Kartik Sharma's Blog, page 9
October 15, 2011
Love's Labor Costs
Bella had no idea what time meant. She had never known how old she was or what date, month or year it was. It seemed odd to those who knew her. It was not that she was lost. She wasn't lost at all. Just that she had come to a conclusion that time is immaterial. It never bothered her to know, and she quickly forgot when was it exactly that she was.
What people found queer, Bella felt was her way of life. She did not mind people telling her over and over again that she should keep a track of time. People seemed to believe that there was no way one can survive without knowing what time it was. Once the more famous forms of tortures, they said, discovered by men was isolating the candidate and putting him in a room with no windows. Men went crazy without knowing the date or even if its day or night.
The calm and composure of Bella, even as she had no track of time perturbed the people who knew her. Ironically, a lot of them went crazy attempting to 'fix' her. Her composure also lent her an air of mystery and no one could comprehend her agnosticism towards knowledge of time.
There was only one old and haggard woman who knew why Bella was the way she was. Bella had come across her several times but she didn't remember that either. Who was this strange lady? She was always around, lurking in shady streets, shady corners of the city, hiding herself from people, who had loathed her forever now. They ignored her and wanted never to look at her and had shunned her to the ruins of the city where she roamed alone. No one to talk to, no one to share with. It had been ages since she had been there, forgotten by all. Generation after generation of men had let her be, and gradually her tale became a myth. She was lost forever. Well, maybe not forever.
It was October, 1965. Bella did not remember this date either. She had started losing track of time then. She had been happy once. Happier than she'd ever known anyone to be. She had loved Kaspy once with all her mind, heart and soul. He was the love of her life, all that she lived for. All that she thought of. She had made sacrifices that seemed to her the most natural thing to do. People were shocked at her decisions. "You are throwing away your whole life's hard work", they used to say. "My whole life's hard work got me to Kaspy. He is the reward of everything I've done. Now I want to cherish it. Tell me what's wrong with that." She did. Till 2011. She was 70.
I am no one to judge whether the sacrifices were right or wrong. However, she did make a mistake. She should not have loved so much. The ingrate Kaspy just left one day. He was a human being after all. On his way home from the book store, he met the old hag. They had a brief word, and he left with her. Never coming home. Never telling Bella what had happened. He was gone.
He was gone. The void in her life, was much more than what Bella could take. She had no idea where Kaspy was and she was determined to find him. She walked the streets of the city in despair – yet determined to find Kaspy...
What people found queer, Bella felt was her way of life. She did not mind people telling her over and over again that she should keep a track of time. People seemed to believe that there was no way one can survive without knowing what time it was. Once the more famous forms of tortures, they said, discovered by men was isolating the candidate and putting him in a room with no windows. Men went crazy without knowing the date or even if its day or night.
The calm and composure of Bella, even as she had no track of time perturbed the people who knew her. Ironically, a lot of them went crazy attempting to 'fix' her. Her composure also lent her an air of mystery and no one could comprehend her agnosticism towards knowledge of time.
There was only one old and haggard woman who knew why Bella was the way she was. Bella had come across her several times but she didn't remember that either. Who was this strange lady? She was always around, lurking in shady streets, shady corners of the city, hiding herself from people, who had loathed her forever now. They ignored her and wanted never to look at her and had shunned her to the ruins of the city where she roamed alone. No one to talk to, no one to share with. It had been ages since she had been there, forgotten by all. Generation after generation of men had let her be, and gradually her tale became a myth. She was lost forever. Well, maybe not forever.
It was October, 1965. Bella did not remember this date either. She had started losing track of time then. She had been happy once. Happier than she'd ever known anyone to be. She had loved Kaspy once with all her mind, heart and soul. He was the love of her life, all that she lived for. All that she thought of. She had made sacrifices that seemed to her the most natural thing to do. People were shocked at her decisions. "You are throwing away your whole life's hard work", they used to say. "My whole life's hard work got me to Kaspy. He is the reward of everything I've done. Now I want to cherish it. Tell me what's wrong with that." She did. Till 2011. She was 70.
I am no one to judge whether the sacrifices were right or wrong. However, she did make a mistake. She should not have loved so much. The ingrate Kaspy just left one day. He was a human being after all. On his way home from the book store, he met the old hag. They had a brief word, and he left with her. Never coming home. Never telling Bella what had happened. He was gone.
He was gone. The void in her life, was much more than what Bella could take. She had no idea where Kaspy was and she was determined to find him. She walked the streets of the city in despair – yet determined to find Kaspy...
October 14, 2011
Love's labor costs...
Its time to begin another chapter, another story on this dead-for-a-month-and-a-half blog. I am answerable to the writer in me who thinks job is not a good enough reason for not writing anymore. I am anawerable to my sister who got me this android phone, perhaps only for this. I am answerable to my love, who has been searching for kasper for 4 months now.
