Love Is; What Else?

छुपा लो यूँ दिल में प्यार मेरा
के जैसे मंदिर में लौ दीए की

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Hold my love in your heart, the way
a temple Holds the glow of a lamp

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I am not a good translator. You know that already – addressing those, who have followed this blog for a few years. This is the best I could do.

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There is a love epidemic; so prevalent in this world; it demands to be loved. It’s, if I may call it, a misdirected epidemic. There is so much transaction of the purest form of human connection; it’s almost pathetic. It’s so much fun to love than being loved. It’s freedom! The unshackling feeling of being in love. Give me that any time. Being loved is a task, an effort, an exercise. But to love? It is a way to be free.

Diwali Lamp

I love you.

And nothing else matters. Being with you does not matter. You being mine does not matter. Having you with me doesn’t matter. Nor does you having me. Being able to love you, beyond the shackles of time and space, in the infinite space of imagination: that is, how I love you. Love is good; we love, as and when we can.

Never ask anything of it, however.

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Coming Of Age

When does one come of age? What age, i.e. I believe that questions does not have a definitive answer.

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I consider myself fortunate that I grew up surrounded by books. But the books I grew up with were not mine. They belonged to my father. My sister and I were allowed spaces in that library to keep our books. I do not know if he intended it, but that was our education of books; not their content, but their upkeep. We were, if you are wondering, allowed access to his library. And there was a theme to the books he read.

Eventually, I grew up. I chose books that were very different from the books in his library. Our library, now. I was grown up enough to buy my books. I was never a rebel. It was the influence of a combination of the books I could afford and the influence I was under. My books were welcomed in his library. I was flirting with atheism, and a book by Dawkins found a place nearby his Upanishadic texts. On weekends we had good conversations of the books that I was stuffing in his thematic library. Lovely conversations.

It’s been 17 years, and now they are only ghosts of conversations. Now, my sister and I are the sole heirs of his library. That’s the best thing he bequeathed to us.

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In Bullet Time

I just finished reading a book called Nationalism by Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore. Gurudev was an articulate person. He had a power over words, which he used, not with dominance, but with love, care, and sense. Gurudev’s ideas about nationalism are incongruent with my own acquired beliefs. But, it matters less. It was, to say the lest, an enjoyable read. What he believed in, he has expressed so well, with so much conviction; as you read the book, you cannot feel anything but respect. I have an ideological difference from his POV.

This post is not about that.

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Having read that book, I discovered that there is a point of view that is discordant with mine. Then came the question. Do I accept it or reject it? This problem of binary will be the death of us all. David Weinberg, in his book “Too Big to Know: Rethinking Knowledge Now That the Facts Aren’t the Facts, Experts Are Everywhere, and the Smartest Person in the Room Is the Room” — I know a really long title, talks of the nature of debate, among other things:

“A conversation like this is possible when each of us has freedom of expression and no one is required to change.”

While I study Nationalism, Gurudev’s perspectives have informed me. I respect his views. I do not entirely agree with them. And, as I study more, I am willing that my perspective may change.

May I read more books!

Write Side

One thing’s for sure. This blog is not what it used to be.

I have yet to decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. But I am sure, that it is a different thing. My audience has changed. That is a very good indicator of the change. Those that used to read this blog do not read this blog anymore. Different people seem to find meaning in this blog and the posts. And that is a good thing, do not get me wrong; I am not complaining.

I wonder, if it is ever a good idea to lose readership. Most authors will disagree with me. I would also disagree with me. Loss is never good. Yet, when I think of losing an audience, I cannot help but wonder, who I am losing. I was once a writer of some style. [Bear with me, while I shower my own accolades on myself.] I am no more a writer of that style. I am a writer of this style. If you can call it a style, i.e.

The advantage of not being a published popular author is working for me.

Maybe.

Non-Self-Contradicting

I was thinking of something, and for some reason this thought connected me to another similar thought. I found myself agreeing in the first thought and disagreeing in the second. And, suddenly, I realised, I am contradicting myself. There. I had caught me contradicting myself.

Twin Window

It was not a good feeling. I was also surprised that I got caught. By myself, i.e. Usually, it is someone else.

“Good catch,” I told myself.

“Thanks,” I replied.

I wasn’t entirely happy about being caught. But, I have to say I did a good job catching myself, else, I would have gone ahead with my thoughts, thinking they were all free of contradiction.

Some time passed. I was now thinking of thoughts that straightforward and wouldn’t connect me to similar parallel thoughts. I continued thinking. It was nice, easy, and straight. I was wrong however, not all thoughts were behaving. One of the delinquent thoughts reconnected me to the previous pair of thoughts that I had pronounced contradicting.

I called myself, “Hey, you!”

“What?” I said

“The context for those two thoughts,” I said, with some emphasis, “were different.”

“So?”

“They were even under a different contract,” I insisted.

I looked at myself with a blank face.

“The context and the contract for those two similar thoughts were different, so they could not have been contradictory,” I said.

