Quotes For A Rainy Day

And then from time to time, one has to go through a phase of feeling low - sometimes with reason, sometimes for no reason – it just hits you for timepass because “Hey! You’ve had such a long, blemish-less phase of feeling high! Guys let’s get him!”

‘Cut-to’ moments when you find yourself sitting with your chin resting on your palm, or sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly staring at the formations on the mosaic floor, looking at nothing, feeling nothing in particular.

And in that phase, you find yourself become a passenger of the bus, rather than the driver of this bus called life. From cutting through a day, embracing and grabbing and tackling and devouring and making an experience of each thing that makes up your routine day, you imperceptibly transform into one that goes through the motions of the same routines. Much like how a coin might feel in a slot machine. Or a drop of water that gets jostled and knocked over the edge of the Niagara Falls.

You go through an entire week or even months on end feeling low but not knowing why. Sometimes not really sure if you actually are feeling low. Not really sure if you are not. Just a state of daze and drifting.

Most times when it is indeed a decidedly low phase, I have never found the reason, the why, but of course we all know why in a lateral sort of perspective.

Mt Everest would not have any of its Brobdingnagian associations if not for all the other smaller peaks scattered over the globe. A mere 9.74 seconds of Asafa Powell’s life would not have made any difference to the world if there were others who covered 100m faster by foot. You can never appreciate the importance of youristri wala, unless he stopped coming for two weeks. You may never know what a great boss you had yesterday if you did not have a lousy boss today.  You may never appreciate the food on the table unless you have felt the weakness caused by hunger at some phase of your life. And you may never appreciate your wealth – or the pay cheque you get today – if that hunger was caused because you could not buy food to eat.

We need a reference point. Every low phase is preparing you for a higher experience of happiness. A higher state of being. An ability to cherish and find more joy.

Anyway, by now you have gathered, I am sure, that I may not exactly be going through a great phase. You gathered right.

Why – and this is not in a lateral sense – is quite a difficult question to answer. It is lot of things – the usual things that strike all of us living the city life – work, taxes, friction with those that you love and subsequent heart-burn, land-lord giving you a less than a month to vacate, the responsibilities that you have that you are not happy about the way you are shouldering them …you know the rest.

One a very significant contributor has to do with me coming across this quote about a month back.

The power of accurate observation is frequently called cynicism by those who don’t have it.
 

This was George Bernard Shaw.

And by the end of the day, many more random quotes and words of wisdom, insight and spectacular depth came rushing back to my mind.

And there was something common in all those quotes. These were quotes we – sis and me –  grew up listening to. Right through childhood, rebellious teens and those crazy twenties. Not a day passed without an insight – either quoted or indigenous – into some mundane day-to-day incident. And the common thread really was humour, a sense of lightness in the view of life, a reiteration of the larger picture of life when one is experiencing the turmoil of a contextually significant, yet insignificant and sometimes even irrelevant in the macro view of life, but never taking away the importance and necessity of the current context.

Dad always gave us a fresh point of view that helped us sail over a difficult situation without letting the situation get to us and affect us at the core. When he was on the hospital bed, he had an oxygen pipe running down his throat, and could’nt talk to us. He would write short notes and when I read them today, it seems incredible but they all had a powerful underlying humour that was hard to miss.

And then I read this post by Jawahara. I don’t know how this appeals to people in general, but I can relate to it so much. A very touching, very deep reflection of the time immediately after dad passes away. Those, strangely, were the very same thoughts that had overcome me too.

I too saw old men weeping. Women crying, uncles and friends sobbing uncontrollably. And those moments gave a glimpse-no a revelation-  into to the way each of their lives were woven to that of my father.

Grief is a strange thing. Because it never comes with a label ‘Grief’ written on it. It comes in the most unusual moments. It is not always a phase, but a moment, a flash, a thought, a fleeting state of mind. It can bring a frown to your face. It can bring a tear in your eye. It can bring a sigh. It can bring a memory. And it can bring a smile.

And my next phase of high sputtered on and I was thinking – You may not have control over a lot of things in life, but you have control on how you let them affect you. And how you react.

Let me leave you with some of the lighter, more common, quotes of quotes we’ve grown up hearing.

 

GB Shaw: The test of a man or woman’s breeding is how they behave in a quarrel.

Eisenhower’s Mother: Which one? (In reply to a reporter who had asked, “Don’t you feel great about your illustrious son?” )
Dorothy Parker: This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.

