Flawed.

It’s a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde situation hey?

Any ethical dilemma we encounter* (raising vegan children, heart transplantation from pigs, abortion, changing biological sex, vaccination, male lactation and childbirth, you name it), you can’t help but think- In an effort to contribute to “progress” in our society, are we making decisions to give birth to a monstrous new one?

Are we blind to something because of our own biases? Are we missing something that might come back and bite us in the bum?

I feel like my moral compass is trapped in in a mouse wheel that never stops. I discover something new about society, I feel horrified, I feel concerned, then just as I form an opinion, I discover something new that brings me back to square one.

Stratagem: Effort-less and good enough.

I think the strategy for this blog is- effort-less and good enough.

For about 2 years, I had a website for a blog that I wrote nothing into. I didn’t make it public. Didnt design it. Didn’t have a name for it. But I was paying for it!

Then about a week ago, I decided that enough was enough. Enough money had been spent and time had been wasted. If the aim was that I should have pieces of my written work that make an impact out there, then I better get to work and for this I needed to develop the practice and the discipline that was sustainable enough to ship work.

In the next 45 minutes, this blog was born. And I made rules that force me to be committed to taking this slow and steady and being okay with it and made the work nearly effortless.

1. I can't spend anytime beyond noon on the website.

2. I have to publish something everyday on today’s post.

3. I can't do more that 15minutes of designing or developing my website per day.

4. I’d log improvements in my blog and writing everyday.

So far, those rules that were initially designed to stop me from procrastinating, and protect me from the one-time wonder ditch, have only accelerated and enhanced other parts of my life. For example, publishing everyday before noon on Today’s Post meant that I have to structure my time in the mornings. I’ve a reason to wake up early in the morning so I can give each post my best shot within the time I have. Yesterday, because I planned to be here- doing what I think is the most “effortless” part of my day, I had the best sleep in ages.

My hope is effortless and good-enough will hopefully snowball into something bigger.

And not that this is of any significance but The “BLAH”g is now The blog called the “Blah”g :).

Effortless, remember?

Brinjal, and other ‘funny’ words.

English, sort of like a leech above a shoe, was hungry and searching for food. Slowly, it sucked life out of other world languages and fed itself. It grew bigger and bigger into a snake that coiled around the world, tightening its clasp, but bringing contents together.

And because it fed it self such a rich language diet, it became more intelligent. It learnt to wash itself with shampoo in subcontinents, to karaoke in islands, become quite the entrepreneur in high towers. It weaved its way, in and out of countries, and all the while it ate. It ate and ate and ate but forgot how to digest and degustate. Over time, the acid of its stomach began to erode the words. Words lost their original nature, but became part of English. These were special words.

Then one day, the English snake had a very big lamb.

But the snake had eaten so much, the walls could hold longer bear the stretch. The stomach of the ginormous snake burst and words rained on the rest of the earth. For the tribes in the jungles and the savannah, it rained the rain of special words, and this was manna from the skies. The tribes protected and multiplied the gift.

Years later, the tribes came to thank the snake with the broken stomach for bringing the world together in its hunger, with a return gift. However, the snake had learnt its wrongly and failed to appreciate the return gift. To the snake, the special English words were nothing but old vomit, that would tickle its belly.

This is the story of brinjal and other funny words.

Laughing at yourself

Sometimes the silence of the morning can be harsh. It forces you laugh at the stupid things you do.

Like air quoting for example. I’ve got to stop “air quoting” when I try to articulate what I’ve got to say to people. Sometimes I catch myself air quoting even when I’m thinking of ideas in my head. Its a ridiculous habit.
“Nothing is too important to air quote”.
Much of what we humans have to say ourselves is generally a whole lot of bleh and very little wisdom anyway. Which brings me to the second thing I’m laughing at myself for this morning- I don’t listen enough!

Where does my urge, my hunger to fill up silence come from? Sure, it’s deeply uncomfortable to be sat in a conversation, waiting for somebody else to speak. But I think that’s exactly what I’ve got to do- wait for somebody else to speak. Because most of the time I have nothing valuable to say. Almost all that I value in a conversation, comes from the other person or from the few seconds that I take to think during it. Listen more.

