Work will be Work, Play might remain Play

“Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life” ~ Confucius (551-479 BC)

Circa, 500 BC

Sire, I agree civilization has prospered and we have graduated from hunters-gatherers to cultivators-warriors, also I agree few by-product businesses like carpenter, potter, blacksmith, shepherd etc have mushroomed, yet in truth job market is still rudimentary and career opportunities too painfully limited, to entertain ideas as elusive as yours. Not to mention deep rooted social stratification holding preconceived notions of class-caste based hierarchical roles and statuses, offering little social mobility. I mean, I am poor farmer, why on earth would I not love to be, let say, a king?? But you tell me Sire, Is there a way?? No. It’s all hereditary inheritance Sire, and all this choose-life-stuff you propagate is nothing but fraudulent talk, having no reality base.

Even if I could choose things I love, I doubt its eternity. You know my love for my wife peaked the day we got married, and since then our relationship equation has only traced a descending hill. Similarly, would not what I will love to do for a living, I will end up loving it a little bit lesser, everyday. No Sire, I am not being dramatic?? Sire, as a child accompanying my father to fields was all fun. No compulsion, just free will. I loved the human-nature interaction, and it made me feel little wiser everyday. But by pre-adulthood when it became essential, it changed the way I interacted with my “lovable” work. It was less fun and more about survival instinct. It became an existential quest and started to own me, and pretty soon the love part died a young death.

Sire like yours, I have heard of some respectful jobs demanding little physical efforts like philosophers, political thinkers, mathematicians, architect and painters yet no one told me who teaches all that. But Sire I believe that fella must be a desperate teacher he often teaches everything to each and every few of those who in divine providence find him. Thus we have either ignorant majority working their arse off to meet ends or the limited editions of polymaths who are into the pleasant routine of thinking.

But Sire, please don’t mind my asking that, but is it not that this thinking job, seemingly howsoever pleasant is monotonous and at times equally demanding as well. Isn't it true that you abandoned your wife and child for your ideological pursuit?? Must be very hard.. no?? I mean now even I can fancy abandoning my wife… but my child !! No Sire, never. It would be too selfish and cruel of me to do so. Please don’t think I am accusing you. How can I!! We are but men of different caliber  But still Sire your choices are extreme, isn't it so that life takes a middle path??   
 
Sire, I guess you talk all this deception only to sound awesome and learned. Or else, you might do believe in the futile wisdom of what you say. In both cases we are too different as if two men from entirely different times. I, and people like me, are never going to understand the utility of your pompous words. To me it is a hurtful lie to fall for. And If I do I will only end up feeling like something is inherently wrong with me, when in reality this entire idea you are trying to sell is basically corrupt. Generations to come, can quote and fancy you, but sorry Sire I am not interested in buying your product.

P.S. : New in job-market and exposed to HR cliché so often, each aiming to program us folks into accepting them without doubt, hence tried being cynical to defend my inability to follow them.

I feel, he reasons

“Incomprehensible it may be yet it is relieving” I doubted, “With all the potential to be a nightmare” concluded the Chief. My fantasies need his sanction but a reluctant soul he is, too controlled. He overly shams perfection, never lets doubts grow; too cautious, too afraid; ephemeral they are “The exit will be followed by emptiness alone” he prophesized, attempting to kill it infant. My imagination has always inclined away from normalcy and the Chief is humanly numb, …Tch none makes sense. Silence was unwelcome  I whistled with faint smile. “Is thinking so tough or your senses have sublimed?” I feel, he reasons, we are at loggerheads.

I have to follow Chief, I owe him much. Seldom has I like listening him, he instructs me much. Not that Chief is always right, though I keep my grudges hushed, not once did I revolt, he already intimidates me enough. Tight air of silence prevailed. Suffocated, I fought all the inertia, and opened the window; the Chief objected that too “Strangers might peep in”. No arguments. I have to believe in Chief, I hardly trust others. None can even closely match Chief. He says he knows all. The Chief is wisdom. I feel, he reasons, we are at loggerheads.

At times, in Chief’s absence, I do peep out of that window. And I often see cheerful strangers, unlike him. But having known Chief so long most of these cheerful people seem shallow, or at best not concerned about depths. I mean no dishonour to those shallow cheerful strangers, and I might well be biased as Chief is my only window to world. Chief might be a sad fellow, but he is constant in his purpose. If he so wishes Chief can be most of them, but most of them can’t be chief. The Chief is purposeful. I feel, he reasons, we are at loggerheads.

Not that the Chief was always like this. Once he too was carefree and romanced life. In fact he was more human than one should have been allowed to. Something happened then, he will kill me If I tell you what, he already intimidates me enough. He claims he is content now, I doubt though, as he overly shams. He has grown too realistic since, conveniently deadened from his past. He mostly talks of future, of sacrifices and will power. I try to show him the present, but for chief it’s a thing of past. He says he has gone through all. The Chief is experienced. I feel, he reasons, we are at loggerheads.   

Though I keep my grudges hushed, not once did I revolt, but the chief sense it, the chief knows it all. He never mentioned openly but he gives subtle hints that our partnership has a destination at which it culminates. I care least about destination except that 'when will it arrive?'. I need not care. Chief has everything planned, and though he is a sad fellow the Chief is wisdom. I just hope after dropping me there the Chief learns to relax. However he may sham, I know, deep inside he is still alive. The Chief is pretension. The Chief is mentor. I feel, he reasons, we are at loggerheads, till one day, and then we will be on same side.         

           

Down south so far

“Chennaaai !!! Dude you’re going to be so dead” declared a friend confidently as I indifferently informed where my professional standards were chartered to. Learned pessimisms were shot, to kill me in Delhi itself, from all and sundry including even those who never had crossed Vindhyas once. Diverse set of warning were offered, from an expected "It’s so Hot there" to challenging "The Language will deafen and dumb you" to even epitaphs as "May your libido rest in peace", from each according to his personal concerns. 

Ironically, the more people pushed to dispirit me, the further determined I turned to enjoy the Chennaite stint. Libido issue was bothersome, but given Delhi too did not turn to be a place for restlessness down south, I overcame that. And I overcame other pity concerns citing to others in a self assuring tone, that how great a recluse I am and Chennai will be all peace and solitude. I even re-read 'English, August', the story of a troubled IAS trainee in an obscure spot in Tamil Nadu, this time with the aim to criticize Sen at every complaint, to ensure that the problem was with the spoilt brat and not Madna.

