Musings

To grow

The first day, I didnt't even notice it until someone called me to ask 'What do you have?'. My company had placed in each cubicle, a indo or plant in a small glass jar (about the size of a tea-cup). There were more than one variety (the names of which I forgot) and my friend was merely making a statistics of which variety was more. It was the annual day for the company and the idea was to let the plant grow along with the company and its employees. Many skeptics soon raised their own jokes and yours truly was soon in the party. The truth is, however, I liked the idea very much. Long ago, I once mused that growing a plant is a challenge in itself - to know what it needs to grow and more importantly to know what would hinder its well-being. I had once downloaded a desktop plant that was supposed to grow with the amount of time you spend with the plant (system idle time). That didn't work out and I was happy, now that I had a plant to grow.

My plant was a type of green grass. The jar itself was simple with the only decorations being a few colored stones on top of the mud - they simply looked made for each other. I watered it carefully. Instructions for the well-being of the plant followed in a mail and I did my own research in the net. The results were a bit disappointing - it told me that indoor plants are bred to thrive with little care. I wanted something that demands more attention.

Its been a long while since then. My plant has managed to survive so far - an achievement in itself for I see a lot of cubicles without it. The green leaves have got a tinge of brownness about them and despite my sincerest efforts, I have not been able to avoid them. Perhaps I did not care enough - or perhaps its paying the price for not wanting so much attention...I would never know.

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Never.

It was happy news galore this weekend. The talks for my kid sis' marriage are almost over and the engagement and marriage dates are fixed. I was happy, albeit in some corner of my mind I still saw this as a compromise. Not that I have something against the groom, but it seems so much rushed. Somehow my sis would never say it to me and I know that I cannot venture more into it - we have always been like this. Amidst all this, I feel powerless, something that I have not felt in a long time.

The engagement preparations are going on and my sis has a lot of wishes - she did care enough to inform me some. I am currently working on them, to give her as much as I can. Ofcourse, my parents are in a strange dilemma and I have to make them understand a lot of things.

Last time I was in my home was for Ramzan. It was customary for elders to give the younger ones money as a gift on that day. My father always presents us with a brand new note, the denominations don't matter. He gave up giving money to me and my brother, after we landed on a job. This time he gave it to my sis right in front of me and I thought I should give it to her as well. I somehow pulled myself and went away without reaction - the reason was not sought, though I knew it. In all probabilities, she wouldn't be my sister next year. She would never be the same. And that makes it two of us...

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The Epiphany

Saturday mornings were taken for granted to be spent sleeping. I had the same plans for this weekend, though I knew better of it. Someone would eventually call me up and when I answer in my laziest voice, they would ask me 'Oh...are you still in night shift?'. Being the nice lad as I am, I say that its alright. It was not to be, today. The caller simply said 'Wake up'.

The call did not last for more than a minute and it was all I could manage. I dutifully went to try to sleep again and as ever, couldn't even manage to close my eyes properly. I got up grudgingly, cursing myself for being what I am, a rigorous no-sleep-after-waking-up man. I had come from office late yesterday and planned to spend most of the time in the office this weekend and still I couldn't manage to sleep again. Sometimes nice habits hurt too, not in the traditional why-am-I-being-so-good attitude, but really bad.

Not often have I been asked to wake up, so commandingly - there was not even a speck of request in the voice. It boomed as evangelists keep hearing the voice of God, as probably prophets heard it when they were sleeping in caves. It was an order and only one person could do it. There was no doubt in my mind...the meek shall indeed inherit the earth.

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A Silent Drive

Fantasies are always abound within me and this is one such. I don't call myself romantic, but sometimes I do make such dreams, dreams that make me smile. The sober mask I wear most of the time however, is not something that I feign - but rather the epicarp of whats inside me.

The fantasy can be explained thus : "I need to drive a car, alone, in a wet, empty mountainous road, with an emotionless face". Greeneries around are a must and though I said 'alone' I would not kvetch to a quiet company. Now, readers may instantly connect it to the Maruti Alto ad that depicts one such scene, but please note that the drive was not alone (and far from a mute company) and not in the mood I visualise.

