Gnawing loneliness

The word gnawing is interesting and means “persistently worrying or distressing” and it’s a word my unconscious chose for the title of this post. Yes, I will explore loneliness in this space.

            I guess I was born LONELY, even as a child I never fitted into the mould. My aunt used to say that one of her worst experiences in life was tagging me to a temple when I was 2 or 3. She recounts that I would insist on an explanation as why different gods carried different weapons or some such inanities.  She reminisces, “Sathi, you were always different. You have a probing mind to everything from the time you learnt to speak.”  Then Schooling and Colleging years at Hyderabad were growing years and full of torture memories as my parents used the stick and the iron rod to make me fall in line which I of course never did.  Then IMT Ghaziabad happened and I had a full new set of issues to handle in life; I had to live dangling with the sword of bipolar on my head.  Again any mental issue makes for loneliness.

            It was only in 2007 (I was 38 years then) that we found an alternate accommodation for my mother.  I was clear that I could not waste one more moment in the hate filled air that her presence triggered. My mother defines to a polluting agent; she is an expert in filling only hate and fear wherever she goes. I remember telling my sister then, “Take this house, let me run away. I can’t take this anymore. It does not matter whether I reside in Besant nagar or in the slums but my mind needs fresh air with the urgency of oxygen to a dying patient and no more of the evil lady.” Both my sisters had no choice at my ultimatum: either she stays in Besant nagar or I. So they said, “Pay a monthly maintenance to the janmadatta, we will take care.”  And so thankfully my riot filled life of 38 years found silence (no more of the shrill voice that grates like Arnab Goswami live for 24 hours) and a chance to grow. And I did.

            First came Worldwide Media that developed me as a writer with craft. I spent years honing my skills without any expectations of reward. Then Vipassana happened, mindfulness happened but one tambura shruti remained iron clad fixed on a concrete slab: I was condemned to a lonesome existence which actually is heavenly from the cacophony of abuses that my life had its horrible origins.

            The years marched by. 2007-9 were times a Sindhi woman filled on the phones, good for a time-filler but later turned horrible for the morale.  2009 -2014 I had ambitions of making it big as a writer as I invested my energies here. But nature was stubbornly and obdurately cruel. Any skill will only grow when skills meets opportunities, so I expended my energies on a blog medium which by its nature “does not sell” or “earn any money”.  Then 2015-16 were two years I was on the edge of a precipice – more than a simile I was dangling from a cliff whose cords could have snapped any moment. Then I plodded on to Mindfulness and since then some measure of mental stability. What makes me a hero on a pantheon of Greek heroes is I never saw a festival in three decades since my poor old dad died in 1989. My sisters were so determined to include me out for any festivities not out of malice or inherent selfishness but they were wired strongly in the reverse direction for the worst interpretation of Hindu culture and customs (something like a woman once married goes into a new gothra and she is only to enrich the new family even as her former family is dangling from a ceiling fan situations).

            This is a 600 word introduction, a very long one, to the subject of loneliness. Now let’s get to the current state.

            I came from Bangalore in the first week of April fresh as a lemon after a week of Vipassana. But within a week I resumed my smoking and the once the poison stick settled in the system, I found my loneliness gnawing to a paranoid level.  It often manifests like this:  I feel like talking to a human being in the evenings as the sun goes down and the twilight sets in. I look at my contact lists on the phone and frankly I don’t have anyone. I call Vivek once a week, then a try a Prithvi or Ranga or anyone and again honestly none of them give me a conversational value. Then I try some Rudram chanting or Gita chanting to subdue the mind as the waves of loneliness fill the being. This thought does not help: if I die today, the hospital would not have a forwarding address for my dead body. I can’t put my finger on who will make for the cremation party and frankly the number looks zero. Now I can dramatize this thought to a more distraught imagination: if I have a heart attack, no hospital will enroll me into their admissions and administer critical care.  Even for a millionaire patient like me, they would look for insurance in the form of a relative or friend at the cash counter. These thoughts have the effect of increasing my Gold flake count in the day as though death was so easy. 
            What really hit me in the back of the head with a rock was this episode. Last week, Thangam my cook calls at 9:20 am saying that she will be an hour late. This has been happening repeatedly. She has signed a new house and they seem to be demanding. My body works like a clock - since I wake up at 4:00 - 4:30 kinds I am ravenously hungry at 9:45 that a small tiffin at 7:15 at Vishranti does not suffice. I gave her the worst dressing down in 9 years but inwardly I was crying.  This used to happen with Meera too, for on some days I would make a plea, "Meera G, please come at 8:30 tomorrow for I have an interview at 10:00 at Gemini." That day as though cursed she would drag her feet in by 9:00. I have actually cried silent tears on such occasions for they accentuate my vulnerability and loneliness to it highest pitch. 

            The medicine for LONELINESS is not COMPANY but UNDERSTANDING. I have ten thousand friends (not literally but I have many who care for me) but those don’t help when a Diwali or Pongal is on the anvil.  Why is UNDERSTANDING so essential in a relation for we will die out of thirst for it? It operates at different levels: if the man of the family has a heart attack, it affects his immediate family only for they are OBLIGATED to care for him financially and physically in the hospitals. Our societies are not so advanced that the wife of a heart-attack victim will go dancing in the pub or travel to the United States when the surgeons have fixed a date for surgery. At least for appearances the wife and the kids must stay at the hospital as friends and relations troop over with their concerns and a plastic bag of mangoes or even a Horlicks bottle. Again appearances but these are the essentials I am denied.

            It is then I realized that UNDERSTANDING operates at different levels. Hypothetically if my wife cuts a finger in the kitchen, I am OBLIGATED to offer words of solace and also finish the rest of the cooking, again obligated to wait for the stench of blood to clot to wrap a band-aid or take her to the neighbourhood clinic. This is an advantage of having a family around – take someone to the clinic, wait outside the ICU at the hospital and the obsequies after death. All these are denied to me and this is where I died a million times in the last three weeks. Trust me, 2-3 Gold flakes only make matters worse.

            I have my daily SPARRC rehabs and I like the positive energies of the place where most of the therapists are in their 20s and full of youthful zest. I also like the energy at the swimming pool in the evenings but my days don’t intersect any human being the rest of the day which is highly demotivating. So disparaging that if I had a gun, I would have shot my brains to smithereens by marking an exact spot at the temples after a google search. I keep telling myself: Wait and wait for two more years which is the energy that I am left in the tank after managing a kitchen and groceries for 13 whole years. The prospect of an old age home is the bitterest pill to swallow, I promise I will do a Kurt Cobain if I reach there.

            So many truths impinge on the way. If your first relation in life which is with a mother is screwed up then the rest of the journey is more arduous than a climb on the Everest. I used to feel that destiny will not so cruel and that I deserve a second chance at life; that there is a Sita or Savitri in store for me. Now at 50 I know better. Even if a Sita or Savitri were to cross my path, and if they were to fall down on their knees for my love (this is imagination reaching absurd levels) I have gone past the expiry date for romance and marriage. Physically and mentally I have grown out of a young man’s shoes. There are things which suit only young bloods and not a 50 years old. The worst calamity you can invite for yourself is to invite a woman to a bed after 50. You don’t debut at that age even on a occupation much less something extremely vulnerable and stressful as a marriage in our times.