Finally, with “Unity in diversity” & “Vasudhev Kutumbakkam” as my guiding mantras, silently recited on loop, I stepped in Chennai. For my acquired karmyogi’s mindset, prepared for all the adversities in the entire universe expecting nothing in return, even a smiling ‘Namaste’ from a semi-Hindi-speaking-pure-Tam-taxi-driver (a rare species) felt bliss. The hour long ride with ‘Anna’ paralleled a talkathon, where discussing Rajni, Rehman and R.Ashwin  I appreciated in depths the immense indulgence in entertainment of an average Indian and its benefits for national Integration . The next 10 days at company accommodation was a grand stay with royal treatment, a pleasure due since 6 years given the name of my graduation hostel was “King’s palace”.

They say after summit the journey ahead is all downhill. They weren’t lying, not to me. Right out of the palatial stay the kings were reduced to nomads, abhorred by an entire class-community called 'Flat owners', for they were ‘not-religiously-entitled-to-have-sex’ (read bachelors) and hence devoid of even the least possibility of a civilized existence, a mythical correlation which some regression analyst should try discard. Even an hour long telephonic interview with a prospective owner, where we pledged to stay away from any pleasure of flesh, both literal and figurative, went disappointing as the established conviction said “bachelors are unhygienic species”. Anyways just before its infant death, the sinking optimism curve met an asymptote and ever since we are engaged in settling down, which given the pace might extend till infinity.     

Looking back, the Chennaite stint has already transformed me a lot as a person. I have parted ways with unsound chauvinism and no longer regard an umbrella unmanly, given the heat and consequent tan. The local food, and the serving manners, took my appetite to abysmal depths and my buckle to long forgotten holes. My tolerance knows no boundary thanks to the auto rickshaw union which has raped both my frugality and sense of justice at the rate of Rs 30 per Km, recurrently. "Aaiyyoo" no more sounds funny and I no longer feel distraction of youthful aspirations, as 'PYTs' are hard to find and even when discovered are so uninviting that one mischievous signal and their fathers might be chasing you.   

Anyways, as I said, I came here seeking peace and solitude, as in it’s a poor man’s Himalayas. I have been offered both but unfortunately with a tinge of loneliness. While you are concerned that you got to do more in life and are trying hard to motivate and push yourself for that extra mile, the city in its laid back attitude, nudges you and says “Relax!! Why so impatient? There is more in life than you think”, but offers little choices. The simplicity of its people, their modest way of life and the pride in their culture all interlock perfectly yet as in a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece somewhere there is a void left, blemishing not only the image but creating a hole in you as well. Combination of inner void and restlessness, a fertile ground for fruitful dissatisfaction. While I raise my dissatisfaction quotient I am already into creating an alternative universe, seeking worthy pseudo intellectual existence, through active self indulgence and wandering thoughts scribed all over my walls, searching what I should be, whoever that is.      

A newlywed, bachelor

I vividly recall how at the end of graduation, when the first among us was leaving college for that one final time, we playfully farewelled him on the tunes of “Babul ki duwaein leti ja, ja tujhko sukhi sansar miley”. Back then it was merely a cover up performance, shielding defenceless emotions from vulnerable exposure, underneath a cloak of humour. Now, couple of years down the lane, through a new joiner’s perspective, retrospectively, it echoes back as a fairly fitting farewell song, cause the resembling parallels observed portray a first time new joiner analogically much closer to a newlywed bride. And to quench your ‘How so?’ I have reasons in plenty raining ‘how not?’. Take a small leap of imagination and may be you can appreciate few of the following similarity linking him and her.


Like her he too has recently departed a long cherished world of carefree existence, he once thought he was born into for forever. Like her he too has entered a new world which he and his parents long dreamt of for him, but yet the incongruity there creates longing for past. Like her he too is given a short honeymoon period for transition full of care, co-operation and travel, but soon like her he too is fettered in the new status with customary behavioural role play, which once he so objected. Like her he too is welcomed as a special member in the family only to be placed at the centre of in depth analysis by the older residents, who judge, appraise and ridicule consistently in course of authority imposition.

Like her he too is to carry a tag, an albatross around his neck, signifying his fidelity as a committed employee and existence as being taken. Like her he too gives up outfits depicting randomness of young imaginations and is restricted to a dress code marking a reluctant acceptance of a force-fed maturity. Like her he too is no longer a freewheeling individual but a faceless stoic tangled in the labyrinth of permissions, shift timings, project deadlines and no-tailgating gateways, all manoeuvring his time and motion.

Like her his last world too, matters only as a training centre for the new world and any other memory is to be kept to his private self. Like her he too sweats entire day closely scrutinised, impatiently waiting for the relishing night for private moments of pleasure. Like her he too is expected to adopt immediately, perform faithfully, live loyally and the biggest anticipation of all ‘ to “deliver” soon and help the new world grow.

Sadly a sharp contrast being, she gets laid to deliver and he is laid off on failing to do so, and further in such situations only his pain is devoid of any pleasurable stir.

PS: Since you reached this far you have all the rights to abuse the absurdity of the giant leap of imagination. :D

My Crusade against Poverty, Hunger & Illiteracy

4th of July came and rhetoric eulogies were sung for the great declaration guaranteeing equality, life, liberty and a pursuit of happiness since 1776... The orator this time talked of long pending issues like equality of tax treatment, liberty of afghans, life to tired soldiers and a pursuit of happiness for prisoners in Bay area. The Indian media excelling at drawing parallels, unfailingly and spontaneously, produced evidences that how screwed up we still are and hence should be embarrassed yet again to mark the occasion of America's cake cutting...Intellectual diversity of recalled shames ranged from consistent failures of PMO to do an Indian 'The Kings Speech' act for a long muted man at top, to occasional failures of corporate in deciphering a legal protection model out of 'The Social Network' experience..and thus not only save assess but earn their faces an 'India Shinning' smile on centerfold of magazines for Aam admi to treasure

After these few innovative analogical insights they resorted to those age old BBC footages against which we have kinda biologically evolved with thick skin..thus I kept ignoring them comfortably before the clips got Americanized. I usually am quite composed unless served with anything English.. hence an outsourced impulsive nationalist fervor invaded me. Somewhere in this attentive segment a young attractive fella's pic was featured with a running caption "Ask not what your country has done for you ask what you have done for your country".. Both 'Made in US' and 'Inspiring', irresistible deathly combo.. A reverse psychology I attach with politicians.. and first asked what has my country done for me.. answer was quick in coming...Well for me the still a student..my country established institutes of technology and institutes of management making my quota of the universal summers of 69' miserably desperate..

