I was reading Dostoevsky's short story The Dream of a Ridiculous Man and there was a thought there that I have thought many a times myself. I think I have mentioned it at some points on this blog too. A strange, almost ludicrous thought in a way, but maybe not. It's whether other than me, my consciousness, my experience, my perception, etc, whether anything outside of me, exists in any true sense at all? Do people just appear when I encounter them or are they living their own lives even when I do not see or hear them? Are only the things I see, hear, feel, touch real at that moment or are they real whether I am around or not? Does everything revolve around me (like the main character in a movie) or am I just an insignificant speck of matter like everybody else for whom it feels so because my consciousness and perception is all I can get a grip on...? Will everything just stop existing when I don't?

Following are lines from Dostoevsky...

"I may almost say that the world now seemed created for me alone: if I shot myself the world would cease to be at least for me. I say nothing of its being likely that nothing will exist for anyone when I am gone, and that as soon as my consciousness is extinguished the whole world will vanish too and become void like a phantom, as a mere appurtenance of my consciousness, for possibly all this world and all these people are only me myself."

One of the reasons I love writing, or I am compelled to write, is because I have things to say and no one to say them to. I don't mean in the sense of general people but people who would be specifically interested in the kinds of things I want to talk about and specifically also thinking about or reading about the kinds of things I am pondering on. Sometimes when you find such people you feel a bit like milk boiling over. You can't contain your excitement, your exuberance, you want to get it all out. I say this as someone who is rarely excited about the things most people are excited about. I am overpowered. But then you sort of get the impression that it can be too much even for these people. Or maybe my intuition which is always picking up on even minute signals gets that impression and I feel like crowding myself back in. This kind of exchange cannot be timed like your regular small talk so the moment a person looks at their watch, I see it as a signal. Time up. And that sort of makes me wonder if they were ever as absorbed or interested in it at all. It makes me suspect the integrity of the whole thing. It makes me feel like a parent might have been humouring a child — that's all very well and good, it's time for your bed now ;) I come out of it feeling worse than if I had never opened my mouth. That's partly why I do it only rarely and with rare people.

But that brings me back to why I write. It affords me the luxury of saying what I want to say, what is latent in me and wants to get out, in the way I want to say it, as long as it takes me to say it. It gives me space to think through what I am thinking, what I am curious about, what caused me worry, what brought me wonder, what patterns I am noting, what I think they mean, etc etc without worrying about the clock or about whether the other person is genuinely interested in it or whatever. I can maintain the integrity of my thinking process. I suppose academic writing gives me that in one way though it takes a very long time before my ideas can find their way there in a more polished form. This blog gives me more of an immediate, ongoing, unconstrained platform, I would say. I try to write in a way that makes sense to anyone if they should read it, but I am deliberately not trying to cultivate an audience or pander to an audience. I am writing for myself really, because like someone said, that's how I hear myself think, and I am interested in what I think. That I feel also acts as its own barrier for any audience: only if someone is genuinely interested in the kinds of things I think or talk or feel about, they stay; the rest, leave. Either way it doesn't matter.

I loved escaping into the world of literature ever since I was a kid. There was something so comforting and warm about these literary worlds, so different from the crudeness and harshness of the real world. But now I think about it, there is another thing: Events make sense in these worlds. People make sense. The third person narrator ties up everything neatly for you. You know what's going on, why it's going on, what everyone is thinking, what they want, why things end up the way they do, and so on. There is a kind of internal coherence that is very satisfying, there is a 'plot' so to speak, and there is a rationale to it. A beginning, middle, end. Sometimes they may leave things a bit open-ended. But then too there is an arc around which you can exercise your imagination. It all comes together. And more often than not, the good people win. There are just deserts to be had all around. Which as you know is one of my pet peeves ;)

The real world, in contrast, is nothing at all like these worlds. Here you are a character and not a reader, which means you are carried by the plot rather than watching it unfold. But the bigger difference is, there is no plot as such. There is no overarching logic in motion that will make everything make sense in the end. There is no 'end' as such. You end, but the story for want of a better word goes on. And people? They are mysterious, their internal logic if there is one, completely opaque, inconsistent, and undeterminable. Their moves seem very arbitrary because they don't have bubbles over their heads telling you what they are thinking, why they are doing what they are doing, what is motivating them, etc. Add to which people may themselves not know. And of course, bad things more often than not happen to good people!

Any wonder why the real world is so disorienting? Perhaps a different orientation to it is needed... one which gives up on my compelling desire to 'make sense'...

