Thursday, May 7, 2015

12'o clock Insomnic

It is past 12'o clock in the night. I just had a call with a friend, a frank call after a long time. I quietly read my book, kept it upside down and then have come here to write. Writing feels natural. It feels it is a sign that I'm healthy, that I'm alive, It also oozes out some pain,

The other thing which brought me back was the comment on my last post. I couldn't believe someone who knows me only through this blog, would be calling out for me in his head and I will decide to write the blog. The night is very peaceful today. Calming my stirring from few minutes back.

I am not sure what to write about today. I haven't done lot of things in life that I can talk about. I can talk about the books I like to read. I used to read lot of biographies earlier and then with time it got discontinued. And few days back, I look at my Amazon cart, and it has diligently stored few books for me, that I haven't deleted nor ordered. Surprisingly, all of them were biographies.

Oh! I have a story to tell you. Today morning CEO of my new company and I were discussing about a business proposal we had sent and those people wanted heavy discount. Frankly, that was unreasonable. Now, he put all of this very nicely. He said, like M.K.Gandhi, I would tell them "Squeeze and Squeeze out of me..and then what?" Will you be lowering down me or yourself. He sounded so self-assured. I loved that. I love that entrepreneurs are so fearless people. He always advise me to be fearless. I think he knows that I can't be. So, he has to keep reminding me. His way of coaching me, may be.

I will sleep peacefully tonight. I promise. You sleep well too..Love..Be Happy.. 

Sunday, May 3, 2015

The last spring of 20s

Wo! I am writing on my blog after eternity. There are lots of things I want to talk about. I have been going for swimming for a week now. Today, I felt finally that my swimming was becoming effortless and mundane. I want to swim in lonely waters. It annoys me when I've people around me. It annoys me more when I've people that I know. I get distracted not only in swimming but in my thoughts. It is lovely to swim alone. After a week long of hard work under pressure and partying out every night, swimming on Sunday morning and listening to Jazz after that, makes it a perfect day.

I have been out of the blog for a variety of reasons. One, I have been switching jobs. And the old job took away a lot of happy energy out of me, so I didn't feel like writing. But the new job is exciting! I have become a Business Head, managing a company's entire business on Teachers Training. We already on our way to make it the best program that it could possibly be. I have an exciting team and supervisors, who I look forward to work every day. May be the charm of novelty but so far, people in my company have been far above my expectations. Few are the kinds, you want to sit down over the beer in the evening, every once in a while.

Two, I have been in a relationship for a while. And while it has all its ups and downs, but I think I have found the right person who gives confidence and strength. Although, I have started feeling lately that I'm more demanding than I should be and less independent than I was. I will just call it "relationship blues" and let it pass.

I am growing older for sure. When I was swimming this morning, I had felt I used to be very creative and authentic than I am today. There is hint of corruption  of soul that is developing some ingenuity. May be it is some time for spiritual uplifting. Lot of time, I feel like going to Auroville and spend some time there for a week, read Savitri and Integral Yoga, do some research on Sri Aurobindo's life and feel uplifted. Other times, I think to play lots of sports, watch some great movies, read 100s of books and listen to all the music while having some cold beer.

Life has changed. If I look at it, last year, the things that worried me were hopes for my family to recover from a difficult time. This year has been generous so far. Grateful to it all!


Saturday, October 11, 2014

Shapes of the shadows

A friend of mine wanted me to write on the blog and her upbeat chirpy insistence has brought me back to this blog on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon. Till quite a few months, I have been writing mostly when I am little disturbed and feeling like pouring out. I think what's good about writing in a disturbed situation is that sometimes the act of sharing fastens the healing process and sometimes the responses I receive touches me. I have received beautiful emails, so beautiful, that by responding to them I have felt I would diminish their beauty. I know it is a strange psyche and I definitely do not have a right rational behind it. But responding to the anonymity would create dissonance of familiarization which probably can be a little claustrophobic. Doesn't mean I don't want to connect with the people who wrote back but  that I want to connect to them with the same anonymity, the connection remaining unidentified.

Anyway, I think this desire to return on the blog in a rather "undisturbed" state of mind is a luxury. It does tell that I am on the path of recovery. I think a few days of normalcy and daily routine has helped. For last three years, life was testing me, pushing me and asking me to understand it. Now I have hit a plateau in my quest of understanding life. So there is calmness.

