Not doing certain things is a doing in itself. But, how would you train your mind not to do things? Your mind is only trained to do.
Perseverance, is all about the compromises you dont make and Planning, is all about the chances you dont take.
Words which convey these things, are a boon to the Human mind. They make these things doable.
In our honest effort to provide help to a seeker, more often than not, we end up communicating our fears. Thus we take the person two steps back from the starting position.
The next time you hear yourself saying, ponder what you want to say: "Dont spill the tea over the speckless white dhoti" or "Keep your hand steady"
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Sunday, October 02, 2005
A few powerful people: Bus Driver
Life presents people in various capacities, colors and flavors. My mind wanted me to be one of each such inspiring people. They had something that made them powerful. Even though most of the experiences are attached to my early childhood, to a certain extent, I am still in awe of these people.
The Bus Driver
Who is not inspired by a manly bus driver who maneuvered the huge elephant like vehicle. With a conspicuously huge steering wheel being turned left to right, a dog shed like gearbox having a stick with a round blob like handle and a windshield as big as a cinema screen and with live vehicles zooming in from the opposite direction, it looked like being in control of the whole world.
He had a well shelved hair with a rich coat of coconut oil and a sharp mustache going good with the slagging khaki uniform which had two top buttons of the shirt open for ventilation. It gave a sense of him taking on the world for any challenges.
A transistor radio sized photo of the Deity, a set of disco lights going along its perimeter and a display plate hanging reverse indicating the destination of the way back, all added to the mystery of his cockpit like room.
Every now and then, he would generously stop and share pleasantries with another driver driving a similar monster. He would also give expert comments to the enviably privileged people sitting in the cockpit on what mistakes the other drivers on the road were doing, whats happening in the local village panchayat politics and also how useless the state government has been for the last five years. With his general knowledge he could easily have replaced my class teacher.
Once back at home, lots of buses would start on imaginary routes. A handful of kids in the neighborhood would become drivers of their own buses and head in various directions with sounds of “Drrrrrrrrr Drrrrrr Pom Pom” and stopping every now and then for an interlude of “Bangalore Manglore Mysore Dharwad ...”. A by looker would be amused by the number of cities catered by each bus.
A close to healthy competition existed between each driver as each one tried to race each other off the road, and this was in spite of being on the way to cities in different directions. A sense of balance still persisted among all the experienced drivers who managed to keep themselves on the paths made by mud mounds separating the paddy fields.
Like the normal roads, driving became a expert's task when it rained and clogged the lush green paddy fields with water. There were a few accidents in the rainy seasons with the usual new driver on the track tasting a bit of mud water. The other drivers would stop to observe a minute of absolute amusement.
The driver devils would then be distracted off the youngsters' bodies by packs of white bead like frog eggs lying in the water. All the drivers would then ditch their buses, some of them having color video coach and settle down into a session of discussion on how frogs come out of these beads and also about how big an omelet made of frog's eggs will be.
Apparently someone's mom happens to have a glimpse of the discussion panel and then chases everyone to a near by Well to clean themselves up.
The Bus Driver
Who is not inspired by a manly bus driver who maneuvered the huge elephant like vehicle. With a conspicuously huge steering wheel being turned left to right, a dog shed like gearbox having a stick with a round blob like handle and a windshield as big as a cinema screen and with live vehicles zooming in from the opposite direction, it looked like being in control of the whole world.
He had a well shelved hair with a rich coat of coconut oil and a sharp mustache going good with the slagging khaki uniform which had two top buttons of the shirt open for ventilation. It gave a sense of him taking on the world for any challenges.
A transistor radio sized photo of the Deity, a set of disco lights going along its perimeter and a display plate hanging reverse indicating the destination of the way back, all added to the mystery of his cockpit like room.
