When Things Get Irrational

Frankly, its not just at work but nearly everywhere that I am confronted with gross irrationality and this strip made me nod my head vigorous enough to watch it roll off towards my laptop!

Dark Delights

"What will it be tonight, my Aakah", she asked me in chaste Arabic.

Turkey, for me was the colour of her skin, alleys marked like her slender fingers, the pulsating domes curved liked her body with promises never uttered beyond the spell of her eyes. Turkey lived in my mind with the name of Yasmine; Yasmine who brought to me delights untold.

"Have I ever known what to ask, my love?"

She smiled through the veil and soft harp strings were plucked. Yasmine's is the world where singularity is an alien unless garbed as ecstasy.

"Would my Aakah prefer to sit down?"

With my will puppeted by her voice, I sank into the ostrich-feather couch. Like the reticent tear of happiness, she dropped with the rustle of silk to near my feet. She removed my shoes and placed them on hot lava stones while I shut my eyes. The walk of warmth up my body sang deep through the throb of my tired flesh. When I opened my eyes she was still at my feet but had produced a large shallow trough with special water (and how did she manage to not have a single ripple on it?). The candles swayed softly in the distant alcoves of her chamber, reflected by little mirrors appearing out of nowhere and rotating into a void. The floor danced to the long orange accompaniment of lamps housed in crevices in the wall and floor. One could walk on a flame and not be scorched while another step in a promising cooler corner might whisper an unexpected heat up your leg. Yasmine's world was not meant to be guessed.

With her hand supporting my heels she moved the stones aside and let my feet sink into the trough of ice cold shock. I lurched forward a bit and she immediately held me back with a firm hand.

"Aah, my Aakah is impatient?"

I leaned back with a smile. Her hand was still on my torso and she slowly let it move up to my collar bone.

"A tired day doesn't call for clothes, my lord", she said and with one deft snap removed the first button of my tunic from its eye.

"Or were you merely playing to entice your love?", and another.

"Could I ever forget the veins of my master?" Another

"Or are there new ones for me to play on the lute of my bosom?" Another was off and her palm rested flat on my navel.

"My ears do lust for new tunes, my Aakah." Another fell off obedient to the masterful flick of her wrist. She leaned over with her light breath falling on my earlobe.

"My whole body awaits your song."

I continued to feel that breath snake down my neck over my shoulder till I heard her voice from a distance.

"Would you prefer burgundy to black or red to emerald or ...?"

"Black"

The large candle she was facing glowed deeper with her smile and shook a wispy orange finger at me. She brought the silk scarf and extended it to me. I held it with both hands as she walked slowly to stand behind me.

"Black holds it all, my lord. All of it. The Gods created nights so that they could enjoy it all while we mortals groped around and fell asleep."

"Your world is not of mortals, is it?"

"Nor of the Gods, because their delights are written down in books."

She bent over, her long hair brushing my cheeks and the musk of her cleavage filling my being. While my body rose to meet that softness, the scarf was over my eyes and tied securely. Her feet whispered around me as she stood in front of me.

"What the eyes see is all the mind sees and hence, it is the Devil that leads man away from imagining, which is the seed of delight. Why do you need the Devil when you are with me, my lord!"

I smiled at her voice and she placed two finger on the scarf over the near corners of my eyes. Camphor? Whatever she had on her finger tips, seeped through the fabric and cooled my eyes and eased my entire being into a calm. While still holding the bridge of my nose her little finger traced the outline of my lips.

"How beautiful they are, my master! They spell lovely poems and tales and draw wet sagas along my breasts without uttering a word. One minute of sapping my breath with your verses and another of leaving me breathless."

My tongue oozed out to meet her finger, but there was none. She gently held the tips of my earlobes and said, "What's the hurry, when night such as these never end?"

She rustled to a distance and began playing her harp. I sat with a broad strip of nudity exposed to her with my hands lazily dangling on either side of the couch. As the tempo of her soft music increased, I felt something crawl up my shin.

"Don't move, master. For your own good. It wouldn't do well to be found dead in the house of Yasmine."

I stiffened as I felt something long curl up and crawl up my thigh. Its sheer weight told me what it was and it was then that I realised that the room was warmer than usual. It lazily moved up my chest and with every contraction of its body my hair stood taller around my neck. It casually moved up to my shoulder and I think it lifted its head. I felt a wet hair flick my earlobe before a long motionless hour seemed to elapse till the next movement. The chant of the candle flames grew loud in my ear and the harp strings sounded like from a previous birth. The scarf separated a worried and perspiring head holding a spinning mind within, from a stiff face which was thoughtless and entirely watching the being on my right shoulder. It gave one last lick to my earlobe before slowly slithering away. The candles grew less loud and harp seemed more present.

"The scent of the Yarabahi flower draws snakes to them but the taste of them is not interesting. So it is with any woman other than Yasmine."

She lifted my trembling hands and dipped them each in a jar of something which felt like soft wet flesh. I tried holding it between my fingers.

"Oh, you feel like pinching today?" and she laughed a tender cascading one.

Before I could say anything she rustled away.

"It wouldn't be fair if you are the only one naked, my lord."

I heard the soft sigh of clothes fall to the ground and felt every cell of my body alert and awaiting the next contact.

"Would you like to try this drink, my Aakah?"

She leaned over, resting her knee on the flesh of my thigh, and her breasts slowly grazing the hair on my chest.

"Na, na, na. No taking your hands out of the jars."

I let them sink into the gel which seemed to slowly move around my fingers and cool and warm them alternately. She placed a wet finger on the corner of my mouth. I licked the fluid. The sting arrowed to the roof of my head and I jerked and tried to shake off the shock. She kissed me on my forehead and placed another wet finger on the other corner. I was reluctant to try it now but it was seeping into my mouth. It was fruity and cool. I licked it all and her finger. She licked and smacked her finger.

"Now open your mouth, my lord"

I did finding it difficult to hold back a smile. She slowly poured a liquid which tasted different from the ones I tasted earlier, but a little of each was there too.

"Now pinch with the thumb in middle finger of your left hand and then with the thumb and ring finger of your right. Alternating."

I did as she told me, for who would not want to be led by the mistress of delight. As the liquid slowly fell into my mouth, each side of me gushed with a tingle as I released the pinching fingers. The liquid cooled in my mouth as it warmed down my throat. Yasmine slowly moved her hand and the liquid poured down my cheeks and chin, down the length of my body, pausing at my navel before moving further down. The throbs increased and I pinched vigorously. The marriage of the liquid, the warmth of the room, the gels in the jar, the nerves clenched with each pinch, my skin heating the wine as it rolled down and above all, Yasmine, yanked me from one high to another making me suddenly aware of each muscle and fibre of my being. The sweetness of the drink chimed in my tired chambers as I felt each drop of it sear my skin on its way down. As my breath grew shallower, I heard gentle flute notes waft around me. Yasmine was playing a tune which was vaguely familiar.

"Have you heard this before, my lord?"

"I... I think... I have."

She continued playing the tune and I could smell wild orchids. I leaned back with my hands out of the jars and my feet out of the trough. The liquid was drying on my front. The gentle notes soothed my heaving torso. I wasn't sure whether the smells of the flower were real or from the vague memories the tune evoked. She continued playing it while gentle faces rushed through my blackened mind; faces, mountains in the backdrop, tinkling laughter and children playing in the dirt, young women carrying pots of milk or river water, men working near large fires, soft yellow sunlight bouncing on every puddle and this tune from nowhere. People were busy selling their wares and having small market fights. Goats and chicken walked amidst them, occasionally startled at nothing in particular. Young boys grabbed their girls wrist and pulled them behind trees and resting carts. Elderly folks either shook their head or smiled in memory of days past. I was there watching all of this from above a huge haystack, writing in my notebook, when someone called out to me. I refused to acknowledge but the calls grew louder.

I know my bed without having to open my eyes. I smiled as the contours of my room drew themselves more clearly in my mind. She had managed to do it one more time.

"Come down, its already well into the morning."

"Coming."

I pull myself on my elbows and undo my tunic. She has left just a little of her drink on my chest. I scrape it and lick my finger. I spit it out in disgust. I look at my inner thigh and see the mark of a pressed knee. How did she let herself be so careless this time? I pull out my journal to recount what I can, but Yasmine did say that these were not to be written in books. But what use is delight when it cannot be one's trophy? What happens to a joy once it is put on one's window sill beside the rose bush? I put my journal back. Yasmine!

Sonnet 11 - A Lover's Wait

I paint her name in wine on ebony
Glistening fluid ropes to draw her near.
Hundred nights passed since, and yet her journey
Will bring her to me, or so I adhere.

The sigh of the leather couch whispers fresh
Where she had simmering sat, knee on knee.
Impassive wooden edge kissed her breast's flesh
While full lips drew in a goblet's sherry.

It has been hundred nights, why wait, you say
Such a delight is but a night's mirage.
One night's fate would be futile Fortune's lay,
Sans one more from life's diurnal melange.

