A Bit of Soul Searching

I was just trying to think my life object oriented way and I thought I have become the worst instance of it.

- waamax

Soul searching won’t get you anywhere when there’s not much to search for.

- theCipher

My Eyes Are Jealous Of My Heart

My eyes are jealous of my heart.

It’s amazing how a single thing can mean various things to various people. Maybe that’s why poetry is so beautiful; it’s written for you. It’s the symbolism in it that makes it so vague and yet so familiar. When Pink Floyd sang “The rain fell slow down on all the roofs of uncertainty; I thought of you and years of all the sadness fell away from me”, or when Jagjit Singh wrote “Hum lavon se kehena paaye unse haal-e-dil kabhi, aur woh samjhe nahi ye khamosi kya cheez hai”, or when a friend of mine said the line “My eyes are jealous of my heart”, I knew what they were talking about.

Then again, when I think about it, it’s most likely that I possibly can’t understand what made them choose those words. But it’s not about what the lines meant to them. It’s about what it means to me. How I relate with each of those lines. Those lines were mine. A gift – from them to me. And I’ll forever be thankful for the lines.

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(This is my dedication to those lines)

Who are you?
Why do i feel this?
I’m scared;
I try to hide,
The hurt that’s inside.
I can’t do it again;
Walked that line once,
Felt the pain.

You call me from somewhere.
I want to answer,
But do I dare?
My senses are numb,
But I can hear.
Still, how can I?
how can i forget the tears?
The fear
It’s still there,
Forever to stay.
You take me back
To the rainy day,
The sunset and the stars;
A few days of laughter,
Then a lifetime of scars.

You tell me it’ll be different;
You encourage me to have faith.
Faith in love,
Rising above,
The heartaches of the past.
The power of believing,
My heart rejoices in this new feeling.
I sense a new start,
I wonder if it’s real.
My silly heart’s sings in joy,
My cynical eyes just can’t feel.
My heart sees a happy ending,
But my eyes see us being apart.
Burned, tourmented and scarred,
My eyes are, forever, jealous of my heart.

When There's Something Inside.. .. .. Write!

You should write. Even if you have nothing to tell anyone, even if it’s nothing new. Write to remember. Write to tell yourself how you felt. Not the events but the feelings. Not the memories but emotions. Coz the memories will stay with you but the emotions will change their shape and direction faster then the clouds in a windy day.
When I look back through the pages of my diary what intrigues me most is not the events that happened but how each of them made me feel. Coz only that tells me who I have been and who I am now… how I have changed, and no matter what happens, how I’ll always remain the same.

What is Intelligence?

“What Is Intelligence, Anyway?” – Isaac Asimov

I got this in a mail forwarded to me by Om and I felt I had to share it. So here it goes…

What is intelligence, anyway? When I was in the army, I received the kind of aptitude test that all soldiers took and, against a normal of 100, scored 160. No one at the base had ever seen a figure like that, and for two hours they made a big fuss over me. (It didn’t mean anything. The next day I was still a buck private with KP – kitchen police – as my highest duty.)

All my life I’ve been registering scores like that, so that I have the complacent feeling that I’m highly intelligent, and I expect other people to think so too. Actually, though, don’t such scores simply mean that I am very good at answering the type of academic questions that are considered worthy of answers by people who make up the intelligence tests – people with intellectual bents similar to mine?

For instance, I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles – and he always fixed my car.

Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I’d prove myself a moron, and I’d be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.

Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: “Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?”

Indulgently, I lifted by right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, “Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them.” Then he said smugly, “I’ve been trying that on all my customers today.” “Did you catch many?” I asked. “Quite a few,” he said, “but I knew for sure I’d catch you.” “Why is that?” I asked. “Because you’re so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn’t be very smart.”

And I have an uneasy feeling he had something there.

Gloomy Sunday

I had heard about this song many times before… almost each time with different lyrics. The reason behind this inconsistency in words is that this was first written in Hungarian language and later different artists translated it in their own way.

