So, where was I? Yes, the lacuna in the story of my new "robotic" life. The big turn of events that made me discern and perceive life differently. No, I do not exaggerate; neither was I imagining this lesson life now began teaching me. And if, by any chance, it was a figment of my imagination, then I am sure many would agree it was not entirely my fault. I had been trying to figure out a valid explanation for what was happening, but could not- for a long long time.
For, when I now reached the bus stop, (Umbrella in hand, wallet in my bag, money in the wallet) I would find, surprisingly, that the singular bus I was waiting to board was not to arrive for hours. At times, the gods would send down a heavy downpour into the heat of the dusty and potholed Chennai and my umbrella would not open up until it had but ensured that I am drenched. Things around me, with me had begun to breath a life of their own. My sandal must break when I am starting for office; the crow must choose my head to shit upon; and an unaware passenger of an unaware bus must yield to her motion sickness when I am standing near her window.
It was as if there was a plan that began working to undo my planning; a map that was transfiguring my own; a force so great, that try as I might, I could not live with. And this time, it was disconcerting. It was agitating because I knew I could not do much. I stood victimized, scandalized. I was frustrated and my friends were fascinated. And, I earned a new name. "The Queen of Tragedies". It became apparent that Life, if I must quote Shakespeare, was a comedy of errors and more so with me. The ploy of Destiny could not be curbed by my designs and it was time to give up.
When I now forget things, I know it is nature's way of telling me, "You're to get late, come what may". I do not try too hard. I am fine, the way I am. I can live life to the fullest, despite what I forget and what I do not. To me, my absent-mindedness is a way of my life. And what good are you, if you cannot make a few people laugh?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
When you forget..
Absent-mindedness is a quality often associated with frivolity, lack of seriousness, irresponsibility and at times, even lethargy. I have come across many a person who would couple it with refractoriness. Let me assure you, however, that absent-mindedness is none of these. It is but a quality that exists in people who enjoy life, who want to live it to the fullest and would not want to waste themselves in the tiny mechanical details of it. I know this remark raises eyebrows, but think about it; what does one achieve by remembering to take his umbrella when going out, or not forgetting to pack his toothbrush to a camp? Nothing, I must say. If anything, one would lose the joys of getting wet in the rain and the fun of cleaning your teeth with the twig. Also, the pain of having to remember things is much greater than what one is subject to when something is forgotten.
I speak in favor of this unfavorable quality because not many of the people who know me would refrain from categorizing me as someone who is prone to forgetting. Stuff ranging from lunch-boxes to pencil erasers in school and umbrellas to handkerchiefs later have gone missing from my life owing to what people would call a wretched habit. I was, I must admit, ashamed of this habit too. To me, it made me different, and somehow little mishaps occurred more with me than they happened to the careful lot. So it had to be me who would not be able to remember her ATM pin and would want to store it in a hidden, password protected location of her cell phone. And some opportune moment of some opportune day, the cell phone would go bust, so it was I who would now be a pauper without money and of course I now had no cell phone to make calls either. Somehow, my library book would be found in the cafeteria and I'd have to shell out 25 bucks to get it back. It was too much, not to forget the fact that I was easily the laughing stock among my friends. And then, I had had it. I decided to do something about my dis-ease. I decided to decide not to forget my decision of deciding to remember things.
And what did I do? I subjected myself to the power of the "memory tools". I began to keep track of what I kept where in a tiny diary. But, oh no, I am prone to forgetting; so I must maintain a backup of this diary somewhere. I copied down all the important numbers, credit card accounts from this tiny dairy into a bigger dairy and locked this big dairy up in my trunk and the key to that trunk in another one. Phew. For my travel, I now took out at least three copies of my tickets. One in my trouser pocket. One in the hand purse. One in my travel bag. I designated a place for everything in my life. The keys go here, my employee card there; My watch stays here and my wallet right beneath it. All in all, I became a part of a map, and followed the directions it gave me, relentlessly and tirelessly until my erstwhile free mind gave up. It was now trained to do what it was trained to do. Nothing could annihilate its new sequence. Now I step out of home and my Mind says to me, "Changed into office shoes. Checked-OK(I've gone out with flip-flops once, so this was added). Shower cap removed. Checked-OK(this doesn't need to be explained, does it?). Watch on left hand, checked-OK. Keys in the hand-purse, checked-OK. Employee card dangling on your neck, check-OK. )". Thus began a life of no mistakes, no follies. Of boredom, monotony and tedium; Of mechanism and contrivance. And suddenly, there was a hiatus.