            So where does all this leave me? Maybe a soft skills training could assuage to a large extent but with each passing year, I am sure loneliness kills more efficiently than a cancer or a hemorrhage. It is easy for me to grow my 1 crore to 3 or 5 crores in less than five years (I am being realistic here for I am learning to trade in Options and futures and forex asset classes) but that will not plug this hole. Yet being the peaceful man and respectful of destiny I await a miracle where I can find a purpose to my days.  Maybe the third Gold Flake will get me sooner to bed and sleep!!!! 
            As a Hindi song goes: Jine kee vajah toh koyee nahee marne kaa bahana dhundata hai
Ek akela iss shahar me...

A slice of Madras

#129

“Chennai is the most negative city in the world” is my assertion in any social gathering even at random encounters with raw strangers while on a train or a flight or anywhere I get human company. But I can’t do without the city for my mind is used to TAMIL and restaurants around every corner serving idly/vada and filter coffee.

            Last August there was a possibility of a job in JUST DIAL at NOIDA that my mind revolted. Fortunately I did not get the offer but if I had then I would have had a hard time self-convincing to make the shift to a NCR region. Delhi hits the gut with the Punjabi aggression and Hindi everywhere (Acche Hi, buchha hai) that my mind at 50 is fatigued. I do need a bit of Tamil in the air, filter coffee at every corner. And with my lame legs I am happy and content at Besant nagar where my movements are optimized to the lowest possible denomination.

            Yesterday I had a day out and it merits a blog post.

            I booked for a gas cylinder refill at 6:00 in the morning through interactive voice response (IVR) where you use the numbers on the mobile for bookings.  Normally it takes 2-3 days but yesterday the door bell rang at 11:00 and presto, cylinder delivery. The bill was Rs. 722 that the delivery boy said was Rs. 750 for climbing two storied staircase. I had just over Rs. 300 in the wallet and I told him in a morose voice, “Please take Rs. 250 now, I will go down to the ATM for the remaining Rs. 500 which you can pick up later in the day.” The boy acquiesced and it is such instances that reinforce my love for Chennai despite it being the most negative city in the world. Here I can talk to bus drivers and conductors, milk vendors and grocers and have a running conversation; something I can’t in a Bangalore or Hyderabad and definitely not in a Mumbai or Delhi. Knowing the local language is vital when dealing the menial working classes, otherwise you are not one of them. You might as well count for a German or French or a American or a Martian for all they care.

            Then I got down to withdraw 12 k from the ATM and went to Nilgiris store for Aavin milk sachet and Oosi Thenkozhil (a traditional savory that is fried and comes packed). I saw Ramani a mid-70s walker at the beach who greeted me asking, “What are you doing in this hot sun?” I showed him the half litre milk sachet and the Thenkozhil as we both smiled on cue as it were. Again I can’t have such a dialogue in a Delhi or Bangalore if Tamil was missing on the roads.

            In the evening I had to pick up Ranga for a drink at Maris and he backed out at the last moment. I was determined as I engaged an auto from Sathya studios to Maris.  I signaled for a couple of autos for negotiating the price; one fellow said, “Rs. 120 for Maris” and I asked with devilish cunning, “Is it for to and fro or just the drop?” He got the dry humour. Again something I can only do in Chennai with my Tamil skills. Finally I found a fare for Rs. 90 and off we went. The driver was beefy, large frame and he had a manly contour to him as he started talking which went like this:

            I reside in RA Puram area and only drive in the evenings. Actually I make a living as a money lender. I give weekly loans say if I give a loan of 10 k, I only pay 9 k to the borrower. The borrower has to make weekly installments of 1 k weekly for 10 weeks. Earlier I used to give monthly loans but suffered over 15 lacs loss. You see this Navodaya restaurant (as we passed by on the RA puram road) and that man ran away without repaying my loan advances of 1.5 lacs. That fellow despite being a Brahmin cheated me and these days one to be careful. I added a comma for a filler in this one-sided conversation, “To make a living as a money lender is tough for you need brawn and you need to be thug on a recollection drive.” The auto driver continued: Yeah, I have been out in the market for 20 years and all the local goons are my friends.

            Then he shifted to family matters: I was 19 when I got married, I fell in love with a 16 year old, we eloped and got married. It was my being responsibility getting the elder sisters married, finding grooms and financing the weddings. The second girl's marriage did not work out, she came home after a year with a baby and we have been supporting her ever since. Seeing that failure, my brother-in-law refused to get married. Now he is 50 and we keep an eye on his health and safety.

            I told him, “I am also a bachelor at 50 but a happy one. There are pros and cons both sides and a wise man takes advantage of where he is placed while the fool cribs at what is lacking.” We introduced ourselves, “I am Sathya and I make my money trading in stocks; I am Raja and I also around your age.” Again such a conversation can’t be imagined in a Telugu or Hindi or English or whatever. These are occasions that connect me to this most negative city in the world and boy, I come alive in these moments.

            This was the first time I was drinking alone at Maris as I ordered two large of Signature whiskeys and a soda as the sides dishes of a sundal, puffed rice and peanuts were served. The bill came to Rs. 495 which I swiped with a credit card leaving Rs. 20 as tips. I asked the steward, “Is it crowded today or what? Usually your service is better.” He smiled taking me for a regular saying, “Today our man power is less.” I loved being alone on the table and resolved: no need to wait for Ranga or anyone; being alone is so much peaceful and less stressful on the nerves. Must make it a monthly habit. 

            That done I hobbled to the restaurant on the ground floor. I sat on a corner table away from the maddening 8:40 pm crowd. The bearer took my order for a full meals.  I rate Maris restaurant the best in Chennai for service; you will never find such alacrity of stewards filling water to your glass or be attentive for refill of a sambar or curry or pickles or whatever anywhere else. You don’t find this level of service in a Ratna Café or Sangeetha or Saravana Bhavan. You see the same old familiar faces and they go out of their way for very best in hospitality in the city. I ate my food on a banana leaf and left a Rs. 20 tip. I spoke very little to the bearer but we connected, as he kept refilling and replenishing my glass of cold water or the extra rasams.

            I went outside and waited for a 29 C. There are a few new red buses in town with bucket seats and there was a new red bus 29 C Deluxe that I boarded opposite Chola Sheraton. This is the most negative city in the world but I lived every moment of it thanks to the auto driver, the stewards and even the trees and birds retiring into the night. I looked at the asphalt roads and thought, “This is my city and my roads and I will not exchange it for a Abu Dhabi or a Manama or anywhere else” as I looked at the crescent moon on a cloudy night skies with lampposts throwing light on the rising polluting airs  over the treetops. This is my city and this is where I belong. And if a spell of hell is prescribed for you, first thing you get down to learning is a smattering of Tamil which will convert it to heaven. 

