Empathy with an unknown

'I suffer from nightmares and have done so for many years. Strangely, I didn't have them during the 15 years I spent in prison after being wrongly convicted , with three others, for the 1975 Guildford and Woolwich pub bombings in England. It was almost as if I was in the eye of the storm while I was inside, and everything was being held back for a repay later in my life.'

For those who are lucky enough not to have had nightmares, let me tell you my own version of what they mean. Nightmares are a cruel tendency of the mind to bring back memories of the things/events/situations which you would have disliked from the bottom of your heart, and play them back in fornt of your eyes, thereby inducing in you a fear of the past happening again. It makes you afraid of the past, paranoid, absent minded and lesser and lesser confident. Read more of what this person has to say:

'Not only did we have to beat the criminal justice system but we also had to survive in prison. Our reality was the nightmare. They would urinate in our food, defecate in it, put glass in it. Our cell doors would be left open for us to be beaten and they would come in with batteries in socks to beat us over the head. I saw two people murdered. I saw suicides. I saw somebody set fire to himself in Long Lartin prison.'

I couldn't read it at first, let alone imagining the situation. Life looks pretty simple, sometimes. But how do we explain one man dominating another. One life dominating another life. And that too for what purpose? Both live and both die.

The story of this man in prison couldn't have made me empathize. But I empathize. 

One case deserves specific mention. I know of a man who completed his Doctorate at an 'institure of national importance' after 14 years. Now it is upto who is reading to visualize 14 years as either number of years to complete the entire schooling, or as the number of years Lord Rama had been to forest, or as anything else which his mental make up permits. Sure enough, the 'doctor' would be pretty weak now to even have nightmares.

Nature, now and then provides us with the opportunity to dominate over fellow beings, in the form of money or social status or education or anything else. More often than not, we, unmindly of our responsibilty towards our life and others', indulge in domination of various degrees. Let us, consciously, not dominate over the unpriviledged and prevent a lot of nightmares from happening.

Here is how our prisoner, both inside and outside the prison, concludes:

'Since I came out of prison, I have suffered two breakdowns, I have attempted suicide, I have been addicted to drugs and to alcohol. The ordeal has never left me.

I am 55 now and I was 20 when I was arrested. So, what happened to us has taken up 35 years of my life. I am now with the girl that I met when I first came out of prison and I owe her an enormous amount of gratitude. Others have not been so lucky. I hope that what happened to us will always act as a reminder to people never to jump to conclusions, whatever the nature of a crime, and never to ignore the people who are now trying to get their voices heard so that the nightmare does not happen to them.'

Rain, rain, come again

The butterfly effect is a phrase that encapsulates the more technical notion of sensitive dependence on initial conditions in chaos theory. Small variations of the initial condition of a dynamical system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system. 

The phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that may ultimately alter the path of a tornado or delay, accelerate or even prevent the occurrence of a tornado in a certain location. The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale alterations of events. Had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the trajectory of the system might have been vastly different. While the butterfly does not cause the tornado, the flap of its wings is an essential part of the initial conditions resulting in a tornado.

If you gulp in drain water and burp, you will be happy.

If you see someone else doing that too, you will be happier.

We were four together. Me, Faraz, Veejay and Ghajini. It was about to rain. As also, we were about to finish our evening expedition with a last helping of 'paani' from the 'chaat' vendor. We crossed the huge divider which separated the main road and were about to head back to the library, just when we passed by another hotel. It was tempting.

"How about tea?" Ghajini suggested.

"What!? Tea?", I questioned. 

"Eh! we'll go. It'll start raining any time", the other two added, a little worried.

Looking to capitalise on the worries of weak hearts, I changed heart.

"Why not. After all, its a nice thing in this weather", I said, and rushed into the hotel.

Minutes later, me and Ghajini were sipping tea while it started to drizzle. The other two just stood watching us. I made appreciative noises at the flavour of the tea.  

"What is life without some adventure. We shall get wet in the rain. After all, we will live for another fifty more years minus four weeks. We shouldn't die poorer by a cup of tea. What say?", I teased them.

