Friday, 26 August 2011

On Reading

The lonely soul's companion and pillow-friend since adoloscence, reading often is a more desired choice than people themselves. But I suppose that's more so because the characters are what you interpret them to be. In case of people, they are what they interpret themselves to be, and the choosy human mind can't always adjust with the inadjustments. Of course, such is only one of the cases and not the only one. Appropriate disclaimers always have their roles.

As we aspire to study more and become worldly wise, we try to grow into an intellectual level that is distinctly different, nay, loftier than the general mass. There are the austere readers who not only chide those who do not read, but also those who read books that the aforementioned strict fellows does not themselves like. There are the readers who believe that one who doesn't read isn't made the proverbial man. They say books are supposed to broaden our minds. But often, contempt for anything less intellectual does a wonderful counter-productive job of narrowing it.

The walls are adorned with the Kafkas, Camus and Doestovoskys. One is often proud of their knowledge of all the big names of letters. often the more obscurely famous, the better. But it takes a lot more than reading, to broaden one's mind with the fodder of ones intellectually stimulating textual pleasures

Sunday, 21 August 2011

Being Original.

I'm tired of trying to create nice imageries in my writings. I start with a high on sentimentality enthusiasm but it ends with a dejected whimper. Too much inspiration kills the originality within.

That brings me to the weird question: where does one's originality lie? Since a kid, one is being taught to articulate the rules of life according to set social norms. Therefore, the impressionable mind of the kid learns to stick out her tongue mockingly at a passerby because some other bored fellow did the same to her. Not very original, but then, it has not been a terribly conscious attempt at imitation. Hence, pardoned.

The madmen that you see on the road doing stuff that you wouldn't imagine doing on the roads is being original. But no one's going to give the chap some super-hyped prize for originality. One's services are original and not bordering on lunacy when it is restricted to socially accepted norms. Be original, but within limits of course. Abberations can scare the hell out of people, and that is just not very nice. We are sensitive folks, you see.

Saturday, 13 August 2011

There are two kinds of people I know of, one is sad, the other is happy-sad. It is so much easier to be sad. The old philosophers always tried to find out the dazzling key to happiness, and apart from a few cool Hedonist chaps, most of them gravely say that happiness is in God/The Ultimate/salvation and all that. I mean, eternal happiness is always seen in something that we cannot perceive. (Oh yes apart from the Paolo Coelho-ian 11 minutes maximum, as they say). Happiness is seen as momentary flashes, episodes in our lives that predominate the memory often, like a mother seeing her newborn. It's not eternal because life provides us with too many things otherwise. But sometimes we forget the charm of this little happy moments to try to seek the Greater thing that in all probability is too intangible.


We strive for the eternal bliss. Paradoxical as it may sound, we take immense pain in trying to achieve it as well. And we are so shifty in our idea of happiness. There's joy in winning, and conversely there's joy in seeing someone else lose. It gives a feeling of contentment to know that what you probably could not do, someone else cannot either. The confidence grows at the expense of someone else's failure, unable to interpret the fact that the same failure might at some time be yours.

We mortals have created bubbles around us of self confidence. They work as long as they aren't pricked hard enough. After that, we all are the same vulnerable souls.




P.S: It's not bad to contemplate once in a while, I guess. :P