Swimming lessons

#128 post

First let me get the 50^th birthday out of the way. For me it is a great milestone – for anyone who has lived 18, 262 days (600 months or 2608 weeks) in our age and times especially with no one around is a stupendous achievement. I was telling my friends that this time translates to over 1.57 billion seconds and to have been a visitor to this planet for this length of time is some grace at work. There are good days and bad but what makes living a miracle is we get an opportunity to better ourselves. Living is like a puzzle or a Gordian knot which we try to unravel; it is a never ending exercise and the pleasure of living comes from experimenting new approaches to old knots, being daring and courageous even in jail situations as the mind tries  to reach a modicum of peace.  This year Ashish Bansal called, so did Ranga, Arun Kailasam, Neetu, Lakhina,  Lalit Matai and Vivek apart from whatspp greeting from Deepak, Anu, Mani Sir, Shabd and so many really. That they remembered to greet me on this occasion felt good

            Last week I signed for a one month swimming course at Raj Sundar Palace which is a 3 star hotel in Adyar, opposite the famous Sathya studios. It is 4 feet depth and 15 metres pool which is ideal for me to walk for a knee therapy that SPARRC insisted upon. First day, I did 15 laps taking breaks after every 3 laps; next day I did 25 laps before settling to 30 laps in 40 minutes with breaks every 7-8 minutes. That I am in water for 40 min is good enough for me.

            The fee for using the pool is Rs. 2,700 and I tried to bribe the swimming coach for coaching me by saying, “I will pay you extra.” He batted straight, “Please approach the counter, the rate for coaching is Rs. 2,700 for 15 sessions.” I said, “I will certainly sign up for it after this one month of walking in water.”

            I learnt this very important lesson in the pool that I frequent between 7 and 8 pm daily. They were a group of very loquacious girls in their teens making a hell of a lot of noise in lifestyle English vocabulary, “Did you hear that Ed Sheeran song?" And then go on sing a couple of lines or “how do you do the butterfly stroke?” or “Is the Honda City your car? I saw your driver smoking beside it." to "I can't do bubbles in water for more than a few seconds" to cracking a joke that befuddles the swimming coach and reduced to asking, "Please explain so that I can also join in your laughter, "(poor fellow knows only Tamil) in English.  Say a team of 4-5 girls aged between 15 and 18 who are so full of themselves and a tribe that talks in shrill accented American accent that starts to grate the nerves (maybe some of these girls could be here on a vacation from America, they certainly looked rich and without pretense). First day I bore in silence, second day I couldn’t control myself telling a noise maker, “I know you girls speak in fantastic English but please have a heart. There are others in the pool and your decibel levels are disturbing us.” From then the noise did come down a couple of decibels and they grow silent each time they see me passing by in the waters. I heard one of them whisper to the others, “That was rude.” Next day, I greeted them as though nothing happened and they had the grace to wish me back.

            Then there is a Social Media manager from Ananda Vikatan, a Tamil weekly. He is a North Indian with a lot of smiles and I banter with him while advertising my blogs, “You must read my thinksathya blog posts.”

            Day before yesterday a grandfather was teaching his two grandsons to swim with all those tubes wrapped around them. I heard a little 5 year bleat out loud, “Thatha, you please mind your own business and allow me to mind my own.” The young brat must have been irritated with those non-stop volley of instructions on staying afloat or padding with the arms in water. This was so natural that I couldn’t resist a laugh.

            Then there are two boys – say 9 year old and a 14 year old and they swim right across my path when I am walking. I try to shoo them away; these kids have no concern for others. It is then I realized that a swimming pool is a good theatre for observation. The 4-5 teen girls who were too noisy were decent, at least they knew that they were erring with their antics. They smile at me when our eyes meet. In contrast these two boys in yellow caps were plain selfish. I likewise sport a morose face when I am crossing them as I walk in the waters.

            Two days back there was a Christian family – a robustly built mid-30s man and his two sons aged 5 and 8 while the wife watched from the sidelines. They kept talking loud, “Mama, I can swim now without those pads” or “Dada, the little one is struggling” and the commentary was non-stop to a nuisance. With passing years I realize that a young parent is the worst in a public place for their capacity for noise making is infinite. When I meet such gross people, I am taciturn and sport a morose face almost sniffing air and contorting my nose for a stiff upper lip attitude. Yesterday we got talking as the man said, “I am a physiotherapist in Bangalore. I could sense that you are walking in the pool for your arthritis.”We spoke more and pretty soon we were smiling and bantering for a great lesson: Give time and patience and people around you blossom. There was now a good flow of bonhomie.

            Then there is a 70 years old retired doctor lady and she advised me, “Take long strides and try reverse walking, it will be good for your knees.” There is a lesson here: smile at familiar faces, greet them and they open up to you.  

            I have 27 sessions in the pool and I have finished 8 days in a row. I tell myself: If I go 27 out of 27 then I am god, I will be happy with a score of 25 but anything less, it would reflect poorly on my self-esteem. I am going to Delhi on 18^th May for a week and on my return I intend signing for the 15 days coaching class before I decide on a three months package or something like that. Life gives you enough learning if you care to observe and be open. Besides swimming, I got myself a 32 inch Smart TV and now can play my youtube files in the mobile phone straight to the TV. Life is interesting at this moment though I am yet to turn the corner as it were - my life could do with some josh but what the hell this noise from the swimming pool serves the day. 

When “outrage” turns to “humour”

I love the dictionary meaning of “outrage” that goes like “extreme strong reaction of anger, shock, or indignation.” The synonyms listed are: indignation, fury, anger, rage, disapproval, wrath, shock, resentment, horror, disgust, amazement. Exactly what I feel for my two elder sisters!

            I will briefly mention my angst – for 30 years they did not feel a need to involve me in festivities which meant that I have not celebrated a festival since my dad’s death in 1989. Both of them did not care when I was vulnerable and hanging on to life on a fragile thread during my depression years.  I am sure they will not give me a cremation after death or tend to me if I am destined for an ICU critical care. Such relations are a scar on the soul; we don’t worry about relations that don’t apply like “I am not going to moan the non-existence of a wife in my life or miss kids.” But I will feel cheated and feel nothing but scorn for my sisters for they are real in blood and sweat.

