in the business of being liked

A large part of the reason I keep deleting my social media accounts frequently is because of Murakami's quote- " If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking"¹. But the reason I keep coming back to the platforms is because it gets very lonely very fast when you're walking the solitary path. "కవి అనేవాడు గుంపుకి సరిగ్గా నాలుగడుల ముందుండాలి. మరీ ముందుకెళితె వాళ్ళేం మాట్లాడుతున్నారో వినబడదు, వారిలో కలిసి పోతే ఆ గోలలో పనికొచ్చే విషయం కనబడదు"² -Someone, imaginary or real

If external stimuli alter the biochemicals in my mind and that in turn immensely affects the way I⁵ act in the world, why don't all of us ingest chemicals that turn us into wonderful, happy people⁶ and the world would be a wonderful place⁷, because that's what all of us seem to want. A world with no suffering⁸, untimely death, disease or hunger. A world where all existence is in perfect harmony, the Rama Rajyam. Of course utopias are boring by definition but then a true utopia would have enough excitement to satiate adventurism without toppling the delicate balance⁹.

Yet I think humans are never happy with the world they live in no matter how perfect by "objective" standards. I've only read bits and pieces (duh) of Joseph Campbell but I've convinced myself into believing that every story is the same story¹⁰- a hero living in a society is forced to go into a dark world, confront the villain (and his fears), fight and defeat the evil lord, and come back with the treasure (knowledge) to claim the heroine, win accolades and share the treasure with the world. JBP banally¹¹ exposits it as imposing order on intimidating chaos, finding something useful¹² from seeming clutter and that is the story of every story.

What am I trying to say? Like quote, "If I could tell you what the film is about, why would I make it?" ¹⁴, the post is what is; the maze exists to preserve the gem and the gem is valuable only because the seeker deserves it for having reached it when others have given up. Social acceptance is the only truth^15,16.

I don't know what I've been blabbering about. But if I want to become at least an average writer/ filmmaker, I have to find ways to assimilate this unintelligible, chaotic stream of reality into already patterned models¹⁸. And I don't know how I'm going to do that, or if I even have the capacity to learn and present it. It is challenging because any half-ambitious maker wants to present previously unnoticed or un-mapable phenomenon and to do that is to precisely walk past the illuminated area, gain knowledge and remain "sane"¹⁹ enough to come back and communicate.

That will only happen²⁰ if I walk through doors my immediate society is discouraging me from entering, either because of fear or jealousy. And the biggest force blocking my path is the need to be liked, from which stems the need to be approved. To walk out of the group is to risk being talked about²¹- adulation and envy if successful, pity and condescension otherwise²².

To talk out is to attract unnecessary attention, to stay low is a provocation to the ego. What to do?

¹ A complementary quote is Nassim Taleb's, "Read nothing from the past one hundred years; eat no fruits from the past one thousand years; drink nothing from the past four thousand years (just wine and water); but talk to no ordinary man over forty." The paradox is obvious- To follow or not follow contemporary advice exhorting to follow only ancient advice. I could also get extremely pedantic about it and skim books I really am interested in because I discovered them via recommendation lists
² Herzog's distinction between accountant's truth and ecstatic truth^3
3 When I made Based on a True Story, I was obsessed with capturing the fidelity of unexciting reality. I suppose I didn't, and don't yet, have the imagination or courage to comment on the character's lives in a much larger sociocultural context, so had to make do with and emphasise, as if it was truly original or insightful⁴, on the "mundanity" of everyday being as if it was highly poetic. Of course, a part of me still argues that there is poetry in it a la Jarmusch's Paterson or Linklater's Boyhood
⁴ There is still someone inside me who thinks that doing what I'm doing, without making a conscious effort towards improvement, since all improvement is stipulated by the specific sociocultural context and therefore not necessarily helpful in the pursuit of capital 't' truth, is valuable, or at least inevitable in the sense that someone could and would learn from the notes I'm writing while walking towards the dead-end, in building this repository of human knowledge ("నేను సైతం ప్రపంచాగ్నికి సమిధనొక్కటి ఆహుతిచ్చాను"). That I suppose is the residue of a long-held belief that the universe is teleological
⁵ "consciousness is like being the CEO of a large corporation" -[purpotedly] Minsky
⁶ Is this what the marijuana loyalists are after?
⁷ "America, like any realised utopia, is boring" -Baudrillard
⁸ Like many things in life, this seems to be elastic too in the sense that as long as pain is part of the emotional pie, people will find more and more trivial ways to embrace suffering while also rationalising its utility
⁹ Our world?
¹⁰ Actually, I picked this up from Jordan B Peterson's podcasts which I was listening to reverentially early last year
¹¹ An easy argument is that it is banal because it's true and so time hasn't filtered it out but what if Lindy Effect is self-fulfilling and so any idea proposed first drives out all novel ideas only by the virtue of being first
¹² Useful¹³ again is so spacetime specific and obviously dependent on the state of mind of the person taking it in
¹³ "..words and signs can never fully summon forth what they mean, but can only be defined through appeal to additional words, from which they differ. Thus, meaning is forever 'deferred' or postponed through an endless chain of signifiers" -[Wikipedia] Derrida
¹⁴ I thought this was a Beckett quote when someone asked him about Godot but I'm unable to find a reference now
¹⁵ This comes from reading about the nature of money from Blockchain tutorials and David Graeber's ridiculously readable Debt
¹⁶ I'm about to go have dinner now and I'm trying to document as much as I can before that break because I'm afraid all that's supposed to come now will be lost forever if I take that detour^17
17 To put it more memorably, "हग के बजाओगे तो एक तरह से बजता हैं, बिना हग के तोह दूसरी तरह से" [non-sic], from Jaideep Varma's Leaving Home: The Longer Trip, which I can't be thankful enough for
¹⁸ If analogy is the core of cognition, then all narratives are maps of some sort
¹⁹ Sane, here, ofcourse means being able to understand and speak the language of the audience
²⁰ And here is the fundamental paradox in my nature. I'm fatalist enough to believe that things happen to me and I'm forced to respond a certain way, yet ambitious, and vain, enough to want to transcend that imposition of fate and 'create my destiny'
²¹ I suppose evolution has taught has to stay at the centre of the group, preferring individual low-risk, low-reward and transferring the duty of finding new knowledge (usually an asset) to other entities within the group without which the entire group may fail
²² "You'll worry less about what people think about you when you realize how seldom they do." -DFW

