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“I just want to this about that.”
― Steven C. Smith

Wake-Up Call

It was a busy morning and I had a bunch of things to do. Something that I was reminded of as I scrambled out of bed and shut the alarm down. A short while later I read the first message of the day. It was from Google. It said that I had used up all the free space, some 17 GB. If I need to continue receiving email and such else, I have to pay-up (upgrade). Or else!

I was fully awake now. This wake-up call had woken me up.

Over the next few days, I started parsing my inbox and deleting with a methodical frenzy. I said that in one sentence. Those who have trouble discarding stuff that they have accumulated over the years will know the trouble. It’s always painful for me. Gift wrappers, user manuals of gadgets that have long gone out of service, notebooks, clothes and much else pile up, until one fine day they are despatched away for want of space! The accumulation of fat on the hip is a different story.

Back to google. Within the first hour of my effort to clean up my mailbox, it was apparent that there had to be a better way of doing this. I had to make a few rules and play by them.

A few rules.

1. 25 minutes every day

2. Bunch email into a few buckets.

3. Apply filter and delete.  (Don’t look too much)

It’s not been easy.  I have been like one marauding warrior on a sea of silliness. Even as I cleaned pages and pages of emails, I was awestruck by the magnitude of the mess that my inbox played host to.

One category of news from numerous international, national, regional, local community publications from over the years. Washington Post, New York Times, The Guardian, India Today, Caravan, Vikatan and the like. News that has moved past its point and sitting pretty in the mailbox!

Random newsletters from the optometrist to the car showroom attendant all announcing something new that they wanted me to open up my wallet further. ‘We have opened a new store’. ‘We have something on discount’. ‘It’s been some time, we miss you’, some screamed. Yeah right. DELETE.

The mutual funds and the banks. I think there ought to be a law that they have to pay me for the amount of storage space they occupied in my inbox! Incorrigible.

The delete button must have felt the heat as I deleted emails with more emphasis and emotion, wondering why I hadn’t done so in the past. There were newsletters from Becky, Phil, Mamta, Sapna, XYZ store. I would have identified them and deleted them, only to find that a Mamta was still sitting in my inbox, a short while later. Because she had countless other email IDs!

Mamta@abc.com. 

Mamta_123@abc.com. 

Mamta@1bc123.com. 

Mamta@i4u.abc.com.  And so on. 

Every airline I have flown, every handkerchief I have bought, every ice cream I have eaten seem to have followed me and sat pretty inside my inbox. And like a scene from a mythological story, they kept morphing their identities that destroying them has been a task. To put it mildly.

Half an hour every day has meant I have managed to cut the obvious flab. I have unsubscribed from 36,798 newsletters! Or so it seems. Most of them, I am sure I didn’t subscribe in the first place. I am reasonably sure I did not sign up to receive a newsletter explaining the virtues of settling down in a community in west Kalyan. Or of a coffee from Kumbakonam.

There was one that announced the virtues of a certificate course on world peace or something akin to that. Again and again.

Vacancies of jobs in random organisations I don’t remember ever knowing existed! The merits of being a tri-athlete. Phew. The list is never-ending. I am still at it.

And about Amazon. I realise they have emails for every move of your finger. 

You look for a product – you get an email.

You order a product. You get an email. ( and messages, but let’s stick to email now).

Your order reaches the vendor. You get an email.

Your vendor scratches the glue. You get an email.

Your product is on the way. Your product has turned the corner. Your product is in the building, where are you?

Your product has been delivered. 

Can we have feedback? 

By the way, because you ordered your product, we think you will like the exact replica of the product and we will send you emails every now and then, about the replica. 

And then, we will send you an email so that you start all over again. It doesn’t matter if what you ordered was a pen or a porcupine! Phew!

And if you take a decade of such stuff that sits in your email box, you can imagine the stack. That could easily outspan a huge Amazon warehouse! 

Its been some wake-up call.  I think it will take a while.  And I am more than determined I don’t want to be woken up this way. The other learning that many others have advocated, is this: “Reduce at source”. I have filters in place now. Plus dedicated time to clean up stuff.

The real wake-up call

This entire inbox experience also is a metaphorical stand-in for the accumulation that happens in the mind.   Accumulation happens over time. As I wrote in the OWL despatch the other day. It happens whilst we are busy doing other things. The staid interactions. The WhatsApp venom. The ridiculous expectations. And so on. In the digital world, these stay back forever. Coming back to remind and haunt.

