My blogging here comes to an end

Before I continue further, let me clarify. My blogging here comes to an end. But I would continue blogging on this new site.

Why the change?

From a blogging perspective, I wanted to switch to a more professional and customizable design. That is easier on WordPress - the blogging domain of my new site.

From a personal standpoint, I had reached that point in life when we wish we got an opportunity to start things anew.

Having said that, this blog would always hold a special place in my life. For about 6 years, it let me understand life and myself better. For about 6 years, it acted as a conversation-starter after long gaps in many of my friendships. For about 6 years, it added meaning to my life.

I would always be grateful to this site for that.

And I am equally grateful to all of you who were generous enough to spend your precious time on my writings, and were even more generous to send a message when you liked a piece or found something relatable.

Thank you. 

A time for tears

I like to save up my tears.
Whenever sadness gets excited
And knocks on my eyelids to let her out,
I tell her,
"Come on! Not now!
The worst is yet to come."

Some people believe that this is pessimistic
But I refuse
Like I refuse many other beliefs.
Not agreeing with people makes you feel unique
And then time teaches you -
"Actions matter more than beliefs."
And you see you are just like everyone else
Which is not bad, is it?
Try telling that to advertising agencies
Try telling that to my generation
Try telling that to a data analyst
A data analyst whose dream project involves hyper-personalisation.
After all the search results are personalised
There would be fewer options for the soul to connect with.

Let's get back to saving up tears
I have this problem of deviating from the topic
Like how tears deviate from our cheeks sometimes
Like how happy memories deviate from our hearts sometimes.
Why do I like deviating?
Because deviations open up new directions
Unlike how people want their lives to be
People prefer their lives to be structured
And people prefer the lives of other people to be structured as well.
25 years old - Aren't you married yet?
28 years old - Isn't your kid walking yet?
31 years old - Doesn't your house own you yet?
But I believe our society does this
Keeping in mind the welfare of future historians.
Imagine if a historian wanted to find
The average age by when people in this generation got married
Wouldn't his life be so easy
Because of our beautifully structured society?
Our society always does what is best for the future
Though that might ruin the present in the process
Which is fine
We have enough tears to shed, don't we?

Let's get back to saving up tears
And my real reason behind it.
I get distracted pretty easily
And I forget to feel sad when I should.
When something bad happens
My heart does not react immediately with tears
It first tries to paint a positive picture of the suffering
It then tries to wake me up to all the wisdom to be gained
It then lists down ambitious goals and keeps me busy.
By the time I remind myself that
Sadness had asked to be let out,
She sets out on a solo trip
To some deserted place surrounding depression.
When something bad happens again
This whole cycle is restarted
And my tears remain preserved thus.

Is it bad to hold back tears?
I am not sure
But I remember that when I was younger
Tears helped me differentiate between joy and sadness.
Of late, the lines have begun to blur
All happy incidents are registered with a tinge of sadness
All successes are recorded with a feeling of failure
Which makes me wonder if wishes actually come true.
I had once wished that I did not feel every emotion
As strongly as I did
And now, as I see my emotions jumbled up
Not letting me experience any emotion in its entirety
I wish to be forgiven
I wish for normalcy to be restored
I wish for a few tears to flow down.

Notes from making a short film - Part 1 of 4

You have enrolled yourself in a film academy for a short-term course in digital filmmaking. Your batch consists of 6 members in total - each person is from a different background, each person is employed in a different profession, but each member is passionately interested in filmmaking with the dream of becoming a director someday. Three weeks into the course, the screenwriting professor asks you to submit a story idea (in writing) that can be made into a 10-12 minute short film. He also puts forth the following conditions.

1. Set a major portion of the story indoors, preferably in a house (Shooting outdoors requires permission from several authorities and is very difficult to execute for amateur filmmakers) 
2. Have a limited number of characters in the story so that the cost of actors doesn't shoot through the roof
3. Have a limited number of scenes since the shooting needs to be wrapped up in 2 days
4. The story can be absurd or dark but ensure that it has an overall theme

Along with these conditions, let me add another important fact that from all the stories submitted, only one story would get selected which would then be made into a short film. To spice up things, let me also add that you are presented with this task on a Sunday evening, and the deadline to submit the story idea is the upcoming Friday night.
"Aren't five days enough to come up with a good idea?" I hear your question. I forgot to mention that you have been handed the responsibility of gathering data for an important meeting scheduled at office on Tuesday, and you would be leaving to Delhi on Wednesday morning to attend a friend's wedding only to return home on Friday evening. How does one come up with a good story idea under such circumstances that might have the slightest chance of bettering the ideas submitted by others?

My answer:
I wasn't able to come up with a good idea in those five days.
I simply got lucky because I already had a list of story ideas that I had been updating time and again with the arrival of new ideas, and one idea from that list happened to meet the conditions listed down by my professor.

****

Lesson no. 1: Creativity is a lifestyle - it needs to be embraced and honed all the time. One cannot expect to switch it on just before the start of a project and turn it off after the completion of the project.

Lesson no. 2: Noting down ideas comes handy. Some ideas might not seem strong enough to be transformed immediately into a poem or a short story, but noting them down increases the possibility of the ideas coming to your rescue at an unexpected time.

****

When my next class commenced on Saturday, this is how things stood. 1 member from the batch had dropped out of the course owing to financial constraints, 3 of us had submitted our story ideas through e-mail, and 2 members were in a position where they had their stories formed in their heads but were unable to express it in writing. Through the duration of our class, my professor helped them open up about their ideas and finally enabled them to express their ideas in writing. This made me express gratitude towards my fortune of having had about five years of practice in expressing my ideas in writing through this blog.

****

Lesson no. 3: Practice expressing your ideas to others through writing or, at least, through speech. Expressing an idea to self is never the same as expressing it to others.

****

By the end of the class on Saturday, my professor had 5 story ideas with him. Two of the stories were about road-trips, one story happened in a casino, one story was set in a village and one story - my story - happened in a house. My professor liked all 5 stories but he reiterated the constraints in converting the story into a short film. He offered an additional week's time and asked my team members to tweak their stories in such a way that they would fit within the constraints. He also asked us to submit step outlines for our stories - a step outline is an initial version of the script with just the order of scenes and their summaries without any dialogues - before the class on next Saturday.

When my next class commenced, 1 other member had opted out of the course owing to personal reasons, which brought down the strength of our batch to 4. Among the 4 members, 2 of us had turned up with detailed step outlines, and 2 members had not prepared their step outlines.

The other members had not tweaked their stories as well - one story was still a road-trip, one story was set in a casino and one story was set in a village.
As a creator, I could understand their reservations in changing their stories. But owing to my 3+ years of experience in a services company, I also knew that one had to give in to certain demands of the clients to get a project started.
The clients, in this case, were my professor and the film academy.

By the start of the next class, my professor had selected the 1 story that would be made into a short film. And the story turned out to be my story.
As much as I am happy that my story got made into a short film, when I look back at the other ideas, I know that I would have felt equally happy working on them as well. They were all good ideas but they just didn't happen to be right for our course.

****

Lesson no. 4: Understand your situation. Understand your constraints. Try to work within them. There might always be another opportunity but why miss one when it comes your way?

****

The one-line (or the 'log-line' as it is officially called) for my story goes like this.
A single mother, who is still holding onto her dead husband's memories, tries to help her daughter after her breakup only to realize that her daughter has moved on and she is the one who needs to move on. 

Now, think of 4 directors whose films you like. Imagine that each of the directors is asked to make a film on the above log-line. Do you think the films will turn out to be similar?

This was the problem my batch mates and I faced in my class. One person whose story had involved a road-trip, one person who had set his story in a casino, and one person who had wanted to capture the village life through his story were now asked to work on a domestic drama.
One person wanted to explore the breakup angle and the reasons behind the breakup. One person wanted to explore the relationship of the daughter before her breakup. One person wanted to explore the possibility of the mother starting a new life with a neighbor.
In some ways, these three stories also fit within my story but these were not the aspects of the story I had wanted to focus on. My story was about how a breakup can change an already broken family for the better.

Owing to this, I initially resisted any inputs provided for the story.
Once, when I was talking to a friend about this, he said, "This is your story and you should be firm about the way you want to tell it. But think about this as well. If some other story had been selected, would you have wanted to share your inputs or not?" This question made me realize my mistake.

After all, my batch mates had not joined the course to make my vision come true. They had joined the course to learn filmmaking, and each person held a unique perspective towards filmmaking and life.
When we all sat down to discuss the story the next time, I made myself more receptive and explained my story and my reasons more elaborately. I must admit that the story got better with more brains on it.

On a parallel note, I also understood why some directors collaborate with the same actors and technicians (cinematographers, music composers, editors) repeatedly. As much as it is important to find a group of people who want to tell the same story as yours, it is equally important to find people who want to tell the story for the same reasons as yours.

****

Lesson no. 5: Understand how the people around you want to collaborate with you.  If a piece of art can turn more meaningful after it reaches a larger number of people, it can also become more meaningful when it is nurtured by a large number of people.

