Being a Jedi

Have you experienced this feeling where time slows down, the mind gets blurred, the sounds get garbled, the heart starts thumping....?

No, I am not talking about falling in love.

I am talking about panic.

It was a normal grocery shopping trip. I was blithely strolling along the aisles, picking up my usual supplies like baby carrots, yoghurt, kadalai mittai when my brain executed one of its automated subroutines - of ordering my hand to go for the smartphone in my pant's front left pocket - and registered the empty space.

Of course, the rational part of me quickly killed the "panic". "It's just a stupid smartphone. It's not a big deal even if its lost" I told myself in a casual tone. May be the facts - that all my photos are synced in Google photos, that my WhatsApp is auto backed up, that everything else more or less is covered in my android sync - played a teeny tiny  role in my bravado.

No. Scratch that. Those facts actually, completely, fully and holistically caused that machismo.

And I also realised, retrospectively, that I cut short my shopping adventure to be able to come home as quickly as possible to confirm the suspicion that I had, in fact, just left the phone home in the first place. So the usual swagger that I have when I am carrying my grocery bags, that day, concealed a meaningless, futile, childish and stupid fear.

Fear of losing a material possession which was completely replaceable with no impact whatsoever.

When I realised how silly that was,  I tried to psychoanalyse myself and identify other such fallacies I may have. You know, because it's important to introspect and all that.

...Nah. Scratch that as well. I simply just have too much time and I get bored. (God! What is with my honesty spree here? I feel like Jim Carrey in Liar Liar)

Anyway, I realised that a lot of my hypothetical potential anxieties relate to losing something. Losing being the keyword. And something being a keyword as well. I don't know the point of those two sentences. But it sounds good. So let me just flow with it.

Fear of losing data connection on my phone, fear of losing my house key, fear of losing my wallet, fear of losing my passport and other such things. But those are on the mortal plane. What is horror film type scary? Fear of losing my identity (whatever that is), fear of losing my loved ones, fear of losing my life without realising that life is happening right now....

Now that I had anyway managed to scare myself witless I decided I should venture further and take this analysis to completion.So the next logical point was to explore what I might do if any of these fears come to pass. What if my phone is like the Padme to my Anakin and losing it might turn me to the dark side? That would be a fear materializing, leading to a reaction that I can't control, thereby leading to another fear, that of losing one's self-image, materializing. Aw hell.

So then I thought that maybe I should think of some hypothetical solutions. Hypothetical solutions because these were hypothetical fears to begin with right? I mean I can't seriously expect myself to actually do something in real for a potential hypothetical disaster. That is stupid.

Ah fine,  scratch that. It is not stupid. I guess it is wise. But come on. I am busy. I have all these books to read and TV shows to watch. And besides, what am I supposed to do anyway?

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose". Yoda's voice whispered in my head.

Yeah, Master Yoda? That's pretty convenient for you to say, you being fictional and all.

Anyway, the point is that that seems to be the only logical hypothetical solution. It is also supported by the countless cultures' and religions' emphasis on renouncing things or going off to the forest or meditating away the whole day etc.

Essentially to give up and chill.

The only problem with that hypothetical solution is that it sounds awfully close to being a wimp.

There is no way in hell, say, that I will throw away my smartphone now because I fear losing it. Besides, that whole solution sounds anti-capitalistic you know? The prudent thing would be to get whatever we can and then if we lose it, ah well, tough luck. But it is madness to throw something away.

.......

.......

.......

.......

.......

And That, That arrogant, ignorant  voice that justifies all my fallacies, that mocks at possible solutions, that glares at all my rare glimpses of wisdom, that convinces me to do what is easy now...

That is why I am not a Jedi. 

First World Problems

It was on a normal weekend, returning home from office (see what I did there?), all tired and worn out, hungry and sleepy, my mind in a hazy stupor that the metro's rumbling lullabied me into,  that It suddenly dawned on me that on an escalator going up, if I am staring right ahead,  I am in fact staring at somebody's bum. One part of my mind, still in the hazy stupor, chuckled at this observation. Another part of my mind said that nobody intends to stare at somebody's bum intentionally. The third part of my mind rebuked that second part of my mind saying "Duh! people ogle at strangers all the time". The fourth part of my mind, now starting to put it all together, told the first three parts of my mind that there is a possibility that other people's third part of the mind might be saying that I am one of  those strangers ogling at strangers bums. Then the wholesome unit of my mind decided that It's better to look at the side and then let the hazy stupor take over.

