In case you folks hadn't noticed already, humility is not one of my top virtues. Mind you, I appreciate it very much in others, and I wish I could embody it. But I am coming to think I am just not wired for it. I have a theory about why. I think it has to do with my innate propensity for honesty (which translates into honest evaluation of myself and others). If somebody asked me how good I am at sport X, I would simply say I am bad at sports in general. This one isn’t particular. What about maths? Not my strength at all. Am I being humble? Nope. Just honest. If someone asked me a question about something I know a fair amount about, but I am not confident enough, I'll qualify my opinion. Again, not being humble. Just honest. But in the same vein, when something happens to be in an area I have researched to death or when I believe I am right about something or my intuition strongly prompts me a particular way or I smell bullshit, I won't mince it. I will come across as arrogant maybe. But all I am is honest and earnest! Trouble is more people in the world admire humility (because it makes them feel better about themselves) than honesty (because it can be threatening to insecure people or bullshitters or the like). I am not saying humble people are dishonest—absolutely not. If they were, I wouldn't appreciate the quality myself. Though I make a distinction between the real humility and fake one. Like in all things. The really humble, as the saying goes, are actually great ;)

What I really love about genuine humility and what I wish I could cultivate more of is the detachment that comes with it. One is not attached to an estimation of oneself, estimation of others, estimation of one's knowledge or anybody else's or anything. There is an openness to judgment without judging anyone rigidly... I suppose it's very different from my strong attachment. There is a letting-go-ness to humility which I wish I had because attachment is pretty exhausting... But maybe there is something to be said for honesty, attachment, loyalty, and so forth too, even if it neither wins you popularity nor makes life easy.

Many years ago, when I was still working in India, I was looking to move to another job. I was in a bit of a dead-end, or so I felt, and I had this desperate desire to move. Maybe it was nothing more than the angst that comes out of being in the same place for many years, and seeing the last few people you knew, jump ship. I applied for a job in a different city. Now I am not sure why but at the time it felt like a perfect job. It was just a mid-level role, nothing fancy. I had my heart set on it though. I travelled to this city for the interview. It was one of the worst interview experiences I have ever had. There were 6-7 different interviews with different teams lined up for me through the day, starting with a written test at 8.00 am and ending with a phone interview at 8.30 pm with someone in the US. I was already disoriented because I had commuted to a far-away location in a different city early in the morning, but the relentless performances of the day pushed me to my limits. I remember as I was walking out of the premises later that night, the security person was surprised: he asked me if I didn't arrive very early that morning? It was one of those ‘kind words from a stranger’ moments, that’s why I still remember! I wasn’t just imagining this harrowing day.

I did not get the job. I remember crying. I don’t remember why I took it so badly. In hindsight, it wasn't such a great opportunity at all. But I think from my vantage point at the time, it seemed like one. Many times since then, over the years, I have looked back at this event to remind myself that what looks good may not be so good, what looks bad may turn out to be or lead to something better. That job would have taken me away from my family, my home, my city much earlier… and it wasn’t worth that at all. I was in a way lucky I didn’t get it! What I actually got after that was much more up my street in any number of ways. And though the step I took after that (to move to academia) was not directly connected to where I went, I somehow think one thing leads you to another in some way or the other. What is meant for one, comes to one. Later or sooner…

I am teaching 'reflective practice' these days. That's all I have been thinking about. How to get students to practice reflection? When I look back on my distant past, no one ever told me to reflect. Or showed me how to. I started reading as a kid. That's when it perhaps started. I enjoyed reading. Around the same time, I discovered my love of writing. Scribbling all sorts of things that came into my head in my 'diary' (I think I stopped the diary ritual only when I started this blog). The reading, writing, reflecting almost went hand in hand. Maybe I should add intensely pondering on experience? I remember reading chapters from the Bible (which was one big book of stories for me!) and writing my thoughts down. Or reading poems and copying my favourite lines. Or recording interesting quotes in a file. And so on. Turning them in my head, chewing them with my pen. Nobody ever told me to read or reflect or write or think or be critical or anything. Not at home, not in school, not in college. Our Indian education system wasn’t designed for that sort of stuff anyway. I was chastised rather for being 'argumentative' or always hanging out with books. Maybe writing was a way to talk about the things I was thinking about with myself... making sense of them. Once I discovered a love of this kind of thinking/talking by writing, I couldn't stop. Like a child who doesn't have to be told to love candy or ice cream. So how do I teach anyone to love it...? I can only expose them to it maybe...

