It is interesting how your life can acquire perspectives overnight and transform the world around when you wake up the next day. It is equally interesting to know how you struggle to come to terms with the new reality that stares you in the face. It is like having lost familiar ground and entered un-chartered territory. It is like the desperate groping of a blind man who has suddenly walked into startling brightness of the naked sun.
When your mind is at peace and in equilibrium, it doesn’t feel the transitory disturbances for the strength comes from an inherent sense of balance. However, the inverse equilibrium state is one that borders on mayhem. The slightest nudge can make you go tumbling down the abyss of emotional turmoil. The struggle to hold on to the equilibrium even by a whisker is what gives rise to the feeling of being out of control. The effort is exhausting to say the least. Sanity is at stake.
The logic is simple – a stable equilibrium is concave whereby thoughts bend and the world transpires to support you, and help you regain lost balance; whereas, an unstable equilibrium is convex. You step out just a little bit, and you lose ground. And to top it, the world conspires to make you fall off. Or is it just paranoia?
October 10, 2005
October 09, 2005
Out of Control
Yes, I am a control freak. I cannot help but seek total control of myself at all times. I cannot stand the thought of externalities of this probabilistic world carrying out some absurd stochastic determinations on my glorified fate.
What is control, I ask. Is it politically incorrect with reference to an individual – I, me, and myself? If not, then why is there a stigma attached to control freaks like me? I only want to preserve the innermost sanctum sanctorum of my thoughts, desires, passions and motivations. Does this make me a closed individual, shut out from the outside world, hiding away the essence of my existence from prying eyes and poking noses all around? Does this make me incapable of loving and/or being loved, I wonder.
A larger and more pertinent issue is - does the willingness to control my inner self run the risk of spilling over into controlling external entities as well?
What is control, I ask. Is it politically incorrect with reference to an individual – I, me, and myself? If not, then why is there a stigma attached to control freaks like me? I only want to preserve the innermost sanctum sanctorum of my thoughts, desires, passions and motivations. Does this make me a closed individual, shut out from the outside world, hiding away the essence of my existence from prying eyes and poking noses all around? Does this make me incapable of loving and/or being loved, I wonder.
A larger and more pertinent issue is - does the willingness to control my inner self run the risk of spilling over into controlling external entities as well?
July 08, 2005
An appellation? No, a sobriquet!!
…for I am the singularity of orgasmic pleasure; the point of no return of carnal desire; the apex of sexual catharsis; the forbidden fruit of animal virtuosity; the metaphor of ethereal fantasies; the enigma of youthful bliss… for I am the G-Spot!!
For the uninitiated, this is my Dorm Name @ WIMWI. Now, go figure!!
PS: 20 Years down the line, I might be quoted in WIMWI classrooms as ‘G-Spot’ Kansal, just as MS Banga is quoted today as, ‘Windy’ Banga. Interesting proposition, this!!
For the uninitiated, this is my Dorm Name @ WIMWI. Now, go figure!!
PS: 20 Years down the line, I might be quoted in WIMWI classrooms as ‘G-Spot’ Kansal, just as MS Banga is quoted today as, ‘Windy’ Banga. Interesting proposition, this!!
May 24, 2005
Make Believe
We live in a make believe world and work tirelessly to devise new means to facilitate willing suspension of disbelief.
The statement above reeks of complete disdain for everything imaginary. It has a sense of longing for the tangible, a want for the absolute. It hides a fear of getting lost in the mysterious world of unknown images because it is not sure of its own connections with reality, its relationship with its surroundings. I either am or I am not. I either have it or I don’t. I will NOT make myself believe otherwise.
I read an engrossing work of fiction and start imagining myself as the protagonist – one who is wronged and one who now seeks revenge. I give way to my repressed desires of fighting everything evil in my life by juxtaposing the story of the novel in my hand with the screenplay of the drama that is unfolding in my life even as I read along. While busy achieving existential salvation through literary discourse, I tend to conveniently forget that somewhere someone is busy plotting a similar storyline that revolves around him and me – just that this time, roles have been reversed, and perspectives have been altered; because now, he is the protagonist and I, the embodiment of everything evil. Voodoo magic? Occult science? Maybe! Maybe not!!
