Thursday, November 27, 2014

"Certified copy" - A meditative dialogue on Art, life and relationship

"Certified copy" - a movie about art and life..
The question of "What is art?" is very difficult to answer. And even more difficult is to explain art to others. When we look at a painting, what is it in the painting that draws our heart out to feel a strange empathy to subject painted. Is the clinical beauty of the painting, its colorful exuberance, realistic human forms, captivating landscapes - or is it just the confluence of a certain temperament in the beholder with what he beholds that generates a feeling of inner beatitude - Like a rainbow that adorns the sky when there is a symmetry between light and moisture. Also, is there anything called "original" art, or is every creative endeavor merely a pale reflection of the immense beauty and intricacy embodied in nature. Is art a reflection of nature or is nature a refraction of the observed in artistic terms. Difficult questions?
On my way to the health club, I pass through my office building which is beautifully laid out among green lawns, gentle water falls and multi layered walk ways. Towards the end there is stunning sculpture in stone of a young man and lady sitting together closely on a bench, with the girl's face laid upon the Man's shoulder in gentle repose and his arms wrapped around the girl in protective compassion and love. She is seen sitting with her legs curled under her dress and her eyes half closed in harmony; the young man's countenance exudes a benign confidence in his destiny to be present for his beloved always. I normally pass through this piece of art during the evening, and in that twilight zone, almost every day, I pause to admire the sheer felicity and vision of the artist who conceived this piece. A thousands stories rise in my mind , weaving itself around the spirit of this carving. Sometimes, I have involuntarily gasped in surprise when my eyes visualize actual flesh and blood instead on stone there.. So the question that I ask myself is : where is art here ? Is it in me that I see things in bland stone, or is it in the way the entire setting is placed before my eyes, or is my sensitivity to the artists vision of love that manufactures a deep empathy to his creation. I don't Know ;But I enjoy those timeless moments when I am lifted beyond myself to be arrested in an emotion that would never have risen in me otherwise.
These are questions that this brilliant film "Certified copy" addresses. It a French movie with English subtitles featuring the beautiful, mercurial and sensitive Juliette Binoche and William shimell.. Shimell visits the exotic town of Tuscany to promote a French translation of his book on art and there meets with an owner of an art Boutique (Played by Juliette). The entire two hours of this movie is just a dialogue, a meditation, a rumination on art and human relationships. It is the sheer brilliance of Binoche that she brings to this conversation a passion, an intellectual understanding, an emotional vulnerability that transforms mundane dialogues into profound pieces of insight into artistic appreciation and its reflection on life.. Shimmel holds the fort, that's all. Every frame in the movie is shot with a firm grip on its narration by the talented and highly decorated directed Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami, and the camera lingers at a close distance to Juliette Binoche face , capturing every single nuance, wrinkle and gesture of this wonderful actress. She just could not afford to make a single mistake. It is virtually a flawless piece of acting that I have seen in a long time. She won the Cannes award for this role in 2010.
Needless to say, this movie is not for all. To call it entertainment in the common sense of term may be misplaced here. This is an intellectual journey and it will need our complete involvement to be appreciate the beauty of this marvelous biopic. But , if you can stay with it , I am sure you will be a richer person in artistic currency.
God bless...

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Compulsive one-upmanship - A conversation...

There is nothing much one can do with people who are compulsively argumentative. These are those half baked intellectuals, who have dipped their finger superficially into different caskets of knowledge, with a few catch phrases culled from their readings; holding on to their train of thought and deliberation with a tenacity worthy of a Cicero (Except that in sounds awfully hollow); feigning wisdom on supposedly every conceivable topic that could come up for discussion; consider it beneath their dignity to acknowledge ignorance; unwilling to hold a reasonable dialogue on a topic but insist on throwing names and praises in favor of themselves - that it becomes so very difficult for others to stay beyond a few minutes in the same room with them. Either, one need to raise ourselves to that level of superficiality or utterly keep quiet and let the other spend their energy, and pray that a more reasonable balance be achieved quickly enough.
We are four regular members at the local sauna; in the sense, that almost every weekend, if we happen to be in town, we assemble there almost at the same time. And there is a unwritten code that we follow among us - and that is - beyond a few cursory exchanges and observations of topical interest , which at the most lasts for not more than five minutes; we stay quiet, immersed in our own contemplation, enjoying the sweltering heat that slowly creeps over us. And after twenty minutes, we politely bid ourselves good bye. However, We have met outside the health club several times, for lunch or dinner; and that is when we launch into discussions and ratiocinations. One of them is a Professor of philosophy; the other is a developer with a local software company; and one more - a young lad who is pursuing his engineering in Georgia Tech. Fortunately, all four of us have deep interests outside the line of our work, and I can recall some wonderful moments of delightful conversation that we have had over the last year or so. Never intrusive, always willing to listen to each other; thinking an idea through to its logical conclusion no matter where it would lead us. More importantly, not afraid to be ignorant and willing to learn..
The Gym is the place people unwind themselves; and this process of unwinding takes several forms. The person in question, keeping whom in mind, I began this narrative is a great guy. At nearly sixty years, he is in pink of health and shape. But he suffers from this incorrigible need to be right all the time. There are several like him that I know . As he walked into the sauna today, he started talking about the movie "A theory of everything", a film based on Stephen Hawking. I politely told him that I saw the film recently as well and I found the ideas of Hawking captured quite authentically. That trigger was enough. He started on a tirade of Hawking's supposed atheism, his opposition to the theory of Richard Dawkin's "blind watchmaker", his reluctance to acknowledge God and how religion is much more than science can conceive of; and how Hawkins is merely riding a sympathy wave and really has no foundations for his theory and so on. For twenty minutes, the four of us merely listened as mute spectators, looking at each other through the corner of our eyes, resolved to keep quiet and allow the storm to pass away. But today, there seemed no signs of abatement. I had reacted the end of my tether (probably the Sauna was wee bit hotter today than normal) and hastily intervened :
"John (name changed) : Have you actually read "The brief History of time" . Because, if you did, you will realize that Hawking is as "God intoxicated" as Einstein or Spinoza. Although He what is calls God is nature or Universe. Keep this as your reference point and your understanding of Hawking will undergo a radical revision...."
His face abruptly changed, and he grew more serious. and this is what he had to say " No, I read reviews and summaries of this book, and all of them call him an atheist.."
"that's the problem with most of them John. I think one should not be discussing somebody else idea if it is not read in its original form. It is very easy to slip into intellectual snobbism with that kind of half baked knowledge.. Read the book and then let us discuss Hawking's position on God, or if you cant do that then lets that talk about your original thoughts on it. That would be a fair and reasonable dialogue...
I could see my friends gently shaking their heads with a subtle smile on their faces..
I dint want to hurt John , so I jumped in" Hey John, did you see formula one today....?"
And in that instant, he was on again and was warming for a long diatribe on the rules of racing.. I was happy though, that I left him in good cheer, basking in his own glory and intellectual one-upmanship.
God bless...