Aha!- and this too- Why do I need so much stuff?!

When you make a buck, you gotta spend half that buck and save the other half- that’s fair. But we’re living through the investing revolution where buying pretty stationary is “investing in yourself”. Well, watch out. Lifestyle creep is a very real thing. You’ll spending two bucks for every buck you earn before you know it. (Again got to try stop air quoting, even in thought.)

So what have I got?
Filling silence with talk and space with stuff, and also air quoting. Those NEED TO GO.
Anyway, this exercise was good.

Leave it to the muse.

Creating anything is quite the responsibility.
When I started writing a couple of years back, I’d find it incredibly hard to rack up words despite loving the art. Putting things on a page required a tremendous amount of willpower. Added to this, I wasn’t (still am not for that matter) particularly gifted. I’d only write when I thought I was struck by a genius idea. Then I’d go through hours of critiquing my work, days, or months of writing and rewriting the same thing and then eventually, I’d bin it. That idea which I gave so many hours of my life would never see the light of day.

I’ll tell you what. Not much has changed. I am still a writer lost for words. But a few months ago, I started to deceive myself and I think its working.

These days, writing has become more tolerable as an art I practice everyday because I show up to the desk before 6am every morning with a cuppa to serve as a humble scribe.
My self-assigned job description is to literally play with the muse- to sit at the desk, and catch thoughts I imagine to be in the air, and just write. One word after the other. But this job isn’t without its ground rules.

• Rule number 1 is to show up when the thoughts are ready and that time is 6am.

• Rule number 2 is to clock out at 12noon but make sure what they (the thoughts I mean) have to say is written with enough satisfaction

• Rule number 3 is- Once the job is done, its done. Go home.

• And the last rule, number 4, which arguably is the most important is -Show up tomorrow.

Now, it is as silly and unintelligent as it sounds. But that’s the point.

Our greatest agony as humans is probably that we’ve got a story within us waiting to be told and expressed. But, perhaps an even greater agony would be if we ourselves stood as an obstacle to its telling. For those who are chronic over-thinkers like myself, showing up to serve as an unintelligent barren vessel for art rather than as its source is the perfect kind of humbling we need to get to work.

Leave it to the muse. Show up tomorrow.

Malefic effects.

This could be controversial, but I am still curious.

9 times out of 10 (ish), I notice symptoms of repulsion- a gag reflex of sorts, an eye roll, or a change in tone or mood the second I bring up the topic of astrology with my male counterparts.
Also, almost immediately this happens- whoever who brings up the topic (in this instance myself) is caricatured into either or all of the following roles:

1. the torchbearer of astrology for the conversations thereon

2. someone who makes decisions about friendships and relationships based on compatibility percentages

3. someone who is irrational, believing in a pseudoscience.

There cannot be a better conversation killer. Everyone is “done” by the end of it, and the main takeaways so far from conversations i’ve had are usually-

“Its all general stuff, anyone can identify with everyone’s horoscope.”
"It taps into the human need to create a narrative, a story, which is why its got a market.”
”It seems irrational to base decision-making on what someone else is thinks or predicts for you.”

And because I am never prepared to defend astrology (because I didn’t intend to in the first place), I get stuck, and spend the rest of the conversation regretting why I was curious.

On the other hand, 8 times out of 10 (ish), talking about astrology has the opposite effect with women. Its addictive and you get sucked into it.
Sure enough, the first couple of minutes you will inevitably fall into the zodiac hole (I am told this is what irks most men), but when we wait patiently, it evolves into something more than that. Somehow, I find, it awakens deeper conversations about spirituality and character expansion. Behind that brittle shell of “dealing with the malefic effects of planets”, are conversations is about communication, different approaches to adversity, healing, care, etc.

Granted, the astrology world today is dodgy and biased in more ways than one, but I assume much of it is to do with the business and marketing of it. For example,

• The divination of it and the “rise of the armchair astrologers” doesn’t sit well with me.

• Look at the astrology section in most newspapers or magazines. It either deliberately or unconsciously caters to our femininity.

  My theory is women might be psychologically inclined to ponder and dissect bad news- which could be why horoscopes are addictive.

• Oh and try finding a women’s magazine without any astrology in it- I’m almost confident you’ll fail.
  