Streaks of light flashed in the sky. Seconds later, they were followed by wild thunders. The drizzle had matured into a full fledged rain. The rain got heavier. It poured. Before we could realize, we were caught in rain. The three looked at me. They stared at me.

'Adventure guys, adventure. Whats life without some adventure. We can run. I'll run. Will someone follow me?', I said pompously.

Veejay put on a forced smile on his face as if to say 'You sadist!' and blurted, "Maga, if you fall in a drain, you will go home free of cost. You can just sail through. You mom will be throwing garbage and you can come up from the drain and say 'Hi mom! Im back home!'."

At this, there was a gush of laughter. I joined them too. Humour is always to be appreciated, you see!

He continued, "Or you may even come up from the commode in your house!" 

There was a roar now and I again joined them in their frivolity. 

I bent down and folded my pants at the ends and got into a sprinting pose before announcing 'Anyone following me? I'll be running now'.

Expressionless faces were to be met with. Without waiting any longer, I rushed into the rain. The rain was as heavy as I had thought it to be. None else was to be found on the footpath except for a lone girl with an umbrella. Just when I was thinking of asking her to share it with me, she closed it and boarded a bus. I was all alone again. She read my mind, didn't she? I had to jump a couple of puddles and splash water before I stood at the zebra crossing waiting for the signal to turn green. Vehicles were speeding and the signal seemed to remain red till eternity. I dodged my way through the cars and ran across the road before the speeding bike could hit me dead. I had to run again to save myself from a speeding car. I ran and jumped onto the footpath. Before I realized anything, I was in a drain head-to-toe covered by gutter water. My mouth had a few stones which I repeatedly kept spitting. I was afraid, but only for a while. I got out of the drain and started laughing. Someone shouted from behind but I didn't turn back. I kept laughing and started to run. Then I realised the futility of running and began to walk. I thought I'll write a blog. I laughed more.

When I saw myself in the mirror. I had leaves, of all sizes, on my face. The girl outside might have seen me with this on my face. I had nick-named her 'tribal girl'. Now who had more forest characteristics?!, I thought.

I had cleaned my face several times. The leaves were still there. I took off my shirt and rinsed it too. A brownish water flowed out of it. I didn't question myself much on the colour of the water. All of a sudden, I remember what Veejay had said minutes earlier, swimming in the drain and saying 'Hi mom!'. I started to laugh at myself. I was strolling in the corridor when the other three came a little while later.

"Maga, you know what? I fell in the drain!", I admitted.

Two out of the three burst into bouts of laughter and screamed loudly "He fell into the drain as well. Not once but twice!"

Veejay stood there smiling at me. I scanned him carefully. He stood shamelessly.

If you gulp in drain water and burp, you will be happy.

If you see someone else doing that too, you will be happier.

What followed was frenzy.

"The first time he fell, he came up and said 'what the f*** was that'. I gave him a hand and he was walking along. Barely had he moved 5 steps when he fell again. This time he was swimming in the gutter.", Ghajini was rotating both his hands to show how he had swum. 

While he was still rolling his hands, the furore grew. Unable to control the laughter, a few almost rolled on the floor. I held my stomach tight and began to gasp for breath. Ghajini approached me and enquired if I was alright. I gasped and bursted out again. It went on for several minuted. All of us had settled down on the floor when a fatso came and warned us of dire consequences if we continued howling. The 'noise' subsided. 

With tears in his eyes, one of them remarked, "Only if you had skipped the bloody cup of tea.."

"Half a cup", I corrected.

"Okay, half a cup. Only if you could have skipped that half a cup of tea..."

I said "You would have missed all the fun", and spilled the laughter remaining inside.

Others followed suit.

"Half a cup makes a drain of difference", one of them remarked wisely!

 

And again..till again

If life is not hope, then what else is it?

Me and my friend were sitting in the corridor. It was lit by a few tube lights. A cool breeze was making its presence felt. It was as though the wind pulled the mind away from somewhere inside and transported it back in time. I was feeling slightly nostalgic. Or rather, I like feeling so. 