            Instead of being OUTRAGED my creative mind slips into HUMOUR and these are the many ways I conjure to get back at them. Since I am a gentleman these are just thoughts and not put into action however seductive they seem. These are some of my creative insults for my sisters that are not served:

a)     I thought of writing to the Principal of KEYS HIGH SCHOOL in Secunderabad where both the she-devils studied where-in I make a strong case for a REFUND. They obviously did not EDUCATE my sisters well enough and so I have a genuine case for a compensation. Parallelly if I could mark a copy to the editor of a Deccan Chronicle or Newstime or whatever paper sells in Hyderabad, this can be a news interest story generating a lot of mirth and embarrassment.

b)     My fingers were itching to leave a message at L’s samandhi saying that L has become pregnant at the age of 54. Again a social embarrassment for a hoax of a joke.

c)      Or just maybe write to them saying that L has converted to Christianity.

d)     Or I write a fictional story of two ghost sisters called V and L. How both of them turn to werewolves on new moon day and go up gobbling street dogs and sleeping crows for an after dinner munch. Also how I taught both of my brother-in-laws to plant a tamarind tree so that they can climb it when their wives go into such devilish sprees.  My nickname for V is “Shakini” and L is “Dakhini” – they are both not human beings but born of a jackal as in the movie Omen. They are Brahma Rakshasa, yama dootha as we chant in Mahanyasam

e)     Or I could write to the Oil and Petroleum Minister Dharmedra Pradhan and the BPCL board that they is a BPCL employee who is the world’s worst sister and mark a copy as to as many BPCL employees as possible.

These are just creative expressions of OUTRAGE but serve my mind well. No longer I feel a negative energy when I think of these shrews (termagant, fishwife, witch, gorgon, spitfire, she-devil are dictionary synonyms) but a creative zest for more of creative insults. This is my way of Metta Bhavana.  
             Revenge is part of human nature but I have found it to be always COUNTERPRODUCTIVE. It is truly is like hitting oneself with a stick on the head; such a self-defeating sport and a pastime. My entire family - father, mother, two sisters - never gave me a moment's respite from hatred and anger. These are lifelong scars but I must find the energy to channelize it better. This revenge thing sucks and drains my energy as both my sisters are no less sinister than king cobras. It is tough living on my own with these scars but I have to do better. 

               I also realize that I am not such a good fellow as I pretend to be; or serve sermons on Mindfulness on Facebook.  Negative states of mind like anger, hate and outrage are indeed addictive states of mind. I do observe my mind that these remain as LOW ENERGY thoughts as possible for it is POISON and fill the day with humour than out to shock and upset people who are better placed in society than me (they can hurt me in real ways for they do wield some influence that I don't). In the end I realize that life serves me a menu that I must have cooked for myself. Let me work these transient states as much as possible. 

Stock lessons

#125 post

In December, I knew nothing about stocks.  But I had a fool’s courage: what the mutual fund experts can deliver, I will do it better for myself. They have no flexibility, they are burdened by huge overheads and cost of running a fund; these are advantages that an individual enjoys and if he/she is smart they can make it count. Also remember, mutual fund managers roll in luxury and fat salaries though you never see any FUND increase in value by more than 12-15%. They are not accountable to anyone; no one ever gets sacked for incompetence and an investor only becomes wiser after the damage is done. So I said to myself: I will rather lose my money from my own incompetence than any MBA, sugary, two suit of coat and boot.

            Thank God, destiny supports the brave and I chanced (my guardian angels at work) on Online Trading Academy and since then my investments have some rational basis. I have learnt so many lessons that it is worth recording if only for my own reference.

a)     Zee Entertainment: I bought 1000 shares for 434 and my heart was dreading when the price hit 420. All my reason said SELL IT while another foolish part of mine (I have some very foolish genes nailed in my brain with a glue thicker than Fevicol) said SEE IT AS ADVENTURE and let it float.  The stock fell precipitously. I was reduced to the metaphoric rabbits caught on headlights (which an idiom dictionary describes as both surprised and frightened) as Zee tumbled from 420 to 334. I was dazed as though someone hit my head as my losses were hitting a ONE LAKH mark. I sold it at 334. Then the price recovered to 354 and I bought 1000 shares hoping it would recover. It went further downhill as I sold them for 334 for another 20 k loss. At the end of the day, my portfolio bled “-1.25 lacs”. I did not lose any sleep; I wasn't over-dramatic refusing to be a nervous wreck or feel a burning sensation in the pit of the stomach But one part of my mind cried like a non-stop broken record: Sathya the foolish Sathya, the Sathya the fool who thinks he is wise. That I am not as flippant on money matters came as a very pleasant feeling and realization to me.  Lesson: When a stock jumps off a cliff, sell immediately. I need not be stubbornly foolish to insist on losing my trousers and shirts and undergarments even though watching a slide collapse with a thud is exciting! The lesson is simple: Never buy stocks when a stock is on a free fall; wait for the dust to settle, say wait at least ONE trading day to recover before you have a natural greedy instinct of a trader to buying good stocks at rock bottom prices.

b)     L&T results: L&T declared their Q3 results over a weekend and they were most impressive. The stock which was trading at 1285 had a pre-market opening at 1295. It rose dramatically to 1330 before sliding back to its natural slow steady range at 1285. I did not know anything about pre-market opening and the day's trading only begins after the prices are finalized by 9:08 am.  But I gained a learning: have eagle-eyed vision when a company is on the verge of declaring Quarterly and Annual results. The stocks do react dramatically and there is money to be made in half a day’s trading. Same thing happened to Bata India. At times the results are so bad that the stock loses a third of its price like Tata Motors – so be a little cautious as you pick these stocks from RESULTS declaring sprees.

c)      Cummins India: I bought 100 shares at 850 and it kept falling and I kept laughing - remember that foolish Sathya who gloats he can move mountains single-handedly  - knowing well that sometimes it has to reverse. It fell to 750 and I thought, “I made money on other trades and so it is only a 10 k loss. Let this stock be my learning experience.” That is when I realized the value of a STOP LOSS. Now anytime my stock goes below a point, I have no hesitation selling it for a loss. It is better to shave your mustache rather than have your head tonsured.

d)     IIFL holdings: I did the curve analysis, the trend was upside, and the Demand Zone and Supply zone perfect for a classic case study demonstration. I bought 1000 shares at 350 and watched it intently for a couple of days. Once it touched 330, I was despondent for I did not wish to have another Cummins on hand. So when the stock reached 350, I sold 500 and at once found peace with a thought: At 1000 shares, a drop of Rs. 10 is a minus 10 k while at 500 shares, a drop of Rs, 20 is just minus 10 and so there is more tolerance built-in, more patience and less of emotions at play. I watched IIFL touch Rs. 410, as it started to slide back I sold them at 407 when my calculations showed 420 to be a good selling zone. Later the price kept climbing past 450 and it is then I realized that I should not GLOAT when the prices rise, I need to have the patience of a SAINT and wait for the stock to hit my selling zone. This was a IGNITE recommendation where they pegged this stock for a Rs. 550 range; I was foolish to check out early.  I had a good chance to make a profit of 1 lakh instead I retired at 25 k. Lesson: As a weekly trader, a stock will not dramatically shift its direction in a huff; even if there is a dramatic rise or a fall it has to reach equilibrium in a day or so. There are no percentage points to be won for HURRY and IMPATIENCE. Rather one needs to be cool as cucumber with a ready supply of nerves, sumptuous greed and wits and a confidence of a trickster to realize that the last card is yet to drawn. Lesson: Sell without any labored analysis when a stock is in free-fall but when a stock is a fast climber then wait and wait to sell. Don’t be greedy to sell in haste just because you have caught a salmon. If you stay a bit longer, you may even find half a dozen. Again metaphorically for I am a strict veggie. 

