A Bend in the Lane

I have a leaking ship to captain right now. It needs all my atttention. Can I like bore you with my thoughts, say after March 8th? I suppose, you shall all be able to survive the deprevation just fine, as my two cents worth are not really worth two cents. Anyhoos, let's not say Good Bye, but rather Till We Meet Again on March 8.

Sometimes, you come across a few lines which sum up exactly what you think or thought up of except that somebody else had already thought it up 50 years before you did and hatefully, had written it down so much better than you could ever hope to. Sometimes you hate that somebody for that. But most times you feel a certain kinship with that somebody. Well, there were so many many many instances of the later kind while I was reading Catcher In the Rye. Take this excerpt - "And yet I still act sometimes like I was only about twelve. Everybody says that, especially my father. It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think that something's all true. I don't give a damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I act a lot older than I am -I really do- but people never notice it." Holden Caulfield's complaint is mine! It is so true. Take how I behave around my folks - childish , pouty, throwing mock tant...

I was struggling to describe how I felt really old in my bones while I was sitting on a bench in the field behind my office just yesterday. But I needn't have tried. Tolkein said it all, much more hauntingly, much more beautifully- I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies In summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see. For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.

"One is sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left." ~ Jack Worthing in The Importance of Being Earnest PS: Its a pretty damn funny play!

Found this para in the above book worthy of some mulling over - " [Socrates on] being asked what was the best study for man to apply himself to, he answered, "To do well;" and being asked farther whether good fortune was the effect of study, "On the contrary," said he, "I think good fortune and study to be two opposite things; for what I call good fortune is, when a man meets with what is necessary for him, without the trouble of seeking it; but when he meets with any good success after a tedious search and labour, it is an effect of study.  This is what I call to do well; and I think that all who take delight in this study are for the most part successful, and gain the esteem of men, and the affection of the Deity.  Such are they as have rendered themselves excellent in economy, in physic, and in politics; but he who knows not any one thing perfectly is neither useful to men, nor beloved by the gods."

Have you observed how, happiness makes us insensitive? Like when you were happy, you couldn't comprehend or were patient enough to hear out or really feel for someone who's in not so great state?

The last post (Two Kinds) got me into a bit of fix. As many as 5 people contacted me with a range of questions – Person 1: “who are the people you referring to in particular?” Person 2: “just curious, what incident brought this up?” Person 3: “you talking about me?” Person 4: “what makes you think so cynically?” Person 5: As much as I am pleased that people actually read my blog, I was a little peeved with the pathetic fix I managed to create for myself. I dislike acting like one of those muddled people who think in circles and create trouble, most of all for themselves. As I like hearing myself talk and as I have plenty of other urgent things to attend to, I shall now set out to elaborate. Why are we nice? The simplest explanation is that we are innately good. But its far too simple to be true all the time. Are we nice from choice or from lack of choice? Did that tiny voice ever question you ‘would you still be nice if you had the guts to be otherwise?’? Ever w...

There are some people who are nice because it is their nature. Then there some who are nice because they are too cowardly to be anything else. The first kind are harmless, the later kind lethal …

Yesterday, a friend complained that it was very hard to catch me over the weekends and that appointments with me have to be booked in advance. And to illustrate his point, he was trying to make a plan to hangout when he is actually overseas. This made me do a double take and was a bit of a shocker, if you ask me. I have often prided myself about my availability to friends. I am usually game for trying things or simply sitting down for a good conversation. Conversation is key. I forget things easily. But I don't forget conversations easily. Take my college years. More than the lessons, more than the laughs, more than the trips, I remember exact details of so and so conversation and the effect it had. So, for a pal to accuse me of being unavailable for a good conversation troubled me. I went to bed thinking. True, it has been a while since I did the library jaunts with RR, or eaten a good morsel with Unpredictable. I haven't pinged XL, or met with S and a cluster of others in...