****

When I had submitted my step outline for the story, I had followed a non-linear narrative. Since it was a story about memories and moving on, I had not wanted it to have a linear flow of time. But after the story had been selected to be made into a short film, my screenwriting professor told me that he would keep aside the non-linear narrative and adopt a linear narrative. He had to do this because:

1. The linear narrative would help in the teaching of the screenwriting concepts like plot, plot points, and beats of a scene more easily 
2. A new narrative would also open up more contributions from the other students in terms of new scenes

I sat through the first half of this exercise quite skeptical. When we all assembled in the lunch hall after the first session, I noticed two members from my batch continuing to discuss about the story and arguing if a character would behave in a certain way. 

This made me understand something. Some ideas might not be content with just staying with their families. They might want to be more adventurous and meet other people from the outside world. 

****

Lesson no. 6: Don't hold on to your ideas possessively. Be a good lover and do what's best for the idea. 

****

One important lesson I learnt at the film academy was this. 

Filmmaking is more craft than art. 

Whenever we watched a short film or a great scene from a classic, the following questions could always be heard from the professors. 

"Why do you think the director made that choice?" "Why did he position a character in the foreground and why was another character in the background?" "Why was there a close-up shot when the character said one particular line - why is that line important?" "Why did the characters wear costumes of a particular color?" "Why did the background score sound that way?" 

To sum it up in the lines of my professor for cinematography, 

"Even if you happen to forget all that we taught you here, just remember this. Ask yourself 'why' for every aspect of a scene, for every scene of a film. The answers will guide you in becoming a filmmaker."

To give a small example of how a structure is followed when plotting/structuring a story, below are the plot points we came up with while writing the screenplay.

1. The mother learns about her daughter's breakup
• How does the mother react? Does she want to help or let go of it?
2. The mother tries to help her daughter
• Does the mother succeed in this or fail?
3. The mother resorts to the most extreme of options
• Does the mother succeed in this or fail?
4. The daughter reacts to her mother's action
• How does the daughter react? How does this bring about a change in the mother?

In this way, each plot point leads to the character making a choice and the choice leads to the next plot point. Most feature films with a strong plot can be broken down into such plot points and one can notice how the characters' choices drive the story forward. 

After I learnt this, I realized how this concept holds true even to our lives. There are those significant events in our lives that resemble the plot points and our reactions to those events determine the direction of our lives.

As a film viewer, I had been surprised by how much films can teach us about life. As a film student, I have understood that the process of making a film can teach us more. 

(To be continued)

The lonely sun and the family of shoplifters

On some days, I have looked at the clear, sunny sky and wondered if I experience loneliness very strongly because I am named after the sun. The sun, unlike the moon, doesn't have stars to keep him company.

****

The loneliness I experience varies in its nature from time to time.

Sometimes, it is that feeling of belonging to a wrong societal setup. Sometimes, it is that feeling of belonging to the wrong generation. Sometimes, it is that feeling of belonging to the wrong gender. Sometimes, it is that feeling of belonging to the wrong species.
Sometimes, it is that feeling of not experiencing joy from the general joy-inducing activities that people indulge themselves in. Sometimes, it is that feeling of being abandoned even by the activities you cherish doing the most. Sometimes, it is that feeling of being surrounded by people who are not as childish as you. Sometimes, it is that feeling of being surrounded by people who are not as mature as you. Sometimes, it is that feeling of going through sadness among a group of people who seem happy. Sometimes, it is that feeling of experiencing joy among a group of people who seem sad.
Sometimes, it is that feeling of not wanting to say anything to anyone. Sometimes, it is that feeling of not wanting to listen anything from anyone. Sometimes, it is that feeling of missing a person who shares the things you want to hear but don't ask for. Sometimes, it is that feeling of missing a person who understands what you mean even when you say different things.
Sometimes, it is that feeling of missing the touch of a loved one.

But I must admit that whenever loneliness casts its dark shadows on me, a gentle drizzle quickly finds its way in the form of words/films/music/friends.

Sometimes, it is a new character from a new story-idea who gives me company. Sometimes, it is a known character from a loved book/film who sits down by my side.
Sometimes, it is the lyrics of a long-forgotten song which supply the words to my blank mental page. Sometimes, it is the tune of an all-time favorite song which leads me home.
Sometimes, it is a friend who simply lets me know that he/she is there for me.

****

Two days ago, a collective experience at a movie theater overwhelmed me.

I had walked into the theater feeling lonely, not so much owing to the lack of company as much as owing to the lack of an identifiable emotion within me.

The film that I had gone to watch was Shoplifters - a hard-hitting Japanese film about a group of unrelated people who come together to become a family only to be separated by government authorities, with the separation helping them understand the selfless love each person holds for one another.

The theater was sparsely crowded, allowing each viewer to enjoy the comfort of an entire row of seats for himself.

As the film was midway, as the characters in the film grew close to one another, I felt an invisible bond birthing between us -  viewers - in our individual rows. Though we were silent, the film was speaking for and to each of us.
As the film reached its climax, a few viewers seated in the rows before me wept now and then. The scenes playing before me suggested the disintegration of a family but a warmth spread in my heart signaling the birth of a family. After the film ended and the lights were turned on, I could see that the viewers were not ready to leave their seats.

Maybe they had also experienced what I had experienced. Maybe they had also experienced a sense of belonging.

After all, isn't the pursuit of life all about belonging with the right person, doing the right thing, at the right place, at the right time?
Maybe that. Or, maybe it is about becoming that person who can belong with anyone at any place.

****

I look at the sky as I am returning to my home from office. The sun is about to set.
A flock of birds fly across the reddish sky reminding me that the moon might have the stars but the sun enjoys the company of all the birds.

The irony of art

I remember watching a short film in my college, the gist of which could be summarized as below.
A man who works at a NGO and takes care of people who have no family members to look after them faces difficulty in looking after his parents at home.

At times, I have found the artistic process to reflect the irony of this short film.
I remember a night when I was writing a post about my mother. I was in the middle of it, still figuring out how to end it. My mother walked into my room and started talking about her day at office. A part of my brain listened to her while another part of my brain continued working on the essay's end. The writer in me wanted to succeed as much as the son in me.
I remember another day when I was writing a post in my college hostel, reminiscing about the wonders of college life in it. I was writing it seated in an empty room while all my friends were in the neighboring room, cheering and shouting for India in a cricket match.

I have often questioned myself about the price one has to pay for one's art.
The want to communicate a truth of life through a painting or a poem or a photograph costs hours of solitude and days of relentless practice. I am sure that no artist would complain about the cost. Yet, aren't some experiences lost during the process of converting some parts of our lives into art?
As I type this, I remember a director's roundtable where one of my favorite actors/directors Denzel Washington said this about making a movie.
"You know...your son got shot in the face, that's difficult. Making a movie is a luxury. It's a gift. It's an opportunity and most importantly, it's a gift...don't get it twisted. It's just a movie. It ain't that big a deal."
These lines always get me. Just like Denzel's movies.

****

About a week before I joined my first job, I became nervous wondering if I would be able to continue writing despite my daily job. Not knowing a way out, I told myself that I would treat my regular job as a part-time job and consider writing as my full-time job, measuring the success of my professional life through the quantity and quality of my writing.

As I look back at the last four years, I hold mixed feelings about my presumed professional life. I feel happy about some nights when my mind pushed my body into typing down my thoughts after a long day at office. Yet, there have been some instances during the first two years of my job when I refused to join my friends for lunches/dinners/treks because I wanted forced myself to spend more time reading about and practicing art. Not in a way where words and images made me fall in love with them. But in a way where the process gave me an excuse to isolate myself and justify not connecting with people.
I had to lose a few friends to remind myself of why I got attached to art in the first place - to lead a life with better understanding and more love.

Over the last couple of months, I had returned to the zone of making myself as busy as possible with either reading about or practicing art. And strangely, as I was in this zone trying to prefer art over people, Stephen King caught me red-handed through his wonderful book, On writing: A memoir of the craft, and brought me back to life. 
"It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn't in the middle of the room. Life isn't a support system for art. It's the other way around."

How art makes you aware of its own importance in life is another beautiful irony.

The rental agreement

I visited pain today
To renew the rental agreement
"How much longer do you intend to stay in the heart?" I asked
Pain pondered over it for a moment
"I have grown comfortable staying here for so long," He replied
I could not help smiling
Pain had been a good tenant
Saving me from unnecessary expectations
And helping me battle the regular rejections
"Well, do you have any other potential emotion
Wanting to stay here?" He asked
I was honest with him
No other emotion had shown interest
Perhaps because the heart wasn't even semi-furnished
Perhaps because the neighbor was fear
"I guess we can extend the agreement for one more year then" He said
I agreed
He asked me if I wanted to increase the rent
I didn't want to
Pain had also helped in renovating the heart
The walls now wore a waterproof coating
No more seepage problems when the tears came down
The room also had a new window built
Even the smallest ray of hope could light it up now
I thanked pain for being a good tenant
And returned home
Only to find life waiting for me
To renew our rental agreement
"How much longer do you intend to stay here?" She asked
I pondered over it for a moment
"I have grown comfortable staying here for so long," I replied
Life could not help smiling
Perhaps I had been a good tenant
After all, I had learnt a great deal from pain.