Mind: "oh, what if the people on the other side of the escalator going down think that you are looking at them".

Me:"You know what, I will just go back to my smart phone".

Mind: "ok"

After I reached home,  I kind of realised that that was a quintessential first world train of thoughts if there ever was one. And I also wondered now for some time about the usage of two "that"s in the previous sentence. "If you are writing a blog, you should at least avoid basic grammatical mistakes" my mind reflected. And so I searched a bit and found enough mentions that two "that"s are fine.

Me:"ok, good. so I can leave that sentence as is"

Mind: "ok thanks. It IS important to avoid these mistakes as much as possible"

Me:"Yeah. Totally. Else the millions of people who might read this would go "ugh"

Mind: "Sure. If you say so"

Me:"What"

Mind: "Dude. Nobody reads your blog"

Me:"waah?"

Mind: "......."

Me:"Okay. I knew that. You didn't have to say it. Fine. Be that way".

Mind: "......"

Me:"......."

Mind: "You want to hear something cool?"

Me: "what?"

Mind:"We just had a first world train of thought about a first world train of thought"

Me: "woah.... Sweeeeet!"

Mind:"Meta first world issues baby"

That conversation gave me a high.  You know. So I thought it would be a neat idea to think of some of the first world thoughts that I have had.

Since I will be posting this article on Facebook, that was the first thing I remembered. I have always thought that there should be a rulebook for social media because it's so confusing. Should I like somebody's post? What if it's a sad post? Oh yeah now finally Facebook has some smileys and shit. Anyway. And if somebody posts a sad post, can we post a happy post after that? Isn't that disrespectful? Can I add folks from  work? But LinkedIn is more appropriate for that. What about people at work who are also sort of like friends? Can I add them? What if they don't want to do fraandsheep with me but they accept the invite because they don't want to be rude? Ok, so I won't send invites unless I am absolutely sure they are friends. Phew..you see where I am going with this? Social media is tough.

Mind:"Do you think  not posting anything but using Facebook is like stalking?"

Me: "hmm ..interesting point you make there"

Mind:"But then by that same logic do people who post stuff all the time have a hidden desire to be stalked?"

Me: "boy that's rough. "

Mind:"Cook that noodle when you are bored in the next office meeting. It's interesting isn't it? Besides, you are a digital marketer. You can think about these things. It's practically your job man. That is NOT day dreaming dude. no way."

ok..what else..hmmm...ok.. a few days back, in some gathering, somebody said "ladies first" for something. And I thought that that was anti-feminist. Isn't it? I mean, women are equals and I think all distribution or allocation, at least in a first world setting, should be random. A wise man once said chaos is the only true justice. Anyway, I am digressing. I am all for feminism. Just that, while the concept is pretty easy to comprehend and get behind in all macro-socio-economic aspects like same wages, same opportunities, same liberties etc., it would be good to have some universal guidelines that cover all day to day interactions as well. For instance, is pulling a girl's chair out indicating that she can't do it herself?

Me:"I need to read some books about chivalry"

Mind: "Dude, I get chivalry, as an independent concept. Just that the intersection of that with feminism is tricky. Also, to be fair to the word, I think the true meaning of the word "chivalry" is just being polite and courteous; also probably "courageous" in a medieval setting

Me:"and I suppose technically, we should be polite and courteous to everybody."

Mind: "Exactly. But we wouldn't pull the chair for an able-bodied guy under the name of politeness would we? So then why for women?"

Me: "What if the women expect it?."

Mind: "Wouldn't that make women anti feminists?

Me:"Dude. it's just pulling the damn chair. How does it even matter either way?"

Mind:"Sure. But semantics is fun."

Me:"he he..true."

Mind: "Also, just thought I will give you a heads-up that this topic is controversial. Like, really. "

Me:"But I didn't say anything bad or hurtful!"

Mind: "But you are talking about things that you have no idea about"

Me: "Meh. by that logic, I cannot talk about anything"

Mind: "ok true that. It's not like anybody cares about what you say anyway"

Me:"Dude, I am not sure if that is supposed to make me safe or bad"

Let's talk about falling sick. You know what is worse than falling sick? Falling sick on a weekend. Because I need to decide whether to go to work or not the next day. And it is tricky because taking the first day of the week off (or the last) makes people think that  the guy is lying. And I do know that people think that. I have actually heard people think that. It's not a big deal but I guess that's what makes it a first world issue.

