Category: Random Philosophy (Page 2 of 14)

Looking at 2017: The Year in Review

I started last year by forcing myself to write everyday. Remember? 

And I did stick to the resolution (more or less) for close to a little over 100 days. Finding time to write and penning down thoughts before hitting the bed, everyday, wasn’t easy. But I did. Good or bad writing, that wasn’t the goal. Writing regularly was, which was partially acheived. 

I travelled. Could have done more if the CLs and ELs were more generous. In my next job, the number of holidays will definitely be the biggest criteria. But of course, there’s time for that. It was a hectic work-year in catching up with lead targets but extremely helpful in learning. That’s the only goal for the first 5 year. A little over a year-and-a-half left to evaluate the ‘T-Marketer’ roadmap. 

My target was to complete 12 books this year at a strike rate of 1 every month. But, of course, I only started on that in the later part of the year. However, did manage to read 11 (and a few half-read ones). A long pending list awaits in my Amazon Cart.  

Tried my best to learn more of Kannada but haven’t been able to go beyond the greetings. Watched a few more of the regional movies to get a hang of the mannerisms but attempts to understand meet roadblocks unless it includes a few English words. A man’s gotta try, anyway. 

Made a few good friends. The existing ones stood by. Got in touch with old ones too. 

Was more honest than before. Was less mean to others and made conscious efforts to be nicer. 


Had plans for more cycling trips but couldn’t. Got lazier than the year before but hoping this year would be different. At least, I’ll try to. 

Plan was also to be more self-focussed (self-obsessed actually). Tried my best to take a fair share of extra selfies to prove just that. And yes, indulgences in other selfish pleasures. This helps keep one sane. 

Of the things I did (or didn’t), the biggest lesson learnt was to find avenues of being content. To be grateful for what you have and find happiness in the little indulgences. It can be the food you eat, the place you travel, the movie you watch or the person you meet. There is no BIG moment that can give you that, always. Sure, they’d be a few. But you cannot anticipate the big ones and let go the smaller ones. Indulging yourself in every possible activity helps in not straying around aimlessly. 

The year 2017 was good. And even the stupid things that happened doesn’t pop outta my Head when I look back, so I’m assuming it was all good. 

Here’s to an even better year! Cheers, folks. Be Awesome (for yourself). 

Chasing Sleep

Minutes pass by as his tired eyes try gauging the freckles of light from outside the window, while the dark gloom of the room literally overshadows it all. 

The undecided state of mind and the vacancy of a description to it, seeks out multiple answers. The effect of just one, isn’t realistic. The impracticality just doesn’t fit. Even in this dark time. 

The invite from sleep is placed just right over there at the pillow. Visible even in the dark. But who takes up easy offers. The one for the taking. Not him. 

Conflict is interesting. In the head: fighting. Fighting to inch towards the pillow and the dreams on display. Not buy but earn it. Accomplish it to end your day on a high. A tired high seems like a consolation. 

‘Ill take it!’ he is affirmative on this. 

The after-sleep is enticing. Uncertain but with possibilities. Open doorways to illogical happenings. Enticing? Un-empty? Non-scary?

Hesitant he, just argues for the gloom; romanticizing the scared reality without a leash on it. Dragging in the empty air with a slow whiff out as his ribs aches. 

As his head drops down to accept the invite, he lived to fight another night. Chasing Sleep was, after all, a ritual. 

A Weekend Evening

The unplanned weekend has a calming character. Nothingness means something. The pleasant Bengaluru weather and the beautiful sky adds to the mood. Shuffling between the pages of a book to writing down a few lines for the blog, it’s a wonderful headspace to be in. 

When the door open to a world familiar and yet open to lend itself to you; to show you something new. The invitation is open for all and yet a few show up. Few chose to accept the invite. 

Is this an exclusive or just a consolation? Open for interpretation. 

What’s new in the chirping of the birds or in the piegions finding a corner for themselves? 

The fluttering of the leaves or the kids playing hide & seek?

The weekly ritual of washed clothes clipped on plastic ropes waving in clean joy or the family leaving for their weekend-outing.

The mundane isn’t interesting. And one’s interesting can be another’s mundane. 

The slightly chilly wind is comforting along with the warm embrace of this mug of coffee. 

A perspective is just about walking a few extra steps to check from the other side. 

There’s always something new to explore if you really want to. Like re-reading a book and wondering how you never got that before. Stories, characters and plots, all right here to observe and get entertained. 

A sunset here can be a sunrise somewhere else. 

It’s all about looking at the possibilities irrespective of their bleak sounding nature. Realism is always great. But not without some optimism. 

What are you doing this weekend?

Expiry Date

There, but not there! 

