In my dreams,
The houses are bent with anonymity,
The bazaars are emptied of noise,
The town is a photograph in the negative,
Its roads and homes are a white heat,
And I am a shadow in its vacant passages,
Walking down its streets of
Asphalt framed in wilderness.
My wild dreams of this town,
Seek refuge in its wild trees, wild flowers.
But in my dreams, the wilderness is a white sheet,
And the flying foxes and the hornbills
Are lost amidst a blinding whiteness;
Only, the palash blooms a shocking red.
Sweet town of my childhood,
Each dream that walks your lanes
Stirs the dust, the heat, the barking dogs,
The frenzied walk of the walkers,
The speech of its women, the old, the infirm.
I wake to your enormous memories.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
The title of this post captures all the reasons and all the needs behind my move from Hyderabad back to Delhi. It was simply time to leave. It was the right time to leave, I had completed a year at work, I had learnt some part of what I had set out to learn when I bid adieu to dear old Delhi. Yet in essence, Hyderabad was merely a chapter, a chapter I had to close in order to continue with the larger narrative.
Waking up from a dream at 4:45 in the morning: July 17th
Has it ever happened to you that you wake up from a dream and you are left wondering for a couple of seconds where you are? Not like those dreams in movies where they sit-up on their beds in a sweat gasping from fear and shock, but more like the ones which are bad enough to wake you and you are just awake, and your half-open eyes take time to register whatever amount of light is there in the room? This happened to me today. The first thing I was trying to make out was as to which of those numerous homes from my childhood was this (I just calculated and realised that since I was born, my parents have shifted-house seven times). My mind also went over quickly if I was at my maternal grandparent's place, and suddenly the TV rooms of all my grandparent's houses were alive for a moment, were possibilities, before I finally realised the two red peering dots of light in front of me were the LEDs from the TV's stabiliser, and then it hit me that I was at the guesthouse, a strange place, not my parent's place, not my grandparent's place.
I woke up because of a dream. In the dream, I don't realise it, but I am at my old school, the one I attended between classes 5 and 10. I only recall the last bit of the dream, which seemed to me to be such a strong force, so vivid, that I physically felt like there was a log of wood placed in my heart. And no, I wasn't sleeping with my hand on my chest, I woke up sleeping on my right side. In the last shreds of the dream, the place I am in is in chaos, there are people everywhere, and in a room painted a pastel shade of light green, which I later realised to be the principal's office, there are lots of people, lots of things. I am with my mother, and I am talking with her (which is unusual, she doesn't appear very often in my dreams), and we have just reached the room after a circumambulatory walk around the school's compound. The walk is not intended, it seems we are more being jostled and we wander along with the crowd. The crowd is scared, there is a sense of urgency, there is a vague realisation in my dream that there is a bomb in the premises, there is police speaking over the microphones, shouting instructions or information. Mother and me are talking, and as she is telling me about some incident, the figures of the people she is telling me about, their faces, float up in front of my eyes, float up and dissolve. The walk is completed, and we reach the room, after which point, my mother disappears. We are in the room now. The one person I remember from the room is an old man I talk to. I wake up to realise that that man is my maternal grandfather, and he has been dead almost a decade now. The other thing is that in the dream, there is a snake in the room, inside a white polythene, and through the somewhat thin polythene, I can see it. Its a long, strong snake, and its reddish brown. We discuss the snake, me and the old man. That snake doesn't look safe, we agree, and I indicate some packages of my own lying between us. One of them is a white polythene too, and it has something moving inside it, fishes, smaller snakes? We agree my package looks more secured.
This is the point where I wake up, the snake the last image in my mind, the dream disrupted by my waking. My mind takes a few seconds to register where I am. The awful fear of the last two images hits me. Is there one in the room too, is there a snake in the room? The man, I realise, is none other than grandpa, and grandpa, Kaka, has been dead for almost nine years. Is he there in the room too?
Why doesn't he tell me in the dream that I am his relative, his natini, his beloved first grandchild? Why don't I recognise him? Has he been dead so long that I don't recognise him in my dreams anymore? Why does he treat me casually like we have never met before, treats me just like any other old men I might meet on the street, genial, distant, and whom I don't know very well?