I am conscious that the world I am referring to is a different world. Nobody may have told me anything or shown me anything but for a curious mind, all this was stimulation. These days with so much ready stimulation in the form of social media and what not, maybe kids do not have the space to explore for themselves these deeper joys, to focus on one thing like reading or to focus their thinking somewhere like writing or just to get to know one’s own thoughts.

An interesting analogy popped in my head. Reflecting is now like breathing for me, not like drinking water. You can forget to drink water or drink it from time to time. You don't forget to breathe... you don't even know you are breathing...

How strange that we should ordinarily feel compelled to hide our wounds when we are all wounded! Community requires the ability to expose our wounds and weaknesses to our fellow creatures. It also requires the ability to be affected by the wounds of others... But even more important is the love that arises among us when we share, both ways, our woundedness.

~ M. Scott Peck

One time I was temporarily living in an apartment complex with a very heavy door at the entrance with restricted access. Other people from work were living there too. I happened to talk to one of them during lunch. I mentioned in the course of conversation that I could hear the loud bang of the entrance door closing from inside my flat. This person brushed it off and didn't believe me. Apparently they couldn't hear anything so I was just imagining things. I knew I wasn't but I also know I am ultra-sensitive to sound so thought it possible I heard the sound, but others just didn't.

That little exchange stayed with me. Perhaps because it was one of the numerous times where my own experience, observation, or perception was invalidated as being all in my head. Only later I found out this person lived on the 10th floor. I was on the 2nd floor. So it wasn't that I was too sensitive to sound, it wasn't that I was imagining things... the actual conditions in which we were experiencing things were different, though outwardly they looked the same! Had that person trusted my experience... there might have been some understanding. Instead, they chose to believe that what didn't match their own experience was not true or made up by an overactive imagination. Makes one think about how we go through life holding onto our own truths, rarely trying to see what the other person sees, where they might be seeing it from…

I think about my early life experiences a lot more these days, sometimes with new eyes. Side-effect of growing older? I compare and contrast—circumstances, responses, how they shaped me, where I have come now, and many other things. It makes me feel very humble and helps me accept things much more stoically. Like when I moved into my new home in the UK—would I have ever dreamt I would do a PhD in the UK or have a house over there!—so when I moved in, there was no furniture of course. Still there isn't. There was no time before my trip and there's a lot to think about before I get heavy stuff. I layered a lot of mats and bedsheets in a corner of the living room and slept on it. Funnily, you'd think with the tiny things that bother me, this would take the cake! But it actually reminded me of where I came from... in a good way I should say. It reminded me I could do and have done with so, so little. I looked at the roof, the heating, the bath, the food... and I thought, wasn't I living in literal luxury? What more could one need?

Today it was raining very heavily where I am. I have never experienced this kind of rain here in China on previous trips and certainly not in the UK. It rains all the time in the UK, but it never feels like real rain. Today there was real rain. And this rain took me back to the old days. To Mumbai. Walking, trudging, almost wading in this rain today... scared that I will fall... trying to put my feet in shallow water… but at many points the water was pretty deep on the sidewalk, with no way to flow out either side... water in my shoes, jeans all wet, hair soaked, sweat trickling... Thankfully the umbrella was big. I prayed I wouldn't slip, clumsy as I am. I couldn't help thinking how I have forgotten what real rain feels like. How battling real rain feels like. Here I was getting so worked up walking in clean rainwater and there was a time I had to face hours of jumping around dirty icky water. Rickshaws, taxis, cars, buses whooshing past drenching me in it. After long waits we somehow got into rickshaws and made our way home. It was an ordeal! Thinking about those days in the past brought me back to ground. Steadied my feet. I wasn't new to this at all... it all came back to me. I was grateful…

