Don't read this

The blog that was to be a territory of erudition and enlightenment has metamorphosed to a sad and pathetic animal lying half dead in front of you. Wouldn't it be better to just pull the plug?

Unfortunately, I'm a sucker for second chances and the blog will regain a fresh lease. We shall again try to tap in the vast and chaotic whirlpool of stuff that I do. And we begin with some memorable words from Yeats,

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Yeats wrote the above poem purportedly to describe post-War Europe but notice how the lines are readily applicable for today's world. Orwell did say (and I paraphrase) that every generation is in war with the last. Deeply held conventions are uprooted mercilessly. Debates that were clinched by axioms are no longer as easy as they were before. The axioms become mere opinions, and the opposite view has to be accepted as another opinion to be respected.

Of course, it shouldn't really be all that bad. The problem that I see is the fact that people hardly use facts to argue. Their stand is based on hear-say and their arguments based on a natural extension of their thinking patterns. I have intelligent friends who believe some things should exist simply because they are logical. But they don't. It was Cicero, I think, who said that logic is the last and weakest tool of a debater because it doesn't convince people as emotions do. I have other friends who have an orthodox set of beliefs and every act is based on the verity of these "indisputable cornerstones". Their judgement attains acceptance because of their success.

Is that a contradiction for the traditional debater?

Debates are artificial environments. They're rings where there are rules to be followed. It is a cult in a broader sense. For who can say if logic is the way the human world works. It has become fashionable to use irrational behaviour in economics and Kahneman won a Nobel for proving that we don't think straight.

It is essential but challenging to raise a routine individual's level to a logical base to argue. It's impossible for the masses. Underneath the mask of good intentions is a selfish beast that feels jealousy and threat; it attacks the enemy to attain dominance. To get past all that one has to assume that one can convince the opposition to argue with logic. What if they refuse?

This isn't a far fetched concept. Here's an analogy. As the system of more equality of opportunity arises for, say the middle class in India, the more is the scope to disparage previously held notions of class, propriety and art. The obvious fuel that charges these proponents in their thinking? Success. Success essentially means money and those who have money are assumed to be far more intelligent, far wiser and far more capable of giving advice than those who aren't having so much with themselves.

(Are you now mounting the thought that I must be a failure in life and this blog post is the result of pent up disgruntlement? My point exactly.)

So, the current craze for exercise and fitness can be analyzed socially as an accessible way of attaining social acceptance within a clan of people who cannot think about learning another language (physically boring), singing (high investment; late returns) and heaven forbid, going to a museum (what?!). It's much better to go out trekking.

Is this my stand? Hardly.

I'm a disgrace to the whole concept of taking a stand. I'd love to go out cycling but I might just enjoy time in front of the canvas too. I do want to know why we're talking more about fitness these days. And I'd love to know why people put the "you're too judgemental" clause when they're being analyzed.

And about being analyzed. Can you have a frame of reference?

Can you get out of this world and judge anything? Is logic really sacrosanct?

How random was that post?

Sadly...

The chances are remote that this blog will ever grow to up to see what it was once destined to be.

The Search for a New Superhero

I know of friends who feel disoriented and depressed without keeping a crush. The harmless sort; the ones way above your league and who can hardly reciprocate the same frantic breathlessness that they experience in the chosen crush's proximity. Some of the idiots I know have managed to get hooked irreversibly to the said seemingly unreachable target - often a tragic outcome of completely misjudging (1) their own true level or (2) the desperation of the guy/girl who had been a single loser for years.

I like to invoke a similar shameful obsession, and that's to think of my idols.

My list is not unique. I am certain friends in my own circle share my favourites. And I have written about them occasionally not only on this blog but also on other media. On days when I feel down or when I really don't feel like going out or reading a book, when I don't feel like expressing my views on the latest debate on facebook (that's the state of affairs these days), I close my eyes and recall...an exquisite off-backhand from Roger, or a flick of the hand from Michael, or an on-drive from Sachin's bat or a birdie from Tiger at the US Masters, or the beauty and layered complexity of Artemis' ingenious plan or the fine strokes of genius on Leonardo's notebooks or a jugalbandi between Bhimsen Joshi and Rashid Khan or a Bach composition or some immortal lines from Byron...for that time, whether sprawled on my bed after a hard day at the office or sitting in a boring routine party, I lose track of time. I lose track of the world. I feel ecstatic and almost constantly belittled.

It's only natural that the heroes you grow up with rear their ugly imperfections sooner rather than later. In the case of sports persons, there is a power decline that is painful to watch. The older maestros retain their magic but it's difficult to extract a sense of exhilaration or addictive climax. And then, they will retire. I envy the people who support teams in the various football leagues for this reason. Even if United fans eventually face the heartbreak of becoming a mid-table team, they can live out their lives with a love that was borne out of passionate romance in the time of great success. Yeah, it actually works like that.

