It takes all kinds of people to make the world. Some people are satisfied with whatever they get. They don't need a lot. A little is enough to make them happy. They do not generally have a strong opinion about anything. They are easy-going, and like to lead a peaceful and calm life.
Some people on the other hand know exactly what they want. They plan out their lives, and live accordingly. They need more to be happy. And they get more.
But do people change? Can a person who belongs to the former group become one of the latter? Can a strong-opinionated person, who has firm likes and dislikes, turn into a person, who is satisfied easily, satisfied with the second best?
A certain person is of the adaptive type. He can stay happy with what he gets. He does not ask for the best, because he can adjust and be happy with the second best. Then there comes a phase in his life, when he gets to taste the best. For some time, he knows that what he has is perfect. Now if the perfect is taken away from him, will he be able to be happy with what he gets? Or will he always compare what he gets with what he had, and could have had...the perfect? Are his values and his taste changed permanently? Or can he go back to his earlier easy-going accept-all ways of life?
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Friday, January 23, 2004
The darkness of early dawn. The sun was yet to rise. The moon was there bright and shining up in the sky. The desolate roads, with an occasional human soul here and there, one or two shop-keepers, trying to make an early buck, and five weary travellers walking along, joking and talking to themselves.
There was no specific topic of conversation. Pulling each other's legs, praising each other's sense of direction (or the lack of the same), and wondering how far the sea was, that was about all that they talked about. Someone yearned for a cup of coffee. Someone had a heavy heart, with a lot to say, but no one to say that to. Someone was anxious about the future. Someone was dreaming about tomorrow and all other tomorrows to come. Someone was happy to be where he was. Each was blissfully unaware of the others' thoughts. Each lived the moment in his own private world, with the only thing in common between them being their destination, or at least their destination for that moment.
First it was the feel. The faint odour of the seaweeds, the heavy moist air laden with salt and water, the cool breeze. Gradually one got to hear the faint yet deep, heavy rumbling of the unimaginably powerful monster. Far ahead, the sky was suddenly clear of any buildings or trees or anything which usually makes up the skyline. A sense of thrill suddenly went through the minds of the five. Did someone shiver slightly, or was it pure imagination? A turn towards the right and they were there.
The sun was still deep down below the horizon. The dark blue water shone under the moonlight. The beach itself was rocky, huge black rocks stacked up precariously one on top of the other. Below, the sea crashed against the rocks in a spray of white foam again and again. The heavy rumbling from the depths of the mighty ocean was more intense.
A few loan boats were making their way back after a night of hard toil. A ship with sparkling lights stood still in the water, arrogant, and unimpressed by the waves that crashed against its hull. It had weathered many a storm in the course of its life. Black clouds lined the horizon at the end of the ocean, putting doubts in the mind about whether the sunrise will be visible.
They waited there, sitting or standing, as the clock ticked slowly. There were a few discussions, whether the sunrise will be seen or not, which is east, and if the chicken came first or the egg. Some sat quietly, lost in thought. Some stood there, staring, enthralled with the enormosity of it all.
Gradually, the sky became clearer. One could see better now. Visible at a distance were some pieces of wood, jutting out over the water's surface. There was a long jetty snaking out into the water, some way farther off. A few more boats came into the view, bobbing up and down in the swells. A lone fisherman struggled hard to bring his boat abreast the planks jutting out of the water. He started coiling up the nets which had been put there the previous night.
It was pretty bright by now. A few of the travellers stirred up from their positions, and started to get ready to return. It was generally agreed that the sun had already risen and was behind the dark clouds, so couldn't be seen. As they were about to make their way back, the sun proved them all wrong. A glimmer of deep red burst through the dark clouds, just beyond the horizon. The sun had risen, the day had started.
****
The brief respite from the drudgeries of daily life, the short time off was over. It was time to return, but no one wanted to.
It was the same five who were sitting on the black rocks, on the shore of the ocean. Below them, the incessant waves were still crashing against the rocks and breaking out in a spray of white foam. Occasionally, when the wind picked up, a few drops of water would be carried up to the people sitting there, and splash their faces or hands. On their two sides, there were endless number of people, sitting or standing, enjoying the beauty, with their own friends and family.
