Just had a thought over a fag and felt should pen it down. Its about being the best.
Everyone wants to be better than the best- the ultimate best in this fast changing competitive worlds- be it professional or personal.
"I want to top the boards, want to enter the best institute, get the best professional stream, get the best salary in the industry and off course get the best babe around. For that I am ready to slog my butts off and do the nonsense"est" nuisances possible. But I want the best for me and be the best around.", could be those important thoughts when young.
"I want to be surrounded by people all the time. I want my collegues and my boss (the best thing to happen) to keep seeking my help in whatever forms. I want the most trivial opportunities to keep showing myself as the best so that they keep coming back to me. Be it be real or perceptual who cares, but I should look the best.", could be thoughts we start working.
What does one really mean by being the best?? (Poor jokers ward off, offcourse not the mumbai bus. This one is lil serious). What is it that you would compare yourself against, to judge yourself the best? Take some time before you respond in the most gyani manner. Because, I took some time off to ask the same question to people around me.
Lets accept it in the fullest humility that we almost always define being the best against the people around us-our colleagues. Top 1 percentile in the JEEs or CATs make me the best. The cream of nation, the chosen one. Ghanta chosen one, the world around you would make you a choosen one in no time. Thats where comes in the importance of understanding the responsibility of being the best. Its not a target in long term (could be in short term though). Its keeping pace with time and surroundings and being better than what was your best yesterday.
Being the best is not your self image in others eyes but your self image in your own eyes. Its an internal satisfaction of having grown personally.
For a change think it my way, you will be happy having bettered yourself. Its better than getting bothered of being still away from someone better than you. There off course would be someone better than you.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Drift- Inevitable!
Me back!!!
No blogging the whole of the last month. July goes off empty so does August. Honestly, there hadn’t been anything great to write. Not that I write only great things.
Otherwise too, life's been pretty busy. Tiring six days a week topped with a lazy Sunday, and the week is off with a desperate but a hopeful chase towards the next lazy one.
Life’s become nothing but chasing Sundays. There is one thing that I wouldn’t like to miss, and that is reading.
I’ve been searching this book called English August for quite some time after a constant coaxing by one of my friends when he came to know I like Indian writings. Authored by Upamanyu Chatterjee, the novel’s also been scripted into a movie with Rahul Bose in the lead role of Agastya Sen, an IAS posted in a small town called Madna (I still have to figure out where that town is). It’s not a novel backed by a conventional story. It’s just the central character’s experiences, thoughts and mind penned down with an exceptional excellence. Quite different book from the lot that I’ve read is all that I would say. Now, that I’ve read it I’m on a prowl for the DVD to figure out how well Bose’s been able to give life to Sen on screen.
Meanwhile, I reproduce an excerpt from the book which depicts the clueless Agastya’s state of mind and thoughts. “Hazaar fucked” is how he describes his life when first comes to the town.
Movement without purpose, an endless ebb and flow, from one world to another, journeys and passages, undertaken by cocoons not for rest or solace, but for ephemerals. The flux of the sea now seemed the only pattern, within and beyond the mind – mirrored even in his encounters with the myriad faces, on some of which he had tried to impose an order by seeing them as mirror images, facets of his own self, but now that longing, for repose through the mastering of chaos, itself seemed vain. Perhaps it was true that he had first to banish all yearning, and learn to accept the drift, perhaps it was true that all was clouded by desire, as fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust, as an unborn babe by its covering.
So close to me this excerpt is.
No blogging the whole of the last month. July goes off empty so does August. Honestly, there hadn’t been anything great to write. Not that I write only great things.
Otherwise too, life's been pretty busy. Tiring six days a week topped with a lazy Sunday, and the week is off with a desperate but a hopeful chase towards the next lazy one.
Life’s become nothing but chasing Sundays. There is one thing that I wouldn’t like to miss, and that is reading.
I’ve been searching this book called English August for quite some time after a constant coaxing by one of my friends when he came to know I like Indian writings. Authored by Upamanyu Chatterjee, the novel’s also been scripted into a movie with Rahul Bose in the lead role of Agastya Sen, an IAS posted in a small town called Madna (I still have to figure out where that town is). It’s not a novel backed by a conventional story. It’s just the central character’s experiences, thoughts and mind penned down with an exceptional excellence. Quite different book from the lot that I’ve read is all that I would say. Now, that I’ve read it I’m on a prowl for the DVD to figure out how well Bose’s been able to give life to Sen on screen.
Meanwhile, I reproduce an excerpt from the book which depicts the clueless Agastya’s state of mind and thoughts. “Hazaar fucked” is how he describes his life when first comes to the town.
Movement without purpose, an endless ebb and flow, from one world to another, journeys and passages, undertaken by cocoons not for rest or solace, but for ephemerals. The flux of the sea now seemed the only pattern, within and beyond the mind – mirrored even in his encounters with the myriad faces, on some of which he had tried to impose an order by seeing them as mirror images, facets of his own self, but now that longing, for repose through the mastering of chaos, itself seemed vain. Perhaps it was true that he had first to banish all yearning, and learn to accept the drift, perhaps it was true that all was clouded by desire, as fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust, as an unborn babe by its covering.
