m a n u s c r y p t s

In an earlier post – “Brood Mode“, I’d written about expectations, and how sometimes, they cannot be met. In the context of that post, Austere had commented thus “Is it the instant-ness demanded of the response that puts one’s brain to a side?” I messaged her on Twitter, that ‘the time construct’ was something I’d planned to write on next.

Our response time has been shrinking on a continuous basis, twitter, FB etc are a manifestation of that – real time, but the changes have been happening much before that, probably with every advancement we made, not just in communication, but even things like transportation. So, the thought is, if we had more time on our hands, would we be behaving differently with people?

When I was chatting with Meeta recently, we started discussing this, in the context of relationships with people. It started with me saying that the traffic during the daily commute to work, made me forget all the rules I make for myself, because with all the lane cutting and parking woes, its easily a scenario in which you’re either aggressive or you end up on the road, literally. So I wondered if it would be different if there were no time constraints.

Despite only a superficial similarity, I was reminded of another construct – money. What started out as a tool of convenience has enslaved many and managed to dictate their actions. Much like the things we create to crunch time. The similarity ended there. Time is not money. Quite obviously, time exists with or without us, though the latter can force one to ask “Who does it exist for then? So let me put it this way, it is a construct that’s still not fully understood, whereas we made the money construct. But for the fun of it, imagine what you would’ve done if your life wasn’t dictated by time. What if you had all the time in the world. Would you be a different person? Would you behave differently with people?

As it regularly happens these days with me- by sheer coincidence, the day after I had this discussion with Meeta, I came across this work from Hugh MacLeod, which puts it so well

until next time, timed out for a fortnight

[The title, while in context, is also a Hi to an old blog pal]

The last week of November gave me a chance to engage in one of my favourite pastimes – people watching. No, I wasn’t stalking anyone, it was just that I got a chance to watch more and diverse masses (different occasions) of humanity than my regular outings.

So gawk I did, at famed dancers, musicians and celebrities, at their tantrum-throwing best, egos in full display. I watched people standing in long queues, eager for a glimpse of them, so eager that they were ready to trample the folks ahead of them, or cheat the line. Even after they sat down, they changed chair locations and occupied empty aisles that had been kept for easier crowd movement, angering those behind. I also had an argument with a guy who had a differently abled child, clearly in no state to enjoy the show. He had a regular pass, but said the child’s condition warranted his family being shifted to the VIP class. He said he was from the army, and when I refused entry into the VIP class, he questioned my humanity. I bit back a comment about what business he had bringing that child to a  free entry event, which was bound to have unruly crowds, and how human he was while doing his duty at the border. I observed acquaintances at work taking advantage of the trust I had in them. In essence I watched a lot and learned a lot, again, on human behaviour, and myself.

After I shared the last post with her, Mo had asked me why I was brooding these days. While I told her that I was reserving flippancy, wit and wordplay for the 140 character world , I thought she did have a point. A later conversation with Surekha gave me some insight, when we talked about social media and specifically Twitter. I had thought that the seeming transparency of that world would imply more fairness in our transactions, acknowledgment of other people’s efforts and a refinement in the way we deal with people. But no, the talkers still rule, popularity contests abound, and the meek still wait to inherit. These days I can hear some of them grumbling too. On hindsight, this is the same mistake I’d made with blogging too. Something I thankfully corrected.

What’s the connection? Expectations. Of others and from others. From the celebrities, from the people who came to see them, from acquaintances, from relationships on the web and so on. On how they ought to behave and interact. Expectations I set based on my concept of fairness. “It’s not about what I want, it’s about what’s fair!”, Harvey had said, in The Dark Knight. But while I try to be as objective as I can, there is a limit to that too. When the expectations are not met, I get judgmental, which is not something I like to do. Let’s just say I then don’t meet my expectations of myself.

Earlier I used to be bitter about all this, and be rude to people, but now I just brood. I brood on how to get out of this cycle. How can I not expect, either from myself or from others, or ideally both. Does brooding help? No. Can I help it? No. Does that make me unhappy? No again, because like those processes that run in the background while I work on the computer, this is a question that’s being worked on too.   No, that doesn’t make it a pseud brood :p

And every now and then, I am reminded of the words of Harvey Dent Two-Face (again), as he flips the coin, and I wonder about the truth in them “The world is cruel, and the only morality in a cruel world is chance. Unbiased. Unprejudiced. Fair.”

until next time, happy Dent?

One of the most memorable parts of the Andaman trip was the conversation I had with D, on the day we went aimlessly walking on the promenade. The conversation also seemed to understand the mood and was in its own way, aimless. As i wrote in one of the posts, I am fascinated by night lights, especially by the sea shore. It reminds me of Cochin, and sends waves of nostalgia at me.