e)     Wipro: I bought 500 shares at 261 and there was a huge supply as the stock was stuck at the 355 range like a tortoise for a week; only sideways upward and no falling off the platform in either direction. I sold it for 259 prematurely between 9:15 and 10:00 am which is not a bright idea at all (Wipro did reach 264 during the course of the day which for a tortoise Wipro is a hundred metres dash at Olympics). Wait for the market to stabilize for the day; the opening hours is always a jostle and a shove. Lesson: learn to wait before acting can be a golden rule of trading. Remember he who waits gets to laugh at the end; never the nervy jerky kinds. 
f)     Bharti Airtel: Every stock has a certain personality but don’t get lulled into a false sense of security. I picked up this stock at Rs. 300 and held it for a fortnight just for fun and room for an observation value. This stock just did not move, I thought it was another ITC (the most colourless and personality-less stock that I know) and sold it for Rs. 310.The next month this stock had a turbojet acceleration as it raced to Rs. 350 in a couple of days. It is like the worst dullard in a class suddenly topping an international quiz show. 

  The primary motivation of trading is NOT GREED or make money in a hurry but learning. This is a game of speculation and probabilities and there is set pattern to a way stock markets behave. For the educated and trained, every price point is an interplay of demand and supply. I am glad that I am still in the green; my portfolio may be growing at 5% per month and when I learn some of the virtues highlighted here; I might even get to the 10% gains per month which is PROFESSIONAL TRADER levels. Then I will jump out of my skin and kiss passerby; broadcast it over BBC and CNN and Doordarshan and all the air waves. I am glad the lessons are coming in fast and thick; time to make them count and make money using my wits and analysis. Finally I realize that Sathya is not all that foolish as time and lessons do come on the way.  Thanks to OTA, those online classes in February and beginner's luck. 

Ratschlag

# 124 blog post

It’s a beautiful German word for “ADVISING” as TH Iyer mama explained one day while at the walks at Eliot’s Beach. He said, “The Germans consider ADVISING as akin to beating someone with a stick. The least a German would say by way of a conversation is – If I were you, I would think or act like this……..but then you are not me and leave it at that. It is a very open society where individual freedom is respected.” I said, “In my case ADVISING others is like beating myself with a stick.   Self-flagellation. Self-mortification. Masochistic. I have been trying to drill some sense into my sisters' heads and they just don’t bother.”

            This story is so interesting that it does give me the right to break the 2019 resolution of no writing on the Bad four. I don't want to deny myself and the rest of the reading world for there is a powerful lesson embedded here. 

            First a disclaimer: Of the Bad four, my mother and the Sindhi (my ex-girlfriend) are like those documentaries that movie screen would show in black & white era where Nehru is seen shaking hands at the airports with some world leader while descending a plane. Meaning these are fossilized characters in my head; these two cause as much nuisance as the memories of my father who passed away almost three decades back – so diffused as though from my previous births.

Bad 4: My mother

My mother is a diseased gene at work. She has not learnt one life lesson even as the clock shows over 78 years. This is a rotten egg at birth but my only grouse is “she had ample time and freedom to learn yet was adamant to insist on her nuisance ways.” For the last 15 years she has been on psychotropic drugs (any moodswings or depressions is symptomatic of a mind rolling in too much hate and fear) and I would tell her often with the patience of a saint, “It is time that you learnt something; your daughters are married and worse still your grandsons have got married. There is no payoff being a gold medal in stupidity anymore.” Her immediate retort would be, “I am useless to everyone, I would rather die than suffer.” I would tell her then as per the usual sequence, “You seem to think of death as some kind of relief from pain and a paradise where you can behave as you wish. The sufferings on earth get multiplied a thousand times after death. A peaceful mind is a gift while an agitated one will only cause misery either while living or gone.”  She would blank my reasons out and next day, it is same old story of fear, grouses, and complaints.

Bad 3: THE Sindhi

I truly loved this woman with the whole of my being in 2007- 08 and only drifted away after she announced her engagement to another man. Even if she had taken that decision, the least she could have done is snap our ties with some tact, straight forwardness and a contrite attitude like, “Sathya, I am marrying another man. I am really sorry for walking out on you. As you say, I am returning your books and images, deleting all your mails kinds.” At least this would have been small concessions and saving crumbs at parting. I would have returned that gesture with “let her fly away” in peace and without a guilty heart.

            Since I got no apology, I pasted –served boiled and fried like noodle strands -her reputation for a while in 2010 before a threat of defamation and police complaint got me to halt in the self-destructive fire (there is an amazing insight here: When a heart is attacked with hatred and non-love, it gets so addictive to take revenge and set on a course to defame and maybe even choke the throat).  Years passed and I used to think during my darkest days, “Maybe the Sindhi got it right, it is better she is happy with a new man otherwise she would have to suffer alongside especially in the 2015 and 2016 years.”

            Then MINDFULNESS happened and I realized that the Sindhi suffers from a character problem. She had broken one of the five silas of Vipassana (no stealing, no murder, no lies and gossip, no intoxicants and this one is important NO PROMISCUITY) which means Buddha’s teaching no longer applies to her. Observing the five silas is foundation course; kinder garden level. The least she could have done was to write after a decade, “Sathya, I am sorry. I was your first date and first love. I hope you are happy.” Instead she threatens me with legal notice when she finds my blog posts besmirching her supposed reputation. Look at this, the truth does not hurt but loss of reputation does. Who is she trying to fool? Herself?  Husband? Colleagues? Is truth and honesty so far lost in the wilderness of life that they mean nothing as compared to one’s monstrous and erroneous self-image? There is another insight here: One does not think of any sweet memories associated with this pest, the mind only remembers the pain and sorrow this pussy inflicted on me. This is a character I can never forgive and sadly not forget too (unless I fall in love again). 

            That attitude saves me further for I am doubly and triply convinced that such a rat is not fit to share my cot in any capacity. Since then, each time my mind thinks of the SINDHI I feel like in the toilet and wash my hands with Dettol hands wash.  Good riddance to bad rubbish. Mine is a very large heart easily given to forgiveness but she would not give me a chance for those nobler feelings to flow! Such a crook.  Exactly the way Pi felt in “The life of Pi” when the Bengal tiger walks into the forest after that boat drifts into a shore without stopping for a second glance.

Bad – 1&2

Both my mother and the Sindhi are losses in my balance sheet account of life. But both my sisters are working capital accounts. I have to be in contact for we still have a mother as a joint responsibility.  Both are graduates, both are worldly wise unlike my mother, both are rich monetarily and family wise but again no minds or hearts are narrower.

            I used to lament often like a broken record to my eldest sister “V” that I have not seen a festival in three decades. She would hear it and let my angst go from one ear to another even as the years started piling up. 18 months ago I wrote a blog post with my litany of sins on both “V” and “L”. Again no effect! I started to circulate these blog posts to my first cousins with a copy; again no effect.

