The Profound Lie

A solitary word spoken for the entire day and that too was a lie. Optimizations, in daily life, have been stretched too far I guess. Probably, I need to review my social life as well. Allow me to explain this profound lie.

At the Darshini hotel nearby, they have the same yellow colored six Rupees coupon for Tea and coffee. You are supposed to buy the coupon at cash counter and then present it to those who serve the food or drink. I drink coffee but say ‘Tea” at the cash counter while getting the coupon. Saves a few lip movements, less trouble to vocal cords and gives a timid thrill as an added benefit. Then, of course I take the coupon from the owner at the counter, then go to the waiter and point my finger at the coffee machine. It adds novelty to the waiter’s life as well.

I am tempted to go further and claim that I just say “T”. Beat that. That “T” is like a Black Hole. So much mass (with a destructive connotation) concentrated at a point and then nothing nearby.
Is it possible to speak lesser in an entire day and still maintain the property of falsehood? You must say something, gesture won’t count. You may request someone to ask you the question “Who rules the world, yet is wise and modest enough to keep it a secret?” or “Who slept with Cleopatra last night and got paid for it?” Then you might say “I”. That would be a lie, not much meat in there to debate over it. But there are quite a few potential problems with this approach.

You need to find someone who would just ask you the question and then leave you alone for the rest of the day. Clever ones can circumvent that by pre-recording the question. Care must be taken to have it pre-recorded by someone else because there is a room for the philosophical objection that word count for the day in your account is increasing even if your past self has spoken them. If we allow this objection to stand, then most of the film-stars and singers must have to forgo the cherished dream. Plus there must be someone else whom you are lying to. Deceiving thyself needs no words and is a widely followed practice.

The indisputable argument against the above mentioned pair of question-answer would be that “I” involves more effort and duration than “T” and we must find other alternatives. “E” looks to be a good choice since it involves the least syllables and other resources. I am considering only the English language here.

So assuming that you did manage to find someone who would help you fulfill this ambition by co-operating to circumvent the issues mentioned previously, we are still left to find questions that evoke an answer “E” which, of course, should be wrong. Here’s an example.

Fill in the blank: “When I was 14 and saw a loose one coming on my leg, all I had in mind was s_x”. You say “e” and break my “T” record, lying with the least (non-zero) effort on vocal cords, thereby projecting me as a pervert blinded by hormones instead of the cricket crazy teenager I was.

However, mathematical purists, with working knowledge in Linear Algebra, can argue that the lie with the “Tea” is not as absolute as I am making it out to be. Tea is neither opposite, nor orthogonal to coffee (they both have milk in common). Economists would nod their heads as most of them have fed on Tea-Coffee as a classic example of substitutes while studying the elementary utility theory.

As I pressed “enter” after the previous sentence, MS word put me on a new page. That crap took up one whole page. I am forced to reflect at this moment on my blogging habits. Some of the posts have been based on true incidents or some stupid analysis. At the other end are the stories which involve time-travel, naked woman bleeding, animals and inanimate things talking. Once a bee did the whole narration and she was dead three days ago, so a bee-ghost too managed a representation. There is absolutely no middle path and I would try to bridge that gap in my next story. It would work under realistic constraints. However, the next post would be again based on real life incidents: “The Twisted Telephonic Tales”.

Meanwhile, let me share this absolutely gorgeous song I came across on a BBC radio program in which they showcase some upcoming bands which are still far away from stardom, if at all they would reach there. The song is “Hellhole Rat Race” by the “Girls” band. The lyrics are deceivingly simple with a groovy flavor. It’s got a distinctively psychedelic touch to it, which is why it is being put here. Give it a go, have some patience with it and this visit to the blog might not be as futile as you might have been ruing two paragraphs ago. There is no video content, so streaming should be faster.

In Praise Of Routine And In Glory Of Life

The skin is getting its colour back. The blood is pure red now; gallons of alcohol have drained off. Sometimes though, the eyes yearn for the watery horizon. The waves bring a million messages from the end of the world. The meanings and interpretations they represent are overwhelming. I can't wait to write about my conversations with them. But not now.

Now is the time to get out of the Goa hangover and get on with daily life, the reality, the one that sustains, the one that allows for such dreamy patches and so resolutely absorbs randomness. If it wasn't for the half an hour of Yoga and other health practices that each day of my routine life follows, I wouldn't have been able to ride the mighty horses eight days in a row with less than four hours of sleep and more than the same number of beers.

The efficiency and strengths of a disciplined life are enormous. I almost surprised myself last Monday by reporting to office half an hour earlier than usual, full of verve and all prim and proper in my formals ,very much unlike the half naked drunken wanderer in Goa just a day ago. I dig formals to death at workplace .On Fridays, it's easy to spot me in the office even if you don't know me; I would be the only man in the entire office with polished black shoes. I pay my bills at least two weeks in advance, the reason I was able to stay unexpectedly longer towards the end of the month without worrying about defaults. My car never runs out of fuel, there is always some money in my wallet, I always carry a spare pair of spects and almost always have a backup plan for even the silliest things I intend to do e.g. getting a haircut.

I shall not bore you further with all the optimizations done for making daily life easier and hence thoughts richer; some of them are heart wrenching. Let me just give an example and move on : while booking the air-tickets I always select the window seat numbered F rather than A, so that I could lean on my right hand for sleeping. Someone told me that my face looks less uglier from left side; so this helps too.

However, point is that an organised day-to-day life allows one to enjoy vacations and other deviations in better ways; but due to thinking and talking about Goa the entire last week, I am not able to get back into that rhythm of the routine. My body, mind and soul thrive on those patterns. That is the reason why I have decided to give a very short break to talking and blogging about the Goa trip and it's experiences and concentrate on other aspects for a while.

Still, I miss the lonely walks late in the nights. One can't go for a walk at two past midnight in Bangalore. I used to do that some times during my undergrad days at IIT Kharagpur. Yesterday I came across the video at this link, which left me with wonderful memories of those days. Yes, I agree that it doesn't do justice to the video of "Where the hell is Matt", but that's not the purpose anyway; just watch it for nostalgia.

The song played during the video is “Praan” by Gary Schyman, and the lyrics are from the poem "The Stream of Life" by Rabindranath Tagore. Below is the translation. One can so relate to the feelings when one stands watching the endless sea under the dark starry sky, and then the waves come, one after the other, and then the most youthful of them reaches out and slowly envelops the feet, bringing one out of numbness; heavenly is the touch of life, coming straight from the source and the infinity . Here goes the poem :

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.