Drip, drip, drip. Repetitive sounds annoy me. Why so many plumbing problems, I think to myself. That too just days before my big trip. Big trips make me anxious. Planning, organising, anticipating, disruption × 10. I could have done with a little peace. Seeing as this year's been a roller coaster, a stop before another ride would have helped. But it's not to be. How do I make this sound stop, I think to myself. I found a way. Put the plastic dish-washing thing on a sponge in the sink and the tap drip does not hit with a sound. Relief. But I still have to solve this problem. Must it have to happen now...? Well, let me call a different plumber. I must test out a few frogs before I find the prince. Wait, I don't need to worry about the sound now I am leaving for work. Funnily I recall the old philosophical problem. When water drips in the sink and no one's there to hear it, does it make a sound? Clearly not!

Here I thought I was having it bad with the dripping and the tripping... now I feel emotionally numb on top of it. What was it Shakespeare said about troubles not coming singly but in battalions... It's a good thing that most people can carry on carrying on without stopping to ask existential questions. I wish I could wake up, brush my teeth, eat my breakfast, go for work... etc on autopilot mode. Not reflect too much on the whys and wherefores. I don't remember much of the process of brushing or bathing because I am so immersed in thought. I forget if I really washed my face sometimes and do it again. No harm doing it twice, is there? Someone said on Facebook the other day that she brushes with her left hand to be more intentionally focused on brushing. Wow! I don't know about that... if the brush grazes my teeth for enough time with no recollection from me, did they really get brushed...? Yes, I think...?

I am in China now. Settling in slowly, setting up my routines. Having been here before, my body seems to know its way around. There is no anxiety that comes from the complete unknown. Immediately, I encounter the natural helpfulness/kindliness of people. Not effortful or studied or appearances sake. My stuff left last year is stored by the property management run by mostly women. I message this lady if she could bring it to my flat for me. Trying my luck. She's there at my door. Barely an hour later. With three bulky boxes. I compare my interactions with people in the UK. There is a transactional quality to them that leaves me very cold sometimes. Like if you showed a human heart, it'd be blasphemy, an imposition. Must be as detached as you can, never exceed your boundaries. Which is why sometimes when something overflows, it touches me. The chap who finally came to fix the sink blockage (yes, the tap dripping was followed by yet another problem!) at home was an elderly man who found the door access system too technical for him. But he knew his own stuff. I was so thankful when he fixed the sink thing. When I paid him in cash, he took it and kissed my hand. It shocked me for a second but in a good way. It felt comfortingly human…

There's a heaviness in my heart. I don't know how to carry on. How to do all the everyday things, pretend they matter, go about the motions of life, like they are leading somewhere, pretend some joy in them? I look around me at people and wonder how they do it. How they go about life so easily, so happily. Don't they feel this heaviness sometimes, this wanting to just pause, to lay down, to cry...

I find it very hard to connect to people in general. It is a very very rare thing for me to make a connection. I don't even expect it to happen because it would be a miracle and miracles don't just happen. And yet, I count it among the best blessings in my life to have made one that was beyond what I could have ever asked for or hoped for. When it is something so precious, you want to hold onto it forever. And so I did. Deep down though, even as I found it, I always had this sense of time ticking. The patterns in my life gave me an intuition that it was just a matter of time. God had sent me this blessing when I most wanted it... but He would take it away... as he has always done, someday not too far. A part of me held this painful knowledge never wanting to confront it. Because I knew I couldn't do anything about it. All I could do is to hold the precious gift as delicately and tightly as possible. I feel sad that I did not always do that. It is easy to forget when you have something, to take it for granted... and so I did. Though I want to tell myself that I appreciated and honoured it too. I never lost sight of what a gift it was to me... there is this saying that I love and hate at the same time... when the student is ready, the teacher appears... when the student is truly ready, the teacher disappears... I hated this quote because it expressed what I really feared... that my gift would be gone someday... And I fear it has... my heart feels tremendously heavy at the thought of it... because the truth is I will never be truly ready to lose something so very precious... something that comes so rarely to me...but it wouldn't know...