My next story, which will be in 2 parts, will be posted here soon. I'll write the first and rigveda kadam will write the second. I am dedicating my half to her, and my sister. And of course to the quest of love in a romantic. Stay tuned for the first part.. coming up later tonight.
My next story, which will be in 2 parts, will be posted here soon. I'll write the first and rigveda kadam will write the second. I am dedicating my half to her, and my sister. And of course to the quest of love in a romantic. Stay tuned for the first part.. coming up later tonight.
August 31, 2011
The Quest Of The Sparrows
Hi All,
My first book - The Quest of the Sparrows: Explore the Joy of Freedom - is out!!! It has been published by Rupa Publications.
About the book:
It is the story of a reluctant young engineer who is forced to become a guru due to his circumstances. He takes inspiration from the life of a sparrow which though being frail in nature, never hoards for the future and lives every day of its life joyously. In http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifc... contrast, human beings, despite being placed on top of the evolution ladder have flooded their lives with worries. In their anxiety http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifto secure their future, they have reduced their lives to mediocrity and given up their quest of evolving themselves. The result is that their lives are no more significant than that of a sparrow: an irony.
It is a fast paced, easy to read book of fiction in which the message is imbibed in the experiences of the characters in the story.
Here is the link to the wiki page of the book: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Quest_of_the_Sparrows
and my website: Kartik Sharma
Enjoy Reading. Happy Evolution.
August 9, 2011
A Promise, To Die For
A story of death rests in my drawer in the office. Another story, of death, goes on the blog. Some call me morbid. Not too wrong, are they?
3 AM:
He had the gun pointed to his head. Not in the way they show it in the movies. You know, with the barrel pointed at the temple. He was staring down the barrel. Waiting for death to lunge out from in there any moment. His brain was in a serious discussion with his index finger which, for now, was ambling around the trigger, carelessly, waiting for inspiration. As he had. For most of his life.
This part of his life, not surprisingly, is called 'The Inspiration'.
He wanted to end the grind. The relentless pain and misery. Or maybe he just got bored? Na. He had a good life, which flashed before his eyes. Not like they say in the movies. He was trying his best to make some sense out of it.
He looked around his apartment at the pictures of all the people he loved. And those who had loved him. He was supposed to feel an obligation towards them that he did not feel. No matter how hard he tried.
"Why?" he wondered. "Why is it so easy to be selfish?"
"It's not. You are doing all of them a favor. Trust me." There was another voice inside him. He hadn't listened to it so far, and now it was bursting out of him. His mind, had suppressed it up until now. No more. No more.
"What do you worry about? The pain you'll cause them? Let me give you some perspective - there is no such thing as a lasting sense of loss. You have lost loved ones, haven't you? How much do you think about them now? It seemed like you'll never get over the grief at the time. Look at you now. Life goes on, buddy."
He listened intently to the voice and was trying to find arguments, but he found his finger moving on to the trigger now. He found his hand firming its grip around the revolver.
"There is salvation waiting at the end of that tunnel. Its coming for you. Freedom - of heart and mind. You are your own God at this time."
The thought, now lodged in his mind gave him a sense of power. His arrogance, now assuaged, accepted the fact rather easily. It was so easily to fool him. Well, who has been served well by arrogance, ever!
"Allow yourself the gift. You deserve it. You have been a good son, husband and father."
"I have been. Haven't I? I have worked so hard for 25 years of my life to provide for my family and my loved ones. They can do without me. They need me out of their lives now."
He had worked his way into the best engineering schools in the country and then to the best business schools. He had slogged the best years of his life in a top-notch job that he loved so much. And he had provided well for them. Assuming that they needed him to provide for them. Assumption. He believed the arrogance was an 'occupational perk'. He could easily afford it.
"That is the only way they'll be free. This is the only way to unlock the true happiness for them."
"What have I become?" he asked.
"It is your duty to set your spirit free. You have suppressed it long enough. Fulfill your duty to your spirit."
There was a smile on his face. The fingers, which were not paying any heed to his mind until now, suddenly seemed to looked at him questioningly. He nodded, slowly.
FLASH!
He woke up the next morning, a new man. A part of him that had outlived its importance, and needed to go had died. He had promised himself that he will pursue his dreams. He wanted to read, write, travel and experience things.
Guess what. He did exactly that.
Yet another, true story.
3 AM:
He had the gun pointed to his head. Not in the way they show it in the movies. You know, with the barrel pointed at the temple. He was staring down the barrel. Waiting for death to lunge out from in there any moment. His brain was in a serious discussion with his index finger which, for now, was ambling around the trigger, carelessly, waiting for inspiration. As he had. For most of his life.
This part of his life, not surprisingly, is called 'The Inspiration'.
