...then breed race horses dammit!

hitch your wagon to a dream and paint the night sky in the boldest colours you know. so that instead of becoming carbon copies of one another, we can celebrate our individual personalities and tastes and differences. and we can all be our own "special" people... "perfect" in our own defined spaces.

fulfilling a parent's dream is far too heavy a burden for any kid to bear. that dream being the by product of years of failures and wrong choices and unhappy coincidences.

so let every parent wave that magic wand of good parenting and declare "my child - go dream and do what you wish. i am here to morally support you, and watch through my proud tears, as your dreams (and not mine) come true".

support outside of the moral kind, of course is redundant. because following one's dream inherently implies one has a universe of talent to boot, and in today's world, where talent is immediately recognised and heralded as this week's great find of the year, why degrade this discussion by bringing up the question of "m-o-n-e-y"?!

except that the rat race is all-pervasive. if it isn't competition for the first place in the race, or in class, or at work, and many times, it has little or nothing to do with the money.

that's when we're competing (perhaps not always knowingly) for contentment.

as long as we live in civilized society, there will always be neighbours and friends. with similar or completely different lives. but for as long as they belong to the same species, we are going to find ourselves invariably comparing - report cards, salaries, gardens, wives/husbands. and while the process of comparing may be quite different from the gory battlefield of competition, the final outcome (of both) is always an unnecessarily long post-mortem of actions and reactions. could've - would've - should've.

comparing is never innocuous. even sharing information can lead to mental cuts and bruises.

so even when the young painter-genius follows his heart's greatest desire (and hence, rescued from the evil incantations of his success-obssessed parents), years and years later, who is to say that he will not be possessed by the same demon-spirit of competition, when a more contemporary school produces a much younger rival? or when his own beautiful wife looks for comfort outside of their marriage? or simply when the rut of his existence (as successful and accomplished as it was) drives him to the point of madness? who is to say which of these might happen? and who is to say, how far he might survive any of it?

are we in a world where we can afford to sit back and let our lives move in neutral? if everything that means anything to us, is fluid - whether it is a dream come true career, or the love of one's life - so much so that even as we hold on to the tangible signs of contentment in our hands, we hold on just a little tighter, just to be sure that they don't wriggle away.

we are competing to get to the top. and if we care to settle for less than that, we're competing just to stay afloat.

this is the rat race, we've been born in, and we will die in - is there really a way out?

mandatory leave 2007

it's by far the grandest concept ever. how can anything be grander?

two weeks.

fourteen days.

freedom from the bad coffee, the over-sanitised environment that houses rodents, the flickering antiquated computer screens, the growing angst arising from the muck of school-girl politics,

far, far, away from all of the above.

so why is it so difficult to digest the fact that i might not want to escape from the general 5 sq mile area of the workplace? or my parents? why does a vacation have to mean escape in the literal, physical sense?


of course, if i had the chance/choice, i'd like to have gone that way too. it is an entirely different matter that my dearest friends were unable to accomodate me for even 2 of the 14 days. but then, that's an entirely separate rant.


for the sake of this post, let us assume i am over this minor discomfort. and that reoccurring stabbing pain in the stomach, at having wasted 14 good days of my youth.

i found "sex and the city".

for 300 bucks, it's far beyond a steal. but the real price i'm paying is through the gross obsessing that i am indulging in. not in the pervy sense. but in the sense of constantly associating with the stories, the characters, the situations and the reactions to situations. minus the sex.

it's actually not that awesome. 4 stereotypical women - the horny slut looking for true love, the princess looking for her way back into the fairy-tale, the cynical intelligent cute but not pretty lawyer bitch looking for someone take her caustic shit and still stand by her, the neurotic, chain smoking, self-obsessed writer looking for the wrong man.

and of course, the eternally unattainable men, who turn into emotional puppies, the instant the compass needle of interest points away from them.

the close scrutiny of relationships, the endless autopsy of mistakes made, the mindnumbing self-indulgence - all of this would make a normally mature individual laugh at how TV show creators will stoop to any level to dress up and sell the age old tale of a single woman in her mid 30's.

i, on the other hand, am consistently intrigued by how real these women are, even if they are caricatures of real people.