A little while ago, I had pointed a finger at the colourful sky. It was somewhere in between pink and orange. The sun wasn't visible. The brown eyes, gleaming as ever, looked out for the colour of the skies, while the black pair looked out for the brown. A natural smile had blossomed on the face while nature was playing in her different hues. It was yet another evening, an eventful one nevertheless. But the evening had drawn to a close. There was no light in the sky now. There might have been a few stars, but I didn't care to look out for them.  Me and my friend sat opposite to each other on the floor, our shoes pressing against each other's and each, looking blankly at somewhere. The silence was soothing. The mind was let free to jump from one imagination to another. No wonder it hopped on and on, from one imagery to another, nevertheless, silently and diligently, least letting the other person get a clue about anything it was doing. 

If parting was inevitable, and if it were to be painful, not meeting is a better....

I couldn't complete my sentence. I knew what I was about to say was what a loser would say. I didn't want to be one.

But how sad will we be when we are about to die. We should leave everthing. Everything. 

That would be very very painful. Especially so, if you would have liked your life. You don't like parting with something/someone you like, do you?

But then, life should be liked. It should be lived the way you like it. But still, you would have to part with it. Everthing has to be parted with, everything. 

But I don't like the idea. I know its true but I don't want the truth. I'll tell myself that there is hope. I am happier with hope than with truth. The hope tells me that there is always a hope. The hope keeps the hopes alive. It is the hope of possibility that sustains life. A corner of our mind hankers on to this hope of possibility, though simple analysis would prove the improbabilty of the possibility.

One simple example. Take orkut. To an extent, it is just a false sense of belonging. We all know its almost improbable that we meet any/many of the people in our friend's list anytime in our lives. We wont see their face nor do we talk to them. We don't connect to each other at any level, emotional, physical, mental or whatever. Its just virtual. But still, we have a false sense of belonging. It gives us an impression that we are all connected. Just a matter of choice(to connect), that would almost certainly be wasted. But, a corner of my mind immediately protests. It says I have the choice. It says, things are possible. It says, its not impossible. Orkut has made things possible. But the truth remains - possibility doesn't imply probability.

But again, we live on hope. Hope gives inspiration. Inspiration can transform into perspiration. And perspiration makes things possible. Did they, who asked us not to lose hope, have this in mind? 

Hope isn't being untrue. Its a unifying force. A force which can lead towards truth. 

What truth, did you ask?

I would have told, if I knew.

I just hope I keep meeting her again and again and again. 

 

   

and again :)

Amen!

If change is the only thing..

Part 1

I was walking down the road where a big group of relatively small children were playing. I knew most of them. A boy, about 13 years old, ran towards me and held my hand. He was smiling infectiouosly. I returned the smile. I put my hand across my little friend signalling the start of a conversation. 

"Hi biLi", I said. 

I called him biLi as he was very very fair shinned. (biLi=white, in kannada) 

I pointed at a girl who was almost of his age and as fair as him and asked him to say 'hi' to her.

He blushed and said "She is a Setu*. What is the use of saying 'hi'."

"Anyway you won't marry her. So you want to conserve energy and direct it properly at others", I completed the sentance for him.

He simply nodded and continued, "First thing I see is beauty. After that I see whether she 'suites' me"

I was amazed at his maturity of thought! I tried to imagine what I was thinking like when I was of his age when he interrupted and asked

"What do you see?"

"in?"

"Girls? Your girl?"

My smile simply expanded into laughter. 

"What do you mean by 'she suites me'". Tell me that first and I'll answer your question.

He thought for a while and said, "That can't be explained.' 

And then he ran away to claim his chance at the badminton match which he had interrupted.

Part 2

There's nothing called good or bad, its all in the way you think. 

I am 24 now. I may go on for 50 more.

But I am sure of one thing, though. 

I am not what I was, and will not be what I am. 

But in spite of this, I say a lot of things. I say a lot of things.

I ask how people can watch kannada movies at all. 

I say how people can talk superficially at all.

I say how people can watch cricket at all. 

and I say how people cannot think of Philosophy at all. 

And in saying all this, I really feel what I am saying is right. 

But then, I know. 

I am not what I was and will not be what I am.

I continuously change. And my talk is no different. It changes.

I have a friend.

The friend watches Telugu movies. 

The friend's friend, that is me, listens to Ghazals. 