To move on requires cleansing of the mind. Often. But better still, is the idea of using strong filters and ‘reducing at source’. I am working on setting up strong filters. Coming up soon are some exits from more WhatsApp groups and social media platforms. Pruning work areas, drawing clear lines on the ground and staying within.

The digital landscape gives a false sense of infinite space, omnipotence, and width. This wake-up call has rekindled the desire for depth and deep work. I wonder if it’s just me. Would you have a story to share?

Ok Google. Can you stand down now please?

Image Courtesy : Pixabay

What Would It Take?

The champion on stage glides through choreographed music and synchronous applause. Some programmed tears that pop up for the camera do not take away the effort, dedication, talent and sacrifice of the winner. Being cognizant of what would it take to become a champion makes him more of a champion.

At other times, proximity numbs us from examining other lives. An uncle who waded through water to study. A neighbour who flew fighter planes. A good writer who has kept stubborn company of writing whilst  barely being able to pay his bills, ensconced in obscurity.  The list is limitless and has a promiscous stride across all walks of life. 

The spectacular ordinariness of everyday life can be cruel. What would it take to live an ordinary life that makes a difference to many, long after death.  Stellar lives with patently ordinary hues.  

For instance, what would it take to live like my great grandmother?

What would it take be like her?

What would it have taken to have a large heart, a loud mouth and a stellar soul?  The coop of grandkids and the farm of great grandkids will stand testimony to her dynamic presence and frame.  Some have her nose. Others have her presence. But none have it all. Which makes me wonder what would it have taken to be her?

Imagine 1950’s and 60’s.  Imagine being stopped at the gate of a large university in a big city, where you have travelled to. You are stopped at the gate, as you push for an admission for your grand daughter.  Imagine, you push your way across, stride through the portals of the University and go argue with a much heralded professor. Imagine winning the argument. Now imagine doing it all as a rural illiterate lady. That was her. Now tell me, what would it take to be like her?

To see a family splinter yet not lose hope. To see her wealth being usurped yet believing in abundance. To live through hatred and division with love. To believe in the girl child.  To walk tall. To love deep. To stay curious. Thats my memory of her. Enough for me to strive to learn what would it take to be like her.

I remember her free spirit and ready smile. Her worlds and her views. Her elegance and poise.  But most of all, I remember her stories. Those were vivid stories and there would be no ‘moral of the story’ at the end of it all. ‘Go figure’ she used to say. Her presience always stood alongside her presence. 

As I lit a lamp in her memory, I wondered if I should write about her. And then almost heard her sing Bharathiar‘s song to me. 

அச்சமில்லை யச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே
உச்சிமீது வானிடிந்து வீழுகின்ற பொதினும்
அச்சமில்லை யச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே

(Roughly translated to: No fear. No fear. Even when the skies implode no fear no fear)

“It doesn’t matter what others think of you or your work. Do what is right. And do it well”, she said. Even as she sank. That was many years ago.

I wish I knew what would it take to be like her.

An earlier piece about her is here

Four Lessons From My Hiatus

When you are in it, you cant see it. A hiatus is a great way of examining yourself, your actions, intentions and results from a distance.  Distance brings clarity. I have been on a hiatus of sorts from several default dens. Large parts of social media, large conferences, get-togethers and the like. It has given me to rediscover many facets and dust up promises made. Here are four lessons from my hiatus.

A few months ago, a vague gnawing feeling kept me company.  I couldn’t quite place a steady finger on a particular problem. It presented an opportunity to relook at several things.  In a conversation with a friend, the need to slow down emerged. At the place where the road curved, I realised the need to ‘Play’ more. so much so, that it became my word of the year!  

A hiatus was well in place by then. Most of the social media was (and still continues to be) off my phone. I reconfigured my phone. I cleaned up my bookshelf and the wardrobe. My hard drive remains by far incomplete.  I took a break from many conferences and preferring smaller more intimate conversations.  And so on. I see more and hear more these days. It has been refreshing.

So, the other day, I sat down wondering what all has emerged for me. On a whim, I wrote four lessons from a hiatus. Written more for me and not as a prescription to the world. 

1. The Acceleration Problem:

I thought acceleration in life is tough. I realise that getting off the fast lane is tougher to start with! There are all kinds of fears that dominate. But to have the courage to continue staying off the grid exposes the hollowness of several fears. I cut out the argumentative froth on social media.   The inventive algorithmic persuasion of Facebook and such other apps was evident, as the gaps they left behind on the calendar, helped me read far more. And about staying updated, it was obvious that if it’s that earth-shattering a news, it will reach! Life is beautiful beyond these empty fears.