As the sun set behind their backs, a strange sense of freedom prevailed in the breeze, that buffetted against their faces. Here one was carefree, and not tied down by the rules that governs the behaviour of people back at home. For a brief moment of time, one was allowed the oppurtunity to forget who one was, and enjoy a sense of closeness and belonging, a sense of camaraderie, inspired by the ocean. The beauty of the ocean could only be appreciated, as one lost one's identity and felt oneself to be part of nature.
As they trudged their way back to the hotel, and later as they sat quietly in a car on the highway, each lost in their own thoughts, they carried back with them a memory, which would remain for ever, irrespective of whether anything else did or not.
There was no specific topic of conversation. Pulling each other's legs, praising each other's sense of direction (or the lack of the same), and wondering how far the sea was, that was about all that they talked about. Someone yearned for a cup of coffee. Someone had a heavy heart, with a lot to say, but no one to say that to. Someone was anxious about the future. Someone was dreaming about tomorrow and all other tomorrows to come. Someone was happy to be where he was. Each was blissfully unaware of the others' thoughts. Each lived the moment in his own private world, with the only thing in common between them being their destination, or at least their destination for that moment.
First it was the feel. The faint odour of the seaweeds, the heavy moist air laden with salt and water, the cool breeze. Gradually one got to hear the faint yet deep, heavy rumbling of the unimaginably powerful monster. Far ahead, the sky was suddenly clear of any buildings or trees or anything which usually makes up the skyline. A sense of thrill suddenly went through the minds of the five. Did someone shiver slightly, or was it pure imagination? A turn towards the right and they were there.
The sun was still deep down below the horizon. The dark blue water shone under the moonlight. The beach itself was rocky, huge black rocks stacked up precariously one on top of the other. Below, the sea crashed against the rocks in a spray of white foam again and again. The heavy rumbling from the depths of the mighty ocean was more intense.
A few loan boats were making their way back after a night of hard toil. A ship with sparkling lights stood still in the water, arrogant, and unimpressed by the waves that crashed against its hull. It had weathered many a storm in the course of its life. Black clouds lined the horizon at the end of the ocean, putting doubts in the mind about whether the sunrise will be visible.
They waited there, sitting or standing, as the clock ticked slowly. There were a few discussions, whether the sunrise will be seen or not, which is east, and if the chicken came first or the egg. Some sat quietly, lost in thought. Some stood there, staring, enthralled with the enormosity of it all.
Gradually, the sky became clearer. One could see better now. Visible at a distance were some pieces of wood, jutting out over the water's surface. There was a long jetty snaking out into the water, some way farther off. A few more boats came into the view, bobbing up and down in the swells. A lone fisherman struggled hard to bring his boat abreast the planks jutting out of the water. He started coiling up the nets which had been put there the previous night.
It was pretty bright by now. A few of the travellers stirred up from their positions, and started to get ready to return. It was generally agreed that the sun had already risen and was behind the dark clouds, so couldn't be seen. As they were about to make their way back, the sun proved them all wrong. A glimmer of deep red burst through the dark clouds, just beyond the horizon. The sun had risen, the day had started.
****
The brief respite from the drudgeries of daily life, the short time off was over. It was time to return, but no one wanted to.
It was the same five who were sitting on the black rocks, on the shore of the ocean. Below them, the incessant waves were still crashing against the rocks and breaking out in a spray of white foam. Occasionally, when the wind picked up, a few drops of water would be carried up to the people sitting there, and splash their faces or hands. On their two sides, there were endless number of people, sitting or standing, enjoying the beauty, with their own friends and family.
As the sun set behind their backs, a strange sense of freedom prevailed in the breeze, that buffetted against their faces. Here one was carefree, and not tied down by the rules that governs the behaviour of people back at home. For a brief moment of time, one was allowed the oppurtunity to forget who one was, and enjoy a sense of closeness and belonging, a sense of camaraderie, inspired by the ocean. The beauty of the ocean could only be appreciated, as one lost one's identity and felt oneself to be part of nature.
