, in the chaotic temporariness and small permanence of the blogosphere. 

On my inebriated psychological behalf,
I'm secretly whispering my sign off,
With a careless, tranquil high,
and a comatose, chilled Goodbye.