Late last night, or early morning rather, we were at Westin, where we had a luxury of having 2 beers below a majestic glass ceiling exposing the weakness of the moonlight against a well-lit crush hall. Afterwards, we were dropping a friend to her building that could be accessed only through a small uneven bouncy patch with slum dwellers living on one side. While we were returning partying, the women of the slum were up early to fill in their buckets because that might have been their water hour. Whenever I pass on the place like that, I think of life that I left behind. I was wondering the comfort of Westin to the comfort of the days when I used to be in Ummeed. When waking up at the dawn would mean to wake the boys up for school and make sure they attend the school despite their daily inadequacy of streets puts them into self-doubts of mainstream classrooms 

I was brought back from my thoughts by the headlight of my friend's Scorpio falling on to the face of a woman of the slum. Unlike the shadowed-over moonlight from the glass-ceiling in the Westin, the headlight gave this woman' face an illumination, a kind of a spotlight. I recognized her with an anonymity and yet the cognizance of the harshness that life might be bringing to her. And like Gandhi's talisman, a face of the poor that I will remember.

When I had joined Teach for India, I was told by one fine 40-year old gentleman that "Oh! I wish I had got an opportunity like this at your age" And I could relate to that statement more now. I think wherever I will go, Teach for India experience stays in my heart and might as well send me back where I had this sense of belonging and sense of comfort which is still untouched and raw despite the little luxury that has entered in my life. It was indeed right to spend my youthful years in trying to scale the magnanimity of the crisis. Because everything else - money, comfort and luxury  comes back but that pure feelings are hard to find. And nothing can replace that.

The loss of a parent and his struggle for last three years had been very devastating. May be the storm is over. May be life can be planned. May be life will be little less testing. May be it wouldn't matter if it will test. But life might be lived with reminder of what life was, and that will make the act of living more meaningful.

I was in the swimming pool last evening gasping for breath of a struggling swimmer. But that struggle cleansed me. Struggle always cleanses. I am heading for a day long Vipassana tomorrow in the pursuit of more cleansing, of understanding more dark shadows and more spotlights and where I belong.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Hope is a fiction

I was on the last pages of Katherine Boo's "Behind the beautiful forevers" when I put it down to listen to crowd cheering for Modi's speech at Madison Sqaure. On one side, the story of a Mumbai slum, where life is dying unnoticed and yet Katherine suggesting that "Hope is not a fiction", and on the other hand standing ovations and endless cheers to Modi's description of "India of dreams".
Both Katherine and Modi are eloquent in the description of hope that Indians should have despite our tragedies either in slums of Mumbai or on the streets of New York, but both of them leave me with a sense of incomprehension.

What I liked about Katherine that she had tended to what people in her books were thinking at a specific event, or during mundane tasks. Her accounts are like a witness, a true art of a journalist who wouldn't want alteration of the course because of her presence. But her accounts are also of truth and its impact. The way she writes, it feels like she is feeling the truth of every person in her book which goes beyond witnessing, with more insights than those people did. Somthing that they didn't comprehend for themselves but she did.

I left the work at NGO to join a for-profit organization, even though still in education and with people who want to solve the problem with the sustainable disposition. But I miss life of living with the street children and knowing their truths. I felt envy of Unnati, whom Katherine suggested helped her out in this book. I know what it is live with those people. Their lives seem backward from a distance. After all, we have knowledge of Little Italy and iPhone 6 which they might not understand. But they have something far more precious. Their lives have always seemed to me more real than mine. Something that Katherine comprehends while I even after reading her book don't. 

Narendra Modi suggests that Mahatma Gandhi saw a very clear dream of India's independence, and for that he taught the idea of seva to every Indian. To be taking pride in cleaning of the road to teaching in a school and thus feeling the independence instead of becoming a martyr.

Once I had felt connected to all these thoughts and they were no brainer to me. But these days, I am disconnected. May be hope is turning out to be fiction despite being more equipped and affluent than the people in Katherine's book. May be it is a sense of failure. May be that happens when we choose an easy path. 

A good life or a bad life, life is always is. Says Abdul in Katherine's book. Life of financial well-being, or of blind ambitions does take you away from feeling the truths. Every luxury feels futile and artificial. But if you run away from it, you find yourself helpless in solving such magnificent problems as the slums of Mumbai or the lives of those street children had presented in front of me. I am pretty sure Katherine would have found it hard to stop herself from solving the trivial problems that led to change of lives of these people. Witnessing is still easier than actually trying to solve these problems because the truth is the cycle never ends and one get trapped until you decide to run away. And running away is easiest of all, the path that I chose. And may be because Hope is a fiction for hopeless souls like mine.