57 not out

I feel guilty all the time.

When I'm at work and not working; Also when I'm at work and working.

When I'm sitting on the train and staring vacantly out of the window, lost in half-imaginations; Also when I'm sitting on the train and reading a book.

When I'm trying to read through a hard, technical tome; Also when I'm reading an airport thriller.

Watching a boring, art film; Also when watching a mainstream "commercial" film.

When listening patiently on the ..

--

Sometimes I understand what is going on and am given convincing explanations so that I can feel better. Other times, I roll and scream, agitating at my inability to find mental peace or going meta and brooding over my desperate need for mental peace, shifting between views of Rocky-style strength of will and images of Malkovichian puppetry. The truth, as they say, is right in the middle, too pristine to be fathomed.

Life does not begin after I've achieved the answers. Life seems to be the search for answers. Or is it because I've shaped it that way. But have I ever shaped anything really, when this 'I' precisely was shaped by external forces. I have just started reading Dennett's From Bacteria to Bach and Back in the hope of finding a physical explanation for consciousness (just a fancy word for identity?). It seems to me that all search, physical, intellectual, emotional, spiritual (whatever that means) is the search for freedom, is the search to transcend all limitation. Which is strangely understandable (that beautiful word, understand; What does it really mean?) because what I call myself is shaped by my limitations- I'm not anything beyond the limits of this area I can seemingly control (my body), I'm not anything I don't have atleast a passing knowledge of, I'm not someone who has not invested emotionally in this specific set of people (my family and friends), I'm not someone who knows what it is to be anything else except me.

It is frustrating to keep writing the same thing over and over again, running around in circles (or as Cixin Liu memorably put it, "Every era puts invisible shackles on those who have lived through it, and I can only dance in my chains."), making no linear progress. Is that the nature of reality, is it to realise and accept the lesson: to master this level, ostensibly playing the same thing over and over again but getting batter, smoother, savvier at it until I can finish the goal, only after which I can move onto the next level; Assuming there's something like that.

If an idiot is somebody who keeps repeating the same thing expecting a different result, is a genius somebody who keeps repeating the same thing believing that this will eventually lead to a different result (because although repetitions might not be changing anything in the external world but are subtly modifying his internal composition?). Belief, the f-word again: Is there no alternative to faith?

The ravenous hunger for knowledge and experience¹ (and subsequently documentation, theory, model-building, analogies etc. ) seems to stem from the impression that if we can get enough data, we can hold it hostage and extort meaning and purpose from the (currently) invisible masters of the universe. If the universe isn't teleological, I don't think we'd know what do to with our lives (or should I read the existentialists for answers who've already, reputedly, grappled with these questions).

"Aesthetics, if they even exist, are to be discovered only once a film has been completed." -Herzog

The above quote sort of makes sense, because otherwise how would you create something original or for that matter even end up creating if it becomes impossible to arrange the conceived idea in the physical world, but it also throws up a gamut of questions³.

How will I gain knowledge? About the world, about myself, about knowledge itself. And if that is what I should be seeking, or if there are any should be's in life.

¹ This ofcourse includes poetry, abstract painting, music and the like. Art is how we create maps of our internal landscape, impose structure so that the conscious² can access it as per need
² As much as I don't understand the nature or working of my consciousness [Thoughts that I can choose to convert into physical action in comparison to the subconscious, thoughts I neither understand nor can control], I've noticed that I don't want to have to do with anything internal, feelings, ideas, states, unless they're shaped in a way I can atleast pretend to, or delude myself that I do, understand
³ A few from the top of my head: i. Why is it so important to make the film at any cost, even if you're betraying your ideals? ii. If you're not your unchangeable aesthetics/ ethics, then how is the film you're making really the film you want to be making? iii. Is it possible for a human to not give in to aesthetics (a stand-in for ideas tethered in this point of the spacetime) and then isn't it better to subscribe to it more consciously? iv. If the opposite of every rule for writing is also true, like Mark Tredinnick repeatedly insisted, then should I end up being the ping-ping ball, unable to claim surety of anything but still making a film from this, and about this, uncertainty v. Isn't Herzog's insistence on consciously not imposing aesthetics, a certain aesthetic in itself (oh! you post-modernist meta beauty)

^*As a chronic overexplainer and fetishiser-in-chief of myself, and currently in love with the idea of DFW's usage of footnotes to emulate the hyperlink (which ofcourse doesn't make sense in a blogpost except purely as style), the not out in the title is a reference to a scorecard reading at the end of the day in a test match.. Fighting, resisting, playing, still hanging in there

tripping on recursion

Hypotheses:

I'm told I'm made up of cells. Trillions of them. What I call my body is essentially their planet. Some also say that there is nothing beyond the body. So the voice that I identify as mine, that tells me these things, must also spring from a physical entity. But if I'm made up of, and only of, trillions of these tiny, presumably intelligent, things and yet I believe that something called I exists, where does that reside?