So wait I will, living on recall's fire,
Till Time shall yield to the tell of desire.

Convenient Dichotomies

I am often confused with a misogynist. It is as much a tragedy as my frequent association with being a misanthrope. I love women too much to ever hate them and I have immense faith in mankind (not human beings) to despise them. But fairness rules and my role of a paladin brings me brickbats. All in good cheer!

A recent trip with friends (mostly acquaintances) convinced me that women find it extremely convenient when guys fawn over them and will receive every act of subservient yielding, with gusto though quick to proudly claim that they don't ever seek favours from men. I am fortunate in being allowed the escape of a not-so-mute observer and thinker and hence am rarely called upon to perform the job of a lackey or to bestow condescending favours. The women in the group were delighted to have doors opened for them (innocuous) and bills picked (cheap) and luggage hauled (dainty) and errands run (too important) by the boys that I found the whole thing decreasingly obnoxious and increasingly amusing. The girls actually had the boys fetch their shoes from the shoe rack outside the temple. The boys had no sense of self-respect and were more than happy to be at the beck-and-call of their ladies. The ladies, without bothering to wonder whether they were taking advantage of the "niceness" of the boys, enjoyed their well-served existence. I imagined reversing roles: If girls were ordered around and tossed off when the job was done and made to run errands and taken "advantage" of because the guy knew that she had a crush on him, how would the "forward" thinking world look at it? They would call the men chauvinists, brutes, old-fashioned, conservative and few other things depending on their mood and mettle of their tongue. But these girls are just called cute (though amongst themselves some are bitches and some are desperate or more, again depending on the pH level of the tongue).

One thing that I never understand is the notion of footing bills. I pay when a woman accompanies me (tragedy lies in the fact that I even pay when some guys accompany me) and if I don't then I am cheap. If the girl was not earning a living or something like that, one might even consider that as a passable case (but then how do you explain the ready money available to her when she has to buy things for herself like trinkets to hang from her ear or that mobile which rings in so many tunes?). I find it immensely pointless that women who earn their income believe that they should never foot the bill. If the assumption is that their mere presence has paid for their share of the evening's expenses I can't laugh enough. I have rarely been with a girl who leaned over, slapped my hand off and took the bill (one girl was from West Bengal, the other lives in Bombay and one potentially solid girl now resides in Mysore). I always wondered whether they never felt cheap walking out of a restaurant without even offering to go dutch.

Pampering a girl is different. I think it is merely a special case of pampering someone you like (love is a convoluted topic). I pamper my nephew, my kid (I call her that because her parents call her my kid), my dear friends, a few wonderful women whom I have met (and they are genuinely few enough to count on one hand) and most children. My lovely friend who has been with me since we were 11 and 9 respectively, and who now is a father to lovely little girl, is someone I love to pamper. Pampering in these cases is not a stereotype and is hence, treated differently.

A dear friend of mine said, "Come on, E. Guys enjoy doing these things for girls. It is one of the small pleasures of life." I think he meant "small pleasure of the Mating Game". I had written a long article (and I am accused of never writing anything short!) about the Mating Game when I was in school. It is lost (because I wrote on loose sheets of paper) though you surely don't need an article to bring to light what is commonly available to an interested pair of eyes. I accommodate the Mating Game as an inevitable ritual performed at various levels (from Casanova to Seth Ganshyam Das of Tijoriwali Gali in Allahabad whose Mating Game starts and ends in a burp) but when it becomes a stereotype, graduating into a sense of etiquette and hardening as a norm of social life, then, my dear friend, it becomes annoying to my senses. I have lent my jacket to a girl (and I still have a picture of her) though I cogitate that I would have done the same for a frail framed guy, too. I have done things which clearly fell into the bucket of the MG (btw, that is not what M.G. Road in Bangalore, stands for) so the issue is not about the MG. It is about what groups of people are "expected" to do.

Recently, on a trip, I noticed how women (on the train) assume that they will be treated specially. They assume that someone will surely help them load their luggage or give them their chosen seat. A woman had actually occupied my seat and when I arrived told me to take the other one elsewhere because she wanted to sit with her family. Of course, if I don't mind. Point is, isn't it decency to stay in your seat and then ask instead of occupying first and then offering an option to me!? Even in queues (and once at a petrol station) women seem to assume that it is ok to rush ahead. A friend once told me "Come on, E. Try standing throughout the day on high heels and waiting in a queue!" What? Women were born with high heels? So if I wore riding boots with 3 inch heels, I will be allowed to the front of a queue?

There is no questioning that women are not often built for physically strenuous jobs and have to juggle (often, though not always) multiple roles and responsibilities. But these are individual choices. As much as a child cannot be delivered without the due gestation period so required is the necessary physical, mental and psychological abilities for a job. Dagny Taggart didn't use her womanhood to get the job done. It was sheer ability. I simply adore women who can do a job the way it should be done without acting cute and batting eyelashes. It is, hence, an individual's choice. If work in the quarry is not your cup of tea then don't go there. To join the quarry and insist that women should be given greater privileges and shorter work hours and lesser loads to lift is ridiculous. So be it with a job as a scientist in a lab. I will not give you the culture in my petri-dish just because you are 6 months pregnant (what is growing in the dish is at least my effort). If you can't juggle many things, choose. There are tonnes of women who give up a family for the sake of a career and conversely. There are men who also care for the family and buy the grocery and take out the garbage while putting the baby to sleep. Does the woman of the house get up to give him the only chair in the room?

So a woman likes to have doors opened for them and seats on buses offered to them but will not tolerate a man saying, "They are weak humans." They want men to be chivalrous while they cry sore about women's lib.

A woman will love to have her dinner paid for, and her movie tickets bought but will hate it if she were told that she needed his money or was dependent on his money.

A woman enjoys receiving gifts and baubles and surprises but will not accept that she can't even think of getting her guy some nice gift as a surprise. After all, "What can you get a guy? They are so boring!"

A woman likes to quote the traditional role of the male as protector and provider till he has expectations of her; then she quickly chants the virtue of the modern liberated man who doesn't hold old-fashioned notions of roles based on sex or creed. Equality is, then, something that makes sense only when it is in favour of one person.

Men are not to be pitied as long as they enjoy being fools. It is when women assume that men are there for doing their work or earning for their entertainment or free for their whims that the otherwise simple acts in a relationship appear vulgar. So be it when men make similar assumptions of women (though most men don't think that their wives earn for their entertainment, some think that their wife is entertainment!). At the risk of sounding repetitive, it is about a sense of Rightness. When there is respect for the other person, when there is a genuine affection for the other person, when there is respect for oneself, when one truly cares about the relationship and the various facets to it, there is action borne out of a genuine goodness and Rightness which doesn't crumble to petty convenient exploitation or, as a girl aptly said, "timepass". It would be such a delight to be with a woman who would take me out to dinner, too. Or help me pack my luggage or let a guy sleep on her shoulder or lap (has to be some other guy because I can never do that!). Or bought me a bottle of ink because I have just exhausted mine.

Rajasthani Miniature

"The skill is in highlighting each minute details and hence it is called miniature art", explained the tobacco chewing Madan Lal. He confessed to eating a heavy breakfast followed by nothing till late in the evening so that he could spend a lion's share of the waking day dedicated to his art. Learning Rajasthani miniature art from him was a pleasure. The weekend was spent in anecdotes about how he would create various details and how his ancestors have been involved in this art for centuries together. He told us of an elaborate painting that he sold in Delhi for over a lakh (but by then we were so much in awe of him that a lakh sounded like pocket change).

He was glad to have me in his class because I was the only guy! The coordinator of this workshop expressed her surprise about finding a guy sign up for a painting workshop ("only girls have signed up till today"). With great pride I cherish that moment when Madan Lal-ji thought that a particular piece of painting in a picture was done by him when actually I had done it. He kept insisting it was his work till the fine ladies in my group had to show him the canvas on which he had actually done it. That, was accolade enough for me! Pretty Bina, from Nagaland, added to my joys (in more ways than one) by proclaiming that my first piece was better than the sample artwork (which was up on sale in Madan Lal-ji's shop). I could have hugged her just for that but I had to keep telling myself that this is Madras! Having gone for this workshop without any expectation it was easier for the Master to mould me in the way he wanted and for me to emerge with great satisfaction and a sense of joy.

Rajasthani miniature is not something to be learnt in two days. Any claim to having mastered the technique in such a short duration is ridiculously stupid. Two days into this art form and I realise the great amount there is to still learn and master. I have become comfortable with only two techniques: flattened brush shading, jaali-work. We worked with delicate squirrel-hair brushes and my wrist and every tendon in my opisthenar cries in pain! Madan Lal-ji is available in Dakshina Chitra till 4th of Aug 2009. It would be worth your while to stop by and learn from him.