But I am thinking these questions as I am writing them now. When I wake up from the dream, I only think one question. Is he there in the room too?
For a few seconds, I am scared to move. I am afraid the unknown will sense my presence, my exact location, and will strike. It takes some time to steady myself, to finally switch on the bed switch. I realise my bladder is full, perhaps that's what has necessitated the bad dream. I turn, and I wish there was someone lying next to me. I would have felt reassured. I wish I could call someone, but who? It's still dark, despite the cawing of crows that I have just heard. Not my parents, I don't want my mother's helpless concern, nor my sister's sleepy voice on the phone dismissing the incident. Not my grandmother. I do not want to tell her again I dreamt of Kaka. I think of a friend, only to dismiss the thought of waking up a tired person. I wonder, if this is the kind of dreams I have, what must his dreams be like, he who had a harrowing time growing up in a strife-torn state. Then I sit up. I tell myself there is no wild presence in the room. There is no snake. As for my grandfather, maybe he is there in the room, maybe not. Dead men are dead men, I tell myself as I make my way to the bathroom, pausing to look at myself in the mirror.
Waking up from a dream at 4:45 in the morning: July 17th
Has it ever happened to you that you wake up from a dream and you are left wondering for a couple of seconds where you are? Not like those dreams in movies where they sit-up on their beds in a sweat gasping from fear and shock, but more like the ones which are bad enough to wake you and you are just awake, and your half-open eyes take time to register whatever amount of light is there in the room? This happened to me today. The first thing I was trying to make out was as to which of those numerous homes from my childhood was this (I just calculated and realised that since I was born, my parents have shifted-house seven times). My mind also went over quickly if I was at my maternal grandparent's place, and suddenly the TV rooms of all my grandparent's houses were alive for a moment, were possibilities, before I finally realised the two red peering dots of light in front of me were the LEDs from the TV's stabiliser, and then it hit me that I was at the guesthouse, a strange place, not my parent's place, not my grandparent's place.
I woke up because of a dream. In the dream, I don't realise it, but I am at my old school, the one I attended between classes 5 and 10. I only recall the last bit of the dream, which seemed to me to be such a strong force, so vivid, that I physically felt like there was a log of wood placed in my heart. And no, I wasn't sleeping with my hand on my chest, I woke up sleeping on my right side. In the last shreds of the dream, the place I am in is in chaos, there are people everywhere, and in a room painted a pastel shade of light green, which I later realised to be the principal's office, there are lots of people, lots of things. I am with my mother, and I am talking with her (which is unusual, she doesn't appear very often in my dreams), and we have just reached the room after a circumambulatory walk around the school's compound. The walk is not intended, it seems we are more being jostled and we wander along with the crowd. The crowd is scared, there is a sense of urgency, there is a vague realisation in my dream that there is a bomb in the premises, there is police speaking over the microphones, shouting instructions or information. Mother and me are talking, and as she is telling me about some incident, the figures of the people she is telling me about, their faces, float up in front of my eyes, float up and dissolve. The walk is completed, and we reach the room, after which point, my mother disappears. We are in the room now. The one person I remember from the room is an old man I talk to. I wake up to realise that that man is my maternal grandfather, and he has been dead almost a decade now. The other thing is that in the dream, there is a snake in the room, inside a white polythene, and through the somewhat thin polythene, I can see it. Its a long, strong snake, and its reddish brown. We discuss the snake, me and the old man. That snake doesn't look safe, we agree, and I indicate some packages of my own lying between us. One of them is a white polythene too, and it has something moving inside it, fishes, smaller snakes? We agree my package looks more secured.
This is the point where I wake up, the snake the last image in my mind, the dream disrupted by my waking. My mind takes a few seconds to register where I am. The awful fear of the last two images hits me. Is there one in the room too, is there a snake in the room? The man, I realise, is none other than grandpa, and grandpa, Kaka, has been dead for almost nine years. Is he there in the room too?
Why doesn't he tell me in the dream that I am his relative, his natini, his beloved first grandchild? Why don't I recognise him? Has he been dead so long that I don't recognise him in my dreams anymore? Why does he treat me casually like we have never met before, treats me just like any other old men I might meet on the street, genial, distant, and whom I don't know very well?
