Category: Random Philosophy Page 14 of 20

The Questions

On November 14, 2016

It’s funny right, when you seek solitude, you struggle to find it. When it’s available at your disposal, you find it repelling.

Your Introvert-cum-wannabe-extrovert self just cannot decide what you truly want.

Whether you just want to shut out the world and do nothing. Or to shout along with the world’s company.

Or maybe find the nothing among the crowd or find company in solitude.

Life’s continued mystery.

On one moment you rue past decisions and on the other you’re happy that you had the courage to take them. The missed chances seem God’s way of doing it right for you.

While telling yourself that “everything happens for the better” keeps you content. Not being able to keep it off from your head is a struggle. The struggle is real.

Sometimes going back isn’t what you want. Sometimes even when you want to, you cannot.

Future is uncertain. Present is a struggle. While past wants you to only remember the good things. Be selective.

You seek people who get you. But you don’t find them. The ones you do, don’t seek you.

You question things. You answer them yourself. You’re left with more of the former.

They never end. The questions.

Reveries through the Window

By farooq

On October 31, 2016

In Random Philosophy

Looking through the windows of this café, as the traffic rushes away, while I jot down words for my long pending Travelogues, there’s a flurry of thoughts that run through. Like the traffic outside.

Thoughts. My reveries, they stay. Unlike the words or the traffic.

I seek life’s answers. Not in a forest doing meditation nor staring through the meadows of mountains. Sipping the expensive coffee which I could make better at home, I dive down to try and brew my thoughts.

Remembering the conversations that never felt like one and the ones which still echo loudly. Word by Word. Ahh, stupid memories.

Then: I shouted through the roof. With my faults. Baring myself. I let it use the trumpets as well. I want to share my fault lines too. Perhaps they’ll meet somewhere some other time. With hers.

It never did.

Now: I could actually see through. See through the soul. The hollowness visible from the shades of her artificial self. Of thoughts tumbling down, making coherent noises, through an empty vase which looks appealing. From outside?

Maybe I like the vase. Or the hollow sounds. The different sound. The opposite. A positive and a negative, maybe?

What would a life be, if we had all the answers? If everything went according to “our” plan?

Boring.

We try to make it work. Try. That is all we can do. Try to make things work to our plans. Adjust to suit their thoughts, expect them to do the same as well.

Yet, we’d like to strive to make that happen. Try, Try and Try again. Not bad for Mortals. Right?

Or maybe I’m tired of yet another, Try.

There’s something about 3AM!

By farooq

On September 16, 2016

In Random Philosophy

I’m not trying to be spooky here. Neither do I watch that many horror movies to narrate a borrowed story.

It’s just the idea of 3AM is so soothingly calm. The correlation of this hour with the calm we search for and the bleak possibility of a sneak peak evidently visible here.

Maybe because there’s less noise. There’s never no noise et all, of course. The head compensates for everything external. The fight is always on.

But there’s a tiny bit of clarity.

Clarity of finding your own voice. Of what is right. What we ought to do. What we should have done. And the answers to those innumerable questions that we don’t usually ask ourselves.

This might sound straight out of the old Onida advertisement, but hey, it is a lot elegant than that.

The yesses and the noooos.

The rights and the wrongs.

The blacks and the whites.

It becomes more of clearing a lot of grey to find the white. Or black. Finding your voice.

Even the best of the conversations get better when the short dial hits three.

There’s something about 3 AM.

I can and I cannot put a label on this. Just like I cannot on 100s of other things.

Whether this effect is due to the tiring day that finished or the impending rush of the upcoming day that makes it so.

There’s something about 3AM.

The Run.

By farooq

On September 15, 2016

In Random Philosophy

Towards it or away from it. We’re all running.

We want it all fast. Hell, we want it NOW!

Marathons are for others, we’re out there for a sprint. A run to catch it all.

We don’t want to just participate. We want to win.

A run to the finish. Get it, Grab it or simply get away from one finish to yet another start.

Another Run.

We want to add every adjective out there to every verb possible.

We want. We want it all. We Run to get it all.

While I watch the “we” make another run for it.

Tempting.

The Noise.

By farooq

On September 14, 2016

In Random Philosophy

It’s past midnight. Sitting on my staircase-cum-Balcony and yet the world around still seems to shout.

The unmistakable noise. All around.

The roaring engines of the nightcrawlers to the dogs barking at everyone passing through.

The fluttering flag in the church and the tree leaves waved around by the wind adding tunes to the song of the broom which the grandma cleaning the veranda downstairs plays.

The TV blaring noise (Read News) to the loud kitchen conversation and the baby giving their parents a hard time or the guys with a guitar.

All of it. One at a time. And together.

My cravings for that perfect silence smirks at me with a shrewd noise.

