Jan 29 2012
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Introspection, Uncategorized

The noise in my head

It is fascinating how my mind works, or wanders rather. It is in constant motion, flowing from thought to thought. Triggered by impulses, driven by imagination but bound by memory – all at the same time. At some point, this motion becomes an impression – of what things mean, should be or shouldn’t be.  Observe it for five minutes and I can’t avoid a smirk turning into an impish grin. Gosh!  I act based on these impressions – of what success is; what happiness is; what righteousness is.  Every single moment.

All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last
~Marcel Proust

It continues incessantly, from the first moment of awakening in the morning until the blurry boundary of half conscious dreams, before sleep engulfs.  How much of this time am I really aware of the mind. The tricks i’m playing on myself – that I am happy or loved or otherwise. It is the mind which lives. Its like my mind and me are two different things.

But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?

Yes I can train the mind and use it to achieve something by ‘thinking’. Do the same things constantly and the mind forms a habit – so it doesn’t need to ‘think’ but I can act. While it practices some more tricks.  Only when I’m fully absorbed in ‘thinking’ about something that the mind stops wandering. But then, it just needs another excuse or an external impulse (trigger) to get back to what its natural state is – to wander. These days, the triggers are one too many.

Why is its natural state to wander? How do I stop the noise in my head?

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Dec 09 2011
4 Comments
Books, Inspiration

Books that inspire me


Lectures on living by J Krishnamurthy

This isn’t about one book but all of J Krishnamurthy’s talks translated into several books. His messages are simple but timeless and goes straight to the most fundamental questions in life. I don’t consider myself capable of writing any summary, so I’ll not try.

Self-knowledge is not knowing oneself, but knowing every movement of thought. Because the self is the thought, the image, the image of K and the image of the `me.’ So, watch every movement of thought, never letting one thought go without realizing what it is. Try it. Do it and you will see what takes place.

Biography of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson

I’m sure several people in my generation will idolize Steve Jobs the innovator. What also inspired me was his ability to inspire others towards his vision. He had some big weaknesses, but he focused on his strengths and on creating something.  What also inspires me is how he lived on his ideals – of not aiming to become the richest man in the world (although he could) but to leave a legacy.

“Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me … Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful… that’s what matters to me.”

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

A wonderful fable that can change one’s life, give you the courage to follow your dreams.

It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.

Whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It’s your mission on earth. And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

A 1943 novel that inspired a whole generation. To me, it still does

“But you see,” said Roark quietly, “I have, let’s say, sixty years to live. Most of that time will be spent working. I’ve chosen the work I want to do. If I find no joy in it, then I’m only condemning myself to sixty years of torture. And I can find the joy only if I do my work in the best way possible to me. But the best is a matter of standards–and I set my own standards. I inherit nothing. I stand at the end of no tradition. I may, perhaps, stand at the beginning of one.”

Who Moved My Cheese by Dr Spencer Johnson

A one hour read that can remind you changing is growing . And inevitable.

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

A book that isn’t copyrighted anymore and book that should be printed for free and distributed. Maybe ill do that someday when I can afford it.  Spiritual journey of an Indian man named Siddhartha during the time of the Buddha. Oh what a story!

“I, also, would like to look and smile, sit and walk like that, so free, so worthy, so restrained, so candid, so childlike and mysterious.”

Dec 04 2011
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Crise d'identité, Introspection

Our sense of Identity

The article below from HBR blogs has gotten me thinking about a whole new dimension to the oft used phrase “Identity Crisis”

Why an Identity Crisis Might Be Just What Your Brain Needs

To quote:

Have you ever been in a meeting where you’re carrying an individual identity of, “I am an expert on this topic,” and someone erodes that identity by challenging your point? What happens? From a neuroscience standpoint your brain shifts into a “fight or flight” limbic response and for a time you can’t even think straight. All of the resources (namely oxygen and glucose) that were being dedicated to your thinking brain (the prefrontal cortex) have now been diverted to your emotional brain (the limbic system) and for a moment your ability to function effectively in your job is greatly impaired.

While the situation above maybe an extreme case, I’ve been in situations where I seem to behave very differently because I’m carrying a certain identity and it either fits or it doesn’t. I agree with the point of view in the article that simply being aware that we behave in this manner will help us. However, it is never easy to have such awareness. It is even more difficult to actually and decisively change one’s sense of identity. At times I also worry about how others will perceive the sudden change in us (silly I know!). At other times it maybe something too fundamental to change. While the example above is from a professional situation, the concepts holds very true in social situations too.

But such situations are great feedback aren’t they? Of what you actually see yourself as, against what you want to be.