Do the cells belong to me? Where is this me? So there must be an extra-biological entity- atma? What is the atma made of then? Is it the body-version of a higher, more subtler dimension and needs to wear this physical body to participate in this world? But 1. why would my atma (me?) need to be in this world? 2. if I'm the atma, why wouldn't I have that knowledge with any surety? Why would I be conjecturing? Also if my atma is wearing this body, then, wouldn't the atma also just be inhabited by a subtler, higher-dimensioned something that'd be using my atma as its body in that dimension?

On the other hand, if the body is everything, then what I call I is not something separated from the physical component of my existence but an (illusion of) intelligence born from the complexity created by the trillions of self-interested interactions? In this Dawkinsian reality, my genes want to propagate and are forever haggling and trading in this bizarre marketplace. I am the Invisible Hand.

epiphany as a service

Last night I had an epiphany. I've been trying to set my life right for years now. Oh, the usual stuff- Be good at work, Maintain excellent relationships, Be knowledgeable of the workings of society, Be kind and generous, Stay Healthy, Make the world better. Summarily, "Live Well". And to this end I've attended lectures, read books, made notes from podcasts, had conversations with successful strangers, filled pages with thoughts and questions, practiced yoga, questioned, lamented. And quite a few other things which I'd do well by forgetting. And yet I've failed. Every single time.

The basis of living like this, according my learnings, is discipline, focus, dedication. Ofcourse I've questioned about why I have to live like this. Why I find those qualities important enough to change my lifestyle. I've never really gotten a convincing answer, not anything that stuck for more than a few days. And inevitably I fall back to my old ways- cursing, cribbing, self-pitying, demeaning myself for my inability to stick to anything- Even things I'd set out for myself to do. I see this as a weakness of the will and even after I've tried multiple mechanisms (to-do lists, agile methodology, yoga and meditation, inspirational mythologies), I've never grown strong enough to live better. A part of me is confounded by my lack of discipline, by the lack of willpower. How do you learn to be strong, brave, good, sincere?

You ask yourself why do you have to be and it seems like the best way to live life. These qualities seem important because lives of many a "successful" person seem to echo that. Someone who's work we deem important enough to learn tips from them on how to live so that we can have equally productive lives- This ideology right here is what I call the engineering mindset. That everything is made up of components and if you optimize all the components, you'll see an "improvement" in the performance of the whole.

A small list of what I mean when I talk about diving life into components:
1. Past, Present, Future
2. Friends, Enemies, Emperors, Slaves
3. Good, Bad, Ugly
4. Happiness, Suffering, Confusion(?)
5. Productive, Unproductive, Hopefully-Productive
6. Physical, Intellectual, Emotional, Spiritual
7. Lower, Here, Higher

They are axioms: Either because we've reached the end and they are the truth, or simply because we're unable to understand where they come from.

Assuming, everything is physics & biology, and that there's nothing beyond, it ignores the interactions between components and the generally fluctuating nature of human desire. So even if that methodology achieves what it initially set out to do, it doesn't really because the goalposts have moved. Quite soon, I'm trying to understand and map the nature of this infra layer. The entire structure of self-help is based on this premise that if you set these components right, inevitably the whole will be a success. This is classic engineering hubris.

Ofcourse, we take into account the factor that we don't have complete information and the conditions will change or infact the goal itself will change. So we devised Agile. Your product (goal) is ever evolving and always in the process of being made. There's an argument somewhere in the deeper recesses of my mind that maps Agile and Becoming Philosophy to the state of dissatisfaction and restlessness millennials are so accused of.

Engineering is the act of implementing knowledge to solve real-world problems. All life advice is basically recursion. And all life advice, unlike useful advice, takes the form of epiphany because in that instant everything seems to make sense. Unfortunately, enlightenment is equally short-lived.

life_advice (current_generation)
{
personal learnings from real-world experience * life_advice(current_generation - 1)
}

So when I'm trying to optimise my life, I might be helping myself but that's only incidental; What I'm really doing is contributing to the human species as a whole. If we live in a Darwinian world, then what is the point of my questioning and realization of this fact? It is either that 1. I'm an anomaly or 2. intermittently questioning assumptions is nature's built-in mechanism to detect and obliterate outdated information.

Point 1 does not really hold true for two reasons: 1. Everybody thinks they're different from the group, so I can't backup my claim of being different 2. I'd have to assume that human consciousness has branched away from nature and is now the most powerful force in the world; And unless consciousness is transcendental, and is there a good reason for it to be?, it is hard to believe we've done to nature what we're afraid AI will do to us.

Point 2 seems more real. But a lot of reading to do in that area- Darwin, Dennett, Dawkins, Complexity Theory, Hofstadter, Pinker's The Blank Slate, Nassim Taleb. (Are there any Indian philosophy books that discuss these topics. I'd love to read them.) So essentially what I'm trying to understand is Where my thoughts come from, and if I, whoever that is, can do something about it.

At this point though, I think life is not, or not just, an engineering problem. True, most daily 'problems' can be solved by adopting this mindset but by definition it means prescribing the ideal state and working towards it. Deciding on the ideal state is the result of agreeing upon a value structure and binding it to time to create realistic expectations, and unless I know where my values come from, if they're arbitrary or absolute, how can I go about acting with conviction on any action I undertake. Unless it just happens. Then, though, there's not much I can do about it anyway.