So close to me this excerpt is.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Knowledge Vs Wisdom
“Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.
In every truth the opposite is equally true. A truth can only be expressed and enveloped in words if it is one-sided. Everything that is thought and expressed is one-sided, only half the truth; it all lacks totality, completeness, unity. When the Illustrious Buddha taught about the world, he had to divide it into Samsara and Nirvana, into illusion and truth, into suffering and salvation. One cannot do it otherwise; there is no other method for those who teach. But the world itself, being in and around us, is never one-sided. Never is a man or a deed wholly Samsara or wholly Nirvana; never is a man wholly a saint or a sinner. This only seems so because we suffer the illusion that time is something real. Time is not real. And if time is not real, then the dividing line that seems to lie between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also illusion.
I am a sinner and you are a sinner, but someday the sinner will be Brahma again, will someday attain Nirvana, will someday become a Buddha. Now this ‘someday’ is illusion; it is only a comparison. The sinner is not on the way to a Buddha like state; he is not evolving, although our thinking cannot conceive things otherwise. No, the potential Buddha already exists in the sinner; his future is already there. The potential hidden Buddha must be recognized in him, in you, in everybody. The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment; every sin already carries grace within it, all small children are potential old men, all suckling have death within them, all dying people- eternal life. It is not possible for one person to see how far another is on the way; the Buddha exists in the Brahmin. During deep meditation it is possible to dispel time, and them everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahmin. Therefore, it seems to me that sin as well as holiness, wisdom as well as folly. Everything is necessary, everything needs only my agreement, my assent, my loving understanding; then all is well with me and nothing can harm me. I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary for me to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some kind of desired imaginary world, some imaginary vision of perfection, but to leave it as it is, to love it and be glad to belong to it."
In every truth the opposite is equally true. A truth can only be expressed and enveloped in words if it is one-sided. Everything that is thought and expressed is one-sided, only half the truth; it all lacks totality, completeness, unity. When the Illustrious Buddha taught about the world, he had to divide it into Samsara and Nirvana, into illusion and truth, into suffering and salvation. One cannot do it otherwise; there is no other method for those who teach. But the world itself, being in and around us, is never one-sided. Never is a man or a deed wholly Samsara or wholly Nirvana; never is a man wholly a saint or a sinner. This only seems so because we suffer the illusion that time is something real. Time is not real. And if time is not real, then the dividing line that seems to lie between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also illusion.
I am a sinner and you are a sinner, but someday the sinner will be Brahma again, will someday attain Nirvana, will someday become a Buddha. Now this ‘someday’ is illusion; it is only a comparison. The sinner is not on the way to a Buddha like state; he is not evolving, although our thinking cannot conceive things otherwise. No, the potential Buddha already exists in the sinner; his future is already there. The potential hidden Buddha must be recognized in him, in you, in everybody. The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment; every sin already carries grace within it, all small children are potential old men, all suckling have death within them, all dying people- eternal life. It is not possible for one person to see how far another is on the way; the Buddha exists in the Brahmin. During deep meditation it is possible to dispel time, and them everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahmin. Therefore, it seems to me that sin as well as holiness, wisdom as well as folly. Everything is necessary, everything needs only my agreement, my assent, my loving understanding; then all is well with me and nothing can harm me. I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary for me to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some kind of desired imaginary world, some imaginary vision of perfection, but to leave it as it is, to love it and be glad to belong to it."
Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Reflection
There are an umpteen number of times you would've felt after hearing a song that you are the one who's singing it. It would've occurred to you many a times after watching a movie that the story revolved around your own story. Or say, after reading a piece of literature you would've felt as if you were the one, who'd written it. And then arises, a deep rooted urge to know more about the writer who wrote the song, movie or the piece of literature in question.
One writes straight from his heart on what he experiences and observes. There is nothing like being completely fictiitous.
That's where you get convinced that there's a different story altogether in some different part of the world running parallel to yours. Things start getting intriguing and interesting. You feel like reading more to know about the writer. But, what if he deliberately chooses to obcure himself into anonymity. Enough to drive you crazy. Isn't it??
I've come across many such literary pieces but nothing comes as close as these ones.
english-august.blogspot.com written in anonymity.
Everything that he/her writes makes me feel as if he/she is spying me closely.
Whose thoughts are these? He/She could be anyone. Upamanya Chatterjee- the author of the book English August?? or Rahul Bose who played the lead role in the movie based on the book. Could be anyone? Thats not something that bothers me; or makes me happy either. What makes me curious is the thoughtprocess. Same thoughts, feelings, emotions, everything that could be understood from the words- everything same.
One of the many, that I liked is "Between"
Between
"There exists a place called 'between'.
'Between' is in the middle of here and there. It is also in the middle of this and that.