I found this version here and instantly fell in love with the misery in it…

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GLOOMY SUNDAY

Sadly one Sunday
I waited and waited
With flowers in my arms
All the dream has created
I waited ’til dreams,
Like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead
And the words were unspoken
The grief that I know
Was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart
Was a bell that was tolling

Saddest of Sundays

Then came a Sunday
When you came to find me
They bore me to church
And I left you behind me
My eyes could not see
What I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers
Are forever above me
The Bell tolled for me
And the wind whispered, “Never!”
But you I have loved
And I’ll bless you forever

Last of all Sundays

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Gloomy Sunday from The Singer (Mute, 1992)Writing credits: Diamanda Galas; performed by Diamanda Galas.

Love Actually…….

Love is being stupid together.

- TheDReAmSkY

I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want, an adorable pancreas?

- Jean Kerr

Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties”.

- Jules Renard

On Second Thought…

Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for – in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it.

- Ellen Goodman

Pessimism………….. or Practicality ???

Life sucks!………….. get used to it.

- theCipher

 

Life is a waste of my time.

- Kunal Chaudhary

 

There is reason for everything but who cares.

- TheDReAmSkY

The Countdown

For the past few days I was desparately trying to find some time so that I can jot down a few words here……….. and now that I got the time, all I’ve managed to do is to stare at the screen for last 4 minutes. I’m trying to start with an important event; but who is to say which event in our life is more important than any other. Before I lose the point of all this, lets start somehwere.
Lets start with the countdown. It all started when I began counting my days left at IOE for a personal interest of mine. I had started at 58, and today, when it’s 46, it has already become a new class-sensation. Pretty soon it’ll be 1 and then 0.
I have a very simple way of judging the outcome of any event; I ask myself that if this outcome was offered to me at the beginning, would I have taken it. I ask myself this today and I don’t like the answer. My life at IOE, at this point feels more like a compromise than a triumph. Actually this comes to me as a surprise too. It’s not that I’m not greatful; coz I am; it’s just that I’m not satisfied. I see some loose ends and it bothers me. I was avoiding them coz I wasn’t sure if I could face the facts. I don’t feel like I can continue like this any more.
When I leave this college I don’t want to walk away knowing there was something I could’ve done and I didn’t. I learned a long time ago that in life you regret more about the things you didn’t do rather than about the things you did. I want to walk away with memories, pictures, friendships, phone numbers, email addresses, (perhaps few people’s dotpens and scales); but no complains and regrets.
So I got 45 days – 45 days to take care of those loose ends………. 45 days to find some sort of closure or continuity………. and 45 days to create memories that will remain with me my whole lifetime.

World Cup Woes

Just finished watching a world cup quarter-final match between England and Portugal. England lost it on penalties after neither team could score in the regular time and the extra-time. England had never won a World Cup match on penalties before, and it wasn’t about to change today. One of their record did break however – it’s the first time they got knocked out of World Cup knock-out round by a team that hadn’t won a World Cup previously. I’m not too disappointed that they lost the match, at least not as much as after yesterday’s match (Argentina vs. Germany). One reason for this could be that I stopped expecting much from them after Rooney got sent-off. This was a weird match. On second thought, this was a weird tournament for them. The so called “best defence in the world” looked shaky right from the start. The record goal scorer for a midfilder in the Premereship, Frank Lampard, couldn’t score even a single goal – Even a penalty didn’t help. Moreover, ever so reliable Gerrard missed a penalty today. This had indeed been a disappointing match, but more than that, this has been a very disappointing tournament.Every team I support seems to lose. Czech played an awesome first game – I supported them – they lost the next two. I started supporting Argentina after they scored 6 against S&M – they drew the next game – barely managed to win the one after that – and yesterday, got knocked off. England, I’ve been supporting from the beginning, and they’ve been playing like crap ever since.Seeing the team you support lose is hard for anybody. It was especially hard for me coz I’m used to supporting Aussies in cricket who seem to win every game.Most of the teams I supported being already out of the tournament, now I’m off to support Brazil. They kick-off their match against France in about 20 minutes. And if by some miracle France manage to beat the World Champions, World Number 1, and the favourites Brazil, then the guy who most deserves a medal for the France’s triumph is Me.