The first flight

The date is May 1, 2019. The time is 4:46 AM. The journey is from Bangalore to Delhi. The occasion is a friend's marriage. My company is a group of amazing friends. And I am 25 years, 4 months, 8 days old. 

I wonder if I am experiencing my first flight at the right age. The age by when one has witnessed the death of a few loved ones; the age by when one has understood why the society works the way it works; the age by when one has switched sides between science and superstitions more times than one can count; the age by when one has experienced love, lust, and loss. With such baggage, does the sense of wonder still lurk around to get excited about being a part of the sky for the first time? 
I search for that wonder and find it hidden amidst layers of doubts. The doubts are a gift from knowledge and experience, and they take the form of scary questions regarding the safety of the flight and other extreme possibilities.

My mind goes ahead and creates a list of favorites - favorite person, favorite landscape, favorite time of day, favorite destination. It tries to provoke me towards having a regret - of not flying for the first time with my mom, of not flying for the first time over oceans. I manage to gain the upperhand and let my mind know that all those experiences can still be had and this flight is simply about cherishing the act of flying itself. 

I look outside my window. The sky is turning hopeful, shedding its black blanket. The clouds start turning up one after the other and begin to arrange themselves in the sky before the sun shines, like students seating themselves in a classroom before the entrance of the teacher. I recall my attention to myself and check if I am experiencing joy. I had always imagined myself with a wide grin the day I got to fly above the clouds. But now, as I fly above the clouds, joy is not the exact emotion I experience. Instead, there is a sense of peace - the peace one attains when one leaves behind life and becomes a part of something eternal. Like when one is surrounded by an ocean.

The clouds slowly separate and they bring into view the world below. Looking at the world from this objective viewpoint, I wonder if people who fly more adopt a more objective outlook towards people, life, and its workings. I look at the air hostess who seems ready with an answer to any sort of passenger queries and ponder upon asking her her thoughts on my hypothesis. I also hope that almost every person gets an opportunity to undergo the 'air hostess training' program at some point in their life so that they start treating other people with as much love as is possible.  

As time passes, the city of Delhi comes into view and resembles a 5th standard social science project. As I look at the miniature of this majestic city, the sense of wonder starts increasing. The kid in me shows up, bringing with him a bag of 'lego set' memories. Sadly, the announcement system in the flight lets us know that we are about to land. The song changes in my music player and the buddhist 'Life of Ram' song from the film 96 starts playing. As I lose myself in the beautiful lyrics, the plane begins its descent. 

Vaazha en vaazhvai vaazhave
Thaazhamal melae pogiren..
Theeraa ul ootrai theendave
Indrae ingae meelgiraen..
Indrae ingae aalgiraen..

The never-ending lawsuit against life

Why do we constantly seek justice from life/universe/God?

We demand that good deeds must lead to good outcomes and bad deeds must lead to bad outcomes.

I, for one, have been a strong believer of karma. Any friend of mine who has opened up to me about a problem in his/her life can vouch for receiving this text message from me - "Good things happen to good people. Stay strong". While I would love to believe this, and though I might always continue to send this message to any of my friends facing a problem, I want to objectively inquire if life/universe/God actually operates in a transactional manner.

Let us take a look at the animal kingdom.
How many chickens that are slaughtered for our appetite might have actually committed a crime? How many goats that are beheaded for our religious ceremonies might have actually been bad? How many deer that are hunted by a lion would have actually wished bad for another deer?

Let us take a further step and look at the plant kingdom, mainly trees.
Apart from the Whomping Willow that features in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, I am yet to come across a tree that causes any kind of harm. 

Trees provide shelter. Trees provide shade. Trees provide fruits and vegetables. Trees provide rain. Trees take in carbon dioxide. Trees prevent soil erosion.
Considering these traits of trees and assuming that life/universe/God operates in a transactional manner, we should all be living in forests. Clearly, that doesn't seem to be the case. The forest area on our planet only seems to be decreasing with every passing day.

If we are able to make peace with the random deaths/losses of animals and plants, why is it that we - humans - expect life to be transactional only to our species? 

When a harmless rabbit is randomly killed, why should a harmless human be aptly rewarded?

During a conversation with a friend, I put forth this theory to him. He looked at me shocked. "Dai! I thought you were the only person in our group who has an optimistic outlook towards life. What has made you so pessimistic?" 

I couldn't help laughing at his response. I then tried to explain with an example.
"Consider animals. We know that the lion is more powerful than the zebra. And so, when a lion kills a zebra, we simply call it 'survival of the fittest'. Now, let's take a look at our society. According to the societal definitions of good and bad, let's assume that there is a person who is good but not that smart, and there is a person who is bad but really smart. Among these two, who do you think is better equipped to survive the challenges of life? Isn't the 'bad but really smart' guy better equipped? Isn't it easier for him to succeed and isn't that too simply 'survival of the fittest'? Why do we then make such a fuss when we see bad (but perhaps smart) people succeeding in life?"
My friend looked at me appalled. "Dai Soorya! Do you realize what the corporate world has done to you?"
I let out a hearty laugh again and changed the topic of the conversation. 

****

Have you ever played the mafia game?

(If you haven't played the game or heard about it, then spend a minute or two going through the rules of the game here).

The victory of this mafia game is determined by which is the last majority group in the game - the mafia or the villagers/civilians. The entire game is moderated by the 'narrator'; my friends and I, during our mafia games, refer to this person as 'God'. 

Now, imagine that you are playing this game with your friends and you have been assigned the role of a mafia member. The game begins and you devise smart strategies with your fellow mafia members and you successfully eliminate one civilian after another in every round of the game. As the game is midway, the narrator/God suddenly decides that it won't be right for the mafia to win the game and starts influencing the voting process of the entire group, trying to get the mafia members killed. 

As a mafia member, when you see this happening in the game where the narrator/God is acting against you, won't you feel enraged? Won't you want the game to be played in a fair manner? 

When this happens to be the expectation from a game, why does our expectation change when the playground becomes the real society/world?

****

The writer Mark Manson, in his blunt and brilliant book, The subtle art of not giving a fuck, narrates a true story. 

In 1983, a talented young guitarist had been kicked out of his band without any prior warning or a discussion. And this incident had taken place a couple of days before the band was about to record their first album. The young guitarist, naturally hurt and sad, had vowed to start a new band and become so successful that his old band would regret their decision. And over the coming years, he managed to actually do what he had vowed to do, forming a heavy-metal band called Megadeth that would go on to sell over 25 million albums worldwide. 

When I read this story, I experienced a feeling of personal victory. A person had been wronged and he had managed to put aside his defeat and emerge victorious. But what Mark Manson wrote next caught me off guard.

The band that had kicked out the young guitarist went on to become Metallica, considered by many to be one of the greatest rock bands of all time, that would sell over 180 million albums worldwide. 

After I read this, I could not help smiling. It was such an unexpected twist. 

Though Mark Manson does not use this story under the same context as I have in this article, the story helped me realize something. 

Our literature and cinema have always conditioned us to expect a magnificent victory for the underdog, for the wronged man, for the man who is put through extreme hardships. We have come across so many triumphant and 'happily ever after' endings for these characters that we tend to develop the mindset that if we feel we have been wronged by a person or by life, we expect life to compensate for our pain by future fame and success and happiness. But what about the unwritten and not-filmed stories of millions of people who were wronged and faced extreme difficulties and continued to fail throughout their lives? 

Does this mean there is nothing to look forward to in our lives? 

Absolutely not. I want to suggest a simple change in the way of looking at life. 

If you believe that you are a good person and if you happen to continuously fail in life, do not feel cheated. If you believe that you have been wronged by somebody or by life, and if you happen to face constant difficulties, do not feel let down. If you believe that someone is a bad person or if you believe that someone has wronged you, and if he/she happens to succeed at something, do not feel betrayed. 

Life/universe/God never offered a guarantee that a certain moral value would be rewarded and a certain moral value would be punished. It is us - humans - who have set up such expectations. 

The same way that we, as a society, have defined successes and failures. 

A low-paying job need not be a setback because the business experts say so; the end of a romantic relationship need not be the end because the romantic authors say so; a smaller circle of friends need not be a failure because Facebook users say so. 

An experience in life can be just that - an experience that teaches us new things about ourselves and the people around us. It need not be perceived to be good or bad because the society defines it so. And it definitely need not be a blessing or a curse from life because you have lived and behaved a certain way. 

If life has paved the way for a deer to coexist with a lion, then perhaps good can also coexist with bad. If the universe has paved the way for a tree to coexist with man, then perhaps right can also coexist with wrong. One need not always triumph over another. 

Life does not take sides between good and bad. It just goes on. 

It will be great if we also live and simply experience all that happens to us, abandoning our biases and expectations and demands. 