            Then these events happened in a sequence. I was bound for Delhi in the middle of August, 2018 and invited “V” who said, “I am scared to visit Besant nagar for there is no knowing how you will behave.” It felt like she had hit me with a rod as I asked for clarifications, “Do you fear your physical safety or emotional well-being?” Getting no answer, I was livid and wrote a email to “L’s industrialist brother-in-law” saying how cheap and gross both my sisters are.  “L” is hypersensitive when it comes to the industrial magnate for her husband works in one of their concerns and they are easily one of the richest people in the city. “L” could have picked up a phone or visited me, try to reconcile but she did nothing. It is then you realize that tamasic people like the Sindhi, V and L have no moral fibre. 

            Then in December as the house sale proceeds were going on, I hear “V” saying on a landline, “I am so nervous of my son getting a work permit in America that I am spending sleepless nights,” which gave me an opening to ask, “How come you care so much for your son and not squander a minuscule in my direction?” Again no response and this time I was so livid that I wrote to her brother-in-law and also L’s industrial magnate innocently asking, “Are siblings required to care for a brother in this age and time?”

            Then this social experiment happened as I wrote emails to V and her entire family of sons and daughter-in-law explaining how elder sisters should behave. I gave examples of our paternal second cousin Jayashree who tends to her brother who is afflicted with muscular dystrophy with daily visits from her residence in Virugambakkam to Ashok nagar. I also rattled out other instances of a Usha, our maternal cousin, coming to the aid of her estranged brother after 25 years when his wife deserted him or a Radha who went to America leaving her infant daughter in Chennai to supervise the treatment of a brother in pneumonia. Again no response.

            Then I threatened them with article features in Tamil newspapers and magazine or even writing to the PMO on such depravity (which dictionary defines as moral corruption and wickedness) and again no response.

            For those still fogged about my issues, let me reiterate – both my sisters had not invited a very vulnerable brother for three decades nor visited him at my house for an instance of extreme selfishness and self-centredness to a Arctic chill level,

            My cook Thangam wanted to speak to “V” to drill some lessons on Family responsibilities. Even the grocer Muthu and the milk maid Lakshmi felt outraged enough to heap abuses on them. My friend Arun Kailasam gets visibly annoyed anytime I talk about my sisters. He was so upset at me for attending my nephew’s wedding that he stopped talking to me for a while. My neighbours and beach-goers would spit at my siblings for this prolonged lapse of duty. In fact I wanted to write to their alumnus KEYS HIGH SCHOOL for refund of school fees and to OSMANIA UNIVERSITY for revoking their degree certifications. And then I learnt this lesson – I went around trying to drill sense to them instead I got this lesson drilled into my head for a very powerful insight: you cannot teach others using threats or ridicule or shaming them or sarcasm or even at the point of gun. Both my sisters are like those cobras; you will die of exhaustion beating them with sticks but nothing happens to them.  A simple apology like, “Sathi, we were lost in our own worlds. I am sorry and tell us how we can involve you in festivals or when you fall sick.” A simple acknowledgement of this fact would have saved both sides from a whale of misery. As I told TH Iyer mama, “I do not possess the German sense of individual freedom” and my lesson is “Advising others is like beating myself with a stick.” There is no percentage gain here, only losses.  There is a corollary here: Bad - 4 was instrumental in killing her husband, Bad -3 in betraying a man's love by dumping him are CHARACTER MISTAKES while Bad - 1 & 2 are ATTITUDE mistakes of a WRONG CONDITIONING of the mind and very poor sense of PERSONAL VALUES. As for me, I too earn my freedom from the Bad four finally. The world is far and wide and there are very many sensible and decent blokes out there.

February so far

Post #123 on Dauntless

This has been one of the hectic phases of my life in a long while. Each day feels sort of rushed – something I actually don’t relish – but it’s a novelty for a man who eats, sleeps a lot, and aloof for a recluse monk existence.

            Hectic or frenzied gets in activities and people. This has been a kind month so far. Let me jot down the daily routines for FEB:

a)     Online Trading Academy (OTA): I joined the OTA classes on equity trading and I am loving these lessons conducted so ably by Mr. Fahim Ansari. This is an online classroom program from 11:00 -1:00 each day where we analyze graphs for a curve analysis (should you BUY or SELL decision), trend (SHORT OR LONG) and finally mark the supply and demand zones on lower time frame charts. Three months ago, I only knew the spelling of the word STOCK and now I am more than a novice. I feel that I have in me to make money consistently. Watch this space for rest of the year and you might see emergence of Sathya the trader who is precocious amassing a good easy fortune at the bourses. It is TRADING that gives me the excitements of the day; or else I would be worried sick that my capital would chip away southwards. Also it does away the need to join the work force for which I have a distaste and keep a reptile length distance. 

b)     SPARRC: When I sold M90 and I got an advance of 5 lacs on 12^th October, the first thing I did was consult the prodigious Dr. Kannan Pugazhendi at Alwarpet and start the REHAB sessions at the Besant Nagar centre. Now four months I feel that this 50 k is the best investment I have made in a long, long time. I now walk without a limp; so many friends say, “God, you suddenly  appear tall and have the gait of an army man.” I must thank Sukanya the most for this transformation; Loka and Protima deserve a special mention. Doing these daily exercises, I feel a “10 years” younger. The body feels light; one can never overestimate the importance of daily round of vigorous workouts. I feel like a wrestler ready to charge for a duel – physical fitness is indeed the starting base for emotional and psychological well being.

I always love each time Arun Kailasam visits me or connects over phone. He interviewed me for a CONTENT position in Nov 2013 and the first thing he said on that day on shaking my hands was, “I read couple of blogs that you mentioned on your LINKEDIN site. I wish I could write 5% of your ability some day.” That was beginning of a good friendship and he makes a point to connect at least “once a year” basis. He was at my residence last week; he dragged me to FAB INDIA at Besant nagar for CURTAINS. He insisted that I purchase a KURTA, my first. I feel special interacting with him; he has tons of banter and cheers and I feel as alive and light hearted as a sophomore graduate.  

            Thanks to Sanjay the HAPPINESS CATALYST I met the BANYAN team on a content opening. I loved the travel on the CHENNAI METRO (now Anna nagar feels so close, I used to dread visiting this farthest end of town which the metro shortens to a 20 min ride) boarding a LITTLE MOUNT station. I did not even know how to change platforms, a young railway employee pointed out to the downward flight of stairs. I also loved the announcements inside the train; only in TAMIL and ENGLISH. I feel so much at home at Chennai that I easily banter with a bus or an auto driver. Arun rightly observed, “Sathya, you are dyed-in-the-wool CHENNAIITE. You cannot be happy anywhere, say a Mumbai or Delhi. You need to hear TAMIL spoken on the streets, you need the IDLIES and DOSA and FILTER COFFEE around the corner and you have been spoilt by the attentions you get on the ELIOTS BEACH.” I told him, “Righto, you have an eagle eye for observations.” Going to Banyan did have a sobering effect on me; we have much to thank heavens for keeping our sanity in the storms of this digital age. 

