Have you ever wondered how much your family, your friends, social settings, school, region in which u grew up and even your country has been responsible for being what u r today.
This thought first crossed my mind when I moved out of my house for the first time for my job. The Initial Training Program was in a city called Trivandrum, which to me till then, only meant a city on the other end of the country. The day I joined was also the joining day for 300 other people (Yeah, we recruit in bulk). Most of these people were from colleges from South India. Until then I had never spent more than a couple of weeks in any other city. Delhi for all practical purposes was my world. We had people from all over the country in each batch. Being around so many people with such a varied background seemed intimidating at first. It was an altogether different world. There were guys walking around in lungis (some too high by ANY standards) and girls with jasmine flowers in their hair.
Being with those people in such settings often made me wonder - what would I be if I was born in a South Indian family. What changes would there be in me. Life for one would be a whole lot different. I have often wondered and slept over it. Sometimes I saw myself as a guy picking coconuts from plantations. As a child I had remarkable tree climbing ability and I am sure someone in my remote village in Tamil Nadu would have noticed that and given me a job. Or as a boatman in the backwaters trying to catch some fish or as a farmer trying to harvest some crop in the fields.
Ever since I have moved out of India I have come across people from different places and interacted with some of them. Sometimes I think what it would be if I was born in Denmark n not India. How would I be living my life then. Would I be working in some farm raising pigs, or on the sea working for Maersk Shipping Corporation. Or what if I was born in Algeria and my parents would have left the country and I would be working as a barber in some foreign land or have a food joint selling pizzas n durums. What if I was a multimillionaire or a Wall Street broker or a sportsman or an artist?
What if the parallel universe actually existed? What would I be doing in that parallel universe? Life, as it turns out, is an outcome of events that occur one after the other. Some fabricated, some not. But each one of those events has a distinct role to play, however minuscule. How life would change if the origin of it was not as it is now. Somehow this thought always crosses my mind when I hear people conversing in Spanish. In the parallel universe I would be a multimillionaire sportsman who has retired early and now lives on his island in Ibiza.
Too many questions, ifs and whats and hows in this post and heres the last one. Would it really be a different life?
Showing posts with label Guest Post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guest Post. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 12
Monday, June 11
Idealistic B.S
When Arpz asked me to write a guest post, I pondered on whether to write about the political struggle of East Congo or expound on the cultural degradation faced by eastern civilization with reference to the Ching school of thought.
Finally, I decided it has to be about the East Congo. So here it goes……
Mwahahaha…..gotcha!
I think what Arpz’s glorious online space needs is a heart felt rant [though she often rants a lot here and attempts gruesome tear jerkers].
Unfortunately, I lack the capacity for human compassion and emotions, so instead I’ll blabber on some totally irrelevant topic, which will have people asking such ground-breaking, earth-shattering questions as:
“What in tarnation is wrong with this guy?” and
“When did Arpz have this temporary bout of insanity and let this guy write on her blog?”
I’ve been thinking on how I’ve been making judgments at this point in my life. And I don’t mean judgments like whether tutti-frutti ice cream is kick ass when compared to rocky road ice cream.
I’ve been making decisions on what I think about religion, what kind of girls I like, [earlier I used to be pretty superficial. I’m still pretty superficial but with err…..refinements], where I’d like to live [India or abroad? And I don’t mean Airport Road or Shivaji Nagar] and so on.
For people who have been through this phase, you probably know what I’m talking about. We spent the first 20 years of our life being imposed with our parents’ ideals [don’t get ideas about my dad chaining me to a rack forcing me to swallow his Hitler-ean propaganda]. It’s just that we’ve always believed in what they’ve said. What they say is the moral way IS the moral way.
But now, we’re making our own ideals, our own morals. For example, I’ve come to a glorious idea that maybe alcohol isn’t such a bad idea [Arpz, don’t delete this –freedom of expression, girl!]. A lot of people might disagree with me on that, but it’s MY idea and now, no one can question; which is pretty cool, when you think about it.
I may not be uber-rich or own a Ferrari [that will have to wait till I become a blood sucking industrialist with morals Chengiz Khan would reel at], but I have my ideals and no one can have those, or take those.
Taking this into consideration, I have listed the 10 ideals/ideas I relate to and which no one can shake:
- India is an awesome country. I love the place and will always want to be here[hope the blood sucking industrialist plan fits in with this]
- I love non-vegetarian food. I know its ‘dead bodies’ as my dad so eloquently puts it. But thems tasty dead bodies.
