My very own answer to- "Why do we fall Master Bruce?"

Few people would forget these immortal lines from Batman. Alfred says this when he feels Bruce is down on confidence. Of course through the first  person to have used them was his father.
Now what does it really mean? Is it really cos "so that we can learn to pick ourselves up again"?

Mythology always says that good loses only to rise back like the phoenix to strike back. The Mahabharata, Ramayana, and even the tales or moral we have learnt tell how good initially falls, but is back on its foot like our Rocky to knockout evil. Is that really so?

Why is it that in all these tales of myth there is always a comeback?
Why can't good just win from the beginning?
I don't suppose I have ever come across any story where good, truth, God, if u want to call it that, wins from the very start.

Why is that so?
The answer is quite simple. We love melancholy. We adore heroes. But what we like more is watching our heroes being stripped of their greatness and brought to our level and trampled.
Nothing appeals to human nature more than suffering. Am not saying that man is vile. But our weakness creates a taste for sorrow.

Take for example Joan of Arc. She was the hero of the French until she was incarcerated. One account tells of how more people  attended her burning than her victory and the subsequent coronation of the king.
Che Guevara was in less memories when alive compared the number of t-shirts one can see him on now.
So is it this sense that strove our storyteller to create such stories?

Perhaps God never loses. Perhaps Good always wins right from the start steamrolling the opposition akin to what England or Australia are dishing out. But that sorry tale is for another blog.

So what makes us believe that losing is the stepping stone to success? Why don't our tales say we must win from the beginning?
Can we? Well can here is less ability and more will.

Man can't win always. And he certainly should not give up. So if nothing these tales sow self belief. They say, 'even the great__________ fell. But he/she got up. He/she got up and became greater'.
So I say, tell stories of victory. Not defeat. But let us not forget that there is indeed more than just defeat.
I read somewhere discussing  our cricket team's dismal performance, that we have lost the fighting spirit. The author went on to say as one of my friend says, that we always lose our opening matches, but claw back. Admirable indeed. But should we not admire the relentless Aussies or the clinical English? No question we must remember the phoenix act. For being a born loser I know of its importance. But that is exactly why I feel man should win, and win only. The word defeat must soon be defeated. Where better to start than with our moral tales?
So my very own answer to Alfred's statement- "So that we can teach others and ourselves that there is no down. There is only an up."

My search for the perfect coffee.

So like about 4 years ago, I was still your average coffee guzzler. Well it was one of those bad habits not too bad to warrant immediate termination but nevertheless in the bucket list. So I was pretty comfortable with drinking about a coffee a day. That was the extent of my addiction prior to college.

Perhaps it stated at home for all i know, not that i fault my mom's tea ( I still wonder how i turned out to be the only person with a need for coffee among a family of tea afficados). No. My mom's tea is by far the best I’ve had, though it doesn't count to much, but still that can't be the reason. So perhaps this is one of those things that just happen. Like falling in love. So i had this habit of preferring coffee over a cup of tea right from my childhood right!

And those were the days when my grandma was still sturdy and going around trying to get us well fed ( which seemed like her only mission, love you loads grans). And so a cup of coffee was never hard to get even if mom was not in the mood to fall in with my request. And perhaps the only thing gran hated was the fact that i liked it steaming hot and strong as a horse tranquilliser ( would that be an oxymoron?). But coffee i had. One every day. Perfect in all sense. And i found it pretty invigorating as i ought to be. Besides it gave me a vitality, for being a depressed personality, perhaps coffee was what kept me level. I wasn't the brightest, but i was awake throughout the day. A bit hyperactive at times- Guilty as charged. I like food spicy as well. So keeping with our unwritten South Indian tradition of having a coffee after the Tiffin ( I’m reminded of how my grandpa used to ask "Coffee aacha?" which was how he enquires after Tiffin) , i was awarded one and that washing down the end of a meal could and should only be compared to bliss.