What made me ponder long was recollecting What I have done for it..Excuse me for thinking meanwhile read things I sacrificed doing to stand by the ideals my countrymen supposedly believes in.. For dignity of the nation builders I controlled temptations of using swear words for incompetency... For Gandhi Sake I controlled violent uprisings against assholes I pledged as my brothers in school assembly, unaware who they were parented by.. In the name of Right to information I controlled impulses to rebuke at caste curious people... As a gesture of respect to feminine honor I controlled perversion for the same.. Believing in freedom of expression I controlled desires to sue the press for making us feel screwed up until Sachin scores..

Done with that??.. I am also done with thinking.. So talking of greater goods of eliminating poverty, hunger and illetracy.. Boss my life is nothing but a series of events culminating to these ends.. But since a secular me follows Buddha too, still complying to 'Hindi chini bhai bhai' theory, I believe self-conquest precedes all.. A student (learner) that I am, so I am overcoming India's challenge of poverty, hunger and illiteracy at the unit of self..

What is poverty?? Not having the means to satisfy your basic needs.. ryt?? My struggle against poverty is a tale of persuasive tears.. As a child I wished to be a cricketer.. but I had this poverty of talent.. so I struggled to defend my wicket by mostly crooks and threats (I owned the kit).. later the attention to cricket no more remained undivided.. how come that fella has a better cycle??..poverty of flamboyance.. I cried till no end till I got better one.. My growing love for movies with people around suggesting studies was taken as poverty of entertainment.. I cried on most Fridays and got results by next Sundays.. then I grew hormone wise.. How come that fella has a girlfriend and I don't.. poverty of love..Had persuasive tears been the key here I could have been something....Sad!!

What is hunger?? Not having enough ice creams after that stomach full of meat.!! Being served with usual staples when all you need so desperately is Maggie!!..etc etc.. Now this I managed through sycophancy and sweet-talks. In facts all my people skill can find their origin in that figurative sense of rat race which existed even before capitalism conceived in the womb of time.. Once this struggle against hunger conflicted with the desire to overcome poverty of love..I tell you the fear of gaining weight and the associated extra stuffs you need to chew to distract your thoughts from it is a real catch 22 situation.. Anyway before it was too late I was done with the mathematics of pros & cons and success probability with each endeavor.. and pursued my taste buds.

What is illiteracy?? In broader sense ignorance of performing unnatural tasks.. ryt??.. this part of my struggle against the darkness of ignorance, is marked with the Darwinian strategy of adaptive evolution and natural selections.. like not knowing how to do my assignments..I mastered coping it..Not knowing the means to get lab results empirically..I bribed the lab assistant..Not Knowing how to pass the coming exams.. I made micromini furreys..Not knowing how to articulate the cool stuffs to amuse people around.. I joined social networking..and I can multiply these examples.. but already I have gone too long.

A quick feedback analysis of the efforts shows ample positive results approving that I have performed excellently.. my assortment of poverty is almost singular now.. I have progressively kept up with higher end of BMI spectrum since inception.. and they say my knowledge is apt to fetch me enough ice creams and bribe all the regulators on my way to grave..

Saturday Sessions Settling Squares

I still vividly remember how as a kid I hated the unemployed. Not that I was class conscious capitalist-in-the-making or a nationalist who simply couldn't withstand the unproductive population burden they were instead of meaningful human resources guiding economic development at least till 2020. My detest was solely based on envious notions they filled me with every passing hour of the day.

Early in the morning while being forced to school I saw them either still snoring or waiting for bed tea. Just imagine how heavy a sight it would have been for a little kid who with celestial punctuality sacrificed the desires to snooze the alarm till infinity on a daily basis. The actively unemployed were found at the nukkad brushing teeth and skimming through newspapers simultaneously. Many a times I had an uneasy urge to bring to an end this shameless display of multitasking when they had entire day to fool around. I mean when my father, a regular 9 to 5 employed man, religiously devotes half an hour of undivided attention to national, state and local affairs (only taking annual pauses after an IAS topper interview to try instill in me a sense of aspiration which mostly were taken as embarrassments) what rights did these people had to make Page-3 skimming appear as a skillful art. Anyway, back then being a client of an hegemonic employed class of Ministry of education and HRD, I lacked time and energy to address the greatly needed social reform.

During afternoon on the bus back from school I intentionally avoided the window seat only to ignore the advanced model of this human specimen debating energetically on trivial issues (to me) of paramount significance (to them) on each and every tea stall and paan shop; their practice ground for parliament and state assembly. The degree of irresponsibility and unaccountability enjoyed by them when put to contrast with the answerable employed class only made me feel further pity for my future life as not being one among them. The admiration of their lifestyle coupled with my helplessness, further fuelled my hatred. The realization that even if I lived up to Dreams from my father I still would end up working under someone like them sank me to the depths of hopelessness for the destination my studies were taking me to.

Evenings were worst cause often when I was very close to a double digit score my mother signalled me to call it a day, pack my kit and retreat into the final pavilion not out.. to attend homework (as if I worked lesser in School) whereas these fellas were eventful pursuing their favorite work.. bird watching that was, euphemistically. The only solace (later a regret) was that there were not many beautiful nests around...but I was not aware that those broad minded intelligentsia came with no bars... and occasionally even migrated long distances in ornithological pursuits.

Now coming to why I recall this deep rooted and long subjugated hatred.. Its all because of the sight of those school kids cheerfully returning home while I am having my lunch break. So it turns out that while as a school kid I envied the unemployed class I too was a matter of envy for the working class.. (makes childhood look less pathetic now) ... and the working class itself was the envy of the unemployed.. specially so in nuptial age group... What a Vicious circle of envy and desire...!!

Anyway on Saturday mornings I take a tangential path by making sure to sip tea after tea near the bus stop when the school bus is about to arrive..

Internship Diaries

I believe a man is at his best when working, hence I actively think to act on something to bring the best of me. And when acting on nothing its not procrastination (save that for some lazy fella) but the wait for perfectionism that stops me. A perfectionist I am and have been patiently waiting for most of my life. Though this waiting never left me idle, my business is statically fashioned amidst wishful 'Ifs' and 'Buts'. Landing in Bangalore for summer internship I expected the stay to be a perfectly designed platform to witness my best. Luckily by Delhi standards there was no summer, and unfortunately even by some Pony-Tail Management Insti. standard there was no internship to be found.