As they trudged their way back to the hotel, and later as they sat quietly in a car on the highway, each lost in their own thoughts, they carried back with them a memory, which would remain for ever, irrespective of whether anything else did or not.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Monday, December 29, 2003
Saturday, December 27, 2003
Thursday, December 25, 2003
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Bangalore traffic is rather painful. The drivers don't just care about what happens to the public and other drivers...everyone has only one motto, 'Do as you please'! Indiscriminate use of high beams on the city roads with the sole purpose of blinding the drivers in the opposite lane is their favourite passtime. Specially menacing are the auto-rickshaws.
Autos-drivers believe in treating the road equivalent to their bedrooms, they can do whatever they want. Specially when they are about to U-turn, god help the guy behind him. God was rather merciful to me day before yesterday given the fact that I still live to see another day! And when a staunch atheist like me gives credit to Mr. God, one can be sure the experience that I had was not particularly pleasant or rosy.
On the first occasion (there was more than one) I was happily driving down our lane at my usual speed of forty, along the left side of the road like a righteous law-abiding citizen. An auto was coming down the road from the other side. I looked into the auto but turned away disinterested since the passenger was not a good-looking girl. In fact it was not even a girl. Looking away was my mistake. The auto-driver noticed my apparent disinterest and swore revenge. He decided to U-turn and did. He bumped into the side of my bike with a resounding crash. It took me some fifty yards to stabilize myself and come to a halt. I got down and inspected my bike for damages. Aparently there were none. The auto stopped beside me. The driver got down and inspected his auto for damages. The front tyre guard was dented. The guy gave me a spine-chilling glance, stepped into his auto muttering all the time in kannada about life and how it was unfair, and drove away.
The second incidence came later in the day. Already jarred by an incident in the morning, this time I was driving much below my par speed. At the same time I was keeping a weary eye open for oncoming autos from opposite lane and their U-turning tendencies. I did not pay much attention to the auto in front of me. So this time this fellow decided to U-turn to the right. As he came right in front of me, I braked. The Thunderbird has wonderful brakes. I owe my life time and again to the disc brakes on the front wheel. And they saved me again this time. As I came to a screeching halt, the auto-driver heard me, paniced and stopped...right in front of me, so that I could no way avoid him. Well, as I said, the brakes saved me, and I stopped with an inch to spare. (Well, there was this problem in +2 Physics, if you come across an auto in the middle of the road with n metres to spare is it easier to turn or brake? Energy formulae somehow proved that it is easier to brake. I however had learnt the lesson the hard way, especially hard for my friend's car which I was driving, and which sported a scratched left headlight for many subsequent days.)
After that, for the rest of the day, I went about at 10 Kmph peak speed, with the belief firm in mind that I was destined to die an autocrashic death that day. No wonder I was particularly thankful towards my destiny for having let me see the light of another day!
Note: Another addition in the Favourites list, another close friend - another Anant!
Autos-drivers believe in treating the road equivalent to their bedrooms, they can do whatever they want. Specially when they are about to U-turn, god help the guy behind him. God was rather merciful to me day before yesterday given the fact that I still live to see another day! And when a staunch atheist like me gives credit to Mr. God, one can be sure the experience that I had was not particularly pleasant or rosy.
On the first occasion (there was more than one) I was happily driving down our lane at my usual speed of forty, along the left side of the road like a righteous law-abiding citizen. An auto was coming down the road from the other side. I looked into the auto but turned away disinterested since the passenger was not a good-looking girl. In fact it was not even a girl. Looking away was my mistake. The auto-driver noticed my apparent disinterest and swore revenge. He decided to U-turn and did. He bumped into the side of my bike with a resounding crash. It took me some fifty yards to stabilize myself and come to a halt. I got down and inspected my bike for damages. Aparently there were none. The auto stopped beside me. The driver got down and inspected his auto for damages. The front tyre guard was dented. The guy gave me a spine-chilling glance, stepped into his auto muttering all the time in kannada about life and how it was unfair, and drove away.