Sep 23 2011
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happiness, Introspection, pleasure

Exploring Pleasure and Happiness

I’m in pursuit of pleasure. Not happiness, but pleasure. It is because sometimes it helps me forget the emptiness I feel otherwise. Most other times however, I’m simply not aware of the difference. How do I become more aware?

Maybe I could start within understanding what each one means.

Pleasure is the easy one. Any activity that appeals to one or more of my senses and gives me joy for some time. Watching something beautiful, tasting good food, listing to music, a massage, a pleasing perfume or so goes the list. Some activities which stimulate more senses like travelling are high on the ‘want list’. One thing is certain thought, that it passes. With repetition, I become less aware of the stimuli and its effect, so I seek new stimulation in other things. So I want more and I want variety. To beat the boredom, the emptiness.

Happiness is more difficult to understanding. Its never instant gratification, but it stays as long as I’m doing the things that help the feeling stay. If I exercise I’ll feel fit and happy. If I build strong relationships, I feel fulfilled and happy. If I repeat kind acts to another, I feel happy. Every single time. However, my very nature of seeking immediate gratification makes me choose pleasurable activities over what would make me truly happy. I’m not always aware that this his how I’m choosing. Sometimes I’m just lazy.

In the book Art of Happiness , Dalai Lama advises us to constantly answer the question “Will this bring me closer to true happiness?” He encourages us to change the way we look at our decisions – moving away from seeing sacrificing pleasure as denying or withholding, and towards the idea that our discipline is moving us closer to lasting happiness.

The good thing is, every instance isn’t a trade-off. Pleasure has its place in life too !  

Jan 13 2010
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fiction, inkwell drops

Building Bridges

 

I only have myself to blame. I got so busy pursuing my own charms that I forgot about life. I made promises that I didn’t even try keeping. How can I ask her to promise me happiness again? It doesn’t matter now that I feel sorry for not being there, when she needed me. By what right do tell her that I am in need now?
I couldn’t go on without knowing if he even needed me. Did it matter to him anymore? He didn’t see the world like we saw it before. Maybe he learnt to see through eyes that I didn’t have. I tried to learn until I was tired. God knows I tried.
I feel tired too, of constantly being in pursuit of happiness. Happiness was here all along. Like bright sunshine in the house while I was lost among the woods. I find my way back home to find the sky cloudy, the room empty and my heart quiet and dull. Such is the irony of life.
I didn’t know if he would ever come back. I had to move on. He didn’t say a word when I said goodbye. He wasn’t even angry. I strained my ear to listen to him call out, ready to turn around. He never did. Or maybe the river between us was too wide for me to notice.
I let a lot of water flow before I thought of building the bridge across the river. She even lent me a rope but I didn’t take it. I waited for her to build it while I sat on the island. Now I don’t even know if I’ll find her on the other side.
–

Written by me for the Writer’s Lounge
Also penned for Inkwelldrops prompt 7
Nov 16 2009
12 Comments
fiction, inkwell drops

Has religion outlived its purpose?

 

He looked just like in the photograph that had been published all over the world last year, when he was captured alive in the shootout. Although I knew he was only nineteen, the sight of him still took my by surprise. There was a certain innocence in his manner that didn’t fit into the “heartless young terrorist” image the media had painted. Was it remorse in his eyes I couldn’t say, but the burden of a few dozen lives weighed heavily on his shoulders for his eyes stared at something in his shoe all the time.
I had fifteen minutes to question him and had the night to pen down the sequel to the widely read investigative report titled Is terror getting younger?
I was expecting animosity, even scorn, but his meek manner put me off guard. Is he the same gun totting young boy who held off trained national security gaurds for over two days? Could he have killed a few dozen people?
He broke the silence first
“If you want me to sign on anything, just let me know.”
“Sign what?”
“Whatever statement you want me to make and show to anybody. My country, the US, the UN … whoever”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t have answers for the questions you’ll ask me.”
“Are you telling me your innocent?”
“No”
“Since when have you been training?”
“I was sixteen and my brother was fifteen when we first went to the camp.”
“What did they teach you there?”
“Religion”
The rest of the interview has faded in my memory. Only the thought of two young boys being taught to fight, or kill rather, in the name of religion remains. He is just the symptom whose public trial is being used to satiate revengeful feelings, but how will we treat the decease? What caused it? How many more nineteen year old incendiaries will it produce?
I wonder if ‘religion’ has out lived its purpose.
–

