Sometime in school, I had read the book - Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. For those who aren't familiar with the "Chicken Soup for ..." series, all books are collections of simple, heartwarming stories to comfort the target audience. In my case, the perennially agitated teenager. One such story came with a lesson that everyone has something to tell us, and perhaps teach us, if only we're willing to listen.
While that is indeed a good piece of advice, it is rather incomplete. It does not teach how to get people to talk so that you can listen to what they might have to say.
And that, has been my affliction in life - not being able to initiate or engage in conversations.
Last week, I finished reading my first Hindi novel - Kasap. By Manohar Shyam Joshi. It's a beautifully written love story set in Kumaun. It can be argued that I liked the story so much because of the Kumauni flavour, or because Manohar Shyam Joshi was a relative. Or maybe because it was my first foray into reading Hindi literature and I don't have anything to compare it to. But then it's not the relation or the setting which makes language beautiful. And really, I find comparison between literature quite futile. Is there any point judging a Catch-22 against say, Train to Pakistan or Midnight's Children?
Coming back to Kasap - it's a genuinely sweet story. The simplicity of characters and situations make it that much more easy to relate to. Even in a state of hysteria. At the end, the story leaves you with a sweet sadness which is strangely satisfying. As if any other outcome would have been a betrayal. And like any other well written work of fiction, it has these pearls of wisdom thrown in, in the most inconspicuous manner.
And that is what reminded me of my lack of conversational skills. It reminded me of all potential conversations I could have had. Not just with Mr. MSJ, but with so many other brilliant, beautiful people in my family - my Grandfathers in particular. And not just people who have passed away, but even those whom I am not in as close contact with as I would like to be. Or those who are actually close, but with whom I've never managed to go further than weather talk. And all these new, wonderful people I keep meeting everyday in training. Have conversations of substance, only to listen.
Maybe one day, I'll know. Until then .. Hello, voices in my head!
Cheers, as always!
~K.
Showing posts with label impressions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label impressions. Show all posts
Monday, May 09, 2016
Monday, July 20, 2015
The long way home
So it turns out that last days at work aren't quite as dramatic as I had thought. There's no music playing in the background, no montage of significant moments projected anywhere, depending on the time or place - there may not even be anyone seeing you off. It turns out that the entire rush of sentimentality that I was imagining was exactly that - imaginary.
It's just another day that you exit the office. Perhaps through a different gate. Perhaps in a different mood. But the same scene as any other day. The only difference might be the route that you choose to take on the way back home.
As in the case of life, it's only your circle who is affected or interested.
All goes to show how closely a part of life can resemble life itself.
C'est la vie!
~K.
It's just another day that you exit the office. Perhaps through a different gate. Perhaps in a different mood. But the same scene as any other day. The only difference might be the route that you choose to take on the way back home.
As in the case of life, it's only your circle who is affected or interested.
All goes to show how closely a part of life can resemble life itself.
C'est la vie!
~K.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Impressions - II
As a kid, I used to live in my imaginations. Well... I either haven't changed or haven't grown up. But then that's another story altogether.
Anyway, a part of my living in my imaginations was believing almost all the things that I read. Which ranged from the stories in my school textbooks to Archies comics. I used to believe those stories were real. Real enough to happen in my little world. To me. I used to imagine myself in those stories. And live a life where the nobody part of me was the lovely, the lover, the leader. It was so wonderful living a life like that that it was easy adopting those words and lines and ideas as my own.
One of them which knocked me over was - Songs never lie.
And thus, the sung word began to make a bigger impact than the one simply said or written. I guess that was where I made the choice between poetry and prose. Or between stories and songs. I used to believe in stories, and stories told me songs were true. So here I was. Now I believed in songs. Every one of them. Just the very fact that someone made the effort to get words to rhyme and sound poetic and dramatic; and then set them to music filled them with such magic and such beauty. Everyone from The Beatles to Simon & Garfunkel to The Carpenters to Billy Joel to Lobo and then Pink Floyd and The Doors came one by one and vindicated my belief. It was the best mix of truth and love and power and fear and beauty that I could ever ask for. It was the kind of things that commanded faith. And conviction. Much more than any God or religion could ever boast of.
And that's how I still am. Living my life in songs that other people wrote and sung. Finding my dreams and my truths and my power and my happiness in ideas and emotions of strange composers. Vain enough to relate every song that I listen to to some part of my life.
