Art of the Matter

Reflections of an Author at Work

Tag: City Soul

Dazed And Confused In Search of Our Dreams

dazed-and-confusedTake a page out of your Life’s book today. Is it legitimate? Or are you aping a journey that is based on the reality or illusion (trust me, it could be either) of another person’s whom you envy or admire? Sometimes we confuse our deepest desires and electric dreams with someone else’s, because we can’t really see ourselves being original and unique.

We want their fame and glory, their money and power, if possible, their bodies and souls. Take Dirty Picture — it set tongues wagging and hearts pounding. People are outraged, seduced, stumped and awed by the sensuality of the idea of a movie which is so bold and raw. Why are we talking about this? Because Milan Lutheria, the director, had the audacity to trust his own journey leaving half of Bollywood to slap their foreheads. “Sheesh! Why didn’t we think of that one?”

Originality does not necessarily mean you have to try and fit into your teenage daughter’s clothes even if you feel young at heart; it does not permit that you go to work looking like a skunk either, without make-up and slippers, because you think you look cool; and if you are a man, it does not warrant that you buy a Harley Davidson at 57 out of your retirement fund because that’s what successful men do.

English hypnotist and self-improvement author, Paul McKenna says, “The map is not the territory”. What he means is that we interpret situations based on what we feel and whom we are at that point of time. So how we interpret things affect our state of mind, expressions and behaviors. It keeps us away from being true to our most important dreams and realizing our potential.

If you are feeling ‘old’ or ‘unattractive’ or like a ‘loser’ lately, stop and think. Maybe you are vaulting down the road with someone else’s illustrious and affluent map, without having that person’s originality, intellect or talent. How can you succeed while trying to imitate someone else’s journey? Try to take your own path to success. If you don’t know the path yet, create one. The territory lays ahead – your territory – and you can make up the map as you go along.

Kolkata, Kolkata!

Coffee House KolkataWhen you first breathed the Communist air of hope and brotherhood, you were in your mother’s womb. You made a pledge unto me then…that you would never forget my ideals nor stop trying to make them your own.  You would enjoy the revelries of Durga Puja and Diwali with equal fervor. You would continue to cherish the old world charms, including the fatherly Ambassador taxis. I am Kolkata.

Through the gullies of Burrabazaar and the posh lanes of Ballygunge Phari, my soul found its multitudinous Avatars just like you did during your childhood years, mingling with neighbors of various castes and communities from all over India.

Sometimes you played in the well-manicured parks of Auckland Square and Minto Park with children you didn’t know, sometimes you admired the sunset at Outram Ghat with friends. Every time your cousins visited from other countries, you brought them to see the Victoria Memorial or the Indian Museum – as if their tribute would have to be still paid to Her Majesty of England for 300 years of British Rule. I am Kolkata.

Sometimes the lethargy of the city got into your bones also, and you preferred to spend hours at the college canteen just like your uncles did at the Coffee House on College Street. At other times, you were content roaming in New Market with your mother, bargaining hard for great deals. Not a single day went by during your college days at St. Xavier’s without a visit to Park Street, dotted and knotted with bars and restaurants, now a bit tired and rusty. But your favorite stop was always Flury’s with its fifth generation of Butter Cream Pastries and Chicken Patties. I am Kolkata.

You loved me and I loved you – without any conditions or notions. But then you had to grow up, leaving your teens behind and eager to explore the other worlds. Even the candlelight dinners at Peter Cat or the charm of the Academy of Fine Arts hosting art exhibitions or the spicy Jhalmuri and pungent Phuchkas at Victoria Maidan couldn’t lure you back. Marxism, which was your favorite subject at the college canteen debates, took a backseat. You no longer understood the philosophy of the Naxalites and wondered why there wasn’t ever going to be any new jobs or industries here. I am Kolkata.

Our love affair ended on a bitter note. I didn’t want you to leave,  but you did anyway, and chose not to return for many years. My streets didn’t want to change nor the colors of my springs or winters. I still felt proud of the aged Bihari rickshaw puller, who earned hardly a couple of hundreds of rupees every day.

I still loved the dancing fountains with their newly installed colored halogen lights at t the Victoria Memorial. I still embraced the beautiful sunrise over the Howrah Bridge. I still liked that tiny earthen tumbler of chai being offered for just a rupee. True, now there are some new shopping malls and fancy public transportation, but I still wake up more relaxed than other cities. I am in no hurry. I am Kolkata.

Your return was a surprise to me – and how do you think I felt? With your fancy clothes, your foreign accent and new money, all of which is against the ideology of our combined destiny, you came to see me again, but no humility. Am I not your favorite love story then? Could there be another one like me?

Now you love New York City I hear, but does it have a rich heritage like mine or the precious memories of your childhood? Have you forgotten the best of the Raj that I shared with you and still hold dear…including the innumerable Clubs and horse-drawn carriages? I am Kolkata.

Where have you been all these years, my beloved? The soul which you have today belongs to me, you know, full of all the poetry and romance, love and passion, which people want from you today.  Your education went beyond Shelley and Keats, and your social acclimatization wasn’t all about Deen Mistry and Lillete Dubey’s famous English plays at Kala Mandir. You have as much of Tagore in your blood as I have a loving tendency to give sanctuary to Bangladeshis. I am Kolkata. Accept it. Your love affair with me can never end. Because I am YOU.

Tech Block

Tech BlockAccept it. We have ignored the signs. A month ago, celebrated writer Paulo Coelho tweeted: Life is like Twitter. Follow. Unfollow. Block.  True! People ARE “blocking” officially nowadays – thanks to Facebook, Twitter, Gmail and even Blackberry Messenger. I knew a woman who had changed her Facebook profile seven times in the past two years. I asked her if she had gone mad. She replied, “I hate blocking people. I would rather pretend I deleted my profile.” After representing herself by different names and images (flower, cartoon, Ferrari, feather, cat, tee shirt slogan), funnily enough, her last avatar was that of a telescope which would supposedly discourage people from finding her due to its un-attractiveness.

In case of badgering mothers-in-law, unfaithful boyfriends, boorish bosses and unwelcome guests, go right ahead and click on that block tab because Life is too short. Don’t waste it on mending fences with people who don’t care even if you agree to turn cartwheels in their birthday parties as part of the act. For free. In that case, the block option of Life could be fantastic just like Twitter. Just don’t post messages like these in your environment: “Wife blew up precious money on a bunch of hobbies that didn’t make her look or feel any better”, or “I am happiest when my boyfriend’s wife is out of town”, or “The best part of my life only includes beer, sex and X-Box” (the last one, especially if your girlfriend is expecting you to propose next week.)

Make the most of what matters today…even if it’s a girlfriend who wants you to call everyday (at least she cares!). Retain your right to choose – people or experiences. But, be careful. On Twitter, you can add people back to your preferred list and follow them again. In real Life, you may not get another chance to “unblock” people you need again. And, the last thing you want to do is spend the rest of your life justifying that on Twitter.