He wanted to end the grind. The relentless pain and misery. Or maybe he just got bored? Na. He had a good life, which flashed before his eyes. Not like they say in the movies. He was trying his best to make some sense out of it.
He looked around his apartment at the pictures of all the people he loved. And those who had loved him. He was supposed to feel an obligation towards them that he did not feel. No matter how hard he tried.
"Why?" he wondered. "Why is it so easy to be selfish?"
"It's not. You are doing all of them a favor. Trust me." There was another voice inside him. He hadn't listened to it so far, and now it was bursting out of him. His mind, had suppressed it up until now. No more. No more.
"What do you worry about? The pain you'll cause them? Let me give you some perspective - there is no such thing as a lasting sense of loss. You have lost loved ones, haven't you? How much do you think about them now? It seemed like you'll never get over the grief at the time. Look at you now. Life goes on, buddy."
He listened intently to the voice and was trying to find arguments, but he found his finger moving on to the trigger now. He found his hand firming its grip around the revolver.
"There is salvation waiting at the end of that tunnel. Its coming for you. Freedom - of heart and mind. You are your own God at this time."
The thought, now lodged in his mind gave him a sense of power. His arrogance, now assuaged, accepted the fact rather easily. It was so easily to fool him. Well, who has been served well by arrogance, ever!
"Allow yourself the gift. You deserve it. You have been a good son, husband and father."
"I have been. Haven't I? I have worked so hard for 25 years of my life to provide for my family and my loved ones. They can do without me. They need me out of their lives now."
He had worked his way into the best engineering schools in the country and then to the best business schools. He had slogged the best years of his life in a top-notch job that he loved so much. And he had provided well for them. Assuming that they needed him to provide for them. Assumption. He believed the arrogance was an 'occupational perk'. He could easily afford it.
"That is the only way they'll be free. This is the only way to unlock the true happiness for them."
"What have I become?" he asked.
"It is your duty to set your spirit free. You have suppressed it long enough. Fulfill your duty to your spirit."
There was a smile on his face. The fingers, which were not paying any heed to his mind until now, suddenly seemed to looked at him questioningly. He nodded, slowly.
FLASH!
He woke up the next morning, a new man. A part of him that had outlived its importance, and needed to go had died. He had promised himself that he will pursue his dreams. He wanted to read, write, travel and experience things.
Guess what. He did exactly that.
Yet another, true story.
July 18, 2011
New York
When I started this blog, I promised myself that I will make at least a post a month. I have skipped the last two months, and it breaks my heart. My job does not allow me time enough to write even one post a month and that is, according to me the biggest downside of the job.
I actually happen to like the work and of late - I am loving the job a lot because I have a little over 30 days in New York City. On my own, I would never have travelled to US. I got nothing against the country, but I love Europe.
New York. The first foreign location that I have seen teeming with masses. It is almost as densely populated as Chandini Chowk in Dilli. So I don't think I am missing much, my homeland wise. Only the people. Only the ones I love.
1 month is not too and there is too much to do here and that keeps me occupied. I have seen the times square - both during the day and at night. I can see it from my hotel room window. Apparently, I got a good view. Apparently.
The city has no charm for me. The high rise buildings - the Manhattan skyline - there is nothing to it that allures me. Man made ugliness, I call it. I love the open, quite places and the European-esque places. And I found such a place here as well yesterday. South Port. I took a ferry ride through the silence of the Hudson River with engines grunting away above me - on the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges and all around me in the land. I could not be more removed from all the noise and experienced peace for the first time in 2 days that I have been here.
There is a gigantic St. Patrick's church quite close by and that is next on my places to visit as soon as possible. I have been told it is amazing to take a walk on the Brooklyn bridge, so that is also on the cards.
The people I am interacting with are from all over the globe. Would like to meet the New Yorkers a little more to learn more about them.. but there is time for that. It is inevitable.
This was just a catch-up post with my favourite me-place.
I actually happen to like the work and of late - I am loving the job a lot because I have a little over 30 days in New York City. On my own, I would never have travelled to US. I got nothing against the country, but I love Europe.
New York. The first foreign location that I have seen teeming with masses. It is almost as densely populated as Chandini Chowk in Dilli. So I don't think I am missing much, my homeland wise. Only the people. Only the ones I love.
1 month is not too and there is too much to do here and that keeps me occupied. I have seen the times square - both during the day and at night. I can see it from my hotel room window. Apparently, I got a good view. Apparently.
The city has no charm for me. The high rise buildings - the Manhattan skyline - there is nothing to it that allures me. Man made ugliness, I call it. I love the open, quite places and the European-esque places. And I found such a place here as well yesterday. South Port. I took a ferry ride through the silence of the Hudson River with engines grunting away above me - on the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges and all around me in the land. I could not be more removed from all the noise and experienced peace for the first time in 2 days that I have been here.