If I may bring to your notice, note the jaali (something like a mesh but supposedly made of fine silver threads or similar precious metal) bordering the elephant's howdah (blanket). One can actually see through it what lies beneath. The background colour is textured to give it a feel of mural (with chipping plaster, etc.). Rajasthani art (the way they draw their figures and objects) is not meant to be realistic (would an elephant really have such a bump on the forehead? Would its nails be collected in the front? etc.) but artistic-fantastic-realism. The human figures have elaborate eyes and lips but the women are mostly flat chested though the roundedness of the breasts is depicted. Clothing is transparent and that is a technique. I would share the other work in my possession which provides a sample of the detail work that can go into landscape, but it is incomplete and would add it to this blog once complete.

Bangalorism

Bang-a-lore has always provided a bang for my lore. This is one city which never ceases to shock me. Today I pick up the paper (Bang-a-lore Mirror) and what do I see? No, it is not in Kannada and that wouldn't have shocked me because it is rumoured that all programmers from Bangalore must code in Jave which is the Kannada version of Java. I saw a Bihari programmer being beaten up because he wrote "import java.lang.*" instead of "import java.lang.kannada". Biharis seem to be manufactured to be beaten up. 

So back to the BM: The front page carried the headlines "VAIKUNTA SAMARADHANE ON JULY 6". For those who aren't familiar with ceremonies, Vaikunta Samaradhane is the Kannada tourism package for a 11 day trip from Samarra to Vaikunta. This ceremony is planned for the great and late Michael Jackson. Man, I am going to miss him. Once he was all of Western pop music to me. To think his was the second song I sang on stage when I was 7 or 8 (the first being La-Isla Bonita). May the Gods keep his soul well and happy.

Back to BM again: The amazing Kannadigas plan to conduct the 13th day ceremony for MJ. For once they seemed to wake up in time but I wonder what's the point! Technically it would be a flawed thing to do and even if not technically inclined the man probably doesn't want to go to Vaikunta (he wouldn't want to do the twirl and toe stand or moonwalk on the ocean of milk in front of the reclining Lord).

Bangaloreans (and maybe not all of Karnataka) are quite a clueless bunch. Be it in food, sense of patriotism, current affairs or anything else, they are rather slow and hence, late. Let's study the psychological inclination (their incline is usually zero degrees).

I recall when Saddam H died and Indians said he would go to Vaikunta because it was Vaikunta Ekadasi. Point is, he didn't want to. He was Muslim. I don't know where that was missed on all the tour plans. I am sure Vishnu wouldn't have a hassle (though if the signboard on the gates was "Maam Ekam Sharanam Vraja" then we might have a problem). Bangalore woke up after 11 to 13 days and there were riots. An autorikshaw was burned (as an offering to appease the Gods and allow S H into devaloka) for sure (I saw it happen and had to tell my driver to rush from the spot and not peep outside the window!). All this after most of the newspapers had stopped running articles about him. 

Several years ago when BSNL had the notion of quarter, half and full rate for STD calls, I was in Bangalore visiting my cousins. I had to call my mom (who wasn't travelling with us) and decided to utilise the half rate (quarter rates require Bombay-like business drive) slot. Bangaloreans had mistaken half rate to mean the amount for which they can sleep and usually woke up by the end of that slot. Not a single shop would be open and I was told that they would open only by 10:00 hrs only to be shut for lunch and then opened again till they closed for sunset (which would have happened whether they closed or not)!! Being a Mumbaikar I would travel late but Bangalore buses (I was told) then shut service around 20:00 hrs! That is when I learnt that Bangaloreans were probably awake for the same number of hours that we folks slept and that was structured around their meals!

Some people blame this relentless lethargy on the climate, some on the Kannada script and most others on the way Bangalore is spelt (hence, the urgent move to spell it differently: Bang-a-loo-roo). I blame it on their sugar levels. Once upon a time, when God (or Chacha Nehru) was chiselling out India from a block of land, he decided to do draw Karnataka. He figured that these people are least likely to be creative as far as food goes, so he placed them in the midst of states which had their own cuisines (and far from the states which didn't want any damage done to their sarson ka saag and makki di roti). Then he gave them bags of sugar. Karnataka dishes are predominantly other state dishes with a scary amount of jaggery or sugar. It is like they are all half-blind and confuse sugar for salt or crushed jaggery for chilli powder (colour blind). They think they are being creative: Let's take an idly and do something with it... hmmm... let's add sugar. Let's take a bonda and do something with it... hmmm... let's call it Mysore bonda. And then they get confused with similar looking liquids: sambhar, kozhambu and rasam are all the same to them and true blue Kannadigas mix soup into their rice because, you guessed it, it is a brown liquid too. And then they create their own flavour by adding jaggery to it. So picture Kannadigas looking over their shoulder into your dubba and taking home your dish only to bring back the same thing the next day with sugar or jaggery in it calling it their own huli or gojju or saaru. Everything which is not a gojju is a huli until you dilute it and then it becomes a saaru. That is why Kannadigas never have Bengali friends. What more can you do to a rosagulla!?

Everything Bangalorean is Namma (if you are in Bangalore) and everything that is not work is a habba. Everything that is too much for you is sakath and if you are Kannadiga too, then you are maga. You can combine them in various forms and you know enough Kannada. Namma sakath habba, maga. Namma sakath maga. Maga, namma habba. Or the radio repeat: Sakath hot maga! It goes on. Another simple way to manage with Kannadigas is adding a "maadi" at the end of every English sentence. Sounds very Kannada to a lot of people.

Why do you need to learn Kannada? Because many people out here speak just that. Buses carry information in Kannada and all of them go to a place which resembles a poorly untangled jalebi. Karnataka ministers are striving hard to make everything Kannada. All government office forms are in Kannada so you basically have no clue whether you signed on your own certificate of death or marriage certificate (but does it matter?). 

Then we are left with the urge to be a part of everything: software, gay parades, software, beauty pageants, software, traffic congestion, software, pub culture, software, flooded roads because someone emptied a bucket of water, software, rising hemlines, software (no, no, not related to the rising hemlines), world cup matches, software, rock concerts, software and the IT industry. The movie industry is ultra-sad with all actresses top heavy and actors top-light. 

In summary, if you can "swalpa adjust maadi" then it is a fun place as long as you are not Bang-a-lored! No, lored is not a person.

Ballet - Yana Lewis Dance Company

Been so busy over the past couple of weeks, I can only manage a post like this (which is still good for those in Bangalore).

YLDC has a very interesting performance on 28th June 2009. It would be wise to keep your Sunday evening free for this.

