Omens

In the last couple of years of college, we had lots of discussions within our group about some rather philosophical stuff. Happiness, contentment and where we wanted to end up in life featured regularly in these discussions.

I always had a hard time discussing my amorphous thoughts about my career and my definition of happiness, and so I resorted to saying that I want to work in the Alps, have a little Dairy farm with black and white spotted cows, a little wooden cottage on the knolls to live in, and a snazzy BMW Z3 to distribute the milk.. :) I also always described a wooden Victorian fireplace in my house, a small library full of leather bound books and a nice worn out leather couch to sit on while reading the books. I used to paint a lovely image of my simple life, spending most of my time reading a good book in my library, enjoying a cup of strong black coffee.

When I used to describe all this, most people thought I was evading conversation on the topic, but the truth is that few people realized that this was the closest embodiment of my definition of a good life. It did eventually become a big joke and most people made comical references to my weird ideas and the Alps during such discussions. So that was that..

In June 2006, when I reported to my new office for induction, we sat in a large conference hall for the formalities and the paperwork. I did officially join work in that hall. The hall is called Alps.

Labels: Life

Azeez Narain's description of me

Mostly true I'd say, apart from the exaggeration. Follow the backlink. I have to add that the horrendous photograph chosen to accompany this post does not go well with his description of me :). Fix it Az.

Losing my ...

I love reading, yet, I start each book by looking at the number of pages I still have to read. Sometimes though, while reading the book, I lose count of the number of pages still to go, and the fraction of the book I have already read. There have been few such books, but yes, while reading these, monitoring my progress was the last thing on my mind. These obviously are the ones I have enjoyed reading the most.

The most recent of such books was "Losing My Virginity" by Richard Branson. I don't know what drove me to buy this book, maybe the realization that I had never read an autobiography before. (Also the fact that I like many others in India was until recently trying to pursue an MBA, and I needed to have read a good business related book to talk about in the interview, but that reason soon went poof. I would have read this book anyway). Well, being an ardent Calvin fan, I never thought that I would read any body's biography. (yeah, I know, MBA interview is a compelling enough reason). Moreover, Mr. Branson is better known as a Joker any day. So why his book. For starters, (yeah yeah, I know I already told u about the MBA), the cover was rather nice, the title gave me the impression that it might be a fun read, and then there was a discount. So there... that's the end of my explanation.


I dare say, that I never had an inclination to monitor my progress or the break in concentration to do so during the course of reading this book. Must Read!

Most books I have enjoyed reading have been this way, unfortunately, there haven't been many. Doctors and Fountainhead are two that come to my mind immediately. I've read lots of great books, but then I do always track my progress :)


There is but one exception to both these situations. Catch 22. I started reading that book Ten times!, and I always gave up after a 100 pages or so. The 11th time i just wanted to get done with it, just for the heck of completing an impossible task. I read most of the book just because the ever increasing fraction of the pages I had read gave me immense pleasure! It was a goal for me, the pleasure of reading the book wasn't important. There wasn't any anyway. Except for the last 20 pages or so, which I guess I read without blinking or closing my mouth. The book is good purely for its shock value following a few hundred pages that will feel like utter crap the first time you read the book. I guess the only way to enjoy this book is to read it again.

I never got around to reading it again though. I completed the task I set myself, and for the procrastinator I am, I was happy. I can let one book pass that does not give me any reading pleasure!

For now, I'm reading Atlas Shrugged. Its funny how gripping Ayn Rand's stories are despite the seemingly excessive descriptions. I know that reading this will be a mammoth task just from the weight and font size, and yet, I am motivated to try, not because I've had it long enough. In fact.. I don't exactly know why I am motivate to try. I guess I'll know if the effort was worth it soon enough..

Labels: Hobbies

Sanity is not statistical

There will be very few people you will ever meet in your life, who will be able to double guess your thoughts consistently and accurately. They will be able to retrace your thoughts right from inception to their logical conclusion through a long chain of thoughts, without a weak link. These will be the thoughts that you always thought were unique to you, and made you unique.

It may make you feel a little eerie at first, and you may test the person by repeatedly stopping short of completing your sentences, and yet, when the person will be able to pinpoint what you had in mind, over and over again, there will come a stage, when you will truly believe, that the person does really think the same way you do. And if you are one to believe that sanity is statistical you will probably revel at the existence of such a person.

Why am I saying all this? Yes, because I know someone who can think just like me, and believe me, I did the testing part too, and I did it to my hearts content. I lived in the same dream world, regarding myself as unique as my DNA and my fingerprint, and yet, I was wrong. So what difference does it make to me if someone can think the way I do? Big deal..

Can it help me?

If I were to really think that exceeding myself would entail breaking away from the ordinary, and doing something uncharacteristic, I guess this would then be a potential goldmine. I have a mirror image of myself, a flesh and blood me in front of my eyes, and all I need to do in order to be different, is to prevent this person from being able to guess what I would do next. Has some profound implications. Think about it. You have a chance to bluff yourself for the first time.

But then, being the cliched different, would eventually mean that I was trying to be someone I am not. So even though it presents an opportunity for me to break out of my shell, I'd really rather be myself than try too hard.

All I do actually want to say is that it's a really nice feeling to know someone who understands exactly the way you feel, why you feel the way you do, and can empathize with you, without giving you that sickly sweet impression.

It also gives you am out of body look at yourself, and opportunity to analyze yourself in an unbiased manner, because you're not really analyzing yourself, while you are..

PS. if you think that this post contradicts the previous one, think again.

Labels: Communication, Friendship

Human Communication

Humans are an inferior race incapable of meaningful communication.

Remember the scene for "Independence Day", where the creepy alien is able to communicate with the President, and convey its thoughts in their entirety? Are we as humans ever able to achieve this?

If I tell you that I enjoy drinking black coffee, can I transmit the sensation i get when the hot dense bitter liquid flows down my throat, or can I transmit the the way I feel, or replicate the electrical impulses darting around in my gray cells, in yours? All I can do is tell you that I like coffee, and the rest is open to your interpretation.

What is at fault here? The language? You might argue that the language does not constitute communication. Well, then I'll put it this way. Imagine I pick up a cup of espresso with a gleam in my eyes. I then take a little swig and close my eyes with pleasure, my body language or my facial expressions not betraying my enjoyment even for a moment. Then I tell you,

"I loaave coffee"

Was that purport better? Could you taste it, or feel the way I do?

We often trivialize this lack of capability by saying that people who don't communicate well are not on the same frequency, or by some other similar cliche. On the other hand, if the thought process of two people is remotely similar, they seem to communicate well, and are

"on the same frequency"

or

"hit it off.."

We simply lack the ability to make people feel the way we do with our limited communication abilities, and we rely on sheer chance for finding congenial people, for we find it easier to communicate with them, and it pleasures our senses to know that the understand us, without our explicitly stating everything. These people can empathize because they are congenial, and not because you were able to convey your feelings.

So, can I ever make You feel the way I do Internally, rather than just telling you how I feel?

Humans are an inferior race incapable of meaningful communication.

Labels: Communication, Thought