Tag: Random Philosophy Page 1 of 2

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 ?

Our Confirmation Bias

Our confirmation bias is one of the biggest deterrent to being rational in our thinking.  

In the age of PR-pushed media,  it is inevitable and easier to leak any type of story.  A viewpoint can not only be strengthened but can also be moulded.  

I can cite historical examples of how a dictator started doing this by controlling all kinds of media.  But your response for the comparison would be,  “That’s too far fetched”. 

Sure,  you can counter this to cite my confirmation bias as well.  And I do know even I’m vulnerable to this idea. But I accept the notion of its presence as well.  

Our POVs are under immense pressure.  We are surrounded by mediums which are shouting and repeating a narrative.  Even when we reject it once,  this repetition causes us to atleast lend an ear.  After all,  our K-12 education system is based on the concept of rotting down tonnes of textual content only to vomit it out on a particular day to become intelligent.  

One can tell a lie 100 times until it becomes the truth.  That’s how propaganda works.  That’s how concepts of “fear” are forced to creep into mindsets and evolve into ideologies.  

As educated individuals,  it should be our duty to have layers of questions,  to those shouts.  It’s important to question everything! Even the things we already know for a Fact. 

I’ll end this post with a dialogue in ZNMD by Naseerudin Shah when Farhan Akhtar,  asks him to tell the truth: “Sach kya Hai? Har ek ka apna apna version”. 

Let’s try to get rid of our confirmation bias! Shall we? 


The storytelling style in a lot of people, based on where they are from, varies. But what remains common is, how easily they take names of people, about whom we have no idea about, and use them in the stories. It’s fascinating. Not only from a story-telling stand-point but also how when they do this repeatedly, those very people become part of our own memories.

If we end up meeting people from those stories, there’s already a mental image appearing in front our eyes. And some of them are so accurate in their description that you feel yourself wondering, “Wow, this guys is exactly like that!” with a tinkle in your eyes.

All my sisters have this habit of using names in their stories. So, when I finally end up meeting their friends, acquaintances or even the people they despise, there’s a tiny switch that gets clicked.

I want to acquire this skillset to help in whatever little writing I do. More often than not, I find myself either talking in 3rd person or just being a narcissist on other times. That character-development technique is something I should get myself trained in.

Hopefully, with my sister now living with me, whatever little time we’ll find without fighting with each other, can be used in learning this. And yes, in making those Round chappatis, as well.

Reveries through the Window

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?


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!

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.

Unreal Dreams

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

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.



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.


The Middle Path to Unsaid promises

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.

Have we done enough this Ramadan ?

Ramadan is about to be over. Saying it went off like a rocket would be an understatement. every year, ritualistically, we look back and ask ourselves, Have we done enough this Ramadan ? Whether we’ve done justice to this blessing bestowed upon us by Allah ?

And then hope that we may get another year to do more. Allah might be laughing at our “Future Plans”.

The best prayer is the one where we feel It’ll be our last. But our prayers are filled with our plans for “what-we-will-do-after” finishing prayers instead of submitting ourselves to the all Merciful Allah.

All those who have fasted know this for a fact that not eating is the easiest thing to do in Ramadan. A fast is not just about controlling our hunger but a fast is supposed to be for the eyes, for the ears and for the tongue.

This month is also supposed to be about Charity. How much have we donated ? Could we have given more to the poor ? Is giving the minimum prescribed Zakat and Fitra(Sadqa-al-Fitr), enough ?

There are still few days left for this blessed month to be over. Hence, let’s all try and make use of it. May Allah bless all of us and accept our prayers. Aameen.

Random Ramblings

Random Ramblings

Sunday is about to begin,  while I’m yet to sleep off my Saturday.  You know what it means,  right?  The weekend- the much awaited two days of our lives- is about to leave until another week.

As I rue over the lack of constructive work being done,  apart from freeing up some space on my hard drive by watching a few movies and then dozing at ungodly hours,  I pen this down.  Of course,  hoping that at least I’ll get to say that I wrote “something” over the weekend.  Also,  letting the Google crawl my website a little regularly instead of thinking it to be a lost cause.

It’s amusing how time flies as we finish off one weekend after another,  hoping we’d do “better” in the next one. These are like mini new year resolutions which we religiously follow.

Indeed sometimes we do get things done.  Clean up our apartments,  do the dishes,  wash the pile of clothes,  repair things,  get groceries in between,  but these are more of what constitutes “regular” work.  Isn’t?

I must point out that my regular use of these “double quotes” are just a forced attempt to push sarcasm. Sort of how I end up speaking these days,  you know. Pardon me if that irritates you, but that’s just the way it is.

I had decided to be less serious in 2016. One of the biggest reasons I decided to not write about politics at all.  Of course, it was more about not writing On Facebook rather than not writing et all. But,  I’ve managed to stay away from it for this long.

It is tough.  I mean,  that was a BIG part of what I used to write on and now there is this big void.

BTW,  If this sounds like a valentine day letter about politics,  then I’m sorry.  But it’s difficult not to write about it.  But those things still hold true.  There’s hardly any place for a different point of view or a discussion that’d not end up in someone being called an anti-national. There’s no arguing there.

Anyways, continuing to ramble like this and I might actually end up venting more than I should.

This post was just a pointless attempt to not make myself feel bad for not writing something this weekend.  Now that I’ve put down a few lines,  it does feel a little better.

Now,  I’ll head back to catch a few extra hours of sleep.

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