Does it sound fishy? Oh yeah absolutely.

But despite all this, I am still curious and convinced that we’re missing something.

Here’s why. Because-

• it is mostly harmless

• we haven’t done a good enough job explaining (atleast to the layperson) where astronomy ends and astrology starts. Archaically astronomy (which is a valid modern science today) and astrology were sibling sciences

• Some of the most prominent scientists -Newton, Brahe, Galileo, Keplar- were astrologers, and much of their “scientific” work came from the notion that corporeal and the cosmic were intertwined- which is the basis of astrology too!

• Also, I can not help but wonder like a simpleton- if the effect of a moon can change the moods of large oceans in the form of high and low tides, what makes humans an exception? Surely planets could exert some control..

• But above all, if I can believe what a modern scientist predicts with a modicum of suspicion, why wouldn’t I believe that an astrologer’s prediction has a modicum of truth in it. And I have no answer for this.

See what I mean..? Astrology is confusing.

(Note: I deeply appreciate the heterogeneity of human nature and these are just casual observations. Don’t come at me for not using the “scientific method.” :)).

“Shipping” BY NOON.

Shipping by noon is my practice of crystallising my thoughts into a post by lunchtime everyday. And I’ll be honest, some mornings I have nothing to give but some really corny title combinations and some other mornings like today, I am empty.

I’ve been sat at my desk since 6am and not a word has been typed.

But thoughts are there. And they creep in. Only they’re just not the kind you want.

Maybe.. today is not the day for the creative endeavour.

Maybe.. I should read some more. That might plant a seed of an idea that I can grow into a post in the afternoon (or tomorrow).

Maybe..I should leave it to the end of the day - I’ll probably have the greatest creative idea ever by then.

So on mornings like these what do I do?

I sit through the struggle of words until about 8:30am tops. I allow myself to be discontent and I probably yawn through my own writing because its shallowness both bores and exhausts me.

But I ship by noon anyway. I publish the post that I forced myself to write quickly. I keep my promise.

And although, I might have the greatest-ever idea for a post in the afternoon, I make a call to not post about it or carry it over the next day deliberately. I force myself to be content by writing it down those great ideas into my diary instead.

“But why?” - you may ask.

Because its a promise and a discipline that forces me to foolishly believe in the hope of a new day, of new possibilities and opportunities. Somehow that I think. makes for a better way of living.

See you tomorrow.

“Shipping, because it doesn't count if you don't share it.”- Seth Godin

Resuscitating Art.

Its a great time to be an artist. It does feel like art has just come alive again.

But I can’t help but think that something is strangely amiss. Have we overcompensated the other way?

It feels like art got a tremendous shot of adrenaline injected into its heart, but its odds of brain damage have now doubled.

We’re creating dangerously.

Is sacrificing the intelligence of art worth it?

The shape of music.

I follow the troughs and crests of voiceless music through the map of my words.

A map of my own creation,

guided my my inner beating compass.

It stretches itself out and screams while coming to a stand still.

Then, it picks up a wobbly pace- Up and down, Up and Down, Up and down, Up and down.

It builds suspense and makes turns by surprise.

The words to cluster together and up the amplitude of my message. Its shrill cry reverberates in my ears several times over.

I breathe in a new wor’d.

It whispers and caresses the ear of the one that reads it aloud.

I am the singer when I type words on a paper to voiceless music

Words course through my veins when I close my eyes. I feel the tickle.

It makes me cold, raising my hair on end.

Feel like you are the singer. Feel like you are in control.

I imagine my words walking.

I imagine it hiking.

I imagine it to be exhausted, like a human.

I imagine it to weep to cry and to have the greatest of epiphanies.

Such is the life of the mere human

Such will be the life of my words.

Write to the shape of voiceless music.

Kill your darlings

A year ago now, I took a writing class at university. It was quite accidental. I chanced upon it much like how I discovered other things (by procrastination). But here, I heard the most useful writing advice ever.

Sometimes we get too precious about beginnings. The thing is- beginnings have too much packaging. The fluff that makes it land softer is unnecessary and such a waste of time. That’s what kill your darlings is about. It means- almost always, the first few sentences in your drafts (which people tend to be most precious about) is useless.