25 realizations from a 25 year-old

After I turned 25 last month, I was struck by this desire to list down 25 things I have understood in my life over the course of 25 years. This is perhaps a result of being exposed to such lists on Medium and Quora every alternate day. After I started preparing this list, there were many questions that popped in my head. Did I really have anything important to say? Have I lived enough for creating such a list? Did I understand life well enough for such an exercise? Being caught in an internal conflict, I visited points 9 and 22 in my list. What would be the use of publishing such a list if I failed to implement them myself? And hence, the list below. 
None of the points are groundbreaking or new - they are all the same old pieces of advice that are gifted to us from our family members and good books. But, personally, I have come to understand that I take a life lesson seriously when it is not just offered as a piece of advice but is offered with an example from life. In such an attempt, I have tried to present each point with an example to the best of my efforts. As a reader, if you find even one of the points below to be helpful, I would be a happy writer and a happier human being.  

1. Respect love that comes the easy way
• A realization that hit me during the final year of my college. A realization I wish I had known earlier and a realization I wish is easy to keep up to. The adventure of impressing a new person/a new group always seems more interesting than the routine of keeping up with an accepted love (family/friends). The most painful part (in retrospect) is when you have people who will not let you go, who will not love you less even when you don't repay their love in the right manner. I have had many such angels who have loved me more than I deserve, and have also made me understand that true joy lies in love that you reciprocate than love that you seek. 
2. Be kind to yourself
• Another late realization that has made me a better friend to myself and others. I put in considerable efforts to be a good friend to others without noticing that the person who needed my friendship the most was myself. It is easy to be harsh upon ourselves because we never have a chance to break up a relationship with ourselves. Which I came to understand as the exact reason why being compassionate to ourselves is mandatory. Post this realization, whenever I have had a bad day and whenever I have wanted to place all the blame upon myself, I have started drafting a mail with the beginning, "Dear Soorya..." And trust me - our inner voices tend to love us more from the 'third person' point of view than from the 'first person' point of view. 
3. Fall Be in love
• It is easy to fall in love than it is to be in love with somebody. It took me countless mood swings, pointless arguments and repeated visits to Kris Gage's beautiful article before I understood that love is not a feeling but rather a commitment. To quote Kris Gage, "Good love is just the everyday — every day." And if one decides to be in love with someone, why not just extend it to all the people around oneself? There is no greater motivation to live/work than realizing that there are thousands of unexplored possibilities to make your loved ones happy. Hence, be in love. Always. 
• Another lesson I had to learn the hard way (and from the above shared Kris Gage's article) was to stop expecting the other person, in any relationship, to be my cheerleader 24x7 for 365 days. After all, the other person is still a person - someone capable of having a bad day, having a sad day, having an exhausting day. He/she is not entitled to be our source of happiness just because we are in love. Our happiness is our responsibility. If the other person also makes us happy, fantastic! 
4. Express what you feel about other people to them
• I remember watching an Indian television show in which an American actress was being interviewed by an Indian anchor. One of the questions was about the actress's married life and she replied that she had one of the greatest husbands possible. Before the interviewer could move on to the next question, the actress quickly asked the interviewer if he was happy with his married life. He replied with a confident 'Yes'. She then asked him smiling, "Did you tell your wife 'I love you!' today morning?" The interviewer responded with a sheepish smile. The actress repeated her question with genuine care.  The interviewer replied with an uncomfortable smile, "We don't do that in India." The actress was taken back. "Don't you guys tell your wives that you love them everyday?" The interviewer shook his head in silence. 
• That interview affected me. That, and another incident. There was a monthly short story writing competition conducted by a newspaper. I submitted three short stories for three consecutive months and for all the three months, my short story did not make it to the top 10 list. On the third month, the day when the results were published online, I felt very bad. That night was a difficult night and as I lay on my bed feeling hopeless, I received a message from a friend, out of the blue, stating that she had come across my blog after a long time and she really loved a few of my recent posts, with one post having moved her to tears. That message - that message that the friend needn't have sent - made all the difference between a happy night and a sad night. I will always be grateful to her and from then, I have always expressed my feelings/gratitude to other people whenever I can
• P.S.: This is more important with family members like parents and siblings who never really expect anything in return.  
5. Understand others. But primarily, yourself.
• Till I went to college, I did not even feel the need to understand myself. But in my college, especially in my hostel, after I was exposed to various groups of people who held very different perspectives on sports or movies or even life in general, from the ones that I held, I made an attempt to understand my tastes and traits. Why was it that I got easily bored by a very entertaining 20-over cricket match but could be extremely engrossed by a slow-paced Russian film? Why was it that I remained abnormally silent during group discussions but burst out with energy during a one-to-one conversation? Why did I prefer being alone even though I absolutely loved every person I met? Why did I have to practice an imaginary back-and-forth conversation before I placed a phone call?  Why could I never grasp sarcasm or crack a joke spontaneously? Why did I want to start a blog and share incidents from my life when I found it difficult to open up about certain things even to my loved ones? Why did I even have so many questions about myself? It was only after I found answers to these questions did I convince myself that there was nothing wrong with me. But more importantly, understanding myself helped me understand others. Whenever I was part of a group activity and I noticed someone being silent and feeling uncomfortable about it, I eagerly extended a hand. Whenever I was part of a group activity and I noticed someone who couldn't help being the center of attraction, I also learnt to appreciate that. Don't all things need love? Be it silence or be it stardom. Be it books or be it parties. Be it movies or be it scriptures. In this way, I have come to love myself for all the things I love, and I have come to love others for all the things that they love. 
6. Listen when you can, speak when you have to
• I must admit that I started out listening to people and their stories without interrupting/advising/opining because I wanted to gather material for my writing. But very soon, I understood that people opened up a lot more when their statements are received with silences instead of judgments. Which led me to get genuinely interested and grateful. In this 'social media' era when we are encouraged to express our opinions on a movie/sport/political issue (which is definitely good in a way), it becomes easier to do the same during conversations. Such an act is welcome in a conversation where one's advice is sought but it hampers conversations where the other person wants to be just listened to. We needn't always be an interviewee in our lives. Being an interviewer also has its own perks.  
• P.S.: Listen to nature as well. The song of a bird and the music of rain also needs an audience.
7. Be grateful for the successes, and more importantly, for the failures
• I used to be extremely grateful whenever I faced success and become extremely sad whenever I faced failure. One day, I decided to sit down and list all the events from my life which I considered to be failures. After I listed them down, I realized something. Each of my failures had actually paved the way for something better/happier in my life. To list a few examples,         
• My failure to secure great marks in my 12th Board examinations and thereby, secure an admission in a Chennai college led me to secure an admission in a college situated about 300 kilometers from my home.  This college changed me in ways I had not imagined and made me a better son, a better friend, and a better human being
• My failure to get romantically involved in a relationship in college led me to take up writing again (a childhood hobby I had given up during my teenage years) and start this blog
• My failure to get selected in the interview round of a Chennai-based organization led me to secure a job in Bangalore and have an amazing 2-year stay with my brother which expanded my views on art and life 
• Failures, in that way, are like Kamal Haasan's films. When they arrive, they are not received well. But a few years down the line, they will end up getting celebrated.
8. Dream big. Dream wild. Most of them come true
• During the first 2 years of my college, I developed an extreme fondness for cinema and also turned extremely introverted. Despite such a paradoxical mix, I would constantly dream of 2 things that I wanted to accomplish before I left college. 
• Talk about cinema and its power to an audience in a packed auditorium 
• Screen a short film/video that I had made to my entire class
• If I had shared these dreams with any of my friends, they would have laughed. And I would not have blamed them. Because I was not a part of any cultural club in my college and I did not make any attempts to start/shoot a video in college till my second year. Yet, the dreams continued and my efforts to understand cinema continued. During my third year, a classmate of mine asked me to participate in a Tamil cinema quiz which I took part in, solely, for the joy of seeing a question paper that contained questions about Tamil films. Unexpectedly, me and my team made it through to the finals of the event and ended up becoming the organizers of the event for the next year. As a result of that, I got to stand on top of a stage in my college auditorium and address an audience about cinema and its power. Something similar happened with my second dream. On the penultimate day of my 7th semester, a dear friend and a classmate of mine asked me to create a farewell video for my class. I went ahead with the exercise not really knowing what would be the outcome but at the end of it, the farewell video ended up being screened to my entire class on a projection screen.  
• Do all dreams come true? Maybe not. But dreams that inspire you, dreams that make you better, dreams that make you work towards them do come true.
9. Say 'Yes' to things that make you uncomfortable (in a good way, of course)
• When I look back at my life, the things that I fondly recall and the things that I am proud of have all happened only because someone forced me or I forced myself to say 'Yes' to them. I signed up for a two-day photography workshop after severe compulsion from a dear friend and I still remember the extreme discomfort I experienced on the morning of the workshop. What if the workshop was filled with terrific photographers and I was the only amateur? What if the photos I captured during the workshop turned out to be pathetic? I had to pressurize myself to turn up to the workshop and after the workshop ended the next day, I was a happy man who had learnt a great deal about photography and had met a few photographers with very different perspectives on photography. Something similar happened on the morning of my first solo trip in 2017. There were numerous fears troubling me. What if I got robbed? What if I got lost? What if I got extremely ill during my trip? I had to pressurize myself to board the bus that afternoon and a week later, I was a happy man with a pleasant baggage of experiences. 
• Adding one of my favorite quotes from the book, The Last Lecture, "The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something." 
10. Find joy in the small things
• Once, when I was in college, I was sad one morning owing to an argument with a friend in hostel. After I reached my classroom, one of my classmates noticed that I was not in good spirits and asked me about the reason. I told him about the argument. Later in the day, after the lunch hour, he came over to my bench. He had noticed that I had become cheerful again. "What happened? You seem to be happy now. Did you sort out everything with your friend?" I smiled and gave him my answer. "No..No..I still haven't spoken to him. The reason I am happy now is because I had an amazing cup of filter coffee in our college canteen." My friend stared at my smiling face for a few seconds and then, he walked away. 
• Coffee. Podi dosa. Fallen flowers. Books. Butterflies. Balconies. Beautiful handwriting. Rainy roads. People wearing black colored clothes. My list of things that gift me joy are mostly simple. And more often than not, they help me stay happy most days. I believe that joy from such sources becomes important as we age since we tend to complicate our definition of happiness with more exposure to life. Adding a quote from one of my favorite writers, Ruskin Bond, "And when all the wars are done, a butterfly will still be beautiful". 
11. Do not idealize your parents
• During a conversation with two of my colleagues a few years ago, one of my colleagues complained, "I just hated the 4 years I spent in college. I wanted to join a different college and I fought with my father for that. But he just wouldn't listen. And I will never forgive him for that." I was surprised by his anger and asked him if he was angry upon his father or upon the college. "Both, of course. But, more on my father. He should have known better." I remained silent and my other friend took over. She asked him, "What according to you was your dad's mistake?" My friend replied, "He should have known which college would suit me better. After all, he knew me from my birth." My other friend got visibly angry and asked him a question. "Don't you know your younger sister from her birth? She's what - in her twelfth grade now? Would you happen to know which college would suit her the best?" My friend tried putting up an ineffective defense. "But yeah..I know what my sister likes. I know what sort of a person she is." My other friend promptly responded again. "But what if she doesn't like the college you choose for her?"  My friend remained silent while my other friend went on. "And tell me this..You wanted to join some other college, right? Imagine your dad had agreed and had gotten you an admission in that college. What if you had not liked that college? What  then? Will you blame your dad for that as well?" My friend did not have an answer. My other friend continued. "First, I do not completely agree that your dad committed a mistake. But even if he had, at the end of the day, your dad is also a normal man, right? He might be 50+ in age, he might have known you from your birth but still, he can also make mistakes, right? Take our manager, for example. He is also a man of 50+ years. He also has more than 20+ years of experience in our domain. But a decision he made last month almost shut down a project. You seem to be willing to forgive him but not your dad. Come on..cut your dad some slack." After she finished, the three of us remained silent for some time.  
• It is easy, especially in an upbringing in an Indian society, to always view a father as a Father and always view a mother as a Mother. Understanding them as individual men and women, with their own set of positives, negatives, and desires makes life easier and happier for everyone.
12. Every person has a story and a talent
• I have always been a believer of this but after I moved to Bangalore and after I started using Ola/Uber at a higher frequency, my belief in this has gotten stronger. After I board a cab and after I figure out that the driver likes having a conversation, I slip in the question, "Aap kahaan se ho, Sir?" (Where are you from, Sir?). That generally suffices and by the end of my ride, I get down at my destination having learnt about the life-journey of another fellow traveler in this world. And I must admit that every cab driver I have conversed with has had such an interesting/affecting backstory that I have convinced myself that the easiest way to overcome a writer's block is to take a cab ride. 
• I remember one December when my friend and I sat down to create 'Secret Santa' chits for my teammates at office. We had decided to assign nicknames to all my teammates and list down a few of their traits instead of using their original names in the chits. After my friend and I had created all the chits, I was pleasantly surprised by noticing how unique each of my teammates' traits were and how talented each of them was. The biggest gift I received that Christmas was to understand the greatness of each of my teammates.