There is a gigantic St. Patrick's church quite close by and that is next on my places to visit as soon as possible. I have been told it is amazing to take a walk on the Brooklyn bridge, so that is also on the cards.
The people I am interacting with are from all over the globe. Would like to meet the New Yorkers a little more to learn more about them.. but there is time for that. It is inevitable.
This was just a catch-up post with my favourite me-place.
April 20, 2011
Of Heart and Mind
Tired and fatigued by all the ramblings of his sundry heart, no one to share them with and feeling after a very long the inadequacy of his mind, Kasper decided to pen his thoughts into the pensieve that this blog seems to have become.
Men are organizations. And like each organization, each Man has many departments for different purposes. This is a story about two of the most critical departments in Men. The department of Heart, which is also sometimes called Instinct or Subconscious depending which school of thought did the Man in question attend. This department is the first point of interpretation of external events and how they affect the Man. Another important department is the department of execution - Mind.
This is story of a particular Man who was known among other Men as Neo.
Heart is a keeper of so many feeling and emotions. There are processes at work there that even the smartest in Mind are unable to decipher. So it is the prerogative of the employees at the Heart to articulate some of the emotional jargon into a language that the employees at the Mind can understand. The honest and sometimes gullible employees at Heart, who know no deceit nor treachery tell the Mind people these secrets with a faith that they (the Mind people) can process them further. Oh, so naive can the Heart employees be sometimes.
Men at the Mind, though lagging the men at the Heart in terms of understanding and processing have a need to establish superiority in all matters. Even those that are under the purview of the heart. A Man finds it impossible to 'move a muscle' until the men at Mind allow. And this control over the physical manifestation of Man has deluded the Mind people to a degree that they are convinced of their superiority in the system.
The heart people are a frustrated lot at times. Though smarter and more capable than their peers at the department of Mind, their strengths are rendered useless because the processes at the Man require them to run all their observations through the mind. And the low processing ability and inefficiency of the men at Mind, causes a lot of data loss and huge lag in their understanding, interpreting the situation, planning the course of action and execution.
This domination of the department of Men has continued for ages and has become the norm. Until one organization decided to challenge this way of running things.
***
Of Heart and Mind
Kasper | Daily Fiction Chronicle
Wednesday, 20th April: At a board meeting at Neo yesterday in a move that dares to challenge the norms and the way the things are run at Men, it was decided to hand over the reigns of the organization to the department of Heart. The move is done with an expectation to make the system much more efficient. In doing so, Neo's CEO decided that it was best that the department of Heart function independently and need not explain all the observations to the department of Mind. It is believed that this move will not only save a lot of time required to translate the emotional jargon into mental jargon, but also speed up the planning the actions required and execution. The department of mind has been asked to only aid the department of Heart to the best of its ability and ensure that any of its interference in the matters of Heart should not create turbulence or dampen the streamlined processes at Heart.
The CEO believes that the Neo can now achieve the heights it deserves if this move works out. It has in a way stopped belonging to what has conventionally been understood as Men. If successful the organization's move might usher an age of Neo-Men. It seems as of now that Neo is ready to take flight.
Men are organizations. And like each organization, each Man has many departments for different purposes. This is a story about two of the most critical departments in Men. The department of Heart, which is also sometimes called Instinct or Subconscious depending which school of thought did the Man in question attend. This department is the first point of interpretation of external events and how they affect the Man. Another important department is the department of execution - Mind.
This is story of a particular Man who was known among other Men as Neo.
Heart is a keeper of so many feeling and emotions. There are processes at work there that even the smartest in Mind are unable to decipher. So it is the prerogative of the employees at the Heart to articulate some of the emotional jargon into a language that the employees at the Mind can understand. The honest and sometimes gullible employees at Heart, who know no deceit nor treachery tell the Mind people these secrets with a faith that they (the Mind people) can process them further. Oh, so naive can the Heart employees be sometimes.
Men at the Mind, though lagging the men at the Heart in terms of understanding and processing have a need to establish superiority in all matters. Even those that are under the purview of the heart. A Man finds it impossible to 'move a muscle' until the men at Mind allow. And this control over the physical manifestation of Man has deluded the Mind people to a degree that they are convinced of their superiority in the system.
The heart people are a frustrated lot at times. Though smarter and more capable than their peers at the department of Mind, their strengths are rendered useless because the processes at the Man require them to run all their observations through the mind. And the low processing ability and inefficiency of the men at Mind, causes a lot of data loss and huge lag in their understanding, interpreting the situation, planning the course of action and execution.
This domination of the department of Men has continued for ages and has become the norm. Until one organization decided to challenge this way of running things.