minus the promiscuity, isn't it a wonderful life to aspire for? of independence, and complete responsibility for your own doings. with no one but your friends to hold your hair back as you throw up on your latest outfit, and BIG mistake.

romancing the idea of romance

it's as simple as yellow roses. or as expensive as a diamonds. but even in this age of acute cynicism, romance is all it takes to melt one's insides and make the geese bump all over.

to me, it's the clearest sign that all is not lost for humankind.

sure, the end might still be nigh, the stars will collide and the heavens will explode, and the earth will crack open to gobble us up. and in all likelihood, we'll be on our ownsome on the lonesome on that fateful night. i imagine a "mars attacks" type armageddon, tacky and ironically funny.

but i imagine that i'll have visions of yellow roses, kissed with the evening moist. i'll imagine the soft, sweet, wet petals, like cold skin right after a shower. the freshness is intoxicating, the subtle fragrance is just one of the flavours in the air.

who gives a shit about humankind?

i have yellow roses to hold on to.

are you really really really sure??

how are some people always so convinced??

not just convinced that they are right about facts. even opinions. worst of all, their emotions/feelings.

i can barely decide if i like a movie or a book. how can i possibly take a stand on politics, or fashion??

how do you know that he's THE one for you, for the rest of your life? how can you be so sure that this is the job that you were meant to be in? how in crap's name do you decide that you are truly happy?

it has always appeared to me that such people (and a significant portion of all the folks i know!) are the definitive "clueless" lot.

they have no idea that they can be much happier.

and that they are settling for something so substandard, and kidding themselves into thinking that "this" is as good as it gets!

alternately, the likes of me accept that this is a significantly crappy life, hence giving one something to aspire for. it's the latter part that is harder to ingrain into one's cynical, tired self.

still, it's a helluva lot better than the rampant self-delusion. and oh the smugness that seeps through the self-delusion.

puke!

home. again.

it's not often that i have these epiphanous moments. but then, there are some recurring ones.

as i looked into the rainy chennai night, through the window of my car, right around gemini flyover, i had this warm and fuzzy feeling inside me, which promptly turned into a gut-sucking, heart leaping to the throat type of a realisation - 'this is home, and i love it.'

of course, i remain a probashi bong and a 100% fraud tam, and hence 'na ghar ka, na ghat ka', hence rootless and yet belonging to two completely different and completely alike cities/cultures/peoples. which i play to my convenience, depending on whom i am trying to impress/piss off.

belonging is so far fetched. what earthly benefits could it possibly have?

if it is only to get that warm, fuzzy feeling on nights like this, i'm glad i am. home.

notes on turning 26

• i had my quarter life crisis in the last week of my 26th year. where i was physically repulsed by what i had become. or what i saw of myself. when i felt like i was in a movie that was dragging for that annoying last hour. when i was wallowing in completely unfounded misery. or i was just so miserable, that i couldn't put my finger on the reason why. it has to happen, when these milestones swish past you, reminding you of the expiry date on your dreams and promises you made to yourself. or, as in my case, reminding me that i haven't even dreamt yet, haven't even taken the risk of making a promise to myself.

• the irony of this year is that i have only just begun to welcome vanity as an ally. probably 15 years too late? after a lifetime of condemning it as the dullest to entertain. having made fun(privately and publicly) of all who take self-indulgence a little too far, while all the time, falling deeper and deeper in love with this "notion" of self that i had imagined.

• burnt bridges - i have run so far from so many. there's one that i cried back to life. and i am glad that i did. but the others remain as heaps of ash around me, begging to be resurrected. but i lack the courage, and blame it on a lack of interest. all of it making little difference, as i try to ignore the phone that never rings. instead i pick on idle gossip and whip up silly arguments with third or fourth persons, and feel vindicated and victorious afterwards.

• of course, once the hangover wears out, one begins to attempt to straighten one's head and life out. and to convince oneself, that there is enough time. to make something of oneself. and that is not the un-coolest thing to do. i sometimes wonder if the irreverence that i try to present to the world is sometimes perceived as some manner of "flakiness". i don't want to be a flake. not at 26. frankly, all i feel like doing right now, is to scream from a rooftop ... "oh dear lord, what i have i done?!". yes, that would be the drama queen speaking, but then...