Category: Random Philosophy (Page 2 of 11)
While binge watching another season of “The Good Wife”, one particular episode intrigued my professional curiosity. If I may say so.
The TV series, The good wife, is a court-drama and the lead is arguing on a case related to Search Engine optimization or SEO! Of course, apart from feeling a little extra excited, I couldn’t help but be in awe of the writing. They made sure the technicalities of SEO were accurate to the T. Especially when this particular season of the show was aired in 2012!
You know those ‘hacking’ scenes they show in movies and how they are just not accurate. I usually considered, by default, most of those as a dumbed down version of what actually happens!
Television writing for most of American Shows is crisp and intellectually engaging. Not all shows work for everyone, but the quality of Television writing is axiomatically brilliant. Even the blink-and-miss characters are pretty well-defined.
At least the writing on Indian Web-series has started picking up if not the Indian TV, which continues to be the same. But maybe we’ll skip the ‘Television’ altogether just like most of India jumped to Mobile phones before Landlines could spread their wires across. A very unusual comparison, but why not ?
Thankfully, Internet isn’t censored as our Television or Films are; and with numerous investments from YRF to Balaji, along with the existing TVFs and AIBs, can breathe in a something exciting in terms of writing.
Which show are you hooked on to ?
There’s a certain weirdness in having knowledge of everything that goes on around you.
The good. The bad and the ugly. Especially, the ugly.
One particular friend of mine starts off the ‘once-in-a-quarter phone call with Aur kuch gossip bata?
I don’t usually have any. But she sure does.
We all crave for the, ‘So, what’s going on with that person?’
However, on the rare days when I forget my earphones at home, there’s a lot that goes in my ear, other than Ed Sheeran’s Shape of you. And what’s with the song ?!
Of the many things, I realise people talk a LOT at workplace! I mean, way too much! Of late, I’m even fed with the knowledge of their breakfast menu, their spouses, in-laws, and sooooo many variations of ‘laughter’.
Every ringtone in a far off cubicle is like an RFID tags that is way too loud for making their presence felt. Even in the washroom. I mean who attends this call along with the nature’s?
In the midst of it all, I miss a few of my colleagues. The discussions. The breaks. The fun.
Now, forgetting my earphones is akin to attending class without getting an attendance!
People talking-out-loud is just too much information. The one I don’t need.
A light drizzle, fluttering winds and my resolve of finding silence in the midst of all the honking from traffic jams few meters away.
All this, when the lights are off. You see, electricity and rains don’t like to meet.
While talking to Ammi, she mentions the same. Although it’s a relief to have rains when Summer is almost on the door.
Did someone whispered, “Spring” ? A little loud, please ?
Intrestingly, if you ask people, they’ll have their ‘favorite’ season. Rains, Winter or even Summer. The answer is ready!
But frankly, no one likes any one of them. They all like bits of it.
(Look at me with my ‘they’. As if!!)
No one enjoys the excess of any of the three seasons. Like Summer is fine as long as we’re under the fan. Or preferably an AC! Ice creams. Vacations. And yes, Mangoes.
And when it rains ? The obsessing over the smell of the soil, bhutta, bhajji, chai.
Winters make sure that we like the Sun. Becoming lazier than we are. And a mission to help us save the previous water.
I have to think a little harder to compile a list of what I don’t like. And you know why is that ?
(Rhetorical. Do you think I wait for your Yes?!)
We forget the things we don’t like about these seasons quite easily. Like we crave for rains as soon as the heat goes up and then complain, Why does it rain so much?!
Holistic. We are not. When we think.
But then, where’s the fun, when we don’t have anything to whine about ?
Growing up, we’ve always felt proud of something. A possession. An inheritance. A talent.
We’ve all been the Kareena Kapoor from Kabhi Khusi Kabhi Gum in our own subtle way. Or in an outrageously similar way.
The pride, fuelled by the society’s idea of what constitutes good-to-have, has grown with us.
More than the happiness that buying or possessing something, it is the pride associated with having it before someone else.
It’s normal. Part of human nature. Even the animals. Perhaps.
Our cravings are a result of immitating the same pride on display in others. It is the feeling of replicating that feat that pushes our cravings. In a way, we are after the ‘defined acheivements’ that can introduce us to that feeling.
Over time, we end up managing to acheive a few of these. Even naturally we are blessed with a few of them. We don’t differentiate in feeling proud either way. It doesn’t matter how they come, as long as they are coming our way. Right?
But the problem is- Nothing’s permanent. It all changes. It all fades away. They all get shattered. To pieces-big and small.
What’s worse is, being proud of those very things becomes the reason for this. At least in our head. And in others, too.
You look back on what you had then. And what you don’t have now and a dozen ‘Why’s’ fly around your head.
Without answers, of course.
Today is the 92nd day of the year and as per my resolve of writing-every-day of the year, ideally this current post should be the 92nd post.
But then, Ideally, right?
This happens to be the 86th post as I’ve eaten up 6 posts already!
The last two days have been especially difficult to take time out to write. Not that I did not have any content to write on, but there were just too many things to write on, and in the struggle to decide which way to go and battle with my lazy weekend self, I just cold not write.
I planned to write the whole day and even woke myself up in the morning, but just couldn’t get the keyboard moving to type down words for me.
But finally I got myself to come out of my room, cycled my way to this nice place called Starbucks, ordered their fairly expensive coffee and while sitting near the window overlooking the Kormangala road, finally completed the Gokarna Travelogue in one sitting.
I’m yet to add the lovely pictures to the post and hence will upload the same on the other side of the Prime Meridian.
In the hurry to get out of the room and get started on the writing part, I’ve forgotten to bring my charger along, and the battery signals me that it needs food. Like me. But hey, at least I got some work done. Right?
But hey, at least I got some work done. Right?
As I sat down, after an hour-long stroll at the beach, with a book to read and the sound of waves and the fading heat of the sun gave me company. Solitude is best at the farewell hours of the sun. At a beach. Sunsets are beautiful!
The Gokarna beach isn’t the most crowded. Or perhaps our timing couldn’t have been better to plan a trip to the coastal slash temple town at the borders of Karnataka and a little before Goa.
The beach had families offering puja at one of the corners and just around the time of sunset, something very interesting happened.
This old man, aged around 80, stripped down to his langot to offer the Surya Namaskar. The devotion he had in offering it was amazing. After a few dips and when the sun was almost about to exit from the frame, he went back to put on his briefs and brought with him two empty bottles. At first it looked as if he was draining out something from the bottles but he was actually filling them out to carry it back. I was more intrigued by the process that this old man as. At one point in time when a priest standing nearby tried to help him, his reaction of ‘let me do it my way’ was enough for him to stop. Old people don’t like interference. They know their ‘process’.
When he was finally done, he cleaned himself up, dressed up and walked back towards the road with two bags on his shoulder.
I don’t know whether that was part of a religious custom or not, but the dedication of the feeble old man was amazing. The look on his face was speaking something. As if he’s finishing a duty. For a second, I thought I’ll ask him or even help him pick his bag, but it didn’t felt right. He wanted to do it himself.
As I sit with my laptop after a tiring day of trekking (sort of) and travelling in the humidity, I’m reminded of the old man. Maybe, it gives me a window of ‘what-ifs’ of my own old age or just remembering the old ones who really mattered. And still, do.