Then came the fateful day i had to leave home. And that wasn't one i would return from soon. SRV was a revelation. And perhaps one thing i revelled in was the thick and tasty milk provided. Also the coffee. But now, my favourite was limited only to the morning (tricky fellows, who knew coffee keeps us awake at night when not needed to be awake). Well, Something is always better than nothing. And of course i found ways to cheat them at their own game and took some coffee from the mess ( Ha ha ha ha ! who's the smartest? :P). Still there was something so vitally missing. The two years of SRV passed with my face buried in books with a cup of coffee in my hand ( or milk if left with no choice, I still steered clear of tea). So i'd say that one thing that made my life bearable in there was the coffee!

And finally, the wait of the two years was over. Coffee at home! But God had different ideas.

I started to Thanjavur with my mom and sister. To take the medical examination. Upon competition of the gruelling nothingness, we were invited to visit the hostel. We also had a look at the mess, and people am not exaggerating when i say the fist thing i checked out was if the coffee was good. Well it was not the best, but after SRV, i'd developed the habit of consuming anything that comes with the tag "EDIBLE". And then i came out of the hostel to become a day scholar.

 And my hunt for the perfect coffee began in earnest again. Now i knew that Thanjavur prided itself for the Chetinad style of cooking ( evident by the presence of a hotel every 10 foot steps, very teeny, weeny, tiny foot steps). So i was confident of discovering at least one place that would offer me coffee as i liked it. Now there are about 10 tea stall near where i live. And every single one repelled me. Not only in terms of hygiene but also in the quality of coffee. Not that i'm blaming them. But there was something missing in them. Something that made them incomplete. So i went further along the quest and searched as far as a 10 km
radius ( I know, i know, it isn’t much). And perhaps the only place where i felt it was bearable was the farthest from my haunt for i had to cross several bad roads, a few tricky turns, a place frequented by cows who are under the delusion that the road in for gazing ( i'm not against gRazing fellows but for heavens sake MOOv  :D) and the our fellow, mindless, humans. Still on the rare occasion i brave the obstacles ( across 7 hills and 7 oceans ?!??!? ) the hot steaming cup of coffee and its aroma was rewarding. And here is where i once again felt that a vitality was still eluding it (and i don't mean sugar).

So i took the drastic decision of making ne myself. Things moved fast when i broke the news to mom, though she was less thrilled by the reason (coffee) than by the prospect that i might have some food regularly, and she bought me an induction stove. I was acquainted enough with the physics behind it but the practical stuff required expert guidance. So i turned reluctantly to the manual (i hate referring to it even when i had to assemble my desktop). At last after few trials (mistrials would and should be the appropriate terminology), I got a hang of the stuff. Not exactly rocket science, but then a good coffee was much tougher. I browsed for some strong stuff and decided on Nescafe's classic.

The day finally dawned when i proudly snipped f the half litre packet of milk. The induction stove on the ready with the newly polished vessel waiting to be baptised with electricity and give me my coffee. The sight of milk boiling is so fascinating that i often do a Matrix-Neo-Stunt to prevent it from spilling. Now i knew I wanted a strong coffee, and so i heaped into the cup generous amounts of coffee, for i truly believed that more the amount translated into more strength (should not have forgotten the Weber-Fechner principle!!!!!!).

The stirring of the coffee is both an art and a test of patience. Not only because it might spill, but also because of the unbearable pull, it exerted over me. I had to keep myself from devouring it first and then mixing it in my stomach. End of the experiment.

Observation- The smell seems good enough. The colour is terrorising enough. And the taste...............
Result- Experiment failed due to unknown parameter.

Well, crestfallen is one word too inadequate to describe my emotion. For good coffee was no only a gustatory quest for me, but also considered it a symbol of perfection. Not that it deterred me from drinking coffee or trying again. I have now finished quarter of a kilo in less than a week. To say am a pathological coffee drinker would not be an exaggeration, as i have 3 coffees now every day (and i flirt with the risk of developing ulcers, what fun!!!!!). But am not happy.