2. The Accumulation Problem:

As the years roll by we tend to accumulate. It’s easy. It’s a good feeling. We accumulate material possessions, friends, ideas, opinions etc! Of course, the accumulation of fat in the body, tartar in teeth and dogma in the mind, happen whilst we are busy.  If we are not careful, they come in the way of leading a full life.

A friend told me, “you have a problem only if you let things in. You need to filter at the source”. That is prescient advice, I realise.  In a world where information and opinion is cheap, we need to find ways to stay sane. One way is to have strong filters. Works for fat, tartar, dogma or the wardrobe!

3. Default Vs Design:

The hiatus has helped me examine the defaults that have eased their way in. Living life to a design and a plan requires calling out the defaults and elbowing them out! Doing the right thing is not the same as doing the easy, natural thing. To eat right, staying fit, having quality conversations, getting to do quality work, are all products of choices.  They are shaped by disciplined choices in the space of other inviting options that hold allure. 

4. The force of dead habit:

The hiatus brought me face to face with dead habits. I realise that habits that were good for a point in time and that are past their prime have kept me stiff company.  And then there are some plain bad ones that have stuck on too. Some bad ones masqueraded as good ones. Others didn’t find any need to.  Obviously, I am far from being free of these. But I am now better acquainted with them and the stories my mind tells me about them!

The deal with the hiatus is that it gives the time and space to examine. It gives opportunity to see what works and what doesn’t. The thing about insights from a hiatus is that you can’t force it to appear. Insights come with deep reflection, conversation and courageous examination. These require ample time, a free mind and some breeze to shoot. Those are aplenty in a hiatus.

One more thing.

One of the greatest realisations I have is that it is possible to have a hiatus whilst going about work and putting bread on the table. It means making parts of your calendar inaccessible to your regular ways. It requires a commitment to tune in to deeper desires and transcending immediate pulls and pressures.

So, am plodding on rearranging blocks of my life. To roll the log of ‘lived life’ over and see what crawls out from beneath it with curiosity, is interesting. To say the least.

In more than one sense, I am upgrading. It is work in progress and it still has jarred edges. Please adjust! 🙂

Happy Deepavali

Happy Deepavali. It is that time of the year to celebrate colour. The colour in our lives. The gripping beauty in the smiles of ordinary people around us. The vivid detail in the mythical even whilst we built current day connections.

The rapture of joy in ordinary lives. The joy that dominates even whilst realising that it is special that gives the ordinary energy to keep moving forward.

There are indulgences of all kinds. Friends find the time to call and talk. Reminiscing the good old times and the strands of hope for the future. The neighbour’s invite for playing cards at their home comes with a promise of a fresh start.

The discounts are on offer. Chasing numbers and opportunity there are advertisements that have out beaten newspapers. It is a festive time you see. If you lived in a Pavlovian world, you will consider talking about salivating dogs. And who doesn’t live in a Pavlovian world? Tolstoy wrote, “All happy families are alike and every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”.

“There is a time and place for everything”, I was told a while back. “Shubh Shubh bolo”, she had said. Yes. It is the time of “Shubh Shubh Bolo”. Let’s stick to that.

So. With Anna Karenina in mind, let us just leave it that every family, happy or unhappy, celebrates its Deepavali in its own way.

It is that time of the year to celebrate colour. To deify the sweet sound of the victory of good over evil and pass some sweets.  Even as you pass the sweets around, may I invite you to consider passing some happiness around too. Make some big contribution to someplace and forget about it. Or maybe buy an ice-cream to a slum kid. Or a dress. Too expensive? How about a balloon? Whatever.

After doing all of this, think about how you could do this every month! Or maybe, every week. Why not, every day? As my grandmother used to say, help as much as you can. And when you are done, help some more.

And so, may we soak up much of the Deepavali spirit. May it last long after the festival is done. Let there be a perpetual sparkle in our eyes.  May wonder stay.

Happy Deepavali!

Staying Grounded

Holy shrines seek a ‘cleanliness’, often beginning with asking you walk in barefoot. To me, it is a poke to go light. To experience the stone and the rough surface pick supple feet. It is about staying grounded. That is the best way of staying clean!

Staying grounded involves being aware of realities as they are. Realities around oneself and the world. It necessitates a certain level of humility to accept what comes ones way yet to search for more.

Staying grounded means one is not occupied by thoughts about oneself but is innately curious about the other. And seeks to ask questions and seeks to build understanding. However sure one is about the answer!