I watch an awesome flick that takes me on a joyride through the vast seas of desperate desires and virgin lands of forbidden pleasures. The movie does many things to my being. It transforms me at many levels. It paints me in a light so colorful and colors so vibrant, that even I fail to recognize who or what I am. Overnight, I turn more reprehensibly wealthier than Gates, more prodigiously brilliant than Einstein, more outrageously powerful than Bush and more irresistibly handsome than Brosnan. Willing suspension of disbelief – an oft-used cinematic phrase that transcends the boundaries of its etymological, historical, contextual and philosophical origins, spills over into the ubiquitous reality of everyone and everything, and casts an enigmatic shadow of doubt that prevails in the impressionable minds of gullible souls long after the magic spell has been cast and be done with.
Make Believe is David Blaine’s brand of street magic. Your rational mind eggs you with your every breath to refute the claim that it is for real, for you know that down below, at some incomprehensible level, this is all but a fancy trick performed with the immaculate perfection of a seasoned professional, live, and in front of a clueless audience. And yet, every physical law that governs this universe, every law that you have ever come to comprehend over time and with experience, urges you to believe, with axiomatic justification, that what has been demonstrated before you in that indescribable moment in time is nothing but the truth – absolute and whole!!
Perhaps, what my mind, body and soul seeks in unison and with single-minded obsession is that point in space-time continuum where magic and reality blend seamlessly into an inseparable whole and begin to co-exist; where the all-comprehending rational faculty of the incomprehensible human mind breaks down and pure reason gives way to unconditional faith and unquestionable belief. It is the confluence of the believable and the unbelievable where believers voluntarily turn into non-believers, and vice versa, with an effortless swish of the invisible magical wand. It is that focal point of the universe where boundaries of reality are fudged, logic becomes fuzzy and you fail to distinguish The Real from The Imaginary.
That, to me, is Make Believe. And that, I believe, is where the world is headed, increasingly!!
The statement above reeks of complete disdain for everything imaginary. It has a sense of longing for the tangible, a want for the absolute. It hides a fear of getting lost in the mysterious world of unknown images because it is not sure of its own connections with reality, its relationship with its surroundings. I either am or I am not. I either have it or I don’t. I will NOT make myself believe otherwise.
I read an engrossing work of fiction and start imagining myself as the protagonist – one who is wronged and one who now seeks revenge. I give way to my repressed desires of fighting everything evil in my life by juxtaposing the story of the novel in my hand with the screenplay of the drama that is unfolding in my life even as I read along. While busy achieving existential salvation through literary discourse, I tend to conveniently forget that somewhere someone is busy plotting a similar storyline that revolves around him and me – just that this time, roles have been reversed, and perspectives have been altered; because now, he is the protagonist and I, the embodiment of everything evil. Voodoo magic? Occult science? Maybe! Maybe not!!
I watch an awesome flick that takes me on a joyride through the vast seas of desperate desires and virgin lands of forbidden pleasures. The movie does many things to my being. It transforms me at many levels. It paints me in a light so colorful and colors so vibrant, that even I fail to recognize who or what I am. Overnight, I turn more reprehensibly wealthier than Gates, more prodigiously brilliant than Einstein, more outrageously powerful than Bush and more irresistibly handsome than Brosnan. Willing suspension of disbelief – an oft-used cinematic phrase that transcends the boundaries of its etymological, historical, contextual and philosophical origins, spills over into the ubiquitous reality of everyone and everything, and casts an enigmatic shadow of doubt that prevails in the impressionable minds of gullible souls long after the magic spell has been cast and be done with.
Make Believe is David Blaine’s brand of street magic. Your rational mind eggs you with your every breath to refute the claim that it is for real, for you know that down below, at some incomprehensible level, this is all but a fancy trick performed with the immaculate perfection of a seasoned professional, live, and in front of a clueless audience. And yet, every physical law that governs this universe, every law that you have ever come to comprehend over time and with experience, urges you to believe, with axiomatic justification, that what has been demonstrated before you in that indescribable moment in time is nothing but the truth – absolute and whole!!