Seeking perfection even in the camaflogue of the broken, twisted and peculiar settings, our innermost desire still remains – finding that perfect story. 

In the corners of the world, probing for boxes with that one perfect story hidden somewhere. They all look appealing. 

‘Maybe, I want them to’, the voices warn!

One after the other. Open. Each box is supposed to be: ‘the one’. 


‘Please try again’

And we move to the other.

‘Better luck next time’

The cycles. 

Boxes. Us. The stories. 

They all change. The us-es. And with them, the stories. Just like the changing boxes. 

You’re ired to continue opening another one of these. You’re tired of the disappointments. Of those stories that are there, but NOT there. Of yourself. Of them. And you so wish that it was in your hands to let it all stop. 

The myth of the choice. Hadhtag My Choice. Hashtag their choices. The puppets think they have free will. The strings are just accessories to walk around the life’s stage. Idiots. We’re all the Siri’s and Alexa’s in a parallel universe. 

Stories where cliffhangers are the norm just tend to miss out on cliched endings like.. ‘…ever after’. Lifelong happiness sure might be a myth. But even seeking the permansncy of a ‘they lived’ is a tall order. 

They say, there’s no correct box. The idea of that one box doesn’t exist. Unless it’s a book. A really good book. Or a movie to lend thoughts to those imaginations on 70mm. But, who listens?

‘Customize it!’ They say. ‘Weave your own story. Paint it the way you’d like the world to see. ‘ they add to their wise sayings.

‘But.. the story isn’t for the world!” I contest. 

‘No one gives a $#@*’. Their look says it all. Uncensored. 

finding passion

Finding Passion(s)

There’s only one thing in the world that one should be jealous of: People who have found their one true passion.

I know, I am.

At a blog meet, a few weeks earlier, during one of the high-tea breaks, a couple of us were straying around in the pool area. Alongside, in a bespectacled gentleman in a kurta, puffing away his cigarette, threw a smile at us. As we begin talking about respective blogs and what type of stuff we write about, his advice to us was, ‘Stick to a niche’. Of course, he isn’t the first and he won’t be the last to utter those wise words. Ironically, many-a-times Digital Marketing thought-pieces that I’ve penned down for other websites claim the same. That is the ideal way to go about. Sticking to a niche and gaining authority in the space. Easier to preach, indeed.

Finding our one true passion is like finding that niche for your blog.

One of the usual talk-points, when meeting people, are questions about ‘Why you stopped writing about *this*?’ The ‘this’ varies based on whom I meet. From Movies to Politics, the list varies. I’ve experimented, and continue doing so, about writing about a variety of topics and quite honestly have liked writing about it all. I have thought of ‘finding a niche’ too, but have come full circle as always to be at the exact place. Not that I won’t drive back to this very conundrum, but I now think there isn’t a niche I can stick to.

The thing I’ve loved, since class 3 when my essay was read in front of the entire class, is Writing.

Sure, I love traveling, but I’m not a traveler. I love eating and experimenting with food; finding ‘something new’ but I’m not a foodie. I do like taking photographs but I’m no photographer. And like this, a lot of things are what I love doing, but a bracket feels an unknown and limiting entity. I am and I’m not any of these. But I like the experience of it, and more importantly, writing about all of them.

And that is, probably, that one true thing, I’m certain of.

Of course, I’m in no position to add a superlative in front of that writer, now. But, someday. And it really doesn’t matter if it leads to a destination or not, it is all about loving what you do. For now, I’m jolted up by the excitement that I can (and I will) think of having a singularity to my many passions in life. A realization. Now onwards.

There’s nothing wrong or right about having many passions, but I’d like to have just one. Asking too much, eh?

And that reminds me to ask, have you found your passion(s)?

The end credits

Have you ever tried waiting for the end credits of a movie roll down?

The one at the end where names, after names, after names scroll up and an instrumental sound track gives company. Sometimes it is a catchy item number. Depending on the type of movie you’re watching. 

Have you?

Involuntarily, I have. Especially when watching one at home. Unlike the theatres, the rush to head out is ALWAYS high. 

A lot depends on how the movie ended, did it leave with giving an answer to something? Or asked a question? 

Answers, ease you. Questions linger. At least till the credits roll down. 

Questions uncover Questions, like how an old wound when teased becomes fresh. Hurting. 

But maybe you wanted to feel this. You allowed for it to happen. The asking of this question. A failed attempt to get answer. There was never an answer here. Even if there was, that answer isn’t the solution. It’s just an answer. 

Blame all you want. On them, on you. The answers won’t bring a stop unless it’s the correct one. But who’s to tell? You’re the judge of your own shackles. Lock it up or let it go. 