Staying grounded requires an anticipation of uncertainty and a comfort with it. For when one is not driving an agenda, the outcomes can be many. Outcomes that will arrive at and get evolved in the moment at that time!

Staying grounded is not about ‘staying’. It is not a state of immobility. What stays behind is dynamism and change. To keep the mind alive and the ideas in the air but the feet on the ground makes a difference.

Staying grounded does not mean that one forgoes! In fact its the opposite. When one stays grounded what one is able to create far more. Both in the self and in the collective.

Staying grounded needs patience but more importantly, staying grounded needs energy. The energy to let things emerge, by staying in the moment and rummaging through with interest.

Staying grounded is to allow the idea to fly and letting the credit for the idea kiss the Earth. It means one is not wedded to the idea as much as solving the problem with the idea.

Staying grounded is about strength. It’s about awareness. It’s about calm. It’s about a sense of possibility. A sense of what can emerge.

Staying grounded is about the future!

The cost of victory. #SandpaperGate

Everything comes at a cost. Including victory. Sometimes the cost of ‘victory at all costs’ is so mind-boggling that victory loses meaning. Today Australia (and the rest of the world) woke up to ‘ #SandpaperGate ‘. Just the other day, I was wondering about the ‘cost of victory’.

On that ‘other day’, I landed up at the attic at my mom’s place. I was looking to fill gaps in memory fuelled by gaps from WhatsApp conversations.

A few old cherished medals lay in one corner of a dusty trunk. Amongst other things that kept the medals company: an assortment of parched certificates, a couple of spent manuscripts, a dog-eared atlas, and some dull question papers from a ‘quarterly exam’ that ended decades ago.  Amidst these were some assorted pages from an old English textbook. Remnants of my school going years. I looked at the medals with wistfulness and the books with nostalgia.  And started flipping through the Engish textbook landing at ‘If’, Kipling’s much loved work.

I stayed there for a bit. There are poems that move. And then there are poems that stay with you and get you to move. Every poem is a work of art reaching places in the mind that barely existed. ‘If’ is perhaps ‘The’ poem with the shortest title while having the farthest reach. It has been a personal favourite. And as I tossed a few things around, I realised, that it has shaped my outlook too.

Today, as I was writing this post, I discovered I had a post in  2009 on ‘IF’ . It is something.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Back to the English textbook. It is in that book that I first read that two lines from ‘If’

“If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same”

stare at players as they walk into Wimbledon’s Centre Court.

 

I remember talking to my dad about it. And he saying that there is no meaning in victory or defeat without learning the lessons of victory and defeat. His clear voice about letting victories and defeats pass by and seek each new day as a new day sought to make their presence. He would say with emphasis often that there is a cost to victory! And if the cost of victory is greater than the victory itself, there is no point to the victory.

As I wistfully examined medals that were in the trunk, I realised that the real victory was not in getting to wear them then. It has been in moving past them, cherishing the experience of winning and later consigning the medals to the attic.

Pursuits of the present day are morphed forms of medals that I had won back then. Medals that now rest in the dark confines of an old trunk in the attic. To experience and cherish every moment, to be of value to someone, to be grateful for all that has happened. These are my aspirations now.

The medal that I seek is perhaps inner quiet, peace, and lightness. That perhaps is real victory while I scurry around looking for medals and podiums. Today there is even further realisation about real victory. Real victory is beyond paper victories. And certainly beyond sandpaper ones!

 

Annual Sunset

It’s the same Sun that will pop out of the east tomorrow morning. Yet, today’s sunset helps us keep score that one more year has melted. It’s the 31st of December. And this is the ‘Annual Sunset’!  Sunsets are amongst the most enticing of reminders that one more block of time is gone for good. The annual sunset on can be sentimental. Partly, because the world seems eager to be done with it and embrace the shiny’, ‘new’ year!

So, its time to change the printed calendar that hangs on the wall. I have to take care to write ‘2018’ instead of  ‘2017’ on the cheques that I sign. Other than that, nothing changes. Of course, tonight some folks will move in the name of dance, to random noise that’s called music. Everybody will wish each other ‘Happy New Year’ and then go about living their lives with renewed fervour.

By the 8th of Jan, 25% of resolutions “have fallen by the wayside”. “And by the time the year ends, fewer than 10 percent have been fully kept”, says a piece in the New York Times. Thats a colossal underperformance by corporate standards, won’t you think? (Do give the piece a read. Very good pointers )

That of course, is a limited view. Thank God!