The coffees i drink give me the caffeine boost. A sort of life force that drives me these days, though my friend (one guy only) has noticed that i'm despondent these days. Even now, i'm driven by a caffeine boost which i had around 11'o clock. I'm not sleepy, but am neither awake. Am typing a series of words that give meaning because of the practice ingrained ( thank you Muthulakshmi Madam, Balu Sir).

Coffee for me, more than a supply of caffeine, is a placebo. A sign that says "All Iz Well"! And i sorely miss it. My days have become a misty, fast and blurred image. The lack of good coffee to an extent that addiction seems less intense. Would it mean that i have become addicted to coffee? Addicted enough to be awake this ghostly hour and blabber about it? But then there is a story of how i abstained from my beloved coffee for an entire year!

I'm a lonely creature. Or, i was a lonely creature. Like any such wretches, i fell for care. So when the person asked me to stop consuming coffee, i did for her. Well it certainly wasn't easy seeing how its only when i abstain do every one around me drink coffee or wherever i go i am offered one. And it would be no self praise when i say i successfully kept away from coffee for an entire year. Milk then became my staple drink. Believe me fellows when i say it wasn't that tough (herein i contradict myself) for i had a reason, an inspiration, an expectation to live up to. So abstain i did. For 1 long year. 365 days. And one fine day it had to end.

I found that i wasn't compatible nor capable of sustaining a relation for more than a year. So with the departure of the person, i once again fell into the habit of slowly poisoning myself with coffee. It started of harmlessly enough. And now here i am with a full blown out condition. Am a self proclaimed coffee addict.

Back to my quest for the gustatory delight, I was stumped. For i pride myself for having an analytical mind, adept at problem solving (apart for mathematical! LOL :D). Sorrow was too evident on my face, that i decided to go home for this weekend.

Upon reaching home, mom seeing my sorrow state offered me coffee. I said yes and went in for a bath. Even the refreshingly cool water could not rid me of my unsolved problem. I grabbed the day's paper and sat down with my mind teaming with questions. How to make a perfect coffee? What is the mistake i am committing? What have i forgotten? Have i been doing something wrong? Will i every taste a perfect coffee again?

"Here is your coffee" - Mom.
Absent minded, i took a sip of the coffee turning the pages of the paper aimlessly when i realised.
I had in my hand a perfect coffee.

The aroma enticing. The flavour was perfect. Neither too strong to burn my tongue nor too weak to fail to give me the caffeine. This in my hand was the perfect coffee.

And then it dawned on me. The missing ingredient in my coffee, and the reason i was not and will perhaps never be able to make a perfect coffee, is love.

Shopping!

Having a room to myself i was as flippant, if not more and as careless as i ever was. Only a phenomenon could get me to change the sorry state my room was in. And then, mom and aunt visited.
Needless to say i was rendered speechless (fact is they never let me open my mouth. Thank God she's not an external) all the while chiding about the deplorable condition of my room! To cut that long story short, they ended up making my room living worthy for those other than me as well with the parting order to maintain it as such.

Taking it to my heart i decided to shop for stuff that i had so far labelled as frivolous. And therein lies my mistake.
"I believed i could shop."

Now before i relegade you with my shopping experience, let me tell you about my previous shopping experience. 'Zero'. The max i have shopped is for a razor. I'm a guy who buys a blue shirt every time just cos i get confounded by the variety(I've nearly 6 formal shirts and all blue). So all i perfectly know about shopping is how it spells.

As any good(rofl) medico, i made a list of items to be bought. Starting from Nescafe, the list included pril, harpic, a boom, a dishwasher brush, a brush for toilet cleanin, couple of door mats, all out, a dettol soap for washing Hands, a soap tray and a ceramic cup. How hard is it gonna be to buy these 11 items?!?!?!?

Obviously tougher than i had bargained for. So i chose a big and grand departmental store(does this count as my 2nd mistake???) and went riding happily on my bike.

Facing me were half a dozen rows each as long as a tyranosaurus, from the apex of its head to the tip of its tail, and i was already lost! Seeing my distress a (pretty;)) sales girl offered help. The first thing i had to do was get a stroley. Pushing it around(feeling like a new dad:D) i started my conquest with nescafe.