Dorothy Parker: She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B. (about Katharine Hepburn’s performance)

GB Shaw: Youth is wasted on youngsters. (Original: Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children)

GB Shaw: Marriage is an alliance entered into by a man who can’t sleep with the window shut, and a woman who can’t sleep with the window open.

Groucho Marx: I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.

Groucho Marx: I was married by a judge. I should have asked for a jury.

Unknown: The best way to judge a man is from the way he reacts when something is given free

Unknown: When you are the Host, make your guest feel at home. When you are the Guest, Make the host feel at home.

Unknown: I am a man who has many things to be humble about.

A certain Professor Boyd, at the Madras Christian College: You’ve got two marks. And don’t even think I gave you two out of twenty. I gave you two out of pity. 

 

And here is the biggest gem of all – which, we are now sure, was probably something he told himself rather than us - Lucky are the Parents who have no children.

A Flower is a Fruit of Music…

Starting every morning with an injection of Jaggu and Taranas dose of music, we clog our heads with so many tunes, some great, some good, some mere trash, and many recycled shamelessly. 

But if you sit down and pause to think of the ones that will stay on top of your mind forever, very few pop up. There is a huge war going on in our heads. The war for top-of-mind recall.

Cast your eyes to the right column of this page.

Notice I have made a musical addition for your entertainment and pleasure. So now every time you visit this blog, you can listen to some music. I have only added about 10 now – some random numbers but I have picked them in pairs of similar titles. (And the embed-script doesn’t work right yet. So you might need to click 2 more clicks – click on ‘popout’ and enable the standalone player. I’ll fix this soon)

So while I was rummaging through the ones that popped up in my head, a very unexpected, quaint tune appeared out of nowhere and also descended on to my lips. It is about a flower.

This small, white, clean and bright flower.

Pic source:Britannica.com

The Edelweiss.

“Oho, Vella samandiya?” asked mom.

No. Don’t think we have ever seen it here in India. Check this.

But here is how you can find the joy the flower can give, multiplied many-fold.

(if you are already listening to the music from the popout, pl pause the player!)

courtesy Agapeland

A Matter of Spiritual Quest

They burst into the room palpitating.

Their faces were pale, lips dry and relief writ large in 48 pt Arial Black Bold Underline.  There was an overpowering aura of nervous energy about them. Their hands were trembling.

“Here!” Thundered Siva, proving once and for all that he was the King of Jugaad. He thrust a bag into TPs hands. I could tell it had taken him huge effort to thunder out the “Here.”

TP took the bag silently. The delight of getting a bag of Green Label was lost in the graveness of the situation.

We sat in silence. Four of us around the three guys who had just returned. They were gradually getting their breath back and the colour was slowly coming back to their faces.

And all of a sudden Bhai lashed out at Siva.

“Mediclaim Id Card!!! What where you thinking!!”
“Do you know what they could’ve done to you?” said Joy.
“To us!”barked Bhai angrily at Joy.
“Yeah! To US!” barked Joy at Siva.
“Heh heh heh” grinned shiva sheepishly.”it’s cool, machaan!”
“Cool, my foot!” said Bhai.

I broke in and cross talked. “Do you guys mind very much telling us what happened or are you going to yell at each other the rest of the night?”

“See”, started Joy. “We found a small dark lane that had a wine shop that sold booze through the night.  So we parked our bikes, Bhai and I went to the shop and Siva went to buy smokes from somewhere.”

When we were walking back, Machaan!! COPS!!” Said Joy. “they were waiting for us near our bikes!”

I was getting a little unsettled. These guys had done or almost done something really stupid. In fact I had a sneaking suspicion they would go and get themselves into trouble.

Bhai interjected. “We were doing perfectly fine dealing with them and we were about to send them off. That’s when this ass decided to show up and pull his trick”

And then came a rather unusual story that has haunted us ever since.

Let me give you the background.

It all started about an hour earlier. At KH51.

Around 12.45 am 7 guys put their empty glasses on the KH51 floor in unison with a resounding clunk after doing a bottoms up. For it was the last drink.

The night was young. The mood was high. And 7 minds on the brink of intoxication felt strong, inviolable, infallible, even bombproof. Minds, teetering on the brink of intoxication, teased for more. A few more swigs would be good wonderful great divine. Of course. Spiritual even.

