A dawn dilemma..

Waking up to embrace nature in its true undisturbed form is a blessing.
For some reason, many of my friends take pride in stating that they have been a witness to just a handful of sunrises in their lifetime. Oversleeping seems to be a honorary badge they are proud of wearing.
I feel compelled, at times, to explain the beauty of a newly born morning to them. 
But waking up before the sun comes out, walking a few miles to find a landscape untampered by cement and gravel and losing oneself to the human-less silence is a bliss better left to be described by Wordsworth and Walden.

In the midst of such experiences, there always exists an inner conflict - Should I capture the moment or just be in it?!

The soul wants to just be. 

The ego wants to create an evidence. 

There are days when the soul wins and there are days when the winner is the ego.

I try hard to control the outcome.

But the alternating victories seem necessary.

The artist needs the human and the human needs the artist.

Some brainy blah blah...

It happened to me on the first day of my college
It happened to me on the last day of my college
It happened to me the moment I realized I had fallen in love
It happened to me the day I came across an old woman, asking for alms, with a close resemblance to my grandmother
It happened to me the moment I told my mom that I had been recruited by a reputed organization
It happens to me every time I think of raising my camera to my eye in a crowded street
It happens to me every time a new thought takes birth

The stomach feels empty when in truth it is stuffed
The heart seems to be missing its rhythm when in truth it is throbbing in tune
The vision becomes blurry when in truth the pupil is dilated
The brain goes blank when in truth the neurons are hyperactive
The hand starts trembling when in truth the fist is clenched

I try to think about all such moments
They appear surprisingly similar yet they are starkly different
Joy. Pain. Fear.
They are miles apart in the emotional spectrum
Yet they seem as closely bonded as a community in rural India

I remain bewitched by the workings of the human brain
By its simplistic sophistication, by its mechanical magic
By the way it makes a person crack a joke
By the way it brings about a spontaneous comical response to a totally new situation
My friend once asked me the first thing I would say after a girl kissed me on the lips
I replied after a couple of seconds - "Ünga toothpaste la uppu irukka?!"
Sarcasm intended, but how did the response crop up so spontaneously?!
How do you crack jokes so well?
How does your friend crack jokes so well?
Next time, have a hearty laugh. And follow it up with some thought.
Wonder how the brain is such a good humorist
Wonder how the brain has a template in place to process the emotions
Wonder if the brain has an amazing brain of its own
Wonder how you wonder.

P.S.: I have been left wondering how my brain came up with the thought of 'A brain having its own brain'. 

Why I Write

"What do you write?" 
Many people have asked me this question after learning that I write. And my answers have varied greatly. 
Random stuff. Whatever interests me. Majorly philosophical. 
Why shouldn't my answers vary?!
Not every person listens attentively - One very important realization that turned out to be a major reason for me starting a blog. 
I was so narcissistic in believing that I was really smart and had loads of interesting/innovative/enlightening thoughts to be shared.
Probably true. Probably not.

A few of my colleagues smoke. One colleague to the extent of 4-5 cigarettes per day. 
I wanted to know the reason behind so many puffs of tobacco and asked him the same one day.
"It's difficult to explain..  It's..It's more like... It's something which helps you more than you think it does.. It's more like meditation.. Breathe in, breathe out..It helps you be normal.."
I could relate with his reply.
After all, I experience the very same thing whenever I smoke words. Every inhalation of a thought and every exhalation of a statement clears up my mind. 
Writing is my smoke on a chilly evening with a hot cup of tea. 
Writing is my meditation.

In the dark days after my failed romance, there were many things that kept me going. 
One of which was anonymous blogs where people shared their (failed) love stories and hoards of other personal moments. 
Reading the stories gave me hope.  
The hope that takes birth in a man stranded on a lonely island when he sees another man swimming towards him from a capsized boat.
And I want(ed) my writings to be such a source of hope for a guy from Turkey or a girl from Taiwan or a transsexual from Texas.
At times, it feels easier to connect with strangers than with the people constantly around you. Especially with the written word. Especially when in pain.

There is a general belief that when a person really likes doing something, he/she needs to pursue it as a career. 
Fair enough. 
But what about the irrepressible fear that denies to leave the person and continues threatening that he/she might not be really good at something he/she loves doing?!
How does one overcome this?!
I wish I could suggest a simple solution. But things do not work that way. 
Clarity in life is not attained by a blog post. It requires considerable introspection. And also a tinge of craziness.
I learnt it the hard way.
I started writing because I could.
I continued writing because I wanted to.
I write now because I have to. 

En route to becoming a proud Chennaite....

I was filled with guilt last week for various reasons. 
One cause was my previous post. One cause was under-average work at office.
But the main reason was the bright sunny mornings I was waking up to. 

The sun's rays, lighting up one half of the balcony at my flat, made me sad because my hometown that was famous for its sunny days was experiencing so bad a phase of rainfall that the people were praying desperately for the sun to smile again. 
I am sure that unless you are a resident of Chennai, you would not understand the severity of the statement.
A Chennaite praying for a sunny day is similar to an Indian homosexual coming out in the open with his/her sexual orientation. 
It almost never happens and if in case it does, it shows you the extent to which things have gotten worse.  