The entire trip had also made me wonder about human ‘progress’ and the motivation behind it. In a few minutes, the conversation that began there navigated itself to individual motivations. The comparisons with the Leh trip that I’d made  a couple of hours before at Corbyn were still fresh in my mind. I had set expectations for this trip even before i started out – expectations not based on any previous trip to Andaman, but on previous vacations. I thought loudly on what these expectations were – the beauty of the place? the feelings the place and people evoked in us? a getaway from the daily grind? A new setting and a scope for ‘discovery’? Comfortable stay, good food? Probably any or all of these. Anyway the expectations were set.

And then D brought up one unacknowledged aspect – our projection of how wonderful the trip was, best characterised by the photos we share on FB and other private albums. (earlier, family gatherings and conversations) Isn’t that an expectation in itself – a proof of good times? Sometimes for ourselves, sometimes for others. I thought that was a good place to start understanding our motivation.

From childhood, when we had richer cousins/friends flaunting their better toys, or showing us snaps of places they’d been to, or talking about the wonderful food they’ve eaten, a kind of motivation existed – to match better that at some point in the future. A driving force that dictated the choices made in life, which justified the ’sacrifices’ made. Study hard to get better grades, to get a better job, to make more money and to finally get all the things that the cousins/friends had, even if it was a couple of decades late,  all the stuff that can be a justification for what is (in a sense) euphemistically called the rat race. And then to look back at the proof of achievement and let out an audible sigh of accomplishment.

The problem arises perhaps not from being a rat even at the end of the race, but probably the realisation that a personal motivation got subverted into a generic rat race, which then became a motivation in itself. The rest of the life story would depend on the stance towards the original motivation. In many cases, the race stops, the baggage is dropped and a path of ’self discovery’ is started.

In my personal map, this is the place where I see a ‘You are here’ sign. I would’ve been happy with this, if I hadn’t realised that it has the same ending as the rat race. The path is different, and because there are no obvious indicators like the rat race, I have to evolve my own set of indicators. But the desired end is the same, simplistically put, personal growth, with previously decided benchmarks. The consolation offered is that it was reached on one’s own terms. I wonder, is it really one’s own terms if the destination is no different?

Ayn Rand said “Man’s ego is the fountainhead of human progress”. Human progress, not just from a humankind perspective – the places and things he builds, but a deeply personal one too, as the ‘ego’ would indicate. I was conscious of this when I shared the Andaman photos, conscious that somewhere, someone was setting a benchmark and the beginning of a race, just like I had, and continue to do, even outside the rat race. And I wonder whether I’ve really replaced one rat race with another in my case. And I still continue to wonder about ‘progress’.

until next time, progress cards with my own signature :]

Sometime back, when I’d written the post on Onam, I’d mentioned a story that deserved to be told. About an old school pal R who has composed a wonderful soundtrack for a recently released Malayalam movie. He’s been composing for over 2 years now, probably more if you count the non-film work he’s done, but when I listened to this soundtrack, I was glad to note that I was proud of him. No, not pride by association – of knowing him, but actually proud for what he’s done for himself. I was glad for him. And so, I was glad for myself.

R and I share a history, which starts with a shared birthday, so it used to be that our ‘color dress’  days in school used to be the same. He also used to stay in the university campus, which, in case you haven’t noticed, is a constant handle for my nostalgia trips on this blog. R was obviously a very good singer, actually he was a little beyond that grade too. I still remember the time when for some class talent show, R and I were asked to teach group songs to our respective classes. R did a fantastic job, while i just taught the class the song – everyone sang everything. The difference was harmony. I didn’t know it then, I understood it later. Meanwhile, like me, R also played cricket. My tryst with that bloomed late (high school) and lasted only a few years,  as far as official teams went. I wonder if he did something about it. Oh, okay, I just read through what I wrote. No, I refuse to make myself an underdog on my own blog.

The learning part of school life was obviously the most important, not by choice, but still….and as those primary/secondary class reports would show, I used to be the topper, modesty be damned. Add to that, the school junior hockey team, quiz, debate, Dumb C later, and being the quorum filler for things as varied as Malayalam recitation and News Reading (yes, we had that as a bleddy competition item, would you believe it!! Maybe I should sue that school, those certificates can be quite embarrassing) and you could imagine why my attention was spread thin. But wait, let’s not overcompensate.

Anyway, R and I parted ways when i changed schools, though we used to meet later for most of the inter school festivals, where on one hand, I’d be shouting out Dumb C guesses, and minutes later, would be desperately trying to remember the lyrics for the next few lines I had to sing for the music competition. Once I also noticed him in the Western (Group) music part of the competition, and I went WTF (the school kid equivalent actually) on why there wasn’t a Bollywood part, since the only English lyrics i knew then were …..erm, nothing. After school we completely lost touch, and a nice little music rivalry, in which he used to kick my a** regularly, except for stray upsets, ended.

A few years back, a nostalgia wave hit our batch, and a classmates e-group was created. Nice people that they are, they sent me an invite and I joined, even though I’d spent only 5 years in that school. That it remains my favourite school is a fact, though. Anyway, that’s where I heard the news that R had composed his first movie soundtrack, back in 2007. And now begins the role that R played without his knowledge – the reason for this post.

