I measure my life not in coffee-spoons, but in banana trees.
This happens every year. On a particular Thursday in August, when I return home in the evening, and I am on this narrow road that opens out to the market place, I am jolted from my end-of-day sleepy autopilot driving by the sight of a huge crowd of small banana trees walking. And every time I think of Macbeth.
It is the festival of Varamahalakshmi, which is the beginning of the festival season here in Karnataka. It basically means that Ganesh Chathurthi is not far away. And then one after the other, Dussera, Diwali etc.
And it all begins with the scene of the banana trees walking. Which takes me by surprise every year because I have no clue which day it happens. People carry these baby trees home from the market, to decorate their god-places, along with the flowers.
And as for Macbeth..........
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Random Acts of Kindness
A very nice thing happened to me this morning.
My phone fell out of my trouser pocket while I was on the bike, rushing to work, right in front of Cantonment Station – and I didn’t notice.
A man chased me on the bike for some distance, just to tell me this - and when I screech to a halt, park the bike, and run back fully expecting the phone to be smashed into small pieces in that heavy traffic, or stolen, an auto driver stops and asks me if I was looking for the phone – and he points to the young man who had picked it up from the road before it got run over by vehicles, and was waving to me from a distance, walking towards me.
And so I got back the phone, intact, un-stolen, un-smashed, thanks to these three random people on the road.
There is hope for us, if such things still happen, I would like to think. Though much is taken, much probably abides.
My phone fell out of my trouser pocket while I was on the bike, rushing to work, right in front of Cantonment Station – and I didn’t notice.
A man chased me on the bike for some distance, just to tell me this - and when I screech to a halt, park the bike, and run back fully expecting the phone to be smashed into small pieces in that heavy traffic, or stolen, an auto driver stops and asks me if I was looking for the phone – and he points to the young man who had picked it up from the road before it got run over by vehicles, and was waving to me from a distance, walking towards me.
And so I got back the phone, intact, un-stolen, un-smashed, thanks to these three random people on the road.
There is hope for us, if such things still happen, I would like to think. Though much is taken, much probably abides.
Prose Poem Towards a Definition of Itself
When in public poetry should take off its clothes and wave to the nearest person in sight; it should be seen in the company of thieves and lovers rather than that of journalists and publishers. On sighting mathematicians, it should unlock the algebra from their minds and replace it with poetry; on sighting poets it should unhook poetry from their minds and replace it with algebra; it should fall in love with children and woo them with fairytales; it should wait on the landing for 2 years for its mates to come home then go outside and find them all dead.
When the electricity fails it should wear dark glasses and pretend to be blind. It should guide all those who are safe into the middle of busy roads and leave them there. It should shout EVIL! EVIL! from the roofs of the world’s stock exchanges. It should not pretend to be a clerk or a librarian. It is the eventual sameness of all contradictions. It should never weep until it is alone and then only after it has covered the mirrors and sealed up the cracks.
Poetry should seek out couples and wander with them into stables, neglected bedrooms and engineless cars for a final Good Time. It should enter into burning factories too late to save anyone. It should pay no attention to its real name.
Poetry should be seen lying by the side of road accidents, be heard from gasrings. It should scrawl the teacher’s secret on a blackboard, offer her a worm saying, inside this is a tiny apple.
Poetry should play hopscotch in the 6PM streets and look for jinks in other people’s dustbins. At dawn, it should leave the bedroom and catch the first bus home. It should be seen standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, on a bridge with a brick tied around its heart. It is the monster hiding in a child’s dark room, it is the scar on a beautiful man’s face. It is the last blade of grass being picked from the city park…..
Brian Patten
Monday, August 16, 2010
Bukowski
Cause And Effect
the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them
..............................
Nirvana
not much chance.
............................
Rain
a symphony orchestra.
.................................................................
Some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
.........................................................
oh, yes
there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Charles Bukowski
the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them
..............................
Nirvana
not much chance.
............................
Rain
a symphony orchestra.
.................................................................
Some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
.........................................................
oh, yes
there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Charles Bukowski
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Belief, the Nomadic way
"It is a paradox of the monotheistic faiths that, although they arose within the ambit of the desert, the desert people themselves show an indifference towards the Almighty that is decidedly cavalier. "We will go up to God and salute him," said a bedu to Palgrave in the 1860s, "and if he proves hospitable, we will stay with him; if otherwise, we will mount our horses and ride off."