Perhaps, what my mind, body and soul seeks in unison and with single-minded obsession is that point in space-time continuum where magic and reality blend seamlessly into an inseparable whole and begin to co-exist; where the all-comprehending rational faculty of the incomprehensible human mind breaks down and pure reason gives way to unconditional faith and unquestionable belief. It is the confluence of the believable and the unbelievable where believers voluntarily turn into non-believers, and vice versa, with an effortless swish of the invisible magical wand. It is that focal point of the universe where boundaries of reality are fudged, logic becomes fuzzy and you fail to distinguish The Real from The Imaginary.
That, to me, is Make Believe. And that, I believe, is where the world is headed, increasingly!!
May 10, 2005
Metaphor
Metaphor, I was taught, means transfer in Greek. Metaphor, I understand, is what my life is, at the end of the day – a metaphor of smoldering desire to be rich and famous; a metaphor of perpetual struggle to fulfill my desire; a metaphor of despondent desperation at learning that it is not easy to find my way through the wayward jungle of this god-forsaken world to reach my dream castle where my fairytale princess awaits me with bated breath; a metaphor of hope against hopes that despite the hopeless today, tomorrow will hopefully be a better world to live in, at least for me if not for anybody else.
And I realize that the above is not only me, but everybody else as well. We are all alike in our duties to transfer through our lives the meaning of life to other people living. Just that our varying perspectives determine our different modes of transfer. The plurality of perspectives is what lends richness to the collective consciousness of humanity.
We have amidst us art connoisseurs, war enthusiasts, culinary experts, fearless adventurers, die-hard romantics, philosopher kings, prodigious scientists, tech gurus, eco-fin pundits, and many more. What I want to be is a bit of all of them. I want to revel in the joy of carrying simultaneously, the meaning of so many of life’s diverse perspectives. I want to be a mouthpiece for these seemingly uncorrelated and incoherent voices and attempt to not get lost in the Babel of these tongues. This, I want to make my raison d’être.
And I realize that the above is not only me, but everybody else as well. We are all alike in our duties to transfer through our lives the meaning of life to other people living. Just that our varying perspectives determine our different modes of transfer. The plurality of perspectives is what lends richness to the collective consciousness of humanity.
We have amidst us art connoisseurs, war enthusiasts, culinary experts, fearless adventurers, die-hard romantics, philosopher kings, prodigious scientists, tech gurus, eco-fin pundits, and many more. What I want to be is a bit of all of them. I want to revel in the joy of carrying simultaneously, the meaning of so many of life’s diverse perspectives. I want to be a mouthpiece for these seemingly uncorrelated and incoherent voices and attempt to not get lost in the Babel of these tongues. This, I want to make my raison d’être.
April 14, 2005
Of Combinatorial Problems and Statistical Conclusions.
Having had a good dump one fine morning and a scrumptious breakfast thereafter, while sitting in an undergrad classroom aeons ago, trying to unravel the many mysteries of Modern Art and Modern Fiction, I had casually remarked that any art form from yore that is revered in the present for its infallibility has come to be so as a consequence of a mere historical accident, or at best, a statistical conclusion that worked magic overnight by relegating the past, and redefining the future.
What prompted me to utter such profound words of wisdom that threatened to undermine the very existence of masterpieces and, in a naïve rush of adrenalin, attempted to usurp the authority of innumerable art critics and connoisseurs with one masterful stroke, I don't know!! All I know is that a string of failures at appreciating/comprehending the conventional, or for that matter unconventional, works of art acted as a definite trigger.
As what happens with all my enlightenments, it did not take long for this one to spill over to other spheres of my consciousness. In no time, I came to believe that all matters subjective, be they art or tech, life or death, could be resolved only by employing probabilistic and combinatorial tools like tossing coins, rolling dice, taking opinion polls, conducting elaborate and comprehensive surveys and deriving statistical interpretations out of the mindboggling mess of a data thus amassed.
Thus, to quote Einstein, and beyond...
God does not play dice. Man does.
What prompted me to utter such profound words of wisdom that threatened to undermine the very existence of masterpieces and, in a naïve rush of adrenalin, attempted to usurp the authority of innumerable art critics and connoisseurs with one masterful stroke, I don't know!! All I know is that a string of failures at appreciating/comprehending the conventional, or for that matter unconventional, works of art acted as a definite trigger.