Driving a car is far from my passion. I do know driving but am as good in driving as I am in preparing American Chopsuey. Times would change and I can only become good in the enchanting art of learning to use subtle pressures to control a machine that gives you almost infinite power.

My well experienced hands and legs would move automatically to guide the car in its path. I would be listening intently, to the monotonous hymn of the engine, admiring the power of man who created it and let it controlled. Obstacles are expected in the path, only to be brushed aside - like the trivial things we spend time on, in the move towards destiny. The fagged hands and legs, pray for little mercy and continue in their own will. My face would remain astern, without the sense of bewitching beauty on either side of the road.

The windows would be open. Its my preference. The destiny shall be known.

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The Walls

I like abstract wallpapers. And their liking was something that I discovered only recently. As a college-goer, playing many games a week and fond of movies, I always decorated my desktop with wallpapers depicting the latest sci-fi movie or the coolest game. My most favourites were wallpapers of the 'Quake' games and that of matrix trilogy movies.

Times changed and I became a corporate worker. I still continued filling my desktops with richly-colored wallpapers. Having left out the habit of playing games and not many sci-fi movies hitting the screens (in my opinion, 'The Matrix' would beat any sci-fi movie released after that), I was left roving the cyberspace to find suitable wallpapers. Thats when abstract themes hit me first. I tried a few of them and found them not only very likeable but suiting the formal environment in my office. From then on, I have made it a habit of collecting abstract wallpapers from the net, and change my wallpapers so often, sometimes several times a week.

My current wallpaper is my favourite. It depicts a shirtless man in wilderness. His arms are wide open and a flurry of white doves rise from his heart and fly from him. Its beautifully depicted and more importantly, its monochromatic...

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The Vent

Kicking a stone on the road never felt so good.

It was sunday night and I was on my usual night stroll. Only that it was very cold and I wondered if I would walk half the distance I normally would. I didn't. I doubled the distance. Getting immune to cold was never as easy as it looked that night. I strolled through the familiar streets and passed on to more unfamiliar and dark streets. The empty roads, the dark corners didn't seem to deter me for some strange reason.

I was thinking...thinking how different the sky was, with very few stars. It was always like this in a big city. I was thinking how different I had become, getting so numb to most people, becoming more immune to what others think of me. I was thinking as to why after all this, I still carry on being what I am. I was angry, a emotion that I am so used to now. I had to vent my anger, the stone was ideal.

Kicking a stone on the road, never felt so good.........

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In the shift

November 16, which just went by, was a special day for me. It was on the same day, one year before that I was put in a project and I started my knowledge transfer (softies prefer the dreaded acronym, KT). It was also the day that I started my night-shift life. So, I have completed one full year of night shift - I am no longer supposed to work in night shift and theoretically,&n bsp;have been allocated into a more comfortable middle shift, but its nonetheless, has not been successful in changing my perception about the shift I work in. I still rant about my shift, something that most people readily patronize with.

One aspect, which I have learnt the hard way was not try to force yourself being awake in normal hours. During my first few months, I used to get up early in saturday morning, and come what may, make sure that I didn't sleep in the afternoon. This ensured a early call to sleep on saturday nights and subsequently a better sunday. This thing never went too far and I understood that I was trying to force it too much on myself. These days I rarely sleep until 3 or 4 in the night during weekends. Waking up is another issue for someone always calls me - thats life.

Once a friend asked me about the timings of my sleep during weekends and I simply stated it as it was. When asked, why I was trying to be awake until early morning, I simply answered, "its my shift". A burst of laughter followed and I took more than a second to realise what I had told. The very fact that I had not realised it until the answer was laughed at, made me worry. It still does.

I wanted to name the bloglet 'Night shift blues'. But this title is better and less stereotypic.

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Losing the roots

Not that often, do I open the post page and try to come up with something to write. Its not that I do write spontaneously everytime, however. I always tended to come up with something or the other in the first few moments. Well, today doesn't seem to be my day. The day was not particularly bad and I would be very selfish if I asked more out of it. Its just that the emptiness that surrounds me and the void within me makes me feel light - light as a feather in an environment without gravity. Believe me, the feather may feel light but without gravity, it has no purpose. It has lost its roots.