What would we do if there was just no chance in hell that we could begin all over again? Even if we knew in the innermost recesses of our hearts that it is the same Sun that will show up tomorrow.  That it’s sinking into the west doesn’t sink with it our warts and wiggles. I wouldn’t mind it taking along with it the credit card bill, the lump of fat on the hip and the sinus in the head. Alas! That said, the new year is special. For it is the chance for some energy into starting all over again.  That is priceless. It fills us with hope and courses a new energy in our fraying minds.

An uncle of mine used to say that this energy would take him through “March – April”! “If you get a few solid wins in this time, who knows, the momentum can take you into June-July”. I find this enticing today.

It makes sense. Once it is July, you are already looking at beginning the countdown to end the year and make a new beginning.  In early October, the uncle would say, ” we are going to end the year”. Looking forward to it like a kid walking with his dad to buy a promised lollipop.  The ‘looking forward to next year’ saw him through the last three-four months.

In one way or the other, he had to wade through pestilence laden waters of ‘what is the meaning of my life’ and such other desultory questions for about five months.  Right in the middle of the year. Those months could seem to have a slower pace to them.  A few other ways to work those months would help. Perhaps breaking the year into smaller bits. Maybe having other special rituals for renewal.

But right now, the Sun is just about downing its shutters for 2017. The mid-year ‘sulk months’ seem a good distance away. Those months will happen when they happen. To make them ‘happening’ is after we take care of this evening and the next few weeks.

I have on my agenda a few must-dos.

Meet friends.

Make white spaces.

Plan well and yet create the space to plan as you go.

Spend time with the little miss. Grow up with her.

Walk. Run.

Take care of the body. And the mind. That’s the best way to take care of the bank account. (“Fixed deposits are best in the bank. Spare your hips”, said a wall scrawl in Madurai ).

Eat vegetables.

Write.  Travel.

Dream.

Do meaningful work.

Shoot the breeze.

That’s the best part of beginning again. For some irrational reason, it fills the heart with hope. As this sunset sinks its teeth into the year’s neck, the fleeting gasps of the setting Sun remind me of the promises that I need to keep. No new promises. Just keeping the old ones is good enough.

That’s as good as it gets. The aim is to go through to the end of March with it. A running coach once sat me down as I shuddered thinking about how I would ever do a 42 KM run. The trick he said, “is not to think of the full 42 KM. But to have a target like “until the end of where the eye can see”.  With the run soaking up most of the energy, my line of sight was often a just a hazy patch. It helped me finish!

So, here is what I am going to do. Soak up the Sun and look forward to the end of March. Maybe, April. Before the blink of the eye, it would be July.  And then, it would be next year.

For now, go dance. Sing. Love.

That’s all there is to it. Besides saying “Happy New Year”!

There are two pigeons that dart on to my balcony. Tilting their necks and looking at me with an odious ‘oh not again’ look. I want to prove them wrong and start somewhere, even as the bright arc of the orange Sun is reduced to crimson splash on the horizon. I pull out my laptop and start typing. “It’s the same Sun that will pop out of the east tomorrow morning. Yet, today’s sunset helps us keep score that one more year has melted. It’s the 31st of December. And this is the ‘Annual Sunset’!  Sunsets are amongst the most enticing of reminders that one more block of time is gone for good. The annual sunset on can be sentimental. Partly, because the world seems eager to be done with it…”

Peddling In Memories

2017 hurtles to a close.  Well, the year is going at the pace at which every year has gone by.  A clutch of stuff that got done while a heap that stays in the ‘to be done’ mode make it ‘hurtle’.  Green pastures, unspoken aspirations, dormant desires, dry deserts, severe floods dot my year.  Peddling in memories is an acceptable indulgence this time of the year. From newspapers to magazines to every other Tom, Dick, and Harry.  I am another random Tom who is going to peddle in memories of 2017.

The ever so connected digital lives that we lead makes everything easy. Including, peddling in memory. I don’t have to hunt between the whorls of the brain to recollect a chance interaction or a chosen meeting. In all probability, a trail would emerge from somewhere.  From my calendar or mail.  Perhaps from Twitter, Facebook and Instagram too. And several other places. So, it’s easy.  That is the indulgence that I am going to allow myself. I call it indulgence more because I am running against time on a few other projects. But this must be done too. Scan the year through the trail I have left behind.