But I am thinking these questions as I am writing them now. When I wake up from the dream, I only think one question. Is he there in the room too?
For a few seconds, I am scared to move. I am afraid the unknown will sense my presence, my exact location, and will strike. It takes some time to steady myself, to finally switch on the bed switch. I realise my bladder is full, perhaps that's what has necessitated the bad dream. I turn, and I wish there was someone lying next to me. I would have felt reassured. I wish I could call someone, but who? It's still dark, despite the cawing of crows that I have just heard. Not my parents, I don't want my mother's helpless concern, nor my sister's sleepy voice on the phone dismissing the incident. Not my grandmother. I do not want to tell her again I dreamt of Kaka. I think of a friend, only to dismiss the thought of waking up a tired person. I wonder, if this is the kind of dreams I have, what must his dreams be like, he who had a harrowing time growing up in a strife-torn state. Then I sit up. I tell myself there is no wild presence in the room. There is no snake. As for my grandfather, maybe he is there in the room, maybe not. Dead men are dead men, I tell myself as I make my way to the bathroom, pausing to look at myself in the mirror.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
On religion
I was a believer, then an agnostic, and now I am an atheist. Atheism makes more sense to me, in particular when I see that the roots of many current political conflicts lie in religious differences, or in the way religious differences have been manipulated and hyped. Eclesiastical religion rarely offers women any space in its formal hierarchy, another reason why I will always feel an outsider to any religion. Religion, when it does offer women any space, only does so in symbolic roles, in 'non-threatening' roles like that of a mother or the 'virgin' mary. Religion abhors female sexuality.
I will not totally agree with Dawkin's strict atheism. I have a father who is religious, but not orthodox, and having heard the 'Gita' from him, I know that the Gita contains useful philosophical insights, and I have found them to be practical. I know religion has helped many people, such as my father, in coming to terms with the vagaries of life at a philosophical level. At the material level, though, religion is not the solution to address injustices. It only helps the powerful to delude the meek into believing that "the meek will inherit the earth".
The poet William Blake was perhaps one of the few who successfully used religion, or the figure of Christ, to try to address the material inequalities of life. Check out his poetry and his artwork.
That aside, religion has been the site for the contest of power, money, and politics. It has spewed many evils, the caste system in India being one among them. And increasingly, in today's globalised world, religion has become the site for contesting identity politics. Certain strands of Christianity seek to deny women the basic reproductive right of abortion (I do not know about the stand on abortion in other religions), and if the ongoing pro-life, pro-choice debates in America are any evidence, religion continues to make women's bodies the site for enforcing religious and cultural labels.
Sociological theories (Auguste Comte's being the first) have argued that societies progress in 'evolutionary' stages. Belief in the theological, in the powers of ghosts, spirits, and natural phenomenon like thunder, lightning, marks the first 'metaphysical' stage, according to Comte. The belief in a God or 'gods', a higher power, comes next, and this phase is characterised by a formal religious structure with priests and other godmen working as intermediaries. This is the religious stage, which is then followed by the final stage of a lack of belief in a higher power, i.e. the 'positivist' or the scientific stage. This last stage highlights rationalism and man as a rational animal. This is only a sociological theory, and other theories talk of different means of 'evolution'.
I know that a discussion on religion tends to be heated because people can get defensive and aggressive with their respective takes on religion. The easiest way to dismiss a debate on religion is to say that it is a matter of personal choice, that it belongs to the realm of the personal. Yet, religion has entered the political space like never before. The emergence of Hindutva politics in India, and the debate surrounding abortion in the US are two glaring examples of this.
Why am I writing about religion? The debate on religion is something I have always thought about. Over the years, I have seen myself drift from being a believer (due to my parent's influence), to questioning the existence of God (agnosticism), and to finally cheerfully resigning myself to the belief that 'There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.' (from the Atheist bus campaign. Read more about it here). Also, a friend's recent blogpost on religious zealots (saintelmosfire.wordpress.com), and another friend's response to Dawkin's 'The God Delusion' (noopalvia.blogspot.com) spurred me to put pen to paper and jot down my thoughts.