Speaking about gravity, I had grown up hearing stories about gravity being such a wonderful thing. It was claimed that the gravity in earth to be very ideal, that it right enough to let us walk but not that big a force to pin us down in one place. I believed it, more so, when some people claimed that such a wonderful thing could only be Gods grace. I learnt science, only later.

Gravity, may be ideal suited for our size, but then we might not be of this size, if we were in jupiter (more mass, more gravity) or mercury (less gravity). The reason is that we evolved so that we would survive our environment. Actually the earth was once dominated by endoskeletal creatures (insects, bugs which have a hard shell cover outside), when all organims thrived on the large oceans. Oceans provide a low-gravity environment and endoskeletal creatures (organisms with bones inside) were diminutive in size compared to the gigantic insects of that time. Times changed and once organisms migrated to land, the scene changed. Exoskeletal creatures could not survive long enough for their hard skeletons were difficult to carry around in the high gravity land and endoskeletal creatures thrived. Eventually, each one evolved into what they are now - the insects being diminutive in size and large endoskeletals like mammals, birds and fishes.

Had the gravity been different, we would be looknig diffirent. Thats all.

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Its ruthless - its 'incessant'

I like the term 'incessant rain'. I am still not sure where I read or heard this term for the first time, but I do use it a lot. When I say 'use it a lot', its not as though I use the expression verbally or while penning some clutter. I use it whenever I see rain flowing through a frosted glass panel - to describe it, not to others but within me. Well, frosted glass panel may not be a mandatory for I can recall using it in other circumstances too. But its always within myself - its as though I find it too precious a term to share it with others.

Having accustomed to cab drops during my night shifts, I have witnessed water flowing through the glass panels (too bad they are not frosted), a lot of times. Water droplets are another case, with them trying to flow through the same path as its predecessor which was falied by gravity a moment ago. I need a continuous flow of water, as though its been sprayed on the glass..but spraying would inadverently spoil the party. Its only beautiful, when its natural.

Some thoughts are also very incessant. They seem to be so continuous that you feel as though they existed as long as you exist. Incessant thoughts are not always pleasant. I hate them to be frozen.

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The ticking of the clock

The ticking of the clock always is a sore reminder for me, that I am losing valuable time. Long back when I was a kid, my teacher was explaining to me the importance of time. She told me that the moment we are currently in, can never be got back. I did not understand. She saw the puzzled look in all our faces (we were not even in my teens then), and asked us the date. It was June 12th (I honestly can't remember the year but I could still hear our chorus voice yelling 'June 12th'). Then she told us that once June 12th is past, we can never get back. I snapped back, we do get it in next year. She smiled - she was expecting this to come from a certain fool in the class, I couldnt guess who. She told me that it would be the next year then and June 12th of this year would never come back. I was puzzled as to why this happens.

Too often, when I sit idle, and if I hear a clock ticking in the background, I think about the time I lose by sitting idle. Each tick would be like a hammer breaking the useful work I could have done. I always liked the clock to tick, when I am doing some useful work - most notably, when I am studying something really important.

Times have changed, I dont hear the clock ticking anymore. Probably I need to buy one with a loud ticking sound - how can I explain that to the shopkeeper?

There are many theories which try to explain the evolution of the universe. One theory is called the pulsating theory, which predicts that after the universe grows to a finite size in a finite time, it would shrink again to form the initial mass. In that case, time would run in reverse. A scientist explained it like this - "Imagine a porcelain saucer which you broke. The smashed bits could stick together to form the complete saucer and automatically fly to your hand". I have not broken a porcelain saucer, ever. But still I wish this theory to be true.......

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The repository

I spend a lot of time in the rummaging over the web. I have a select list of sites that I skim almost daily and another list which I spend time in, atleast once in a while. What started as a casual habit has become a regular routine for me.

What all do I read? everything, well almost. I sometimes become so much interested in one subject that I read a lot about it in a week or two and then leave it for good. My varied interests have ranged from cyberlaws to serial killers and probability theory in wormholes to the young earth creationists' view of the earth. A lot of these are still being followed by me, faithfully. I never believe in newsletters or favourites folder in the browser, but once visited, I never fail to remember how to reach there.

Is this some kind of a hunger for knowledge? Its difficult to say yes or no. Its both. I read them for I have time, but once I started I cannot stop unless I get all the answers.