First day by far was most hectic when the HR made us fill multiple forms and run from this work room to that work room looking for a Xerox. A Competitive current flowed in the gallery with each of the 20 odd intern marching briskly (almost jogging) to outpace others against the fear of being queued. Prepared I had came, I saw the work room first and conquest was compromised only with second spot. Yes I just quoted on lines of Caesar, but underestimatingly, as the task was of Herculean order. Next my naivety with the machine in itself is an interesting story.. but may be some other time.

After that day it was all downhill. Kind will be so humble a word for my benevolent mentor for gifting 3 days to search for accommodation, which near such SEZs is spread ubiquitously as criminals in assembly, PYTs in C.P. and grammatical mistakes in my blog. A learned friend had warned that at first day in office forget tasks the biggest question is finding someone to talk...but not in mine. The cordially welcoming crowd posed the question of selection and filtering. In my initial encounters with strangers I come with a low pass filter in terms of voicing my opinion but in my team we all were mostly silent types hence from first day itself we talked at lengths. Leaving me there was no other MBA guy so no banal exchanges were asked and we gelled in smoothly. Accommodation acquired, introduction done, terms established all I needed was work to bring the best of me.

Days came and gone, weeks came and gone, a month came and gone.. accommodation acclimatized, introduction stretched to past and future, terms fostered into bonds... yet all I needed was some work.. (Yeah I know You Know Why). Management talks about initiatives..which I took. Feeling of unemployment is heavy but believe me it grows far heavier when in an office. I talked with mentor.. I asked the mentor... and (if some artistic liberty be allowed) I begged too. Still apart from some occasional ppt stuffs all I have been asked is to play a silent observer in board room meetings, passing intelligent smiles & nodding agreeably on mostly technical points which goes over my head. Not to forget for these mere acts I have been rewarded with range of goodies and two free entertainment trips.

With time I have come to the realization that my high offerings and their modest requirement are never going to resonate, hence I have lowered my aspiration bar for the time being. Paulo Coelho postulated and Shahrukh khan spread the theory that how entire universe conspires to fetch you what you seek with all your heart... but like all other laws, except the one by a Murphy and a Newton fella, this too has turned up to be an elusive one, as of now. Yet all this adversity hasn't yet been able to undermine my belief. Someday sure I will find myself a job which will bring the best in me. I shall overcome one day.. Yes I can. Till then I am like the Mussadilal of my own office sharing my misery to a page.

P.S.: Between I have tried seeking opportunities to flaunt some Kotler gyan in the cafeteria but this dream too is still latent for the lack of an adorable audience. Murphy, Get off my Kundali Will You!!

My Governance Wishlist..

Democracy is the worst form of governance but better than all other known to us- Winston Churchill

Some chaps dreading maths opt economics, supposedly art, and are soon baffled by the complexity of regression analysis into a regretful life. Intelligently I escaped that and choose electronics engineering to garner my regrets. But last night experience made me realize that its not an art-science conflict but rather lack of enthusiasm. I mean what sort of genius is a requisite to be an autorickshaw puller but if next to Adam Smith anyone else has understood the exploitative dynamics behind demand-supply driven free market economy then they are the one. More so on Bangalore streets at night. The mofo charged me 400 bucks for what in broad daylight was 25 Rs affair in an AC bus.

How I wish we had a socialist transportation system!!

All you IT guys don't be ridiculous in complaining your job futility, after all its really not that unproductive. As much globally recognized an asset social networking is, equally unpraised is the online payment stuff run by you fellas. Circa 2003, standing in a 50 odd headed queue to pay landline bill outside an office having shadowing provisions for only those triumphant 3 or 4 who had patiently survived the heat. Being a weekday most fellas were rural folks for whom landline still was a recent invention and so bills lesser than there cost of commutation. And there I was, with my dues being a substantial share for the entire days collection, at the far end. Forget I-pods even a Nokia 3330 was a luxury back then, so no music to appease my impatience.. and carrying umbrella was way too unmanly. I the bourgeois class of the queue representing real India thought of suggesting collection of fattest bills first. Just thought.

How I wish we had a capitalist payment-queue system!!

Back in school was an arrangement that when teachers left the class in the middle for short durations, citing rational urgency (which now I think were excuses to attend nature's call), monitors (M & F one sex each) were responsible to maintain silence. Any noisy soul was chalked on blackboard for the returning teacher to attend with vaccinations (that's what we termed for ears being manhandled). My co-monitor oblivious of power politics listed my friends name. The bro-code was swore and my manliness was put to question to save that fella. I under pressure illicitly added on redemption rolls 3 of her friends and signaled expected trade-offs. Innocently diligent that she was, so naturally failed to comprehend. We had an argument; she giving logics me replying with fervors.. the matter got loud and at the loudest moment the teacher re-entered.. In vicinity of the bigger crime names on board were ignored.. Brocode was lived upto but I ended up getting the vaccination. Who watches the watchman??

How I wish administration be single party dictatorship!!

Its a tragedy for nation's sports culture that media highlights only cricketing icons. I personally felt that during the cricket team selection for standard 6th, when for 12 vacancies there were 30+ applicants. Had meritocracy been a strict criteria it was hard to get a place as the 12th man of even a back up squad...but I had my connections. Each batsman was given 3 shots and fate sealed.. Last to be tried I had to score minimum 7 runs to quantitatively tie with three others for the single place left.. I managed 6 only..but as said I had my connections. Captain and vice captain, both my best friends, vigorously pitched to selectors the qualitative aspects of my defensive shots... A day Later I played 2nd down.

How I wish my love for democratic elections remains eternal!!

Democracy is the worst form of governance but better than all other known to us- Winston Churchill

Eskool DaeZs

This stuff initially I was writing only for my school group on FB but at the end found the effort worthy enough to be shared to a larger audience.. hence the post..

They say we live life twice, first in improvisations and then in revisions- the two states of cognition. Once in present, amalgamating deeds with our vision of future; and then later in present analyzing our memories of past. Infact their is no well defined time boundary separating one state from other but instead its like a gradual transformation into the predominance of later over former. Drawing an analogy I think of a river flow, innocent at the glacier's foot ebulliently tracing whichever direction with no preconceived notions of destination (infact unaware of its very existence) and then the mid-life crisis of stagnation, few trade-offs between vanity and external expectations here and there before the acceptance of........ Wait a minute.. Improvisation!! cognition!! Mid-life crisis!! Vanity!! Where am I heading to?? This is my school group not a herd of seekers who have reached fifth stage of Maslow's hierarchy.. I shouldn't be penning down a philosophical doctrine here... I can always save that for my blog.. so coming back to my age's audience.. here I go.

