Material Comforts: The Dwindling Art of Life

The lambent flickering flame pranced passionately, growing and shirking into the shadows; a forked tongue piercing into the chill of nightfall. It gently caressed the hot magenta melting, deforming wax that sluggishly dribbled down and the naked flame gyrated lavishly about the blackening, withering wick.
The flame, in all its fiery fury spit out little plumes and spirals of smoke and the little wispy clouds that billowed and fumed on my face, stirred and kindled the 'thoughtful bonfire'.
This was the scenario, just yesterday- a rerun of the evening, last week- in which we sat huddled around the teasing flame that danced at the candle's apex, throwing vibrant shadows across the table. The power had failed yet again and our entire compound swivelled to a standstill, being deprived of spark juice, better known as electricity.
The little men running through the cables, fuelled on Red Bull and Gatorade, had obviously gone on strike with pickets, burning effigies and the works. An upshot of the soaring economic/financial crisis no doubt. (Your Physics Professor was lying when she/he said that electricity whizzes through cables and wires as a result of the motion of disgruntled electrons that are rudely shook awoken from their restful slumber.)
While the little electricity-men were marching, punching the air with clenched fists, union flags and blaring banners, the compound was plunged into a void- a deep dark chasm of nothingness; dark, foreboding, ominous.
The street lights 'putt'ed off whilst the string of electric appliances that garland our houses slipped into coma, near death. The glittering, winking red, amber and green of traffic lights blended into a basic black. While the world beyond the secure parameters of the compound bustled with life and light, the compound stood in dead stillness.
A short circuit, perhaps. The second one this month. I sat there, my brow furrowed, a chemistry book propped open upon my lap. A horrific monthly test was to be detonated the next day, and I was least prepared.
While the rest of the family dispersed and took to ambling through the pitch black corridors of our abode, I sat there, listless and anxious; beads of perspiration and anxiety bejewelling my creased forehead.
My concentration strayed with my eyes and I sat there mesmerized by the flame, oblivious to the ghastly presence of my Chemistry text.
The flame licked my curiosity; This little blackout, which would probably stretch out for a complete rotation of the minute hand on the rotund face of the clock, had managed to bring our lives to a grinding halt!
It got me thinking. Does out lives really revolve, rather cling onto technology and material matter as ivy to a fence? Are we handicapped lest we are deprived of out mechanic toys? Are we nocturnal animals groping around blindly in the intensity of the sun's glare when we are unarmed by science and the pleasure of being surrounded by synthetic substance?
Alas! Methinks the answer is a blatant yes. Shame, human, hang your head down with it. We are too proud to except the fact that we have lost our traditional earthy roots. Our ego does not allow us to believe so.
How many times have you ever needed information and you decided to 'look it up on the Internet' rather than go out into the garden and find out first-hand? How many times have you marvelled at the scenic sights projected on the LCD screens of your 41" plasma televisions rather than pressing your face against the window and gaping at the teeming spectrum and beauty of nature?
We take pleasure in shopping, driving our cars much beyond the speed limit, violating the law, gazing and gawking at the big television screen, with drool oozing down our pathetically stupid chins, unblinkingly staring at the computer touch-screens.
Murder. Sheer Murder. Of Intellect, individuality and creativity. And most importantly, of life.
We are palling before the Material God, giving into his shallow offerings that fuel your greed and desire. You take pleasure in things of no significant, merit worthy value in the overall scheme of life. You care less of your fellow beings and more for the touch and feel of fabric and would kill another for that new car smell.
Our society is warped. Demented. Cruel.
Next time, you pick up a Gucci vintage hand-bag and eye it with lust. Next time you caress and embrace the glowing sleek exterior of an Aston Martin which seems to be revelling in its own glow. Think. Think again.
Does it really make you happy? Truly happy? Does it make your heart sing and make you feel good about yourself? Do you think it's going to make you a better person, intellectually and spiritually?
I don't think so.
The regular 21st century caveman cannot live without his material comforts, I agree. But there's that fine balance between sustenance and need and greed and pride.
Instead of going to the movies, take a walk and immerse yourself in the glorious vista nature offers. Spend precious moments; help out at animal shelters, make children happy, walk for charity, do a good deed, help that old crooked man, bent double over his walking cane, across the street. Do things that make you feel special.
Making others happy is its own reward. The joy of a grateful smile, an innocent, heartfelt thank you, a hug.
Material is not always what matters. There are better things in life that you're meant to find. It's like a treasure hunt and that little hike, with its ups and downs leads to those pieces of the puzzle. Finding them is a joy incomparable. And when the pieces fall into place, your life will glow with the aura of satisfaction and you will have been happy to have lived and made a difference.
So, remember as the French say:
L'argent ne fait pas le bon heure.

Changing Times

Change is, ironically, unchangeable.
It is inevitable. It is as natural as the ebb and flow of the gurgling, foamy sea tide and the rise and fall of the brilliant, glowering sun through the delicate horizon.

