The one thing

Is there one thing for which you will fight;
Summon the last drop of courage, that last ounce of might?
A dream you've dreamt every other night,
Where you shone as bright as the blinding light.

Is there one thing that you could name,
A victory that you're yet to claim?
What brings you to the top of your game,
Pride and glory, or mere cheap fame?

You know it now, how it makes you feel;
An arduous yet worthy ordeal,
Your head held high as you kneel;
Prepare yourself for the final kill.

Diving into 2014

2014 is here. My exact feelings at this moment are jumbled, but I can think of a metaphor for my perspective.

2013 was like the ladder I would climb over to get to the top of a 20 ft. diving board at the swimming pool. It looks scary at first, but with each rung you scale, you grow. You try not to look down. Once in a while, you tend to do that, are scared and want to quit half way. You think about those stooges at the side of the pool, who would laugh if you quit right now. You think about quitting anyway. Somehow, your voice within doesn't heed that. It just keeps powering your legs for the upward motion. You're finally up the ladder, and the last few rungs were especially difficult. The board is a little slippery, and the scene looks scary from up there. Looking down, you see the year 2014.

You're shit scared. There are an infinite number of things that could happen. 2014 looks inviting, but you're scared it's going to hit you hard, for about a second as you dive into it with full force. However, dive into it with the right technique and enough gusto, and you won't feel the water hitting you on the sides. C'mon you know that much. 

Will this be any different, you think? What if I don't jump from the top, and just go into the pool from the sidelines instead? How would it be different? I would still swim, right? Isn't that what matters? Swimming, not drowning? How does the dive matter?

You can't lie to yourself. You know the dive matters. Not how you do it, but the fact that you just do it. 

You think a few more times. You hesistate. Climbing down wouldn't be worthy, but certainly would be easier.

You have to make a choice. And make it fast. Not quite your forte, but that's the point of the exercise. You're learning to do things that are uncomfortable but will help you grow. You make up your mind, still with a tinge of doubt, and finally decide to take the plunge.

You turn around, bring your hands close to your sides, close your eyes, pray and jump.

The little voice in your head sounds like Buzz Light Year saying " To Infinity and beyond!"

Best feeling ever? We shall know :)

Happy 2014, people :)

P.S. This year, I am grateful for the gift of writing. 

The toothless smile

It was a dull, late Friday evening. A young engineer dressed in jeans and a polo shirt boards the transit rail from the airport to get home to the suburbs. There's a weary look on his face as he curses his decision of parking his car at the train station instead of parking at the airport. He's passively looking into his cellphone and setting reminders for next week's work and travel, as he settles down in the the half full train car with one seat occupying his luggage, and him on the other.

A few stops down, he looks up from his cellphone screen and gives a sheepish smile to the man sitting across him on the train, waiting to get down on the next stop. He looks like another young professional, just a little older than him, impeccably dressed, with his overnight bag showing a flight tag. Both of them are weary and ready to go home for the weekend, and get a break from their frantic work weeks.

They exchange a smile that barely veils their mutual boredom and fatigue associated with business travel.

"Two more weeks of travel, a meeting late next week, and a gazillion emails to catch up on. Phew! Not really the weekend I was looking for", thinks the young man to himself .

Two stops down the line, he looks up from the cellphone screen and looks around. He sees an old man in a bright orange shirt, a hard hat and worn out shoes standing by the corner of the train.For all his rugged looks and ragged clothes, the old man wore a bright smile on his face. He shuffles his bags around and offers his seat to the old man.

"Thank you, son! Thank you very much.", said the old man in his hoarse voice.

"Anytime, Sir! Do you work in construction?", asks the young man, signaling at the hard hat and his clothing.

"Yeah son.. Been workin' since a long time. 77, and been working since I be 16. How old' you been? 23? Whaddya do? Appreciate you givin' me the seat, son".

"Not a problem. I'm an engineer. Got my hard hat packed in here too.", said the young man, signalling at his bag.

"Ahh! You an engineer... you're smart people... you make them blueprints and drawings we work with, don't ya? You smart folks.. you makin' big money.. but you smart.. you really smart folks."

"Thank you, Sir. It's very kind of you to say that.", says the young man with a sheepish smile. "Are you returning from a job site?"

"I ain't workin' today, son...worked at a recycling dump. Worked long.. worked at a lot of places, for years. Can't be working long now... came out today to get some parts for my wheelchair. It's broke and needed fixing. Gotta get the parts for it, right?".