- Intelligence in the opposite sex comes first. We’ll talk shop after that.
- There is a God. Religion sucks. [Habeas corpus still exists, so all extremists orgs beware!]
- It’s my body; I can do what ever I want with it. [Dr. Kevorkian waves a flag and whistles loudly]
- Money is important because money allows me to do more stuff before I die.
- I love my family. Those three people mean everything to me.
- I love my friends. But they have their own agendas. The moment you do something for me that goes against your agenda, you’re family.
- I don’t care if I die early. If my Air Deccan [this is hypothetical- Capt.Gopinath, don’t sue me, I love your airlines] plane crashes, my last words will be: “Shit, it was good while it lasted”
- I love music. It gives meaning to my life. Happy music makes me happy. Sad music makes me sad.
Epilogue: If any of you come across this irrelevant piece of literature [and a lot of you will, given Arpz’s blog’s popularity], do let the world know what you’re ideals are.
Even if it means saying: ‘I love being a couch potato and stuffing myself with fri-ums till I could puke’, write it down. The comments section becomes your playground/confession box.
Err….. Sexual revelations can be spared though. Save them for a rainy day, ok?
Finally, I decided it has to be about the East Congo. So here it goes……
Mwahahaha…..gotcha!
I think what Arpz’s glorious online space needs is a heart felt rant [though she often rants a lot here and attempts gruesome tear jerkers].
Unfortunately, I lack the capacity for human compassion and emotions, so instead I’ll blabber on some totally irrelevant topic, which will have people asking such ground-breaking, earth-shattering questions as:
“What in tarnation is wrong with this guy?” and
“When did Arpz have this temporary bout of insanity and let this guy write on her blog?”
I’ve been thinking on how I’ve been making judgments at this point in my life. And I don’t mean judgments like whether tutti-frutti ice cream is kick ass when compared to rocky road ice cream.
I’ve been making decisions on what I think about religion, what kind of girls I like, [earlier I used to be pretty superficial. I’m still pretty superficial but with err…..refinements], where I’d like to live [India or abroad? And I don’t mean Airport Road or Shivaji Nagar] and so on.
For people who have been through this phase, you probably know what I’m talking about. We spent the first 20 years of our life being imposed with our parents’ ideals [don’t get ideas about my dad chaining me to a rack forcing me to swallow his Hitler-ean propaganda]. It’s just that we’ve always believed in what they’ve said. What they say is the moral way IS the moral way.
But now, we’re making our own ideals, our own morals. For example, I’ve come to a glorious idea that maybe alcohol isn’t such a bad idea [Arpz, don’t delete this –freedom of expression, girl!]. A lot of people might disagree with me on that, but it’s MY idea and now, no one can question; which is pretty cool, when you think about it.
I may not be uber-rich or own a Ferrari [that will have to wait till I become a blood sucking industrialist with morals Chengiz Khan would reel at], but I have my ideals and no one can have those, or take those.
Taking this into consideration, I have listed the 10 ideals/ideas I relate to and which no one can shake:
- India is an awesome country. I love the place and will always want to be here[hope the blood sucking industrialist plan fits in with this]
- I love non-vegetarian food. I know its ‘dead bodies’ as my dad so eloquently puts it. But thems tasty dead bodies.
- Intelligence in the opposite sex comes first. We’ll talk shop after that.
- There is a God. Religion sucks. [Habeas corpus still exists, so all extremists orgs beware!]
- It’s my body; I can do what ever I want with it. [Dr. Kevorkian waves a flag and whistles loudly]
- Money is important because money allows me to do more stuff before I die.
- I love my family. Those three people mean everything to me.
- I love my friends. But they have their own agendas. The moment you do something for me that goes against your agenda, you’re family.
- I don’t care if I die early. If my Air Deccan [this is hypothetical- Capt.Gopinath, don’t sue me, I love your airlines] plane crashes, my last words will be: “Shit, it was good while it lasted”
- I love music. It gives meaning to my life. Happy music makes me happy. Sad music makes me sad.
Epilogue: If any of you come across this irrelevant piece of literature [and a lot of you will, given Arpz’s blog’s popularity], do let the world know what you’re ideals are.
Even if it means saying: ‘I love being a couch potato and stuffing myself with fri-ums till I could puke’, write it down. The comments section becomes your playground/confession box.
Err….. Sexual revelations can be spared though. Save them for a rainy day, ok?
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