Well, why would you care? Seriously, you shouldn’t. I have ordinariness imprinted on me.  From the life that I lead to the occasional prose that I post. Maybe you could make good use of your time and do something useful. For a start, how about finding how this year has gone by and plotting the next year.  And maybe, what I put down here may trigger a thought or two and you do your own exploration of your 2017. If a few things emerge for you, if you are game, we should grab a coffee and have a conversation. For no other reason other than letting each other know that we are all in the same boat. Some pulling the oars and others watching the waves.

And so I begin. Game?

Within the first few minutes of scanning my feeds, one realisation stands tall. Through the year, I have been inconsistent on social platforms.   I recall how I began booting several apps off the phone as I began to understand how much they control my life. Available for access, sans notification at a time, place, emotion and setting of my choosing.  That in itself is a significant shift. More on that later.

As soon as I put consistency of use as a barometer, it is easy. The one app that strings all 2017 and its attendant passing is my ‘calendar’.  It holds a trail of the meetings, the conversations, the people, the places. The ones that I have declined and the ones that remained. It is a treasure trove and I like a deep-sea diver who has found a ship that sank ages ago, begin the examination.  With curiosity and compelling intent. I want to know where the year went. Suddenly, peddling in memory is, as the daughter says, ‘easy peasy’!

With a short, simple stroke of my finger, the year emerges on the iPad screen. I have a quick first go at it scanning through the months. In seven-eight strokes, the year is over. I see the empty patches and periods filled with ‘back to back’ meetings. At times, I notice myself lingering. At other times, the hurry in glossing over a bald patch is palpable.  Even as the finger does its dance on the screen, flicking a month away like a speck of dust, I catch myself looking inwards.

Specific events show up. Like a meeting that went well and another that went downhill. One where very senior managers in a company tried hard to load a big monkey on my back much to the annoyance of the monkey too. I smile. But only to quickly realise that I must not drown in the easy pit stops of ‘events’ like these. I am keen to trade these ‘events’ for ‘themes’ and ‘direction’.

After about an hour of pondering and a mug full of coffee disappearing these are the four bundles that I am left with. I feel energised. Perhaps it is the coffee. Perhaps it is the ‘being awestruck by the prowess of hindsight’ moment!

‘Productive’ is a label.

The number of interactions / meetings / experiences that I thought didn’t lead up to ‘productive’ results are many. It looks like litter falling off a faulty garbage truck! All over the calendar.  At least, that was how I thought of it when the purpose for which the event showed up on the calendar went down with a whimper.

But hindsight presents a different the view at the end of the year.  While that meeting or interaction may not have lead me to the desired result, the experience was invaluable. That experience often, I realise, lead me to learn something new. Or meet an interesting person and my curiosity helped me power on in another direction.  And thus, the realisation: Every experience counts.

Especially so, if I gave it some time to reflect on how the experience was. Reflection is underrated. And no one has the time for it. But without it, the experience is almost pointless.  Reflection on a periodic basis is important. (Once in a year, is not good enough for ‘periodic’. I made a mental note of that).

Projects and proportions.

Projects and work have a way of evolving.  To expect that they follow a steady pattern in a dynamic world is round pegs in square holes in a shaking lotto machine.  Massive chunks of time thinking through every possible outcome have often come to naught.  One month they are there and the next month, they just disappear. Because there is something outside of what was thought through, that emerged.

Our plans have to be nimble enough to respond to the response of the world, to our first steps!  I realise what I keep realising again and again. I realise I have to draw more comfort from direction alignment whilst getting sharper with making changes ‘as you go’. Put the big milestones in, strike deals but always stay prepared for change.

I realise I have to sharpen my stoic resolve to move on irrespective of outcomes: Good and bad! And the spaces that they have filled on my calendar.  The longer I expand the arc of time the easier it is to see a different perspective of real success and failure. Plan the big milestones and projects but what happens is a function of what happens! So, keep moving and allow for grey. Grey is a good colour.

Henry Mintzberg, a fantastic thinker that I follow writes about ‘PAT problems’. Problems were the problems and solutions come in a box! With the amount of precision dominating our lives going manifold (‘you will reach your destination in 9 minutes’), I seem to be inching towards precision where it’s not needed. If the reason for doing what I decided to do is expansive the answers cannot come in easy made-to-order boxes. Even though that’s a seductive promise many meeting invitations seem to make.

Bald is beautiful.

On a whim, I decided to search for white spaces on the calendar. Where I didn’t have anything written down.  There were a few. Most of it revolves around the Daughter. A sigh escapes. And another stays. The first one with relief and the second with mixed emotions. Other than the time with the daughter on her special days, the calendar points to this huge need to ‘maximise every passing moment’.