"Hmm..", he replied, as if lost in some thought.

All through the conversation, the old man had a peculiarly pleasant toothless smile. A smile that would overpower the limp in his walk, the hunch on his back and the wrinkles on his skin.

Something within the young man clicked.

In all his travels, this was one of the few times he was talking to a fellow passenger instead of being buried in his phone or a book, and it suddenly gave him a different perspective about his otherwise busy, frantic life that he sometimes complained about.

The conversation wasn't stimulating, but the little experience was. The old man had a certain enthusiasm about his life. Even if it was about buying parts for his wheelchair.

"That's my stop, son. God bless ya!", he said as he departed.

Quietly, the young man thanked God for this little lesson in life, and smiled to himself as he remembered the words he once read on his mentor's desk:

"I had the blues, 'cause I had no shoes; Until on the street, I met a man who had no feet".

Mountains, beaches, peoples and conversations

The two small and different vacations, one in the mountains and one on the beach, that I took over the span of the last three months have been nothing short of amazing. Great people, great places, and great fun!

Mountains, for some reason scare me. As beautiful as the view is from the Grand Canyon, it makes me feel a little frightened and a lot nervous. I think back to those times as a child when I wasn't an acrophobe as I am now, and think what changed. The mind draws a blank. Planes don't unsettle me, but mountain peaks and tall buildings do. Beaches, on the other hand, bring out the child in me. Flowing water and waves in the ocean, in general, always makes me feel good. I attribute this it to the fact that it gives me a sense of continuity,which, ironically enough, gives a calm feeling to the restlessness that is me.

I'm unsure if alcohol is reactant or a catalyst for conversations to be interesting, but it sure makes conversations fun. I have always liked what a very good friend of mine once said about people drunk talking- " If you say you talk more freely when you're drunk, it unsettles me. I'm not sure who you actually are. The person you become after a few drinks, when you loosen up, and talk freely about your dreams, and mostly anxieties, or the one you actually are when you're sober, for the large part of your life? Did you remove your mask just this once, or do you always wear another one? I don't really know which one to trust?!"

Whatever be the pretext, I felt I had a few good, genuine conversations this time around. Some gave a sense of closure and taught me to let things be, some made me burst with anger, some gave me a deeper insight about people I genuinely love.

All in all, grateful to have spent some amazing time away from the rut.

Just a bloke on the bench

There are some days like these.

Days when I feel like the new bloke sitting on the bench at game day for a top-notch football team.

The coach knows you've got something in you to go out there and do it, and expects you to be at practice daily. There you are at practice, every single day, rubbing shoulders with the seniors and other newbies alike. You try and pick up a few tricks of the trade from the club legend, but you're still awestruck at the thought of playing side by side with him, on the same wing.

You take one look at the other blokes your age who joined with you, practicing as hard as you do. Some of them are pedigree players, who worked their way up the club and were stars of the junior squad; some worked their way to the team playing in the dusty streets and grounds of a South American country until the scout spotted in them what he saw in you. Neither a club junior, nor a sweaty player, you were one of the regulars with a genuine love for the game, and some decent statistics in the local league to back it up with.

In the midst of all of this, you pause, take a deep breath, and think how you ended up here. You always wanted to play for this club. The moment you enter the stadium on a match day, even on the bench, the roar of the audience gives you an adrenaline rush like never before. The day you got your kit and uniform, you kept it on the same bed as you would, as a child, keep your new cleats, and slept, surprised and with a little disbelief.

Fast forward to the present. It is match day, and here you are, on the bench. Sure, you've had your moments of glory earlier on in the season, with some good performances, especially when standing in for the injured player and scoring that goal which led to a crucial draw. Deep within, you still feel that you're not being given a chance to compete for the full length of 90 minutes. The coach knows you're good, but he needs to test you more. For each little splendid moment you spent on the field, you had a few fumbles too. Some weak passes here and there, a missed free kick, and a scuffle on the field that earned you a yellow card and a little reputation. You know the coach hasn't given up on you, and he won't. But you know he's watching you keenly. He wants you to grow, learn and be the man who can play those ninety minutes in keeping with the standards of the club.

You're frustrated waiting for those ninety minutes. You're frustrated because you want to go out there, be tested, be tired, and get the fame and glory that comes with being a top notch player with a top-notch team. You're afraid of wasting your potential with rookie apperances on the field, and are afraid of being a flash in the pan.