I was fascinated by Nieztche's "God is dead", as I was with Marx's take on religion as the "opiate of the masses". I can relate the latter to the ritualistic aspect of organised religion, which at some level discourages critical questioning, instead focuses on giving oneself up to a higher power. I know some people find rituals comforting and reassuring. I think this is because rituals signify some kind of continuity, a thread linking the past to the present. It is probably also a feeling of having 'let go' that seems to define the comfort derived from rituals. Also, it is indeed reassuring think that there is a higher power, a father like figure somewhere up there who is looking after us. Yet, once again it irks me that the first image that comes to one's mind when one hears the word 'God' is that of inevitably a male figure, an old patriarch like figure.
I believe in tolerance. If it helps someone to believe that there is someone up there to take care of them, so be it. What bothers me is the way religion has become the site for power politics, and the fight over 'my god is better than yours'.
I will not totally agree with Dawkin's strict atheism. I have a father who is religious, but not orthodox, and having heard the 'Gita' from him, I know that the Gita contains useful philosophical insights, and I have found them to be practical. I know religion has helped many people, such as my father, in coming to terms with the vagaries of life at a philosophical level. At the material level, though, religion is not the solution to address injustices. It only helps the powerful to delude the meek into believing that "the meek will inherit the earth".
The poet William Blake was perhaps one of the few who successfully used religion, or the figure of Christ, to try to address the material inequalities of life. Check out his poetry and his artwork.
That aside, religion has been the site for the contest of power, money, and politics. It has spewed many evils, the caste system in India being one among them. And increasingly, in today's globalised world, religion has become the site for contesting identity politics. Certain strands of Christianity seek to deny women the basic reproductive right of abortion (I do not know about the stand on abortion in other religions), and if the ongoing pro-life, pro-choice debates in America are any evidence, religion continues to make women's bodies the site for enforcing religious and cultural labels.
Sociological theories (Auguste Comte's being the first) have argued that societies progress in 'evolutionary' stages. Belief in the theological, in the powers of ghosts, spirits, and natural phenomenon like thunder, lightning, marks the first 'metaphysical' stage, according to Comte. The belief in a God or 'gods', a higher power, comes next, and this phase is characterised by a formal religious structure with priests and other godmen working as intermediaries. This is the religious stage, which is then followed by the final stage of a lack of belief in a higher power, i.e. the 'positivist' or the scientific stage. This last stage highlights rationalism and man as a rational animal. This is only a sociological theory, and other theories talk of different means of 'evolution'.
I know that a discussion on religion tends to be heated because people can get defensive and aggressive with their respective takes on religion. The easiest way to dismiss a debate on religion is to say that it is a matter of personal choice, that it belongs to the realm of the personal. Yet, religion has entered the political space like never before. The emergence of Hindutva politics in India, and the debate surrounding abortion in the US are two glaring examples of this.
Why am I writing about religion? The debate on religion is something I have always thought about. Over the years, I have seen myself drift from being a believer (due to my parent's influence), to questioning the existence of God (agnosticism), and to finally cheerfully resigning myself to the belief that 'There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.' (from the Atheist bus campaign. Read more about it here). Also, a friend's recent blogpost on religious zealots (saintelmosfire.wordpress.com), and another friend's response to Dawkin's 'The God Delusion' (noopalvia.blogspot.com) spurred me to put pen to paper and jot down my thoughts.
I was fascinated by Nieztche's "God is dead", as I was with Marx's take on religion as the "opiate of the masses". I can relate the latter to the ritualistic aspect of organised religion, which at some level discourages critical questioning, instead focuses on giving oneself up to a higher power. I know some people find rituals comforting and reassuring. I think this is because rituals signify some kind of continuity, a thread linking the past to the present. It is probably also a feeling of having 'let go' that seems to define the comfort derived from rituals. Also, it is indeed reassuring think that there is a higher power, a father like figure somewhere up there who is looking after us. Yet, once again it irks me that the first image that comes to one's mind when one hears the word 'God' is that of inevitably a male figure, an old patriarch like figure.
