there's a kind of bzzz..

i sit in the middle of a crowd.
a droning crowd.

funny how the words are indistinguishable.
but the mood is consistent. somehow a single coloured mood - one of those composite, vague colours that contain a bit of everything.

everyone wants to be heard - every voice, with something to share.
how did 300 people find something interesting to say? or was that not a prerequisite?

they vent, they whine, they share their dreams, and equally significantly, the details of last night's dinner.

as if anybody's listening.

a crowd of people in denial.

it would be funny, if it weren't so heart-wrenching and pathetic.

Literary Influences

got tagged on facebook (bleh!) to list out 15 authors/poets/literary pieces that have influenced me, and will always stick with me.

this has been the least moronic thing to pop up on fb in a while now, so i felt the need to oblige. of course, the need wasn't strong enough to actually get me back on fb, but yeah, this is as good as it gets.

note - being tagged by a family member is almost pointless- what we read in our youth is what influences us the most through our lives, and what we read in our youth is decided by whatever has influenced our family the most - so my cousin and i probably have identical lists!

1. alice in wonderland & through the looking glass - a slew of mad characters that i meet everyday, in some form or the other. 'the walrus & the carpenter' - immortal rhymes, and so much more.

2. pride & prejudice - defining the perfect man, the perfect romance, thereby annhilating any possibility of ever *happily* falling in love ..

3. jeeves & wooster - no words to describe. shouldn't ever have to. only to devour. and again.

4. hitch hiker's guide to the galaxy - haven't finished it yet, but can pick up from anywhere, and the sun will shine. no matter what.

5. illusions - lessons for living. till i get a chance to use what it has taught me, i can still go back, flipping through..

6. oscar wilde - cry and laugh, and haunt me for years after. the nightingale & the rose. the importance of being ernest.

7. life of pi - made me believe in god. or some kind of power. of life. of nature. of goodness.

8. erich segal - anything that wasn't love story or oliver's story. before the days of grey's anatomy or the practice, a ringside view of the 'soapyness' of otherwise revered professions.

9. a tell tale heart - horror of edgar allen poe. nothing measures. very 19th century dexter?

10. catcher in the rye - so it's a must-have. but honestly, it was just perfectly timed. first year of undergrad, the land of phonies. and then i became one.

11. sidney sheldon - if you claim you haven't been influenced, you lie.. strong, strong-willed women who find their way out of impossible situations.. right into the arms of even more impossibly perfect men.

12. kipling's 'if' - no truer words, no greater anthem. such undebatable truths... such pressure to make it count.

13. enid blyton - st claire's, f.a.t.t.y, timothy, george/georgina, mallory towers... back when a book-a-week was a reward for being good.

14. gone with the wind - scratch that. rhett butler. the. man.

15. rime of the ancient mariner- the only poem i remember learning in school. as someone who thrives on guilt, it is kind of fitting to round the list off with.

ps - vernon god little, john grisham, alistair maclean, jhumpa lahiri, curious incident of a dog in the night time, family matters, anne frank, animal farm.. and so many others that might've made it in a longer list..

to jasper and emmett

my rockstar dreams weren't entirely frivolous, you know.

i really did see myself as a soft rock balladeer, jewel meets sheryl crow meets ingrid michaelson. making it all up as i go. not a as performer. not as a musician. more like a soundtrack designer.

desultory but at least *there*.

how can music be so important to someone who cannot create it?

of course, it is simply (and wholly) that i am too lazy.

but for argument's sake, maybe there's something deeper that stops me.

maybe i'm afraid it might turn into something academic. technical. uncomfortable?
like formalizing it, or even bringing an external agent into this love story might just ruin it. for good. having to listen to someone else's opinion about the details. and more.

the point is, i love how i love music today. i love the way i sometimes get lost in it, and some other times, it just passes me by. do i want to be distracted by the various elements that make it that 'good'? and for god's sake, am i trying to create something that 'good' - even in duplicate?

(find bliss in ignorance, i always say.)

there's another (very significant) part of me, that is terrified of sucking at it.

isn't the fear of failure the single largest obstacle to learning anything new in the later years of one's life?
the ego steps in the way. all the 'love' becomes secondary. such a cruel tragedy, and so easy to blame one's upbringing.
if only being successful wasn't such a priority, imagine the heights one might have scaled!

all valid points, if i hadn't gone and bought 2 guitars of course.

Why I return again, and other 1/2 thoughts

...It begins with the blogging platform that's recently started at my workplace. Which stirred awake the half-thinker in me...

Except that I won't be caught dead posting on an official forum. Ostensibly because my half-creativity would be bound and gagged by 'Code of Conduct' like things.
The reality of course is that I'd rather be judged by you than 'them'.

Then, there are the following facts -
that there's nothing on TV
that I'm not returning to the gym for another week
that, and most significantly, I have resolved to stop working at home (yeah, imagine saying THAT on the office blog!!)..

So time seems to have been created. Because it was all about time, you see... ;-)

Watching Julie/Julia was a bit of a prod as well. (Except there, Julie was motivated with a clear and distinct purpose. While "purposelessness is my purpose"). Plus the fact that I am banning myself from Facebook also somehow relates to my return (I'm not clear about that one either).

But then again, who needs a reason?

Smile, an ever-plastic smile...

There's something so unreal about a smile. Telling so much more than what's evident, definitely less than what's on the smiler's mind. It's up to the person being smiled at, to interpret.

It's grossly deceptive, when inserted in a conversation. It could indicate that the smiler has "left the building", so to speak, and is simply being polite by smiling. Or that he's just laughing at you, on the inside, so on the outside, it's really a smirk - doused in condescension and pity. Or maybe it's a pathetic effort at pleasing company. In any case, it isn't what it's defined to be for.

And in the hideously inappropriate avatar of an emoticon, a smile, or rather, a smilie, is everything but a smile. Definitely the two most politically motivated symbols activated with the shift key. It's to cushion the harsh impact of verbal blows, it's to keep things light while ripping your soul to shreds. To lend a human touch to an otherwise clinical act. An after-thought of decency. All that's remained from the self-help books.

And the recipient, unless he overthinks the situation, probably nods happily to himself. Til a later hour, when the message undilutes itself, shrugging the smilie off, and lands its full and complete impact.

Can't believe there are people who consider this emoticon unprofessional. It's the greatest weapon of destruction - how did we ever manage without it?!

Random musings on a Tuesday morning

Masochism actually makes sense. On two counts.
One, in the immortal words of Meredith Grey, "Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop..." Medicine would have no value, if not for pain and disease.
And on a related count, there is a motivation to work harder, to triumph. To impress and to make that unforgiving point - "I'm better than you think". When in truth, one is only revising one's estimate of oneself, as a function of inputs from irrelevant external agents. So it's really "There is a "me" that you are imagining that I can or cannot be... I don't know if I like that person, but I know I can be it."
It's really a fleeting thought, this input in that 'somebody elses' mind. The input that we seek and incorporate into our being. Something with so little value in the originator, turning into the single most annoying thorn in one's side.
Life never was meant to be fair.

the curse of the active imagination

sometimes, it feels like i live most of my life inside my head. and not in the wildly creative sort of way. it's not even terribly entertaining.

i imagine conversations that i want to have, the ones i'll never really dare to anyway. where i am this person that i don't even think i want to be. when the situation presents itself, the conversation plays back in my head, and it's almost as if i'm watching myself from a distance, and i'm so busy laughing at myself, at the very idea that i might be that brave. and then the moment passes, and so does my opportunity to impress my own pathetic self.

i think this sort of insecurity, and insufficiency of the self, is the most tragic disease one can suffer.