Photos: Fishermens Settlement, Colaba
New lizard species: A new lizard species has been found in Satara. The
lizard, Hemidactylus Sataraensis, can’t climb walls or stick to
ceilings.
New Human Species: A new human specimen has been found in mumbai. The Human, Procrastinatus Permanentsis, can't do hard work or concentrate for long periods of time. Dies in extremely competitive environments.
Kazuo Ishiguro has been one of the most thought provoking authors to me. Today, I finished reading ‘An artist of the floating world’, my 4th novel by the writer. This work, as most of his other works, portrays and enunciates the thoughts and world view of the protagonist. The work moves forward in a given period of time, while progressively looking backwards, in no specific chronological order at various people the character came across and how they subconsciously participated in his evolution as a disturbed individual, which he denies till the end.
Ishiguro always shows the transience of human nature, how it moulds itself according to the person’s assimilation of himself and events around him. The central proponent might be dealing selective areas of occupation, be it a pianist, a butler, a detective or an artist. That doesn’t stop them from justifying their actions and the impact they have had on society, their importance in the hoi polloi. On the first read, it would appear as if the agonist is entirely composed of the best ideas and notions about existence and rightful living. As the novel meanders into the deepest recesses of thought process, we come to realize that the initial righteous image of the person through his own dictation is flawed. Every human is perennially in doubt of their choice of path and purpose of existence, and would go to any lengths to vindicate the same, at whatever cost.
The prose, which initially makes us allies of the hero, thus complicit with his actions brings out our own tendency to side with what we think is right. Later on, as we are brought face to face with his cracks in personality and the inherent weakness of will to come to terms with failure as a human being we see the reflection of our own insecurities. It makes us uncomfortable, afraid to realize that Pianist Ryder, Butler Stevens, Artist Ono and Detective Banks are all around us, in us.
That, is the genius of Kazuo Ishiguro.
Every now and then I realize that I am a very difficult person. A person who no longer talks to me (there are many such) had said that I am not everyone’s cup of tea. It came as a surprise to me the moment she said so. I had assumed that I am one of the most amicable people I know, someone who tries to give space, is sensitive to difference of behavior, understanding, attitude and choices. How the hell am I difficult then? What she said affected me and that instant, resentment spawned. Without telling her that I didn’t give two shits about what she thinks I started rationalizing for the good of me and rendering her daft; for my own good too. And there I recognized my very own defense mechanism. Superb I must say.
A defense mechanism works in a dilemmatic direction for me. One, whatever you find untoward about me reflects your own personality flaw in an equal measure as it does mine. So maybe instead of telling me that I am so and so you can try your hand at the charity-begins-at-home routine and root out the flaws which you think are mine, but are actually yours. I have also observed that voicing these thoughts is not helpful in taking the conversation or the relationship forward in a positive manner.
I know what’s wrong with you, I can tell you that. God help you if you think the same.
Two, my doing something like this is exactly the reason why I am not anyone’s cup of tea. Not that I have not tried not doing this, but I can’t stand anyone farting in my face and expecting me to open my nostrils wide.
You know what the right thing to do is. You know how to do that. You also have a faint idea how important it is to do it correctly, what you might lose, how you might get changed, forever. Yet you push. You don’t shove; you push gently, inch by inch, feeling by feeling. A strange madness overcomes reason. The reasons to push keep refreshing, intermingling, becoming one dark mass of masochistically sadistic feeling of pain. Now it is imperative that you ignore cries for help, especially from within yourself.
And then you have reached the edge. You have the least idea what made you push it this far. But the edge is near, and to finish successfully you need to do the last bit. Your hands quiver and your legs ache. You are no longer sure if it’s your brain which drives you, or your heart. Which is the evil one? Why evil, you might ask yourself. Of course its evil, otherwise it wouldn’t feel this fucking good.
Pause. It’s the last inch. This part will take more than will power. It wants the last shred of goodness, of kindness and compassion to consume and gain strength. It is almost like a form of meditation, concentrating on one point.
A slight tap and it has happened. Down you fall, confused and panicked. Weren’t you the one pushing? You look up, the last effort, and there stands something black with its arms outstretched, laughing like a madman. You feel cheated, you look again, and realize. It’s your own ego.
Time has told me
You are a rare rare find
A troubled cure
For a troubled mind
Nick Drake
I have been struggling with the idea of writing, with the notion of being a work mule, with the prospect of being nothing more than hot air.
I have been wondering if being incorrigible, running away, disregarding my near ones is what I will always do.
I have been squirming under the night time moon, deadened by the blows of tenderness, scorched by words of love.
They say spotting patterns is human tendency, the brain searches for traces of the past images or signals in the present and matching them up, becomes happy. Something like a simple fool who appreciates the way he arranges a set of colored cubes in a particular bizarre sequence, even after reaching the age of adult-ness. The pattern I have been a witness and perpetrator to in the past one month, also the time since I last wrote about my inner thoughts, has been one of running away. Not as much running as breaking free from the shackles of present, but that’s the idea.
Shackles of the present, there was a time when I used to adore these few words, they seemed like an escape into a world of fantasy of imagination. Neither too remote, nor implausible.