As what happens with all my enlightenments, it did not take long for this one to spill over to other spheres of my consciousness. In no time, I came to believe that all matters subjective, be they art or tech, life or death, could be resolved only by employing probabilistic and combinatorial tools like tossing coins, rolling dice, taking opinion polls, conducting elaborate and comprehensive surveys and deriving statistical interpretations out of the mindboggling mess of a data thus amassed.
Thus, to quote Einstein, and beyond...
God does not play dice. Man does.
March 14, 2005
Total Recall
A great punster once said, I am having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time. I have forgotten this before.
It is strangely exciting to know how short-term our instant-recall memories are. Or is it just me? Well, I have always been aware of the-disease-that-affects-one-and-all, aka, Childhood Amnesia. But guess what, I seem to be suffering from its new, improved and rather scary variant, Lifelong Amnesia. Beat that!! No mater how significant an event that seems to be happening in my life, I tend to have no apparent recollection of it. It's like being perpetually under general anaesthesia. Is this good or is this bad?
Upfront, I would say this is bad. Memories are for us to recall and cherish ever so often. Memories define an individual. Reminiscing about my glorious past has always been one of my most romantic pastimes. Whether this is a consequence of a confused present and an uncertain future, I don't know. What I know for sure is that without memories to give me company, I sometimes feel like a dead man walking. But is this really so? I mean, is this really so bad? What do we need memories for anyways? If memories are bad, we'd rather distance ourselves from them lest their aura rub off on our otherwise healthy present. If, on the other hand, memories are good, we run the risk of recalling them at times when we are not in the best of conditions and then end up sulking over a glorious era we have been a part at some opportune moment in the past. And either way, we forever run the risk of living in our past, neglecting our present, and eventually, jeopardising our future. Damn! This is confusing!!
Well, to be honest, when I say I have no recollection of my past, near or distant, what I really mean is that I have no conscious recollection. What I have instead is these periodic moments in time when I grow exceedingly nostalgic bordering nauseous; and I feel like a person drowning, short on breath and gasping for life. Whether such bouts are triggered by a resonance of now with then, resulting out of a perfect complementarity or uncomplementarity (if there is such a word) of circumstances that exist, situations that are perceived and conclusions that are drawn, I don't know. It is at these moments when my past flashes before my wide open eyes in bits and pieces, at times chronologically, and at others, not; but challenging me at every step to wake up and acknowledge the self that I was, then, and juxtapose it with the self that I am, now.
It is through these partial recalls that I construct the totality of my life. However, succumbing to the limitations of an inferior RAM, I go ahead again and back it up in some unforseen, unlit and unreachable recesses of my perpetually overcharged, overburdened and overworked mind. I guess I am not that tech-savvy yet to go in for a RAM upgrade. Or maybe, I don't want to, ever.
It is strangely exciting to know how short-term our instant-recall memories are. Or is it just me? Well, I have always been aware of the-disease-that-affects-one-and-all, aka, Childhood Amnesia. But guess what, I seem to be suffering from its new, improved and rather scary variant, Lifelong Amnesia. Beat that!! No mater how significant an event that seems to be happening in my life, I tend to have no apparent recollection of it. It's like being perpetually under general anaesthesia. Is this good or is this bad?
Upfront, I would say this is bad. Memories are for us to recall and cherish ever so often. Memories define an individual. Reminiscing about my glorious past has always been one of my most romantic pastimes. Whether this is a consequence of a confused present and an uncertain future, I don't know. What I know for sure is that without memories to give me company, I sometimes feel like a dead man walking. But is this really so? I mean, is this really so bad? What do we need memories for anyways? If memories are bad, we'd rather distance ourselves from them lest their aura rub off on our otherwise healthy present. If, on the other hand, memories are good, we run the risk of recalling them at times when we are not in the best of conditions and then end up sulking over a glorious era we have been a part at some opportune moment in the past. And either way, we forever run the risk of living in our past, neglecting our present, and eventually, jeopardising our future. Damn! This is confusing!!
Well, to be honest, when I say I have no recollection of my past, near or distant, what I really mean is that I have no conscious recollection. What I have instead is these periodic moments in time when I grow exceedingly nostalgic bordering nauseous; and I feel like a person drowning, short on breath and gasping for life. Whether such bouts are triggered by a resonance of now with then, resulting out of a perfect complementarity or uncomplementarity (if there is such a word) of circumstances that exist, situations that are perceived and conclusions that are drawn, I don't know. It is at these moments when my past flashes before my wide open eyes in bits and pieces, at times chronologically, and at others, not; but challenging me at every step to wake up and acknowledge the self that I was, then, and juxtapose it with the self that I am, now.