A silence brings to halt the reverie. A long list of ‘What to watch next’ emboss the screen. Choices, like always. Hard to pick. 

Next, next, next. Click. 

Twenty Seven

Twenty Seven.

Turning Twenty Seven.

I have always wanted to be an adult. More than anything else when I was a kid. More to lead a restriction-less life and *touchwood* I’ve probably come close to doing that. Barring a few high-pitched calls from my mother about traveling too much, living life exactly the way I want to, isn’t a dream but part of reality.

Sure, there are a lot of ‘good-to-haves’ and a long pending wish list that outgrows itself periodically, but I’ve learned (sort of) to find avenues for being content and getting indulged in them. I wouldn’t like to jinx things up for myself, but this phase of life- the one bereft of drama- is what I’d like to call the good life.

Let me clarify because I do end up confusing people sometime, it’s not like only good things are happening. No, no, no! What I intend to proclaim is the absence of any major bad thing and the minor skirmishes notwithstanding, life is good. You get it, right?

And there are always multiple ways of looking at life. I prefer to go with the most favorable outcome. Yes, ended up practicing a lot of Probability before my CAT preparation.

So, coming back to Twenty Seven. Sounds like a big deal to me! Adulthood finally appears to have arrived. Gradually. But this realization struck me just a month back. Of becoming old. Of turning 27!

Maybe I’m reading too much into it or maybe I’ve started adding too many maybes to my sentences. Signs of troubled confusion. Damn it!

It is that time when your relatives start telling your parents that your son I getting older. Parents, of course, believe whatever the 4 log who drop home more than their own common sense. Mine isn’t so different either. The frustration of not being able to make sense to the emo-drama coupled with examples from the khaandaan is bizarre. And, shit, this is just the start.

The peace and drama-less life that I’ve temporarily enjoyed suddenly appears to be standing on a shaky foundation. Definitely, I don’t want to lose my ground. Not right now.

The struggles of adulthood might have finally begun and maybe it is time to grow up.

…and that’s when I knew

That look of yours. Yes, the same one were you magnify your eyes. The one which makes me feel that they’ll just pop out. That. 

That’s when I knew. 

When you blurt out the same things. And when I do the same. And then we understand, but don’t laugh. The silent high-fives.

That’s when I knew. 

When you share those uninteresting stories. Oh, sorry that’s just me. You hold them back. But you listen, to mine. And remember.

That’s when I knew. 

Your start-stop act of being funny (trying to) and thoughtful. 

That’s when I knew. 

Maybe we both know. Now. And then. Or maybe it’s just me. Again. Waving at the bus, I keep missing. 

”It’s just in your head”

‘Yes, and that’s the damn problem!’

Musings at Londa Junction

Musings at Londa Junction

Waiting for a train in a non-crowded station has a calming effect on you. Or maybe coz, you don’t have much to do.

Londa junction is that station today. I know, for the hinterland folks, this might sound colloquially ‘funny’ (for the lack of a better word). A 3-platform station almost at the border of Karnataka-Maharashtra-Goa. 

A group of army men, with their military hair cuts, donning their trademark polo t-shirts with a slew of luggages, await close-by. 

A mother teaches reading to her daughter by asking ‘what’s written over there’. I so remember playing this with my sister and then trying the same with my brother. Yes, trying is the word. 

Across the other side of the platform, few dogs are lazying around for an extended sleeping session. It’s a national holiday, after all. Few dogs on this side are trying to become the alpha. By fighting it out, of course. Contrastingly, there are less folks fighting over recharge points than there are slots available. 

Aah! The life in a place like this. 

Heading outside, a slew of small shops and eateries serve food and tea. Both equally bad. The tea, a tad bit more. I’ve not had coffee since Friday. One more reason to head home at the earliest, only if the Indian Railways were on time. A few minutes back checked, to my amusement, the average speed of the Pudducherry ‘Express’ I’ll be traveling in, is 48km/hr! Looks like we’ll need a bullet train here as well. 

Coming back to the platform, the rush of the humans increases, as the dogs head over to another corner. The alpha-male debate seems to have been resolved, much to the discomfort of the passengers. 

I’ve strolled around the platform enough for now and probably head over to platform no. 3 where the train is supposed to arrive. But, probably a last Sprint to catch the train would be more habitual. 

I hope you, the reader, wasn’t looking for a connection to the myriad sets of descriptions above. Because, there isn’t any. 

Just my musings.  

To the ‘Yaar, hamara time kab ayega’ folks

I’m slowly growing tired (present continuous) of the ‘Yaar, hamara time kab ayega’ tone thrown casually in conversations reeking of ungratefulness. This can be heard while sipping an overtly expensive coffee, sitting at a pub by paying an exorbitant bill for a ‘good weekend’, from the windows of an Uber or from the seats of an aircraft flying miles above, popcorn stuffed mouths in a movie theatre and probably from every nook & corner in a typical Urban landscape.