May be I'm getting old earlier than expected or may be I am too jobless these days to do nothing but dive in retrospection..(Or may be certainly its the effect of Katli posting a school time pic on FB).. In last few hours I have done thing as meaningless as staring a lizard in a game lets-see-who-makes-first-move* and after nearly 30 minutes I won.. (that explains how idle I am.. three cheers for that).. An industrious fella I am and hence thought lets create something of this unproductive-sentimental-retrospective plunge..and thus this post.. presently the best alternative only next to some imaginary dates with ample blondes on an island where I am the only male -alpha or omega. Too much intro.. I guess the stage is all set and anyway if you have read this long you probably will/should read till the end..

Yesterday on a public forum, KD instigated and baba endorsed the idea that I am good narrator..demanding that I must narrate something from St. Mary's day.. My initial thought was Bloody what ya think me your nanny?? But then the supposedly MBA guy in me thought of how companies invest hugely, re-engineer vigorously and advertise insanely for projecting a core competency.. and here they are gifting me one just for a mushy comment I made, so why not cash the opportunity .. (So Baba unlike your contri this is no samajseva.. and let me make it clear my samajprem is limited only to the fairer half of your samaj)

Thinking of what to narrate I remember a childhood friend from St. Mary's only, who of that era was probably the most dedicated narrator in the world.. I believe he almost got orgasmic sensations listening to his own voice..cause always fluid poured through the left corner of his mouth while doing so..(Yes Cheap humor I know).. Once he nearly peed in pants just because he was in the middle of a story in front of the whole class when the call of nature knocked down south.. but a devoted man he was and was ready to be remembered as a martyr for a cause than a man who absconded the battlefield.. and thus the call of duty triumphed.. Infact those days I was kinda his protegee and if you people are a kind listener may be the second best narrator of my age group... though my priorities were set little more on need-of-the-hour basis.. and i have successfully escaped many battlefields more than once.. (hey that could be my second core competency).

So here goes an incident between guru-chela..

Remember the rocket thing in our smaller ground??.. Don't think too far our school was no modern cradle of science and technology..I am talking about the structure next to the charkhi thing.. So one day it was us playing the astronauts and disgusting our social circle simultaneously.. I don't remember to whom and for what exactly i used the word 'Saaley'.. yes the plural form of the S-word for standard 3 students..(what a civilized world that was!!).. I knew an unspoken line was crossed.. then followed a few moment of silence in reading the situation.. before I changed the topic to latest comic editions.. He too kinda ignored that heinous crime.. Phew!!

But then it turned out as a political move to buy time for weighing his options as at the day end he took me to a corner and blackmailed.... I-know-what-you-did-last-supper moment.. the terms of the agreement negotiated.. me sharing half of my lunch UNCONDITIONALLY!!... wish I knew the term 'Fatass mofo' back then and could have offered him the whole lunch box for using it.. but in our times they showed Disney Hours instead of south Park (Alas troubled childhood!!)..This thing went on for weeks and by then it was a crime so distant in memory that no threat appeared till horizon.... and the agreement terminated....The best part was even his crime was never taken as one such and we remained guru-chela ever-after till one day he left the school in mid sessions abdicating the title for me..

That's it and that's all.. I sincerely wish this was some masterpiece which I could have dedicated to him -my guru..

P.S. : * The lets-see-who-makes-first-move game with lizards was invented by a dear friend of mine.. A thinking man that he is.. And I never fail to emulate such time tested exercises which might make me one some day.. You can follow his other experimental thoughts at “Thoughts Unfolded” 

[A/The] Wonder [Fool/Full] [Law/La]

SCENE 1: The Usual Onion

At company sponsored second excursion on expected lines yet again people indulged in Antakshari. Since, unlike the previous occasion, the pastime act started in a professional fashion with prepared set of singers it lacked element of innocence and hence didn’t last long. But then not to the relief of an isolated me – a 40 till I die spirited intern amidst cheerful folks. Someone suggested Dumb charades and without any seeming contemplation it was democratically accepted with full majority. Yes, considering that my opinion was not sought full is fully appropriate.

So there we were, able bodied intelligent grownups playing dumb and clueless kids. Serenity was lost anyway, though some silence was restored, but my attempts to fake detachment were betrayed by an intriguing curiosity; inquisitiveness sometimes takes toll on the quizzer. Full participation meant infidelity to the A-Silent-Types image I am married to, so I made an acceptable-explainable kind of trade off as an audience. Once much to my horror I was even made to play the dumb, and much to my surprise I did well. ByGod I did.

‘How I wish I was not me!!’ sometimes grow colossal.

SCENE 2: Peeling of Onion

After some 30 odd Kms we reached Wonderla, a thrill zone cum water park- a place even ardent critics can’t dismiss as yet another amusement park. Following easiest first rule we boarded a swinging boat. Couple of swings: That’s it??. Another few: Kids stuff!! And then came the real mode and leave others even the A-Silent-type was whispering ‘Fuck maaaeen’. Next we got on a seemingly circular ride. It was only when I was being thrown in multiple directions that I realised it didn’t follow the so thought Rutherford model and was the creation of some SchrodingerED engineer. Some 5 or so shouting-at-the-loudest minutes and the usually A-silent-type agnostic was grateful to heavens to be still alive and standing on his legs.

I try my best to carefully chart the way my probable biography is going to be, which at very first demands a life long enough (unless you are a revolutionary) and anyways “Jhuley se gir kar fool murjha gaya” is not a fitting end to even a fools life. But try explaining that to a spirit escalating adventurously with each impulsive stroke. Thus followed rides on drop zone, equinox, water wagon, twister tides, tubular falls, Sliding tracks, rain dance etc (explaining them is hard and unnecessary, if you too happen to be an inquisitive one you are on net help yourself ). The underlying phenomenon was the opening up. First whispering, then shouting, then howling and dancing and what not.

With every ride one layer each was shredded.

SCENE 3: The Shredded Onion

On the way back Antakshari was back in a modified way. The enthusiastic singers offered to sing the favourite songs of others. My turn was still away. Usually I would have forge a sleep but the defence mechanism wall was perforated. Anyways I was tired so closed my eyes and reflected back. I thought of Philippe Halsman and his jumpology... law that jumps cause masks to fall.. which at peak of acceptance made even the likes of Munro and Nixon fall for a photograph. Learning that first I had ridiculed it as yet another celebrity endorsed racket, now it did made sense. My turn was about to come. What to do remain so or open up? With a law to explain my behaviour I chose later. Not only did I make a farmaish but when it occurred to be something they did not know the lyrics of, I sang that too.

Had the onion been peeled to the center?? May be no. For the layers are the onion and there is no center.!!