It is through these partial recalls that I construct the totality of my life. However, succumbing to the limitations of an inferior RAM, I go ahead again and back it up in some unforseen, unlit and unreachable recesses of my perpetually overcharged, overburdened and overworked mind. I guess I am not that tech-savvy yet to go in for a RAM upgrade. Or maybe, I don't want to, ever.
February 21, 2005
The Uncertainty Principle, Revisited.
Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle states, "The position and momentum of a particle cannot be simultaneously measured with arbitrarily high precision. There is a minimum for the product of the uncertainties of these two measurements."
I read, "The position and momentum of a human life cannot be simultaneously measured with arbitrarily high precision. There is a minimum for the product of the uncertainties of these two measurements."
I could go a step further and claim that the minimum of uncertainties that we talk about above is directly proportional to the inverse of average self-awareness of our species, but that would spoil the impact of my revelation.
Translated into publicspeak, it simply means that when my life possesses negligible momentum, I have all the time to measure my position with respect to the frame of reference of the world. However, no matter how accurately I can determine where I stand, my position is inconsequential to the rest of the world; and probably, even to myself. Conversely, when my life seems to be gaining momentum at the speed of light, with too many things happening at the same time, and I finding no time to sit back, relax and ponder over the steps taken and decisions made, I can hardly figure out where I am headed. Ironical indeed!
I guess it is this very uncertainty that makes us all, from time to time, search for meaning of our lives, on either side of the uncertainty spectrum!!
I read, "The position and momentum of a human life cannot be simultaneously measured with arbitrarily high precision. There is a minimum for the product of the uncertainties of these two measurements."
I could go a step further and claim that the minimum of uncertainties that we talk about above is directly proportional to the inverse of average self-awareness of our species, but that would spoil the impact of my revelation.
Translated into publicspeak, it simply means that when my life possesses negligible momentum, I have all the time to measure my position with respect to the frame of reference of the world. However, no matter how accurately I can determine where I stand, my position is inconsequential to the rest of the world; and probably, even to myself. Conversely, when my life seems to be gaining momentum at the speed of light, with too many things happening at the same time, and I finding no time to sit back, relax and ponder over the steps taken and decisions made, I can hardly figure out where I am headed. Ironical indeed!
I guess it is this very uncertainty that makes us all, from time to time, search for meaning of our lives, on either side of the uncertainty spectrum!!
February 17, 2005
Recursive Ramblings
Driving back home late one night, much too fast for comfort, mulling over the deplorable state of city traffic and deteriorating traffic sense of reckless drivers, I couldn't help but recall the many road incidents and accidents I've been part of and stories of still more that I have heard from various acquiantances. I guess it was the mortality of my life, the fear of the dreaded wrong turn and the thought of the world as it would be without me that prompted me to step onto the brake pedal impromptu. As a consequence, while my car slowed down, my mind raced ahead with the intent of romanticizing the thought I had just had - that of transience of my life. And my mind echoed, life is, from one accident to another.
One thing led to another and I found myself picturing the world without me. What would change? A rather pessimistic question, suicidal, and loaded with pain, agony, anger and disillusionment with life. However, it is none of the above. My state of mind was not pesimistic, but philosophical. I was trying to understand death. I don't know why. And then it hit me for the first time - the notion that after I am gone, I will be a story who's physical existence though will have ceased to exist but who's mental projections will live on for a few more generations until they too fade away silently into oblivion; and I would be eventually lost in translation and forgotten for good. But before that, everyone who had ever known me, would stake a claim to the authenticity of my projection in their possession. I would be a finished story, waiting quietly to be released of all its residual physical memory, but being redefined with every breath the bearers of my identity would take - desperate flickerings of an extinguishing flame. If I survived, I would be a memory leak, and God won't be a flawless and expert programmer. That would be sacrilegious for then, I would be The One. Oh! what perspective. Does this mean that all immortals, messiahs, heroes of the past, leaders of the masses, and champions of causes are Ones in their own right? OMG!! I have tainted God and spoiled the singularity of The One!!!