(To Be Continued.. )
I speak in favor of this unfavorable quality because not many of the people who know me would refrain from categorizing me as someone who is prone to forgetting. Stuff ranging from lunch-boxes to pencil erasers in school and umbrellas to handkerchiefs later have gone missing from my life owing to what people would call a wretched habit. I was, I must admit, ashamed of this habit too. To me, it made me different, and somehow little mishaps occurred more with me than they happened to the careful lot. So it had to be me who would not be able to remember her ATM pin and would want to store it in a hidden, password protected location of her cell phone. And some opportune moment of some opportune day, the cell phone would go bust, so it was I who would now be a pauper without money and of course I now had no cell phone to make calls either. Somehow, my library book would be found in the cafeteria and I'd have to shell out 25 bucks to get it back. It was too much, not to forget the fact that I was easily the laughing stock among my friends. And then, I had had it. I decided to do something about my dis-ease. I decided to decide not to forget my decision of deciding to remember things.
And what did I do? I subjected myself to the power of the "memory tools". I began to keep track of what I kept where in a tiny diary. But, oh no, I am prone to forgetting; so I must maintain a backup of this diary somewhere. I copied down all the important numbers, credit card accounts from this tiny dairy into a bigger dairy and locked this big dairy up in my trunk and the key to that trunk in another one. Phew. For my travel, I now took out at least three copies of my tickets. One in my trouser pocket. One in the hand purse. One in my travel bag. I designated a place for everything in my life. The keys go here, my employee card there; My watch stays here and my wallet right beneath it. All in all, I became a part of a map, and followed the directions it gave me, relentlessly and tirelessly until my erstwhile free mind gave up. It was now trained to do what it was trained to do. Nothing could annihilate its new sequence. Now I step out of home and my Mind says to me, "Changed into office shoes. Checked-OK(I've gone out with flip-flops once, so this was added). Shower cap removed. Checked-OK(this doesn't need to be explained, does it?). Watch on left hand, checked-OK. Keys in the hand-purse, checked-OK. Employee card dangling on your neck, check-OK. )". Thus began a life of no mistakes, no follies. Of boredom, monotony and tedium; Of mechanism and contrivance. And suddenly, there was a hiatus.
(To Be Continued.. )
Thursday, December 3, 2009
A Strange Day(Haiku Poem)
Haiku poems are becoming very popular these days. The charm of these poems is that they are always short and concise and often express a unique thought or feeling. I have written this Haiku poem in the 5-7-5 pattern; you can figure out how by counting the number of syllables.
A Strange Day
A strange day has come
Everyone on a run
No time to live life
Gardens, parks and lawns
Villages, cities and towns
All in a mad race
They save and they save
They run after tomorrow
Keep nothing for now
Young age but no youth
Roads without destinations
Where are we going?
When comes the old age
There is nothing but money
No joy, only fame
With kids no one plays
With roses no one now sits
Happiness is gone
When there are tears
No one wipes them off for you
No friends any more
There are no long walks
With friends and companions
No jokes to laugh at
No fun in this run
Why are we living like this?
Can someone tell me?
Where are the days old
Of helping hands and kind words?
They seem long gone now
Why not live a life
Enjoy everything nice
Smile and die in peace?
A Strange Day
A strange day has come
Everyone on a run
No time to live life
Gardens, parks and lawns
Villages, cities and towns
All in a mad race
They save and they save
They run after tomorrow
Keep nothing for now
Young age but no youth
Roads without destinations
Where are we going?
When comes the old age
There is nothing but money
No joy, only fame
With kids no one plays
With roses no one now sits
Happiness is gone
When there are tears
No one wipes them off for you
No friends any more
There are no long walks
With friends and companions
No jokes to laugh at
No fun in this run
Why are we living like this?
Can someone tell me?
Where are the days old
Of helping hands and kind words?
They seem long gone now
Why not live a life
Enjoy everything nice
Smile and die in peace?
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