As I was trying to find bits of energy to carry on, just to keep going, even if without much will or hope, there was a severe blockage in my kitchen sink... anything else I could have ignored but there is just one workable kitchen sink that needs to work... with me living in my own house, the responsibility is greater...it felt like when I could just not bear to feel anything but the deep sadness gripping me, I had to force myself to deal with this practicality... it made me want to drop everything and run... but it also made me see that if an issue with the sink could force my attention so much, how must it be if there was an issue with health? How much more terrible it would be if I had to be forced to deal with a painful tooth or a blocked gut...? A dear friend said to me recently that it helps to reframe a situation when something seems very dire... my reframing it this way helped me see how difficult it must be for someone who must deal with both internal health constraints and external worries... it also made me think about my own privilege to be able to freely wallow in sorrow without having to force my attention on survival or bodily emergencies... maybe we never realise how lucky we are with what we have until we aren't...

It was love at first sight. I felt it the moment I saw you. I knew that instant you were meant to be mine. I did everything in my power to bring us together. I almost lost you once. I wondered if it was not to be after all. If it was all but a dream. Too good to be true. But when all my hopes were almost dashed, they were renewed once again. Was it to be after all...? I have been on tenterhooks these last few months. Wondering, waiting, moping, hoping... And now, finally, at long last, here we are... united! I love you now as much as I did that first moment. When I knew deep down we were perfect for each other. I knew you would be everything I wanted. And I was right!

Dear reader, I speak of my house! ;) I am finally HERE! There were more turns and twists, ups and downs, since my last update on this matter. But, as I say quite often, all's well that ends well :) I have a ton of reflections coming from the experience of living in a house of my own and they'll be coming up by and by...

For now, I am preparing for 'that time of the year'. Yes, my China visit looms very very close. I am glad everything's clicked into place at the right time... and I have my dearest to get back to… hehe!

This article I was reading had the following two quotes which amused me and made me ponder:

“When you don’t watch television for a long time, your way of thinking becomes different, your idea of what is interesting is not the same as what television people think should be interesting.” (Tran, 2001:7)

“the common factor to all 20th-century lunatics and serial killers, from Stalin to Lee Harvey Oswald, was this: they didn’t watch enough telly” (Scott, 1999:17).

The article isn’t that old, but it would seem to be, given the rate at which technologies are changing. We don’t set as much store by the ‘television’ anymore I guess, since the arrival of Netflix and smart phones. Entertainment has moved elsewhere. Technically Netflix could be called television as you might be watching it on the television screen, but I guess what these quotes are referring to is something different. A ‘television culture’ as it were, which is produced by most people watching the same shows at the same times. It gave everyone’s life a common context so to speak. If you aren’t watching it, then it’s almost like you do not even live in the same world, even though you do. Sort of reminds me how in India at one point we had a lot of television based on the Indian epics: Ramayana, Mahabharata, etc. Everything revolved around them, people spoke of nothing else!

It’s not the same anymore with Netflix. Each person chooses what they want to watch for themselves. And many probably just choose to browse social media or do games on their smart phones. Of course, you could still end up watching the same popular shows on Netflix or other streaming services as your friends… but I think it’s still not the same? Unlike earlier when people who all watched television shared a common context or inhabited a similar world which was distinct from those who didn’t, now everyone inhabits their own unique world, a world in which what they consume in terms of media or stories or knowledge or news or entertainment is all very different from the next person. It sort of makes me wonder what that means from a social perspective…? 