Sorry for the detour. I suffer from this obsessive compulsive disorder of going off tangentially into vain pursuits of finding neverland ever so often, losing sense of the real and the tangible while on my way. Refocussing...
It is rather intriguing to know that you possess the power to define and redefine several times over the existence of a man once he no longer controls it. At the same time, it is scary to know that you can play God. How I wish I could know how I would be redefined once I am gone. Or, do I have the power to, if not define in as many words, but give direction to thoughts and formulations of my own life's story while I am still alive? Well, one such thing is my epitaph. The other is my life. INFINITE RECURSION. CORE DUMPED!!
One thing led to another and I found myself picturing the world without me. What would change? A rather pessimistic question, suicidal, and loaded with pain, agony, anger and disillusionment with life. However, it is none of the above. My state of mind was not pesimistic, but philosophical. I was trying to understand death. I don't know why. And then it hit me for the first time - the notion that after I am gone, I will be a story who's physical existence though will have ceased to exist but who's mental projections will live on for a few more generations until they too fade away silently into oblivion; and I would be eventually lost in translation and forgotten for good. But before that, everyone who had ever known me, would stake a claim to the authenticity of my projection in their possession. I would be a finished story, waiting quietly to be released of all its residual physical memory, but being redefined with every breath the bearers of my identity would take - desperate flickerings of an extinguishing flame. If I survived, I would be a memory leak, and God won't be a flawless and expert programmer. That would be sacrilegious for then, I would be The One. Oh! what perspective. Does this mean that all immortals, messiahs, heroes of the past, leaders of the masses, and champions of causes are Ones in their own right? OMG!! I have tainted God and spoiled the singularity of The One!!!
Sorry for the detour. I suffer from this obsessive compulsive disorder of going off tangentially into vain pursuits of finding neverland ever so often, losing sense of the real and the tangible while on my way. Refocussing...
It is rather intriguing to know that you possess the power to define and redefine several times over the existence of a man once he no longer controls it. At the same time, it is scary to know that you can play God. How I wish I could know how I would be redefined once I am gone. Or, do I have the power to, if not define in as many words, but give direction to thoughts and formulations of my own life's story while I am still alive? Well, one such thing is my epitaph. The other is my life. INFINITE RECURSION. CORE DUMPED!!
January 31, 2005
Art of Living
Cycles of motivation - occupational hazard of living. A fancy excuse to hide behind when I face trials of conscience at not having pursued an activity that I so enthusiastically committed to indulging myself in for purging my thoughts and emotions, for dumping my truck-loads of junk souvenirs, for offloading the burden of my life and for offering my pearls of wisdom in this ever-effervescent sea of human consciousness.
Taking a step further, for any independent variable of my existence that I sample over time, I find an oscillating function that casually hovers around an average average. Is success, by any chance, determined by the lack of this leveler of a multi-dimensional (life's) function? What does it take to break the voltage barrier and generate glitches, I ask then. What do I need in terms of a stabilizer that can not only buffer the expectedly sudden impact but also encourage fluctuations with its divine invisible presence?
However, if I somehow manage to break out of the humdrum of osciallating ordinariness, will I still remain the person that I now am or become one that I so desperately want to be? Maybe this inertia is justified then. It is this very inertia that, ever so often, transforms itself into a categorical imperative (for me) to rediscover my lost self (if I can steadily define one among many temporal projections, that is) and embark on an exciting journey into self and beyond - one that I look forward to, for it is the elixir of my life.
Taking a step further, for any independent variable of my existence that I sample over time, I find an oscillating function that casually hovers around an average average. Is success, by any chance, determined by the lack of this leveler of a multi-dimensional (life's) function? What does it take to break the voltage barrier and generate glitches, I ask then. What do I need in terms of a stabilizer that can not only buffer the expectedly sudden impact but also encourage fluctuations with its divine invisible presence?
However, if I somehow manage to break out of the humdrum of osciallating ordinariness, will I still remain the person that I now am or become one that I so desperately want to be? Maybe this inertia is justified then. It is this very inertia that, ever so often, transforms itself into a categorical imperative (for me) to rediscover my lost self (if I can steadily define one among many temporal projections, that is) and embark on an exciting journey into self and beyond - one that I look forward to, for it is the elixir of my life.
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