Commute times have been filled with calls. Lunchtimes have been over meetings. Coffee has a business flavour and dinner, I realise, has often been a function of projects.

It brings me front and square of certain facts. The number of books I have read and the posts I have written is perhaps at the lowest ebb. Ever. Let’s not even go in the direction of the movies I have watched.  The visits to the doc notwithstanding, it’s a slippery slope and I am stopping right there to summarise.

More downtimes and pursuing passions is necessary. While grey is a good colour, white spaces are important for gray.

‘Just Data’ is an incomplete view.

The data on my calendar is a treasure trove. I have far more to dive into and sit with.  As much as it reveals, it conceals a lot too.  It doesn’t cover how many times I missed a sunset or a saw a beautiful one. It doesn’t cover the sighs and the smiles beyond the obvious. And in those nuances, there exists a world.

I recall dropping my daughter one day at school, and she asked me ‘when do you plan to go to school?’. It doesn’t find a mention in the calendar but a space in time that holds a question of reckoning!

The lens of viewing the world through the calendar gives me a stark picture of how time went. But time, just by itself is not complete. Filling time up is easy. Leading life in a linear bullet train wearing a straight jacket embossed ‘growth’, fueled by the pursuit of ‘more’ is common.  That’s the gravy train to several of life’s attendant complications. The trouble is we never know when we boarded or for that matter, how we did.  However, we board, the option to get onboard to jump off at stations is a choice that rests with us.

So, Peddling in memories..

So, it’s been a good year. Its been full of experiences, conversations, right angles and frayed edges. All punctuated by a hurry and hurtle that has given way to a new grammar. Let me be honest. It’s not as though, I dislike the hurry and bustle or that it didn’t lead me anywhere.  Like a swimmer at sea who has been negotiating sharks, I raise my head to take bearing. While I have covered a very good distance, I realise I need to take a new bearing.

I grab my finished mug, collect the four bundles and head to the terrace. I reckon I have to build vast spaces of empty white. That will tell a different story perhaps at the end of the year. Perhaps there will be more music, more stories, and more prose!

From the terrace, I look at the vast expanse of the sky with its patches of clouds.  And as they change form, I wonder which I other lenses I must pick to look at the year though.

 

My experiments with Instagram

Picture stories have been the nerve centre of this website. It is in the long hard look at images that the words and stories have emerged. Over several years. As my Instagram page begins to hog a dab more of my attention than it did earlier, my experiments with Instagram embolden me to weave more stories.

Ever since the shift in career trajectory, there have been many experiments in the recent times that I have been running. When the view of life in itself is viewed as a series of experiments there is only discovery and learning all the way around, experiments and learning on social are also default. Several of social ones are on my Instagram page.

To try and bring a story alive in what is essentially a siloed and image based medium has been a bucket of work with droplets of learning here and there. I have learnt the power of images and how much they can chew up everything else. The importance of filters, lenses, hashtags and what all they can stand in for, and gently gloss over is omnipresent. But to spot the story behind the dominant narrative, has been such fun.

This house, where many of the young are permanently stationed is often viewed as an abode of narcissism by the old. Ok, older. I am finding it to be a very interesting and different platform. I try and keep the play with filters to the minimum and add some shade, contrast and brightness with words. Especially about the places and people that I encounter. If at all it is about me, it is only through the micro accounts stories that I tell there. “Thats not how the medium works” many have told me, shaking their heads with a smug smile lurking in the corner of their lip. Perhaps, they are right. For the way I use Instagram is not what Instagram has bet its shirt on. Instagram’s soul lies in its filters and the words are clearly optional extras. In more ways than one, I am harbouring some old fashioned beliefs. Some of them go like this : Good stories draw people. Good stories are often a combination of pictures and words. etc. etc.

But who cares. Its never about a platform as much as its about the users, their imagination and what they do with it. So I believe. So my page there is become something of a mini blog. Needless to say, my difficulty in adapting to the ready-shoot-filter-publish model is evident in every post. At least in my head. Sometimes though, I receive appreciation. Like the one today from this gentleman whose work I admire hugely, which read  “Love the stories behind your posts. Amazing patience and ‘care’ “.  That chuffed my heart and set me thinking.

The missus added some sense into the dose of kaapi on an otherwise busy Sunday evening to suggest that I need to consider the fact that some of the ‘short posts’ and pictures merited a ‘fuller’ post on the website. “Not everybody is on Instagram you know”, she began. And then quickly went on to other things like “assuming too much” etc, which I thought was fresh brew from another world.