I wrote this when I was having a dramatic moment. I have since calmed down ;)

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There is this quote which a friend shared with me ages ago. We were in college then. But I still remember it: 'It is easy to die for a friend but it is hard to find a friend worth dying for'. Time and again when I have felt someone was worth pushing myself out of my comfort zone for, putting myself out there for, going out on a limb for, I have done it. Only to realise I shouldn't have bothered. There are many things that come easy to people that take a whole lot more out of me. If they truly are a friend, I would want them to notice the humungous effort, the deliberate intention, the depth of emotion, underlying affection, the anxiety and vulnerability, everything that goes into my being there for them. Mostly they don't. That's when I wonder why bother. I rarely want to take such troubles now. One could argue you can't say until you do. That's true perhaps. But the disappointment is too much. It hurts too much. Cynicism has its uses. It protects you in a way. When you have accepted nothing is worth it and there's no point really, you can move on. Focus on the things that are rewarding. That won't let you down. People on the other hand? They will. Time and time again. They have no clue what it takes for you to show up. So when you do, you will wonder why you even bothered. The tom, dick, and harry would have done for them as well. Very well it would seem. That's what they'll make you feel. So why bother?

'No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man' ~ Heraclitus

Most of my life we lived on this one lane in Mumbai. It's a lane in a pretty affluent neighbourhood of Mumbai, well connected to everything, close to the famous Juhu beach dotted with a lot of Bollywood residences. We moved houses about twice much later but both times on the same lane. Back and forth literally. The experience of being not well off in such a well-off locality must have had a unique impact on me come to think of it—but let me reflect on that another day. Why I mention this lane now is because I have been feeling this wave of nostalgia for it... a deep desire to be back there as we were back then in some of the happy times...

And then I remembered this quote. I remembered that when I passed this lane just this December when I was in Mumbai, I could barely recognize it. I could barely recognize most places in Mumbai, but this one is special. I grew up on this lane. But it was just so different. So dusty, so dirty, so unkempt, so rundown, all sorts of carts and rubbish spilling into the street... so out of sorts really. It used to be a posh part of the city like I said earlier but now it had become an old part. Many new high rises and swanky places have come up whereas this lane got forgotten it would seem. Or... is it me who has changed? Who is seeing it with different, with a world traveller's eyes?

The lane I was longing for was not there anymore... even the 'I' I was picturing living on that lane wasn't there anymore. They were both in the past. Alive only in my and most likely my family members' memories. But even our memories I imagine recall a very different lane even though they are the same... These thoughts only made me miss my lane more because there was no way to go back... even if I did.

I was getting a take-away pizza on my way home on Friday evening. The server had an extra package on top of the pizza box. When I looked at him quizzically, he said it's a 'croissant on the house'. And that made me happy... hehe! I don't know where I get this from. It could be a middle-class Indian thing? Or could be the scarcity mindset I grew up in? Maybe both compounded? But anything 'for free' is guaranteed to make me happy. If it comes right out of the blue, then even more so. If it's something I like or could use, even more so. But even if it's not particularly my thing, a free thing is a free thing. It will still give me a boost ;)

I have wondered about this because... there was a time I couldn't afford the simple pleasures of life. It made sense then that I would feel happy to get stuff that I (or my family) might not have extra money to spend on. But now that's not the case. So, I am not really sure why? It kind of makes me realise how much our early experiences count, how much of a weight they have even much later in our lives... When I was walking about M&S recently, I suddenly reflected that now if I was choosing to not buy something, it was for all kinds of reasons but never because it was too expensive. I mean, even if I thought to myself something was too expensive, it wasn't that I couldn't afford to buy it. I just felt it wasn't worth buying. And when I thought about this, I stopped to savour this feeling. A feeling that nothing in this shop was inaccessible to me. I could buy whatever my heart desired. I wanted to feel the feeling really. It felt quite luxurious. Quite lush. This is what people born into money or even comfort might have been feeling from their childhood years? They never had to earn this feeling. I wonder how different their orientation to life must be? I doubt they feel a rush of delight when they get something for free?