The shelves offered nescafes of all possible flavour and bottle size(there is an option of favours in nescafe? Its just nescafe coffee right?:(). After 10 minutes of indecision, i settled on the classic(sounds good. But the Taste?:() chosen by inky pinky ponkey(:D). And then i had to walk nearly half a mile(guilty as charged of exaggeration:p). To reach pril. And once again i faced the dilemma of choice. This time however i decided faster(thanks to my friend who pesters me to wash his dishes with his pril).
Dettol was tougher. Why would i want an antiseptic soap to be cool as ice or smell of jasmine? Now its at the dishwash brush that i learnt that the (pretty:D) sales girl had other plans. Don't get me wrong. She was out to make a profit for the store. And why not? Its her job. But i was wakeful enough (lol) to reject a suggestion of a brush that costs 150 rs instead of a 20rs one. So i broke up with her and proceeded to complete my list. The broom was over soon as there was only one option. The allout offered a dial to adjust the outflow for an added 30 rs (bunch of pirates!). The coffee cup was tricky. The store offered only a glass cup for 50rs and with my track record for handling(or aptly said, mishandling;() i was wary of incurring my mom's wrath again.

Atlast i was done and feeling like Alexander would have felt at the bank of Ganges (that I'd come a long way, but all for nothing). While waiting to have my bill totalled my eyes caught a bottle of squash(:p). Only the price tag stung(i shall endorse fresh fruits herein). So i consoled myself wit a couple of packets of Maggie chicken noodles(yes yes yes yes yes :D) and proceeded to check out.
Now i knew this stuff gonna cost. But i never dreamt it would burn my pocket through and through. At 466 it wasn't exactly cheap (i suffered a minor heart attack). Obviously the inflation is yet to pass in this store. Thankfully i had taken the last 500 i had. And it was finished.

Moral of the story, for myself and first time shoppers. No Overconfidence. Never trust the help. Don't be overwhelmed by the choice (this is where i realised, freedom of choice is not always to be appreciated). Be ready with your dad's credit card(love you dad:D.) And only recommended for the strong of heart or women (;))!

Our group photo session!

Not having a photogenic face, i have a natural aversion to being captured on film. Plus add to it the visceral hatred (is this comin too strong too soon?) for few of my batchmates i was not too intent on capturing to preserve this period of my life i am intent on forgetting.

But pleading, advice, coercion, and friends prevailed. So it was decided to report there in the hostel gallery(another place i detest more than anything, do not ask why) at 3 noon.

We Indians have this unique code of punctuality that defies any possible explanation of punctuality. While i was counting on that, my innocent friends believed that the photo shot would have got over. And the time was yet to be 3. Seeing my reluctance to move, they short of dragging me out, did everything possible and succeed in gettin me ready(for those of you who know me would marvel at this).

How could there be a photo session without a debate on dress. That has thankfully never been a problem for me seeing how i once wore a pink shirt and a green pant. To see guys squabble over a shirt is new to me. Atlast we were ready, after another idea of applying perfume(perfume? For a photo?).

Atlast we started. And in the way we met 2 guys who were just tired to walk the distance (can not blame them seeing how the sun has decided to torment us earlier and more this year). So we reached the destined spot and lo! Behold a phenomenon!
The girls had assembled! Flashback over a year when we had to wait for half an hour for the girls. I will confess, i felt bad for underestimating the girls. Then myself and my friend went back to fetch the 2 guys. Cos though i might not be too interested, i certainly did not want them to miss out on this occasion.

Fast forwarding the wait for a couple of people who have made tardiness their middle name, we reached the moment. I managed to half hide myself behind a pillar, well away from the duo i love and hate.

So how long would a photo take? Turns out the photographers (who certainly did not inspire any confidence in me) had something a bit more prolonged in mind. What with an obnoxious group cracking irritating jokes(please spare me God, which was greatly enjoy by the girls and drew heavy laughter)and having to sit on broken pieces of brandy bottles(someone had been celebrating in style it would seem) i was more than ready to bolt.