I believe in tolerance. If it helps someone to believe that there is someone up there to take care of them, so be it. What bothers me is the way religion has become the site for power politics, and the fight over 'my god is better than yours'.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
This shall be another rambling post that no one will read :)
Gone are the good days when I would only post poetry or prose that I had worked hard at chiseling. I am still proud of two or three of my poems that i wrote in my final year of college. But final year was an amazing time. It was a difficult time, but it was also a time when I made friends in hostel (I am still in touch with them), when I channeled my angst into writing, when Manju's workshop happened...
I am digressing here, but I met her niece at a book launch the other day. Himani Dalmia just launched her debut novel 'Life is Perfect'. Its a good read, and I would recommend it. At 200 bucks, it is also easy on the pocket (I was quite surprised to see the book so reasonably priced). I enjoyed the book launch, though the arm-chair discussion by the Hyderabad page three elements pissed me off a bit. I expected something more intellectual, more academic. But I was most shocked to find that Himani was so pretty, she looked like a model. Perhaps it runs in the family, Taru Dalmia is quite a hottie :)
But where was I? Swati, Debarchana, if you are reading this, then thanks for making my last year in hostel a memorable one. It helped that my laptop was there. I will remember our post-movie discussions that stretched into 3-4 in the night. I will remember you guys knocking at my door for tuck at wee hours of the morning. I will remember myself seeking refuge in your room whenever I felt lonely or needed someone to talk to, which happened very often, I know, and I am sorry if I annoyed you guys (I know I did!). Lashili, thanks for literally dragging me out of my shell. I am really proud of you for making it to IR in JNU, and for being so good that they had to put you into the general quota. You haven't answered my last few calls, and I wonder if something is wrong. I hope you are all right
But enough for now. I am sleepy. I wish I had posted some poetry or something that I had worked on a bit. I do still attempt a bit of verse. But its much lesser now, with time being at a premium and with me being occupied with other stuff. But hopefully, after five-six years, I should be able to sort out the mess in my head and sit down and write. As of now, I am still confused as to what I should do for bread and butter for the rest of my life. You know, what is euphemistically termed as 'a career'. Sigh.
If I could write novels and poetry for a living, then I would start doing it today. But something tells me I have to see and learn much more of human nature and the world-at-large before I can get down to doing that well. At the back of my head, there is still this concern that I haven't seen enough, do not know enough, that I have to learn a lot, lot more in order to write something insightful.
To my readers (I still have readers, right?), goodnight and enjoy the Friday and the weekend! To my peers, good luck with all the bread-and-butter issues. If you need any help, or you want to talk, do call me ( or comment on my blog!). Its a tough time, and the recession doesn't help.
Kiran, my lovely new flatmate, you have to comment on this post. And you too, Mr. lovely-new-flatmate's boyfriend!
Naina, all the best for the next innings (You are getting married, aren't you? :P). You will do very well, and yes, we can swap husbands (kidding!)
Harpreet, I am pissed with you (You figure out why, I am not telling you), but yes, you have to comment on my blog too.
Amit, Sumit, wake up, you are celebrities! Your humble names have found mention on my starry blog! Yes, wake up, and pay your pretty new neighbours (where are you looking, I meant us!) a visit, now!
Those of you who voted, how was your first time? Do tell me about it.
Sayonara!
Gone are the good days when I would only post poetry or prose that I had worked hard at chiseling. I am still proud of two or three of my poems that i wrote in my final year of college. But final year was an amazing time. It was a difficult time, but it was also a time when I made friends in hostel (I am still in touch with them), when I channeled my angst into writing, when Manju's workshop happened...
