Fielding The Tiger….
22 Thursday Nov 2007
Posted 'Huh?!', The Virar Local
in22 Thursday Nov 2007
Posted 'Huh?!', The Virar Local
in
26 Wednesday Sep 2007
Posted Food, Starving, Overeating & Dieting, Insight, Life, The Virar Local
in
Do this.
Think of the 3 most creative activities you can think of. It could be a profession. It could be a pastime, it could be art. Whatever. Whatever comes to your mind.
What came to your mind?
I sat the other day in an evolved ‘iron horse’. A train. The good old Bombay suburban electric train.
Yes. The local, after a really long time I found myself in a local.
Hold on. Before we proceed further, I have a responsibility I must fulfill. I have to establish before I set off punching keys, that there is no endangered carnivorous beast here yet. This is not about the Virar Local. And there really is no Tiger.
Yet.
I don’t want to create widespread disappointment and disillusionment. The Tiger will certainly come and when it does, I shall stand up on the rooftop of Air India building and shout till my voice becomes hoarse to announce its arrival. And I shall shout loud enough so you can hear it.
For those of you reading Pathe for the first time and haven’t yet become familiar with it, a Virar local was to pull into this platform. Yes this very platform from where Pathe travels. There have been overt suggestions to this effect here and here, but the train seems to be terribly, terribly delayed. This has caused a lot of anxiety, disappointment and restlessness among the general public. And I have lost significant sleep and, this may well be hard to believe, hair.
And as the man responsible for its arrival on this platform, I have to ensure that I don’t mislead people eager for it when they hear me talk about Train and Local in the same breath.
So go back in your chair from the edge. Relax your muscles. Let the hair on the nape of your neck settle. Sip a little water if you have to.
And let’s get on with the rest of this post. Some derailment, I tell you!
So I was in a local from Santa Cruz to Churchgate a few days back. And as I watched the stations flash by, I was reflecting about how in our professions we allow very little room for creativity. Of course we aren’t considering the obviously creative professions that involve some form of art – music or acting or writing or other such things – but regular office work.
There certainly is scope for creativity – not denying that at all. But we don’t consciously implant it. Ingrain it. Some of us do it reflexively. But it isn’t a considered application. Its never a KRA item, if you know what I mean. Most of us tend to convert any work into a series of defined steps and in fact minimize scope for innovative improvements. Soon those defined steps rule our 8 or 10 hours of work and slowly, we become machines.
That got me wondering – what are the activities that naturally requires creativity? There can be many depending on the kind of life you live and how your typical day pans out. But back to my question to you.
What were the three creative activities you came up with?
Damn. I knew it. I knew you would miss cooking.
Now, a huge chunk of people just throw in things and make something just to get by dinner. That kind of ‘cooking’ is not what I mean. There is a different kind of cooking. A kind that you will know only if you have practiced it. A kind you can relate to only if you have expereinced it. Yes. There is a whole different dimension to cooking that I am trying to highlight.
It is a state of mind.
If you have reached that state, attained it, achieved it, even if it was just once, then you know what I am talking about.
To you cooking is an experience. Not a chore.
And when you approach cooking with this state of mind, then I’ll be damned if you didn’t feel a buzz in your head, a tug at your heart and a song on your lips. That’s the precise point when you are experiencing it. Creativity, my friends, has kicked in. And if you find joy, it is because you are using fundamental logic – a recipe, to create and innovate, then I’ve driven home my idea.
Cooking is probably one of the oldest extra-ordinary creative activities. What’s more, it has tremendous applied value!
Let me take this thought one step further and I’ll then leave it there for you to think about.
Simple creativity is applied at different levels when you set out to cook.
Example 1: You open the fridge. Check what you have – an assortment of vegetables and perhaps eggs, meat and so on depending on your veg/non-veg orientation. Now with the available list of materials, you have to decide what to cook. That needs to also factor in assortment of masalas and other ingredients you need for cooking. And at every stage if you are the kind of cook that applies thorough thought, you would apply some level of creativity and judgment at each stage. Quantity of ingredients, their quantity, duration of cooking, degree of heat, and so on.
Example 2. You feel like eating something spicy. Or tangy. Or fried or roasted. Creativity sets in. Check available items that can be concocted into such a dish.
But when it comes to cooking, there could be something far more significant than just simple creativity.
Actually the word creativity besides being quite a boring and a much abused word, tells us only half the story. Let me put my thoughts in a different way – also reasonably boring and oft abused, but I believe I can make my point better on why cooking is a much evolved indulgence, nonetheless.
The Left-Brain Right-Brain analogy.
A few steps back then? Ok.
When I said we tend to break work into series of steps, what I meant was we tend to make most of our 8-10 hours of work, a predominantly Left-Brain activity. Logical, methodical, rational, analytical, objective sequence of activities. This downplays our creative, intuitive, wacky faculties.
Some forms of art are heavy Right-brained activities. Singing, painting and you know the rest.
Each of us tends to be either more left-brained or more right-brained, as you know. Whole-brained, by the way, is the way to be. True intelligence, balanced, and stable is achieved when you can indulge both hemispheres and apply their combined output in various situations.