Conclusion

After all ‘How I wish I was not me’ isn’t that colossal.

&

How I wish the second trip was not the final too.

An Indian Beautiful Mind

Jeevan Nath, the recluse strategy Prof at Kingston University and a cricket enthusiast is in centrefold of talks for his path breaking Game theory of cricket, which is expected to revolutionize the way the sport is played. Just a week before a largely mysterious entity in neighbourhood, quite an ostracized member amongst colleagues and openly mocked figure amid student circles; Prof Nath has transformed into an epitome of recognition.

“Prof Nath’s achievement is the result of sheer dedication and hardwork” says Gajhodhar, the watchman of ‘Infinity apartments’. “Nath, a man lacking half the helping of heart, since the debacle of Indian cricket team in last world cup had been behaving even more weirdly. He was often discovered talking to himself at lengths” said fellow professor Mohan Sen in an envious flavour.

“Since last three years he regularly observed our matches with religious devotion taking colossal notes and often irritating fielders by paddling his bicycle from deep extra cover to silly point” reported Vinod Ganguly the conceited captain of Infinity eleven. “On complaining he retorted that he was governing our dynamics and weighing it against huge samples of people ranging from those of Munaf to Raina” added Vinod.

“Since recently he was often seen sketching strange illustrations and scripting complex equations on window panels. Once a baffled him even tried breaking the glasses with headbangs but fortunately aborted crying ‘I can’t see it’ ” added Gajhodhar. “Previously when inquired about his mysterious research, Nath termed it as an assignment for a cricket coach Vinaysheel Parasher whose identification is yet to be revealed” said Prof Mohan Sen.

We tried to get in touch with Prof Nath but could only manage interviewing Mrs. Aleesha Nath who found some time for us while ironing dozens of old twisted handkerchiefs. She told that Prof Nath, eventful scripting his plausible Nobel acceptance speech, was struggling to blend the paradoxical equations of love and logic. “You Just can’t imagine how pissed off he is since his eloquent speech at Kingston’s felicitation ceremony was not appreciated in the similar fashion as was his theory by the crowd bleeding blue.

PS: Written with a space at Faking News in mind :)

Apology

As a blogger you often develop an insecurity to keep your blog updated and it gets difficult when you are running short of your creativity juice, and worse at times when you lack the thing called writing talent. So in that case like most bollywood scriptwriters and music director you tend to go for what they euphemistically say inspiration. On two different occasions, going through such phases I came across two brilliantly written blog posts I have ever read and couldn’t resist playing a plagiarist. Fortunately (yes fortunately I mean) author of one such post came to know this and that person is gentleman enough to carry no hard feelings for my mistake if I admit it and delete the post. I said fortunately because it will serve as a long time lesson. I already have deleted both of those posts and this publicly written apology is to make that gentleman feel that I am ashamed of it and this post here is a testimony of that. Sir if you are reading this, I hope you may forgive me for it.

Who is driving my car?

Ram Mohammad Thomas, a Dharavi teen, providentially wins a major quiz show transforming his fate overnight. … catchphrase “D: Destiny it is written”. Pleasant feel good fiction, as the artistic liberty settles on a joyful end. The imagination got moderately acknowledged but the adapted movie, though critically unworthy, was showered with awards. Seems like the exhaustion of protracted war-for-peace, fright of international terrorism, chained natural cataclysm, the greed driven financial panic, the looming climatic catastrophe; all so chronically synchronized to co-ordinate with the eschatological doomsday forecast, have created an imperceptible whirlpool sucking optimism to the depths of the globe. Action is defunct, assurance is the prerequisite. Consequently things promising hope are bestowed supreme attention, be it either a Slumdog endorsing predestined destiny or a relatively newbie politician orating excellent changes to be.

Inspite of following a joyful climax the concluding catchphrase “Destiny: It is written”… scares. If it is, then how come are we real? Aren’t we too characters of a fictional plot performing as per the whims and fancy exercised by the creator, hypothetically assumed as God? Where is the space for free living? “When all we are, are random variables fit into the equation of hope and fate then why pursue desires?” A friend said… good lines!!. Never been able to believe in the supposition of God, as always even then I thought of advocating free will, but we didn’t debate over its unenthusiastic connotations.

To free will, destiny thing is bullshit phrase akin to “Marriages are made in heaven” which is impugned by witty T-shirt answers ‘So are we here just to have sex? ’ But at times temptations subdue my all encompassing will… are these subversive forces the masters governing me? Individual temptation yet again is genetic instigation.. so is my life genetically coded in the 23 chromosomes… again prewritten…well if only I could decipher my DNA to match my will.

What if I say being pre-destined do I have anything to fear? .... precarious thought!! Fatal upshots of a written destiny were edited by granting an individual some say in his own destiny. The theory of reincarnation plotted by present actions came into folktales. Errr… a loop hole.. this present itself is already “Written”. A catch-22 situation indeed. Seems like neither destiny nor free will is the answer… then where to search… may be in some very elusive place between these two simplistic poles. No definite rules …the whole game is a flaw.

Saint to Devil

Endurance for momentary cheers,
and impulsiveness for sighing alas.
An year to see the Jesus,
a single day made me Judas.

Taking words as predefined terms,
I changed to devil from saint.
But my hopes of revival dashed,
learning there’s no difference ain’t.

No difference speaks of equality,
so are all we equals as if clones?
No forgiveness, some are more equals,
said the looted farm of Mr. Jones.

Nursery Rhymes Revisited

As the mighty gray clouds concealed the sun,
and the slow wind swiftly begin to blow.
Everyone in hiding is out on grassy streets,
expecting mild showers to come and go.

There comes young Cinderella from fairy tale,
carrying her single slipper waiting for a match.
She thinks it will be her lucky chance today,
But outside pleasant fables life is a dismal catch.

Here comes little Johnny carrying his baseball bat,
praying rain to go to Spain as he wishes to play.
He naively thinks it only takes a little sugar to laugh,
But let him grew up and ask a lot more someday.

And Jack descends tumbling down the steep hill,
breaking the crown and spilling a pail of water.
He painfully expects Jill coming after for him,
But she doesn’t as now he is not what she’s after.