Between a god and a hard place: Being Raju in Kancharapalem

First published on Baradwaj Rangan sir's blog.

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Between a god and a hard place: Being Raju in Kancharapalem

“The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent” – Stanley Kubrick

A young boy falls in love with a girl, prays to his god to help him woo her. The god seemingly blesses him only later to burn his hopes. The boy questions his god, demands explanation for his suffering. When he does not get it, his unwitting actions destroy his family. Later, as a young man, now believing in a different god, he falls for a young woman. This time he prays but does not leave his fate to the mercy of the god. He does what he can while praying for god to help him in his quest. This time too, god does not bless him. He does not understand why god punishes him. But he does not feel betrayed now, he is an arrogant young man. If god does not make himself clear, he will not ask. He relinquishes this religion, this god too. A few years pass, he falls in love with another woman. He does not seek any god’s blessings this time, preferring the advice of friends and the courage gained from alcohol, but when the woman bows down infront of her god, he acquiesces. Again, the gods ignore him; Or deliberately torture him. This time, he does not bother to question or beg for mercy. He is used to it now. He grows old. One day, he accompanies a friend to a temple and when asked why he doesn’t pray, replies that he doesn’t need a god because his society takes care of him. Finally, it seems, he has made peace with the silence of god.

On one side, god does not console Raju. On the other side, as much as he professes his gratitude for his friends and social circle, he suffers because of the action of his society. God is only the silent spectator, it is the other humans who are the cause of his agony. As a child, it was the girl’s father, his patriarchy, that separated him from the girl he loved. As a young man, it was another father’s obsession with caste and fear of society’s jibes, that pushed the girl he loved, who loved him in return, to marry a stranger. As an adult, it was a group of self-proclaimed protectors of religion who drove his lover to death. Ironically, again it is the same society, with its homophobia and mockery of his bachelorhood, that coerces him into marriage. Individuals maybe honourable and generous but when they coalesce into a tribe, they crackdown ruthlessly on any member that threatens status quo.

That is the tragedy of Raju and most individuals like him. Those who choose, or are condemned, to be different have to make peace with being inferior citizens or be ostracised. Then they seek a higher power, questioning god to understand why they are cursed and beseeching for solace. They are met with silence of the almighty. Some, filled with resentment, make life as hard as possible for others. Some, though, swallow the bitterness and alchemize it into radiant goodness. Raju, for all his exasperation, is a true-blue existentialist.

standing on zero

My new hero is, or is it already was, Cory Doctorow. I don't remember how I rediscovered him sometime in the last few weeks though I've had a copy of Information Doesn't Want To Be Free in my reading list for years. Then I read his How I work interview and I realized I wanted to work like that. Be a self-driven, independent, scholar/ writer who knew a lot of things, learnt more everyday, communicated effectively on important matters, attend conferences and had public discussions. More than that, I too wanted to swim daily to cure my crippling backache. The clincher was seeing this photo of his workspace.

The question that cropped up, again, is what do I want to do with my weekdays. On days when I'm obsessed, more than usual, with my own narrative from a third person POV, I appreciate the irony that for a person who publicly abhors work I spend a large part of my life trying to decide what work I'd like to be remembered for. I want to write about technology, the cyberpunk aesthetic, existential crises, end of civilization, historic grand narratives, truth, reality, agency. I also want to write about growing up in Hyderabad in the 90s, want to cover India's general election from the ground, make a refreshingly good masala film with excellent background score and colour splattered visuals. I want to write a serious book analysing and giving a map on the world now, and do a book tour. I want to learn, study, recite and teach classical telugu poetry. I want to learn urdu and memorize beautiful love poems. I want to write a book like Suitable Boy in Telugu set in the 1980s by reading newspapers and periodicals of the day to have a glimpse of how people lived.

I want to read, write, watch, make, listen, talk, taste, travel and learn. It used to be because I thought I could understand the world better and thus deal with it better. Now I'm not so ambitious, not so arrogant. I want to do all these things because they, while admittedly satiate my ego, expand my notions of what it means to be alive and what entails a good life. At this point, I think there is never a time when I'll have 'cracked' the puzzle of life. All knowledge, including Truth, seems spacetime bound. I don't want to transcend life anymore, even though fantasizing about my legacy from an imagined post-death perspective has become a habit really hard to break out of. I just want to soak into life, like slipping into a hot bath, and savour the effect.


Everything we know is an extreme, a stereotype of itself. Every colour in the spectrum can be the last in an arbitrary range. There is happiness beyond the happiest I've ever been, sorrow and despair beyond what I'll ever know. There are those who are worse than me in many things and many who will be better than me in everything. There is hunger and opulence, disgrace and adulation. Mind-boggling ignorance and crystal clear clarity. Gut-wrenching ugliness and breathtaking beauty. And I stand smack in the middle of this, between negative and positive infinities. I stand on zero. To live well is to never forget that.

Write to share, not to impress

How do some people enjoy working? The software corporate folks, and I only know what they have to say because I've spent most of my working life with them, call it play or fun and yet I think it is work they're doing. Maybe if it was Linus Torvalds that I met everyday when he was building Linux, I'd have believed the play part. Yes, that too might look like work to me (I have never understood how people spend their spare time writing software to build tools) but I can see what he means when he calls it fun. But when a colleague whom I'm working with, calls designing the database and writing scripts and building zeppelin notebooks fun, I'm totally lost. His actual words: "I'm doing pre-sales right now and I'd shoot myself in the face. I love doing this: writing code, building models; doing something of value". And I go, why the fuck can't I feel the same about my employer/ customer/ stakeholder. Is the reason for all my suffering? That I can't stand to think of anything other than my comfort and greed.