But the bottles were dry. Supplies had exhausted.

For all its positioning as a booze haven, replenishing supply of liquor that particular night in Pondicherry at that particular time was not merely mushkil, it was damn near naamumkin.

Maybe numkeen for the booze, but booze, namumkin (hehe couldn’t resist that one).

But have more, we must, and get more, we shall. Of course, we were in ‘college’. Someone had to. And that someone had to be a jugaad king, who could negotiate and manoeuvre around  any impossibility that life throws out. Or any law the constitution spews out.

And, more significantly, it meant someone going out, all the way 15 km to buy maal.

And return. In one piece.            

That was not something everyone wanted to risk.

In moments like these TP was always the one to take charge, to rise to the occasion and volunteer like a real salt of the earth.

“Siva will go!” he said.

As for Siva, he  was from a different league altogether. It was a big mystery to everyone why he did some of the things he did. And why he didn’t do some of the things he didn’t do. For he led an existence on campus never knowing that he could say no. Indeed, he never came to realize he had an option not to say yes.

Joy and Bhai jumped into the frey for the sheer adventure that it all seemed to promise.

Sure there was adventure. Consider – they had to sneak out of campus from under the nose of the campus security and the patrol police, drive safely in the darkest 15km stretch of ECR all the way to Pondicherry town, not get stopped and arrested by cops for drunk-biking, ask around and find a corrupt man who could sell booze at that time of night, turn around, drive out of the town without getting mugged, and drive all the way back on ECR, sneak past security at gate, and police patrol, have enough gas left to drive in 2km and bring the bottle(s) without breaking them. Oh there was going to be adventure, alright!

We watched the two bikes sputter off At 1.10 am.

We sent them off and immediately began worrying ourselves silly and praying for the trio’s safety over a glass each of the triplex TP had pulled out the moment after the three left. He had hidden it under sheer selfishness and some books for some ‘emergency’.

So as the emergency was fast disappearing our prayers became more intense and as time ticked by, we were getting more anxious.

And so imagine our chargin as the bursting-through-the-door happened and they took to abusing each other – they did return in one piece but now we had to know what had happened.

“Trauma Card kudukrey!! Passport illiya” Bhai had this propensity to Tamil when he got excited. The two guys were laying it thick on Siva.

“Chumma they won’t just arrest” Joy happily added ghee to the fire.

“Forgery, spying, and anti-terrorism le book pandradu, ariyo!” it was Bhai Mulling in Tamil. 

TP broke in this time.”Pass the glasses” he said.

Silence took over for a brief moment as all hands greedily reached for a glass.

“What happened?” asked Srini who was quiet all this time.

As it happened, the cops were questioning Bhai and Joy.

“What are you doing at this time of night?” asked the cops.

“Nothing sar”

“Nothinga!?”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Err..Sar, pissing saar”

“Dai, you should feel ashamed. Padicha pasanga, educated and

all, on roadle pissinga! Tsk.Tsk. Go back home! Your parents

spend so much on you to get you educated and you are

pissing on road…”

“Whats going on here!”

All of them turn. A silhouette of a 6 feet tall man sporting a smart crew cut is walking up to them.

Joy and Bhai look at each other.

“This is P.V.Krishnasamy” and the silhouette pulls out the ID card from the pocket, holds it up in the air and grandly announces, “from CBI”

The CBI officer unfortunately made one small error of judgement. He had inadvertently held out his Accident Trauma Mediclaim Card against the street light in full view of the cops and the two college kids.

We hardly slept that night. The officer never got a chance to tell us how they managed to wriggle out of that one.

The booze ran out quickly and it might have as well been water. I suspect it was the booze that gave us a bad stomach cramp that lasted a whole week after that night.

And Then The Mood Meter Swings…

One of the nicer things that makes life seem more agreeable is the unexpected surprise that springs up now and then. Sometimes life is a lot like a treasure hunt. Just when you are down and low, theres a surprise waiting around the corner that pulls your mood way up and makes you all cheery and happy all over again. 

That somewhat is how about 60 of us felt on a particular day some years back. But the day started from a rather low point. 

Nausea. Headache. Resentment. Resignation. Annoyance. Irritation.

All these and more assaulted all of us. Simmering anger, largely at ourselves, put a frown on all our foreheads. And behind each frown quivered a brain intoxicated with performance anxiety.