Every now and then, he would generously stop and share pleasantries with another driver driving a similar monster. He would also give expert comments to the enviably privileged people sitting in the cockpit on what mistakes the other drivers on the road were doing, whats happening in the local village panchayat politics and also how useless the state government has been for the last five years. With his general knowledge he could easily have replaced my class teacher.
Once back at home, lots of buses would start on imaginary routes. A handful of kids in the neighborhood would become drivers of their own buses and head in various directions with sounds of “Drrrrrrrrr Drrrrrr Pom Pom” and stopping every now and then for an interlude of “Bangalore Manglore Mysore Dharwad ...”. A by looker would be amused by the number of cities catered by each bus.
A close to healthy competition existed between each driver as each one tried to race each other off the road, and this was in spite of being on the way to cities in different directions. A sense of balance still persisted among all the experienced drivers who managed to keep themselves on the paths made by mud mounds separating the paddy fields.
Like the normal roads, driving became a expert's task when it rained and clogged the lush green paddy fields with water. There were a few accidents in the rainy seasons with the usual new driver on the track tasting a bit of mud water. The other drivers would stop to observe a minute of absolute amusement.
The driver devils would then be distracted off the youngsters' bodies by packs of white bead like frog eggs lying in the water. All the drivers would then ditch their buses, some of them having color video coach and settle down into a session of discussion on how frogs come out of these beads and also about how big an omelet made of frog's eggs will be.
Apparently someone's mom happens to have a glimpse of the discussion panel and then chases everyone to a near by Well to clean themselves up.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
A fore-thought on opinions
Opinion! Everybody has one.
Do you have one too? Do you need it? Does it really matter ?
When someone asks for your opinion, Are they asking for knowing it or they want you to concur with them? Does anyone's opinion actually change the matter? Why does someone else's opinion bring comfort into our decision making?
1 + 1 = 2, What's your opinion?
Well, What do I say? You have said it all.
x + y = z, What's your opinion?
Well, What do I say? I don't know anything.
What's your opinion on the hunger in Africa?
Yeah, It is very bad, but what can I do sitting at my home.
Do you need someone's illustration of a topic to get going on having an opinion? Do we need an opinion to prove our individuality? Does our opinion overcome our inability to act on it?
How often have we faced similar questions? From within us and from others.
We tend to look into having opinions of topics over which we have no control. The mind goes into a loop pondering over movie stories, over recollection of history, over the belief or disbelief of existence of God, over religions & all the while forming opinions and subjectivity all around it.
How much baggage do we carry around in our mind, that before someone opens their mouth, we already have an opinion of what they are, where they are heading, what do they need to improve in life and much more.
Contrary to popular notions instead of adding on to individuality, opinions makes us more vulnerable to typecasting.
Well there you go, Seems like someone has an opinion on opinion and also has an opinion on having it.
Do you have one too? Do you need it? Does it really matter ?
When someone asks for your opinion, Are they asking for knowing it or they want you to concur with them? Does anyone's opinion actually change the matter? Why does someone else's opinion bring comfort into our decision making?
1 + 1 = 2, What's your opinion?
Well, What do I say? You have said it all.
x + y = z, What's your opinion?
Well, What do I say? I don't know anything.
What's your opinion on the hunger in Africa?
Yeah, It is very bad, but what can I do sitting at my home.
Do you need someone's illustration of a topic to get going on having an opinion? Do we need an opinion to prove our individuality? Does our opinion overcome our inability to act on it?
How often have we faced similar questions? From within us and from others.
We tend to look into having opinions of topics over which we have no control. The mind goes into a loop pondering over movie stories, over recollection of history, over the belief or disbelief of existence of God, over religions & all the while forming opinions and subjectivity all around it.
How much baggage do we carry around in our mind, that before someone opens their mouth, we already have an opinion of what they are, where they are heading, what do they need to improve in life and much more.
Contrary to popular notions instead of adding on to individuality, opinions makes us more vulnerable to typecasting.
Well there you go, Seems like someone has an opinion on opinion and also has an opinion on having it.
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