The world is a fabric of memories.
Ask any Indian kid what his worst nightmare is. The thing that makes him want to pull out his hair with agony. Gnash his teeth with frustration. A thing so evil that its akin to being boiled in the Burning Pot Of Hell.
Okay, you may get the general varied response.
Its like a Bells curve.
Stuck in one extreme of the varied Indian spectrum are the Smart Iyer Boys and the TamBrahms. On the other end are the Social Media Twerkers. And in the middle, Me and a few other million Indians. So much for standing out, huh?
Wait till you hear our nightmares
You might expect a Smart Iyer boy’s nightmare to be like this.
This might be a little clichéd but bear with me.
Aiyo! What if I get 98% in an exam?! The very idea!
Well, TamBrahms? What do I say about them? I’m pretty sure this might be what most TamBrahms dreams look like (no offense to anybody)
And don’t forget the Potatoes.
Very very important.
Whoever thought of a Curd Rice without Maanga Oorgai and Potatoes? Sheesh.
And then come the Netizens. These people (I would love to use the word ‘Literally’ here, but since I don’t want to face the wrath of a few Grammar Nazis…) figuratively spend their life on the SocialMediaverse.
Brought a dress?
Post a status on Facebook.
Baked a cake?
Tweet about it.
Took a walk in the park?
They do every single thing in their lives with the goal of sharing it to the SocialMediaverse.
And if they don’t get appreciation, in the form of ‘likes’ they bawl it out.
This is their nightmare. Not being socially accepted on this pseudo ‘Social Media’ platform.
And then comes Me and the million Indians.
Do you know what terrorises me?
The thing I absolutely loathe?
*runs away and tries ties the rope to the fan*
TAMIL AND HINDI SERIALS.
GOD. SAVE. ME.
You may think I’m overreacting (You’ve never seen a serial have you? 🙂 GO TO YOUR GRANDMAS PLACE NOW)
You may emphatise with me (Join the club bro T.T)
But what can we hapless citizens do about it?
Want to watch a Cricket Match?
No 🙂 Your Grandma’s watching a serial 🙂
Want to study?
No 🙂 A woman is bawling the Pacific Ocean in the TV 🙂
Accompanying your grandma to the market?
Good boy 🙂 Now listen to your grandma harp about some random serial to the Maami on the street for half-an-hour 🙂
Absolute Torture on Earth.
And the thing about this is that It. doesn’t. End! Some serials go for about 1000 episodes and more than 5 years.
5 years of cricket matches gone down the drain x) 5 years of Torture 🙂
And once that 5 years end, do you get relief? No! Kolangal ends? Metti Oli comes. That ends? Saravanan Meenatchi comes. They’re not crying enough? You have Uttaran.
And some of these serials feature 2, maybe 3 generations in a family! And they ALL cry.
I mean isn’t this taking Genetics and Heredity too seriously? Hell, Tear ducts are not even an Inheritable characteristic.
All I can say is that I can relate to the millions of Indians out there, suffering.
To their angst. Their pain. The immense agony.
Vote for Jayalalitha guys.
At least you can hope to get a free TV.
This is hilarious! x’D
Two years ago, Harish and yours truly were inspired by someone whose every utterance enriches the creative commons of Indian culture. We decided to call ourselves Parodesy Noise, which to Tamil ears sounds like an American way of saying “Canines from across the ocean” and also suggests, at the same time, a focus on parody while musically remixing things many people consider must not be remixed.
Now, for the first time, I am going to take you through the creative process behind our latest single. For me, Parodesy Noise is what comes out of a heartfelt joy I experience when losing myself in the creative process. It’s not the relevance, popularity or artistic class of the output that matters as much as how much fun I had while combining humour and music.
The band is a three-man duo, with Harish, yours truly and T Rajendar (a.k.a TR) in spirit.
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Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.
~J.K Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)
It’s the thing that differentiates us Human Beings from Animals… Or is it?
As Rowling says, Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. However does that automatically mean that Language as a whole consists of only words? Or does Language, exist outside the plain enclosure of words? Is it something more? Or is it just that- Words?
This is my attempt to find out.
I’ve looked across the Net, and I’ve found loads of definitions for the word ‘Language’, some arbitrary and some carefully thought out.
However according to me, and I’m going to use this definition as the premise on which this entire post will be based on, Language is ‘A medium which helps in communication’.
This is my definition and a simple one at that. However I believe that this definition encompasses the word ‘Language’ entirely.
So, back to my questions.
1) Is Language entirely composed of words or is it something more?
2) Is it only limited to Human Beings?
Most people would say that Language constantly evolves.
Language is immutable.
It is Constant.
It has existed since Time immemorial and will exist forevermore.
For no matter what anyone says, nobody can refute the fact that, We, as living, sentient beings are Social Animals. And Language, is what makes us who we are.
Without it, we are stripped of our very personality, stripped of what we primarily are; without it We cease to be We.
Language can be thought of as a huge being of its own.
It has a lot of channels through which we can access it by.
English. Tamil. German. French. Motion. Love. Hate. Affection…. these are all channels through which we can access Language.
The channels may change! However Language doesn’t.
And what does Language help us with?
This is why it’s a Constant.
It’s a connection of souls in its raw, primary form.
And in its basic, flawless, naked form it doesn’t need words.
Affection, Anger, Love all connect souls with one another without words. This is because these emotions are the pure, primal forms of Language.
And what’s more, this Language isn’t limited to us!
Every single living creature in this world has been hardwired to communicate! Plants and Animals communicate through motion.
Doesn’t an Amoeba move towards a drop of water? To those who notice, they’ll correctly assume that the Amoeba is in need of water. Doesn’t a plant move towards sunlight? To those who notice, they’ll correctly assume that it needs sunlight for its sustenance.