            I promised not to write about the BAD FOUR of my life but for this very important insight: The GROSSEST people on earth are those who SCORN LEARNING OPPORTUNITIES and NEVER APOLOGIZE. I don’t want to say another word for Dhamma Mani sir has promised to slap a 10 k fine. 😁😁

            I also relished T H Iyer mama’s comment as he wrote on Whatsapp, “Sathya, do attend the FOSWL meet as my son is fond of meeting you. He is travelling to America tomorrow.” Iyer mama gives me genuine affection that I lap up with glee. Lakhina and Neetu suggested that I celebrate my 50^th birthday at Delhi and I feel up to it. Vivek has promised me company at Rajaji National Park and arrange for my visit to a Rishikesh, Haridwar and Mussoorie. Then catch up with friends at Delhi and also tick off one item from my bucket list of “travelling by Delhi-Mumbai Rajdhani.” I am a train freak. I will take a flight to Delhi for onward; have the thrill of the Rajdhani and take a flight from Mumbai on the return. As the Arabs would say for a bit of cautions of any human plans: INSHALLAH. God willing. 

            I had a drink with Ranga and this is beginning to have a monthly run to it. We meet at MARIS and it is a good drinking hole and the best restaurant in the city for dinner. The service quotient here is to be seen to be believed. I also get in an hour of guitar - I take enormous pride here- and this feels to be one the best phases of my life. For once, I am optimistic of making money on TRADING, physical fitness and guitar makes my day something to look forward to. God keep this momentum going as far as possible, I don’t want to change a thing including the prospect of a whirlwind romance with Marilyn Monroe or who’s that female lead in “It’s a wonderful world” Donna Reed (I also have a crush on Andrea Corr, Susan Sarandon, Geena Davis and so many actually).

Rewriting January Memories

I am learning a lot on MINDFULNESS lately.  Mindfulness has never been a theory for me to flaunt but something to practice; a THOUGHT tool to REWIRE the mind circuitry. This month I got to hear a lot of Rick Hanson’s 12 pillars of resilience and I have gained a few insights foremost of which is “our brain are wired to sense danger, we are genetically predisposed to mistrust and be suspicious of others motives. It takes a conscious learning to imbibe the values of love and faith in the mind circuitry.” You do that by landing the positive experiences long enough on your mind. 

            That really got me acting as I attempt writing my January memories in the light of this premise – let me record POSITIVE experiences in the month, let me stay in that feeling so that the psyche records it and learns to build mental reserves of patience and faith. These are big words and so let me simplify: when you have a positive experience, stay with that feeling longer so that it records in the mind.

            So much for introduction and now let me start working.

T H Iyer mama had advised that I should light a lamp before 10’o clock on 1^st January at the new house. So I hurried my cook at 9:45 to the new place. I placed a couple of God’s statues and frames and flowers and agarbathi and all that. I tried lighting a lamp but the wind was a bit strong and got nowhere despite two strikes on the matchbox. Thangam mami made one attempt and she got the flame long enough to light the lamp. I felt thankful that such a morally scrupulous person was there for the occasion and I closed my eyes for this prayer: let this new home bring happiness that M90/4 denied. Lord, I am a small fly and desperate for tailwinds. Let my life be blessed with your grace – better earnings and maybe romance for my life could do with some drama. Otherwise this is getting to feel like a monastery.

            Shifting took its toll. I rang Ranga in panic saying, “I desperately need a drink.” He said, “Come to Maris on 5^th January on a Saturday. I am free that day.” That drink at Maris not only quenched my thirst for whisky but also smoothened a lot of nerves after the shifting headaches.  We also had a drinking session at the new residence where Ranga dished out a startling definition of life: It is an opportunity of a journey to test out your beliefs with no promise of a reward.  I loved the words: OPPORTUNITY, JOURNEY, TESTING YOUR BELIEF, NO EXPECTATIONS OF REWARDS. No wonder I rate him so high for an original thinker. Then on the following weekend he narrated the story of AHALYA and RENUKA (mother of Parasurama who killed his mother on his father’s commands). He said: Ahalya was vain about her beauty that even Indra lusted for her. Despite her marriage to Gautama Muni, she was proud and arrogant (two qualities a woman must never imbibe for they drown them in the river of life to a mathematical certainty). When Indra violated her, she played along but she realized after the act was done: what have you done? You have completely destroyed me, nay I have destroyed myself totally. She did not offer any excuse, rather submitted herself to her husband’s curse. Gautama Muni was so forgiving as he said, " What you have committed is indeed a grave sin. I will show the way to penance and purify your past. You will turn to rock and be undisturbed in your meditations without having to hear to the viciousness of the world. Meditate in solitude and in time you will be purified and I will accept you.” What a husband for magnanimity!  With Ranga, one picks up so many things in a conversation.

            In January I spoke to Ashutosh for a rich harvest. His movie “Ganga’s first born” was truly an amazing piece of work. Vikas Bagga reverted to my call, got to speak with his wife Sabina (our batchmate) and Deepti (they are neighbours in Gurgaon) in decades. Neetu is caring and friendly on the phones and mails. I get a lot of warmth from IMT friends and I make a conscious record of them given that I circulate with so few here in Besant Nagar. Now that I have stopped going to the beach for the morning walks on the advice of SPARRC, I appreciate with gratitude any friendly vibes I can collect.

            Once Dr. Nandakumar (my only acquaintance to him is in the Beach) who saw me smoking, he urged me in a strong tone, “Sathya, smoking is no good. I would not interfere if you are addicted to alcohol or go weak in your dalliances with women. Of all the vices, this is just not on. Promise me not to touch this nicotine stick again.” I promised mentally saying,” Let me try out a TOBACCO FREE February before I can take long term resolves. So far, clean and I hope to be clean for the rest of the month. I see this advice coming from an unexpected quarter as a divine message, so let me pay heed here.

            This Sunday, 3^rd February, I met Dr. Rajaram who really has a key to my laughter bones. I was telling him about my learnings from Rick Hanson’s book that he heard in silence, actually I was shooting him with a machine gun on these insights. I am so excited in his company that I share all my learnings with a dog’s enthusiasm and he is quite patient and forgiving. He introduced me to this friend who said, “I am a professional gambler at the horse races. In my youth I used to own horses but now I restrict myself to betting. I do earn quite a sum considering that I have spent most of life on the turf.” I ejaculated with a gusto,” Gosh, please take me to the course. I want to have a feel.” He said, “Certainly but on one condition; you will not place a bet. This is one place I have seen many lose their mental bearings.” Rajaram said, “Sathya, he considers himself a mindfulness guru, will not descend to betting. He is there to absorb and write a blog otherwise I will cut his balls.” No wonder I love this man and his banter.

            I also made a list of all the happy events of 2019 so far and there are 7 listings and from now my blog posts on Dauntlesssathya would try to capture that positive feel. So there is some massive learning here. As a writer I try to balance between experience and learning and also watch out for "is there anything for a reader to pick up on."  So let me stay POSITIVE on my writing at least in 2019. 