There’s always a level-up we look towards. Nothing wrong in that. But why with an ungrateful attitude?

Just stop for a good 5 minute. Time it, if you like. Look at your life now. Look back to what it was before. Has it become better?

‘Yeahh.. could have…”

Think of the good things. You know what they are! Think hard. 
In an earlier post, I wrote about ‘What should be our life’s metrics?’ The most appropriate answer for it that I think of it is, ‘Happiness’. Just this. Define that happiness at each stage of your life and then look back to see, have you achieved it? 
No, this isn’t the ‘Have I made it large’ moment. You don’t and you might not always be able to make it. But don’t define your life with just the achievements. Leave it for your annual appraisals. Not for your happiness.

It is tough not to crib when it is the fashion. Cribbing about everything is increasingly becoming the norm of our generation. Downplaying our own achievements is what keeps us pre-occupied and supposedly keeps us grounded. It’ll ‘supposedly’ help us achieve our goals and being pompous about it might derail that process. It’ll boost that hunger driving one towards their goals. Feeling content might create problems. Fair enough, if you think being content about what you HAVE now might not push you.

But, how is cribbing and being ungrateful for what you have now, going to help?

Your basic necessities might have shifted from the ‘Roti, Kapda, Makaan’ to fancier versions of it and much more, but more than haHamaralf of the world is still struggling. Hell, your own neighborhoods can give you a picture of the stark contrast. 

My Ammi always, Always says this, to look at people who don’t have what you have, be thankful to God. This isn’t an original thought but is something to be passed around. Empathy for people living at a lower standard of life should always be higher than sighing over the fancy car that got past you. 

To answer the question, ‘Yaar, hamara time kab ayega’. 
Maybe it is already here and you don’t even know it.

Peeping over to the other side

Peeping over the other side

Anticipation. Anxiety. Over-thinking. We always throw ourselves into the circle of it with a certain hopelessness, which is only characteristic of us, the humans. Not faulty characteristics, just a methodical process we’ve kept ourselves believe that is the way of life. It is arguable, whether we’ve made ourselves believe it or the society has. At our expense.

Already happened. Decided. Done and dusted.

It is with them all. Without a sense of partiality. Uniformly spread.

But some crossover, too. Over to the other side where life is lived without the anticipation. The side with the absence of the thought called ‘What’s next’. Not that everyone is consciously trying to head to that side. In an aptly described clichéd sense it can be the ‘living like there’s no tomorrow.

But there is. For us. Not for them.

Our present swindle between the regrets of the past and the uncertainty of the future. Making us feel guilt and fear, respectively. Romanticize and glorify the past; Sky-high expectations-driven optimism for the future. While they remain constantly in bed with the present. Enjoying the view.

What is the secret? Is it the wiring or a transition from one side to the other a possibility?

We stand at the junction of the present with a leg in the past while deciding where to put our other leg on the map of future. Every decision from our careers to relationships is with our eyes diverging into the above-mentioned directions.

Agreed, that sensible decision making has to take stock of past learnings and an analysis of what can be expected from the future. But is it just an excuse to justify our approach. Or, is it ?

The Crazy Old Adult Me

The age when you just start to realize that you’re becoming an adult, the thought worries you. Not about getting old but realizing, ‘So, this is how it feels’. I’m an adult now!

Before this point of realization, college still seems to be just a yesterday’ thing and a work-life appears to be fresh as the day. And then at this juncture, where we allow ourselves to become aware of it, life stands still. Not confused, just still. Trying to gather thoughts in a motionless equilibrium where everything moves, but you. You, with your head, sided against the wall, while observing your blinking glances in a slo-mo. Thinking.

Quantifying bits of achievements to justify this moment slowly dawn on you. Justification for everything is so critical, right?
Scaling the road ahead towards vaguely sketched dreams in that very instant. A progress report ab tak ka. Analysis. Lacking Actions. Playing the devil’s advocate, like always.

All of it is maybe for nothing. These thoughts, the plans, the supposed actions. All for nothing. Just the struggle to remain relevant in distinctive sets of spheres, all in the hope of forming an intersection spot when those spheres meet when we end our life. The perfect Venn Diagram for each of us.
Heaving a sigh of breath being held with patience, and twitching the unibrow (Yes!).

A voice echoed. I need to write about this. But no one will get it! At least, the crazies would!

And then again stood there glancing over the coffee-maker in the kitchen. I need that.

Choosing Writing over sleep? You’ll waste your weekend morning again! Weekend Tradition, after all.

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