When things get worse, when a war breaks out, when nature decides to give a tiny vent to its anger, being surrounded by his/her loved ones becomes a major source of hope for a person. 
However strange it might seem (or perhaps not!), knowing that you would face the very final moments of your life by the side of a loved one makes the scenario a lot better than facing the same alone. 
Which is why, I underwent a new struggle living safely 350 kilometers away from the floods which every person who mattered in my life was fighting against.
Strangely, I was able to understand the struggle a mother/wife/son/daughter of an army soldier has to go through every day. 

Are the people of Chennai fighting against floods? Yes. But the battle is not as simple as that. There is more to the fight than wading through chest-high water. 
The real strength of a community comes to the front when it rises back again from a calamity. The real strength of a community comes to the front when the common man starts setting examples to the rulers. 
The common man is misunderstood quite often. 
He might be a person who does not offer his seat to an old man in a bus. But that does not mean he is incapable of carrying the same old man on his shoulders in a street filled with so much water that it transforms cars into submarines. 
He might be a person who holds numerous grudges against his neighbor. But that does not mean he is incapable of feeding his neighbors as they are huddled together in the terrace, hoping that the water that had entered their homes would recede.
He might be a person who does not give a second thought about destroying forests. But that does not mean he is incapable of performing such an act. (I just had to share this picture. The real Baahubali, perhaps)

I have always believed that adversity is of utmost importance for a positive change.

Anything really beautiful has a pain filled story behind it. Like a child that does not see this world unless the mother suffers greatly. Like a heartwarming story that does not reach this world unless the artist loses a part of himself.

Hence, I believe that the floods, in spite of all the havoc that they cause(d), are a boon to Chennai.

They would give way to better buildings. They would give way to better drainage systems. They would give way to better planning of residential areas. 

And they would also give way to something more essential. 

Nobler humans.

Which I look forward to eagerly.

In no time, I am going to be a really proud Chennaite - much prouder than I am right now.

Killing the conscience...

Imagine you are waiting at a traffic signal on your vehicle. The signal shows red. You know that you have to wait till the signal turns green. But the road ahead is empty. And your mind starts oscillating - should you wait or should you go ahead? Fear of overstepping traffic rules scares you. Imagine at such a point that a car arrives behind you. The driver of the car starts sounding his horn. He wants you to not pay heed to the signal and go ahead. What do you do then? Do you start your vehicle and drive ahead or do you shout at the car driver for not respecting the traffic rules? 
If you do the first, you would have to ride the rest of your journey with guilt as your fellow passenger. If you do the second, you would end up hurting the car driver. Who knows what kind of a situation the car driver is in? He might be required to reach his destination really quick. What do you do?
You end up doing the only thing which seems right to you. You start your vehicle, move a bit so that the car driver rides ahead and wait till the signal turns green. And at such a point, as you wait for the green circle of light, you get stranded on a strange place - you get stranded on the middle of the road. 
When you think back as to why you ended up on the middle of the road, the answer appears pretty simple - you did not want to be a bad person. You wanted to respect the traffic rules and you also wanted to make peace with the car driver. But take a look at the result. 
What if you had not had a strong conscience? Would you have cared for the traffic rules? Or would you have given thought about the car driver's situation? You would have simply lashed out at him. 
Either way, the journey would have been a lot easier. 

If these are the complications that the conscience can create at a traffic signal, imagine the complications that arise in friendships and relationships. 
And things only get a lot worse when you are an humanist.
Being a believer in God makes life easy. If you commit a mistake, you have someone to pray to. If you hurt a person, you have someone to request for forgiveness. But if you are unable to believe in God, if humans are the only Gods you believe in, whom do you pray to?
Such a fear makes you want to stay as good a person as you can be. But at what cost?
Every time you refrain yourself from hurting another person, every time you suppress your anger, every time you try to remain a good person even when the odds are stacked against you, a part of you withers away in uncontrollable pain as another part feels good about itself, lauding its altruism.
Should a person continue being good if it comes at such a cost?
Ideally, yes. But it would make sense if others also tried being good. 
If the people around you do not try being so, injustice starts creeping in. How can you raise a sword against a person holding a machine gun?

At times, things reach a point where you want to pluck the conscience from inside, grab a strong rope and strangle it till it dies. Things would get a lot easier.
Why roam around carrying your conscience amidst a crowd that has consciously locked the conscience in a cupboard?
Why try being a good person in a society where being good causes nothing but hurt? 
The video below shows what happens when you try removing a barrier in order to make way for an ambulance. 

Why try being good when it causes so much hurt?

Can you keep your conscience and yourself happy at the same time? One has to give way to the other. So, which one would it be?

When I started typing this post, I had decided to end it with the previous question. But my mind seems to have undergone a change. After watching the above video again.

Yes. Being good hurts. But if I decided against it, I would have nothing to believe in. Not even humanity. Which scares me.
I do not want to go back to worshiping a higher power though it would make my life easier. 
I choose pain instead. I choose humans.
How bad a situation can being good get me in?
Extreme hurt and death is a possibility. Or worse, another post like this.
Frankly, I am scared only of the latter.