***
Of Heart and Mind
Kasper | Daily Fiction Chronicle
Wednesday, 20th April: At a board meeting at Neo yesterday in a move that dares to challenge the norms and the way the things are run at Men, it was decided to hand over the reigns of the organization to the department of Heart. The move is done with an expectation to make the system much more efficient. In doing so, Neo's CEO decided that it was best that the department of Heart function independently and need not explain all the observations to the department of Mind. It is believed that this move will not only save a lot of time required to translate the emotional jargon into mental jargon, but also speed up the planning the actions required and execution. The department of mind has been asked to only aid the department of Heart to the best of its ability and ensure that any of its interference in the matters of Heart should not create turbulence or dampen the streamlined processes at Heart.
The CEO believes that the Neo can now achieve the heights it deserves if this move works out. It has in a way stopped belonging to what has conventionally been understood as Men. If successful the organization's move might usher an age of Neo-Men. It seems as of now that Neo is ready to take flight.
March 26, 2011
Every Brick Tells a Story
Every brick tells a story, and that is all that I've heard growing up for the last two years. Some bitter, some sweet. Some tragic, some that will always make me nostalgic. Some that devour my soul, some that I'll savor forever. It was all here, all in the stories that the red bricks told me.
As I spoke to the last brick today, I said, "It's sad that I will never speak to you guys again and sadder still I'll not have more stories to hear." The long face and the last rays of the dying light of hope in the eyes said it all.
The ruthless brick replied, "But honey, it was always a two year thing. That is what we had decided." And it broke my heart.
Thinking about those last words now, I have arrived at a conclusion that it was not ruthless on the part of the brick. It has to keep telling it's stories to the new people that come with eager ears. That is what keeps it alive. And life, as they say, has to go on.
This last brick, has the toughest job. Some people tell it that they are glad and were sick to death with all the stories, and some others cry their heart out on its shoulder. There are some like me that are the hardest for the brick, with the hope dying in the eyes, eager to hear some good news and a twist in the tale. The brick has the responsibility to shake us up and bring us to reality. It is indeed a tough job.
I wish to thank all the red bricks for their stories that would help in ways more profound that my little head with all its limited imagination can fathom. It was a beautiful sojourn of two years and the stories, I will cherish for the rest of my life.
As I spoke to the last brick today, I said, "It's sad that I will never speak to you guys again and sadder still I'll not have more stories to hear." The long face and the last rays of the dying light of hope in the eyes said it all.
The ruthless brick replied, "But honey, it was always a two year thing. That is what we had decided." And it broke my heart.
Thinking about those last words now, I have arrived at a conclusion that it was not ruthless on the part of the brick. It has to keep telling it's stories to the new people that come with eager ears. That is what keeps it alive. And life, as they say, has to go on.
This last brick, has the toughest job. Some people tell it that they are glad and were sick to death with all the stories, and some others cry their heart out on its shoulder. There are some like me that are the hardest for the brick, with the hope dying in the eyes, eager to hear some good news and a twist in the tale. The brick has the responsibility to shake us up and bring us to reality. It is indeed a tough job.
I wish to thank all the red bricks for their stories that would help in ways more profound that my little head with all its limited imagination can fathom. It was a beautiful sojourn of two years and the stories, I will cherish for the rest of my life.
February 20, 2011
The Last Week
Here I am, at the fag end of my life at IIM Ahmedabad. At this juncture, much like the last few days anywhere, anytime be it the end of a year or a term or anything tangible, I find myself wondering what's gained and what's lost.
There is a lot running through the head of everyone here on campus. All are earnestly engaged in collecting the last bits of memory of this place that would be everlasting in all our minds. Every visit to Rambhai seem like the last in many years to come. A walk through LKP in the middle of the night reminds of the assignments done here, the talks (not all of them life changing) that we had here. You get a hang of it... the real emotional and sentimental stuff. It's all happening here. Live at IIM Ahmedabad.
Apart from the academic gyaan learnt here over the two years, there are bonds that are formed for life. There are names and faces that are etched for reasons good and bad that will stay with me forever. There are people I will miss knowing more for the news on their legendary stuff, that spread like rapid-fire on campus, came too late to get to know these people better.
The bitter sweet symphony (I know that is cliched, but trust me I am THAT sentimental right now) that played here over the last 2 years is a part of my memory and I cherish every bit of it. The ups and the downs alike.
I lost a lot on this campus, but I think I gained more than I lost. The jury is out but it is waiting for time to tell. But I have a feeling which way the verdict is going to be.
I found it really hard to feel this way when IIT ended or when the first year ended and everyone was so emotional. It was an end of an era. Sure. But coming to IIM was not too big a change after IIT and coming to 2nd year, well that was very little change. But the change due up next, well that really is something. It is the end of a mighty big preparation phase in my life. Academics and learning through experimentation and mistakes is past. It is the time to deliver and be all grown up about stuff. Maybe that is just the voice of protest in my head. A protest against ending a period where I am in my comfort zone.