• Never ever underestimate any person. If you tend to feel that a person has an easy life or a person does not have a special talent, just understand that you need to know the person better.
13. Find what you like and have a hobby
• Hobbies really help. For conversation starters. For making a resume stand out. For leading a happy life. I remember many nights when my work had driven me to a difficult place and my writing had helped me recover. I also remember many nights when my work had made me happy and my writing had complemented it. It is very easy to lose oneself in the rat race and I have found many times that my hobby has kept me human(e).
14. Ego doesn't help. Never.
1. Being a single child to my parents and having been doted upon by almost all my family members, it took me a while to understand that I am not the sole special person in this universe. Prior to that, I always held other people's opinions at an arm's distance and I never embraced any feedback which showed me that I was wrong. "How dare you say that I am wrong? It's just that you do not understand me and my circumstances better" was how I would react. I had to go through some failures and some pain and some amount of self-abuse before I could admit to myself that I can make mistakes. It took me some more time after that to admit to others that I can make mistakes. After understanding that I need not always be right, and every person around me is equally special, life has become easier.  
2. Ego in relationships is a different beast. Why should I be the one to text/call first? Why should I be the one to respond first in the WhatsApp group? During my initial college days, I made it a point to respond to any text message only after 15 minutes because I felt that responding immediately would mean that I wasn't really busy (though I wasn't, most of the time). Even in a friendship, I wanted to hold the upper hand. And then arrived a friend in my final year of the college. She was unlike any other person I had come before and she totally destroyed the existence of ego in our friendship the way children destroy the rules in an adult world. "I don't care whether you want me as your friend. You are my friend and that's all that matters to me," she would jokingly say. I understood the power of this statement only during my sad times - the times when I make it extremely difficult for any person to help me or even be around me. It is during these times that each of us need a friend who says the above statement. How great would it be if we could be that friend to others?
15. Pay back your gratitude to the society. Pay it forward as well
• Last year, I came across an article about the efforts of an Oxford University graduate to set up a mobile library in Afghanistan. The attempt to set up a mobile library was owing to the fact that parents were not ready to send their children to a library set up inside a building. In Afghanistan, public buildings can become easy targets for terrorist attacks. After I read the article, I was touched by the extent to which the graduate had gone to ensure that reading became a part of the Afghan kids' lives. I was also stunned by the realization that I had never considered spending endless hours in a library, inside a building, as a privilege. Which made me reconsider all the other gifts from my society that I had taken for granted. My food. My shelter. My education. My job. My freedom. Isn't it only appropriate for me to pay back my gratitude to the society, by helping those whom the society finds it difficult to help?
• My father was a man who always believed that if someone wanted to donate his savings for a cause, he should choose education. He held this opinion because he believed that if an underprivileged kid could be given the right support for education, he could be empowered to improve the state of his family and his society. The empowered kid might go on to enable a few other kids with education which could continue to form a network of humanity. In a twist of fate, after my family lost my father, my family became financially weak and it needed support for my education. Thanks to various NGOs and welfare groups, I was able to have the education I wanted. I also know another friend of mine whose family was in a financially worse state than mine, and he has managed to improve the state of his family now, because someone supported his education along the way. Whenever I meet this friend, after all the chatter and jokes and banter, we end up discussing about any new article that we had read about a social activist or any NGO that we had heard of which was supporting underprivileged families. Isn't it only appropriate for us to pay forward our gratitude to the society, by helping those whom the society finds it difficult to help?
16. Discipline does wonders
• In the final year of my college, I had a routine that I followed sacredly. Every morning, I would wake up at 5:30 AM, set out for a morning walk around my college, capture photos of things that fascinated me, and return to my hostel to read a book or the newspaper (if it was optimistic enough) for about 30 minutes. There were many mornings when I did not want to get out of my bed, when I wanted to steal another half-an-hour of sleep. But I always forced myself to get out and in retrospect, I am extremely happy for my doggedness in my final year. As a result of that morning routine, I managed to publish 85 posts in my blog within the span of 1 year. Which, for me, is a considerable feat since the number of posts I have published over the next three-and-a-half years is about 120. And I know the reason for this decline in output - I simply stopped my morning routine and took a break from being disciplined. 
• Is discipline mandatory for a happy life? I am not sure. But I have found it to be of great help in writing and even in my everyday life. Discipline provides that touch of normalcy in the happiest and the saddest of times. Discipline provides you something to hold onto when life leads you astray and eventually, you make life into such a strong habit that even during the strongest storms, you still find your way home. 
17. You cannot control everything that happens in your life 
• Till I finished my schooling, my performance in examinations was the one thing I cared about greatly. My performance always remained within my control and life was easy. After I entered college, when my priority shifted to people and relationships, life got slightly difficult. Because people and their choices and their actions cannot be controlled. A couple of years back, a dear family friend was diagnosed with a fatal disease. Life got increasingly difficult. How does one control diseases? Last year, a friend had to break up with his 3-year long girlfriend because their families opposed their marriage citing caste differences. Life got unbearable. How does one deal with caste and religion? And then I got my answer. One cannot control everything that happens in one's life. How then does one deal with life? I quote Iain Thomas's lines from his beautiful book, I wrote this for you. "You will only be hurt a finite number of times during your life. You have an infinite number of ways to deal with it."
18. Some lies are good
• I love truth. Simply for the fact that it makes life easier. And up until a few years back, I forced my truth upon everyone else around me as well. I did not care if the other person liked it or not. I just put out my truth and expected the other person to be mature enough to face it and accept it. It was only when I was faced with a few truths that I found difficult to handle did I understand that every truth needed a timing. People generally tend to be pretty harsh on themselves (remember point number 2?) and at times, a lie that can motivate someone or a lie that can lighten up someone is good. At least till the time they are ready to face the truth.
19. Happiness and sadness are internal
• The story writer in me made me understand this. Whenever I got an idea for a short story, depending on the tone of the story - whether it was happy or sad, I would spend the next 3-4 hours listening to songs and recollecting memories pertaining to the tone. If it was a sad story, I would listen to a playlist of songs that made me feel sad and ruminate on incidents from my life that made my heart heavier. If it was a happy story, I would start watching Robin Williams's interviews and I would be remembering memories that made me smile. Through such an approach, I found it easier to enter a happy/sad mind space from which I could write the story in its appropriate tone. And it was during such a session of setting my mood for a story that the thought hit me. If I could make myself happy/sad for a story, why shouldn't the same work in my life? 
• After this realization, whenever something significant happened in my life, I made it a point to understand why I felt a particular emotion. I always ended up understanding that my emotion was owing to a past memory or a future assumption related to the event but never because of the event itself. Our emotional reactions, in that way, are like the manipulative background scores used in films to underline happy and sad scenes. Most of these scenes, when watched without sound, do not actually make us feel anything. It is the background score that directs our emotions. Why then shouldn't we become the music composers for our lives? Fortunately, I have a host of A R Rahman's background scores to take inspiration from.
20. All good things take time
• If someone asked me the question, "What would you never give up in your life?" my reply would be this. "The potato curry my mom prepares." It has become such an integral part of my life that on many days when I have felt sad, I have simply set the photo of my mom's potato curry as my phone's wallpaper and attained peace. Though I hold so much affection for this dish prepared by my mom, during my college days, I would take a dig at my mom saying, "You have been making this potato curry for twenty years now. And you still make it the exact same way. What a bore!" It was only after I moved to Bangalore and started cooking for myself did I understand how difficult it is to achieve consistency in cooking. I then asked my mother as to how she managed the consistency, despite preparing it under all sorts of conditions - with very less time, with all the time in the world, with freshly purchased potatoes, with potatoes purchased long back, while only preparing for me, while preparing for the entire family during a function. My mom replied smiling, "It is because of the same joke you crack. I have been doing this for more than twenty years now." 
• I am generally a person who likes to do things in a slow and unhurried manner. One of my friends even pointed out once that I use the word 'slowly' often in my stories. But lately, having been exposed to a lot of Amazon prime and Swiggy, I tend to get uncomfortable when I see things taking their own sweet time. During such occasions, I ask my mom to prepare her potato curry. When I lay my eyes upon the golden brown beauties after they have been cooked, I tell myself two things. First - if it takes twenty years for something to get this good, then so be it. Second - as a Bioinformatics graduate, I need to identify if a potato-preparation gene has been passed on from my mother to me.  
21. A job is a part of life, not life itself
• There were two incidents that made me snap out of the mistake I was committing - treating my job as important as my life. The first instance was when a dear friend was quitting my first company. Her farewell ceremony was about to be held at 9:30 PM and I had a call scheduled with my US-based client at the same time. I could have rescheduled the call with my client or asked my teammate to take over. But the professional in me overtook the friend in me and directed me to make the client call successful. After about thirty minutes, the client call ended successfully and so did my friend's farewell ceremony. In the next five minutes, I realized what I had lost and what I was never going to get back. The second instance was again after a client call. One of my clients was explaining about a new data security regulation implemented at his organization and I was listening to him with all my attention, not letting myself be distracted by anything else. After the client call, as I began to type the discussion points from the meeting, I was struck by a realization. I couldn't remember the last time, in about a month, when I had paid absolute attention to my grandmother during a phone call of hers. I had always been doing some other work in parallel and had only been partially listening to my grandmother's questions and answers. This want of mine to impress my client more than my grandmother saddened and scared me in equal measures. After that day, I made it a point to never do any other work when my grandmother spoke to me over phone. If I could set aside 30 minutes everyday for a US-based senior director I had not even met, I could definitely spare some time for the woman who had raised me.
• I am not sure if this point applies to everyone. Because I have come across some people who are genuinely in love with the work they do and do not mind letting work dictate all their other choices in life. But for some of us who absolutely love the people in our lives, who measure the success of our lives by the success of our relationships, who love life too much to care more about the experiences than the earnings, who sometimes get the priorities mixed up, I believe this point holds good. Ending with a quote from the extremely moving Tuesdays with Morrie, "Well, the truth is, if you really listen to that bird on your shoulder, if you accept that you can die at any time - then you might not be as ambitious as you are".
22. Do not postpone what can be done now
• My maternal grandfather had always wanted to visit Bangalore - he had a special place in his heart for this 'garden' city. After I shifted to Bangalore for my job, I wanted to invite him to stay with me and take him around the city over a weekend. But whenever the thought arose, I told myself that I needed to move to a bigger/better house and needed to earn more money before I invited him. As a result, I did not invite him to Bangalore for about a year after I moved here and then, suddenly, one night he passed away. Every now and then, the regret of not having invited him to Bangalore hurts me. And it also drives me to act immediately upon something that can easily be postponed, and later regretted. That apology to that friend can be asked now. That family trip, paid for with your salary, can be had now. There will always be tomorrows but our desires tend to have deadlines.
23. Every person's problem has a different solution
• One of my dear friends told me this. I was sharing a problem in my life with him and he narrated a similar problem that he had faced earlier in his life. After explaining how he had overcome the problem, he told me, "But, Soorya! I am me and you are you. What worked for me might not work for you. Every person's problem has a different solution." Which I stand by till today. There are no rules for life. There are only guidelines. How we put them to use in our lives depends on our understanding of ourselves.
24. Some of your loved ones would leave you. Some may die. Life still goes on
• I had a very close friend when I was in kindergarten. We remained friends for about three years and after we reached the second grade, I concluded that it would be impossible for me to attend school without my friend. The next year, his father got transferred and my friend left my school. I was heartbroken and cried for many days. At that point, I decided that I would not be able to digest another departure of a loved one. Post my decision, I have lost my father and both my grandfathers. And I have lost a few other loved ones too. But my life goes on. It goes on with the memories of the ones who left and gratitude for the ones who remain. With every death and separation, I learn to value the love of the people around me more. 
25. Life is wonderful
• Life is absolutely wonderful. In the pursuit of more success, it becomes easy to lose ourselves in the next goal. I agree that goals are good motivators but time and again, it is also necessary to look back at life and be grateful for all the things that turned out good. That one person you love - imagine the odds of him/her being born and brought up in such a way, being influenced by friends and society in such a way, being shaped up by school and college in such a way, being affected by books and films in such a way that he/she turned out to be someone with whom your likes and dislikes matched. That one dish you love - imagine the odds of it being invented by some cook centuries or decades ago and having been passed down from generation to generation, without it having been lost to time or gone out of popular demand, for you to be tasting it today. That one city you love - imagine the odds of it having such a geography, such a culture, such a group of people and buildings, and not having been destroyed by a natural event, for you to explore it today. That one piece of art you love - imagine the odds of the artist having lived such a life, having chosen such a profession, having been affected by such an idea for you to cherish it today. Life is absolutely wonderful. And how can it not be, when I have lived to become me and you have lived to become you?