Last Time when I died

Last night I had this very bizarre dream. It was that I was in a battlefield, holding my position in a bunker firing my Simonov on the opponent on the other side. Blood and dust surrounded me amid the howling of fire. After taking a few shots I wondered which battle is this, what is that I am fighting for? I examined my blood stained dusty uniform to find a swastika mark on it. Ok so I am a bloody Nazi, but which place is this? There is no sea around so it can’t be Normandy; neither can I find snow so it is not Stalingrad either, and since Germans had mostly air attacks on UK so it can’t be London too. I guess this godforsaken place is Sicily, where else? It means I must be fighting the bloody Americans. Good!! Where is General Patton I wanna directly shoot him and end the battle. But wait, I admire him. I also admire George Scott who refused the Oscar playing Patton. I admire both of them so why kill any? But hey I am a soldier, right? I too must be fighting for a cause, whatever that may be.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ I need to focus. I aimed my gun at an enemy. Shit man it is the face of my childhood friend. I don’t wanna shoot him. But what if he does? I can’t take any fucking chances. No No certainly I can’t. It was the bollywood effect that instead of hailing Hitler I shouted ‘Hail Mogambo’ and took my shot. Holy Arjun! It was perfect. Headshot. My childhood friend died, not much pain ahhh . Simultaneously I felt both a guilty sigh and triumphic ooze. Lord we men, what a basterd we are? We are more ethical then we think and far more immoral than we could probably imagine.

I don’t know whether it was guilt or triumph but I lost my focus. Consequently a bullet stroked me, piercing my chest, blood oozing out of it. It hurt like anything. Oh lord! How unfair I am goanna die, and die so young, how sad. But an inner voice explained me don’t panic, don’t panic! It’s just a dream, a play and nothing lasting. Yes and all of a sudden the pain was over. Hurray. I begin to think what should be my dying words. ‘Jesus Christ!’ or ‘Hey Ram!’ or what about ‘Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan’. Confused. I just muttered “Sorry mate! We are just a pawn in the game” and decided to die.

But wait it’s not over man. It’s a dream and I saw the aftermath too. The scene was my grand burial ceremony. Several guns were fired. Ohh Great! I must have been a high ranking officer and not just a private. Generals with stoical faces were giving me salutes. I tried to look for Hitler, he was absent. That disappointed. People came and gone but at the end this lady remained. She came to my grave and put some flowers and a photograph of me and her together. She wept for a long while and when tears refused to shed then she too left. Meanwhile I kept on wondering who she was? Girlfriend? fiancé,? Wife? Or as I was a soldier on a war, was she a whore I was sleeping with, who fell in love with me? I tried checking her fingers but my vision kept on blurring. First I was killed and then puzzled, such is life. A bitch. And for the first time after that shot I regretted dying, even in a dream. I know I will wake up alive in the morning but I will never know why the hell she was crying.

Something gotta give Up

“What makes you come here son?” he inquired in a deep voice, the reply “I need help”. “So does everyone who comes to me, take the couch and try being specific” he paused to recollect his thoughts but the misty disorder veiling his heart didn’t produced any. “There is something happening inside my heart, something strangely painful and it is making me weak” “Son the heart is an egoist; it feels its need intensely and strives ruthlessly to satisfy them. Have you lost something?” “I have a dream but I lost my hopes” “Ah!! Another dreamer. You love your dream .Right? And it is probably threatened?” “Yes. I said I lost my hopes” “You are never so defenseless against suffering as when in love” the words seemed disrespectful but he couldn’t help not agreeing. “While adoring your dream you had pawned a part of your narcissm” “But sir once that dream gave me a triumphant conviction” “And now pain. If you can’t make it then let it go” “But I don’t want to” “Wants, desires, dreams all are elusion my boy, the life and death drives. They commend to us because they save us pain and give pleasure, but we must accept without complaint that sometime they will collide with reality and will be dashed to pieces” “I agree but then what about this pain” he unable to force himself into unbelief “Don’t alleviate it with imprudent attempts. Let it grow. Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise. All this sadness of heart is the birth-pain of a new attitude trying to be born” His words knocked him. After few silent moments the voice broke “Are we done?” “There is something which I cannot say aloud or perhaps even think” he lied because he thought he was.

I and the dead

Now days too have gone hazy with the already dark nights,
Rendering my vision of who I am into a blind murky sight.

Where was it when I had last encountered me I can not say,
As I’m persistently busy escaping from myself as long as I may.

I scheme external calmness while restiveness haunts my soul,
I deceive entirety while deep inside I experience an empty hole.

My past are moments wasted, future is not worth breathing for,
And to stitch worn dreams the unscathed present is a thin chord.

My existence is a helpless trade-off between people and time,
While sands of later swiftly fleets, formers wish not to be mine.

Harmonizing these two phases I’ve lived as one through my plight,
Nakedly switching morals amongst shades of black gray and white.

When the diverse colors merged sweeping my conviction along,
My spirit died beneath the ripples of resignation mounting upon.

Secretly the dead man inside me asks the dusk of last day to end,
For his death will ensure if dawn of new life may perhaps begin.

That blissful Naked Man…

Long back ago there was a prince, a king in the making, who kept moving towards his throne with little steps called achievements. He kept on keeping on, but not after a target but for the sake of moving. Yet sadly in the course of his little accomplishments, caught up in his talent show, the prince got greatness thrust upon him as people began to believe him and expect a lot in return. He never even once asked for those believe but they indebted him with hope. Thus what just began as a journey of selfhood, with the burden of expectations turned into running behind undesired aims set by spectators. His life wasn’t his but a puppet show. Never once was he asked what he wanted to be, he was told what he should become. He tried to be him, people made him to be them. When he asked rest he was made to run and when wished to fly he was chained to hustle. He asked for silent solitude, he was given an echoing audience. He wanted to be a wandering nomad, he was shown the throne. Unable to sketch a way out, the king in making gave up dreaming and toiled on the path which he hadn’t chosen.

On that path he found himself lost in the labyrinth of anticipations. As it was not his path he was ensured to fail, it was only a matter of time before the axe would fell and one day it did. And all that was there impending since long was over. All the hopes, belief and anticipations died. He had robbed the hopes of many people and thus in return was robbed of their belief. The kingdom abandoned him. The prince had failed for the first time in his life and the failure hit him hard on the face. He wept behind closed doors where no one could listen. Finding it hard to meet the eyes of spectators he went into a state of isolation, hiding behind the ruins of broken dreams to escape from his past. He had once pined for solitude but when that was granted it turned out to be loneliness, which he morbidly accepted as a punishment. He reduced himself into a dead man deprived of everything. He first took pity on himself but then with time he got institutionalized to that state. He realized that now he was not expected to fill in someone’s shoes and since the kingdom had no expectations henceforth he was free. He realized that now he is a naked man with nothing to loose, invisible to spectators; and this realization made him feel blessed. For the first time in life he was naked and therefore liberated, he felt the centre of his life within him. He recognized that what he failed to achieve was not his own wish. He never dreamt to be a king.