So, as I end the 23 years of preparation through 2 schools, an undergrad college and a post grad college there is a little bit of anxiety and fear on entering the real world. I understand that I have been protected academic environment for so long now and it can only simulate real life at best.
The real world out there scares me. True. But it also excites me and entices me. It comes with some compromises, sure, but it also comes with its own promises. Learning and growth will come in new forms and a new paradigm for learning and living will emerge for every individual. I hope we all make the most of it. Carpe Diem!
So here is me wishing myself and all my friends on this campus all the very best for the real world as we plunge head first into it. And here is hoping that I never forget the steps I climbed to get to the diving board, the board itself and the view of the pool from there.
I have learnt how to swim long enough, time to put the preparation to test.
There is a lot running through the head of everyone here on campus. All are earnestly engaged in collecting the last bits of memory of this place that would be everlasting in all our minds. Every visit to Rambhai seem like the last in many years to come. A walk through LKP in the middle of the night reminds of the assignments done here, the talks (not all of them life changing) that we had here. You get a hang of it... the real emotional and sentimental stuff. It's all happening here. Live at IIM Ahmedabad.
Apart from the academic gyaan learnt here over the two years, there are bonds that are formed for life. There are names and faces that are etched for reasons good and bad that will stay with me forever. There are people I will miss knowing more for the news on their legendary stuff, that spread like rapid-fire on campus, came too late to get to know these people better.
The bitter sweet symphony (I know that is cliched, but trust me I am THAT sentimental right now) that played here over the last 2 years is a part of my memory and I cherish every bit of it. The ups and the downs alike.
I lost a lot on this campus, but I think I gained more than I lost. The jury is out but it is waiting for time to tell. But I have a feeling which way the verdict is going to be.
I found it really hard to feel this way when IIT ended or when the first year ended and everyone was so emotional. It was an end of an era. Sure. But coming to IIM was not too big a change after IIT and coming to 2nd year, well that was very little change. But the change due up next, well that really is something. It is the end of a mighty big preparation phase in my life. Academics and learning through experimentation and mistakes is past. It is the time to deliver and be all grown up about stuff. Maybe that is just the voice of protest in my head. A protest against ending a period where I am in my comfort zone.
So, as I end the 23 years of preparation through 2 schools, an undergrad college and a post grad college there is a little bit of anxiety and fear on entering the real world. I understand that I have been protected academic environment for so long now and it can only simulate real life at best.
The real world out there scares me. True. But it also excites me and entices me. It comes with some compromises, sure, but it also comes with its own promises. Learning and growth will come in new forms and a new paradigm for learning and living will emerge for every individual. I hope we all make the most of it. Carpe Diem!
So here is me wishing myself and all my friends on this campus all the very best for the real world as we plunge head first into it. And here is hoping that I never forget the steps I climbed to get to the diving board, the board itself and the view of the pool from there.
I have learnt how to swim long enough, time to put the preparation to test.
February 15, 2011
Story of a book
Once upon a time…
… there was a huge library. It was full of books and books drew people. There was a massive collection of books from all genres and that thus drew all sorts of people to the library. Kids, teenagers, middle-aged, old, corporate people, businessmen, lawyers, doctors – you name it.
All the books had been read and reread several times over. As is inevitable, they had markings and readers' notes on the margins. These marks facilitated better understanding and collective sharing of thoughts and ideas of the readers on these books. Gradually, instead of being attracted to the freshness of new books, people started getting addicted to the old ones. After all, they could understand these books better and get to know what other people thought of them as well.
Of all these books, there lay one – alone, in isolation, devoid of human touch. There were two people who had picked this book to attempt to read it and the book itself was hungry to be read. It tried to catch their attention and entice them.
Unfortunately, the Author of the book was a Creator of all things magical. He had written this particular one with so much love and care that it was hard for one to read it and understand it. With complexity of language he coupled the complexity of thoughts and ideas. This made a reader, put enormous amount of effort and patience in understanding the book. Maybe this was exactly what the Author wanted. He had poured in his complete self and the book was a manifestation of Him. It would take the life-time of a reader to understand the book completely. Maybe two. Maybe more.
The effect of the book on the two readers who had attempted to read it was devastating. Even though the first of them could not move beyond the first two pages, he had tried to re-phrase the book in its margins to help himself and other readers understand. He wanted to make the comprehension of the book simpler.
Oh but the fool. Never did it occur to him that in rephrasing and simplifying he lost so much meaning and his interpretations were very inadequate. Nothing like what the author had desired it to be. It was almost like the book fought back. In the initial days, the book enjoyed the human touch and his ernest attempts to understand her, but sooner than later, she shook the reader off. He returned the back to the library. He could never like any book as much and he could not understand the one he wanted to. He was truly broken and devasted.