Me: "Doesn't  all this first world problems kind of sort of reek of..you know.. shade of narcissism?

Mind:" it IS narcissism. Seriously? kind of sort of shade of.. gah!..you sissy human!"

Me:"But I am not narcissistic! I mean..not totally..oh god ..Am I a narcissist?... what if everybody thinks that about me. oh god-oh god- oh god."

           Mind: "Great. I guess you don't get the irony here do you?

And just the other day I was thinking about how I am getting old now  and how I have started getting these weird questions lately.It is not fun!! I mean, it's that phase of life where I get these random questions in my head like "Is this the profession that I should spend my life in? " or "What should I do in the next 5 years?"  or "what is the meaning of my life?" or "Why am I here?". And it IS really confusing because I get these questions mixed in simultaneously with these other questions like  "Should I upgrade my PC?" or "Did Batman V Superman really deserve the trashing it got?" or "Should I read a new author next or go back and finish the trilogy that I started?".  And sometimes I binge watch a TV series and I suddenly feel all alone because all my friends are busy and then I log on to 9gag and laugh for a bit and then again worry about life, the universe and everything ( good reference right?  :))

Mind:"You have a good job?"

Me: "Yes..but then that other fellow got a promotion and I didn't"

Mind:"ok fine..leave that.You have a wonderful family?"

Me: "Sure. yes..but they are not here though..they are all over the world now"

Mind:"I understand..ok.Do you have good friends?"

Me: "Sure..but again most of them are married or busy or something"

Mind:"You make enough money?"

Me: "meh..not as much as I should be making for all the slogging I do"

Mind:"Dude. you know what? Brood away. I tried to make you feel better but you are f**k**g  hopeless"

Me: "Hmmm..."

..

..

..

Me: "So in the Days of  Future Past did wolverine have bone claws or adamantium claws?"

So anyway, if you are reading this blog - thank you! It does mean a lot to me you know. I mean we did already establish that I am narcissistic and have first world issues. Duh..I mean it was in the title of this post. So anyway, do tell me you liked it or something. As in, you know, just be nice. Because social validation is important and critical and is a measure of my happiness and confidence and other such stuff. You understand that don't you? Sure you do *wink*.

Me: "Well. That was fun"

Mind:"Dude. You have way too much time. You need to get a life"

Me: "Oh come now. Don't sound like ...um....like everybody else"

Mind:"Fine"

Me: "What?"

Mind:"Why don't you live it up? Go to wild parties. Get drunk. Buy Apple products"

Me: "er..umm...because you don't let me do those things?"

Mind:"oh. "

Me: "uhuh"

Mind:"Ok.Yes.haha.Sorry, I had a mind fart. "

Me: "Since you are my mind, shouldn't you say just say "I had a fart" ?

Mind:"Shut up and go to your damn Kindle "

Me: "okayyy"

Hero Pen

Forced by a sudden gush of nostalgia, the sight of a Hero pen put me on an auto mode in which I robotically took one to the counter and paid for it.

I also got an ink pot. No, the nostalgia story was cut short of perfection for I couldn't get a "Bril" ink bottle. But that is ok I suppose. Too much goodness runs the risk of being cloying.

I just reached home and filled it with ink. 

Here it is :)

It is fascinating how certain objects tap specific memory banks in our minds, bringing up memories we didn't know we had.  

I remember the daily ritual of filling ink in the morning before going to school, of the "ink" cloth that lies inside the ink bottle's paper box that was so fascinatingly patterned after a while that we could have done Rorschach tests with it, of the various pens that I have had, of the multiple pencil boxes that I have had. God. I could go on. It's like a Wikipedia rabbit hole. Each click leading to a new memory. But this post is about the Hero pen.

Or more specifically, about what I think the Hero pen taught me, at least subconsciously. Many of the lessons below are my retrospective fit  of what my young, naive mind might have taken in without understanding or realizing the import at that time. But I am sure they left a mark.

Hero pens taught me patience. A new Hero pen's nib is rough. It scratches the paper when we write with it. It sends a jarring note down  our arm into our teeth. It is annoying, irritating and slows down the speed of writing. But it smoothens. With every page and every word written. So I used to persist with it, knowing that every word I wrote was making the nib smoother.