The word thief

He was a ruthless word thief
A thief who stole words that hurt
Words do hurt, don't they?
They hurt worse than wounds
Words uttered in anger and hatred
Words uttered in hopelessness and desperation
Words uttered after consuming alcohol
Words uttered before committing suicide
Words uttered during a domestic argument
Words uttered during a legal judgment
Words uttered to release pain
Words uttered to cause pain..
The ruthless word thief specialized in the theft of the last type
The type that hurts the most
The type that makes man's brain return to its beastly nature
The type that makes man's heart hold unresolved regrets
The type that makes lips bleed
The type that makes languages an unnecessary greed
The type that breaks human bonds
The type that harms health and happiness..
The ruthless word thief specialized in the theft of this type of words
The type that hurts the most
The type that is unintentionally uttered by a wife
Before her husband drives away to die in an accident
The type that is unintentionally uttered by a son
Before his father walks away to die of a weak heart
The type that cannot be taken back
Like the rain drops that cannot be taken back by the sky
Like the shed flowers that cannot be taken back by the tree..
The ruthless word thief would steal such words
And dump them in a garbage yard
To set them later on fire
The words would burn fiercely
Fueled by the flames of regret
And after they had burned out
One could always see their silvery ashes
Lying on the garbage yard like unwanted babies
One could also hear the gentle whispers of the silvery ashes
During cold nights and rainy mornings

Like the breeze's lullaby to a war-torn city

Like the ocean's lullaby to a stranded sailor
The silvery ashes would gently whisper,
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

The houses I have lived in

I wonder if the houses I have previously lived in would remember me.