A perfect jugalbandi of left and right marks a balanced heightened state. That is the ultimate state to fancy. And if I could hazard a more debatable line, this balance can help you achieve physical, emotional, mental and spiritual aspects of being as I found out here!
Taking this forward, any activity that combines the effort of both hemispheres encourages this jugalbandi is a good thing. And increasingly I realize that one inconspicuous activity – Cooking, can help you indulge in a jugalbandi and get that balance of left and right.
Use Logic, reason and all that in using a pre-defined recipe. Use imagination, innovation, to create your own innovation from the recipe.
And that’s why it’s an incredible hobby. And if you end up making lip-smacking new dishes, you are unique my friend – you could be a very evolved human being!
16 Monday Jul 2007
Posted Life In Mumbai, The Virar Local
inHave you heard the Tiger story?
The one where the boy goes shouting Tiger Tiger and the tiger never shows up. And one day when it actually does in the F and B(for Flesh and Blood – as it would apply in OUR point of view; NOT Food and Beverage as it might in the Tigers’ point of view), no one believes him.
Well the boy in question happens to be in Mumbai right now even as you read this. And it must be said that he didn’t come here for pleasure. Or for business. He, to cut a long story short, set off to save his ass. Yes. That’s quite a natural reason. For if you knew the events that occurred over the months prior to us discussing his precise whereabouts in Mumbai, you would agree that it was quite a natural and commonly acceptable and socially agreeable impulse to embark on such an expedition.
Let me elaborate clearly on what I mean by ‘saving his ass’ before I explain the build up. He just didn’t want to be mauled and killed. And if he did escape an attack, he certainly didn’t want to live a life with a handicapping inferiority complex. For which self respecting man would like to picture living his life, especially the part involving his raw youth, with bums that are scarred like they rested on a hot griller? I wonder if you can fathom the enormous plight of the man whom we now know is in the thick of raw youth.
Well for months before he embarked on this mission in Mumbai, the young man has been much like the BMC that says its roads will be ready and smooth before the monsoon. Monsoon after monsoon has come and gone, yet they tirelessly parrot the same thing over and over. Potholes remain. More often than not, they get worse. If a pothole doesn’t get worse, there’s a new one that miraculously ‘surfaces’ – pardon the pun – close by. You must admit though, without prejudice, that the BMC has been fairly consistent and dependable on their message to the public.
A satellite picture of the moon and Mumbai roads might look the same.
So our young man has been predictably shouting ‘Tiger Tiger’ for as long back as ones memory can serve one.
And, as the story gives us to believe, and, as the good Lord expects us to, the probability of the Tiger showing up in the F & B was increasing each time the words ‘Tiger Tiger’ passed his lips. For, the benefit of a lie or a thoughtless promise never served anyone longer than ones lifetime. Sooner or later it is bound to catch up. And so it would, in the life of the youth under discussion.
The thing with stories like Tiger Tiger is that they are painstakingly simplified. And the result often is that similar events, situations, occur oft in our lives – so awfully inconspicuously that we seldom realize it. It takes enormous wisdom to see the parallel.
As it is in the case of the youth. For months now he has been yelling ‘Tiger Tiger’. No tiger showed up. People were annoyed with him and were beginning to realize what a load of gas this youth was turning out to be. They heard him say ‘Tiger Tiger’ increasingly with the same involvement, the same eagerness and the same conviction that they heard, for ex., the weather report or G0rge Bush’s speech.
And the mood sort of caught up with our young man. One morning, before dawn, our youth was, out of the blue, hit by a lightening bolt of wisdom. He could tell that the Tiger would indeed be right there staring at him one day. And he would have to then run. Run for dear life. The blood curdling snarl of the tiger behind him would push him to run faster. He could almost feel the warm panting breath of the angry tiger around his ankles – how could he think of outrunning a Tiger!? He could picture the tiger taking a calculated leap. Its paws opening menacingly as it flew in the air to pounce on him and pin him down. If he was luckly the Tiger would have timed its leap badly. And he would survive. Albeit with the deep gnashes of its paws on his youthful bums. On the otherhand, if the timing of the leap was impeccably perfect, he figured that just sheer fear would pass him out before he got mauled.
And he resolved he wouldn’t shout ‘Tiger Tiger’ anymore. So he decided to set out of his comfort zone bravely and come to a place where he can himself confront the tiger head on. With chin up and chest out. Head-on.
Like a real man.
And bury the tiger forever. Once and for all.
So he took a ticket to Mumbai’s Churchgate station and headed straight to the booking counter. And took a two way ticket. And waited for the 6.07 pm local train at on a weekday.
This would be it. He would confront the Tiger. Finally. And fulfill a promise. And regain his own honour.
It was 5.57 pm on his watch. And he waited for the Local to pull into the busy Churchgate station.
He was breathing heavily. There was much at stake. What mattered most now, was his honor. That was paramount. He couldn’t be bothered with his bones now. Or of having the Tiger rip the epidermis off his ass. Honour. Honour it is.