I've never done anything for anyone. Sure, I do stuff for the people I love if I know it'll make them happy. I help strangers a bit when I can. You know, the simple stuff, giving directions, helping with suitcases. When money becomes part of the transaction though, I can't stand it. If you love it so much, why do you do it for the money? It's not just money too. I've been a volunteer for causes that I feel deeply about and I think I do a very lousy job. I just turn up, no homework, no planning, no design. In my defence, that's how I live my life. From whim to action to retrospection to more whims. I've never been able to stick to anything in my life that involves conscious work and dedication. What is progress if not making a goal and walking towards it, correcting and learning on the way nevertheless but eventually trying to reach the preordained goal. I've never, ever been able to do that at a level that cannot be understood by a monkey. I can do the physical stuff but find it almost impossible to make my mind do something I want to. Though who this I is and why he can't control his mind I don't really know.

Last week, I went to an Actors and Filmmakers meetup. I've been dissatisfied with the software jobs that I've done and a part of me persistently tells me to move to find jobs as a writer in film, theatre, videogames etc. So I said, sure ,let me meet these people, get a couple of contacts and see if I have the chops to be hired without pay so that I could start off by working on weekends. But after having hearing them describe their lives and their problems, I realised that I didn't want to be a filmmaker. I have trouble writing and directing and I went there hoping I could learn the craft and find a discipline. My problems weren't monetary, they were artistic. These people, by their own words, were actors and writers who did the work they wanted to but were desperate for more opportunities, and thereby money. They claimed to be skilled at their craft and their problem was not of inspiration but that of existence. They weren't able to eke out a living. Comparatively, no matter how much I crib and cry at my sinful corporate job, I at the least am making good money (good enough for me to live a comfortable life, buy things I want, go to places without too much fuss and have the ability to take care of my loved ones). It was a real shocker, seeing all these talented people learning about Social Media Marketing and trying to find newer avenues on the internet to gain some popularity and money. Walking back home, quite shaken, I felt blessed for having a market-friendly degree. Hate my job as much as I could, I had the luxury of hating it from a warm and secure place.

Anyway, actually going there was a great thing because all these years, in my head, I thought becoming an artist meant freedom to pursue interests, ask important questions, have great conversations, and most importantly not be worried about expending mental energy for earning a living. To live like Montaigne, like the character who sings అవధిలేని ప్రతి అనుభూతికి ఆత్మానందమే పరమార్ధం. Of course I realize that people like that have their own set of problems, that great art comes out of overcoming great obstacles blah blah although that's a different discussion. So I'm having these thoughts and then it hit me that I don't want to be an artist as much as an aristocrat and it was a bit of a shock because I always considered myself to be left leaning. I thought I wanted work abolished; I now realize I want to be in a place where I don't want to do it. Of course I love these fancy gadgets, wonderful architecture, complex software platforms, access to excellent healthcare and education, and none of this would be possible without smart, dedicated people putting in efforts. For all my mockery of the working class, I see clearly now how I'm feeding off them. You leave me in a jungle for a day and I couldn't survive. I need the society for safety, pleasure, companionship, learning and yet I persistently mock the ones who grease its wheels albeit in an imperfect manner.

Freedom, the pedestrian connotation of it, is overrated. To be free from the surprises and shocks of life is to be dead. Real love is our inability to stop doing what we want to despite the innumerable obstacles we face. The stars align themselves in beautiful shapes every now and then. At all other times, it is love for the act that helps us swim through. To be a writer is not to complain about how life does not make it easy for me to write great things. To be a writer is to keep writing because I love writing. To write is not to write the one Truth after all the struggles. To write is to be in a constant, evolving relationship with life and using writing as a witness to that. Writing is not the panacea to all the problems in my life. It is the constant background music of my life, my companion with who I can have discussions and arguments at all times, and who helps me engage with life deeply.