Clash of Intentions

The past week has seen me get rid of two horrible diseases (one less so) in my life though the laughable irony is that the diseases left my system with least effort from my side. Good health (literal and figurative) is indeed a joyous state of living.
The past few weeks/months have helped me confirm an old theory of mine: Problems are not unsolved because they are inherently impossible to solve but because people (involved in the problem) refuse to pursue/peruse/adopt solutions. So the problems, in themselves, are not intractable, but it is the people who do not care for the solution or do not wish to come up with a solution because it would require them to adjust a bit.
The past few weeks and months presented me (in a sudden rush of friendship) with several opportunities to observe this theory in action. Unfortunately, a few friends of mine were going through problems (some being marital) for which they were unable to find solutions. I love solving problems starting from unclogging drains (and this can be a tricky problem depending on what is clogging the drains) to handling excessive salt in a dish to wives and husbands unable to live together in a marriage. Somehow they all appear alike to my brain. I recall the time when back in college I was considered to be an Operating Systems guru/lover and I would tell my juniors that every problem of life can be solved by some algorithm that is found in popular operating systems and even fielded some standard problems (and then love was the most popular thing!!). One junior even asked me to apply any one algorithm to my life which was devoid of a love interest and I applied the theory of selective filtering, just that the filters were numerous or actually just one: A female me (and I haven't met anyone in my age band i.e. my age +/- 8 years, who resembled me more than 50%).
Anecdotes aside, I still believe that life's problems can be understood and resolved as one does understand and resolve problems in operating system design. Belief apart, I have proof too. My friends back in Pune had heard enough of those algorithms. There are some unfortunate applications of them too. Like creating a deadlock until one process relinquishes hold (for whatever reason) whereby the other process receives rights to proceed (with living a good life).
But the difference between OS problems and human problems is the clash of intentions. Processes and CPU registers do not have ulterior motives or ego hassles. The system assigns priorities and deadlines (e.g. in a real-time system) to them and they stick to them. The system has ways for bumping up priorities or lowering them (priority inheritance and inversion) and the processes comply because each process perhaps has an appreciation of the greater good of the system and faith in the Controller (in this case, the user). People and life's business have more issues and ulterior motives than good and clear intentions.
As an example, let me quote (and paraphrase) a discussion I had had with a rather wise and lovely friend of mine. We were discussing the issues in joint families (I was reading Madhur Jaffrey's Climbing the Mango Trees and love it) and she said, "If one brother earns Rs. 1000 and the other earns Rs. 50, though they might pool it together and let their father (head of the family) wisely decide on expenses for the entire family, there will always be the feeling that one deserves more than the other." This was an observation which didn't require assent or dissent. She then proceeded to pose a rather interesting perspective, "But, if the brother earning more left and established a separate household and his wife was not an earning member, he would give into all her demands although she contributes Rs. 0 to the wealth of the family. The disfavour that his brother earned for making less money although he too might have been equally useful in other ways (as his wife is) is not attributed to his wife who earns Rs. 0. The paradox is that one turns against one's own blood whereas one showers more on one who is not one's own blood and has had lesser association." Neither of us assumed that one's own blood warrants anything, but it is common human behaviour to be closer and more tolerant of one's own blood simply because there is a longer association. "Mother" and "father" might be an exception in this account of things. This is something that would not happen in the world of operating systems. If a process doesn't generate enough output and hence, is left suspended (given fewest CPU cycles) so would any other process which generates the same or lesser output.
Apart from the visceral repulsion of applying algorithms, statistics and differential algebra to human activities, there is no reason why they can't be. Marketing, for instance, is using these very tools to understand consumer (human) behaviour and position products accordingly. We'd, perhaps, stop buying Colgate toothpaste if someone told us that we are being plotted on a graph, along the X-axis! The whole world of robotics and androids is essentially that. An ego-based reaction is not sufficient basis for the lack of truth or applicability of something.
But more than the applicability of algorithms is the observation of (what I call) the clash of intentions. People who are not sufficiently involved or caring will not solve a problem as it is against their interest. A lady is willing to do anything for her child but not for her husband. A man is willing to do anything for professional success but not for his family. I am willing to do anything to get my lunch perfected but not for bungee-jumping!
Our clash of intentions creates problems which perhaps were never there. Two people might be comfortable with each other till one person tries to get things done her way over and above the relationship she has created with her friend. Here is where one thing becomes more important than another because we don't care about the latter or have taken it for granted. It is when that latter "thing" stirs and raises "its" preferences when a full-fledged problem is created. I have relatives who simply give into their wives' every demand. So the demand (which if placed over the relationship) is not the problem because the husband yields. If the husband found it incongruent or against his principles and takes a stance, even then it is not a problem. If the wife, on being made aware of the stance, refuses to budge then a problem is born. Since a lot of men would rather avoid a problem to taking a stance based on values or principles, a lot of marriages continue. Since a lot of women (though not the urban kinds) in India give in to their husbands' wants there is a lack of problems. Neither of them are solutions but the system is in a non-threatened state. The only solution is to have an aligned clarity and an understanding of what is good and Right. Anything other than that is either an escape or a postponement of a clash of intentions.
A recent conversation (and that will be another post) with a very dear friend and 2 of his team mates took us into the night (00:15 hrs) which is way beyond my sleep time (21:30-22:00 hrs). Here too we discussed issues with the work environment and professionalism per se. When I go over that conversation, I see the same thing emerge: clash of intentions. One person means well and guides others but the other person takes that for granted and is unprofessional because the guidance will perhaps not yield the kind of tangible benefits that s/he is used to receiving.
Hence, given that problems (amongst human beings) is nearly always a result of clash of intentions (I am not considering murderous humans and psychotic individuals), any attempt at solving such problems without resolving the clash of intentions would be implicitly futile and abortive. And the surest sign of a clash of intentions comes from the total lack of involvement and caring of the individual(s) (who are part of the problem) in resolving it. Tragic but common.

Unbridled Joy

Tethers of venom
Burn, writhing in Divine light.
See how he prances!

What is Happiness? Understanding Happiness

I was about to start out writing: "As Aristotle said, " and realised that nearly everyone is tickling him in his grave (but then he was cremated, wasn't he?) when they start talking about happiness. Tonnes of people define happiness as this or that. Some try to measure it, some brush it off as incapable of measure. The gurus and priests define happiness as the complete surrender to this or that deity. A successful businessman calls it achieving ones ambitions. A sportsperson thinks it is winning races and setting records. A writer thinks it is winning the Nobel Prize and being featured in every list of the "Best Books for...". Artists are mostly narcissists so they will always want to get more. Then there are the feel-good guys who live off self-help books and cliches making statements like "being able to do something for someone and not expect something in return." Excuse me? How about loaning all your money to the slums of Bombay? No tax benefit! No citation! No mention in any newspaper! Forgotten and un-thanked! Yeah, right! And what if there is no one around you wanting your assistance? You'll never be happy? Aristotle had his views on happiness and so did Epicurus, but then, so does everybody.

Happiness, unlike calculus, doesn't require a foundation in order to be vivisected. Everyone in their first class of psychology has some answer to "What is happiness?" while everyone in their first class in operating systems has little to no appreciation of the LRU algorithm. We all think that we are entitled to an opinion about such a commonly existing facet of life. The problem lies in getting lost in the various forms of human response and the various states of being human which seem to confuse happiness with satisfaction, solace, adapting etc. Hence, the responses to "What is happiness?" which talk about achievement and attaining something are less about happiness and more about satisfaction and sense of worth.

Satisfaction is primarily an instance of stimulus-response. I see pizza, I want, I get and I am happy. There is always a want underlying the possibility of satisfaction. When the great monks of Mystic Mountain say that want (and its more determined cousin: desire) is the root of all unhappiness, they probably were being too strict, but there is a grain of truth. For instance, I want a lifetime membership to Mystic Mountain, but membership is not available in the manner we can understand so that leaves me anxious (or maybe not, because I am still trying to understand anxiety). Once I get it, I am satisfied or maybe not like the chef of a famous French restaurant who wanted to desperately get a Michelin star and slogged day and night but once he got it, he didn't feel the elation he thought he would because he started wondering "If I could get it then perhaps most others can too. Hence, this is not something worth seeking in the first place." Hence, my advice to people: Never say "The food was wonderful" to a French chef; always keep frowning in a French restaurant.

Here are two thoughts that I am going to elaborate on (and I am notorious for the elaboration bit):

1. Happiness is that whole-bodied state of being which raises us to our higher Self through an experience or realisation which is timeless.
2. Happiness is inversely proportional to the distance between our expectations and what life deals out to us.

The sharp-eyed reader would immediately note that these are two levels of what is conceived as happiness. Well, yes. (2) addresses what the unconscious man perceives as happiness and once he is conscious and fully aware (not just of himself) then there are no expectations and hence the distance becomes zero and therefore the possibility of a "whole-bodied state of being which raises us to our higher Self through an experience or realisation which is timeless" is higher.

I say "higher" and not permanent because the whole notion of always being in a state of happiness is, I think, an Utopian ideal which causes greatest unhappiness. As the human beings we are, we cannot always be happy (hence, Ugway was not a human being but a turtle). We shall soon evolve to understanding the notion of permanence in happiness.

In a later post, I will reflect on the question of "How can I be happy?". I will restrict my thoughts, in this post, to the understanding of happiness itself. Perhaps in that understanding the aforementioned question is laid redundant and pointless?

Momentary joy or convenience is like a puff of asthma medicine: it doesn't cure but provides a relief. Relief is an escape though not all escape is bad (like in the case of asthma). Psychological escape is nearly always shallow. Our inability to enter a state of happiness and joy is the reason why we need American Idol and drugs and Deepak Chopra. We fill our minutes with entertainment and intoxicants (of various kinds) because we do not know how to be happy. A person who is happy will not seek out entertainment. A person who is happy with himself or his family will not be club-hopping. So pleasures, entertainment, ephemeral joys etc. are not indicators of what makes one happy. They are indicators of what we employ to escape the need to recognise that we are unhappy.

People often believe that helping others, forgiving others, reaching out to others or as the quote at the outset said "being able to do something for someone and not expect something in return" are similar sources of "high"s. They aren't what make people happy. They are what make an individual satisfied or pleased with themselves. Why is it that no one recommends seeking help and donations as a source of happiness? Because it creates a sense of being at the mercy of others or being dependent on others. Hence, the opposite is better, viz. bringing other people to your mercy and generosity. To me these are parasitical entertainment: entertainment which requires the existence of a less privileged person whom I can shine on and implicitly establish that I am holier than thou.

Several people say that happiness is about having a good family, good health, good wealth and the like. The problem is in defining "good". No man is ever without a disease. No man has ever had a family where the wife has had no problems or the children, difficulties. Setting our expectations really low seems to be a trick solution but that assumes that we think we can trick Fate. Even if you do not believe in Fate, you have to accept that your definition of good which said "no uncommon illness" takes a massive beating when you are suddenly diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. There are no causes per se. You have nothing to blame. But you still have it in your pancreas.

Reconciling or seeing the silver lining is our response to the lack of fulfilment of our expectations. You wouldn't search for a silver lining in a silver bowl filled with diamonds! I think this simply keeps us comfortable in our state of having expectations and then tricking the "system" by finding alternate explanations with a smug grin which says "Gotcha! You can't make me unhappy!" This is the worst form of ignorance and stupidity and is frankly no different from the drugs people take. Damn! I failed my exams, let me sniff some dope, Aaaaah! feels so much better. I am happy. See? You can't make me unhappy! Hence, I hate the Chicken Soup Chronicles.