The first time I reached 'between', she hit me out of nowhere. I didn't know or plan to be in 'between', but somehow I just landed up there. It is strange, the places where life takes you. Sometimes expected, most of the time unexpected. And when the unexpected happens, the myth of 'between' becomes a reality. A reality that you may or may not want to face, but you have to. And so, 'between' begins to exist. And thus is born 'grey'.
'Grey' is 'between' black and white. It is also a place. It is a place in 'between'. It is the place you can see the most easily, and hence what you associate the most with 'between'.
But beware, what you see is not what you get. I can feel myself reaching another 'between' very soon. 'Between' is also a place where things change. That is why it is in the middle of here and there. It is also in the middle of this and that. And in the middle of 'between' everything is black and white. And that is the irony of being in 'between'. It gives you the perspective of being in the middle, and being able to see things clearly, while in obscurity.
They say obscurity gives rise to confusion, but from 'between', confusion could have never been clearer. And it is in this clarity, that one takes a decision. And that decision is what remains, even when you are not in 'between' anymore. When you take a side. When you move to one of the sides. To here or there. Or this or that.
Things change. But 'between' continues to exist. "
That's indeed my reflection.
One writes straight from his heart on what he experiences and observes. There is nothing like being completely fictiitous.
That's where you get convinced that there's a different story altogether in some different part of the world running parallel to yours. Things start getting intriguing and interesting. You feel like reading more to know about the writer. But, what if he deliberately chooses to obcure himself into anonymity. Enough to drive you crazy. Isn't it??
I've come across many such literary pieces but nothing comes as close as these ones.
english-august.blogspot.com written in anonymity.
Everything that he/her writes makes me feel as if he/she is spying me closely.
Whose thoughts are these? He/She could be anyone. Upamanya Chatterjee- the author of the book English August?? or Rahul Bose who played the lead role in the movie based on the book. Could be anyone? Thats not something that bothers me; or makes me happy either. What makes me curious is the thoughtprocess. Same thoughts, feelings, emotions, everything that could be understood from the words- everything same.
One of the many, that I liked is "Between"
Between
"There exists a place called 'between'.
'Between' is in the middle of here and there. It is also in the middle of this and that.
The first time I reached 'between', she hit me out of nowhere. I didn't know or plan to be in 'between', but somehow I just landed up there. It is strange, the places where life takes you. Sometimes expected, most of the time unexpected. And when the unexpected happens, the myth of 'between' becomes a reality. A reality that you may or may not want to face, but you have to. And so, 'between' begins to exist. And thus is born 'grey'.
'Grey' is 'between' black and white. It is also a place. It is a place in 'between'. It is the place you can see the most easily, and hence what you associate the most with 'between'.
But beware, what you see is not what you get. I can feel myself reaching another 'between' very soon. 'Between' is also a place where things change. That is why it is in the middle of here and there. It is also in the middle of this and that. And in the middle of 'between' everything is black and white. And that is the irony of being in 'between'. It gives you the perspective of being in the middle, and being able to see things clearly, while in obscurity.
They say obscurity gives rise to confusion, but from 'between', confusion could have never been clearer. And it is in this clarity, that one takes a decision. And that decision is what remains, even when you are not in 'between' anymore. When you take a side. When you move to one of the sides. To here or there. Or this or that.
Things change. But 'between' continues to exist. "
That's indeed my reflection.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
As if it were the last day...
“If I must be faithful to someone or something, then I have, first of all, to be faithful to myself. If I’m looking for true love, I first have to get the mediocre loves out of my system. The little experience of life I’ve had has taught me that no one owns anything that everything is an illusion- and that applies to material as well as spiritual things. Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever (as happened often enough to me already) finally comes to realize that nothing really belongs to them.
And if nothing belongs to me, then there’s no point wasting my time looking after things that aren’t mine; it’s best to live as if today were the first (or last) day of my life.”
Above is an excerpt from Paulo Coelho’s (author of the international bestseller THE ALCHEMIST) Eleven Minutes. Not an outstanding storyline but just a good read.
Nevertheless, I found the above piece a little relevant so put in here. The thought might sound very generic and repetitive. Some might even think it to have a sharp pessimistic edge. But I like it. Life indeed gets spiced up if you were to think it’s gonna end soon. You’d feel like doing so many things, you always wanted to do for yourself and more importantly to others, lest your life ends abruptly and you go incomplete with a complete dissatisfaction.
You tend to run faster. That’s it.
And if nothing belongs to me, then there’s no point wasting my time looking after things that aren’t mine; it’s best to live as if today were the first (or last) day of my life.”
Above is an excerpt from Paulo Coelho’s (author of the international bestseller THE ALCHEMIST) Eleven Minutes. Not an outstanding storyline but just a good read.
Nevertheless, I found the above piece a little relevant so put in here. The thought might sound very generic and repetitive. Some might even think it to have a sharp pessimistic edge. But I like it. Life indeed gets spiced up if you were to think it’s gonna end soon. You’d feel like doing so many things, you always wanted to do for yourself and more importantly to others, lest your life ends abruptly and you go incomplete with a complete dissatisfaction.
You tend to run faster. That’s it.
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