All because some stupid comic book said - Songs never lie.
And I say - Amen.
~K.
Anyway, a part of my living in my imaginations was believing almost all the things that I read. Which ranged from the stories in my school textbooks to Archies comics. I used to believe those stories were real. Real enough to happen in my little world. To me. I used to imagine myself in those stories. And live a life where the nobody part of me was the lovely, the lover, the leader. It was so wonderful living a life like that that it was easy adopting those words and lines and ideas as my own.
One of them which knocked me over was - Songs never lie.
And thus, the sung word began to make a bigger impact than the one simply said or written. I guess that was where I made the choice between poetry and prose. Or between stories and songs. I used to believe in stories, and stories told me songs were true. So here I was. Now I believed in songs. Every one of them. Just the very fact that someone made the effort to get words to rhyme and sound poetic and dramatic; and then set them to music filled them with such magic and such beauty. Everyone from The Beatles to Simon & Garfunkel to The Carpenters to Billy Joel to Lobo and then Pink Floyd and The Doors came one by one and vindicated my belief. It was the best mix of truth and love and power and fear and beauty that I could ever ask for. It was the kind of things that commanded faith. And conviction. Much more than any God or religion could ever boast of.
And that's how I still am. Living my life in songs that other people wrote and sung. Finding my dreams and my truths and my power and my happiness in ideas and emotions of strange composers. Vain enough to relate every song that I listen to to some part of my life.
All because some stupid comic book said - Songs never lie.
And I say - Amen.
~K.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Impressions...
Among alcoholic drinks, Scotch remains my favourite. I love the smell and the smoothness of it. And the way it burns your throat when you take a good strong sip or a gulp... And then the way it stays with you... And of course... I love its colour.
There used to be an ad on TV long ago... of one of the Johnny Walker labels (Black, most probably) or some other brand of Scotch.. There was this middle aged guy who had a very friendly face and an equally friendly voice. This guy poured some Scotch in a clear glass... put in a couple of ice cubes and was looking at it against the daylight. All this while he was describing what he felt about it.
There are some things that I can't forget about that ad - The tinkling sound of the ice cubes against each other and against the glass, the consistency and texture of the liquor, and the wonderful colour of it. The guy said it looks like the sun rising from your drink. And I still remember it SO vividly. That ad made such an everlasting impression, that I think it may have played a significant factor in my fondness for the drink.
The other (more) significant factor being Dad.
He's also responsible for coffee...by the way.
Cheers.. on whatever you are drinking! A glass of cold water can be a lot more satisfying than any other drink in the world.
~K.
psst:
1. This (also) came out of a mail I wrote to a friend. The discussion was a comparison between Vodka and Scotch. Sigh. I know Mom won't approve of such an open discussion on a fondness for any alcohol. :-) Oops! A thousand apologies!
2. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Yes it is.
3. I'll probably continue a little more in this series. Not alcohol. I mean impressions. The books that I read, the songs that I heard, the things that I saw or did (including ads)... that have stayed with me. So... see ya again... soon!
~K.
There used to be an ad on TV long ago... of one of the Johnny Walker labels (Black, most probably) or some other brand of Scotch.. There was this middle aged guy who had a very friendly face and an equally friendly voice. This guy poured some Scotch in a clear glass... put in a couple of ice cubes and was looking at it against the daylight. All this while he was describing what he felt about it.
There are some things that I can't forget about that ad - The tinkling sound of the ice cubes against each other and against the glass, the consistency and texture of the liquor, and the wonderful colour of it. The guy said it looks like the sun rising from your drink. And I still remember it SO vividly. That ad made such an everlasting impression, that I think it may have played a significant factor in my fondness for the drink.
The other (more) significant factor being Dad.
He's also responsible for coffee...by the way.
Cheers.. on whatever you are drinking! A glass of cold water can be a lot more satisfying than any other drink in the world.
~K.
psst:
1. This (also) came out of a mail I wrote to a friend. The discussion was a comparison between Vodka and Scotch. Sigh. I know Mom won't approve of such an open discussion on a fondness for any alcohol. :-) Oops! A thousand apologies!
2. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Yes it is.
3. I'll probably continue a little more in this series. Not alcohol. I mean impressions. The books that I read, the songs that I heard, the things that I saw or did (including ads)... that have stayed with me. So... see ya again... soon!
~K.
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