I like mocksites - I do remember one about flat earth society and another totally hilarious one about crickets eating children. I do have some use for all my reading - for showing-off my superior knowledge in an argument and ofcourse to write blogs about, when I have nothing else :)

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Its chilling again

Given a choice, I would always prefer a freezing night to a hot day. I guess being part of a tropical country like India, thats understandable. After complaining about the long summer, I had little relief with the rainy season. I do love rains but hate the mess it leaves - muddy roads drenched in rain is always in the vicinity of the top of my 'most hated lists'. Having endured the rainy season, winter has arrived with its glowing hostility.

Cold is often associated with hostility,but not for me. I like the fact that the cold winds hit me hard, sending shivers all over my body. I like the shiver you get after spending some time in the cold. It used to puzzle me at first, the slow rise of some pain inside you and then how it explodes suddenly, wherein you lose control and make a firm shake of your whole body. Not only do you shiver externally, you do it internally as well. I sometimes feel that we do it as though to shrug away the problems in our shoulder (Remember that I had this feeling, even before I read 'Atlas Shrugged').

I do love black jackets and want to buy one soon. But I am afraid that I may end up missing the chilling winds....

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A quiet sojourn

Being an ardent fan of O. Henry, I could very well name the bloglet 'After 8 months'. It was my first visit to my grandma's home in 8 months and the terrible incident that happened in between, would always be remembered. I had written about it earlier that she has not cried in front of me and I doubted if she would cry now. She did cry but more to my brother who was all kind words, full of emotion and not to me, the unflinching soul with a cold expressionless face.

Can a face be as really expressionless as I claim to be? I always claimed that it could never be, for some emotion, or atleast the deep thinking within would always betrayed in the the index of our soul. But I was wrong as I was in many other things. Hearing her, seeing her in tears, I was not sympathetic, I was not angry at the people who made her cry nor was I trying to figure out a way to get her out of the misery. I was carrying a blank face for I knew that it was my mistake, something that I could have prevented. Ok...that should mean that I was atleast angry at myself, did my face register anger? I doubt it for I very well knew, even after what has happened done, I would not lift another finger to help her out after her wailiings are over, much less spend time thinking about it.

I do love her and sometimes feel, that in a quiet way, I have earned her respect. But I doubt if I will ever live to it. She is an old woman and may have known why my face was a blank yesterday. Six hours was all I could give her and after that, I started my journey back to the real-world, the world where I struggle everyday to make both ends meet, a world where I have to help a thousand others, a world where I love my work and would do anything to save it. Atleast I claim to be...

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The Prayer

Laila-thul-kadr or the 27th night of the holy month of Ramzan, which is a special night for muslims, was two days ago. It was special for me too, albeit for different reasons. I had developed a likeness to the night, despite by agnostic attitude, due to two reasons. First and foremost is the physical strain it puts on you when you have to do the namaaz for over an hour continuously. I always liked the fact that it drives me to a point wherein my knees beg for more of the sajda a position wherein you bend down your head to touch the ground. It lasts for a few seconds but helps the knees in regaining the strength.

Prayer is something, I do sparingly to please my parents who would certainly be taken back by my attitude towards god (they are still unaware of it). But after the prayers were over, something else happened which gave new insight into my attitude. It was the 'bayaan' or a supposedly small speech made during the prayer by our imam about the religion. His suposedly stretched for almost one hour. More than that, I was aghast at the totally unscientific facts that he was pouring out. I imagined that people listening were either complete dorks or just putting their brains AWOL. It then dawned on me that perhaps I owe my agnostic feelings to such unscientific talk by some unknown strangers who beleived everything that they hear. I reconciled to think, if I could be wrong too. The person went on talking trying to get to all our hearts, the message of divinity.

The only other thing I like about the night is the travel back home. I always enjoyed the ride, for the night is always cold and moving at breakneck speed against a hostile cold wind brings up my spirit in some unknown way. The winter night was very cold and having a delayed start, the three-minute journey had everything I expected. The cold wind transpassed my thin shirt without any trouble. Its hostility struck me as needles against my skin. It let me shiver without shame, it touched my heart. It was the only one that did so, for the night.

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