The second incidence came later in the day. Already jarred by an incident in the morning, this time I was driving much below my par speed. At the same time I was keeping a weary eye open for oncoming autos from opposite lane and their U-turning tendencies. I did not pay much attention to the auto in front of me. So this time this fellow decided to U-turn to the right. As he came right in front of me, I braked. The Thunderbird has wonderful brakes. I owe my life time and again to the disc brakes on the front wheel. And they saved me again this time. As I came to a screeching halt, the auto-driver heard me, paniced and stopped...right in front of me, so that I could no way avoid him. Well, as I said, the brakes saved me, and I stopped with an inch to spare. (Well, there was this problem in +2 Physics, if you come across an auto in the middle of the road with n metres to spare is it easier to turn or brake? Energy formulae somehow proved that it is easier to brake. I however had learnt the lesson the hard way, especially hard for my friend's car which I was driving, and which sported a scratched left headlight for many subsequent days.)
After that, for the rest of the day, I went about at 10 Kmph peak speed, with the belief firm in mind that I was destined to die an autocrashic death that day. No wonder I was particularly thankful towards my destiny for having let me see the light of another day!
Note: Another addition in the Favourites list, another close friend - another Anant!
It gives one this nice smug patronizing feeling when one introduces a friends' blog to bloganity. Few people have the priviledge, fewer still have it more than once.
She was among the first few friends I made when I came to Bangalore. She is among the closest of my friends now. She was the board topper in the Secondary exams. She was an accomplished badminton player, who used to play in the I-forgot-which level. She is not at all moody! She likes playing monopoly, scrabble, but hates playing carrom, chess. She is allegedly going about with another close friend of mine. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the community, the beautiful, charming, kind-hearted, helping, (ya, she is going to read this article!) Prerna.
She was among the first few friends I made when I came to Bangalore. She is among the closest of my friends now. She was the board topper in the Secondary exams. She was an accomplished badminton player, who used to play in the I-forgot-which level. She is not at all moody! She likes playing monopoly, scrabble, but hates playing carrom, chess. She is allegedly going about with another close friend of mine. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the community, the beautiful, charming, kind-hearted, helping, (ya, she is going to read this article!) Prerna.
Monday, December 22, 2003
I sometimes wonder, do I really love to write? There seem to be plenty of evidence indicating otherwise.
For those who take up writing as a passion, there can be no break. Whatever other engagements they might have, they always manage to find out time for writing. I, on the other hand, have abstained myself from writing because I was finding it difficult to manage all my different interests and still write.
I often get different ideas to write about. I have started writing hundreds of pieces, which promised to turn into novels and thrillers, but ended up unfinished (read just-started) manuscripts which only I will ever read, on some future date, and wonder, how I had planned to proceed with the story. Definitely not a trait to be seen among passionate writers.
Yesterday I started writing about our Manipal trip (we shouldn't call it a trip, at least in public, as Anant says.....it was supposed to be 3 months of rigorous training!) and finished about half of the first chapter. I stopped with an intention to continue later. I wonder when 'later' will be!
Anyway, with all these indications of not being a serious writer, as I return to the web-logger's world exactly four months (believe me, its only a coincidence) after I had stopped posting, I realise that I was indeed missing something I liked to do.
For those who take up writing as a passion, there can be no break. Whatever other engagements they might have, they always manage to find out time for writing. I, on the other hand, have abstained myself from writing because I was finding it difficult to manage all my different interests and still write.
I often get different ideas to write about. I have started writing hundreds of pieces, which promised to turn into novels and thrillers, but ended up unfinished (read just-started) manuscripts which only I will ever read, on some future date, and wonder, how I had planned to proceed with the story. Definitely not a trait to be seen among passionate writers.
Yesterday I started writing about our Manipal trip (we shouldn't call it a trip, at least in public, as Anant says.....it was supposed to be 3 months of rigorous training!) and finished about half of the first chapter. I stopped with an intention to continue later. I wonder when 'later' will be!
Anyway, with all these indications of not being a serious writer, as I return to the web-logger's world exactly four months (believe me, its only a coincidence) after I had stopped posting, I realise that I was indeed missing something I liked to do.
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