In memory of 26/11

Written for inkwelldrops prompt 5
Oct 20 2009
4 Comments
fiction, inkwell drops

A simple question

Like most other evening parties she hosted, today’s gathering had less than a dozen people. The regulars were her close friends and the rest were warm and friendly new acquaintances or old friends visiting town. She always loved the spirit of such evenings, but the mood today was particularly introspective. It was her turn now and she sat back thinking of the years gone by.
“In those years when I was the talk of the town – rich, glamorous and successful, I thought I had a perfect life”, she said. “I liked different kinds of parties then, where everyone liked to talk about their new cars, furniture or new fashion trends. I was the most envied women in town for my exploits with the handsome men was the town’s favorite gossip”, she chuckled.
“I never thought of you as a warm person then”, said Martha, who had known her for most of that period. “But neither do I recall any dramatic event that changed your perspective”.
She nodded in agreement, continuing to gaze steadily at the window sill. “Someone asked me a simple question that made me think about my ways.” She began to narrate the conversation that ensued.
HIM: Thanks to you, we’ve successfully raised enough money for the charity.
ME: What do you think of my speech?
HIM: It was well received, but it made me wonder what your motivation was.
ME : How does it matter? I know the purpose is genuine and I feel happy helping other people.
HIM: Interesting. But your speech today was about what you did to raise funds for a ‘great’ cause.
ME: Was it?
HIM: It felt more like the pleasure of self gratification than motivation to a cause.
ME: What’s wrong with that?
HIM: Oh nothing at all. It is just about how you define your life’s purpose.
HER: I don’t understand you.
HIM: Do you equate happiness to pleasurable existence?
She fell silent, thinking once again of the significance of those words.
Sensing the somber mood, Martha picked up a spoon and tapped it against her glass saying, “does that stop us from enjoying a pleasurable evening?”
The banter returned instantly.
She watched the cheerful people around, but her thoughts went back to the strange calmness in that man’s voice several years ago. She didn’t know the real answer to that yet, but she’d learnt of several other things to be happy about.

–
p.s- written for prompt3 Inkwell drops.

Inspired by the book, “The impossible question”, J Krishnamurthy
Sep 06 2009
8 Comments
fiction, Writer's Lounge

Like in the great stories

“Is this how it was meant to be? All the stars have deserted us, I don’t know if the wind is alive yet, and look at you, all covered by those dark clouds”.
“Looking harder into the haze will not make it any clearer”, said the moon, her best friend.
“But what wrong have we done? Why do we deserve this fate? I don’t know if I can do this.”
“We cannot weigh right or wrong of what has happened. By right we shouldn’t have even be here.”
“But we are!”
“Let this tale be about what we did, not what happened to us. Like in the great stories!”
“We don’t know what to do. Can there ever be a happy ending now? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad has happened?”
“In every tale there comes a time when darkness seems to be the only way it can end. Some even do. But are these the stories we remember? The one’s that stay with us are those where the clouds pass and sunshine comes back, brighter than ever. It is not because the folks in those stories didn’t come face to face with darkness or were any braver than us. They all had chances to turn back and leave the world to its fate. But they just kept going.”
“Why?”
“Because they were holding onto to something.”
“What are we holding onto? What are we fight for?”
“For all the good that is still left in this world”.
“Amen”
–

Inspired by Lord of the rings
Written for “Moonlight picture contest“
Aug 21 2009
7 Comments
poetry

My dictionary of dreams

It defines the colours of the wind,
and odours of the season
Quilled by imagination,
what words can’t reason
In countless expressions,
of joy and yonder
its reams are filled,
with innocent wonder
The dictionary of dreams,
has no ifs nor buts defined
No rules of creation,
no fear of ability confined
Its pages are numbered,
in distances wandered by thought
Where hidden secrets and miracles,
of building castles in clouds are taught.

–

Jun 02 2009
10 Comments
nature, Romance

Spread the colour

White, red, orange, crimson, blue, voilet, cream and few more I cannot name.  Where have all the colours gone? Colours, bright & unblemished. It is time seek help and who better than flowers to remind me of colours again!
I notice the invigorating fresh essence well before I see the long row of reed baskets full of fresh flowers. Flowers plucked just as they were yawning to the first rays of today’s sunlight. Flowers still adorned by the morning dew. Flowers now waiting to be woven into garlands to adorn greater gods. 
I walk towards the first basket asking “What is it like to be a flower?” 
The jasime was first to answer, “Some notice the colour, some like the fragrance, some see their own beauty enhanced. Some others walk by not noticing”.
“Who are your friends?” I enquire gently.
Answers the rose with delight, “the bees are our best friends. Hopping from flower to flower, delivering messages of love for a drop of nectar!”
“But is there no pain, in withering away?” I ask
The lotus says this time, “When pure existance is love, what is pain?”
“Don’t you loath the hand that made you vain?” I say again.
“If you remember our purpose, nothing is vain”, says the orchid.
“And what is your purpose?” I ask in wonder.
This time they all say in unison, “to spread colour!”
Amen. 
I’m walking back content, having learnt more than what I’d wished for!
–

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