But we are human. We will always have expectations and wants and desires. Do you think we should all become robots wanting only to be charged occasionally and maybe given an extra jab of memory once in a while? Well, no! Unless you fancy moving around with jerks and swivels. I really loved those dance moves of several years ago with forearm going up followed by a bend at the hip and then back up and a twist and the next arm going up and... no, not the usual Sunny Deol dance routine!

Expectations spring from our sense of what should be. We are here and we should be there so let us get there. The expectation is to reach there. I earn $3000 a month - I think $10000 is a respectable number - I set expectations of earning $10000 someday. As one might note, such expectations keep shifting which motivational gurus call "setting the bar higher" and what I call chasing a moving truck's tail-light. Perhaps that is what makes a writer want to be popular, win awards, win international fame, the Nobel Prize, more fame, etc. This route implies that happiness is never attained as the place where you thought you would find it has now moved to Miami.

But isn't expectation the foundation of all progress? Isn't it the bedrock of all industry and technological advancement? If we recognise the difference between need and expectation we can brush off most of that. We need some way to preserve our food from decay, hence we invent the refrigerator and manufacture it on assembly lines: not expectation. Expectation is primarily a psychological driver.

Ok, then isn't personal growth the result of expectation? Isn't all individual advancement based on expectation? Should we drop expectations and stagnate where we are? Dropping expectations as a intellectual decision is bound to lead to stagnation. Not so if we understand how progress can be achieved without expectations. Here is where I would turn to Nature. No tree grew out of expectations, no beautiful cherry blossom became so out of expectation and no cat elegant from a pining to be so. Predators are not powerful because they expect to become so and preys are not alert because they expect to be so. Nature grows and progresses organically and effortlessly and that is a powerful foundation for growth. A man who can organically perfect his trade and develop it will grow too. Great poets have lived and walked this Earth without expecting to become poets. Emily Dickenson is one such example. I have personally known artists who simply enjoyed their art and "grew" in their own style.

It is when our sense of growth is derived from outside that our expectations morph into what others expect of us or of the ideal person as defined by others. To learn from the world is not inappropriate but to hitch our wagon to the motivations of the world is a definite recipe for being unhappy. The flip side is an adamance to refuse all rightness and goodness that should percolate into our bubble of focus and growth.

Which brings me to my buzzword of this year (and I think the rest of my life): Rightness. Happiness is essentially impossible in the life of a self which hasn't understood and realised Rightness. Let me create a life (in words) to understand how Rightness is vital.

A young man qualifies himself based on what he thinks the market wants. He gets himself a good job. He seems to be happy before he starts getting bored. He engages in his hobbies, going to movies and CCD with his friends. He hopes to get a girlfriend to fill the emptiness in his life. He decides to buy a car for convenience and as a symbol of growing. He switches jobs, moves cities, makes new friends, thinks he is in love and loves his new 42" plasma TV.

All the while he feels that he is happy before he realises that he is not and "something is missing". He joins the Art of Living course (and this is where I begin to avoid him) and thinks it is ok. He reads Deepak Chopra and other great gurus (and I am beginning to avoid him more). He talks to his friends and is fine when he seems to have achieved all that they have or more and is immediately disappointed when he learns that his junior in college is already married with a swanky pad in uptown Delhi (if there are such parts). He is still living on rent in a 1BHK (because living with other boys is not what people at his level of growth do). He meets people who seem to have found their perfect job. He reads about those guys who quit their PhD and became a mechanic or a guy who had a great job as a writer before leaving it all and going off to Japan (and also finding his love) and feels miserable for not having anything like that in his life. He meets an old friend who has a similar job and a decent wife and 2 playful kids and wonders why he didn't get that (hint: he didn't marry). He returns home and receives news about his bonus and is happy. He take a few friends out for dinner at the new Chinese restaurant and the meal is great. He calls home and his folks are happy and his mother suggests that they can now conduct his sister's marriage with some more style. He is happy and says "Of course, anything for Guddi." He is happy now and sleeps well.

A few days later he Skypes with a friend who tells him how much fun it is working in Vienna and how he should get out of stuffy India and explore the world. He opens his trunk full of pictures and news clippings of various places in the world and sighs deeply. He realises that he is bored with his work (as in, who wouldn't be entering data and filling out forms and conducting meetings?). He speaks to his sweetheart who sympathises with him and he feels better. He decides to apply abroad, does so and eventually reaches London where he has a similar job. The environment is different. He makes new friends, buys a lot of cool stuff (which you don't get back home) and is enjoying himself. After a few months, he misses home, is bored with his job, goes to pubs with his friends and comes back home to his wife (oh! yes, he is married now).

I could go on but it wouldn't help beyond this point. This is pretty much how life is for nearly 80-90% of people whom I have met. Some go on achieving whatever they plan for and everyone assumes they are hence, happier. Some don't and everyone assumes they are less happy.

Compare this to a guy who goes through the usual college and job days and one day realises that all that he has is a bunch of activities, some nice and pleasurable, some not so nice and not so pleasurable. So he sits down under a mango tree (because the chance of something nasty falling down from great heights is lesser and usually whatever falls is tasty) and puts things in front of him. He starts looking at his life and wonders what is he doing. What is his real self in all of this? What is it that makes him happy (or makes him think so)? What are the things that he cannot stand? He watches his entire life (so far) and looks deep within. As he grows familiar with himself, he recognises the truth of things and his actions. He recognises how much he let the outside world influence him and how much he avoided meeting his inner self. He is more comfortable with his individual self and is able to listen better. No, this is not something that can be done in 10 minutes of your lunch break. Once he is more comfortable with his self, he is guided by it and hence, proceeds on a life which is in tune with his entire being. As he lives this visceral truth he begins understanding the way of life itself and the illusory nature of wanting Happiness forever at all times. He starts recognising the inevitability of mishaps and annoying incidents. When someone cuts through the queue and buys a ticket out of turn he does get angry. When someone cheats in an exam and passes, he is annoyed. Over time he recognises it is unfairness and deception and cruelty and indecency that annoy him and not the individuals per se. When someone uproots his saplings and runs away he builds a better fence. He doesn't allow for such incidents to bother him for long. Gradually he faces the part of his self that is annoyed and disturbed by such incidents around him and understand what in him causes that reaction. He begins to connect more with the Divine and in the process is able to realise the wholeness of things. He is still doing work that he enjoys (be it by giving up his PhD or shifting to Japan). He is still connected to people of all kinds but he is no longer dependent on them and hence, their actions leave lesser imprint on his mind and life. When someone cheats him and gets away with it, he is able to see how this piece fits into the entirety of things and is able to act accordingly (lodge a complaint with the police or not bother). When he finds a job unsatisfactory he is able to realise it, drop it and accept another job which is in tune with his being (might be a mechanic's job or a writer's or a banker's). When he find a person poisonous he is aware as he is with an ingenuous person. In being like water, he is not cut by any sword.

People ask him whether he is happy and he says "I am" and they think he meant "I am happy". He probably meant "I, simply, am".

For it is impossible to be happy (as we commonly define it) for long. We keep altering that definition based on circumstances and knowledge. With such a shifting definition of happiness, it is impossible to realise it as a permanent fixture because it is in our frame of ignorance and inadequate knowledge.

The only way to be is either in ignorance or in union with the Tao. To others, being one with the Tao might mean being happy (though the cynical few might scoff and feel that such a man is without a car or delicious caviar or has never been to Vegas, which is true). The sage is neither happy nor unhappy as they are not qualities that exist in that realm. Ignorance breeds a sense of happiness or unhappiness and we might find means to escape from one for a long period of time. He can keep frowning all the time but still be one with the Tao and hence neither happy nor unhappy or both. He could well be smiling. He approves of nothing nor disapproves of anything because he is aware. He is useless and in that, he useful to the Tao. He tills the soil and takes the grain to the market. He doesn't cease to wash himself or his clothes. He eats his meals as per the needs of the body and not in need for an experience.

All this is fine you say (actually, I say) but we are not sages. We don't wish to be sages. We wish to enjoy the possibility of this world. Why shouldn't we? We wish to eat at the best restaurants and wear the finest threads and ensure that our money is not stolen. We do not wish to be paupers just to avoid being thieved. We do not wish to remain clerks in an office. We want to become officers and more because we are capable of it. We want to have children because we are virile.

But that is not what I say (though you say it). A sage is not one without experience and growth but one whose experience and growth stems from a source which is not a mere decision. In building his foundation on the Tao he is without reaction (which is creating expectations based on one's capabilities), whereas those who base their life on wants and desires will perhaps get it (and be satisfied) or not (and hence, feel dejected). He is in the flow of the Universe and hence has nothing to gain or lose. You, on the contrary, will have a lot to lose and gain and hence, be happy or sad in varying proportions. In standing up against Fate you have greater disappointments and agony. By walking with Fate, the sage has nothing to feel disappointed about. You have memories to recall when you were happy. He has none. You have moments in your life you wish you could wipe out. He has none. No, he doesn't have amnesia, too.