With this insight a new hope was generated within and this time it was special, it was his individual hope. He gathered the scraps from past as memoir of failure and stroked another match to go anew. This time he promised himself never to let anyone be a part of the voyage and only listened to his heart to discover directions. Thus the naked abandoned prince moved ahead with resolute passion. Once again he could feel; he felt new life in his soul. On his new journey the only spectators he had were his principles. But habituated to external drive he lacked motivational incentives and thus looked for it around. Once in his path he met someone inimitably spotless, someone first of her kind, close to being called integrity. He found in her seraphical thoughts and was mesmerized by the delightful moments he had talking to her. Those moments instilled in him the vital inspiration which worked out for him and success begin to follow. Enchanted by the magical experience he got smitten enough to forget his promises and made that someone the centre of his journey. He dreamt to make those moments a lifetime event; he wanted to carve up a moment that would have last till his end. But then not every story has a happy ending as not everyone deserves everything. A lettered man he was and thus could never verbalize his truth convincingly.

At the end it had all turned up to be an all-sum-to-zero game. After all the triumphs finally the prince had became weaker than a man should be. Those successes, which at first he had thought of exclusively for himself and later to split half it with only one person, once again brought him in the same old arena of expectations. Once again the spectators were around with revived hopes to welcome there one time missing prince, the king in the making. In his isolation the prince had forgotten that one cannot escape from oneself, one can’t be free of oneself as there is no way out of oneself. While the kingdom was jostling to shine the older throne, the armored prince with his lonely heart cried for shedding his covering as he desolately missed that blissful naked man once he used to be.

The Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d.

Once while being interviewed an ebullient Salman Rushdie, my last post’s buddy, said that during his Oxford days he learned more from the Friday night shows than course books. It may sound unfounded to many but not me. I too can claim with conviction that in this case I have reciprocated him, infact I have even gone few steps further in embracing the first one and almost ditching the later. Once while taking one such learning filmy-session through a 2004 neosurrealistic classic ‘Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind’ directed by Michel Gondry, a brilliant exploration of human memory and relationship, I came across the above mentioned lines. During the movie when Mary Svevo, played by Kirsten Dunst, recited these lines of Alexander pope to Dr. Howard, though totally involved watching, a fascinated I paused to take out my diary and pen it down. Later, as habitually, while surfing through the wiki pages of the movie I came to know that these arresting 4 lines are a part of a 366 lines long poetic epistle ‘Eloisa to Abelard’, a terrible tale of a rebellious love (though the word terrible was unnecessary, love as always is, in any form terrible).

To fathom out the entire poem is a colossal task and will require an understanding far above my meager intellectual capacity. For the time being the uninitiated reader needs to know only this much that Eloisa while suffering from separation and realizing that now a helpless Abelard can never reciprocate her love prays not for forgiveness but forgetfulness.

As now there is no Mrs. Lizzy around to explicate me such enigmatic verses, a seeking me tried googling it out, and not to my surprise there were plentiful explanation by many generous souls. What I found is this that the above lines are in a sardonic tone. Vestals were the virgin maids of ancient times who were devoted to the services of temples soon after birth. They were held as symbol of purity and peace. Ordinary people tangled up in the blues, as man is inherently sadistic, envied them for their so perceived peace of mind. But here Pope doubts there happiness. He argues that what other saw in them as happiness was actually there ignorance. Since they were ignorant of the world around they knew of nothing, neither true happiness nor real sadness. There life was nothing but a hollow and futile existence, as to be blameless is also to be empty, meaningless and blank, without the weight of choice and consequence. If we want only what we're given -is that happiness? No. Sometimes change can be costly, and not always rewarding, but standing costs dreams and desires.

At the any stage in our life we are nothing but the sum total of our memories. We are happy when the memory we cherish dominates our psyche. Similarly unpleasant memories make us downhearted. In a way life is all about collecting good experiences, because we will all relive them umpteen times through our reflections. But the problem with human mind is this that it is more a RAM based device, where the secondary storage is lost in the piles of recent data’s. Sometime a small bitter moment takes over the years of togetherness, as all the sweet memories are buried in the sand of time. It is only in the afterthoughts that we realize the true worth of a relationship gone bad by a small clash, but then mostly it is too hard to make corrections as there always is the ego factor. When Friedrich Nietzsche quoted “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders” he too displayed similar attitude as a poignant Eloisa. He considered the forgetful lucky as they forgot even there bitter memories but then at same time they were also reduced as creature of the moment, with no treasure of past to live upon. At times when some recent experience troubles us we too urge for forgetfulness to get over the painful part but a mere reflection will suggest that how hollow life will be without memories.

The above mentioned movie approaches the same human dilemma in a splendid manner. It is the story of Joel (Jim Carrey) and Clementine (Kate Winslet), a couple as distinct as two extremes, while Joel is reclusive Clementine is vivacious, but both of them find happiness together. However once a small misunderstanding blows out of proportion and an impulsive Clementine had all the memories of Joel erased from her mind by a surgical process ( a liberty which artistic independence allows the storyteller). An angry Joel reciprocates her by opting to obliterate her memories. As if “Look at it out here, it's all falling apart. I'm erasing you and I'm happy! By morning, you'll be gone”.

But in order to wipe out the memories the operating machine first needed to map those particular memory cells thereby enabling the holder to view them one last time while in an unconscious dream like state. It is only when Joel revisits his memories with Clementine, he has afterthoughts; and he recognize that though few moments between them were bitter but majority of them were happy and he understand that it was Clementine who brought meaning and magic to his mundane life through her vivacity. The rest of the movie take place in Joel’s mind, and from here the neo-surreal part begins. Now onward it is shown how in his mind Joel with Clementine struggles to rescue few of their memories from being completely washed, and while leaving them again he realize that these memories are all that are left behind as their life together, and once they are gone a life once lived is gone as well.

The one message that the movie pass is that if only one can stand apart and watch his whole life from a distance than one can realize that how wonderful a life it was, inspite of all the so thought mistakes committed. A second inferential message could be about accepting people as they are because they are still the same wonderful person inspite of their imperfection and if you have found happiness with a person once you will find it with them once again. All you need is to wipe the dirty spots which come in a relationship and this wiping doesn’t needs a spotless mind but a pure heart. Because in real life there is no surgical process to clean dirty spots of memory it could be done only by defocusing from those spots and viewing the larger picture which requires an open heart. And hence it is more important to have a pure heart than a spotless mind.