Maybe learning to ignore these sounds , the noise is the way. To get lost in my old reveries and not be bothered about anything is what I should consider. Except the noise in my head which doesnt have a button to turn off.

Maybe I’ve learnt to ignore. Or maybe I’m still learning. Like thousand other things.

“…and then there was silence” might just be part of my revering thoughts. Or maybe my eventual end.

Unreal Dreams

By farooq

On August 27, 2016

In Random Philosophy

That early morning thought and the dream I just had were exchanging notes. Or perhaps were contributing to each other’s entertainment. Much to my misery.

Just the other day, in a casual water cooler conversation, I exclaimed how I do not remember my dreams. And TBH, I don’t very often. And that changed this morning.

I’m not sure how she ended up there. While I had a completely random small talk with an old batch mate and she popped right there. It was like when Leo’s wife pushes her way into his dream in Inception. Only it wasn’t scary. And she wasn’t trying to kill me or herself.

We talked like we’ve always done in my head. We laughed over the silliness that the world is and how we are the smart ones figuring things out. It felt like we both had each other. Like that time. And that time returned somehow. It felt good to have her back.

Waking up with that feeling and for a split second actually thought it was real. Real as it can get until the light peeping from the window pushes in the reality of the day.

I didn’t wanted to wake up. I wanted to go back to that conversation. To the long walk. To the silly fights. To being happy. To being angry at someone. To just go back.

The voices in the head tell me it’s morning. But I intend to head back to the night.

But it’s unreal they say.

Is it not good ? I replied.

Pulled over the blanket and went back to sleep. It was a weekend after all.

Being the Scrubber

By farooq

On August 22, 2016

In Random Philosophy

With cups of leftover Coffee, plastic containers from the Ali’s (the new go-to delivery restaurant), Plates and utensils which keep finding themselves into the kitchen sink, all staring at me.

Phew!

Tomorrow.

The procrastination ends when there ain’t any cups left to use.

With the scrubber and dishwashing liquid bringing in their cleaning charm to get rid of stains left for days. The peculiar smell of long kept utensils just gets absorbed and washed away.

No, this isn’t a subtle way to promote my dishwashing liquid by making it a hero.

This is about that scrubber. The scrubber which doesn’t get the credit for cleaning this all up. The attention grabbing fancy liquid in the bottle steals the show. The scrubber just stays in the background doing the work and making the hero out of the liquid. Absorbing the dirt, stains and everything stuck there, braving the tap water running down on it and cleaning them up. Each plate, each cup and utensils, cleaned and stacked on the side.

Once it’s all done, one extra wash and all the absorbed dirt from the scrubber gets washed away so easily.

Days on days. Weeks. And months too pass by. One can easily notice the weariness of the scrubber. It finally starts giving in. Until it gets replaced. All its effort to clean up, literally goes down the drain. Somewhere.

We are the scrubbers. Just that we are just absorbing. The bad, and even the good of our lives. We wish to be cleaned up. Pressed a reset button to start all over again just like the scrubber. But we don’t get someone who can help us do that. So we just stick around.

Waiting.

The Middle Path to Unsaid promises

By farooq

On August 21, 2016

In Random Philosophy

Post dinner, I started watching Pele: Birth of a legend. A very emotionally charged sports movie which takes you through the life of undoubtedly the greatest football player. This isn’t a review but I’d still recommend you to watch it.

Picture this, a young Pele, upset over his father crying because Brazil lost in the 1950 WC, promises that he’ll bring the World Cup home.

It’s dramatization. Agreed.

When as a viewer you watch this, knowing very well, that of course he’s going to get the cup, a lot of other things strike your mind. Among them are the unsaid promises we’ve all made to our own parents. I’ve made. Unknowingly.

Not all of us are Pele. Not all of us are gifted. Not all of us can bring World Cup glories or whatever it’s equivalent is.

We are the majority. The mediocres.

We fail too.

We excel as well. Sometimes.

Our definition of success is way too different. Different than each other. Different from our own parents. And I’m not even bringing the “Chaar log” from society into this.

While reading Nehru’s Discovery of India, it took me back to my school history book and one particular chapter on Buddhism and Jainism. One concept that had struck out was the “middle path”.

No, I’m not being preachy.

The concept of middle path in Buddhism is not what I remember but just the literal meaning of this term. I’ve always tried to stay right there. Not sway to either of the two sides. The grey. Yes.

The expectations that we have from our life. The goals that we aspire for and the picture of our future that we envision. This all can be entirely different from what our parents have imagined for themselves. We feature in their goals as well.

Some of us have been lucky to have parents who mould their own goals to suit ours. Finding the middle path.

Some just cannot.

Some of us also mould their goals to suit their parents’. Finding the middle path.

Some just cannot.

There’s no right here. Neither is anything wrong. It is about finding that spot. That middle path.