(As I write this piece, Roger is losing, somewhat expectedly, to Rafa Nadal. Nadal is rock solid as usual but it's Roger who's making the crucial mistakes)

Michael Jackson is long dead and Artemis Fowl has run his course on the print circuit. I need someone who can surprise and inspire me again.

The GOAT

So, who's going to be my next living idol?

Change

For far too long have I carried the insufferable burden of the past.

I have punished my senses incessantly over my transgressions. Subjugated my true nature in the name of compromise. For far too long have I concealed the evils that have beleaguered my life. Misfortunes have plagued me; I refuse to rot in the muck anymore.

Pain is a wise teacher. It is a cruel teacher. It is when you are an inch away from dementia and permanent neurosis that you receive the lesson which disengages your mind from the fiction of urgency. From the illusion of goodness.

I have found myself again.

Poocho Na Kaise Maine Rain Bitai

Life's been killing me from all sides but I think there is still enough space for a small footnote to be made in memory of Manna De.

Manna De's second on my list of favourite singers of all time and he's definitely the best mainstream voice for a semi-classical song we've ever had. Laaga chunri mein daag has been shared by many friends so I spent a good 15 minutes debating my pick from his immense discography. For a few moments I wondered if I should act smart and put in a romantic number that people know of but don't readily associate with him. Then I speculated on putting in a duet with Rafi (Manna De sang the most number of duets in his career with Rafi, by the way). I figured I shouldn't do that today and that the following song can be a worthy snapshot of his gargantuan contribution to Indian Music.

Poocho na kaise maine rain bitai, Raag Ahir Bhairav

Requiescat in Pace

A man lives in a cruel world. He lives in constant fear of failure and the even larger fear of social rejection. He wants to conform to the expectations of his peers but he cries when he's alone. The worst off are those of us who are misplaced by harsh strokes of fortune - it is impossible to set yourself right in the ocean of humanity. Some people are born to suffer. Others suffer when they take steps to come closer to the ones they love. For some, you can hardly say where they went wrong.

You may claim to need only some money, you may say you wish to study for eternity or that you have the luxury to do what you like. How many of us can say that there isn't a repressed dream buried under a mountain of denial and a fair sprinkling of "success"? How many of us have the courage to face a truly horrid reality - that we have lost almost all what we once desired?

Some people, then, are set in the right direction. The others paddle frantically to catch the right current. God bless them all.

I always wondered when I'd get to use the posh sounding Latinized version of RIP. I didn't know life could be so cruel. I wasn't intending to write an eulogy but today I found myself feeling something which Prateek told me about.

There are others far more qualified to speak of Prateek. There were his department batch mates, his quizzing partners, several boisterous personalities and surely many more outside the realms of Roorkee.

Prateek was a friend. He wore a smile on his face at all times. He had a garb of contentment and satisfaction. He was a great quizzer. That's all I know. And that's what I'll ever know.

But more than that, today I could feel that suffocation - that panic at facing an ugly maze of uncertainty and helplessness. And then, that dark and depressing reality of life - time moves on and all you can do is flail at the dreams which were most alluring. Which were lovely to contemplate and which were soothing to the senses. Those which brought a cool and calming breeze to an overloaded forehead. And then they were gone forever.

Imagine being prisoner to this damning indictment of life.

The last chat I had with Prateek was when he contacted me on Whatsapp. Here's a transcript,

19:47, 6 Dec 2012 - ‪+91 84 39 695120‬: You too frust with work ?
-Prateek
21:15, 6 Dec 2012 - *: Yeah man. A lot of times
21:38, 6 Dec 2012 - ‪+91 84 39 695120‬: I can understand . Life is short man. Do what you want yo
21:38, 6 Dec 2012 - ‪+91 84 39 695120‬: To*

Haaris' Weekly Round-up 10

I hate Sundays. They're the little fiends who make you realize you've got nothing going in your life. They're the insouciant critters who make you sleep a little more than usual and give you body pain and arrested movement in return. And Sundays are responsible for making Mondays so unbearable; lulled into a false sense of freedom you are pushed back into the workhouses.

Nothing has changed

This week's HWR has some tennis (the US Open is on) and some other random links:

1. A brooding article on the inevitable decline in Roger Federer's tennis. Great read.
2. On the more positive side, here's an attempt to mentally simulate a match between Federer and Sampras (both at their respective peaks). You may also read a very old post on Federer written by yours truly.
3. Sinkholes are rare occurrences in India because people don't recognize them for what they are. I once recall an elderly couple beaming with happiness when their puja was disrupted by a sinkhole that developed in front of their eyes. Their explanation? "Dharti maa phat gayi!" [Mother Earth has, err, blown up]. Read this great article on National Geographic explaining what conditions lead to the formation of sinkholes and do look at this mind blowing picture of a sinkhole in Guatemala.
4. Recommendations on non-mainstream sci-fi shows on TV. And, if you've missed it, my take on science fiction as art.
5. Elon Musk's transportation panacea is predated by more than a century of development on pneumatic transport. The history in a nutshell.

Sleep is a great drug. Use it well. Happy Sunday!