a glorious walk back home at dusk

• Good evening, how are you today?
• I'm very good, thanks, how're you?
• I'm good.. So how would you like it
• Really short on the sides and back.. not so short on the top and front.
• Sure
• [Nodding at the posters of Sunil Shetty, Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar, Shah Rukh Khan, Hrithik Roshan, Shahid Kapoor] Do you watch Bollywood movies?
• Yeah man, I love Hindi movies.. Watch them a lot
• Cool.. Who's your favourite actor?
• In Hindi, or English?
• Hindi
• Aamir Khan.. 
• Yeah, Aamir's great
• ..and Akshay Kumar
• His comedy is excellent
• I watched that film recently.. Bahoobali.. It was awesome
• Yeah, it's a really good movie.. I'm actually from that place.. Baahubali was made in my language, it's called Telugu
• Yeah, Telegu.. I know.. I also watched that movie.. [snaps his fingers and stops cutting].. Er, the one in Chennai.. A lot of people go in trains
• Robo-?
• Yeah, Robot.. It was really great.. Indians spend a lot of money on movies.. [A news item comes up on TV about the separation of Bhutanese conjoined twins] That's great man.. That's great.. You have a lot of people in India?
• Yeah, we do.. But they're not Indian, I think they're Bhutanese
• Yeah
• Where are you from?
• Me.. I'm from Iran man
• Man, I love your films.. Kiarostami, Jafar Panahi, Majid Majidi.. Children of Heaven.. Panahi made a film called The Circle.. I love it
• Yeah.. and the music man
• I don't know about the music but I love your films.. Asghar Farhadi is Iranian right?
• Yeah, you know about him?
• Yeah, I love his Separation
• That's nice man
• Since when are you in Australia?
• Since 1985.. Like 35 years now
• Wow! You've only been in Sydney?
• Me?! No, I've lived in all places.. all over Australia
• What place do you like the most?
• I love Melbourne.. The weather is not good but it's a beautiful city.. I had a shop there but not much money.. So I moved here
• Yeah.. Can you make it shorter at the top?
• Yeah.. Sydney has 7 million people.. It's good.. It's like Mumbai.. I used to think Mumbai is the capital of India.. People think Sydney is the capital of Australia.. But it's only the financial capital
• Yeah
• So, you've been here long?
• No, just about two months now
• What do you do?
• I'm a software guy.. Lot of Indians are moving to Australia because of Software jobs
• But why? Tell me honestly, is it more money?
• Yeah, that's one part but more than that there's better lifestyle here.. India has too many people and too much pollution.. If you want more money, you're better off in America or England.. But people don't want to go to England anymore because of Trump
• Haha.. Donald Trump.. Really, why?
• [Indicating] Can you make it shorter at the top?.. Because he's made it harder for anyone to immigrate.. And people are not getting jobs.. Immigrants, Indians, Muslims..
• Yeah man
• [Nodding at the news about a Rugby match] Since I've been here, I've been trying to understand Rugby and Footy.. But there are so many types- NFL, NRL and all that and there are so many rules
• [Laughing] No worries, you'll get the hang of it.. When I came I didn't understand anything either
• Iran is so rich in culture.. [Holding the hair at the top] Ca-
• Yeah, I'll make it shorter.. 
• I've read translation of Rumi and Amir Khusrau
• Oh Khusrau yeah
• Urdu, the language spoken in South India, is based on Farsi
• Yeah man I know.. [rattling off words]Bos, Kam, Sapheyd, Haraam..
• [Laughing] Haraam.. Yeah, man.. 
• That's how I understand a little bit of Hindi movies
• [Getting up and looks at the hair in the rear mirror] Looks good, thanks
• [Reaches out a hand] Nathan.. It's actually *inaudible* but here everyone calls me Nathan
• Addy.. [Handing out a 50]
• Do you have a 20?
• Nope
• Sure, no problem.. [Giving back the change] Thanks.. See ya
• Sure.. Asalaam Vaalekum
• [Grinning] Vaalekum Asalam
• I'm from Hyderabad actually
• Oh! Yeah, it's a beautiful place
• Yeah, famous for Hyderabadi Biryani
• And Irani Chai
• Yeah.. It's beautiful.. And people speak Urdu there
• Yeah.. Hindus, Musilms, Sikhs live together there.. So nice
• India is like that.. Used to be like that I think
• Good day
• See ya

in the long run..

I seem to have forgotten that I write. I write. I didn't say it like it's a verb, not like something I do. I said it like it's a noun. Like it's a thing that exists and there's nothing I do about it. It's a characteristic now, not an activity. Actually that's not entirely true. Writing is an effort, a habit, a pleasure, a trip, a pain. But I guess I've come to a stage in this half-heartedly done, badly executed, numbly pleasurable, constantly perplexing thing I call my life where if I can take a few things for granted, one of them is that I write. And I'm really grateful for that.

I just read Neal Stephenson's distinction between Beowulf writers and Dante writers. I think he hits a nerve there, making a distinction along of lines of attitude- if you seek approval of a certain section, be it the Nobel committee or the "mainstream" public that decides the NYTimes bestseller list, you have to toe the line, be respectful, understand the tradition and take it forward. On the other hand, if you just go ahead and do your own thing, you're free to follow your interests but you are judged far more harshly than if you play to their expectations. And humans are hardwired to seek social progress. We crave approval from our immediate society and I find it surprising to think what we're willing to forsake just to not turn our friends and family antagonistic. By we, ofcourse, I mean myself.

I like working with people. Strike that. I don't like working. I like doing things with people. I like the camaraderie, the opportunity to learn new things fast, to share a laugh and feel less lonely. I don't like doing things alone. It's not just that I need an audience but that when alone my brain drifts away until it comes in contact with something, anything, onto which it can latch onto and start an imaginary conversation with. I think I've gotten so addicted to consuming that I can't survive without constantly shoving something into my head. Also, and I think this applies to all those I see daily in the train glued to their phones, I've lost the ability to glean (create?) narratives from disintermediated real life. I know at no point is complete disintermediation possible, considering the fact that language, society, relationships, culture, tradition etc., give us the maps without which we'd be completely marooned on the island of solitude (or will it enable us to find the other (inner?) path to, er, where exactly?), but now I think we, the English speaking- Internet native- Hollywoodized- City dwelling- Fast Food eating-Information Economy consumers, live like, as Flynn put it, We are all working from the same dog-eared script. I have a feeling though that this monochromatic-ness has always been true in human societies all the time. That's why we've always had vagabonds, drifters, hitchickers, Supertramps. Just that now moving away from the physical confines of your comfort zone is not enough because most of our lives are spent inside our minds.