The dinner table and human history: a book insight.

Book: sapiens

Book insight: Humans will do anything for dinner- e.g. wipe an entire species and also develop language abilities.

I’m coming to see and appreciate everything about the dinner table- the wisdom, the storytelling down to the sugar consumption.

Tens of thousands of years ago when the first of our humankind magically descended from some ape great-grandmother, we were a mere blip on the face of the earth. (Now, because our scientist brothers and sisters love naming everything, they grouped us together and called us sapiens which means “wise human”).
At the time, to point and call as closest relatives, we only had the neanderthals, who descended from the sister of our ape great-grandmother, but much like our chimpanzee cousins, wouldn’t give a second’s thought to ripping us to shreds when they food was at risk.

What a joyful family dynamic, hey?
The neanderthals would win the battle for dinner almost every single time. This would make sense because they had the better brawn- the muscles, the better tools and millions of years of lived experience cumulatively. And for years we fought.

However, once we acknowledged that we had good-for-nothing backs and atrophied arms in comparison to neanderthals, victory seemed like it was closer. We developed a striking ability to conjure up the most fascinating ideas, and build in the most intricate of details into our communication through moulding of sound.

Thus, was born- Language.

We, the sapiens, could say speak volumes about one thing, while they, the neanderthals, could at most make a few grunts that meant “monkey”. .

and so gradually, we learnt to-

a) use this same ability to strategise and steal dinner from our cousins,

b) to completely destroy the neanderthals (barring some attractive, submissive ones which we inducted into the family),

c) do the same with all other species, and

d) then establish our presence on earth as the “eat everything class”.

e) Oh, we also learnt to gossip.

Good things came out of this too.

f) From this very ability to mould language came our ability to imagine and storytell, from that came wisdom.

That’s why today you and I can sit at a dining table with colleagues and talk endlessly about the future of education, serious concerns that the offspring of the coming generations will be wired differently (as smart-phone dependent idiots) and that driving on the road today is more scarier than sky-diving.

Oh, and our sugar and high-calorie consumption- that too is part of our “dinner table history”. Our more ape-like grandmothers used to strip bare sweet plum trees because they were a rarity and food well as we have established that was scarce.

See, life starts and ends with dinner.
So, while I recognise my inner prehistoric grandmother this morning, I shall go back to binge-eating bread. Because that is part of our human brand.

The “BLAH”g- A letter to the OG readers.

Everything is just a remix.

Last night, as I thought if names for this thing that I wished to begin, I was struck by what I thought was a “moment of genius”.

“Of course! Its got the be called “The Blah’g”. My chest swelled with pride.

But I know better than that. I can’t own a silly word I just created in my brain without checking for plagiarism!

So I looked it up on the internet and there it was. A full, but rather dull definition of blahg in the Urban Dictionary, complete with an example sentence.

Blahg- A blog you feel compelled to read but leaves you fantastically underwhelmed. To do so will typically take 5 minutes of your life & good eyesite that you'll never get back.

I'd write about my day but I so don't want to post a blahg- no one deserves that.

- Urban Dictionary

Well that settles that. My moment of human genius.

So did I search for another name? Absolutely not!
It would be called the “BLAH”g. All caps for the first four letters- because it stands for a bigger more important message (that I haven’t yet thought of) and more than half the word in double quotes. In my mind, I have more than passed the plagiarism test.
However, if I still happen to get sued for the same by the a bunch of 16 year old billionaires who own the Urban Dictionary, but can’t spell “eye sight”, so be it! The most it will do is give me another reason to laugh at our collective existence.

Because nothing is ever is original. All art, science, philosophical thought, human species, habit, and habitat, and everything under the sun- is a remix. Everything stands on the shoulders of something (maybe not all on giants) and this venture of mine too will be a remix of some kind albeit a really good one.

This “BLAH”g may become a blah about many things, or some things. I’m not sure yet. However, right off the bat, it acknowledges the aforesaid philosophical truth. I’m sure those who entertain this thought will stay to watch me both ridicule and attempt to inspire this world.

And those who don’t subscribe to this notion- Well, you’ll come back too. Because, reading me daily is a better “blahdge” than any other.

See what I did there.

Cheers,

S