Promptly this blogpost was thought of and some quick-fire decisions were made. Some pictures and accounts from Instagram will get here as well. Some of it shared on other platforms. In any case, its all experiments. So, if you are still reading, do follow me on Instagram and let me know how the page is evolving. My page on Instagram is here : https://www.instagram.com/kavi.arasu/

For, am going to be at it. Chasing a bunch of hypotheses and relishing whatever emerges. When you don’t break into a  sweat on the numbers of likes or followers and are focused on being present with people, their pictures and their stories, there is joy.

Try.

Happy New Year

I am in search of a word. One word. That would help hold the array of thoughts and emotions on a string. It remains elusive. I am searching for one word to encapsulate the time as 2104 says goodbye and 2015 chirps in with a hello.

Its the night of the 31st Dec. There are fireworks that light up the night sky. Puppet shows. Loud music. People on the road genuinely wishing each other. Lights. Parties. Cops on the road. Bizarre brawls. TV shows. Discounts and offers. Three and a half tonnes of whatsapp messages. And such else!

A flurry of activity on how the world went by in the past year marks pronounced presence across all media. Both the erstwhile and the new media. People are acknowledged. Events are recalled. Comments are regurgitated. Photographs dug out. Videos showcased. Sometimes, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge. At other times, the bridge has shifted. Or seems irrelevant.

At the other end of the spectrum there are experts and commoners making a set of predictions for the new year. For the times ahead. Sometimes with glaring audacity that causes an involuntary gape in awe and at other times such stark pessimism pervades that you would much rather want to go back to the previous year.

I take the lift to reach my home. Today my neighbours dog looks at me in the lift and it seems to ask me what this fuss is about. What ‘Happy New Year?’ he seems to say, in-between his hefty panting.
I peer into his eyes and shrug. Hoping that he catches my sentiment. That life is a seamless continuum. The ultra heavy importance accorded to one single day seems rather tame in a naive sort of a way and misplaced. Must you not seek to be happy on all days?

I continue peering into his eyes as the neighbour, the good lady that she is, continues to speak into the phone to a person of importance who she is on first name basis with. I am sincerely impressed, for the lift has never shown me any mercy ever before. All my conversations on the phone stand abruptly terminated the moment I enter the lift.

As the lift makes its slow climb upwards, I continue to peer into his eyes and a thought strikes me. If there is any reasonable use to this day, it is this : It represents a transition. Ah. Transition. Maybe thats the word.

A punctuation mark, if you will. A comma for some. A period for some others. Maybe it’s a new sentence. A new paragraph. Perhaps a brand new chapter. Whatever it is, a year singing out and new year breaking is a transition that helps the world keep collective score.

footprints

An opportunity to sit down and take stock, if you will. Of wins and losses. Of joys and sorrows. Of fears and hopes. An opportunity for renewal. Of ties. Of hopes. Of oneself. While footprints thus far shout out where we have been, where we will get to is a function of the direction and distance we train our sights on. Now!

I wonder if the Retriever reads my mind. He seems far more composed as they alight at their floor. The lady still on the phone.

Later that night, at the strike of the midnight hour, the little miss sees some fireworks in the sky and said, “Papa, the lights are tickling the sky”. It is her extension of a thought that’s been on her mind for a while now.

I stare into the night sky and wonder how the next 365 days will pan out. I am not sure. I know for sure about one thing though. The new year will arrive at blistering pace with syncretised assortment of events, that will appear as fleeting as the fireworks that decorate the night sky. Intense. Fleeting. Colourful.

For me though, every new year is a push at the punctuation precipice. I can choose to stop. Start. Or keep going with a comma. Begin a brand new sentence. A few chapters. All of it in a varied dizzying array of possibilities. Ah ‘possibilities’, I think. Perhaps that is the word I am looking for.

The next day morning, as the night sky turns a brilliant blue, it dawns on me that it is rather foolish to attempt to encapsulate it in one word. Even with a wide all encompassing word like ‘possibilities’! With ‘change’ holding us as life prisoners of sorts, perhaps what’s required are a string of words. Transitions. Possibilities. Perpetual beta. Amoeboid movement.  And such else. Many more come to the mind. A string of words that will need us to stay alive to the moment and yet stay true to our dreams. That will also be deeply personal! As it has been every year. Wonder what it will be for you.

Whatever it is, here is my wish for a great time. Happy New Year! And one last thing, Stay foolish. There is merit in that.