It's incredible how language shapes our perceptions of truth and reality. A phrase like searching for answers implies that they are up there and you can pluck them if you really set your mind to it. It's an arbitrary lens, as far as my experiential reality is concerned, and yet I've believed it is true, spending all my adult life dissecting everything for an epiphany. Wow, scary af.

I took a walk today at lunchtime around Wynyard. It was bustling with people- hurriedly crossing roads, languidly walking for lunch, rolling in the park while giggling into the cell phone, napping below the trees. It was beautiful. I love the internet. I think it's the awesomest thing ever. All the information in the world at the tip of my fingertips. Lately, though, its turned into a burden because it imposes the need to know, the need to achieve, to impress, to be ambitious, driven, imaginative, funny. As an extension, I feel very guilty when I'm consciosuly not doing one of those things. All that brand talk is getting to me. You know, the mentality that asks me to play the lead role in the drama of my own life. So it felt good to, if only for a few minutes, be a background actor in a much more expansive act.

All solace is temporary

ఇదే ఇంతే.. కానీ సరిగ్గా చూస్తే ఇదే ఎంతో

మన దినచర్యలో ఎన్ని పనులు జీవికి, ఎన్ని జీవితానికి? జీవికంటే survival కోసం చేసే చర్యలు, జీవితానికంటే దానికన్నా ఉన్నతమైన అనుభవాలు పొందటానికి చేసే పనులు. ఉదాహరణకు: జీవికోసం Soylent ఉంటే సరిపోతుందిట, జీవితం కోసం ఆవకాయ, ముద్ద పప్పు, గుత్తి వంకాయ, పచ్చి పులుసు వగైరా వగైరాలు కావాలి కదా. అదన్నమాట.

మన దైనిక జీవితానికీ జంతువుల దైనిక జీవితానికీ పెద్ద తేడాలేదు: అవీ రోజంతా ఆహారం కోసం వెంపర్లాడుతాయి, మనమూ రోజంతా ఆ గొడవలోనే గడుపుతున్నాము. ఆ ఆకలి జంతువుకైతే తిండి రూపం దాలుస్తుంది, శారీరిక సుఖ రూపం దాలుస్తుంది. మనం జంతువులకన్నా ఒక మెట్టు పైనున్నామని మనకి అహంకారం గనుక అవి కాక మనకి పరపతంటే ఆకలి. అందరూ నన్ను చూడాలి, నన్ను మెచ్చుకోవాలి, నా గురించి గొప్పలు చెప్పుకోవాలి, నేను పోయాక నన్ను తలుచుకుంటూ నా గురించి కథలు కథలుగా మాట్లాడుకోవాలి అనే ఆకలి.

నాకు బ్రతుకంటే ఆశ. నాకున్న అతి పెద్ద భయం: ఒక రోజు ఈ జీవితానికి నేను స్వస్తి చెప్పాల్సి వస్తుందని. అదేంటో గమ్మత్తు, మనం అడగకుండా ఇచ్చిన దాన్ని ఇచ్చినవాడు తిరిగి తీసేసుకుంటాడేమోనని భయం. నా మెదడుకి (మెదడుకా, మనసుకా? ఏమో.. రెంటిలో ఒకదానికైతే) తెలుసు ఏమీ తీసుకురాలేదు ఏమీ తీసుకెళ్ళమని, నాదెగ్గరున్న ఆస్తల్లా ఈ క్షణమేనని. కానీ నేను బ్రతికే విధానం ఈ నిజాన్ని గౌరవించటంలేదు. నా జీవితానికి మూలం అర్థం పరమార్థం తెలుసుకోవాలంటే ఇదే సమయం. చిన్న తనమంతా అల్లరిలో గడిచిపోయింది. వృద్ధాప్యం, ఉంటే, అలిసిన శరీరాన్నీ మెదడుని మనసునీ, కుదిపివేస్తున్న అసంతృప్తిని, యవ్వనంలో కొన్ని పనులు చేసినందుకు, కొన్ని చేయనందుకు పడుతున్న పశ్చాతాపాన్ని సముఝాయించుకోటానికే సరిపోతుంది.

అసలేంటిదంతా. నా జీవితానికి నేను బాధ్యత తీసుకోవాలి. ఎవరేమనుకున్నా, ఎవరేమన్నా నా శోధన నాది, వాటి ఫలితాలు పరిశీలించి మార్పులు చేర్పులు చేస్కొని నన్ను నేను ఉద్ధరించుకునే కర్తవ్యం నాది. దీనికి నాకు కావల్సినవి ధైర్యం, వినయం, ఓర్పు, బుద్ధి. ఆ ఓల్డ్-స్కూల్ విలువలు.

మరి ఇప్పుడు నేను ఇతరులేమనుకుంటారు అని ఆలోచిస్తూ బ్రతకటం ఏంటి. దానికర్థం అడ్డమైన వేషాలేయమని కాదు. మనిషికి కుతూహలం సహజ గుణం. నేను ఈ ప్రశ్నలు చాలా అడిగేది ఒకప్పుడు. కానీ ఎప్పుడూ దీక్షతో సమాధానాన్ని వెతుకలేదు. పొగరుగా ప్రశ్నలు వేయటం సెక్సీ గా ఉంటుంది, నిజంగా సమాధానాలు రాబట్టాలంటే ఓర్పు కావాలి, క్రమశిక్షణ కావాలి, మన మీద మనకి గౌరవం కలిగేలా మనం ప్రవర్తించాలి. ఇది తెలుసుకోటానికి ఇన్నేళ్ళు పట్టింది.