Our collective self-doubt slipped further and further as the time drew closer to 10 am. It was not going to be a good day, and we could tell we were not going to have very fond memories of the Electrical Lab exam. Always a pain in the you-know-where. An overpowering sense of gloom hovered over every head that was under the roof of the long corridor.

And you will be awarded no special points for guessing that I shared a similar disposition that morning. I was not spared either.

Shanky had already reached. He seemed more composed.

“Hi”

“Hi Shanky”

“Ennada, know all the circuits?”

“Not sure”, I was grimacing. “It all looks the same now!”

“I know 3 of them very well.” Shanky was one of those smart kids. He could always get better mileage from lesser effort simply by being cleverer and applying more thought. He could predict more accurately what questions are more likely and had a high-probability gut feel for what might be asked in the exam.

Although he appeared composed, you could tell the cloud of gloom was hovering over his head too.

Now, in situations such as this, when you are surrounded by people, everyone with a cloud of gloom over the head, a general feeling of depression and negative energy overcomes you.

And so when a little bit of cheer and sunshine appears unexpectedly, you perk up and tend to take notice. 60 heads bobbed up to watch the spectacle on the corridor.

For there appeared, among all those frown infested faces, one face that displayed no hint of a frown.

Orijit Monty was in fact smiling cheerily.

He was a sure odd man out. One man glowing among a crowd of sombre students of II year Engineering. He was in fact beaming.

Granted that part of the effect was due to the fact that he had a large, really large forehead and there was a distinct, perpetual shine on that forehead .  And on the days he oiled his hair, it shone more. Orijit Monty’s forehead was so large that you couldn’t tell if his hair was receding or if his forehead was encroaching his scalp.

I walked up to him. “Kya bey! What gives?!” His cheer was annoying.

“17 circutein. Sab pud liya kya?” He asked with a mocking grin.

Of course I hadn’t. ”Haan Haan!! Of course. Of course I have” I said. The ass was apparently on top of it all. Huh? Wait! Did he just say 17!? “17? Where is 17? It’s only 13!”

“Abay Gan&%^#!! its 17!” And there followed a mirthful laugh.

Orijit was one of those people that colleges across the world regularly throw up year after year, whose stories of quirkiness and SantaBantaness are carried by the rest of the class for the rest of their lives.

And to be laughed at by O.M.!! Shanky couldn’t stop himself. His gloom disappeared and his head almost fell off laughing at me.

But Orijit was not yet done with me.

“Abay, Idhar dekh” From his pocket, he pulled out tiny pieces of paper with the circuits and readings all written down. Great.

10 am came. We all shuffled inside the lab. I picked a chit that was written in Latin or French I am not sure. They gave me two Rheostats. some wires, an OHM meter, a large table attached to a panel mounted with some dreadful looking switches and some coloured bulbs you’ve seen in the villains hide-out in Indian thriller movies of the 70’s. There was a crude looking motor on the side.

In half hour the circuit diagram was to be shown and approved. And then you have an hour and a half to set the circuit and take readings.

Orijit was in full swing. The examiner came to his table.

“Circuit!” he said handing his paper with relish. That stupid grin was broader now.

Ravi Sir, the external examiner looked at him quizzically while taking the sheet.

“Ok. Make the circuit” he said

“Is yours ready?” He was talking to me.

“Err..almost. Almost sir”

“Show me what you have done…”

I handed my sheet apprehensively. I had done about 40%. And that darned motor flummoxed me. Where does the red wire go?

He scribbled something on my sheet. “You have 15 minutes more!” he said glaring at me. I was pleasantly surprised! The man had finished the rest of the circuit for me!

A minute later Shanky turned to me beaming. This man was dissolving the cloud! He was bringing the smile back on our faces!

Orijit meanwhile was waving and jumping to catch the attention of Ravi Sir.

“Sir!” he boomed across the lab.

“Yes?”

“I am done sir”

Ravi Sir turned slowly. Walked up to him.

Orijit proudly thrust the paper into his hands with pride and a little perceptible arrogance.

He grinned at all of us while his paper was being checked.

“You can leave the lab” Said Ravi Sir.

Orijit was proud of himself. And let it show. He hopped and skipped his way to the exit bestowing each of us with a sparkling grin.

“Please come back next year! You are suspended” continued Ravi.

Orijit stopped abruptly.

Ravi turned to the rest of us.

“Power is expected in another ten minutes. Everybody finish your circuits before that!”

Oh well.