                Some things need work and there is nothing we can do about it except putting in the time.

Hero pens taught me that I can have pride in something that I have worked hard for. A smooth fountain pen was a matter of pride among my friends. Having used a Hero pen for months & years, the fluidity it reaches and the familiarity of the pen in my hand were proud possessions- the heft of the pen, the balance of the weight, the impact of putting the cap on the back on that balance, accurate judgement of how long an ink fill will last. Having a pen and knowing these about it were  matters of pride.

                Some things cannot be bought, transferred or given, even in good will. 

Hero pens taught me about sharing. When I was thinking about this, I realized I remember all my friends whom had given ink to me or taken from me in class. Not many such friends. But that's probably telling. They were and are still some of my best friends. Those were "inked" bonds.

                Some relationships are special and we can lean on them in a time of need.

Hero pens taught me that the world can seem like an unfair place but that it doesn't really matter. Some were able to get Parker pens which were all smooth right out of  the box. Some were cooler and had Pilot microtip pens which were not even fountain pens. These were the aspirational stuff then. For some lucky ones a fountain pen used to start writing smoothly from the start. These things were always a cause of great envy. But I had a Hero pen that was  as good or better and it was mine and it served me well.

                Some people have it easy and some people don't. But this really has no impact on our lives.

Hero pens taught me to treat precious things preciously. Having a pen for a considerable period of time means it  gets emotionally important after a point.  It goes from being a pen to becoming my pen. The value an object commands is many a times a function of our internal framework. My dad had a pen for close to 3 decades. And as dads are always our heroes, for me owning a pen at that time for as long as possible was a matter of personal expectation. Though I never even came close to my dad's record because roller balls & gel pens took over around the time I finished school,  I still remember the "care" I took of my old pens - just a few notches below the level of me murmuring "my precious".

                The importance of a thing is not intrinsic. It's completely up to us. And it will show in how                       we  deal with it.

I used "pens" in plural in all the illustrations above. And there is a reason. And its related to probably the most  lesson of all that the hero pens have taught me. Hero pens taught me the reality of loss. That gut wrenching few seconds when the pen slips from the desk - the frantic but unsuccessful grasp in mid air, the sound of the pen hitting the floor registering in the ears, the hoping-against-hope that the pen landed on the back tip instead of the nib, reaching down to pick the pen up with the heart thumping in the ears, praying to all the gods in all the religions as the nib is tested on the notebook and the final deadening realization that the nib is broken. That is it. The few seconds cannot be undone. The world's unfairness had nothing to do with it. The god or gods had nothing to do with it. The friend who was talking when the pen slipped had nothing to do with it. I messed up for a second and what was gone will remain gone.

                Some losses are permanent. We just have to accept  it irrespective of whether there was or                    wasn't anything  that we  could have done differently.

Well, I know that these are some strong points to attribute to something as trivial as a pen. But I think that is how learning happens - over time, from all the things in our life small and big, from all the people in our life petty and kind and from all the events in our life eventful and non-eventful. 

Everything counts.

Everything - however negligible, however subliminal - teaches us. Even my Hero pens. 

Collage

Start of a new year like any other date based milestone that we celebrate is a curiously eccentric human thing. On closer, sober scrutiny they tend to seem like artificial constructs without any real significance on the journey but they give us occasions to be happy, wish people and reflect, which are all extremely legitimate & critical reasons  to perpetuate the practice.

The only dampener on that logic is that, ideally, if being happy and connecting with friends & people and reflecting on our lives are so very important, we should be doing these all day, every day.

But hey, we are busy.

So take advantage of these artificial constructs, we shall.

I think doing so also lends itself well for that reflecting piece. A new year seems like a good time to take stock - emotionally & psychologically.

Memories have a way of coming up as these random discrete images. It's as if, subconsciously, our brains have decided to precipitate an experience, a continuous linked set of events or an emotional feeling that has grown over time into one or few vivid images; Pinnacles that soar above the cloud of our consciousness to stand out from all the earthy rocky moments of our existence; Snapshots of life that we have subconsciously hash-tagged as worthy of remembrance.

As its wont, memories catch us unawares. When we are about to drift off lying in bed. When we are standing in a crowded metro. When we are walking alone on a chilly evening. When we are dreaming.

If we let that moment sustain, it sometimes feels surreal. It's like how the images fuzz out when we squint our eyes and let the borders dissolve. A kaleidoscope of memories.