"I think God's going to come down and pull civilization over for speeding. " ~Steven Wright

This techno-era hurtles us through the fast-pacing of technology with the future re-inventing itself with every nanosecond. The startling velocity at which we seem to be racing into the future leaves me paralysed by both fear and awe. Tangles of wires, no wires at all, microchips, solar cells, cords and cables; this fascinating farrago and jumble is both devastatingly confusing and immensely delightful and mesmerizing. They coil their way to advancement, through a long, winding road, which no one knows where it'll end and where we're going. Hurtling at break-necking speed, the world has evolved beyond recognition from the yesteryear.
We now have robots, an actual embodiment of artificial intelligence, whizzing about our world, constantly improving the industrial and comfort faces of our lives. Machines making machines, conferencing through screens and holograms, virtual reality, overseas operations- It's a world gone mad! Or a world gone über techno savvy! Or both. Techno-Terminator is a word that sparks interest at this point. Are we to be ruled by the machines that we breathed to life?

But enough of this. More than the fast diversifying of technology, dynamic and bustling, I'd like to illuminate the toll that change inflicts upon flesh and blood- Humans(homo sapiens for those not acquainted with said species)
It got me really thinking, pondering and oddly, worrying.
A number of my friends, old classmates and other acquaintances, now that I have gotten in touch with them, have changed beyond recognition; a bizarre transformation from their former self.
No, not alter egos. They don't suffer from personality disorders either. Thank you very much.
Here are, a few scenarios where they seem to have transformed, I presume: Many of them have either changed to schools hosting a British or American curriculum while some have even gone abroad and settled in countries like America, Australia, the United Kingdom. You name it.
Being in a whole new world and whole new social background and 'status-quo' oriented society and culture, they have, I shudder to say, Changed. Drastically.
While some have acquired an oddly entertaining and amusing accent, others have gone further to dressing in clothes they would have laughed themselves silly had someone asked them to try them on a few years ago. A few have given in to peer pressure and have joined the cavalry of drunkards, partying away at unthinkable hours. Some of the girls have even become physically unrecognizable, plastered with cosmetics (Shame on you! They're either derived from animals or tested on them!) and have had their facial features preened; the result being: a new, physically different person with a fake fresh identity and personality. Who are they kidding???

They say change can be for the better or the worse. Maybe that's why I dread change. The prospect remains frightening as the road chosen at the fork may steer you into dark, ominous woods with foreboding, towering trees with gnarled, knobbled, knotted roots.
Don't get me wrong. Change is not something you ought to run and hide from. Fair fortune and freedom may wait at the end. Who knows?
The bottom line is Change cannot be parried. Yet when it comes, we should encounter it with discretion. Is fitting in more important than losing the raw substance of your identity that makes you you? Is being 'cool' a reason to throw away whatever you believe in? Is avoiding being a regular haunter at the geek table more important than striving for your goals and ambition to become someone who can make a difference in our warped and twisted society and wrecked world?
Change. Change for the better. Change for something you believe in. Change for reasons you know why and you want to. Change because you believe in yourself. Change to keep it fresh and enjoy the nectar of life. Change to preserve the uniqueness that you harbour. Change to keep evolving into a better and more dynamic, bubbling, multi talented individual. Change.
Because it is truly The Change We Need.

We've Got An Eye On You

There I was, minding my own business, in front of the florescent glaring computer screen and I felt it, foreboding and chilling. I shrugged it off and went on typing, a little more precariously and jumping at any suspicious rustles of movement.
Dragging my eyes back to the screen, I forced my concentration to trigger back on- I felt it again. The uncomfortable feeling of having the hair at the back of your neck prickle and stand on end. A premonition, more likely. Paranoia unsettles and befumbles the mind and as I sat there, stiff as a poker, my eyes strained to the corner to sniff out the presence of a watching soul.
Fixated eyes stalking me when my back is turned makes me cringe, rock still, my heart thumping against the cage and racing with my pumping adrenaline. The very idea makes me uneasy and I confess, it makes me feel more insecure than I am usually.
Like any other normal person(cue for eyebrows to arch;taking into account that we're talking about me), or more specifically teenagers, that sense of closure, security and privacy is a guarded treasure; sacred and territorial. Crossing the boundaries of a person's drawn imaginary perimeters of their life is a crime of its own; intruding into the very folds of their life's delicate, fragile fabric.
Unlike usual households, the 'Do Not Enter' or 'Trespassers will be thrown to the sharks' signs are decorative ornaments that spruce up a blank door and are not respected in the least at my house. They are scoffed at and even worse, no one ever follows the holy code of knocking before entering. The gilded handles with their pathetic peeling paint are jammed down in full force and the door is yanked upon without any warning. It's a miracle it's still on its hinges.
When people barge into 'my room', (note the quotes: an ornamental name which holds no value) ready to rant away or simply for the joy of irking me out of my secure parametres, I'll freeze, dumfounded, and my eyes will swivel madly to look at the intruder.
As a writer-in-the-making(self proclaimed), I enjoy the still silence, the comfort of closure and best of all, the right to privacy of my complex, jumbled thoughts and emotions. I am a lion of my space; growling and baring teeth at those who dare defy the fence that proclaims my sanctuary.
Yes, my sanctuary. My sanctuary, from humans, from the world, from life.
With the door closed, a feel of 'completeness' and stability overwhelms me. I am at ease. My mind clears to welcome openly thoughts- for me to muddle over, to think, to feel, to believe.
Alas! Here comes another hurdle, more like a road block due to an excavation site where sweaty workers with their pneumatic drills, whirr their contraptions into the solid rock under a merciless sun. I am no longer at freedom to shut my door, let alone lock it(I haven't been given a key).
Cue Card: Audience- Audacious gape. Blonde, frail lady in midnight blue feel flustered and then faint.
Yes. It is true. I may seem pompous to you, ranting about unclosed doors. But to me, it is like uncorking the plug of my person and letting my self drain and suck out to a vacuum, a void, a blackhole.
These prying eyes, these door pressed ears, these conversation eavesdropping, these over-the-shoulder reading of messages and mails, this lack of trust...
All of these are unsettling, unstable and uncomfortable.
I, like most other people, like living normal, quiet lives, without being watched by the all-seeing-eyes of CCTV cameras and peeping toms.
And now, I must leave my keyboard, for that weird, insecure feeling has returned and my skin is rising in goosebumps. Big Brother must be watching.