Would the ceilings remember the times I erupted in celebration? Would the floors remember the tears shed during times of distress? Would the windows remember my yearning for a journey, and would the doors remember my yearning to stay indoors? Would the kitchens remember my never-ending hunger, and would the balconies remember my slowly-diminishing anger? Would the cupboards remember the scent of my clothes, and would the racks remember the stories in my books? Would the ceiling-fans remember my exhaustions, and would the night lamps remember my dreams?
Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn't.

But I am sure that a visit to these houses will help me remember a part of myself that has been comfortably forgotten in the pursuit of the present. The visit might even help me remember some dreams I have forgotten, some promises I have broken, and some relationships I have left behind.

Isn't that the scary part of facing our past? Along with our growth, it also shows us the price we have had to pay. The price of progress.

"The magnitude of a progress is gauged by the greatness of the sacrifice that it requires," said Friedrich Nietzsche.
Some of us can gauge our progress by the houses we have left behind. Perhaps, also by the dreams and promises and relationships that are slowly peeling off the long forgotten walls.

Transitioning out...

With about 3 weeks left before my exit from my current organization, my manager and my on-site counterpart placed a request before me. "Please ensure that you help your replacement gain the complete business context and process understanding of your project."

After I finished creating the KT (Knowledge Transfer) plan, I was saddened by the realization that such a procedure did not exist in real life.
Wouldn't life be easier if a person exiting our life could identify a replacement and conduct a KT of his/her responsibilities? Don't many of us helplessly struggle with voids that grow into a quicksand of emotional turmoil?
Yes, most deaths cannot be anticipated. Yes, most people cannot be replaced. Yet, couldn't some pain be avoided?

After I created the KT plan, I worked upon creating an exhaustive QC (Quality Control) checklist that could mitigate the possibility of errors in the project.
Wouldn't life be easier with the existence of a QC checklist? Aren't many of us guilty of repeating the same mistakes, be it with some relationships or be it with some events?
Yes, outcomes of certain choices cannot be anticipated. Yes, certain circumstances cannot be changed. Yet, couldn't some suffering be spared?

As I continued pondering upon this topic, something struck me.

KT plans and QC checklists are created in an attempt to transform a project from being people-dependent to being process-dependent. Why then should these be applied to life? 

Don't we already have enough processes in our lives in the form of smart phone applications?  

Moreover, what would happen to philosophy and poetry if life became process-dependent instead of being people-dependent? Would we like our lives to be filled with user manuals and procedure documents instead of being packed with poetry and literature? 

I, for one, would definitely not want that. 

Like Philip Pullman said, Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever. 

You've got a friend in you!

Last month was a difficult month. It demanded major decisions from me, personally and professionally.
The decision making process made me realize many things. The lack of maturity I had always prided myself of possessing in abundance, the irony of my 'Decision scientist' designation at my organization, the role of a father in his child's life were a few among them.

I generally consult only my brother before making a major decision. Not because he has it all figured out. But he is one person who asks the right questions to help me figure out. He is one of the best fits for my organization in that sense. He doesn't just solve problems; he helps you figure out your own way of solving problems.
But last month, when major decisions were demanded of me, I did not just stick to my brother for advice. Adopting the typical team leader mentality of 'more resources = faster & better work', I went about seeking advice from a lot many people. As I explained my problems to each of my friends and as they offered me possible solutions based on their life experiences, I was surprised to find how different my friends' lives & opinions are. Though the diversity gladdened me, the collection of solutions to my problems resembled a pizza menu - similar in their approaches with slight variations to the outcomes. And I must admit that I am bad at choosing a pizza type; all pizzas taste the same to me. 

Having reached such a mental barricade, I did not know how to proceed. Instead of using my energy to list down my problems and solve them one by one, I started being hard on myself. I blamed myself for lacking maturity. I blamed myself for being fickle minded. I blamed myself for not taking enough risks. I blamed myself for every problem I encountered in a day from being stuck in traffic to missing an elevator at office to a database issue at the client's end to an incredibly priced Uber pool fare. As the days passed, the blame-game got worse and I started hating myself. 

It was at such a point that a friend from a previous project at office approached me for some advice on her MS plans. "I am not sure if I should even be aspiring for a Masters program. What if I am not cut out for this? What if I am not smart enough and I am just not realizing it?" I let out a hearty laugh after listening to her and asked her to take a deep breath. I then had a long conversation with her during which I tried to encourage her and make her understand how wonderfully talented she is in contrast to her fears. After that conversation and after a few recollections of the good old times we had had being in the same team, she was about to leave. As a conclusion to our conversation, I offered her a piece of advice which had stayed with me from a beautiful TED talk.
"Do not be too harsh on yourself. Be that friend to yourself that you would be to another friend in need."
It was only after my friend left that my advice hit me like a hammer for my own hypocrisy. 

If a friend had admitted that he lacked maturity, would I have tried to encourage him or would I have tried to put him down? If a friend had admitted of being fickle minded, would I have tried to motivate him or would I have tried to add more pain to his guilt?

I realized that I am a considerably better friend to others in comparison to the friend I am to myself. 

A few days back, I gifted myself a slow, long walk around my neighborhood. Throughout the walk, I offered advice to myself the way I would have offered to any other dear friend of mine. By the end of the walk, my heart felt a lot lighter than it had been the entire past month. 

After I returned home, I took out my notebook where I have written down the names of all my friends from school, college and office. I made a new addition to the list which should have been added long back. 

Soorya Prakash S.

Home, sweet home...

(A short story - also, my 200th post - dedicated to a dear friend who cannot be thanked enough for leading these writings and this writer to this happy place)


I have always loved wet streets, wet walls, and wet sand with the love of a man who has received a surprise hug from his lover. But today, as I walk through the wet street leading to my wet house with an emotionally dried up family, my love for the wetness resembles the love of a man who is denied a hug from his lover because she has had a tiring day. I pass a television news reporter who is screaming at the camera pointed towards her. “…as Kerala reels out of one of the worst floods any Indian state has witnessed in the recent future, the Indian government is still accountable…” The sight of my house drains out the voice of the news reporter. I halt and look at the remains after an incessant rain. The large, iron-gate that served as the security guard to my father’s Hero Honda Splendor and as the wicket in the cricket games played between me and my sister is now missing. So are the hibiscus plants that my sister so dearly nurtured and the tulsi plants my mother so dearly revered. The television set and the refrigerator lie on the front-yard. A couple of earthworms slowly wriggle out of the butterfly-stickers-laden refrigerator.

My younger sister, Selvi, grabs my arm and breaks down on my shoulder. I notice my mother enacting a similar action with my father. I throw a glance at my father – the man who always has the funniest things to say. He replies with his silence, a silence that teaches me two things. One, my father’s words can be silenced only by nature and never by mankind. Two, it is time for me to step into my father’s shoes.

“Why all this sadness?” I understand my father’s greatness as I mask desperation with hope. “Come on! We wanted to renovate our house anyway.” My father lets out a chuckle and a teardrop. I wonder if the teardrop is for the loss of a house or for the gain of a successor. I place a mild slap on my sister’s cheek to shake her out of her sadness and lead her onto the front-yard.

“No more untimely roars from a refrigerator older than Selvi, and no more dancing visuals from a television set older than me.” My joke works with the entire family and the damp atmosphere begins to lighten up. I lead my family into the house. An unbearable stench welcomes us along with books and utensils spread on the floor. “Were there any leftovers from your mother’s cooking on the day we vacated our house? Nothing else can smell so bad!” My father’s comment signals his return to his normal self and also adds a smile to my mother’s tearful face. An unexpected natural disaster is best dealt with an internal family joke.

My sister and I start picking up the books and utensils. My father points to a stainless steel bowl inside which a snail is resting and makes a happy declaration. “Finally, we have become a non-vegetarian family.” My mother places a mild slap on my father’s back and joins us in picking up the utensils. My sister lets out a giggle as she picks up two books that have gotten glued to one another by water. She holds them like a prize as my father and I understand her joke. The books that have gotten glued are Richard Dawkins’s The God Delusion and Bhagavad Gita. My sister, the rationalist, carefully places the books on a table, not separating their embrace.