This is where you fail.

The part where you go for glory, for your name to be chanted by the crowd, for people and other young footballers to be able to look at you like they look at the 15 year club veteran when he takes ground. This is where the hunger for glory takes over the passion for the sport, and it hunts down every good reason you had to be what you are today, and makes you insecure and worrisome.

Today, break that dream of false pride and fear. Pray, not for glory but for victory. Play hard, fair and smart. Play, as a wise man once said, for the name on the front of the jersey and for the love of the game, and they will remember the name on the back. Count your blessings, remember why you love the game, remember the people that always love you, and carry on. One day, your name will shine as bright as the silverware that your club has won a record twenty times. Till then, all you can, and must do, is strive.

Angel eyes

On a rainy day, your smile is bright;
The brilliance in those eyes, is sheer delight.
After a hard day's night, you're my shining light;
You're the girl with angel eyes.

There's a twinkle in the corner of those shiny eyes,
One part mischievous, two parts shy.
Curious yet always surprised;
You're the girl with angel eyes.

Coy at times, you're a femme demure;
The one I love, with a heart so pure.
Those eyes indeed, are a window to your soul.

You make me happy, I wonder why?
You bring me to life, so please stay nigh;
You're my girl, the one with angel eyes.

24 and a quarter

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way..."

-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.

I came across the mention of  quarter life crisis a few years back, on a fellow blogger's blog. I wasn't even 21 then. I was naive enough to think that this was another grown-up/growing old rant, and some smart person just decided to give it a fancy name so that more people would identify with what he felt. On one level, I did empathise with a few things on that list, but I was pretty skeptical about most parts of it until quite recently. 

Introspective abilities are a gift, and much like any other gifts that nature bestows on you, should be used sparingly and with the utmost care. As I found myself in one of those introspective moods today, I thought about the quarter life crisis again. Did that whole thing just start making more sense now? 

These are interesting times.

On the bright side, it would be fair for me to say that the early twenties haven't been as harsh on me. With a decent graduate school education, friends that would last a lifetime, and a tonne of good memories, lessons and experiences, there is little room for complaints. In addition to that, it is a boon to be blessed with a job that lets me do what I like doing and pays me for it. Every part of me, everyday is really grateful for that. Sure, there are ebbs and tides, but it is good to be with a group of people that encourage learning and give you a chance. 

As you get through those nasty teenage years, you grow up to understand that things change. That is the change everyone knows about, and everyone talks about. The change a person experience in outgrowing his/her teenage self. However, change also happens as you transition through your twenties. Subtle, and in some cases, minimal; it is this change that no one talks about. Finding yourself in a place where you decide ( or in some cases, are forced to decide) what you stand for. You have to pick a side. In moments like those, all of a sudden, you realise that the choice that seems the most rational is the one that a younger version of you would have vehemently argued against. 

The beauty of it is that these situations can be of two types. The frequent and relatively insignificant ones like deciding on whether you should blow your hard earned money on a gaming machine or save that money and put that gaming machine on a wait list until your tax returns show up. It may even be something as insignificant and immaterial as thinking of going back to your old college hairstyle and a hippie beard, but waiting out until you get that important meeting with your customers done. These are generally the easy choice situations.

There are other significant, rare ones, which may impact you for the rest of your life. For instance, accepting the fact that things may not work out with that one person you like, and moving on, having cut your losses and learnt your lessons, albeit the hard way. Conversely, you may decide to stick it out, fight it to make it right, and win your way through it. 

At some point in time, you are faced with more choices than you want, and you think they're more than you can handle. While you would happily choose a class in college that all your friends were taking so that you could all study as a group, you are now faced with a career choice that places the mantle in your  hands. You  see people around you settling down,  and it unsettles you to even think about what qualities would you want in a person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with. You grow up to understand that compatibility on an emotional level trumps every other requirement.

Sometimes, and in some situations, you may end up with diplomatic solution to a problem that a younger, more opinionated version of you wouldn't have supported. You learn that picking a battle is more important than blindly fighting every one of those. 

The best thing about all of this is that when you introspect, you end up understanding that it is these moments of discretion and decisions, made at the threshold of manhood, that would really go on to define you as the person you are, when you were to look back. 

Hence, viewing it a quarter life opportunity or a crisis, is a weighted average of the choices you decide to make. 