In a way, a pleasant distance away
on a windy Sunday afternoon.
However, as present catches up with the future and past seems light years away, the feeling of contempt, disappointing farcicality towards the fantasy and me increases. The gap between reality and hope widens, and the moment demands, orders me to take a side. Step this way or that.
The pathos lying in the fact and fear of seeing most people take the side of reality and betraying hope.
Not many moons ago I decided, rather explained to myself that I don’t want to appear for the MBA entrance exams seriously this year as I want to take some responsibility, start working and stay at home for an year or two. That would give me the required break and a breather, time to consider my options and decide on a course of action. That would also ensure the surety of preparation I would put into it. Hence I looked forward to joining with the company that picked me up on campus, the IT bandwagon, and staying at home with my family, with visions of evenings with friends and a comfortable life.
The truth struck home and hard since the last 2 days, during the induction ceremony in a far away hotel and all day long training schedules. The morning travel was still less tenuous (getting up at 6.30 AM after 5 years conditioning of getting up at 11AM is rather sucky) as compared to the evening traffic rush hour, covering 3 kilometers in an hour. The total journey time today was around 3 hours and 10 minutes in the 13 hours that I spent outside. By the end of it I was hungry enough to eat a horse, tired enough to sleep for 13 hours, and frustrated enough to scream abuses nonstop sitting in the cab and the train. And all this when I know that I have it much, much easier than many other people sharing my age and position. All this when I know that it’s going to be like this for the next two years at least. All this when I know I don’t have any other option, I don’t want to look at other options. I am just too cowardly for that.
It has some good points too, which is what I keep telling myself as I make the arduous journeys and sit through excruciatingly boring presentations. No one ever said it would be easy, no one said otherwise. Yet when I am fretting and frothing there is this irresistible urge to blame the whole wide world for my slight difficulties, there is a feeling that so much is due to me while I get this. Yeah, maybe it is good, I need to come back, come back on earth, touch the ground and the ground realities. Masochism, the old ally, comes to the rescue.
After a recent incident I have been extremely careful in venting out my opinions to anyone about anything, anything as small as a new brand of chewing gum. Believing that everyone has their right of choice and way is a much more easier and peaceful way of going about life. It might have something to do with my obstinacy of not changing my own views and then arguing with the other person just for the sake of argument and proving them wrong, but I am sure that really doesn’t affect the present issue in any major way. Working towards such an outcome has its pro’s and con’s and it definitely intersects with my personality and instincts, but all that is still bearable compared to the pandemonium ensuing in the other direction.
Since I have come back to Bombay I have been at a loss of people to meet or spend time with, as most of my friends shifted to Kharghar. Staying in Colaba it seems another city altogether. Which is why I have been scavenging people to meet and talk to. So yesterday I looked up a female I had shared a cab with once and fixed up a meeting. We met at a coffee shop close to my place and started working towards making a conversation. Normally it is easier to start a good conversation by letting or forcing the other person to talk about themselves a bit, and then bring it to a more general level. However, this conversation started on a general note, veered around this side & that for a few minutes and then plunged into the abyss of her life. Not only was the abyss of her life dark, fat and pock marked, but it was highly opinionated with hatred for most of the human beings on this planet and their sanitary habits. I had to restrain myself initially, but then it became pointless to do so. The swirling whorl of terror came in my direction and she started telling me my personality flaws. Even though some of them were true, it didn’t mean she could do so standing on the road side with the self assurance of a walrus sunning herself on the antartic sea shore. The anomaly had to be constrained before it spread to rest of the matrix. So I cut her in the middle of her dissertation and making a promise of meeting some other time parted ways with her.
I must have the supreme capability of meeting all the nut cases out of nowhere, maybe similar poles do attract.
When it all depends on one scene, one line uttered with utter concentration and effort, face contorting in emotions never seen before, by a face never seen before, then you know what you are being witness to. It is a one dialogue wonder, those people in the movies who have only a small part to play, only one line to say and less than minute to make their mark. I wonder how much time they spend on rehearsing in front of the mirror, repeatedly asking their near and dear ones if they are doing it right, pitting all their energy for that small and [in]significant part.
How does the director decide whom to cast for such roles? Are there any auditions? ‘Experienced actors wanted for the role of snooty bystander to scream at the lead/spectacled doctor informing mother that her son is critical(dead)/fat boss refusing employment to in-need garib hero, mediocrity of features highly essential, gender/age/height/width/complexion/accent no bar, flexible work timings’. I am sure such characters would be immensely proud of their contribution to the movie regardless of the success or failure at the box office, get all their friends and family free tickets(bought by themselves) for the movie. They would also explain to the entourage much before the movie the time of their entry, their exact dialogue and the way they said it. Sometimes this is how movies like Tara Rum Pum Pum manage to scrape through the overhead costs, just hire some more bystanders.
How do people come into this line? Maybe it is like one of those depressing aspiring-damsels-turning into-a-porn-actress cases, except here the only one getting off is the person concerned.
Today as I was sitting in front of my comp, I was hit by divine knowledge, sort of a revelation, and the ultimate secret to life. Read on to know more.