The second reader was a smart kid. He was very intelligent with an IQ to kill for. He thought maybe he could decipher this book and understand it. He had made up his mind to dedicate his life in reading this book at the very outset. He understood that is what it would take and he felt up to the challenge. He loved the book too. But despite his enthusiasm and a somewhat deluded sense of grandeur, he could not move beyond the first two pages. The complexity of the book irritated him and frustrated him. Why couldn't she be simpler to understand? Why the Author had to write this one with so much complexity? Complexity is not good for anyone. Not the book, not the reader. It's a pity. It is a great book, and a great thought but pity, no one shall ever be able to read it.
So the book lay in the library. Together with 3 other books – her sisters, but alone still. Waiting to be opened, read and understood like the other books – her friends in her world – the library. She began cursing the Author for making her so complicated out of sheer frustration of not being able to enjoy the simple life like other books.
One day, a writer walked into the library. He looked around and was spell bound by the enormity of the library. He quickly located his own book in that library. He was happy to see that it had been issued so many times over and many people had liked it. He started reading the notes the reader had made on the margins and he realized that these notes had made the book very different from the what he had written her as.
He was proud of his creation. His work. But he had loved and respected the works of the Author and was in constant search of his best work – 'The One'. He had gone to thousands of libraries and book stores in the country and abroad in the quest but had not been able to find her. She eluded him.
One particular day in some store a store-manager told him that no one wanted to read that book. Who wants to spend their entire lifetime in just reading the one book, when they can read so many! It just made for good display. When the Author had found this out he had called back all the copies of that book from all the stores and had just kept one copy in this one library. So after a lot of obstacles, the writer had reached the coveted library.
As soon as he laid his eyes on the book he knew it was 'The One'. Fresh and untouched from the outside but old and mature inside. Sadness seemed to effuse from her because of the pain of never having had a reader and never been understood.
He felt the magic when he picked her up. There was no summary at the back. No reviews, since there had been no readers. He had found the virgin he was looking for. Together with this book, he was sure he would find deeper meaning – for himself and for the book.
When he was taking the book from the library, the librarian sensed the writer had the requisite passion and devotion to understand this book. He might never see the book again. He was reluctant in letting her go from his library. But he knew that she deserved a chance. And this writer was someone he would put his money for understanding and reading 'The One'.
42 years later…
The writer was 65 now. He had gone slowly and patiently about it. He had kept her with care and loved her. Devoted his whole life to her. He could never move faster than a paragraph a day. He wrote a thesis on each and every paragraph and labored a lot on them. He could not move forward until he understood everything the Author had intended by each and every word that he had so carefully put in. He got to the layers beneath layers to the core of her heart and her mind.
He turned the last page as he was breathing his last at the hospital where he was admitted for some respiratory disorder. The doctors told him there is nothing wrong with him and that there would be a minor surgery. But he knew his work here was done. He had lost purpose until he found out about the book and would have lost the desire to live after he had written his own book. Only 'The One' kept alive a fire in him. It gave him a desire to live.
As he wrote his last words on the last paragraphs of the book, he heaved a sigh of satisfaction. He held the book in his arms and close to his chest and lay on his death-bed… waiting.
He was drifting away when he heard a voice, "Stay with me a little longer. You are my reader. You gave meaning to my existence. Don't go."
"You have lived in this world before I came along. You will longer than man can. You have given me everything I wanted and asked for. My life has been a satisfactory and my sojourn here beautiful because of you. Now spread the fragrance of your beauty to mankind and always remember me. Thank you for being there. I thank the Author for creating you… Good bye. God bless and Godspeed."
… there was a huge library. It was full of books and books drew people. There was a massive collection of books from all genres and that thus drew all sorts of people to the library. Kids, teenagers, middle-aged, old, corporate people, businessmen, lawyers, doctors – you name it.
All the books had been read and reread several times over. As is inevitable, they had markings and readers' notes on the margins. These marks facilitated better understanding and collective sharing of thoughts and ideas of the readers on these books. Gradually, instead of being attracted to the freshness of new books, people started getting addicted to the old ones. After all, they could understand these books better and get to know what other people thought of them as well.
Of all these books, there lay one – alone, in isolation, devoid of human touch. There were two people who had picked this book to attempt to read it and the book itself was hungry to be read. It tried to catch their attention and entice them.
Unfortunately, the Author of the book was a Creator of all things magical. He had written this particular one with so much love and care that it was hard for one to read it and understand it. With complexity of language he coupled the complexity of thoughts and ideas. This made a reader, put enormous amount of effort and patience in understanding the book. Maybe this was exactly what the Author wanted. He had poured in his complete self and the book was a manifestation of Him. It would take the life-time of a reader to understand the book completely. Maybe two. Maybe more.