"...When Barth (Norwegian anthropologist Frederick Barth) came to account for the dearth of ritual among the Basseri (a tribe of Iranian nomads) - or of any rooted belief - he concluded that the Journey itself was the ritual, that the road to summer uplands was the Way, and that the pitching and dismantling of tents were prayers more meaningful than any in the mosque."
Page 199, 200. Chapter: From the Notebooks
from the book 'The Songlines', by Bruce Chatwin
"...When Barth (Norwegian anthropologist Frederick Barth) came to account for the dearth of ritual among the Basseri (a tribe of Iranian nomads) - or of any rooted belief - he concluded that the Journey itself was the ritual, that the road to summer uplands was the Way, and that the pitching and dismantling of tents were prayers more meaningful than any in the mosque."
Page 199, 200. Chapter: From the Notebooks
from the book 'The Songlines', by Bruce Chatwin
A language only for Travellers
Shelta is a language spoken by Travellers, particularly in Ireland but also parts of Great Britain. It is widely known as the Cant, to its native speakers in Ireland as Gammon and to the linguistic community as Shelta. Although this aspect is frequently over-emphasized, it was often used as a cryptolect to exclude outsiders from comprehending conversations between travellers.The exact number of native speakers is hard to determine due to sociolinguistic issues but Ethnologue puts the number of speakers in Ireland at 6,000 and 86,000 worldwide.
Linguistically Shelta is today seen to be a creole language that stems from a community of travelling people in Ireland and Scotland that was originally predominantly Irish and Gaelic speaking which went through a period of widespread bilingualism that resulted in a language based heavily on Hiberno-English and/or Scots with heavy influences from Irish and Gaelic.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelta
Linguistically Shelta is today seen to be a creole language that stems from a community of travelling people in Ireland and Scotland that was originally predominantly Irish and Gaelic speaking which went through a period of widespread bilingualism that resulted in a language based heavily on Hiberno-English and/or Scots with heavy influences from Irish and Gaelic.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelta
Road Ragas
Mississippi Blues meets Indian ragas - Road Ragas, by Harry Manx:
http://harrymanx.com/road-ragas/
'The Thrill is Gone' came highly recommended by a friend, the others are good too.
http://harrymanx.com/road-ragas/
'The Thrill is Gone' came highly recommended by a friend, the others are good too.
The molecule that helps us decide
In today's encore excerpt - dopamine, pleasure, and too much pleasure:
"The importance of dopamine was discovered by accident. In 1954, James Olds and Peter Milner, two neuroscientists at McGill University, decided to implant an electrode deep into the center of a rat's brain. The precise placement of the electrode was largely happenstance; at the time, the geography of the mind remained a mystery. But Olds and Milner got lucky. They inserted the needle right next to the nucleus accumbens (NAcc), a part of the brain that generates pleasurable feelings. Whenever you eat a piece of chocolate cake, or listen to a favorite pop song, or watch your favorite team win the World Series, it is your NAcc that helps you feel so happy.
"But Olds and Milner quickly discovered that too much pleasure can be fatal. They placed the electrodes in several rodents' brains and then ran a small current into each wire, making the NAccs continually excited. The scientists noticed that the rodents lost interest in everything. They stopped eating and drinking. All courtship behavior ceased. The rats would just huddle in the corners of their cages, transfixed by their bliss. Within days, all of the animals had perished. They died of thirst.
"It took several decades of painstaking research, but neuroscientists eventually discovered that the rats had been suffering from an excess of dopamine. The stimulation of the NAcc triggered a massive release of the neurotransmitter, which overwhelmed the rodents with ecstasy. In humans, addictive drugs work the same way: a crack addict who has just gotten a fix is no different than a rat in an electrical rapture. The brains of both creatures have been blinded by pleasure. This, then, became the dopaminergic cliche; it was the chemical explanation for sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
"But happiness isn't the only feeling that dopamine produces. Scientists now know that this neurotransmitter helps to regulate all of our emotions, from the first stirrings of love to the most visceral forms of disgust. It is the common neural currency of the mind, the molecule that helps us decide among alternatives. By looking at how dopamine works inside the brain, we can see why feelings are capable of providing deep insights. While Plato disparaged emotions as irrational and untrustworthy - the wild horses of the soul - they actually reflect an enormous amount of invisible analysis."
Author: Jonah Lehrer
Title: How We Decide
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Date: Copyright 2009 by Jonah Lehrer
Pages: Kindle Loc. 463-538.