Jaded January

#121 Post in Dauntless

A writer cannot resist same letter nouns or verbs or adjectives on titles; the dictionary informs me that one of the meanings of jades is “worn out”. January was that kind of month.

            Transporting the sofa set from one building to the other was some adventure. I have friends who go trekking to different unexplored peaks, my adventure quotient is reduced to sofa set shifting. But the funny thing is the mind goes through similar exhilaration and despairs. “Shifting headaches” was one blog post I earned for my labours.

            Yesterday I was speaking to Vikas my batchmate and we are connecting after 26 years and I said, “I am a writer perhaps a self-claimed best creative writer in India. Don’t get impressed for it nets me no earnings at all. I have a choice to think of myself as a best writer if only to delude myself and shored up self-esteems.” I loved this thought: Either I can look at myself as a colossal failure at three months short of 50 or I can look at myself as a hero. I choose the latter perspective for it serves me better but the point is this: We can change our self-image as many times as we want to suit our current advantage.  It’s no good telling myself that I am a wimp though it might ring true to a dictionary definition rather I say “What a great trier I am. What a great soldier of life?”

            This month was brutal lessons in TRADING. I made 30 k in Infosys, 20 k in Sun Pharma before losing over 1.3 lacs on Zee Entertainment. Entirely my stupidity as avarice took over reason. I should have sold Zee at a stop loss at 420 rather I saw it sink to 300 and I lost my shirt in a hour’s time. But these are early days and this taught me a lot of lessons and the first and foremost is PROTECT YOUR CAPITAL. The second is “Your profit earnings come in increments while one big wave can drown you.” The stock market plays fair and it brings out your personality. Now I go slow on trading for February.

            I had a viral fever last week and that got me dispirited and glum. Being alone on such days feels the full weight of abandonment, the fever recedes but the mind takes longer to come back after reaching this bottom thought.

            I listen to Sadhguru a lot these days. He is truly one giant of an intellect with opinion in every field. He brings deeper and newer perspectives.  Very few people make me think and revisit my premises, Sadhguru does it all the time.

            I am loving the new house. Being on the second floor, this is more a vantage point to watch traffic and life below on to a busy street. It’s breezier too.  There are no crow nuisances and at this height, I am nearer the tree tops. Also there is much less of vehicular pollution and so I can sweep and mop the floors once a fortnight as opposed to once a week.

            It does hurt that my life has now been reduced to trading in stock market for my earnings and engagements in the day. I would prefer a soft skills training or even mental health counseling. But then nature does not flow the waters of my life to my shore rather it floats and kicks me to a flotsam. I like this humble side of me; it’s taken decades to reach this wisdom of NO RESISTANCE to the PRESENT MOMENT. I will accept whatever comes to my hand and then try to work things around.

            I saw the movie ACCIDENTAL PRIME MINISTER and rather liked it. Not Hollywood class but it had enough to show what happens in the corridors of power. It also reinforced my natural distaste of Congress and Sonia Gandhi; they mean only evil to this nation.

            This month also served me this jaded experience. YOU CANNOT FORCE WISDOM ON ANYONE EVEN AT THE POINT OF A GUN.  I tried my best to drive sense in my siblings through persuasion, reason, threats, shaming, education, ridicule and nothing worked and only stoked antagonism and animosity. This is a great beautiful lesson: LEARNING IS ALWAYS A SOLITARY ACTIVITY. Only you can learn and only you choose from whom and what experiences in life to learn. At times it gets so frustrating that you feel like drilling a hole in someone’s scalp hoping and praying they get a whiff of wisdom but you only end up hurting yourself more.

            Another is this comforting thought: Lots of IMT batch mates read these musings. I was so happy connecting to Ashutosh Mishra yesterday and he has an unquenchable thirst for Ganga River and trekking unexplored mountains. It’ rare to meet people who have passionate hobbies and it’s a sort of a kindred feeling. His achievements are much greater; he conquers mountain peaks untrammeled by human beings in the last 200 -300 years. My only feat in comparison is moving a soft set from one building to another with the same level of heightened tensions and emotions. Nature certainly chooses its winners alright.

Why blog? Why so personal??

I will keep this short with zero waffle.  Writers, mediocre ones especially, fill reams of pages much like school kids filling examination sheets with the mistaken belief that longer the essays the better the marks.

            Why blog? First, to store memories. I have my writings from early 1990s and when I read them today they give me electric shocks as it were. Nothing captures a moment than a written word; it takes you back to that day.  I was so enthralled in Bahrain during 2003 days that I would write 5 pages of notes every day. When I read them 15 years later, I relive those memories. They are not dimmed by time but it’s as vivid as it happened yesterday. So that’s one reason for writing.

            Two, my story of life is damn interesting. If I had a MNC job, a careerist woman for a wife, and all my kids in the best convents then this is the best what life can offer. But these don’t make for interesting lives. If you are Vice-President or Managing Director then the number of people you are scared is more than a fresher; there is so much more at stake and so much conformity expected. But my life is damn interesting – a man who suffered parental emotional abuses as a kid, moodswings in adulthood, discovering spirituality, heart surgery at 29, romance with a Sindhi woman (which is the North pole to my South Indian genes), almost did myself in in 2016, discovered Vipassana a decade back and Mindfulness couple of years back. Again I reiterate my life is so damn interesting. There are not very many people in this world who have not celebrated any festivals for three decades; there is heroism in my tale. There are not very many who have healed bipolar without family support or without mood-stabilizing drugs.

            Why go so personal? I only write superficially. I have had some really dark moments in my life that I am scared to write. For instance, I still can’t get to write my near death experience (NDE) after my heart surgery in 1998, or my meeting different miracle men in 2015-16 years when suicidal thoughts floated on the surface and underneath, to near self-inflicted death in Theni 2016 and so many very, very dark experiences. I have not written most of these tales for I have not processed them as yet. And even if I did write they will not be published in a blog forum.

            Writing heals. Writing gives perspective. Nothing in the world captures a person’s moods and times than the written word. Writing if honestly done is a study of movement of time and space and aspirations. Writing also is the celebration of human emotions. Writing inspires for quite often the experience of one person is the history and pathos of mankind. We don’t live in numbers of GDP and population density but we all live in terms of our daily experiences – the thoughts we think, the feelings we feel, and frozen emotions that so helplessly drives all over lives around. We are a universe to ourselves no less interesting and exciting than the cosmos. We are the oceans and mountains and the valleys and the storms and the depressions as we navigate in our search for peace and happiness. We are verily the creators of the universe not just a passing visitor. That is why we still read a Harriet Beecher Stowe, AJ Cronin, laugh at the antics of Wooster in a PG Wodehouse, follow the trails of a Sherlock Holmes and get inspired by a Alexander the Great who believed he had conquered all of earth 300 years before Christ. 

            So that is why I blog. Standing in front of a mirror and my honesty with words gives the rest of the world a chance to look at life’s possibilities. Life is infinitely interesting in its permutations and combinations; there is so much of energy and passions. Do I need say more?