For everyone who is not a sage, happiness is a random occurrence. You might think that you are currently happy because you planned on all the things in your life which led to this happiness (you slogged in college, worked hard, invested wisely, bought conveniences which help make life simpler and so much more better) but the lack of any disruption during the course of your life is what makes your happiness random. There are thousands of people in the US today who can claim the same energy and effort but their wealth is all gone now. They aren't happy. There is no difference between their lives and yours except for the chance timing of misfortune. You might find happiness in walking along a lake or through the woods, but what happens when you return home? What happens when you return to work the next day? What happens when your child meets with an accident? As long as happiness is the absence of misfortune and mishaps, so long it will continue to be a random occurence. The minute one is comfortable with that, a search for happiness is futile in its intent. One can only look inwards and that would (possibly) lead you to becoming a sage which you are not interested in.

Hence, happiness boils down to the prolonged recurrence of convenient events and incidents, not requiring us to face challenges which do not give us a high or sense of achievement, not to mention the absence of misfortune and mishaps. To some it is good family, good health and good wealth (convenience), to some it is leading organisations to making more profit(convenience + achievement), to some it is building a railroad system (yes, I am referring to you Ms. Taggart). Given that it is so random, pinning our entire purpose of being on it seems wasteful. Still we do.

Even for those who wish to remain non-sages, the answer to the question of "What is happiness?" is personal and hence, has to be framed based on one's own wants and desires. In order to make that longer lasting, those wants and desires would need to be based on a better understanding of our motive forces which requires introspection and a deeper understanding of oneself.

How, then, can one expect a generic answer (except for the one I gave in the previous paragraphy which sounds cynical)? Still, we ask ourselves that and we discuss it with others. We would like to be happy now and not in 30 years from now. We want to check-in to great hotels and buy tickets to that rock concert (seriously? And you still wonder why you aren't happy?). We still want to be rich and famous. Honestly, so do I. Well, all the best.

PhD Management Ranking - 2009

Financial Times published their global MBA ranking early this year. I had done a similar massaging of the numbers last year to arrive at what could possibly represent a decent PhD ranking. My motives remain the same though the formula I have adopted is perhaps different. Below is the result of a rather jobless evening!

Rankings make sense only till 83 as the ones beyond that probably don't offer a PhD programme. I have given the highest weight to the Doctoral Ranking though the ranking over the past 3 years and this years (in decreasing order of weight) have been given importance too. Hence, Manchester doesn't rank above MIT Sloan (for instance). In this sense, I believe that the ranking below is a better representation of a decent PhD ranking. Other columns (other than the country and univ. name!) have also been given importance. Haas beats Erasmus because its research ranking is better. INSEAD is lower than Man-U because its Doctoral ranking is bad although its ranking in 2009 and the past 3 years is good. Tepper goes down because its 2009 and 3-year-avg are low and its research ranking is poor too. If you find a discrepancy which is too irrational, then do let me know.

So, why am I doing this? If you searched for PhD Management Ranking in Google, my blog shows up in the top few results. The others are not offering good data (except phds.org and even there the results don't seem to tally with FT.com). Hence, if there are people out there searching for this info and they seem to like what they found on the previous post (and hence the high ranking of that page) then they might find the 2009 thingy also useful. Alright, I seem to have lost track of what was it that compelled me to write this post!

(Click on the image below and don't strain your eyes)

Prospective Adults

My past few weeks have been happily spent with my nephew who has a world of his own and a logic to match. Here are some of his conversation snippets:

Nephew: That is why I love you?
Sis: Why?
N: Because you stick things for me (she was fixing the broken trunk of his elephant)
S: And if I didn't?
N: Even then.

(I have to be technically correct and saying "small" to a little boy is technically invalid)
Me: When you were smaller I used to sing this song for you and put you to sleep.
(He listens for a while)
N: But I am not feeling sleepy
Me: If you were to lie down and close your eyes and let me pat you, then you would fall asleep.
N: I would sleep anyway then. Is that Krishna's flute? (noting the flute played in the background score of the song)

N: Paati, I am going to see black Ganapati (that's his favourite temple near our house). I will be sitting there. You come whenever you want to.
(All of us simply shake our head while he walks out. In a while he returns)
N: I will leave my crocs here.
Sis: Why?
N: What if I leave it there and when I am talking to black Ganapati, someone steals it? (seriously? your size?)

And I could go on listing the funny things he says throughout the day. We play this game where there is an imaginary TV and he has the remote. He says "click" (more like "chuck") and I am supposed to act like as if I am watching the TV (enacted by my giving running commentary about the Tom & Jerry cartoon that is supposedly playing) and he says "click" again and I am supposed to cry and whine that I do not get time to watch TV etc. The irony is that this game started when I was mocking the way he would cry every time my mother changed channels to her serials (I am glad he hasn't taken a fascination for them) and he found it more funny than mocking! Since then, the game stuck.

A few weeks ago and on several earlier instances, I had had a chance to discuss the approach we take with children and their behaviour and how it compares with our response to adult behaviour. A common comment one hears is "Children are so innocent and pure and selfless". It might seem funny that I would object to all of that (to varying degrees) especially after taking no pains to hide the extent to which I love children.

Children are innocent in as far as their intentions go but they are not innocent in achieving their ends. Observe a child and how s/he knows exactly whom to ask for that extra piece of chocolate or how to ask (big eyes, cute cuddles, maybe a tear or two). When one carefully observes children (and I have enjoyed doing that) one finds it difficult to deny that children are the prototypes of what adults become. Let me present my arguments (if you are still around reading this blasphemous piece by someone who calls himself a child lover). Towards the end, you might also find reasons as to why we still stick to them and allow ourselves to be blinded.

Children (let us restrict ourselves to ages 0-10) are considered to be innocent, selfless, loving and creative. They are also considered to be noisy, pesky, cantankerous and always the first one to pick (and drop) your most precious China. Children are never selfless. Frankly, they are the most selfish forms of human beings. They do not care for the situation and/or circumstance: they want their meal now, they want their sleep now, they want you to pick them up now! That is not being selfish? What is? I thought selfish meant the following:

devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.

Doesn't that sound just like that 1 year old you met? No doubt, they are without defense and hence, need to be looked after and protected and nurtured. But does it make them more considerate? Understanding? And I would request all moms reading this to not start out with "My little boy is surely not selfish! How rude!" If there is any mother out there who has never lost her cool or corrected her child's behaviour even once during the first 7 years of her child, then I would wonder how she defines "selfish".

Children cannot be reasoned with beyond a point. Rationality doesn't work with them - stories do, exaggerated expressions do, lies do. All that we present even to adults only to have other adults call us schemers or liars. We say "come on, a child cannot be expected to understand". Well, my manager also said "come on, you cannot expect all men to be objective and understand everything without an ego". That is one thing children do not have very much, because they are vulnerable and have pure needs. Since they need food (and cannot procure it themselves let alone prepare it) they will dissolve their feuds with you. Since they are not comfortable with themselves and cannot even imagine being in a room all by themselves for more than 10 sec (without Cartoon Network), they will drop all grievances. Adults do that too when they stand in a long queue in a government office. They too request the officer "to forgive them and let bygones be bygones" but we hold on to our cribs; kids usually do not since their memory is not entirely that sharp. I have observed that children who are fed and surrounded by people will not hesitate to throw a tantrum or act insolent. They can get away with it till the next meal and as long as someone else is willing to pamper them. Hence, the common theory that children in houses where the grandparents reside tend to be a little more bratty (but the best thing about children is that they throw all generalisations into the dustbin).

Children are creative perhaps after a certain age. They are open to being wrong and hence, are without the inhibitions that prevent creativity from surfacing. That doesn't make all of them creative. I have known and seen kids simply doing nothing more than what was required to get them what they wanted. Kids sitting at home because it was extremely hot outside don't create new games - they watch Cartoon Network or Nick or (nowadays) get on the Internet. Even when we open our gates wider and be more tolerant, we can only observe creativity in children in matters where they associate two thing which we would never have. This come more out of ignorance and the comfort in being wrong (as mentioned earlier). A child will tap his spoons on upturned buckets because kids like noise and not because he is a rudimentary Mozart. Kids love noise and mess and bear hugs. They love attention, too. If a kid goes about smearing the wall with a lot of crayons that's because they love the mess that comes with it. They don't care about colour synchrony or shapes and sizes or even meaning. They love the opportunity to smear red over a clean wall and then blue and then throw some water on all of it and then shoe polish (and maybe even taste it a bit). Give a child a sheet of paper and lots of crayons, and the child is mostly likely going to "draw" a lot of circles, then dashes and then dizzying circles till the paper tears or the crayons break or both.