Over the years I feel I have become more and more open to listening to what the universe is trying to say... to sort of trusting in its grand design or whatever you might call it... maybe it's a way of coping with what is anyway not in my control... I cannot control the stream of events or bend them to my bidding... they are anyway going to go as they have to... but when I look back, I can't help noticing a thread... that many of the things that happened outside my control led me to places eventually where I needed to be... as Marcus Aurelius says, the impediment in the way becomes the way or something like that... some years ago now, when I first came here, I was going through a pretty low phase... I had to ask myself why I was here, why was I brought here if it was not meant to be... and then... something happened and it all fell perfectly in place... I could never have planned for how it fell in place... without trying to or pushing anything it fell in place... and I suppose that was the event that made me realise this unity in the design of things... does not mean that everything will have a good or positive ending, mind you... it just means that the path in many ways will lead you to where you are supposed to be... it may be a very hard path and it may not have much happiness in the end even... but that's your path... different from everyone else... which is why comparing with other people and saying they have it easy is senseless, pointless, fruitless... maybe they do... maybe they don't... they are not wired like you and they don't have a path set out like you... that's not to say that after this particular event I have been accepting everything more stoically... not at all... realisations always come after the fact, not before... what they say about hindsight and all that... there was another point after that where I had to ask myself why the universe brought me all the way forward only to stump me again...what was the point? was it all going to be for nothing? and then when things moved forward, it was just not the way I wanted them to... I was again comparing with others who with a lot less got so much more... it seemed so very unfair... I could kick the universe, truly ;) ... like I said, I was still trying to control my path but it didn't help... I had to take the path laid out for me.... of course you could ask what if you refused it and just sat there... I don't know... I cannot speak for alternate paths but at that point that was the only path that took me forward and one of the things I am inclined to do is move forward instead of sitting still... that path bore fruit, I must say... again when I looked back, I could tell it was probably for my makeup the better path... for someone else, maybe not... so comparing with others did not make sense... when that realisation came, I again figured that the universe was taking me where I needed to be... along a different path... and now... yes, I am again stumped... I am again at this point asking the universe, why?... why does it have to be so difficult? why give me something and then take it away? why make it harder than it needs to be? and I do not have an answer of course...  the answers seem to have always come later, not in the way I wanted them, not in the way I could have imagined... maybe an answer to this will also come... let's see... 

Wallowing in my pain

It is easy to forget

The suffering of those

So dear to me

My own agonies

Seem almost insignificant

Compared to their

Excruciating miseries

What does it matter

If they cannot know

How much I miss

And remember

Their presence

How much I

Look back to

Relive and recall

Their kindness

And

Benevolence

I must keep going

Without the

Luxury

Of their care

And warmth

Plod along

As it were

One foot slowly

Over the other

Like those

Motivational types

Say

Even though it’s hard,

Very hard

Some days

More than others

To even pretend

Some stake

In this fool’s journey

Made harder still

By these overwhelming

Griefs

That come out

And catch you

Almost

Unawares

But one must go on

Sadly or happily

Kicking or crying

There's no point

Or promise

Is there?

But one must

Keep going...

Nevertheless

~Me

I have become a bit bold-ish these days. Nothing alarming. My version of bold is pretty tame. I am being bold in the sense that I am not spending an inordinate amount of time between certain decisions and actions—albeit decisions related to rather mundane matters and actions involving making phone calls to random tradesfolk such as curtain makers. I have never ever thought this much about curtains my whole life, as I admitted to the curtain measurer who came home. And because of that, I have never ever had any idea of what curtains tend to cost. I imagine they weren't that expensive in Mumbai? My mom used to sew a lot as we were growing up so she even sewed the curtains then... And at a later point there was an interior designer involved who gave us a ready to move house with curtains and all. I never asked what they cost nor was I involved in choosing them. They matched with the rest of the decor. All in all, I have never come face to face with the question of curtains before... and never realized there was so much to face! :(

I believe I have mentioned on this blog a very, very long time ago, I must certainly have, that my favourite colour is yellow. All shades from lime yellow to golden yellow to mustard yellow (not up to brown, brown is a colour I do not like at all, up there with grey which I do not like at all). So obviously I chose a variant of yellow (with a velvety texture) when I browsed the samples in the shop. My sense is whatever else I buy is going to either have a yellow tone or go with a yellow tone (such as green) so that's a good choice. The lady in the shop asked me my name, so I gave my first name. She asked my second name. When I gave it, she goes, "I thought it would be something like that!" I quipped, "like what?" ;) I seem to be meeting a lot of people whom I ordinarily wouldn't meet because of all this and that's interesting I suppose? They tend to say things without "thinking about it", compared to people who think a lot of things but never say it...hehe...

Anyway, so when I got the quote for the curtain and the track to hang it on... I wouldn't say I was shocked exactly because I am now sort of getting used to these shocks... but it was still more on the shocking side: about 1400 pounds! I mean... ! For curtains?! I want to get some comparative figures and have called on another curtain maker to come over and give a sample/quote :?) 