And now, each of these thinks how the other can do what he/she is doing. Each find the other's disposition inexplicable. 

Naturally, one thinks the other doesn't 'suite'.

Let me remind you that there is nothing called good or bad, its all in the way you think.

Now, take a minute or two and go through the first portion quickly. 

Ideally in this world, there is no 'like' and 'dislike'. Its all in the way you think. 

The way you think is in the way you live. 

The way you live is in the 'where you live and how you live'

It is in this context that the Bhagavadgita becomes relavant which says 'Man is merely but a result of his past actions.' The way he thinks is simply led by the life he has led. There is simply no universal good or universal bad.  

Watching Telugu movies or listening to Ghazals is neither good nor bad.

The habits change. 

The preferences change.

But the person remains the same. 

The same person is a new person on a new day.

Then, what defines a person? What do I, whc constantly change, see in a person who constantly changes.

Let me leave the question unanswered, partly bacause I do not know the answer.

But let me suffice it to say that the friend who watches Telugu movies also watches English ones which I give her. She also tries listening to folkmusic which I thrust into her ears. She patiently heeds a ear when I explain the meaning of Mankutimmana Kagga. She listens to my 'theories' though I doubt if she likes them.

To this extent she is receptive to change. 

If change is the only thing which doesn't change, why not accept it gracefully.

This is what the vedas have to say about change 

 'aano bhadra krtavoyantu vishwataha'

(Let noble thoughts come to us from all sides)

I will start watching Telugu movies from now!  

 

To be or not to be

Okay then. I do not know what to write now. I am sitting here thinking. 

A few thoughts manifest themselves as images and pass in front of my eyes. I pick up one of them.

 

I read in a newspaper recently that pening/typing down a page daily, say in the morning, about what is going on in your mind at that moment de-stresses you. This is the thought I picked up.

But then, I had two questions to ask:

 

1. Who would read what I write. What is the use of such a thing to the world. The world already has six billion people. Why on Earth would it be bothered about reading my thoughts?

2. Won't it shatter the image I have so carefully built up over the years to pose like an angel in front of the world. Why should I reveal my real self. Who would like it. It would harm me, rather.

I got interested at the second question. Would I really want to tell the world about myself. Or do I want to constantly keep showing a false face?

Okay, time for an example. Too much in air can be confusing. 

Suppose I like a girl. 

Now, a thing or two about 'liking'. I never say I like a boy, do I? But I like a girl. Why is this so? What is the subtle but inherent difference between liking a girl and 'liking a boy'?

May be liking a girl could sometimes(many times??) lead to 'loving the girl' and in turn lead to a marrital strife. But all these rules rule the lesser mortals. For the greater ones, liking can just be liking. 

So, suppose I like a girl, do I really want to tell her that. 

Experience says, I do not do it that way. I change myself, I create a 'false me'. And then the drama goes on.

Then what is the true me? 

If I am myself, why would I be afraid of saying what is natural. Liking, for God's sake, is natural. Liking is an expression of empathy. Empathy, I feel, is one of the greatest gifts a human can share with his fellow being. Mankind without empathy for his fellow beings isn't really kind.

I spite of all this, I am afraid of saying what I feel. That's because I am accustomed to being a liar. I am not exactly afraid of saying the truth. I am driven by my habit of restraining myself from entering unknown arenas of human experience. So I lie. I create a 'false me'.

Vedas say: We should constantly and conscioulsy be practising to be true so that it becomes a habit and after a while we even unconsciously start being true. 

That can be one thing which I want to be.

What is the link between What I am and What I want to be?

PS: Did you read till here?! 

       Thank you :)

Whatsyo numba

'Nann number kodalla.'
Ah! What?



I have a friend.


Let me quote a line from R K Narayan's novel:
'Life is too short to be good to everyone my friend!'

But still, you are good to a few people. You want them to be good to you. In saying so, I define a friend.

So, I have a friend.


Now, I want to scold my country for its hypocrisy.
A country full of people who discriminate between people.

The friend I have, is a girl.


A country as a whole?
No, you shouldn't generalize, I am reminded.
But still, we are hypocrites. We discriminate between people. We discriminate gender.