2015 has given me a fair share. So a new year seems as good a  moment as any to build the collage of our being as a measure of what the last time period has been. A palette of memories - Joyous, melodious, sorrowful, angry, peaceful, exhilarating, humbling, shameful, prideful memories. Images that are colorful and bright. And images that are grey and dull.

And when this happened to me today morning, I realized I had mostly heartwarming images swirling in my head. Yes, there were sad ones. But such is a human life. And besides, when we really go meta on it, the black & grey pixels are essential for a painting that is meant to be rich and colorful and vibrant to actually be rich and colorful and vibrant.

And while there are many counter views, I believe memories are our only anchor. Memories are what made and is making us, us. Memories are our identity. And when all is said and done, when all superficial trappings of our life have been lost or rendered meaningless, memories are our only possession.

So I wish you and myself, as the new year begins, that we make good memories in the coming year.

To let the images collect in our lives' albums, knowing that some are bound to be black and hoping to have the wisdom to acknowledge that they are enriching the collage.

Here's to a colorful new year. 

Paperbacks

I always smell my books.

Yes, you read that right.

But no, not at the book shop where there are people milling about. That might  be construed as a shameful act. There I only read some comics end-to-end, spend countless hours reading back cover snippets or sometimes prologues to decide on the books, surreptitiously look at the title of the books that other people are evaluating and some such shameless acts.  (I just realized that the words shameless and shameful have very interesting usage. Yeah, sometimes I shamelessly digress like that.)

No. The act of olfactory investigation comes later.

When I go home after the book purchase sojourn and have finished writing my name, date and place of purchase. (I am reminded of a brilliant piece of dialog from "Up in the air" -   "Men get such hardons from putting their names on things. You guys don't grow up. It's like you need to pee on everything.". Touche. And I already confessed that I digress.).

But that's when I do it. When I am lying down snuggly on the sofa with the book in hand. I caress the spine, feel the letter emboss on the title, open a random page and inhale the euphoric fragrance of a newly printed book.

Yes, it is, in a way, sensual I suppose. After all, what we have with a book is a relationship. In all essence of the word. That is probably why the smell of an old book makes one feel embraced with a familiarity that comes with time. That is probably why an old book's fragrance is not only emotive but also hallucinogenic. For me, It always conjures up an image of a medieval time wooden shack in the middle of a rich forest, filled with the sounds of chirpy birds and rustling leaves and a gurgling brook, all in the back drop of a cloudy grey sky with a pleasantly cool breeze.

And my relationships were only with paperbacks. They age less gracefully but I think it adds to their charm. The motley browning of pages, the frayed edges, crinkles on the spine.  Hardcovers were like celebrity crushes. You know what I mean  right? :/

I had moved on to reading ebooks the last couple of years. There were multiple reasons -non availability of some of the titles that I wanted in the local book shops, the price difference, the convenience of carrying multiple books in a small device, so on and so forth.

Technology has made our lives a lot easier and cooler. I forced myself the bitter pill of migrating to ebooks  and now after a couple of years I buy only on Kindle. Now I do feel pretty ok reading on a digital screen. It's pretty handy - I read on the road, in the metro, at lunch, during boring movies, in travel.

But I miss the fragrance. More than anything. Yes, I also miss the feel of paper and the subconscious anticipation of the end by the relative weights in the right & left hands. But I miss the fragrance. It's almost like the smell adds a separate tangible offering in addition to the actual content. Like a personality.

But such is life. Old gives in to new. Tradition gives in to convenience.

But whatever gives in, lives on.

In flashes of nostalgia, in our dreams, in an subliminal yearning.  

While the new can be convenient and cool, the traditional and the old, while existing only in the memories, still warms the soul.

And while I adopt technology in the fast paced world that we live in, making ends meet, saving for the future, working for my career, I still think of that wooden shack to retire in and read paperbacks.

In tribute to all the paperbacks that have given me company, entertainment, thrills, laughs, knowledge, wisdom and ultimately unwavering friendship. 

Loud Silence

I hear that a relative's relative, who was known to be a kind person, passed away. It saddens me. It does.

I see the news of a terrorist beheading a captive, who ironically was an aid worker. It angers me. It does.

I read articles on economic inequalities and poverty. It makes me guilty. It does.

I get to know of a friend losing his job. It pains me. It does.