Perhaps when they are 5 and above they do manage to be creative. What is wrong in calling children creative? Nothing. So are adults. No, no, no, adults might be creative but they are also very destructive, hence their creativity is balanced by the destructive nature (because of insecurity, want for power, etc.) unlike kids who are purely creative and hence, score more points. Well, not really. You probably should meet kids!

Kids are instinctively destructive. A lot of their destructive nature is borne on clumsiness and also on their inclination to not care (which to me is the single greatest cause for destruction: Nazis didn't care about the Jews, the Americans didn't care about the civilians in Japan, no soldier cares about the enemy, no religious fanatic cares about the spiritual and/or philosophical inclinations of another). They don't care how much you value your crystal. They do not know or care that water in the Bose speaker system is not funny (though the sounds thereafter might seem so). You can tell them a hundred times not to bounce the ball off the glass of the shelves but they still might. They might sit on your spectacles because they were lost in ninja Hatori's jump across buildings.
I would urge readers to read the book Lord of the Flies (I finally discovered my lost copy of the book: now I have two copies). Golding weaves a remarkable tale about a band of boys stranded on an island and the dynamics between them. There is this scene where Jack tries to establish his supremacy because he can hunt and kill pigs. Their chant repulsed me the first time I read it. Perhaps they fall outside the age range of years stated at the outset.

I have observed children grab another kid's toy or break toys or bang anything they can hold in their hands, to the ground. Children like noise though grabbing another kid's toys is more than just noise. I do not wish to psychoanalyse kids but their acquisitive nature is obvious in nearly all of their interactions and actions. My friend's daughter demands to be the first one to be fed and will not accept anyone receiving their order (at a restaurant) without giving her one spoon of the dish. This might sound like an exception, but most children demonstrate similar traits in different contexts. It might be with toys, attention, food or the TV!

No one teaches them to break and children do not learn after having cracked their first bowl. They will still go ahead and break something else. Perhaps not intentionally but sometimes just because the thing can break. Children love to take things apart. My colleague has had his laptop keyboard replaced several times. Keys simply go missing! So, in their own way, children are destructive. They do not know of a city beyond their house and if they do, they do not think in terms of conquering that city (because their parents give them whatever they want). My nephew once invited another kid to play with him and hugged him. That boy freaked out and ran away. My nephew, being the element he is, began chasing him. The other kid lost his balance and fell so my nephew went over to help him. That kid not knowing what to do to get rid of this boy, bit him really hard on his stomach. My nephew came back crying with red teeth marks around his navel (calamine lotion helps). Both of them were probably 3 years old.

Children are vulnerable and hence, they cling on to adults (usually parents). They cannot dream of a day without them. The sudden absence of the mother or father creates in them a panic attack and they cry inconsolably. If children had their parents around, they do not bother about others. It doesn't matter whether someone is around or not. Love, doesn't exist in such an environment. It sounds harsh to say that children perhaps don't love, but love is a very different state which is not a need based or fear based response. My nephew doesn't love me. He enjoys his time with me and loves it when I animate his book reading sessions. He loves it when I crush him and cover him with kisses. He loves it when I play Kwala and Boowa with him. I don't think he loves anyone other than his mother and in some instances, his father. He does love black Ganpati, though! I don't blame him nor do I feel disappointed. I simply cannot expect a child to be capable of love. A child is capable of being simple and loves to be cuddled (or any other physical contact which, sadly, adults grow to dishonour). But love is too strong a state for them. In order to love, they would need to be conscious and that they are not capable of. The really sharp ones manage to be aware but their awareness is most often focused on signals and indicators for their purpose.

Which brings us to the last post to topple - innocence. That they are. They will trust you and say things as they happened only till they realise that such a family of "things" seem to get dad angry. So they start hiding their occurrences or lie about them. Innocence definitely was there at the outset, but then there are a lot of adults who are innocent till they learn action-reward-punishment patterns. A young researcher might feel that it is ok to discuss his findings with anyone till he learns that plagiarism is rife in the academic circles. A fledgling lawyer (and you could read Sidney Sheldon's Rage of Angels) might believe that everyone will argue only based on facts till he meets his first opponent who "creates" facts. Why! I too believed what people said until I realised that people have every right to go back on their word. Few friends thought I was innocent, but most people thought I was plain stupid.

Since a child has more "new events" and lesser "experience" s/he appears innocent. It would be like subjecting an uneducated man to a crossword puzzle and then calling his attempts as "innocent". Once a child learns that mommy doesn't like spilt milk, he will wipe all the spilt milk and claim that he drank it all. A child who knows that daddy will not like it if he found out who tore his office papers will rush into bed and act like he is sleeping, or stand in a corner scared till mommy comes and scolds daddy for being so harsh on the kid "all for a piece of useless office paper". The kid then knows that going to mommy will save him. Adults do that too. Tarzan, brought up as an animal, would appear innocent to most people in the city (because he doesn't care what he wears and willingly hands over the gold watch to someone who promised him to get it polished) but if he knows an action will get him his Jane, he will do it. Innocence vanishes where there is knowledge and the ability to extrapolate. Children are gaining knowledge and hence, appear innocent. A new programmer or a janitor faced with the task of getting this new cleaning contraption to work, might also appear innocent.

Innocence is the trait of all individuals who do not possess knowledge. Children start out without any knowledge just like villagers who enter the big city. How many movies were made on that theme! Raj Kapoor in India lived off the character of the village bumpkin in nearly all his movies. So yes, children are by default innocent but that trait is not unique to them and they don't cling to it if it causes them any trouble. When people say that "innocence dies as children grow up" it would be equally valid to say "a freshman's innocence vanishes as he becomes a senior".

So what keeps us going on and wanting kids? Hope. That is all that we have and so powerful is its promise that we are willing to go through all the hell (and beauty) that a child can create simply to realise the hope that we would nurture and rear a decent human being, someone who will make us proud, someone who will be our support when we need one, someone who will someday love us the way we did, not looking at any of our (mis)deeds as selfish, destructive, hopeless or pointless. It is merely hope and occasionally the opportunity to love someone without their realising how vulnerable we let ourselves be (for true love will strip you mercilessly) that let's us view these prospective adults as children, a different sub-specie of human beings with the wonderful qualities of selflessness, creativity, love and innocence. Or maybe, as the lady says in the movie Ghost in the Shell, it is our obsessions with creating androids/dolls that leads us to procreation!