ఏదైనప్పటికీ జీవితం ఇలానే ఉంటుంది, రోజూ ఏదో అద్భుతం ఎప్పటికీ జరగదు. అలా జరిగితే అదీ అలవాటైపోతుంది. మనిషి మనస్తత్వమే అలాంటిది- ఏదో గొప్ప విషయం (అది మంచిదీ కావచ్చు, ఉపద్రవమూ కావచ్చు) ఈరోజు జరిగితే, అది ఎల్లూండికి పాతబడిపోతుంది. లేకుంటే ఈ శరీరము, ఆలోచించే మెదడు, ఇన్ని అద్భుతమైన విషయాలను చూసి విని రుచిచూసి పీల్చి స్పర్శించగల పంచేంద్రియాలు, అవసరమైనంత సంపాదించుకోగలగటానికి కాస్తో కూస్తో నేర్పు.. ఒక్క నిమిషం ఆలోచించండి, మనం ఈశ్వరుణ్ణి కోరుకోగలిగినా కూడా ఇంతకంటే గొప్ప కోరికలు కోరుకోగలమా? మనం అడగకుండానే అమ్మవారు ఇచ్చిందే, వీటిని పద్ధతిగా వాడుకుంటే, మనిషిలా బ్రతికితే ఇంతకు మించిన జన్మ ఉంటుందా.

కవితల్లో రాసేది, ప్రవచనాల్లో చెప్పేది నిజమే అనిపిస్తోంది.. నువ్వు చీకట్లో భయంగా పరిగెడుతూ తడబడుతూ వెతుకున్న దీపం నీలోనే ఉంది. దాన్ని నిన్ను దహించే మంటగా మార్చుకుంటావో లేక వెలుగు ప్రసాదించి నిన్ను నీ గమ్యానికి చేర్చే వరంలా చూసుకుంటావో నీ చేతుల్లో ఉంది. సృష్టిని అర్థం చేయించగలిగే నిజం ఇంత సాధారణంగా ఉంటుందా ఏంటి అని నాకూ అనిపించేది. కానీ ఈ సంద్రంలోని లోతు ఎంతో.

ఇవే మాటలు చలా ఏళ్ళు నాకు ఎవడన్నా చెప్పుంటే చెప్పే వాడు వెర్రిముండాకొడుకు అనుకునే వాడిని. కానీ ఇపుడు ఇదే నిజం అనిపిస్తోంది, ఈ నిజం ధైర్యానిస్తోంది, శక్తినిస్తోంది, జ్ఞానార్జనకు ఎంతో ముఖ్యమైన వినయాన్ని గుర్తు చేస్తోంది. ఈ నిజం నాలో ఇంకాలి, ప్రతీ క్షణం సరిగ్గా బ్రతికేట్టు నా ప్రతి కణంలోనుండి పారాలి.

ఎవరికీ చెప్పేంత వాడిని కాను. కానీ ఒక విచారము- మనం ఎప్పుడు ఏది చేయాలో అది మన ముందే ఉంటుంది, ఇది చెయ్యి అని మన మనస్సు చెప్తూనే ఉంటుంది. అలా గుసగుసలాడే మనసు మాట వినబడేంత సున్నితత్వం అలవర్చుకోవటం మాత్రం మన కర్తవ్యం.

వందే గురు పరంపరాం.

--

I can't believe I wrote the above post. Glad I decided to sit on it for 10 days. Now as I read it, God, it feels awfully fake. Forget the content, even the voice doesn't sound like mine. It is too assured, too  confident of the speaker's theories. But I can honestly attest that when I wrote it, I had no intention of portraying anything like that in specific. I wrote like I always do, following the thoughts popping up.

In Woody Allen's brilliant Zelig, the protagonist feels such a constant need to agree with those who he's with, that he inadvertently turns into them. Thankfully, my condition is not that bad. Truth be told, I like being like that; Being able to converse with whoever I am with by sharing their worldview. Though to see that happen at the cost of my individuality (commendable from a Yogic perspective?) is unnerving.

Epiphany is a recurring motif in my adult life. Minor ones happen multiple times everyday. Major ones only slightly infrequently. Molecules in the universe rearrange themselves so that I clearly see the pattern amidst the chaos. I feel good, elated, confident. Glad. I create elegant theories, make plans on how to live from now, start walking towards the destination with firm, confident steps. Then reality intervenes and clarity evaporates. It leaves the residue of fantasy that, in the new light, looks ludicrously desperate.

On good days, I stay in the state of confusion. Irritated, subdued, tethered. On bad days, my mind comes up with a more outlandish theory on how to live that considers the feedback received from the previous theory as an important variable. Theory of Reflexivity gone awry, a feedback loop of feedback loops. All theories only seek data they need. Even metatheories.

--

I had a pleasant dream last evening. A cinematic analogy of what I feel when I face the blank page. I'm a 15 year old girl sitting in a classroom, madly deeply in love with a boy who's in the same class. The sunlight is warming my face, I'm feeling deliriously good about being alive, thinking about the boy. My stomach is tingling with the knowledge that he and I are separated only by a few feet. That I'm breathing in the air that is coming out of him. I tuck the hair falling out of my hair behind my ear. I absent-mindedly touch my earlobe, feeling womanhood in every inch of my body. I feel a maddening heat growing between my legs and so I lower my head, and turn it back slightly to the left so that I can see him. As his image courses through my being, my stomach does a somersault. I feel very nervous, very unsure but pleasure is gushing from every cell in my body.

When I sit in front of a blank page, I feel this. Love.