Lives of others

It has been rather pleasant this eve, hence I decided to switch the air con off and open all the massive windows in my room. It’s rather nice really. Pausing between a second coat of pink nail paint I glanced around at the tall Toblerone like buildings surrounding my building. Gazing outside, directly  into the living room (diagonally opposite my window) with a giant flat screen, I felt like James Stewart in Hitchcock’s “Rear Window”. Not actually hoping (or maybe I am, hmmm) for an actual murder, It is so fascinating to glimpse into someone’s life like that. It is almost embarrassing; one cannot help but feel like a voyeur. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kCcZCMYw38

In India, more often than not, it is quite common for people to talk about the most intimate details of their lives. It is weird and fascinating at the same time, as once someone feels they have sussed out a sympathetic ear, out comes the linen, stitches and all. Why it is fascinating is the manner it is said. The pouring out of the details is not a two sided conversation, the speaker is using the other as a sounding board, the words bouncing off the other as would a ping pong ball off the passive table. The stories are not about small matters one can shake off, they are heart breaking tales of broken hearts, promises, hardships one cannot even fathom. To be honest, I really wish they didnt unload this human trauma on me, because quite simply I am a sucker for sob stories.  In the end, or mostly in the middle of the narrative I feel such guilt, such pain, possibly more than the other person does the point of a sounding board is lost. Knowing I cannot help, or even ease the pain, and knowing I am merely a sounding board, does not erase the fact, that here is a fellow being, in pain, so much so that they have forgotten how to cry. Tears have dried.

It is daft I admit, not to be conditioned to such misery, as most around me are, but I cannot help it. It feels awful. More so, because the person narrating it so many times, knows the events down pat, and speaks of it in the most casual manner, throwing words at me like a glance and moving on, not knowing that, that glance carries a weight. Is misery really lessened when one speaks of it to everyone who would listen? Selfishly I resent this passing of the buck, no fair I say. Fate turns around and smiles cruelly and says, “You and I are not done, yet.”

These people are lucky I guess. They’ve built their lives like an open house, where new people are allowed to visit every now and then. The issue in itself has now become so banal, that it has possibly lost its strength. They pass their problems in small take away packs, easing their pain in the process. Interesting strategy, I must admit.

Silent tears give me the heebie jeebies.

This Eid we had a few guests, and whilst one party was leaving after a hearty dinner, my mum asked the lady to come over soon with her husband and kid. The said lady burst into silent tears, I couldn’t help but stare. (The lady’s husband had left her and was not even paying child support) What pain must one carry in their little hearts, which is so fragile, so deep.  Given my mum couldn’t do anything to ease her pain, or save her from the misery she would have to face once she went back home, mum did the next best thing by offering her comfort and kind words. 

We each have to bear our own crosses to bear, and the pain of that cross is like the daily pain suffered by Prometheus accursed to having an eagle peck at his heart for all eternity. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prometheus) Not unlike “The Gods”, our own little lives can feel like an eternity, and this life is not long enough to ease our own pains least of all take on the pains of others.  Since we are more or less sailing in the same boat, to listen to someone else’s pain and offering a few words of comfort is really not much, and once I am past my own discomfiture, I realize the honor the other is bestowing upon me by making me privy to their personal grief. THEY are allowing Me to better myself by giving me an opportunity to see the lives of others and appreciate how much better mine is.

So whilst I get ready to draw the curtains on my window, I appreciate how much worse this side of the view can be.

Pick-n-mix

My colleague seated next to me loves playing jigsaw puzzles. Whenever we have any idle time he is on National Geographic trying to find an interesting puzzle. It is amusing to see no matter what our age group is, we envision how a picture ought to be and try to fit random pieces in it to make a complete whole.

Having an idea to write this blog for quite a while, I decided today ought to be the day to actually get it done. This weekend, for the second time I watched “Brother where art thou?” another Coen brothers masterpiece. There is song in it which I felt suited so perfectly with what I wanted to write about. It goes something like:

One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
And he said, "Boys, I'm not turning
I'm headed for a land that's far away
Besides the crystal fountains
So come with me, we'll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There's a land that's fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The farmers' trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay
Oh I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall
The winds don't blow

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

You never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind

There's a lake of stew
And of whiskey too
You can paddle all around it
In a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
The jails are made of tin.
And you can walk right out again,
As soon as you are in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,

I'm bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

Accepted, that it is rather juvenile to think, if only this thing were this way, and that thing were a certain way, the end result would make one happy. Having had to deal with a few changes in my life lately, I got to thinking; it is basically about the idea we have in mind and how much we were actually willing to compromise to make that idea into a reality.

 Urban Dictionary defines “I’m down with that”, as to convey acceptance to a proposition. Fussy colleagues, messy city, an out of control situation, amongst others are a few things we have to be down with, not much of a choice really. We can thrash around all we like, or wish of a pick-n-mix scenario, but either we compromise on choice, or the lack of it forces us to compromise. Then it is a long drawn discussion with oneself, to pacify and calm oneself like one would a little baby.

If it weren’t so sad, it would be funny.

This painting is called Der Schrei der Natur (The Scream of Nature) by Edvard Munch and I simply love it. It’s a silent scream that escapes, I bet from everyone’s soul, when the picture they envisioned is incomplete and they have to settle for a modified, less that perfect, amended, someone else’s interpretation of a picture.

Do we love the idea of a picture or the picture itself? And is it such a bad thing to settle, to compromise? And if we do compromise, we do so to what extent? Ginormous in itself, these questions are ones we ask ourselves day in and day out. I guess its easier to settle into a comfortable, readymade mold than to fight out for ones idea, because at the end of the day what we need to deal with is a reflection of oneself in the mirror, and if the choices we make can help us to have an unflinching gaze at that reflection, I guess it is all worth it.

Acceptance is a very difficult thing to achieve. Once we accept for the way things are, half the battle is won. Once one can sit down and say, “This right here is something I have no control over and I cannot change it, so I will have to compromise to a few things here or there to at least breathe!”  life becomes a tad easier.

“I still have some fight left in me”, said my old grandmother at her death bed. A living inspiration, reduced to being bed ridden, each day was a fight for her. Seeing her cry, remember old times, wish for something better, I felt sorry for her. What folly of youth! She did not need my pity; she had accepted her fate and was calm. Calm! Such a gorgeous little word. Sometimes it almost feels like when the sands of time and ideas are falling from ones hand like fine sand gripped in a tight fist, a certain faith helps to pacify a choking gasp escaping in a silent scream and render one calm. It is an either-or situation to be honest. What can I do? We ask. Either we accept or we fight.  If we can’t fight, we accept.

It is in times like these when one recognizes the power of faith. When everything around is falling apart and one has a sinking feeling, that faith picks one up in its huge arms and into a bear hug and whispers “It is going to be ok”. The falsity or fake optimism or indefinite time line of those words are not of consequence, what is important is to hear it being said, the assurance. We need it. The faith can be in one self, in a rock, in god or a totem, but that faith alone is a life saver.

As convenient as it sounds, we can’t all jump from mountain en masse when things are going pear shaped. If a logic works to get by, why the hell not? So I shall participate in a mini celebration indulged in by my colleague every time he completes a puzzle after all, if one of us wins a fight, no matter how small, it is something worth celebrating.