These may be small things, but to those who notice, it’s an act of communication! The Amoeba or plant may not want to communicate to a specific living entity. However to those who notice, they can glean volumes of data from this apparent projection of its current state through motion.
Every single living being in this world has the overwhelming desire to communicate! From inconsequential things such as motion to a amazingly complex thing like speech, every living entity transcends boundaries and communicates!
We are hardwired for communication! This is what makes us! And this is why it connects seemingly unrelated beings together.
Words are not necessary.
Being yourself is the Key.
Language is immutable.
It matters not what someone is born, but what they turn out to be.
~J.K Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)
You must have already jumped to the conclusion that this particular post must be somewhat of a philosophical nature after reading the quote above.
Yes it is x)
I’m a Potterhead :’)
I’m proud to admit it, and like all Potterheads, I analyse every shred of text, every fact, every single theory from the Potterverse, dig deep into it and correlate it with our daily lives.
As I came across the aforementioned quote in the book, my mind suddenly came up with a new perspective on Life.
Okay. Admit it. We all, at some point in our lives, have grappled with the amazingly simple-looking yet utterly mind-boggling question of
Who am I?!
Well, I’m not going to offer a philosophy for THAT question xP
That’s just a teensy bit too much on my Philosophy-making abilities xP
However I’m going to try and offer answers, or better a new perspective, for two other related questions;
1) What makes us who we are?
2) Why is it so difficult to change our personality, habits and behaviour as we progressively grow up? (You know when all our pattis and aunties and even our parents say its difficult to change a particular irritating habit? Or when they say that they can’t learn anything new? Like, just WHY? )
So here comes my perspective.
At the Inception, we are all just a lump of Clay.
Our Parents are the first potters.
Toiling away, they work immensely hard to pour in a constant stream of Love, Care and Adoration to shelter us; protect us and nurture us.
They take in more soil from the ground, add it into us and build us according to their image.
At the same time, they shape the way we think about the world.
The initial years are the most crucial; as they will determine on what kind of a pot we will turn out to be.
That shape will be our Inner Core.
Our Primal identity.
As we grow up, more potters join the Cause.
And the wondrous thing about this is that the new potters are not potters at all! They are also pots-under-construction! They jostle with us, play with us and merge with us. Some dent us but most shape us into something better; in the process, changing themselves!
They are our Friends :’)
They become an inseparable part of our identity :’)
Separate you may, but the initial dents those friends make in you, will stay with you Forever :’)
And then comes the Midday.
The most crucial part of our building being over, we head out into the world, travelling to new places and braving the harsh conditions.
The harsh Sun, the life-numbing Cold, the relentless Rain all harden us, forging us into a hard, unceasing shape.
Some pots get broken along the way.
Most pots modify themselves, to better adapt to the surroundings.
We brave the harsh, new world with the skills that were ingrained in us when we were fledglings.
However, it becomes extremely tough to imbibe new qualities within us.
We, who have already been hard-wired for survival from our formative years find it extremely difficult to modify our personality, our habits and to learn new things.
We’ve become a Pot.
We stay a Pot.
We, the Pot, grow up.
We acquire blemishes.
We acquire cracks.
We get chipped.
And we call it Experience.
As we grow up, we slowly make a tender spot within us. The relentless weathering by the forces of nature has made a depression within us. And slowly,
we find another Pot to fit that tender spot :’)
They merge with us.
We call it soul-mates.
We call it Marriage.
And Two becomes One.
And the cycle starts all over again :’)
However even Pots have to break one day right?
There comes a time, where we, the chipped pots filled with cracks and blemishes slowly disintegrate.
A time when we look back upon our meandering life, filled with Happiness… or Regret.
However slowly a sense of contentment oozes into us and we pass into the Other.
Disintegrated, we become specks.
However we don’t entirely fade away!
The legacy we’ve created, still survives as specks in the soil.
To be imbibed in the new generation,
Who start as Lumps of clay :’)
*Disclaimer* NOT A POEM. I initially set out to write my first poem but it waved, said Tata bye bye, and turned off course so I think it’s a quasi-poem now. No rhyme scheme, no meter, no order, no structure; Nothing. Just what I felt at that moment :p
I visit websites, I ask friends
I draw endless doodles with my pen
What exactly to write in a poem?
Your first achievement? Your many regrets?
What the hell should you write in a poem?
Suddenly shining through the hazy mist,
I get it. Suffice it will I think, my way,
Penning yourself is the way to go about it.
So as I sit down and delve into myself,
The universe comes to a standstill around me,
As I contemplate about me.
No doing. It has to ask that doesn’t it?
I can’t stop it. My brain comes up with that question,
That integral question which I just can’t answer…
Who am I?
Siddharth? Easy enough. But No,
That’s not the answer.
I know for certain, I’m not the Siddharth of old.
As I sift through the memories
Turning the pages of my life,
I find many Siddharths
Some grinning, some laughing,
Some crying, some regretting…
Happy. Depressed. Normal. Maniacal.
Is this who I am?
As I try to search for me; the real Me,
I grow confused.
All I can see,
All I can discern through the growing chasm,
Is a shadow… A many personalitied hybrid of me.
Getting fainter by the minute…
I catch hold of myself; to no avail,
He is slowly disappearing.
I now read through what I’ve written.
A poem? God, definitely not a poem.
What I’ve written is my deepest fear…
My primal unwavering fear
Of who I’ll turn out to be…
I set out in the beginning to pen who I am.
I know now that I’ve failed.
I don’t know. I just can’t explain myself…
Now, as I set down my pen, my eyes moist,
All I can do is hope.
Hope that I don’t wander too far away from my path.
Hope that I improve and never degrade.
Hope that I remain Siddharth…