I am digressing here, but I met her niece at a book launch the other day. Himani Dalmia just launched her debut novel 'Life is Perfect'. Its a good read, and I would recommend it. At 200 bucks, it is also easy on the pocket (I was quite surprised to see the book so reasonably priced). I enjoyed the book launch, though the arm-chair discussion by the Hyderabad page three elements pissed me off a bit. I expected something more intellectual, more academic. But I was most shocked to find that Himani was so pretty, she looked like a model. Perhaps it runs in the family, Taru Dalmia is quite a hottie :)
But where was I? Swati, Debarchana, if you are reading this, then thanks for making my last year in hostel a memorable one. It helped that my laptop was there. I will remember our post-movie discussions that stretched into 3-4 in the night. I will remember you guys knocking at my door for tuck at wee hours of the morning. I will remember myself seeking refuge in your room whenever I felt lonely or needed someone to talk to, which happened very often, I know, and I am sorry if I annoyed you guys (I know I did!). Lashili, thanks for literally dragging me out of my shell. I am really proud of you for making it to IR in JNU, and for being so good that they had to put you into the general quota. You haven't answered my last few calls, and I wonder if something is wrong. I hope you are all right
But enough for now. I am sleepy. I wish I had posted some poetry or something that I had worked on a bit. I do still attempt a bit of verse. But its much lesser now, with time being at a premium and with me being occupied with other stuff. But hopefully, after five-six years, I should be able to sort out the mess in my head and sit down and write. As of now, I am still confused as to what I should do for bread and butter for the rest of my life. You know, what is euphemistically termed as 'a career'. Sigh.
If I could write novels and poetry for a living, then I would start doing it today. But something tells me I have to see and learn much more of human nature and the world-at-large before I can get down to doing that well. At the back of my head, there is still this concern that I haven't seen enough, do not know enough, that I have to learn a lot, lot more in order to write something insightful.
To my readers (I still have readers, right?), goodnight and enjoy the Friday and the weekend! To my peers, good luck with all the bread-and-butter issues. If you need any help, or you want to talk, do call me ( or comment on my blog!). Its a tough time, and the recession doesn't help.
Kiran, my lovely new flatmate, you have to comment on this post. And you too, Mr. lovely-new-flatmate's boyfriend!
Naina, all the best for the next innings (You are getting married, aren't you? :P). You will do very well, and yes, we can swap husbands (kidding!)
Harpreet, I am pissed with you (You figure out why, I am not telling you), but yes, you have to comment on my blog too.
Amit, Sumit, wake up, you are celebrities! Your humble names have found mention on my starry blog! Yes, wake up, and pay your pretty new neighbours (where are you looking, I meant us!) a visit, now!
Those of you who voted, how was your first time? Do tell me about it.
Sayonara!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Random musings
It seems the months have flown by. I last wrote something on blogger nearly three months back. Maybe that happens when you start working. Maybe I have just been too lazy, perhaps a little too tired.
As much as we embrace change or try to walk into territories new, I think there must always be a part of us that wants to dearly cling onto familiarity, even when we know that evolution is essential to our growth. My need to overcome my social phobia has seen me push myself into socializing, or attempting to socialize. Like the other day when I attended a speed networking event in office, and where I was told about a trick or a nuance of social interaction, namely the 'hook and the spin" theory. The 'hook' is a topic, a common ground that the two strangers share, and once you find the hook, you should 'spin' the rest of your conversation around that. The rationale behind this idea is that it is not necessary to squeeze one's entire life story in an introductory conversation, but rather that it is more fruitful if the two people discuss something that they share in common.
Some of my attempts in socializing have worked out fine, some have backfired. Like, with men, I have found that being pally can be sometimes misconstrued as being flirtatious. This is more true when you take the initiative to get to know someone. It helps in such a case if you have good instincts, like my friend Naina, who can read body language and is good at handling such situations. I guess instincts and the ability to read people's body language is something that requires practice and takes time. She is better at it since she has always socialised more than me, having grown up in a boarding school. For my part, I think I need to be more observant and sensitive to what the other person is thinking or feeling or assuming. On the other hand, it has also happened that men have gotten friendly with me, and then distanced themselves when they realize that I do not have any intention of being anything more than friends. It has just seemed weird to me.
Part of the problem arises from the fact that I work in a 9 to 5 job in an office which has a very small percentage of women employees, about 24%. This means that I have to mostly interact with men. Being a fresher also means that most of them will be older than you. My friend Naina feels that the nuances are different when it comes to interacting with older people, even if they are just 4 or 5 years older. Often work requires me to stretch beyond the mandatory 8 hours. Adding that to 5 days a week, it means that my social circle gets further restricted to the workplace.