My mother steps into the kitchen with the utensils she has collected, and I follow her. The kitchen that had always glowed with the warmth of the first two Harry Potter films now seems to be filled with the eerie coldness of the last two Harry Potter films. My mother places the collected utensils on a shelf and slowly walks towards the battered wet grinder lying on the ground. I feel sorry as I look at my mother having to deal with the loss of her wedding gift from her parents. My sister enters the kitchen and rushes towards my mother to offer her a needed hug. Wanting to reduce the drama, my father also joins us in the kitchen with a ready remark. “Our son is 26 years old now. Let us just get him married immediately and demand a wet grinder from the girl’s parents.” I throw an angry look at my father as the kitchen warms up with laughter.

****

“Mom! Come here! Just take a look at this kitchen!” Selvi’s screams and her enthusiastic face from a faraway section direct me, my father and my mother towards her. We arrive at the section where Selvi is busy with opening and shutting cupboards. “How great would it be to have a modular kitchen at our home!” My mother nods in approval of Selvi’s statement and walks to join her inside the kitchen. I follow my mother, voicing my confusion to Selvi. “Have you taken a sudden liking to cooking?” Selvi throws me the look of a teacher trying to explain an extremely complex concept. “Why should I like cooking to want a beautiful kitchen? Isn’t an inclination towards good design enough to appreciate a good looking kitchen?” I realize my mistake in trying to take a dig at my sister.

I step out of the kitchen and join my father. “Are you liking this?” I doubt if a communist like him would enjoy an interstate visit to IKEA’s store in Hyderabad, especially in its opening week. “It is definitely fun. What is not to enjoy when one gets to learn about the microscopic concerns of people who shut themselves to the macroscopic problems?” I question my father’s statement, realizing that my family always answers with another question. “But then, a society is made up of a few hundred families. Shouldn’t the families want internal happiness to start working towards a happy society?” My father smiles and delivers a lasting punch. “The want for happiness in a family always grows with its expansion. How many families do you know that have stopped expanding?” I remain silent as a family walks past us, discussing about the number of bedrooms they would need once the two college-going sons in the family get married.

“I think we have spent enough time trying to figure the right look for our kitchen. Let us proceed towards the living room section. That’s the room that relatives notice when they visit.” My mother’s finding directs us to the living room section. “Wow! This one has a Japanese table in it. Let’s buy one for our home.” Selvi walks to the table and kneels before it. “We can all have our dinner on this table, with each person kneeling on each side.” I look at my father who lets out a sigh, indicating that a joke is to follow. “Selvi still hasn’t come out of her punishment habit from her school days.” I wink at Selvi and let out a laugh as my father receives a call on his mobile phone. He walks away with his mobile phone only to return after a few minutes with a serious face. “What happened?” My father looks at his mobile phone and calls out to my mother and sister to bring the family closer. “I just got a call from Nambi. It seems the rains are getting intense back home. Let us wrap this visit in the next one hour and try catching the next bus to Kerala.” My sister and mother nod and hurry towards the living room section while I stay with my father. My father starts making phone calls to the other neighbours in our area.

****

I exit the kitchen and enter my bedroom. All the efforts my sister and I would put to keep our cots as far apart from one another as possible seem to have been washed away by the floods. The cots remain one on top of the other. My sister’s wall paintings of butterflies seem to have flown away, leaving behind an empty canvas.

My father joins me and places his hand on my shoulder. “Are you worried?” I turn to look at him. “Are you?” He shakes his head and tightens his grasp on my shoulder. “We will overcome this.” He then lets go of my shoulder and folds his hands. “Do you have any money saved?” I nod. “Do you?” He looks at me with his trademark mischievous smile and replies. “I am not as playful as my remarks.” I feel slightly offended by his misjudgement of my judgment. “I did not refer to the remarks or playfulness. I referred to the communism.” He remains silent. After a thoughtful minute, he turns to look at my mother and sister still seated in the kitchen. “Maybe it will do them some good to visit the IKEA store again.” I look at him confused. “Let’s just say that I am a better husband and a father than a communist.” I return him his mischievous smile with my reply. “Aren’t we all?”

My father and I walk to the living room where my sister also joins us. “Mom wants us to search the entire house and gather the scattered idols of Gods. She wants to perform a pooja before proceeding further.” The three of us separate in different directions and set out on our spiritual quest. After the passage of half an hour, we meet again in the living room with damaged and muddy idols in our hands. “I finally found God.” My sister winks after her joke and my father and I let out a hearty laugh. My mother joins us with two clean, undamaged idols which she had packed with her while vacating our house. She arranges all the idols in neat rows, like school students waiting to be photographed for the school album. She then lights a lamp before them and begins her prayer. My father, my sister, and I silently stand behind my mother, knowing well that my mother’s prayers would suffice for the entire family. As I look at the tiny temple my mother has created for the Gods, I am reminded of my state’s pet name.

Deivathinde swantham naadu. God’s own country.

Understanding art through a haircut and bruschetta

Last weekend, I visited the barbershop in the neighboring street. The barbershop where my barber friend offered me a haircut for 70 rupees and his political opinions for free.  
Last weekend, the topic of discussion happened to be Karunanidhi's death. As hair strands kept falling before my eyes, we discussed about the possible protests that would have erupted had Karunanidhi been denied his final resting place at the Marina beach. In the middle of our discussion, my friend suddenly paused and held a mirror behind my head. He asked if I was satisfied with the amount of trimming on the back of my head. I did not care to pay much attention and hastily nodded in agreement. 
Our discussion continued and a couple of minutes later, my friend paused again to ask if the trimming on the sides of my head was enough. I smiled and calmly replied, "Just give me a haircut that will keep me out of your shop for at least 1 month." My friend laughed and continued his work. 
After about five minutes, he wrapped up his finishing touches and admired my hairstyle. He held the mirror again to the back of my head, to the sides of my head and eagerly looked at my reflection in the mirror hung before me for my approval. I showed him a thumbs-up and as my friend happily began to untie the cloth that had covered me from the falling hair strands, a realization hit me. 
My barber friend cared more about my hairstyle than I did.
For me, the haircut was just a solution to keep my hair out of my ears and eyes. Nothing more. Nothing less. But it wasn't so for my friend. Which gladdened and saddened me in equal measures. 
I was glad because I had met a man who put his heart and soul into his work. I was sad because I did not even attempt to understand his work. 

****

Four days after the haircut, I visited an Italian restaurant near my office. I ended up there since my team was in a mood for authentic pizzas and pastas. As my teammates patiently examined the menu card to decide upon the most mouthwatering dishes, I downed my second glass of drinking water in an attempt to prevent my face and stomach from emitting signs/sounds indicative of my terrible hunger.
My hunger made me wonder if my teammates assumed that they were on a real Italian vacation. They seemed to be conversing and laughing and deciding dishes at a very leisurely pace. Screw you, Dolce Far Niente! In comparison, I seemed to be a man stuck in a Bangalore traffic signal, irritated by the ten seconds remaining for the signal to turn green.
Fortunately, after what seemed like the time required to explore the entirety of Venice and Rome, the waiter brought the starter dish. It was called bruschetta. My hunger did not care if it was bruschetta or bhel puri or bisi bele bath. All that mattered was that it was edible.
I did not care for dining etiquette and reached out for the dish. The waiter stopped me. "Let me serve you the dish, sir." I agreed with a forced smile as my stomach growled.
The waiter took a piece of roasted bread and slowly applied olive oil to one side of the bread. Meanwhile, my stomach armed itself with a pistol. The waiter then took a tiny piece of garlic and gently rubbed the same side of the bread. My stomach unlocked the safety lock in the pistol and was ready to fire at the waiter. The waiter then placed a basil leaf on top of the bread and slowly arranged diced tomatoes one after the other on the basil leaf. Boom! Boom! Boom! My stomach had fired 3 fatal shots already.
The waiter then carefully placed/presented the dish on my plate. "Oh you poor soul! You have already been executed." My stomach let out an evil laugh at the waiter. I picked up the bruschetta and ate it, only to be reminded of the bread-sandwiches I would prepare with my brother when we did not have enough time and ingredients.
My hunger satisfied itself, giving up all hope on food, and I relaxed on my chair, embracing the Italian lifestyle.
But as I relaxed, I noticed the waiter passionately preparing the bruschetta, one after another, for my teammates. His face glowed as he repeatedly applied the olive oil, rubbed the garlic on the bread, placed the basil leaf and arranged the diced tomatoes. His face glowed more as he saw smiles spreading out on my teammates' faces as they chewed upon the bruschetta. Which gladdened and saddened me in equal measures. 
I was glad because I had met a man who put his heart and soul into his work. I was sad because I did not even attempt to understand his work. 

****

For me, fashion and food are only the means to an end (a good life) and not an end in themselves. Owing to this, I have missed many opportunities to appreciate the artistry behind hairdressing and cooking/serving. 
As I understood this aspect of mine through the above incidents, I also understood people who have missed many opportunities to appreciate the artistry behind writing and filmmaking. 
For many people, books and films can be only the means to an end (a good life) and not an end in themselves.  

After this realization hit me, I visited the barbershop in the neighboring street. My barber friend was discussing about the floods in Kerala with a customer. I interrupted him, shook his hand and thanked him. My friend did not understand. "I feel extremely light-headed now." My explanation did not help him. I thanked him again and walked out.