After innumerable encores, we were finally done.


And today we get the sample result. Thank God my face is as blurred in the photo as it is in some peoples mind.

The moth teaches me a lesson.

Today i saw a moth, trapped by a glass panelled window. Beyond which was a flower. The most beautiful I'd ever seen. Beautiful and alluring. The moth went at it with vigor. Again and again. Dashing against the unseen yet solid difference. Thwarted but never giving up, for the heart is consumed by love. Love for a flower so precious that the rest of the meaningful faded into nothing. So powerful a feeling that the repeated defeats dented not its soul. Even as the day grows shorter, and i wondered for the reason to spend such a short life on this seemingly Fruitless exercise. Unmindful of its self and the ones deserving its love left forlorn. The moth kept on, indifferent to pain, hunger, suffering or humiliation. Twack, twack, twack, and again. The flower unsurprisingly didn't flutter even a petal. For if not such a powerful emotion would penetrate your heart, i wonder what could. And the moth dropped for last time.


March 8.

Dream

I'm not the usual active dreamer, what with being an insomniac, dreams often are short and vivid, rarely remembered, thankfully.

But occasionally i get that vivid and elaborately structured dream that is just too difficult to forget. So what is a dream?

Dream might have its etymology from the Proto- German word "DRAUMAZ" possibly meaning "DECEPTION".

My favourite book, Guyton's book of Physiology, says that dreaming is an active process. Strange, seeing how we always thought sleep was a passive state.

Sleep s REM (rapid eye movement) and NREM (non rem). Dreaming is a process (lets just say process for now) that occurs during the REM phase. Now a few characters of rem sleep are, 1. There s active movements of the eyeball while the muscle tone and movements are suppressed. 2. The brain activity s erratic. 3. The breathing and heart rates are erratic. So does this signify rem sleep and by implication dream, is an active process?
Nathaniel Kleitman and Eugene Aserinsky say that rem sleep has 2 parts. 1. Tonic 2. Phasic.

In my dream, i was scuba diving, in the depths where light is unwelcome. With me, i have a torch. Suddenly the torch goes out and i am left in pitch black. No idea which way is up which is down. I keep swimming and swimming. Until my oxygen runs out. Then i suffer a slow, agonizing, drawnout, painful death by suffocation. This is where i jolt to wakefulness sweating, with the blanket twisted around me and the bed in disarray.

Rem phase lasts around 90 to 120 mins every night. There are about 5 to 6 rounds. So the average would be 18 to 20 mins per cycle. Then why, correct me if i am wrong, do we feel that dreams last longer?
A simple physics shall answer that. Thank you Einstein. Theory of relativity. Also the brain activity is so fast that hours in a dream state last but few seconds in reality (i did not steal this concept from Inception folks).
Sanskrit scriptures describe 4 states of consciousness.
1. Jagrat- wakeful state.
2. Svapna- dream state.
3. Sushupti- dreamless higher state.
4. Turiya- spiritual consciousness.
Now if the sauna state s compared to rem and sushupti to nrem, voila, we have a conformance.

Sankaracharya says, 'Experience of deep sleep is a glimpse of self's real nature where there exists no "I" .'
Then there is the theory, forgot by whom, which correlates long term memory with active dreaming. Several neurotransmitters being implicated.

So, what is dream? It certainly is no passive meaningless process. From the way i interpret my dream, I'd say, it is like a colescing of all.
Having recently experienced a traumatic separation, perhaps, my dream draws inspiration from that. The torch being the person i lost and the subsequent loss and my depression. The emotional trauma has manifested as a dream. I fervently hope i am not seeing the future. So having said this i have substantiated the scientific explanation of long term memory and the spiritual explanation of self realisation.

Ok... So this is my first blog, blogging or watever t s cald. Havin seen so many f my friends go on bout blogging, naturally curiosity got the better of me.

So here i am, blogging.