From delanceyplace.com
"The importance of dopamine was discovered by accident. In 1954, James Olds and Peter Milner, two neuroscientists at McGill University, decided to implant an electrode deep into the center of a rat's brain. The precise placement of the electrode was largely happenstance; at the time, the geography of the mind remained a mystery. But Olds and Milner got lucky. They inserted the needle right next to the nucleus accumbens (NAcc), a part of the brain that generates pleasurable feelings. Whenever you eat a piece of chocolate cake, or listen to a favorite pop song, or watch your favorite team win the World Series, it is your NAcc that helps you feel so happy.
"But Olds and Milner quickly discovered that too much pleasure can be fatal. They placed the electrodes in several rodents' brains and then ran a small current into each wire, making the NAccs continually excited. The scientists noticed that the rodents lost interest in everything. They stopped eating and drinking. All courtship behavior ceased. The rats would just huddle in the corners of their cages, transfixed by their bliss. Within days, all of the animals had perished. They died of thirst.
"It took several decades of painstaking research, but neuroscientists eventually discovered that the rats had been suffering from an excess of dopamine. The stimulation of the NAcc triggered a massive release of the neurotransmitter, which overwhelmed the rodents with ecstasy. In humans, addictive drugs work the same way: a crack addict who has just gotten a fix is no different than a rat in an electrical rapture. The brains of both creatures have been blinded by pleasure. This, then, became the dopaminergic cliche; it was the chemical explanation for sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
"But happiness isn't the only feeling that dopamine produces. Scientists now know that this neurotransmitter helps to regulate all of our emotions, from the first stirrings of love to the most visceral forms of disgust. It is the common neural currency of the mind, the molecule that helps us decide among alternatives. By looking at how dopamine works inside the brain, we can see why feelings are capable of providing deep insights. While Plato disparaged emotions as irrational and untrustworthy - the wild horses of the soul - they actually reflect an enormous amount of invisible analysis."
Author: Jonah Lehrer
Title: How We Decide
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Date: Copyright 2009 by Jonah Lehrer
Pages: Kindle Loc. 463-538.
From delanceyplace.com
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Perhaps the World Ends Here
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.
Joy Harjo
Perhaps the World Ends Here" by Joy Harjo, from Reinventing the Enemy's Language. © W.W. Norton and Co., 1998
Joy Harjo (born Tulsa, Oklahoma, May 9, 1951) is an American poet, musician, and author of Native American Canadian ancestry. Known primarily as a poet, Harjo has also taught at the college level, played alto saxophone with a band called Poetic Justice, edited literary journals, and written screenplays. She is a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation of Oklahoma and is of Cherokee descent.
Amoeba
"Everyone returns to us a different sense of ourselves, for we become a little of who they think we are. Our selves could be compared to amoebas, whose outer walls are elastic, and therefore adapt to the environment. It is not that the amoeba has no dimensions, simply that it has no self-defined shape.
It is my absurdist side that an absurdist person will draw out of me, and my seriousness that a serious person will evoke. If someone thinks I am shy, I will probably end up shy; if someone thinks me funny, I am likely to keep cracking jokes."
Page 104, 'On Love' by Alain de Botton
It is my absurdist side that an absurdist person will draw out of me, and my seriousness that a serious person will evoke. If someone thinks I am shy, I will probably end up shy; if someone thinks me funny, I am likely to keep cracking jokes."
Page 104, 'On Love' by Alain de Botton
Monday, July 5, 2010
Things fall apart
Yeats was a prophet.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats
Rites of Passage
Probably this explains the immaturity we see all around us - perhaps our rites of passage from childhood are way too weak, of too short a duration, tending more towards fun at times - and therefore the message of dying to childishness, and taking full responsibility for one's life - is just not getting through?
Rites of Passage
“…The so-called rites of passage, which occupy such a prominent place in the life of a primitive society (ceremonials of birth, naming, puberty, marriage, burial, etc.), are distinguished by formal, and usually very severe, exercises of severance, whereby the mind is radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.
Then follows an interval of more or less extended retirement, during which are enacted rituals designed to introduce the life adventurer to the forms and proper feelings of his new estate, so that when, at last, the time has ripened for the return to the normal world, the initiate will be as good as reborn.
Getting stuck in childhood
It has always been the prime function of mythology and rite to supply the symbols that carry the human spirit forward, in counteraction to those constant human fantasies that tend to tie it back. In fact, it may well be that the very high incidence of neuroticism among ourselves follows from the decline among us of such effective spiritual aid.