I still did not have the numbers of the 3 guys with whom I had been to the hotel several times, studied together, discussed the world and shared PJs. I had asked them their numbers, while I had put my hand into my pocket to take my phone out, as we were moving together. I had given them missed calls. They had saved it. Nothing special, everything appears natural. We had moved on.


But then, as I have told you, we are hypocrites. We are happy preaching.


"What is the biggest problem in our country?", I had asked a 'friend'.
He had pointed his finger at me.
"Second biggest", I had asked.
Before he could point his finger at someone else, "Hypocrisy", I had hastened to answer.


A friend is a friend I say.


Whats you number? I walked along putting my hand into the pocket. I had felt the number keys when 'pat' came the reply

I won't give you the number.

"Ah!What?"
"Why?", was my natural reaction
Although later I thought I could have refined it to something like "So do I. I was just joking!"

Evasive tit-bits had followed; and then ended.

I cannot remember exactly what I did in the following few minutes. All logic had collided with itself. A mental block had ensued. I couldn't understand what was happening. I had blindly followed a 'friend' to the 'rest room'.


"Rest room eh? Why do you call it that way?", I remember asking him. He had said something. My mind was too preoccupied to appreciate his answer.

I wanted to blame somebody. I didn't speak to anyone for some time. I felt the world was neither black nor white nor gray. It was coloured. Multiple colour, that too!


I remembered how I had taken my hand out of the pocket.
I thought of asking her why she said what she had said.
I thought more. I became thoughtful. Then, full of thoughts.

Thoughts would eventually subside. But then, it had hurt. I didn't want to ask her anything more.

She is still a friend, indeed.

By the way, who said I am afraid of numbers.



PS: After all, I made a mistake. I owe an apology to the girl who features here.
I fell short in understanding the depth and expanse of the human mind.

Given a chance, I would change the last three lines of the blog thus:

Thoughts would eventually subside. But then, it had hurt.
It had made me think, though. It had made me contemplate. It had made me look out for possible answers to human behaviour. After all every reaction must have had a reason.

I didn't want to ask her anything more; but only for a while.

She is a better friend now.

I always liked numbers. I like them more now :)

Pursuit of Happiness.

I feel it especially when I am alone. When no one's around.

What is all this.

And then I look at the tree whose leaves are swaying in the evening breeze. I shift the focus of my eye to a bird on it. And then to the clouds above. What is all this, the question inside me is heard louder. I feel the pangs in my tummy. A couple of sweat drops appear on my brows.

What the hell is life.

I walk around for a couple of minutes. I hear the sounds around; the chirping of the birds, the gush of the wind. I hear my feat stamping on the ground. I look down at my feet.

What is the aim of life.

Happiness, another voice quickly answers.

I feel better at the answer. At least there is an answer. Only achieving it is remaining. When will I achieve it. Should I wait for happiness. Or should I be always happy. Am I ready to die right at this instant.

No.

That is because I want to do something more. Not something, many things more. Will there be any end to what I want to do. In any case, what will I get out of what I do. Is it not an eternal pursuit of happiness. In that case, I should have been pursuing to be happy even now, right now. If I were to be happy now, why would I bother about being happy later. That is because I know that I am happy now temporarily. I will not be happy later. So I do things which make me happy.

But let me tell you what happens in the process. In the pursuit of happiness, I fear not being happy. I doubt the results of what I do. Or rather, I doubt if my pursuit will lead me to happiness. So I am unhappy. I fear. I bother. I worry. So, in order to be happy later, I tend to become unhappy now.

I climbed up the terrace and strolled across. I sat down on a mat which I had carried and closed my eyes. I held my back straight. I stretched my hands and kept them over my knees.
Many things came in front of my eyes. I remembered the pretty girl whom I had talked to. Kazakhstan President would come tomorrow as the Chief guest of the Republic day ceremony. The man who had scorned at me in the magazine shop. I had fallen from the bike at a big junction of roads. I had almost hit the ...


It was a while before the intensity of thoughts had reduced. My breath had become deeper. I concentrated on my breath more. I was feeling alive. I was really living. I was with myself. I wasn't lost in the world. I was feeling lighter at heart. And happier.