Amidst my colleagues and other social animals who are bonded laborers in corporate jungle, who look forward for their lunch break, I dread mine. Well I was no different, but over these 3 months and after some 3 visits to dentist, I have reasons to dread it too, however irrational it might sound to be.
First task is to find the guy who came up with the term -“while in Rome, do like the Romans do“. Man, you became a cool dude by coming up with that narcissist and racist thing, may be you were Julius Caesar himself, but alas, We are Indians, and we don’t “do“ like the Romans, Texan or the ones who live in Lisbon, whatever you want to term them as a collective group. We have our way, and No its not the SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE WAY, mind you. We need to release more movies for this lot.
To get back to my fear, it arises from a keen curiosity on sheer Obsession the firangs have on how they present themselves and their looks. Irrespective of how dubious it is, they want to mask it under, “Personal Hygiene“. Oh hell yeh!! “ Like I make a flag out of my old innerwear and use it to show my support to a football club ? Insane.
There, as I am writing, comes this guy, opens his cabinet drawer, picks up his tooth brush and woof, off to brush for some 3rd time in 7 hours. You might want to say, that is a great thing…isn’t it ? Well I don’t blame you, I fell for the same trap.. I did too. And I like the cool Firang, had my own cabinet and my own second tooth brush and paste tube at work. Guess what, had I not done that, I wouldn’t be writing this irony. With my enamel on the verge of crucifying itself, I have gone back to my habit of twice a day, and one visit to Dentist a year.
So after every morsel and every sip of café you brush ? Weirdos, The real reason, why We don’t. Alright for our guys, who are no where near hygiene standards recommended for human beings, “we“mentioned below, is for the saner folks, who adhere to them. A majority of us I hope to believe. The reasons, or rather a gist of them is as below.
- We don’t greet women, by kissing them on the cheeks. Forget strangers, we don’t greet our wives like that. So we don’t care
- Sans some of them who do, the majority of us don’t gorge on Beef. Its because of your demands of quality leather, we kill our “Goddess“ and also pay huge money in getting your Baywatch stars in telling you how cruel we are. I wonder if you really saw the video or the host.
- We do not have beer in our cafeteria and do not have wine as an appetizer. We have soups for that, and most of them Don’t take that either. We have lentil soups prepared at home packed neatly. So ever wondered how you look after reading this ?
- Oh for the cholesterol issues we have, we take Pride in our FRIED stuff. So ask for a potato, you will get a potato fry, not a Bland Onion, or a Plain meat of Ham or chicken, like in Wild Wild west. We love our food and don’t care to flaunt our “Hunter´s pride“.
- Spices !!, who from your “castle-lion“ world would know that it is our spices that aids in our metabolism and ensures the food is broken down well to leave a sour taste ? And again, we do COOK our food.
- We take bath every single day. We are well aware of where, most of the infection spreads from. And we carry our own handkerchief. Oh Sorry, it is a cloth, that we use as an alternative for tissue as you call it for clearing our own bodily fluids. Not that we use a paper, and dispose it where I want and spread the virus to all masses. Ever wondered why you fall sick when your friend next desk falls sick ? Yes he throws his waste in your bin, IDIOT.
Ah well I can reason for as long as I want, but come on, I really don’t have a patience for that. So next time you give me a look, where in after having lunch with you, I come to my desk and start, without accompanying you to hear your gargles in the wash, where I behave more civilized than you, pardon me. We also GARGLE AND WASH OUR HANDS after our meal. We have wash basins in our cafeteria for the same purpose. I also intend to cut some bills on the tooth paste. Aint cheap in your world. Demand Supply gap probably. And also, am saving some effort, and pain on my own self. Moreover, that’s precisely why we have chewing gums for worst case scenario.
I will be right back folks… ….. hey can you lend some tooth paste, I ran out of it ?
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sweat from playing violin, NEVER STINKS!
t is so easy to be imaginative and curious. Counting on those virtues, I have always wondered, how would it be, had my brain sustained the thought of how I lived inside my mother’s womb. Oh yeh! The brain with its acquired sense might reply, it is easy, you were tiny, a creature of impeccable features, secured and just waited to come out to this despair filled vanity called WORLDLY life. But I don’t remember a tiny peck. I can only imagine what I would have been or my vision would have been, when I was inside the secluded and secured place, for those tiny moments when my mother carried me around.
Until I close my eyes amidst the ambience filled with a mellowed down yellow lamp, a soothing tonal quality of the electronic tempura and the womb, to take me into her custody, THE VIOLIN. I would be insane to compare anything to equal mother´s warmth, but, practicing my violin for 3 hours, with eyes closed, I can safely dire over the risk, of saying, any art, when practiced with perseverance, takes you closer to that insipid feeling of being helpless, at the same time being reckless, just like how you would have been “helpless and claustrophobic“ inside the womb, to kick your mother hard enough at the same time being “reckless“ to kick to spoil the party.
Well it is no philosophical diatribe, but an observation as to how my life unfolded and how it unfolded the way it did, only because I had my violin as my trusted confidant. Had it not been for the art, I would have been just another individual. By saying that, I do not imply, I am an extra terrestrial, but by stating that what I mean is , I didn’t take too long to be friends with myself. Any art form, when started formally, teaches the first lesson to befriend yourself and it does so in style by freeing yourself of all the apprehensions or anxiety you would have ever harnessed. If you start it late, still fine, since it will rip your ego apart to the ground and humble you to swallow mud. Well when I pluck it wrong, I know violin is not at fault. A violin can never be at fault, only I can be. There can be only one culprit who shares the dais as the victim. There it is, I have started being modest.