Zen Koan - Fame

The sun glowed gently, tip-toeing over leaves sleeping alongside the dew on them. A ladybird whirled in confusion as every dew drop yawned a golden sun of its own. One of the suns joined another, stretching lazily towards yet another, little suns merging into bigger ones before they all dragged them to the tip of a leaf and threatened to drop the sun to the earth where it would be lost forever in a puddle of slush. The leaf arched its spine to let these ephemeral playmates negotiate deals.
A little more, and Shushu would be happy. Shushu watches the drop buoy in mid-air before raising her well-licked paw to catch it. She runs her tongue over her paw and flutters her neck to warm herself. Her erect tail strikes a branch and the tree punishes her with a torrent of cold wetness. Shushu meows sharply and runs into the kitchen.
The students had already risen before the first rays touched the peak of Mount Sukai. They rushed to prepare the water for the teachers. They threw twigs at Shushu to drive her away from their path of early morning scurry.
Yasuhiro-san watched the sun scrape himself against the back of Mount Sukai and emerge well-polished. He smiled and had his tea when he heard someone's geta click lightly on the lowest step to his house. Such are the virtues of being the lowest that music is created only there, thought the great master to himself. The footsteps brought no threat to his doorstep so he continued sipping his tea.
Young Takayuki wasn't certain whether his intrusion would be entertained. After all, he had graduated from the school several years ago and one only returned to donate, teach or admit one's son for studies. He had made enough money, but a donation wouldn't help him now. He was not willing to teach as to become a teacher was to accept that one couldn't be successful in the vast world outside. He had no offspring to nudge along the path to any school.
The master turned around slowly and watched Takayuki-san hesitate at the threshold.
"Takayuki-san? It has been years now! Please do come in."
"Good morning, Yasuhiro-sensei! I am extremely sorry for arriving unannounced and as little benefit to the school."
"Can a rose ever lend its red to the plant?"
"And thus a plant lives on, while roses are crushed in vain love!"
"Bravo! You haven't lost your touch. Such delight is sufficient wealth for this school's coffers. Come in and have tea with me. It is still warm and the chamomile has still not become translucent."
Takayuki-san bowed low and neatly folded his hakama under his knees before sitting in seiza. Yasuhiro-san noticed that the hakama extended the prescribed "exact two-fingers' length" from the knee. He smiled through unmoving lips at the effortlessness with which Takayuki-san achieved that position. They slowly sipped their tea allowing it to slide along the roof while the vapours hit the heavens of their head. Tea was not merely a beverage - it was the blood of refined souls. Yasuhiro-san was known throughout Gunma prefecture as "a man so fine, you could cut him to find silver-tip tea flowing through him".
"What ails you, Takayuki-san?"
The suddenness of the question forced him to gulp more tea than allowed.
"Nothing trivial could have brought you here and nothing mundane could force you to forget that one doesn't gulp tea! What is it?"
Takayuki-san carefully replaced the cup. He extracted a book from within his kimono.
"Yasuhiro-sensei, perhaps this is not worth your esteemed taste, but..."
"Your book? Aah! I have read it. I thoroughly enjoyed it and recommended it to some of my friends too."
"Then you might like to keep this as a small gift from my side."
"You are very kind. Thank you!"
Yasuhiro-san opened it to the first page, read a little and then paginated randomly, reading a little more before shutting the book and placing it by his side.
"Last week, I had performed at the Kyoto concert. I had played the koto."
"You did? Wonderful! Many congratulations."
"As you know, I am working with Jurou-san in his textile mill. Here, I thought this fabric might suit your needs for an elegant kimono. Please do accept it."
Yasuhiro-san smiled and accepted the gift. He ran a finger through the layers and liked what he felt.
"Thank you. You are very generous."
"Sensei, please don't mistake me, but these were few things I genuinely wished to give you."
"I do not doubt your sincerity. Please go on."
"I am not sure what is wrong with my life!"
"You are rather strict, Takayuki-san. Another man, might consider himself gifted. Is your health not keeping you happy?"
"No, no. My health is fine and so is my digestion."
"You sleep well?"
"Fairly well, with dreams."
"Aah! You can make most of Japan envious. Why would you cast your life as wretched? Is there something you would like to do, which you aren't able to?"
"That is the source of all my pains! There is nothing that I am called upon to do, and that I have failed at."
"But you want something more?"
"No. I mean, yes. Why am I not famous?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why am I not famous? Children in my lane look at me with awe, but children here haven't even heard of me. My aunt wants to name her new born Takayuki but no guild names me as their president. I dance, I sing, I write, I paint, I have a vast garden, I make enough money, I am young, I can play 3 instruments, I am strong and can ride a horse, I can hold my sword well and for long in a duel, what more does one need to be famous?"
"And you still debate well, but to answer your question, I don't know, Takayuki-san. I haven't been famous and now I am too old to plan on becoming that."
"But you are famous, Yasuhiro-sensei. Everyone loves you and respects you."
"But I do nothing of what you do, how could I be famous?"
"You are wise and you teach in a manner which is unique. Hence, you are famous."
"Aah! If I remember that, I can never teach! Tell me, my boy, what really is the form of thorn that twists in your heart?"
"All that I create, sensei, seems to go waste."
"And when would it not?"
"When people recognise it, appreciate it, reward it, lift it up and place it on tall golden pedestals. When I become famous and I am known throughout lands far and wide and emperors invite me to their courts."
"Oh my! You are a creator. The only thing I create is tea, though I would give it up any day only if Kumiko-san would graciously move her house into the school. But jokes apart, your pains are less familiar to me. Perhaps we should meet Teruo-san and seek his help."
"Teruo-san? But he is mere myth."
"He is myth to those who'd rather wear myths as armours. Please have lunch with us. We shall leave thereafter."
Takayuki-san spent the rest of the morning worrying over whether he had done the right thing by coming to the school. He decided that he would be polite and live through his teacher's plan before consulting someone more experienced and successful than his teacher. Yasuhiro-san instructed a student on preparing luggage for two travellers with a light trek to be anticipated.
"And do not forget to pack 2 bundles of fine paper."
"And a brush and ink?"
"No, just paper."
After a filling lunch, they walked in the direction of the forests that covered Mount Sukai. They spoke about various matters and soon Takayuki-san forgot about his pressing concerns and spoke deeply and widely about nearly everything that lent itself to a conversation. The master didn't spare him a wicked minute which might return him to his earlier melancholy and introduced various topics and thoughts, goading Takayuki-san to continue his well-educated discussions. By the time they reached the wall of the mountain, Takayuki-san realised that his master probably knew all that he was speaking about and perhaps more. He suddenly became silent.
"Let us sleep here, by this wall, Takayuki-san. Tomorrow is another day."
"But do you know where Teruo-san lives?"
"Yes, I do. Very few know the way to his place."
They spread their rudimentary bed and stretched themselves on it.
"Isn't the night sky beautiful?"
"Yes, it is, sensei."
"A star wherever I look or a star's closed window."
"Ha ha ha. You could be poet, sensei. A quiet summer night - A star.. no... not like that,

A quiet summer night
Blowing on smouldering stars -
Some glow white, some black."

"Beautiful!"
"It is, isn't it? Oh! I have to write it down. Do you have a sheet of paper, sensei?"
"I have two bundles of paper."
"And brush?"
"No!"
"Nevermind, I can use the sap of a twig. Please allow me to borrow a sheet."
"No!"
Takayuki-san was taken aback.
"I am sorry, sensei. Did I offend you? Perhaps I have spoiled your sleep with my incessant talk."
"Not at all. I loved it and your haiku."
"But..."
"The paper is not for you. It is for Teruo-san. He needs it more than you."
"The ritual offering of paper to Teruo-san?"
"No, that is what people do. I give him sheets of paper occasionally so that he can create beauty."
"How come if he is the greatest writer in the world, no one has ever read anything of him?"
"Because he is the greatest creator amongst men."
"I don't understand."
"You might, later. For now, enjoy the stars and cool breeze."
Takayuki-san kept chanting his haiku. He simply had to remember it. He was sure this would win the Emperor's summer haiku competition. Yasuhiro-san smiled at the neighbouring drone of haiku and fell asleep.
Takayuki-san dreamt of white gazelles leaping through the bushes. Each one of them was a poem and fell on a harp which played them differently. He was seated in a swing and rose with the notes into the air to kiss clouds shying away from him. When he woke up, he remembered that he had called out to the birds and said "Come to me, for this is life. Let us all sing a rainbow and be happy."
"Slept well, Takayuki-san?"
Takayuki-san noticed that his teacher was already ready. He rose quickly and greeted his master. He went about his ablutions and returned to the spot where they slept. The wall of the mountain was no longer there, but now before him was a sinuous path.
"Master, what happened? Where is the wall of the mountain against which we slept?"
"This is the path to Teruo-san."
"But... how?"
"Well, if your soul feels that it should sing a rainbow and be happy, then the path to Teruo-san must emerge. After all, Teruo-san is only available when the soul seeks him."
Takayuki-san stared at his master and quietly collected his belongings. They trudged on silently before arriving at a cave. The cave glowed a sanguine warmth and Takayuki-san could hear someone recite poems inside. They stepped in to find an old man sitting behind a fire, reading from sheets of paper.

"Welcome, welcome, Yasuhiro-san. What a pleasure it is to have you here! I see you bring your student along."
"How are you, Teruo-san? You look more alive every time I meet you. And how did you guess he was my student?"
"You jest, don't you? Has anyone to think why it is always a rose that emerges from a rose bush? Please sit down. Please have some water."
He pointed to the stream flowing beside him and out of the cave. He returned to reading from his sheets of paper and when he was done, he tossed the papers into the fire.
"My name is Takayuki."
"Hello, I am Teruo."
"It is an honour to meet the greatest artist in person."
"How do you know I am the greatest when you haven't read a word of what I have created?"
Takayuki-san stared at his toes. Somehow he thought all of this to be a trick and the man in front of him to be some friend of his master. But, how did he know about his earlier comment about Teruo-san?
Teruo-san read another page and tossed it into the fire.
"That was a beautiful poem, don't you think so?" asked Takayuki-san.
"You tell me."
"I think it was very well structured and its form was just right. You don't approve of the author's works?"
Teruo-san and Yasuhiro-san smiled at each other.
"What is there to approve or disapprove of the author? I am interested in the poem. I like it, if you must know."
"But you threw it into the fire."
"Oh! That was because I have to keep the fire alive. There is no wood here and if I descend to collect wood, it would take so much time that I will return to a pile of cold ash. So I toss the papers in."
"But the author might complain."
"He doesn't."
It was then that it dawned on Takayuki-san.
"They are your poems!"
"Yes, indeed. Would you like to listen to another?"
"Most certainly."
Teruo-san spread a sheet between his fingers and proceeded to recite:

"The nightingale sings
To the gently dropping beats
Of falling flowers."

"Splendid! Splendid!"
"You like it?"
"This is most amazing. I love it."
"Thank you", said Teruo-san and dropped the sheet of paper into the fire.
"What!? Why did you throw it away?"
"Because the fire was dying. Without it, I will most certainly die. I have to keep feeding the fire else it will kill me. Which fire is more important? The one in front of me or the one that I imagine?"
"But the poem!?"
"Oh! I finished reciting it."
Yasuhiro-san stepped forward and said, "Teruo-san, we bring you a small gift."
The master handed over one bundle to Takayuki-san who was still staring aghast as the flames ate up the poem. It was then that he noticed the burning paper was blank. He slowly looked up at Teruo-san and bowed down before offering the bundle of paper.
"Please accept this gift, oh greatest of creators."