And along with the above, a new superhero movie excites me, a thrilling novel entertains me, office work preoccupies me, close family matters worries me and the sight of the street pup running around warms me. It does.

The problem? If I had the time, I would have tweeted or posted something about most of the above in exactly the same sequence as I was exposed to the sensory stimuli.

The bigger problem? I might have done that, probably and circumstances enabling, within the same day. Or a week. But you get the point.

Empathy, broadly, is defined as the ability to recognize and/or share the emotions of another sentient being. This ability lets us acknowledge somebody else's pain, albeit in a subdued and mellowed down form. As social beings I suppose this ability gives us the opportunity to respect somebody else's pain, loss and suffering. And usually this respect is shown by being sober and spartan, by being silent and comforting, by avoiding celebrations and overt expressions of joy.

Maintaining a semblance of this respect, empathy and sympathy in the offline world, that is, the only world that was until a few years ago, seemed delicate enough with its own absurdities, uncertainties, amateurish non-qualified explorations of human psychology, pattern analyses and predictions of people's reactions. The avenues where such mind numbing care had to be taken were far and few. We obviously have the sense not to talk about how interesting the national political scene is or how exciting a film is, to or in the presence of a distressed person.

Cut to the social media age, when I sit back and analyze my own expressions of voices on various e forms I feel like I sound like a complete jerk. To scale it to real life it is akin to saying the following at a stretch in a single room filled with all of the people we are talking to in each of the case, fully audible to everyone in the room.

"CANT WAIT FOR AVENGERS2!!!! Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. Enough of this Bedi Kejriwal Modi crap already. Hahaha look at this funny meme. I strongly condemn intimidation against freedom of speech. I really like your facebook photo. India is going to win the match against Pakistan. I empathise with your tragedy, stay strong. Look at my new photo. AWW LOL CAT."

As a related digression, I am reminded of the following brilliant piece of prose by the fascinating author Gaiman. (In case you haven't read him, do yourself a favour and give his book a try. You won't regret you did)

“No man, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived, and then, by some means or another, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes—forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There's not a chance you'd mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection), but still unique.”

So I guess the truth is that -while we all are occupied in our own little worlds and feel our own problems, irrespective of how small they are, are bigger than others and exert effort or tangible action primarily only to influence our little circle- the momentary feelings of sadness, anger, pain and frustration felt at the plight of a fellow human being are as sincere as any. But except a select few who are endowed with indomitable spirit and an inexhaustible ability to empathise, the rest of us rarely actually do anything with these feelings we have.

A case can be made that the larger world does care, given the huge droves of sympathies and empathies shared online. But it is rather betrayed by the fact that the number of hashtags is bigger than the message, that the number of message is too loud to be legible and that the sequence of messages ranges from the truly serious to trolls and memes. The acts of emoting online and claiming support to a cause vociferously, while genuine the intentions may be, are probably only useless proxies for a non-existent action, to effect, to alter, to actually influence.

These high pitched and loud voices, perhaps, are then not visible expressions of underlying actions, but that of a deafening silence.

But I don't think there is any reason to sweat it. It's probably part of being human. It's probably part of being islands. Now that I have arrived at that logical point in my head the question is not whether one can feel sympathy for somebody else and yet completely fail to act beyond one's own world or avoid obsessing about one's own life. 

Because we do that. 

No, the question is whether we are right to tweet about these, like these and post these? Is this violating the basic sense of respect that we show in the offline world to those who are suffering? Does it make us insensitive people?

Well, I don't know. I know many people who are completely disconnected from social media. Some who have a presence but rarely post anything. Some who only likes others posts. And heck, we all have been all of these above someone during some phases. But I am sure some wiser and smarter souls than me have realized this conundrum that I am talking about much earlier and thus remain silent or disconnected on social media? Suddenly, I do have a new found respect for these people. But then they can also simply be silent stalkers who just track people's updates online. Who the hell knows anyway.

Now I will post this on my Facebook - An idle mind's ruminations on a fairly interesting but completely useless aspect of an unarguably first world problem - when kind people are passing away, self less people are getting beheaded, a lot of families remain buried in poverty, millions are perishing in war, famine, disease or hunger and millions more suffering under incapacitating, humiliating social structures.

Why? Because I suppose I don't truly give a shit.
...okay...My abject apologies for the foul language.

Oh, but wait, you don't give any shit too.