But I don't let these thoughts run away with me. My early years have taught me to be careful with money, to be prudent, to save, to not waste stuff, etc... Sometimes I find it hard to figure out what the balance is because I have never really lived in a balanced state, if you know what I mean? I do not want to spend too much but nor do I want to spend too little. That's why I decided to treat myself to a pizza on Friday evening. And when I got the croissant, I knew I made the right choice ;)

My go-to genre on Netflix is murder mysteries. Not the gory or graphic sort. Ones that engage your brain cells really. The whodunits without all the blood but plenty of complex twists. I have long come to the conclusion that the Brit stuff is the best in this as well as many other categories, like the period pieces, documentaries, etc. The cerebral quotient is high, acting very natural, dialogue smooth, just enough restrained emotion, not too warm/not too cold, the plot is logical, and so much else. The Italian/Spanish ones are a bit over the top/all over the place on all these counts... they don't keep the focus where it needs to be. The Scandinavian/Nordic the opposite, if that makes sense. Too clinical, too devoid of emotion, too lacking in warmth, in the human... which is what motivates my interest even though subtly. I remember once starting one of these Nordic shows and barely a few minutes in, this woman was ready to chop a chap laid on the table as if it was a sack of potatoes. With zero expression on the face. I was out, in a hurry :( The French ones are probably closer to the Brit, if I had to choose. German seems somewhere in the middle of French and Scandinavian/Nordic. A bit too uptight and cold for my liking. American... hmm... not high on cerebral, acting artificial, too unrestrained, thin plot, hollow dialogue, very random illogical twists. Rarely holds my interest very long. [exceptions obviously exist in all these languages].

Closer home, I feel the quality of crime drama in Bollywood is improving but it's a rare gem here and there. The staple is still pretty boringly predictable. Too contrived. If I know there's a good one, I do want to watch it... but there's an added complication. I am unable to be as detached as when I watch any other language shows. I have to say that I am actually very easily frightened. It's a bit of a tension between me loving a good mystery and me being put off by even the idea of violent action. With the Indian stuff, my heightened emotional involvement makes the experience very uncomfortable if the show tries to be too real. So chances are I will avoid it, unless I am watching with company.

Makes one think about how different cultural systems - different human expressions – different languages - different audience orientations capture the complexity of crime and its resolution in creative form... and all this of course from my subjective perspective which itself is oriented to appreciate a particular form and style over others…

I wish I could be like a sage. One who gives up all material possessions, all attachments, all chains, all desires and ambitions... and just goes and sits on top of a mountain. Calm, tranquil, peaceful with no care in the world or for the world. I don't know if that's how sages were like... but that's the impression I have and I wish I could be one. Just embrace peace, tranquillity, serenity... as if nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things. If you think about it, nothing does. As they say, the king and the pawn go back into the same box tomorrow. Yet we hoard. Seems rather pointless when you think about it. The humungous number of things a body has to keep track of just to survive from day to day. It's like a hotel which you never check into, but you have to do everything to earn your room, your meal, your right to stay. The dishes, the laundry, the job, the taxes, the bank, the phone connection, the housing, the healthcare, the visa... the myriad things on a never-ending list. And you have to be on top of it all. All the time. The machine must be oiled all the time to keep it running. And that's where I really envy the sage of olden times. It's no wonder they could meditate. They did not have to think of a constant stream of things that the more you cross out, the more they queue up. Doesn't it seem like we have made existence very complicated? The real things, the beautiful things, the joyful, fulfilling things are what you have to snatch out of the clutches of the machine really... You do not ask to be a part of the scheme, but you cannot not be a part of it. Unless you are a sage. And I doubt even sages today could be what they used to be. If they can completely check out of this hotel. Maybe the trick is to find a way to be this sage right in the thick of it. To not let the machine run you so to speak. To find the mountain inside you as the cliche goes. But how does one do this...?