koolhead17
Ambitions are what defines our journey. People around us have a role to play. It is like a fuel that keeps us going. There are no right or wrong options and, a lot depends on what is our true north.
Our world wants us to follow a destined template. It can jeopardize one’s ambition. So keep your eye, ear open apart continuous self-inquiry.
We have our limited perspective and opinions, like a frog in a small well, assuming this is how the world is.
Seeing an opportunity and world with an opaque lens creates a bias. It makes us less rational.
The glass is half empty and half full at the same time. Why do we have to fight and hold our opinions on whatever we choose to see?
I can write a 100-page book talking to a half dozen folks around me. Most of us are not satisfied with what we have. We seek something better. It seems we are not living our life but a fighter inside a video game.
It is like we have endless unmet desires we are chasing and living in misery.
How do we know when we have enough? Who decides the limit: self or society?
We all have our blind spots.
We all get triggered by some action, response. As a result, we get upset, angry, or form an opinion.
What are these triggers? Are these our egos, biases, or insecurity?
One positive side of a small startup is the bond, togetherness. Everything else comes afterward. The happy, sad moments, cry, laugh, and celebrations we are all together in it. The first sales close, customers appreciation mail, Whatsapp message. It forms a small part of our life’s journey. After all, nothing is permanent.
Money decides your friend circle or who will pick, respond to your phone call, email. Even after having all the money, we crave love, respect, care and, empathy.
Belongingness shared purpose and, “I have got you covered is what brings us all closer.”
We are all playing together as a team and together aiming for the win. We have a limited time. It will help if we are all together for the cause; otherwise, money is just money: even a robber, gangster, thieve earns it.
I am reading: Think Again by Adam Grant. In the first chapter, he mentions the three different mindsets as told by his friend: preacher, prosecutor, and politicians.
We get into preachers mode when our sacred beliefs are in jeopardy: we deliver sermons to protect and promote our ideals. We enter prosecutor mode when we recognize flaws in other person’s reasoning: we marshal arguments to prove them wrong and win our cases. We shift into politician mode when we are seeking to win over an audience: we campaign and lobby for the approval of our constituents.
If you are on Twitter, you can witness thought leaders, propagandists, sellers: all in your timeline. Why don’t you start categorizing them and their sermons? 🙂
Yoga is a new cool. It creates a billion $$ worth of income and jobs for social media millennials who educate their followers. Consumerism is a flavor of our society and, Yoga is riding on it. I hope it does good for our civilization. The Indian government is also encouraging the movement.
I have been practicing pranayama(mindfulness according to Americans) for over 7-8 years and, I see it helping me.
During my school days, I did Yoga and Gymnastics both and, it has been one reason for body flexibility even now in my 30’s.
Last week I spoke to a friend in my hometown about not getting enough sleep. His suggestion was to do Sirsasana. It has been four days and, I have been sleeping like a baby.
I have also bought a copy of the book from Bihar School of Yoga. It is like going back to the roots.
Machine thore hai jo button dabaye aur phurr se chal Diya, mehnat lagte hai isme babu.
Munni, reena sabki saadi dekhi hai babu. School se college tak, Ek baar mayakee Bhi le Gaye the Gupta Ji ki bete ko.
Abb to lagta hai pura janam ji liya, Abb wo baat nahi reh gaye duniya me. said Ramu.
I was sipping Chai and Smoking Bidi with Ramu, the Rikshaw puller. He is fifty-five now, still more active than urban code monkeys. He would drop us at our school in our early childhood. Our school was thirty minutes rickshaw ride.
Those days Rickshaw were the rulers of the streets. There were limited motorcycles and, the car was for riches.
I would end up meeting Ramu on most of my home visits. My house is closer to the bus stop and also an unofficial stand for Rickshawalas. They would sit, talk, laugh and go merry among peers.
This January, I met Ramu again. Same intoxicating smile with a smeared ash on his forehead. Just the mustache has gone haywire this time. It might be because of COVID. I hardly felt any social distancing or mask-wearing rule followed.
Atul babu, naya saal ghar pe?
Haan Ramu.
Is saal bhoj hoga ki nahi? Hum mar zainge. [His way of asking if I am getting married this year.]
Socha Nahi. Bidi doge Ramu?
Subeh subeh kahe?
Chai bhi piyenge.
We went for a ride to a newly opened park on the other side of the city. We were visiting there for poori, jalebi, and sabji.
Ramu had a lot of news for me.
He thanks Corona for uniting the family. Both sons want to stay at home and focus on agriculture. They are not interested in working in Delhi factories.
I had no updates to share with him and, I could sense his annoyance.
After gulping poori, sabzi, and jalebi, I requested Ramu that I will walk back home by myself. The distance would not suffice for the amount I had eaten. I offered him some money, and like always, he went numb. He cried in happiness and said, “Apne Bachoo se kya paise Lena.” I hugged him and dropped some money in his pocket, and walked away.
Hero Banoge? Bhaiya star hai, screamed the guy sitting few seats away from me. I was returning home from south ex in a DTC bus. I wonder what made sardarji say this, was he intoxicated? I got down at the Punjabi Bagh club bus stand and walked towards Paschim vihar, not without gulping some paani poori near the Punja Bagh club.
I saw Sardarji, Mika waving at me. He mentioned his brother has worked in a few Balaji telefilms soap operas. These days he is in the business of casting young talents to television serials.
I offered him a plate and a few paani puris that he gladly accepted. We spoke for a while and walked towards Paschim vihar. There was no social network and, neither was the mobile phone a common entity.
We exchanged pleasantries and, he disappeared in the Galli of Madipur and, I continued my walk.
Did I miss a chance to work in a soap opera or, was I up for losing some money on the pretext of casting?
We are running on a treadmill. A lot of this blame goes to our parents and society. The level of expectations put on young shoulders by Indian parents is undoubtedly beyond the limits.
There is a checklist made as we age. This system makes life miserable for women, a constant nudge of getting married and getting settled. Even the most educated and feminists cannot escape it.
There have been awkward conversations like:
My question is simple, why do Indian parents have such controlling urges? Why can’t they let their kids live their life? Are women just baby-making machines?