It is about fulfilling those unsaid promises by finding the middle path. Redefining goals. Our parents have already moulded themselves and their goals and continue to do. If we haven’t even thought of it, we should. It’s never too late.

To my friends: You know who you are

By farooq

On August 7, 2016

In Random Philosophy

Frankly, the idea of a Mother’s day, Father’s day or for that matter any day commemorated to celebrate any relationship is weird. Of late, even Birthdays and New years’ day, have also started categorizing themselves in this very category. The category of, “How does it matter?”. And no, I’m not of the league which says, “Why just one day?”. I’m not preaching anything here just showing my inability to relate like all you sane folks. And If I don’t relate to the enthusiasm that you seem to possess and which somehow rises above the surface on these days, my sincerest apologies.

I forget a lot of Birthdays and If it wasn’t for facebook, then that number would increase catastrophically. I don’t know about you, but for me this is the most important feature of this social networking giant who continues to be annoying by letting people send Candy Crush requests!

I remember running around town, as kids, to buy Friendship bands. It required spending pocket money and time away from playing, to gift these bands to others. Friends, who reciprocated back with bands brought by them. ‘Twas fun back then. Growing up, it sounded like something which kids would do. However, in some form or the other, that is still on. And hey, I’m not one of those who “want to be kids again” kind either.

Over the years, I’ve lost a few friendships. Ones which I thought didn’t come with an expiry date. But then, Life Happened. Many, thankfully, have stuck over time and hopefully will continue to do so. The relationships have definitely changed forms over the years, like a larvae to a butterfly, only it continues to still evolve.

I believe a lot of friendships go through different phases. A few get stuck in one and never end up evolving and die away. Others evolve with you.

Now when I’ve written all this, reminiscing about the bond, maybe I don’t hold this day guilty of showing off. Not too much. A little, yes!

From the guys back at home, the one with whom we crossed places on his RX-100 to the guy for whom I became a postman, to the first friend I made when I left home, who won’t talk to me anymore, to ones who even after talking for months apart, continues to be friends, to the awesome people from the Khaau gang members who are not to be a gang anymore because of me, to the group for whom I’m a “nawab” for reasons I don’t even remember. To the broken soul who fixed and then broke me, or the brew which became cold too soon to the roomies who’ve annoyed and cared me like their own or the one who became a brother to someone who comes over for weekends and tolerates me easily.

To all of you, you know who you are. I’m not wishing you for this day. I’m just thanking you for being part of my insignificant life. You know who you are to me.

Weekend Scenes: My Reveries

By farooq

On August 7, 2016

In Random Philosophy

Time and again, when I’ve thought of writing on the blog, I’ve ended up increasing the count on the “Draft” section of my WordPress dashboard. And of course the Kilobytes of space on my hard drive as well.

At least 6 planned Travelogues are pending in that very state and the innumerable movies I’ve watched in-between that have auto-generated reviews in my head, but haven’t made it to Print. You know what I mean.

It is a probability that even this might not get posted. But what the hell! Let me just blurt as much as I can and put it up. Or maybe not.

There’s definitely a lot of calm today. Unlike other weekends when there’s a rush to “do something”. So, that’s a plus.

I watched, “Suicide Squad” last evening which was better than the forgettable Batman Vs Superman but DC still has a long way to catch up to Marvel. The Justice League definitely looks a darker shade of Avengers in the trailer, but then the “Do you Bleed” trailers of Dawn of Justice were great too. And we all know how that turned out. Psycopaths gang up together to do some good in dimly lighted action sequences and cameo-roles of most of the leads, except Will Smith and Maggot Robbie. And yes, she’s got the meatiest roles. And the lines. Everything else in the movie is, Okayyy.

I also ended up watching Raman Raghav 2.0 and Woah! The Layers! It is unlike any other story of a Psychopath. For Instance, when you watch Dexter or Hannibal, you relate to the POV of those characters as the director makes sure you relate to those primal instinct. I mean, sure we disgust them, but the arguments in their head do echo a little. Right ? Now, don’t say No. Otherwise, I’ll have to get myself checked. Nawaz, as ususal, is brilliant. He makes you disgust him. And that’s a win. All Hail, Anurag Kashyap.

This morning I also ended up watching, “12 Angry Men”. Apart from the opening scene, which takes place in a courtroom, and the ending outside the court, the entire movie runs in a tiny Jury room, where 12 Men (the jury) decide on the fate of an 18-year old convicted of murdering his own father. Engaging is a word which would limit its description. To think that this B/W movie is around 60 year old and is still a good watch, is baffling. In a good way, of course.

And hey! Siddharth Mahaptra, my classmate from KV is starting a movie blog. Do visit it here and show some love.

Hope you’re having a good Sunday!