Recently I was in a group/people-y situation and wondered what possessed me to put myself through it. I tend to be very selective about where I am present, not to be exclusive for the sake of it, but because certain social situations take too much of my limited energies and could extract too high an emotional cost. I opt in only if: 1. I genuinely expect to enjoy myself (these are the rare situations I might even seek rather than just accept), 2. I genuinely expect to learn something (which means people are incidental to the thing), 3. It has some strategic benefit for me in the short/long term — trade-off may be worth it, 4. There are a few people present whom I enjoy myself with and the trade-off may be worth it, and 5. I am forced into it and have no choice whatsoever (rare but happens, like a family function ;)). These, I think, cover more or less why I would be in an otherwise not-for-me situation. I guess the reason why I might later question what possessed me to be in it is where I am hoping for the 'trade-off to be worth it' and I am not sure it is; in other words, where there is a positive anticipation of some kind and it does not go that way. I am not prepared for the cost unlike when I am forced into something and know that it's not going to be fun. I have to say though that there have been occasions where I have not expected it to be enjoyable and it has been. Those are situations that encourage me to put my hat in the ring even when I am a bit sceptical... 

This reminds me of an event that took place at our house when I was in Dubai. I just did not feel like I could participate and a part of me felt really bad that people dear to me would assume that I am not even extending myself a tiny bit for them. It was one of those times where not going extracted probably more out of me than going would have... However, it was also one of those rare times where I felt truly accepted by someone, my brother. Where I felt I could just be how I was and it was okay. I would still be loved, even if not fully understood :) That actually made me wish I had gone for the event... the trade-off would have been worth it, I am sure.

So... I suppose house decor is going to be a constant theme here for a while. You folks are already in on all the ups and downs, twists and turns, that occurred before I moved into my new abode or almost didn't... so it's only fair I report what happens after the presumably 'happily ever after' ;) Kind of funny how as I was growing up, most of the movies or the older movies, books, fairy tales etc made you believe that all was well once the boy and girl got together. There was nothing after that. You grow up to find out that life actually begins where the stories end. The literature, movies etc these days are a lot more faithful to real life, but I am not quite sure that's a good thing? Well, not to get too drawn into the tangent, the story of my house continues... is my point :)

I am still to do and buy a whole lot of basics for the house. My brain works in too much of a systematic way for practical life. When I think about doing one thing, I realise I need to do some other thing before that, then when I think of the other, I hit on something else that should precede that, and then I get into so much of a loop that they all get tangled up and I am not too sure what I should start with anymore. I think most people just jump in headfirst into things and figure out as they go along. Unlike me who needs to have a full-blown plan with sequential steps and the whole map and what not. Anyway, I have finally decided to do a bit of both. The other difficulty I hit on is my natural bent to do extensive research before I zero down on something. Whether that's a sofa or jam. I went through a whole lot of reviews for a toaster and thought I found an ideal one. They are not too expensive, but I feel a lot of responsibility around use/reuse/disposal so anything I get must serve me for a really long time. Which means I need to take a whole lot of my needs into account. When the toaster came home, imagine my surprise dear reader, it was almost, not quite, but almost, as large as my microwave :( I returned it, of course...

I have come to a conclusion about why this particular toaster happened to come out top in my research. People who recommended this either have largish families, have a high standard for the toast they want (slots in this are fat for real thick slices), have really large kitchens or all three of the foregoing. The only one that fits for me somewhat is the high quality of toast but I am not particularly fussed about thick slices. I actually prefer thin slices. So not even that. The toaster is clearly sturdy and lasts forever but that does not really compensate for the amount of space it takes. So... in spite of all my homework, I had to give it up :( 

Well... hope I have better luck moving on ;)

I went to the carpet shop yesterday to find out why no one contacted me after visiting my house to take measurements in September. I had been away almost three months so maybe the person who came over did contact me? I went in asking for him. Nothing had prepared me for the answer I was given. That person had passed away in December. I was shocked to say the least! He wasn't that old. I was told he was in his mid-50s and had a heart attack. His wife, the lady who worked in the shop with him, said she was crumbling inside but had to carry on... for their four children. She had known her husband for more than 30 years. I couldn't even begin to fathom her grief... couldn't begin to imagine what it must feel like to suddenly lose someone who was such a solid part of your life for so long... like one day you wake up and they are just not around? Nothing in place of this moving, thinking, feeling, loving, caring being who was there all the time, a part of your own world? Just a large gaping void now that could never be filled. How do you cope with this...? I do not know...

----

On a lighter note... they sent another person to do the measurements for the carpet today. He was one of those cheeky old characters. When looking at one option versus another, he said something about entertaining people in the house. I said I am not much of an entertainer ;) To which he said, I can't believe that for one moment! Hehe! [Not sure what made him not believe me :/)]

I feel like I live many lives in the space of a few months. Become a completely different self in a different space/time with a different schedule, different meals, different interactions, different concerns, etc etc. Or a bit like a revolving door which leads me to a different world every time and I too have to become someone different in that world. Every arrival takes adjustment and then comes the settling, acceptance of the new life, and soon enough it's time to leave, say my goodbye, anticipate the new me at the threshold who is at once new and at once old. I remember her and what her life looked like but I have also forgotten it a bit. It was not that long and still long...

Anyway, the time's come to leave Dubai. As usual with a heavy heart... but I'll be back again. Very soon...