When i heard the news, a part of me was happy, but that was only a small part. The larger part was insanely jealous. This wasn’t like any of the stars/celebrities I regularly read about, I knew this guy, I had shared the stage with him and competed with him. And here he was, on the way to becoming famous, while I sat blogging about paths not taken!! That was when I looked at myself, and really bothered to take an objective look- as objective as i could be then. I realised it wasn’t the first time that this insane jealousy had happened. From wittier one liners to cooler jobs, the feeling had expressed itself many times, with different people. Sometimes fleetingly, sometimes for long stretches. Each time, it lasted till the mind gave itself a reason to stop being jealous, on why there was a flip side in their lives too. Bizarre ones sometimes, in desperation, but reasons nevertheless.

But from then on, I have been watching myself. It happens now too, in fact, on one front it is worse, because the proliferation of social networks means that there are more people I am now connected to – Twitter updates, Facebook statuses, vacation photos, all have the potential to get me launched into a ‘why is his shirt whiter than mine’ phase. All this, when on most fronts, I have nothing to complain about in my life, silly twist in my neck, notwithstanding. Initially, I tried to control the envy, give rational reasons – what I have gained and what i have missed on, and deliberately shut out things which would make me well, insanely jealous. From experience, the control is a myth, and the worst part is that it creates layers of denial. The massive risk is the day when it explodes in your face.

So these days, I don’t control, I admit to myself that I’m jealous, and wherever I can, i tell the other person too. Thereafter, the interaction is a delight. I get to know the hard work they’ve put in to reach where they have, I realise I can be genuinely glad for other people, and there is a sheer joy that can be experienced. Sometimes I am rebuffed by people too. I have also realised that the more i acknowledge, the lesser I get envy attacks.  I still get them sometimes, but I think the path is right. On a tangential front, I am also trying to leave expectations from myself open.

A strange thought occurred to me while I was writing this. Maybe its just me,  but with this sudden outburst of sharing and connectedness, are we increasingly living out a life that we want to portray to others? A “Hey look, I am happy, everything is perfect in my world” approach. Even the sad statuses are filtered, like the ‘negative things about yourself’ in job interviews. How much of the happiness is in the sharing, in the feeling that others might be envious? Are we going that way? If I don’t share and don’t expect any returns, but I can still be happy about something I have experienced/done, would that be joy? And as a next step, if I can  go through the same experience without the baggage of expectations, would that be the objectivity I seek? Each second a new life? Beyond conditioning? Possible?

R’s story loop needs to be closed, eh? On request, he has sent me a karaoke version of a song I liked in the movie. I have promised to sing the vocals… for myself. And a story that deserved a joyous ending.

until next time, R bit ends for now

PS: For those reading this on the blog, see that new thingie right below this. USE IT :p

Two new malayalam movies watched in a fortnight. Nothing special in that, you’d think. What does make it special is that they brought back characters from the past.

“2 Harihar Nagar”, the official sequel to a movie, after 19 years, has four characters who’d set a benchmark in comedy at that time. [Priyadarshan, as he regularly does with decent Malayalam movies, screwed it up in Hindi as Dhol]  Handled by a capable director and an extremely good screenplay, these guys managed to pick up right where they left off. They had us in splits this time too, and add to that, sprinkles of nostalgia and some good suspense, this movie was a treat. It was amazing to watch their chemistry, intact, or perhaps rekindled, after so many years, more so, because their ‘image’ has changed quite some in the years that have passed. A couple of them play character and villain roles now, and popular ones at that; one had some time in the limelight, even being anointed the “common man’s hero”, before making an idiot of himself in inconsequential roles and TV shows, and the last flirts with the screen once in a while. But what we saw in the movie was a transformation, and a pleasant surprise.

“Sagar alias Jackie”, the director claims, is not a sequel to any film, but merely  uses the hero (and one more character) of an earlier one. On hindsight, that makes a damn good disclaimer. The original movie ‘Irupatham noottandu’, made in 1987, starring Mohanlal as an enigmatic ’smuggler with a conscience’ , was one that in no small way contributed to his rising stature in the industry. Over the years he has proved his acting skills time and again, until recently. These days he is more of star, and scripts pander to this. He is easily the best actor I’ve seen, and though I used to be a fan of the superhuman avatar in the initial days, when it used to be backed by excellent screenplays, these days his roles are quite indistinguishable from each other. More stylised, this one proved to be the same fare, unfortunately.

Both scripts used the equity of iconic characters. While one set of actors broke their current moulds, and recaptured the feel of their original characters, another actor was caught in a mould and couldn’t come close to the original character. One could argue that the scripts made the difference, but maybe the difference was in acting, and one set proved better because they stayed true to character, and the portrayal automatically fell into place?

It made me think whether this also applies to us too. Over a period of time, do some of us get cast in a ‘have to be’ mould, arising from others’ and self expectations, or a ‘want to be’ mould because of our own aspirations? Do these moulds take us away from what we originally are, is there an original mould, and would reclaiming it and living with it give us the joy we seek? The choice is an intriguing one.

until next time, casting lots with the self