Nonetheless, I am trying to change and develop in different directions, or 'widen my horizons', as the cliche goes. Yet, part of me still sometimes wants to go back to my older, more inhibited self. I find this tendency most manifest in my dreams, where I often dream of school, or childhood, or people I knew when I was a kid and with whom I have lost touch. I do not know what this tendency of regression means. I know that I need to take steps to come out of my shell. I have been taking baby steps in this direction ever since I felt the need to evolve, and grow. The decision to change has been a concious one. Yet sometimes, I feel like curling up inside a cocoon, drawing my knees upto my chin in a foetal position. I feel small and I feel the need to retreat into a noiseless womb. But it is usually a temporary phase. Some minutes later I go out of my room, chat with my friends.
As much as we embrace change or try to walk into territories new, I think there must always be a part of us that wants to dearly cling onto familiarity, even when we know that evolution is essential to our growth. My need to overcome my social phobia has seen me push myself into socializing, or attempting to socialize. Like the other day when I attended a speed networking event in office, and where I was told about a trick or a nuance of social interaction, namely the 'hook and the spin" theory. The 'hook' is a topic, a common ground that the two strangers share, and once you find the hook, you should 'spin' the rest of your conversation around that. The rationale behind this idea is that it is not necessary to squeeze one's entire life story in an introductory conversation, but rather that it is more fruitful if the two people discuss something that they share in common.
Some of my attempts in socializing have worked out fine, some have backfired. Like, with men, I have found that being pally can be sometimes misconstrued as being flirtatious. This is more true when you take the initiative to get to know someone. It helps in such a case if you have good instincts, like my friend Naina, who can read body language and is good at handling such situations. I guess instincts and the ability to read people's body language is something that requires practice and takes time. She is better at it since she has always socialised more than me, having grown up in a boarding school. For my part, I think I need to be more observant and sensitive to what the other person is thinking or feeling or assuming. On the other hand, it has also happened that men have gotten friendly with me, and then distanced themselves when they realize that I do not have any intention of being anything more than friends. It has just seemed weird to me.
Part of the problem arises from the fact that I work in a 9 to 5 job in an office which has a very small percentage of women employees, about 24%. This means that I have to mostly interact with men. Being a fresher also means that most of them will be older than you. My friend Naina feels that the nuances are different when it comes to interacting with older people, even if they are just 4 or 5 years older. Often work requires me to stretch beyond the mandatory 8 hours. Adding that to 5 days a week, it means that my social circle gets further restricted to the workplace.
Nonetheless, I am trying to change and develop in different directions, or 'widen my horizons', as the cliche goes. Yet, part of me still sometimes wants to go back to my older, more inhibited self. I find this tendency most manifest in my dreams, where I often dream of school, or childhood, or people I knew when I was a kid and with whom I have lost touch. I do not know what this tendency of regression means. I know that I need to take steps to come out of my shell. I have been taking baby steps in this direction ever since I felt the need to evolve, and grow. The decision to change has been a concious one. Yet sometimes, I feel like curling up inside a cocoon, drawing my knees upto my chin in a foetal position. I feel small and I feel the need to retreat into a noiseless womb. But it is usually a temporary phase. Some minutes later I go out of my room, chat with my friends.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Poem on a series of bad dreams
"Awaking,
My dreams linger in the laburnum of my head,
My thoughts suspended by a thread of imagination..."
There is an insane country of dreams
That continually beckons me.
That like hands kneading dough, continually kneads
My cranial chaos to phantasms of pure bewilderment.
I try to avoid them, those hands.
I try to run away from that country.
Yet each morning that hangs
Cold over my waking body
Draws me back to that riot-realm,
The dream reduced to the stale taste of
Night in my mouth.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Madness
Racing like a train across the countryside,
Glimpsing the lights of estranged homes,
Mad mind of mine,
Meanders through hilly roads,
Searches in her dreams for your face.
Strumming a foreign lute,
Singing a song haunted,
Flickering like a pyre’s flame,
Mad mind of mine,
Burns up a somber evening.
Glimpsing the lights of estranged homes,
Mad mind of mine,
Meanders through hilly roads,
Searches in her dreams for your face.
Strumming a foreign lute,
Singing a song haunted,
Flickering like a pyre’s flame,
Mad mind of mine,
Burns up a somber evening.
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