One can't always KNOW EVERYTHING that is worth knowing. After all, information theory states that quantity of information is inversely proportional to its predictability. Taking that logic further, I like to believe that it means that the more we knew, the lesser fun we'd have! As with magic tricks, so with life. Not knowing is part of the fun.  

Having said that, I'll play along! :)

Cocktail

A bunch of people, a motley of emotions, a dash of impulse and a series of reactions.

Sounds like a tag line for a romantic comedy. Interestingly enough, it's amazing how this is exactly how we experience life. All of these things form the very fabric of our existence. It defines life as we see it.

So the next time someone asks you how life is, tell them it's like this amazing cocktail you had. Like the Blue Motorcycle - a heady mix of good spirits, shaken well and served to you. A few sips down, it will hit you hard, but there's no doubting the fact that by the time it's done- you'll enjoy it!

Cheers!

Couplet

This subtle couplet has been on my mind ever since it appeared in a random Nusrat saahab ghazal on Pandora.

जब तक बिका न था तो कोई पूछता न था,

तुने खरीदके मुझे अनमोल कर दिया 

It isn't all material, is it?

Great quote to restart the old hobby of blogging again :) 

‘And somewhere there are engineers
Helping others to fly faster than sound.
But where are the engineers
Helping those who must live on the ground.’
-Young Oxfam poster

Dreams!

It took 22 years of focused effort for a man of Sachin's strature, to achieve his dream of winning the World Cup. What is mine? And have I even worked 23 weeks for it?

Gyaan!

-Beta, always remember- things happen, people change. Life goes on.  EPIC advice!! Something I always try and stick with.

-Life's measure of fairness isn't on a linear scale. Just because someone hurt you in some way, does not mean that there will be a reciprocal treatment of that person by the universe. This might lead you to believe that life is unfair, but in the long term, in the scale of absolute time, things do even out. Wait and watch.

- You have to learn to take things in your stride. Take them in your stride and  move on.

- Your life isn't meant to be measured on what people think of you or people tell you. You need to know who and what matters.

Ashoka

They may tell the tales of glory, of a man this world calls great;
Narrate a hero's story, but would they ever recount his fate?

The wars he waged, the battles he won;
He came, saw and conquered; Not one stone left unturned.
Ruled the earth with all his might, much to his fancy and for his own delight.
Up until that fateful night, when the mighty King had a deep insight.

Cries of wounded men, an eerie gloom;
The battlefield adorned in a cloak of doom.
Innocent souls they were, those which earnt his wrath.
Moved by this sight, he sought to change his ways.

Compassion for one and all, 'twas peace over war that he sought to uphold.
Won over his people's hearts, No more needed, were those arrows and darts.
Faith over fear, love over tears.
A heart of gold, pure and clear.

Turned o'er a new leaf, the King now begun anew;
Earnt the love and respect that can only be dreamt of by a few.

Edit: I have no idea how I came to writing this. When I began, I had a totally different idea in mind, but this somehow ended up as a tribute to the great emperor Ashoka!!

buland

बुलंद  बस हमारे इरादे थे,

आज मगर पता चला,

होंसले भी उतने ही बुलंद रहने ज़रूरी हैं

Trivial thoughts

Ever wondered how dangerous (even manipulative, talking in social terms) a woman is - when she is charming, sexy and attractive ( the word beautiful hasn't been used for a purpose) and is totally aware of it. Think back to Helen of Troy. And how naive is a woman who is beautiful but has never discovered what her beauty is capable of- for herself and the world? 

If alcohol makes people lose their inhibitions and talk , should a person be taken seriously when he's sober (i.e. aware of the situation and manipulate it by wording himself out of it) or when he's drunk; which is when he's lost all inhibition and talks exactly how he feels? Is he more honest then, under the pretext  of alcohol and it's influence?

Character sketch #1

Serene - one word that would describe the beautiful imagery around him. A lush green valley, mellifluously flowing river and  mountain tops covered with snow.   "God must have been an artist", he thought.  "Bleh, cliches!", said his snide alter ego. Somehow, though, that thought invoked a strange feeling of pride within him. He thought of himself at par with the Source. That was the name with which he chose to worship God.  After all, he was an artist too. Or that is how people saw him. In his own words- that is how people labelled him.

When asked what he did for a living, he'd smile and say-"It's pretty simple. I wake up in the morning and recreate my dreams on a canvas with these... these pencils, oil pastels and brushes". 

"Oh, so you're a painter. Does that earn you enough money?" 