Being a Diwali hero..

When your aunt hands you a sweet and tells you, “Please accompany your cousin and take care that he bursts the crackers safely” with concern for her 9 year old son, you feel happy. Happy that you are being trusted as someone who can be relied upon for the safety of a kid.

When you accompany your cousin outside the apartment and see a group of kids already bursting crackers, you feel happier. What gives more joy than a group of playful kids?  

When one of the kids looks at you in awe and exclaims, “Whoa! You are really tall!”, you feel proud. The same way you feel when you board a crowded bus and notice that all the heads of the seat-less passengers are below you.

When your cousin looks at you and says, “Go ahead! You start with an atom bomb!”, suddenly you go numb. What did you just hear?!

When one of the kids from the group rushes towards you and says gleefully, “Do you hold the atom bomb as you light it? My elder brother always does that”, you feel anger. Anger towards all the overtly courageous guys who perform such acts and make life difficult for a normal guy.

When another kid immediately shouts, “We should never light crackers while holding them in our hands. My father has warned me”, you let out a sigh. Whosoever the father, let him have a long and happy life!

When you are guided by the kids to the spot where they have been bursting crackers till then, you see the infinite torn pieces of paper and get scared. Scared the same way when you are about to give a presentation on ‘How to treat a patient?’ in the presence of Gregory House.

When a kid places an atom bomb on a small stone slab and another kid quickly adds in a second atom bomb and says, “Hey! He’s very elder to us. He can easily burst two bombs at a time”, you wonder. Wonder if such guys later go on to become the friends who spoil a guy’s mental peace by provoking him that a particular girl has a liking for him.

When you are handed over a very small incense stick and you experience a disturbing feeling in your stomach, you get confused. Confused if the feeling is out of fear or if it is a result of all the sweets and savories that reside in your stomach, thanks to all your neighbors.

When you start running as stylishly as possible after having set fire to the 2 bombs and a kid shouts out to you, “Hello! You did not light them properly”, you stop frustrated. Frustrated the same way when you have packed all your dresses in all the available bags to their maximum capacity, before vacating your hostel, and the laundry-guy comes smiling, carrying 3 shirts and a pant to say, “Sir! See how clean your clothes are!”

When you finally – really – set fire to the bombs and start running again, your mind goes berserk. 

What if one of the bombs flies to hit you on the back of your head and you lose your memory? Why has your neighbor still not properly learned to prepare Mysore pa? Would the review of Thoongavanam be out by now? Why did the Chinese have to invent crackers? How difficult a job would it be for the Municipality sweepers tomorrow with all these cracker-papers? Why are you still running when the other kids have stopped? Why hasn’t the cracker still….Boooommm!!

-------------------------------------------------------ooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnn------------

When you turn slowly to see a smoke arising from the spot where you performed your heroic (!) act, your hearing returns to normalcy and you hear the jubilant screams of the kids. What gives more joy than a group of playful kids?

When your cousin hands you two more atom bombs and the other kids step aside to make you a wider way to the cracker-bursting spot, you decide to drop your heroic mask. You then suddenly notice a pretty girl watching the happenings from the balcony of an adjacent apartment and you get angry. Angry at all the courageous guys who make life tough for a normal guy.

Who said being a woman is difficult?!

Try being a man. At least during Diwali.

It literally hurts.

In the mood for love...

Rain evokes a gamut of emotions within me – joy, melancholy, pride, anger, fear. The very same concoction the remembrance of my college romance evokes.

The building up of the grey rain clouds. The first time I noticed her writing something on her note book, holding the pen in her left hand – just like my mother. The slow, gentle drizzle. All the class hours I spent looking in the direction of her bench rather than at the black board. The heavy downpour with the occasional thunder. The late midnight hours I spent resting on my hostel corridor, contemplating a lot of ‘What if’s. The water drops dripping from an old, battered asbestos sheet. The very few words I spoke directly to her face. The glassy appearance that the drenched leaves put up for an hour or two after the rain. The evening hours in my third year of college when I started digging up my buried love for writing, to capture the most beautiful phase of my life on paper. The pale grey sky that appears after all this drama ends. The lonely walks I gift myself wondering how my life would have changed if I had not fallen in love.

I step outside my home to observe the aftermath of the rain. Most of the emotions take leave as joy and sadness linger around. Joy, due to the birth of the new life around me. Sadness, due to the end of something enchanting. I feel glad that a rainy day serves as a metaphor for my romance.

I look at the tiny puddles. I remember all the tears. They would dry up soon.

As I see my reflection in a puddle, I ask myself – Do I want the rain to start again? Or do I want the sun to come out?

I do not have an answer. After all, I love both equally. The rain helps me appreciate a bright, sunny day. The sun’s warmth helps me recall how adorable rain was. How can I choose? Or perhaps, I do have an option. A rainbow.

I look around at the aftermath of the rain. The water dripping. The glassy appearances. I notice a caterpillar slowly wriggling over a leaf. I smile. Everyone seems to be in the mood for love.