Static Dynamic

A thousand words a picture's worth, they say. As a writer-in-the-making, photography was a murky subject to me, so my say in this matter was not to be banked upon.
However, now with my face behind the lens and power to zoom at my fingers, a new electric current of discovery and passion sparks through my veins and tingles my nerves. This embellishment of vision opens up a never-ending array of possibilities and opportunities.
With the click of a button, nature is frozen into memory to be cherished forevermore.
The first blossom of spring and the unfurling of fresh buds, the myriad of colours of bird's feathers, the lush green of rippling grass, the cool icy blue of the first summer wave, the first cascade of falling golden, brown and marroon leaves in fall and the first snowflake of winter can only ever be preserved on film.
The sacred art of photography is slowly withering as the digital camera compatriots make their scene. Optical zoom, LCD touch screen panels and 10 megapixels; taking a perfect photograph has been made child's play- press, click, flash!
Yet, true photography prowess lies in the art of moulding an ordinary camera to take exquisite, mind-blowing photographs.
Photography, is new to me, as I said before, and I intend to exploit my new found hobby to its maximum. I must confess to using a digital camera as they are like training wheels; once I get the hang of this fascinating art, I shall don the authentic camera and immobilise nature's teeming, explosive, flabbergasting beauty and diversity for future generations to gaze upon and gape with awe and delight.

Here are a few experimentive photographs that I have taken with my trusty Sony digital camera. Enjoy the trumpeting of Spring's arrival:

The marvel of the Marigold!

Sky Kissed!

Blooming Bouquet!

The uncurling of Spring's first rose!

Pale Pink set against an azure blue sky: Spring is blossoming!

Reaching for the heavens: Heralding the new arrival!

Palm fanning out!

An explosion of pink against a backdrop of sunlit green: New life!

A Blogger's Debut

Whizzing and popping, spiralling in pirouettes, Thoughts zoom about in the close confines and parameters of my head, yearning to break free, to spark the dying embers of a fire into new life and to take purposeful, solid form beyond the surreal realms of my brain.

Pouring over equations or struggling to imprint unending answers on my brain parchment, these Thoughts, handcuffed and handicapped, both writhe in agony of not tasting freedom as well as stealthily slip out and cause havoc and pandemonium to my concentration.

This Blog is meant to immortalise and immobilise my Thoughts in print for time immemorial where they can be scrutinised and dissected and get the attention that they are deprived of whilst rotting in my head.

Sporadic writing and dearth of time has fractured my writing style and has taken its toll. This Blog, I hope, will re-ignite that old vigour and enthusiasm and bring back that dying writer from within.

This Blog is like a field where I intend to cultivate my desire for writing implements and stretches of uninterrupted still silence and let my creativity spring up in full bloom.

Enhancing my writing, providing constructive criticism, acting as a 'Penseive' for my idle, fluttering thoughts and dreams and a net to capture my words in jet black sparkling ink, this Blog means a lot to me. It is a portal into my mind and interestingly, yours as well. Writing devotedly in this blog, I hope to learn from my readers and my own writing on the way. This Blog will help me to delve into the fascinating phenomenon they call life, to untie the knotted mysteries of life and to plunge into life itself, living a more prolific, tangible, rewarding and fruitful existence.

And here begins a new journey, a voyage to the depths of my person. This is a trek to the rocky terrain and the winding path of my personality and I hope to discover the beauty that dots the sidelines, the glorious sunrise, the ambience of the surroundings, the roots of my support, the heart of kinship and on the way, I hope to discover myself as well...