"Well, it makes me happy. Isn't that living enough?"

The modest smile is now replaced with a difficult expression that tried to conceal the apparent arrogance in the answer. More often than not, this was the longest conversation he would have with most people.

He wasn't anthropophobic and aloof, as most of these people again, had labeled him. Being comfortable around a lot of people was never his forte. But he did have a heart. A heart of gold, I'd say. Of late, he even took the kid next door for a ride on his old rusty motorbike and share an ice-cream with him - almost daily. He did this because that kid made him feel alive. Just like the valley he was overlooking and the scenery made him feel full of life. Every Saturday he'd go to the old age home in his neighborhood and mingle with his extended family. Share whatever  little joy he had earnt with people who didn't have a lot to celebrate about, just like him. Because the only lesson his  father taught him was "Always share your joy with as many people as you can. That is the only way you can truly be joyous. That is the only way you can truly be rich."

But as with heart, it wasn't so simple with the mind- his mind was his greatest possession and obsession.

Which is why he perhaps loved being lost in his own world. His dilapidated studio, which, ironically enough for the world, was named as Paradise. The sight of a jhola hanging besides a pair of worn out jeans and khakis, walls spray painted with a peace sign, a John Lennon poster on one wall and the stereo playing old-school rock. This would hardly resemble the image of paradise the world holds in its eyes. But to him, this was his own world, his paradise. Rather, he he preferred seeing it as his universe. Where in he would wake up each morning, mix a few colors on his palette and paint  a new world; as he saw it, as he wished it should be. Not how a few hundred people think it is or should be or as it was defined by the Source. Here, he was the source. He would create, recreate, erase and recreate until he felt it was perfect. Such was his obsession with being perfect.

This was his third visit to the mountains in the last week, where he biked up this distance to find peace that he no longer found in his studio. Wherever he sensed the immense presence of beauty in the surrounding, he'd just take out his canvas, mix a few colors on his old wooden palette and start creating strokes with the brush. And it would be a visual treat seeing his mind at work on the canvas.  He would take just one good look at the panorama with his shiny blue eyes. Eyes that reflected passion and shone with such brilliance that it was almost impossible to look within and have a slightest hint of  his sorrow. And then his golden hand would start painting the most beautiful strokes on the small piece of canvas. Create, erase, recreate. Yet again. Seeing him in action was as charming and elegant as a magician performing a magic trick. At sunset, the canvas would be complete. Thus, he would have created his own world. As he saw it.

With dusk approaching, he would bike down the treacherous slopes of the valley to come back to his studio. But paradise was hardly found. Yet he had faith. In himself and the Source. Like Milton's Paradise Regained, he too would find his lost paradise soon. If he stopped looking around frantically., it would appear right in front of him. As clear as his vision while making those master strokes on the canvas.

Tonic

I have discovered that writing, to me is like a tonic. More like those Centrum tablets I take as a dietary supplement. They're just an additional source of the essential vitamins I might be missing out on my daily food. The same holds true for writing as well- this thing is my mental supplement. It takes out all those undocumented thoughts that keep flying around my restless head and puts them in place.

Thank you- Part I

Slowly but surely, the clouds seem to be clearing.
God, thank you for bestowing your grace on me! :)

Some more would be a big help :)

Kaushal

iNspirationally yours

Steve Jobs 1955-2011

He ain't no saint, but ain't no loser either

Or in his own words, you can glorify, vilify, disagree with them or disbelieve them.

But you can't ignore him.

Because he changed things.

Because he inspired the Generation neXt

Because he inspired me.

Because he believed you should always do what you love.

Because he believed that aesthetics and simplicity of use lie at the core of any product that is engineered.

Because he believed that design is one of the most important aspects in engineering a product.

But in the end, he succumbed to a disease that has taken away two of my dearest grandparents.

Who, in their own lives and own little universe, had a similar influence, sans the conspiracies.

Amen.

The finish line

The finish line isn't far away. It is now in sight, but slightly out of reach. 

Poise, calm and dedication along with a huge effort will take you there, where you have always wanted to be.

The finish line means a lot. The end of an era. And beginning of a new one. 

This is the last lap and it would demand a lot more than what you have ever given. Let each moment of your life you live from this one to the one until the finishing line, define what your future will be. 

It seems in sight, just fight it out to bring it in reach. 

Dream, hope, pray and ACT to get there!! 

Come on!!