I keep thinking about things that I expected to continue with me in life, our relationship with peers being one of them. We, humans, are a slave to our habits. As as we grow old, our habits and tastes change.
What happens to our brain when we grow old, our eyes, our bones? Do they not get worn off? Once we move away from our home country, hometown: all we accumulate are its memories.
We have to realize early on that everything changes; love fades; money starts becoming meaningless; hoarding becomes useless. After all, none of this matters.
The idols of our freedom fighters are for pigeons to shit on it. Once or twice a year, if municipalities have a budget, it will get cleaned with garland and sweets distribution.
I am home this year for Holi. I think I am home after a long time. Holi has a special love and hate relationship with me. Hate because it would come during exam and love because we have so much to eat. And no one asking to attend the study.
Holi has been memorable during childhood when I would get to be with my grandparents. The eating session would be as early as 6 am with aloo paratha and other sweets. We would have had over 20-course meals as the day finishes.
Post breakfast entire village would be on its toe. People sedated on bhag, ganja, and alcohol would be roaming, dancing, laughing. Everyone singing phagua songs, some beating dhol, some jhaal, or others varied instruments. One day in their life, the pains would have disappeared, their fights among fellow villagers would have taken a back seat. Most of us would have been in our torn dresses as after playing Holi, that will get thrown.
We had some miscreants who would paint everyone in grease or other chemicals that would take days to clear, unlike natural colors. We would look like a rainbow or absolute dark gutter with only teeth and eyes visible.
In the afternoon, our platoon of kids would be in the nahar or boarding pump cleansing ourselves. It would take at least a week for color to disappear. By late afternoon, early evening, it would be time for Gulaal. We would bow to elders, put them abeer, get blessings and eat maalpua, dal puri, and mutton.
Thankfully, I see the tradition has been kept alive with a new generation. I am an observer now, watching them run breakfree, fight and paint their peers. It bought back all my memories.
Holi hai and Rang Barse songs are on loudspeakers all around. This time holi is different, more people, more joy and, feel like a festivity.
Why are we alive?
What is the meaning of all our actions?
What matters to our soul?
In short, what is the purpose of all our actions? What differentiates humans from other living organisms in our consciousness. But in the world we are living in, we are on autopilot, slaves to technology. With the rise of industrialization, we have turned into a hoarder. We are increasing our material wealth at the same time die finding the purpose of our life.
Hidden Brain is one of the few podcasts I listen to regularly. The recent one talks about the same topic. I enjoyed listening to it. The sooner we figure out the purpose of our existence, the less miserable our existence becomes. It will free us from external slavery and take us on the journey of acquiring self-knowledge. Finding the answer: ‘Who am I’ makes life worth living.
Stop everything, spare you 45 mins and listen to this. Thank me later. Good Luck.🥳🙃🙌 https://t.co/fg2SWiONgr
I wonder if Vulcan existed, would live in it have been better? At least we would not have to circlejerk in fraudulent methods, appease others or take shit for getting work done(govt officials).
It seems like everyone is living in a parallel world; one is their projection: how they have to act/portray in the society, another who they are within, what they want. It is like living in duality with a mask on it.
It becomes difficult to judge if the other person is saying is the truth or just fluff. Humans have more vice innate among us than virtues.
One thing which we lack is hyper rationality like Spock, Star Trek, Vulcan. I am hopeful our coming generation will live in singularity and, life would become better.
Indian men’s team won a bronze medal at the Olympics. For a change, the cricket fans are showering love and support. It is for a few days. Our memory is short-lived. Once in 4 years, we realize there is something other than Cricket in our country.
These participants, champions should make the best of it for the coming few weeks. After that, they will die in isolation and darkness. Because nobody cares, glory is short-lived.
Apart from the Orissa government, no one cared about the Indian Hockey team. The same goes for our women boxers, throwers, and other participants.
Once Olympics gets over, we will forget our Heros/champions. Media will show how these participants are living a miserable life and some selling those medals for end meets. Because in reality we are blinded by Cricket, the colonial gift.
Isn’t our life a story in progress?
Is it not filled with happiness, misery, joy, or uncertainty?
Every single breath of ours is a screenplay?
Our anger, cry, or longing: are these not some kind of screenplay?
If we take a break, think deeply. We realize it is a construct of our thoughts, past experiences, or upbringings.
We are the writers of our script, our life. We have a limited reel( time) to make the best out of it.
Because it every passing second, we are missing out on the best of our craft.
How is your story coming along? Is it a hit or a flop, or a struggle?
I got introduced to open source, free software in 2005-6. I made many friends, fought with a few. We had Linux-User-Group, Delhi. We would hang out at Raj Mathur’s house(RIP Raj). We would talk, discuss and in the end, go for a kebab. Other regulars would include Gora, Karunakar, Vivek, Triveni, and Gaurav.
It was a different feeling that time; when we said community, it felt like being part of it, the togetherness. We would visit and take workshops at various colleges around NCR, Rajasthan, and UP. It was different. I am still in touch with a few. We organized open source events, met over beers. I am still in touch with over a dozen of those folks.
Now when I see community, I feel it comes with strings attached. Either about a product or hiring or money or social media glitz. Instead of helping, creating community, making life better for the kids, it’s about sharing photos, writing blog posts, and getting followers. I feel the community is commercialized. So I try to stay from any of these communities.
The more I have ventured into sales, the more I have realized it is about eliminating customer’s fear. In enterprise sales, there is one decision-maker who cuts the cheque but multiple stakeholders. So adopting something new, taking a decision is a tedious process and comes with lots of responsibility. The sales cycle is longer as well.
It requires a lot of perseverance, patience, and comforting the customer that everything will be alright. I got your back covered. But on most occasions eliminating all the fear.
Gayatri spent all her life in Hassan, a small town on the foothills of western ghats in Karnataka. She was married at the tender age of 16 to Mahesh. Her mother threw a lavish wedding along with paying handsome dowry to Mahesh’s family.
Now in her 30’s, Gayatri finds herself more mature. The early days of marriage were daunting for her. While her in-laws were cooperative, caring, and treated like their own daughter, Mahesh was not into her. During their first night, Mahesh mentioned their arrangements.
It’s been over a decade since their wedding and, Gayatri is without babies, uncommon in our country. Their parents and in-laws visited a dozen temples, tied threads, and paid a donation to various gods for the wish to see their grandchildren.
Last week Mahesh left for Mumbai for some event. Only Gayatri knew about it. It was TV9 news, where he was seen in different attire hugging his childhood buddy and walking fearlessly. It was pride month march and, Mahesh was participating in it. It was a rude shock for his family and, everyone was crying and angry both.
Mahesh was too scared to confess his sexual preferences with the family or go against societal norms. He would have been either killed or ostracized.
I attended Gayatris’s second wedding last week, arranged by her in-laws. It was no less than their own daughter’s wedding. Her mother-in-law was furious at his son and sad about the sufferings of Gayatri. The bride looked like a goddess in her dress and ornaments all over her. She was married to one of her old friends Bhanu.
I asked her politely about this secret vow she kept between herself and Mahesh. She cursed her poverty and illiteracy for this. She wants to give her future kids a good education. They don’t have to go through something like her.