We remain fixated to the unexorcised images of our infancy, and hence disinclined to the necessary passages of our adulthood."
Page 6, 'The Hero with a Thousand Faces' by Joseph Campbell
Rites of Passage
“…The so-called rites of passage, which occupy such a prominent place in the life of a primitive society (ceremonials of birth, naming, puberty, marriage, burial, etc.), are distinguished by formal, and usually very severe, exercises of severance, whereby the mind is radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind.
Then follows an interval of more or less extended retirement, during which are enacted rituals designed to introduce the life adventurer to the forms and proper feelings of his new estate, so that when, at last, the time has ripened for the return to the normal world, the initiate will be as good as reborn.
Getting stuck in childhood
It has always been the prime function of mythology and rite to supply the symbols that carry the human spirit forward, in counteraction to those constant human fantasies that tend to tie it back. In fact, it may well be that the very high incidence of neuroticism among ourselves follows from the decline among us of such effective spiritual aid.
We remain fixated to the unexorcised images of our infancy, and hence disinclined to the necessary passages of our adulthood."
Page 6, 'The Hero with a Thousand Faces' by Joseph Campbell
Human Irrationality
"Behavioural economics is a relatively new field, one that draws on aspects of both psychology and economics. It has led me to study everything from our reluctance to save for retirement to our inability to think clearly during sexual arousal. It's not just the behaviour that I have tried to understand, though, but also the decision-making processes behind such behaviour - yours, mine, and everybody else's.
...Within the domain of science, these assumptions about our ability for perfect reasoning have found their way into economics. In economics, this very basic idea, called rationality, provides the foundation for economic theories, predictions, and recommendations.
From this perspective, and to the extent that we all believe in human rationality, we are all economists. I don't mean that each of us can intuitively develop complex game-theoretical models or understand the generalized axiom of revealed preference (GARP); rather, I mean that we hold the basic beliefs about human nature on which economics is built.
In this book, when I mention the rational economic model, I refer to the basic assumption that most economists and many of us hold about human nature - the simple and compelling idea that we are capable of making the right decisions for ourselves.
.....In fact, this book is about human irrationality - about our distance from perfection. I believe that recognizing where we depart from the ideal is an important part of the quest to truly understand ourselves, and one that promises many practical benefits."
Introduction, Page xviii
'Predictably Irrational - The Hidden Forces that Shape Our Decisions' by Dan Ariely
...Within the domain of science, these assumptions about our ability for perfect reasoning have found their way into economics. In economics, this very basic idea, called rationality, provides the foundation for economic theories, predictions, and recommendations.
From this perspective, and to the extent that we all believe in human rationality, we are all economists. I don't mean that each of us can intuitively develop complex game-theoretical models or understand the generalized axiom of revealed preference (GARP); rather, I mean that we hold the basic beliefs about human nature on which economics is built.
In this book, when I mention the rational economic model, I refer to the basic assumption that most economists and many of us hold about human nature - the simple and compelling idea that we are capable of making the right decisions for ourselves.
.....In fact, this book is about human irrationality - about our distance from perfection. I believe that recognizing where we depart from the ideal is an important part of the quest to truly understand ourselves, and one that promises many practical benefits."
Introduction, Page xviii
'Predictably Irrational - The Hidden Forces that Shape Our Decisions' by Dan Ariely
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Beirut
Nantes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jc3ZAs17uAg
http://www.myspace.com/beruit
Well it's been a long time, long time now
since I've seen you smile.
And I'll gamble away my fright.
And I'll gamble away my time.
And in a year, a year or so
this will slip into the sea
Well, it's been a long time, long time now
since I've seen you smile
Nobody raise your voices
Just another night in Nantes
Nobody raise your voices
Just another night in Nantes
We saw...
French interlude/ Parlé en français (Extrait de "Le Mépris"/Godard):
Woman _ Ah non, j't'en prie. Mais ço(ça), ça me facine...
Man _ Je t'assure que...
Woman _ Non! Laisse-moi!
Man _ Qu'est-ce que tu as aujourd'hui?
Woman _ J'ai que les hommes me dégoûtent.
Vous pensez qu'à ça.
Well it's been a long time, long time now
since I've seen you smile.
And I'll gamble away my fright.
And I'll gamble away my time.
And in a year, a year or so
this will slip into the sea
Well, it's been a long time, long time now
since I've seen you smile
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