PS - Now wasn't that a nice Valentine's day post? 

Atom bomb in a Papaya

Diwali was always special when we were kids for it was the only festival that packed the whole deal - school holidays, mom made special sweets, new clothes, new superstar movies and fireworks. Getting up early to burst individual bijilies however monotonous it sounds (that was a good pun eh?) was infinitely more rewarding and more interesting than having to get up early for, say, the Suryan poojai in Pongal. From a purely adrenaline point of view the other festivals were woefully short changed.(Side note - MS Word should get a Desi version. It tried to auto correct "Bijilies" to "Bikinis". Seriously. Abacharam.)

Unlike other festivals, Diwali alone had the unique distinction of getting started at least 10-15 days before the actual day.  

There was an elegant beauty to the sequence.

T minus 15 days - The Tape Gun games are the first. Oh how I miss those! Every year I used to cry, roll on the floor, plead, fight and get a new gun. The big box of "ammo" used to have 10 individual packages and each package used to have 10 rolls. Having one of these gave a deep sense of protection akin to Calvin making numerous snow balls.  Running around in the neighborhood with your friends,  shooting each other was a deeply satisfying and immensely enjoyable simulation of tactical urban warfare.

T minus 10 days - Then came the bijilies. These were cheap and numerous. So like the pawns on a chess game, these were the first to go without any remorse. The other "big" stuff had to be saved for the last. But Bijilies were my first experience with compounding items - tying up two or three or sometimes four of them together. Many of the bijilies also tended to fizzle out and so at the end of the day will be the paper-mat ritual where all dud ones are put on a paper and the paper is lit on fire. Nothing can go to waste after all, now can it?

T minus 6 days - Next in line were the slightly bigger crackers - the Kuruvis and the Krishnas. These were not the big guns but big enough to be treated with some consideration. These are taken out  5 -6 days before  Diwali.

T minus 3 days - Then it was time for the badass'es. The Lakshmis, the Netajis and the atom bombs. These were on limited supply, especially the atom bombs. Probably had only one pack of those. So these were carefully used and with utmost respect. Each pack of five was meticulously accounted for in the memorized stock list and every one of it made to burst. Duds were unacceptable - so every possible trick was use to ensure we get the bang for the buck. (that was a good pun too isn't it?)

T minus 1 day - The Eve! very special day as the first "night" crackers were burst that night. The night crackers are like the desserts of a meal. Expensive, exotic, available in limited quantity and saved for the last. The sparklers, flowerpots, chakras, snakes and pencils were all debuted that day.

T - the big day at last. This is the day for the exquisite ones - rock forts, double sounds and the one big lar/wala that was bought. It used to be a 200 or 300X one and it commanded the reverence of a nuclear warhead. It was special. very special. The entire family would bear witness to  this one. This was the Diwali highlight. The chief guest. The night was the eventful home stretch with the rest of the night stuff culminating with the rockets and a couple of exotic ones - like 5 bursts or parachute or butterflies.

It is fascinating to realize how Diwali, the most awaited days of my childhood has merely become just another festival.  It still retains the meaningful aspects of a festival of course  - about greeting people, catching the patti manram on TV, watching a new movie and spending time with family& friends. But I miss the Diwali high, the excitement, the glee and the joy of bursting crackers. The things adulthood finds itself handicapped to grasp. I guess age tempers itself with what we believe as acceptable behavior and this conditioning  is so subliminal that we don't realize that we are growing old and boring.

One of our favorite Diwali time custom activity was to take papayas (from the trees in the playground), drill a hole, squeeze an atom bomb, light it, run, hide behind the walls and trees and wait in anticipation with bated breath for the "frag grenade" to blow. When the bomb goes off in a glorious and colorful spray of papaya, my friends and I will be clapping, giggling and high fiving.

I certainly don't see myself or my friends doing that now.

The joy of childhood comes from equal parts of innocence and irreverence.

Diwali will always be special for no other festival lends itself so well for these childhood qualities  to be expressed, enjoyed and celebrated.

Diwali will always be special for no other festival reminds us of our childhood and the joy of childhood. And there, in the midst of this remembrance, lies our motivation to live & love like a child and hence our redemption.

Happy Diwali folks.

PS - While I did concede that I don't see myself putting an atom bomb in a papaya now, I have to be honest and confess that I still find the idea brilliantly fascinating.