It is just a memoir to my parents, that they instilled this interest in me from a young age. I just pray that all the kids get the opportunity of having an art to be their aide. It does more than help. Academic education cannot be a guiding light in your life, if you cannot value your own self. Art teaches you all there is to know about yourself. If there are young parents, or going to be ones in the near future reading this, it is a humble request, instill that sense of art form in your child from an early age. Return of Investment, in the modern financial world will be unimaginable. Moreover nothing like Indian art. I have been lucky to have got this privilege to learn an art. It has given me courage, to start all over again, when I did badly. It didn’t grade me as a topper or a failure; it was always there in its case waiting for me to come back to it. It gave me modesty, when I was over confident of it giving my side come what may. It had its moods too, and it was inversely proportional to my ego. It freed me from any fear, as it had no fear. In all, it taught me how much I have to learn. I am still learning, and I still feel blank.
In brevity, in those 3 hours of togetherness with Violin, if you ask me what I thought, I would say I don’t know. Its just like being up from Coma, because the toughest thing after a strenuous practice, especially when your mind wants more, but the body gives up due to lack of practice is, “what Now ?. “ It just seems blank“ after you open your eyes, just like when you cry, being out in this adolescent world, because may be you would have worried, Oh my god, “what now?“. Life seems empty. I don’t know how time goes, when I am playing Bahudari or a Kalyani, but all I know is I am somewhere safe. I am not adorned with a venetian mask, if at all, I am taking all of it, one by one, clothes first, to stand stark naked facing not the world but myself on the other end, the reflection being full of pretense and despair. It is like I could imagine, this is what I will be once I come out of the womb. I am sure every single child visualizes reality, and that’s precisely why it cries on being out. Very few are blessed to chance themselves to time travel and reincarnate again and again as and when they please. I do it with my confidant all the time. My mind is just blank to categorize it into any of the categories of hobby, passion, meditation, expression etc. I just play, because I love it, and I can take birth as an individual all over again after I am done.
In the end, amidst that blank neurology, which is as good as being alive again, is when you realize, how profusely you have been sweating, and the floor beneath your thigh, your palms and your forehead is filled to the brim with it. That’s when realization dawns upon you, with the warmth in your body pushing your adrenalin energy levels up, that `A sweat from the violin never stinks“
Until I close my eyes amidst the ambience filled with a mellowed down yellow lamp, a soothing tonal quality of the electronic tempura and the womb, to take me into her custody, THE VIOLIN. I would be insane to compare anything to equal mother´s warmth, but, practicing my violin for 3 hours, with eyes closed, I can safely dire over the risk, of saying, any art, when practiced with perseverance, takes you closer to that insipid feeling of being helpless, at the same time being reckless, just like how you would have been “helpless and claustrophobic“ inside the womb, to kick your mother hard enough at the same time being “reckless“ to kick to spoil the party.
Well it is no philosophical diatribe, but an observation as to how my life unfolded and how it unfolded the way it did, only because I had my violin as my trusted confidant. Had it not been for the art, I would have been just another individual. By saying that, I do not imply, I am an extra terrestrial, but by stating that what I mean is , I didn’t take too long to be friends with myself. Any art form, when started formally, teaches the first lesson to befriend yourself and it does so in style by freeing yourself of all the apprehensions or anxiety you would have ever harnessed. If you start it late, still fine, since it will rip your ego apart to the ground and humble you to swallow mud. Well when I pluck it wrong, I know violin is not at fault. A violin can never be at fault, only I can be. There can be only one culprit who shares the dais as the victim. There it is, I have started being modest.
It is just a memoir to my parents, that they instilled this interest in me from a young age. I just pray that all the kids get the opportunity of having an art to be their aide. It does more than help. Academic education cannot be a guiding light in your life, if you cannot value your own self. Art teaches you all there is to know about yourself. If there are young parents, or going to be ones in the near future reading this, it is a humble request, instill that sense of art form in your child from an early age. Return of Investment, in the modern financial world will be unimaginable. Moreover nothing like Indian art. I have been lucky to have got this privilege to learn an art. It has given me courage, to start all over again, when I did badly. It didn’t grade me as a topper or a failure; it was always there in its case waiting for me to come back to it. It gave me modesty, when I was over confident of it giving my side come what may. It had its moods too, and it was inversely proportional to my ego. It freed me from any fear, as it had no fear. In all, it taught me how much I have to learn. I am still learning, and I still feel blank.
In brevity, in those 3 hours of togetherness with Violin, if you ask me what I thought, I would say I don’t know. Its just like being up from Coma, because the toughest thing after a strenuous practice, especially when your mind wants more, but the body gives up due to lack of practice is, “what Now ?. “ It just seems blank“ after you open your eyes, just like when you cry, being out in this adolescent world, because may be you would have worried, Oh my god, “what now?“. Life seems empty. I don’t know how time goes, when I am playing Bahudari or a Kalyani, but all I know is I am somewhere safe. I am not adorned with a venetian mask, if at all, I am taking all of it, one by one, clothes first, to stand stark naked facing not the world but myself on the other end, the reflection being full of pretense and despair. It is like I could imagine, this is what I will be once I come out of the womb. I am sure every single child visualizes reality, and that’s precisely why it cries on being out. Very few are blessed to chance themselves to time travel and reincarnate again and again as and when they please. I do it with my confidant all the time. My mind is just blank to categorize it into any of the categories of hobby, passion, meditation, expression etc. I just play, because I love it, and I can take birth as an individual all over again after I am done.
In the end, amidst that blank neurology, which is as good as being alive again, is when you realize, how profusely you have been sweating, and the floor beneath your thigh, your palms and your forehead is filled to the brim with it. That’s when realization dawns upon you, with the warmth in your body pushing your adrenalin energy levels up, that `A sweat from the violin never stinks“
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