The effect of the book on the two readers who had attempted to read it was devastating. Even though the first of them could not move beyond the first two pages, he had tried to re-phrase the book in its margins to help himself and other readers understand. He wanted to make the comprehension of the book simpler.
Oh but the fool. Never did it occur to him that in rephrasing and simplifying he lost so much meaning and his interpretations were very inadequate. Nothing like what the author had desired it to be. It was almost like the book fought back. In the initial days, the book enjoyed the human touch and his ernest attempts to understand her, but sooner than later, she shook the reader off. He returned the back to the library. He could never like any book as much and he could not understand the one he wanted to. He was truly broken and devasted.
The second reader was a smart kid. He was very intelligent with an IQ to kill for. He thought maybe he could decipher this book and understand it. He had made up his mind to dedicate his life in reading this book at the very outset. He understood that is what it would take and he felt up to the challenge. He loved the book too. But despite his enthusiasm and a somewhat deluded sense of grandeur, he could not move beyond the first two pages. The complexity of the book irritated him and frustrated him. Why couldn't she be simpler to understand? Why the Author had to write this one with so much complexity? Complexity is not good for anyone. Not the book, not the reader. It's a pity. It is a great book, and a great thought but pity, no one shall ever be able to read it.
So the book lay in the library. Together with 3 other books – her sisters, but alone still. Waiting to be opened, read and understood like the other books – her friends in her world – the library. She began cursing the Author for making her so complicated out of sheer frustration of not being able to enjoy the simple life like other books.
One day, a writer walked into the library. He looked around and was spell bound by the enormity of the library. He quickly located his own book in that library. He was happy to see that it had been issued so many times over and many people had liked it. He started reading the notes the reader had made on the margins and he realized that these notes had made the book very different from the what he had written her as.
He was proud of his creation. His work. But he had loved and respected the works of the Author and was in constant search of his best work – 'The One'. He had gone to thousands of libraries and book stores in the country and abroad in the quest but had not been able to find her. She eluded him.
One particular day in some store a store-manager told him that no one wanted to read that book. Who wants to spend their entire lifetime in just reading the one book, when they can read so many! It just made for good display. When the Author had found this out he had called back all the copies of that book from all the stores and had just kept one copy in this one library. So after a lot of obstacles, the writer had reached the coveted library.
As soon as he laid his eyes on the book he knew it was 'The One'. Fresh and untouched from the outside but old and mature inside. Sadness seemed to effuse from her because of the pain of never having had a reader and never been understood.
He felt the magic when he picked her up. There was no summary at the back. No reviews, since there had been no readers. He had found the virgin he was looking for. Together with this book, he was sure he would find deeper meaning – for himself and for the book.
When he was taking the book from the library, the librarian sensed the writer had the requisite passion and devotion to understand this book. He might never see the book again. He was reluctant in letting her go from his library. But he knew that she deserved a chance. And this writer was someone he would put his money for understanding and reading 'The One'.
42 years later…
The writer was 65 now. He had gone slowly and patiently about it. He had kept her with care and loved her. Devoted his whole life to her. He could never move faster than a paragraph a day. He wrote a thesis on each and every paragraph and labored a lot on them. He could not move forward until he understood everything the Author had intended by each and every word that he had so carefully put in. He got to the layers beneath layers to the core of her heart and her mind.
He turned the last page as he was breathing his last at the hospital where he was admitted for some respiratory disorder. The doctors told him there is nothing wrong with him and that there would be a minor surgery. But he knew his work here was done. He had lost purpose until he found out about the book and would have lost the desire to live after he had written his own book. Only 'The One' kept alive a fire in him. It gave him a desire to live.
As he wrote his last words on the last paragraphs of the book, he heaved a sigh of satisfaction. He held the book in his arms and close to his chest and lay on his death-bed… waiting.
He was drifting away when he heard a voice, "Stay with me a little longer. You are my reader. You gave meaning to my existence. Don't go."
"You have lived in this world before I came along. You will longer than man can. You have given me everything I wanted and asked for. My life has been a satisfactory and my sojourn here beautiful because of you. Now spread the fragrance of your beauty to mankind and always remember me. Thank you for being there. I thank the Author for creating you… Good bye. God bless and Godspeed."
February 13, 2011
When...
When I see the sun go up
I miss the warmth of your hands around me
When I see the moon come up
I miss the warmth of your eyes upon me
When I see you come up to me
I feel the world's at my feet
When you hold me
I feel the warmth that sun had denied me
When you kiss me
I feel the pleasantness that the breeze of the full moon night denied me
When you love me
I feel the love that this life denied me.
I miss the warmth of your hands around me
When I see the moon come up
I miss the warmth of your eyes upon me
When I see you come up to me
I feel the world's at my feet
When you hold me
I feel the warmth that sun had denied me
When you kiss me
I feel the pleasantness that the breeze of the full moon night denied me
When you love me
I feel the love that this life denied me.
