Two Ustads

Rumi. Persian poet, philosopher.

I used to be shy.
You made me sing.

I used to refuse things at table.
Now I shout for more wine.

In somber dignity, I used to sit
on my mat and pray.

Now children run through
and make faces at me.
              ~~
You've so distracted me,
your absence fans my love.
Don't ask how.

Then you come near,
"Do not....," I say, and
"Do not....," you answer.

Don't ask why
this delights me.
         ~~



Ustad Amir Khan, doyen of the Indore Gharana.
He was well versed in Persian and Sanskrit. I envy his riches.

How’s the new look?

-its awesomeness, gimme more.

-meh, dont care, its the content that matters.

-its fugly, aarrgh, change it.

To be or not to be a bee.

Dear diary!

I have been following Chris Guillebeau’s blog – ‘The art of non conformity’ – for a while now.

Here is a guy who quit his business and decided to travel the world and write about his experiences while doing it. Just another backpacker you might think, but wait – Chris makes almost 50,000$ a year! By his own admission, he spends 90% of his time doing things that he wants to do and 10% of his time doing things to make money.  My kind of life!

I am increasingly convinced that I must be self-employed. 9 to 6 is not going to cut it for me. There is too much to see, learn and experience in this world to spend half my day at a cubicle.

I am going to spend the next few months actively contemplating this question. I am not going to wait for the next big idea, instead I am going to focus on doing small things that teach me what I am capable of doing. The big idea is (hopefully!) just a small idea that makes it big!

There is no utopia, no paradise, just a desire to wander. As a wise old man once said:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Yours, honestly.

So, what is honesty after all.
A promise to be true to oneself?
Or, to be truthful with others?
Or, both?

What is being true to oneself, after all.
Ensuring that your mental model of reality is a good one? Ensuring that you have not told yourself a different story than the one you perceived? Ensuring that your sensory inputs are stronger than your imagination? Ensuring that your memory of your sensory inputs is stronger than your imagination and your utopian memory?

What is being truthful with others, after all.
Being true to oneself, and,
Ensuring that you “communicate” your mental model of reality?

Is being truthful with others implicitly tied to your ability to communicate (Ashwatthama is dead)? Isn’t language a contract? Doesn’t the contract assume honesty thus making the definition circular?

As a corollary, can a deaf, mute and blind man be honest? Does a deaf, mute and blind man think about dishonesty and honesty?! What mental model of the world does he have? Will we ever know?

Toad

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?

Six days of the week it soils
With its sickening poison -
Just for paying a few bills!
That’s out of proportion.

Lots of folk live on their wits:
Lecturers, lispers,
Losers, loblolly-men, louts-
They don’t end as paupers;

Lots of folk live up lanes
With fires in a bucket,
Eat windfalls and tinned sardines-
They seem to like it.

Their nippers have got bare feet,
Their unspeakable wives
Are skinny as whippets – and yet
No one actually _starves_.

Ah, were I courageous enough
To shout, Stuff your pension!
But I know, all too well, that’s the stuff
That dreams are made on:

For something sufficiently toad-like
Squats in me, too;
Its hunkers are heavy as hard luck,
And cold as snow,

And will never allow me to blarney
My way of getting
The fame and the girl and the money
All at one sitting.

I don’t say, one bodies the other
One’s spiritual truth;
But I do say it’s hard to lose either,
When you have both.

-Philip Larkin

Through a glass darkly

Schizophrenia asks the question – what is real? Do you live in your head, or is there a reality outside it?

When a schizophrenic knows she has the disease, and she chooses the alternate reality, how different is she from one who takes diksha? All of us choose a reality, by viewing the world through our mental model, why then are ‘they’ abnormal?

Trust, distrust. Anger. Jealousy. Hate. Hope, despair. Love.

I have just seen beauty. Salut, Ingmar Bergman.

Bob Marley speaks

Bob Marley talks about reggae, Rastafari, ganja, politics.

Free markets, free people

“The black market is a market. There is nothing “black” about it. A black market price takes into consideration the risk. When the blackness is taken away from this market, then prices will probably drop.”

—Ludwig von Mises, The Free Market and its Enemies

A state that considers itself an upholder of freedom, must stay as far away from markets as it possibly can.

Consumers in India do not have access to the best wines in the world, the best cars in the world, the best electronics in the world. Why? Because of a stupid concept called customs duty. Customs is our states way of saying,  we need protection from you evil people selling us better goods! We need protection only so that local businesses get an unfair price advantage. In the end, who gets screwed over? The “aam aadmi”!

To the State I say this: Give us roads, water and power and stay the hell out of the rest of our lives!

Char oli

Sagar pohat bahubalane, naav tayasi milo na milo re,

Swayech jo tejonidhi tarani, tad gruhi deep jalo na jalo re.

Jo Kari Karm Ahetu, Ved Tayas Kalo Na Kalo Re

Olakh Patali Jyas Swatahachi, Dev Tayas Milo Na Milo Re

- Kavi Bobade

I am incapable of translating this. I apologize to the non Marathi readers, all 4 of them!

The ride home.

A moving metropolis, a salad of individuals!

Crisp, efficient and green.

The regulars, with their practiced moves,

The newbies, with their deer-in-the-headlights looks,

Conductors and drivers trying their best,

To enliven the drudgery of routine.

The bicyclists in their ghetto,

Enjoying their moment of superiority!

Cities roll by, San Carlos, San Mateo, Millbrae,

Straight and gray runs the 101,

A splash of colors made by an enterprising graffitist,

How she got to that spot no one knows!

My book, my music, my thoughts,

Meditation, retrospection, introspection.

A journey without, a journey within, a journey home.