He saw the Tiger appear far away. It was but a tiny speck in the distance. Becoming bigger with each moment as it came closer. It was now about 6.03 pm…..and the speck grew into sight, and the Virar local pulled into platform 4 at Churchgate … . . .
04 Monday Jun 2007
Posted Life in BlogLand, Life In Mumbai, Pathe-ology, The Virar Local
inAt 4 pm on a rather stuffy Saturday afternoon, as I was nearing home, I became aware of a sort of a crowd outside the building I stay in. I shuddered inside, hoping it wasn’t some accident or fire in the building. But as I came closer it seemed more a sort of a friendly crowd that had gathered.
If you have ever studied psychology at some point in your life, you will know what happens when such a friendly crowd gathers around – a few members in the crowd initially have something to say. And if the GPS location of this crowd matched someplace – any place – over the Indian sub-continent, then each and every member feels compelled to add something better to that, they first start talking, then they start talking at the same time and each wants to be heard by everyone else and slowly they strain their respective vocal chords and raise the decibel level and before you know it, they are all shouting and besides vocal chords, they are also straining their ear drums and soon it is entirely cacophony.
And then there are a few riff raffs – not entirely of their own accord, but its just the dynamics of the crowd that puts them naturally in that role – two or three or four younger members whose shouting and jumping is just not creating any hoo haa in the crowd, and they typically are on the outer periphery of the group – and begin to feel sorta left out. So as it happens they sense each others predicament and relate to it and some sort of unsaid camaraderie is established amongst them. And they may not even have even exchanged a word amongst themselves yet. So they move around the crowd, annoying the others, adding to the shouting with irrelevant content, smiling to themselves, just adding to the whole chaos.
That, somewhat, was the state of the group around the time I arrived. And I was considering various reasons for this crowd. None of the reasons that popped up inside my head seemed appropriate and I still couldn’t fathom the reason why this crowd gathered.
The closer I got, the more curious I got.
And suddenly it hit me. It hit me with such a force that I almost fell.
The ‘riff raffs’ who were rather absent mindedly walking around noticed me approaching and I could see one of them raise the hand, point at me and say something to the nearest person.
The cacophony suddenly reduced to a deafening silence. If someone dropped an empty can on a tin roof, you could hear it (yes, a can on a tin roof. This is Bombay and the noise pollution is appalling – so the proverbial pin would be rather ineffective and wouldn’t make a good idea to do a ‘test for silence’ with – something more effective like a can on a tin roof has been widely acknowledged to being more appropriate).
And as abruptly as the noisy group fell silent, it erupted into a roar. And before I had time to process visual impulses, I could see the blur of the crowd thundering directly at me – rather menacingly I might add.
I barely had time to let my instinct kick in to take over the auto-pilot. Good old instinct nevertheless kicked in and set me on the very dependable auto-pilot and a few moments later I discovered myself running rather wildly, with a shoe under each armpit, sweat trickling down my chin, three buttons undone, shirt flaring in the wind, feet trying to keep at least about 20 kmph, torso trying to catch up with the speed of the feet. I remember turning back occasionally to see if the gap was increasing or reducing. The gap was in fact closing. Oh and take my word, it really was a dreadful feeling.
When the good ol’ instinct in question allowed my brain to finally take over, there was much turmoil. Brain interpreting the series of events seemed appalled at the situation. It questioned the instinctive decision to turn around and scoot. Good old Common Sense had something to add too. And wisdom and logical reasoning too joined in what seemed like a committee meeting going on inside my head.
The resolution finally was passed. And I had clear instruction now that now seemed more sensible to act upon. Well Ok. I was also tired and my supply of adrenalin was depleting and I was getting fatigued – but nevertheless it did help me execute my unquestioned acceptance of the resolution of the committee.
I stopped. Turned around. Puffed and panted. And as the crowd caught up with me, I had successfuly achieved a state that allowed some words to pass from my lips.
“What do you want?” was all I could muster.
And then one from the mob stepped up to me and told me exactly what. My mouth went even more dry and jaw hung. I couldn’t speak for a whole minute.
I could have taken any explanation. This, was probably not even the last thing on my mind.
Now those of you who have followed my posts might be able to make the connection better than those that haven’t. If you indeed have read every post I have posted you will be able to understand and find some reason to what I heard from the mob. But again it depends on why you have been regularly following my posts.
Well, I am digressing. I am deviating from my task. I have this incredibly frightful mob inches from my face and I am going on about other things, meandering and rambling and indulging in pointless Pathe.
“Where is the post on the Virar Train that you had promised?” Was the only thing the mob had to say before they all shook their heads in sad disappointment and dispersed. The once-angry and indignant crowd now diluted and dissolved right in front of my eyes, dragging their feet and heavy hearts as they left.
And I stood there with my head hung low and feeling terribly responsible and sad that I didn’t keep my promise.
Jo Vaada kiya, voh nibhana padega………
I walked back home making a resolve that I will write a nice long post on the Virar Local soon.