I thought for a while, I was right, I knew that. And I had to be honest with myself, I had to concede.

“You’re right,” I said, “they aren’t contradictory.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

“You’re welcome,” I told myself, “and hey, by the way, Good catch!”

“Thanks,” I replied.

Crucial Curation

Those who have followed this blog for a while, know of my love-hate relationship with social media. I have been on and off social networks — as if I was punishing the networks — when I got upset with the nature of conversation and interaction that people on the network were having.

The network is inert.

Lately, without wanting to do so, I have been away from the networks. [To be clear, I do not consider WordPress as one of them]. It’s almost impossible to be on a network without taking sides. And if you do not take a side, variants of history’s accusations are hurled at you from all sides. Taking sides is worse; the enslavement is unbearable.

While this phenomenon is obvious and in-your-face on digital social networks, it is not limited to them. Shoot first and ask questions later is becoming the norm. Everyone wants to be the quickest draw in the West. And the East. And the North and the South. Amit referred to it as a left-right mud-slinging contest in a recent Twitter thread. It’s not. It’s fact-slinging. Apparently different types of facts. Alternative facts. Your facts. My facts. True facts. Baseless facts. Useless facts. (Yes, I have read people use these pairs).

We are fast losing the ability to discern between opinions, suggestions, ideas, rhetoric, humour even. All these, and more are being abstracted as statements, open for the rest of us to vilify, mock, abuse, and in general – demean. We do not have the time to pause and refer to context. And even if we had the time, where is the context? In less than three minutes we send eight tweets on seven different themes. How does a reader get the context? When does the reader get context?

There is also the question of the platform. Take Twitter, because I have mentioned it a couple of times now. Most of us readily blame the platform for this phenomenon.

The platform is inert.

It has no means or the capacity or the intelligence to expose us any more than what we publish to the platform. The one thing that it has enabled — is give voice to everyone. In these times when voice is free, there’s a dash to be heard. Me, me, me! But no one listens, because everyone is busy talking. And one thing is clear: mostly, people are angry. And it seems like old anger, one which was voiceless so far. And it has become ugly and rotten.

Unlike the different types of facts, that we believe in, we don’t believe that there are multiple truths. We do not have the patience for any truth to reveal itself. Fleeting gratification appeals to our ever shortening attention spans.

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Jama Masjid, Kalburgai (Gulbarga)

Jama Masjid, Kalburgai (Gulbarga)

All is not lost however, as apocalyptic this post may sound: as long as you curate.

There are many people who are spreading joy (not by mis-attributed feel-good hackneyed cheesy-quotes on mushy-stock-images) but, by just being themselves, sharing life experiences. These are statements in the true sense. They carry with them, no attributes of opinions, suggestions, and such. There is no compulsion to engage. In this case, the consumption is the engagement.

That’s where curation becomes crucial.

This is not to say that we become unaware as citizens and humans. What’s wrong must be righted.

In the real-world. Not on Twitter.

It Ends with You: #ANTHEM 18

Well, it’s not really the end, so to speak. It’s not really the end as much as it is the limit. At least in this song. While the song keeps saying that you are the end – that is not what it means. We are apt to get lost in the literal meaning. And we should be careful. Love knows no end. If it did, it would be so small, so little, so less in meaning – I wouldn’t be love.

17.02.03: For the Love of Red

Living this life that I have lived, I have discovered, it’s not so. Love has limits, ends, boundaries. Unfortunately it has a start and an end, for those who choose to be in love or not. Not for a lover, however; the lover is always in love. You can throw restrictions and strictures at a lover — that person will continue to love, by throwing away the net of conventions.

 

For my readers who do not know Hindi, here’s the translation.

This song states the limit of love; there should be a poetry of how love starts. How it begins. How it is sparked.

That’s just me. But, This song has been on the top of my various playlists. For the first time, it is not the lyrics, but the sense of the song that is making sense. There are people who do not want, necessarily, to be in love. But they need a sense of it.

You can either define limits or you can define love. Not both.

For them, these limits may make sense. For the rest of us..

… ah, well…

It’s Love!

Instead of Writing …

Instead of writing, may be I should draw something. Hmm. Here’s a box.

A Box

Why? I do not know. I just felt like a box. A box is nice especially when it encloses a gift. It’s not such a good thing when it encloses us. Some may say that a box is not good; it limits. Others may say that a box is good; it defines. Be what it may be, a box is just a box. It has no agenda. It seeks nothing. It’s a box and it continues being a box.

A box may make us happy or sad, but the box itself doesn’t feel anything. I like boxes. After I take out the things that come in these boxes, I never throw the boxes away.

Boxes come in a few colours. But, most boxes are brown. A dull uniform brown. I think, boxes should be made in many, many colours. Boxes don’t feel anything. So it won’t matter to them, what colour they are. But colourful boxes will make those who make boxes, happy. As well as those who receive these colourful boxes. Boxes travel a lot.

Boxes are cool.