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Family - a nebulous balance of priorities.. A late evening conversation...

"Bala, I am at a loss on what to do. I have tried every trick in the book. I have openly criticized him, spoken embarrassingly in front of his peers, Made it known that he is becoming a burden on me; reduced internet options to send out feelers to him - nothing seems to work. My son is 21, and he continues to remain with my Wife and me under the same roof...."
Jake (name changed) is a top IT decision maker in one of the largest airlines in the world. He had invited me out for dinner ; and we sitting in this posh Mediterranean restaurant with liveried bearers floating around, cutleries gleaming with silver and polish, and soft lilting tunes from Arabic percussion instruments were wafting through the air. A gorgeous looking middle eastern waitress had just placed a platter of Kebab's on our table and bowed away noiselessly for us to continue this conversation. Jake was talking about quality of professional and personal life in IT industry; and that is when he drifted to talking about family.. He continued...
" At eighteen, he moved out to live with a few friends. I was the happiest man in the world, but then I had this sneaking premonition that he would come back to us. Every other day, I would see him at our kitchen table, with my wife cooking his favorite dishes. And then , six months ago - he actually moved back. I was terribly annoyed, but had to honor my wife's decision. Bala. Don't mistake me here. I love my boy. I have put him in private schools throughout his life, willing to pay for Grad as well; And I did. But he has never shown any responsibility whatsoever. He chickened out of college in a couple of years, and started working in way side restaurants to make money. In a span of two years, he has hopped six girl friends, and while at home he is so disorganized, plays music at full blast and generally gets on my nerve. I got to have a serious chat with him very soon. Otherwise , I have this quaint feeling that My wife and me are going to be stuck with him for life - managing him. I have spent Three and half decades getting to where I am today, and I am looking forward to a retirement in the next few years to reap the efforts of my labor with my wife. We have plans, but right now, this chap is a thorn in the bush.
My girl on the other hand is the very opposite of him. She was always a brilliant honors student, graduated from MIT, moved out to San Jose with her boy friend. making a lot of money; and does not want to visit us at all. I wonder what have we done wrong with her. Its been three years, and all that we occasionally get is a phone call for thanksgiving, Christmas or Mother's day. She was the apple of my eye. But somehow I feel, that she wants to keep her distance from us. Not that she has any grievances against us, but when she moved out, I got this feeling that she had been waiting for this day all her life. You know, what, I am at least glad that she is doing well and support herself well without us.. That is a great consolation...."
He stopped talking. By this time, we were well into our main course; dipping into juicy Chicken breast and a side of roasted zucchini. I pitched in " Jake, One of the things that I admire and respect in western society is the clear lines that are drawn within a family over a period of years. It is boon and a curse. A boon, in the sense that an individual is never bogged down with the act of rearing and sustenance for a life time; and a curse, because it is a difficult line to draw in human interactions and often leads to psychological difficulties.. In India, at least in the past, Instructions were clear. The bond between Parents and children are for a life time, not in a general way, but each one being there for the other every step of the way. It was reinforced repeatedly through religious injunctions, mythology and cultural doctrination. In a way it was good, because there was no choice. But the moment, we start valuing our independence as something vitally important, then it is becomes an enormously difficult decision; and it must be taken without any emotional underpinnings to it. This is the struggle between Western and eastern societies. The tremendous progress of the West is because of this process of individuation that was achieved within a family; but what was sacrificed in the process is inner psychological stability and peace. The East always held on to the ideal of living in groups, and hence they are more centered and peaceful and to that extent lackadaisical in their individual drive and progress. The biggest problem we face today in our shrinking global village is the cross fertilization of both these ideas; and right now, there is great flux happening in India as well. Joint families are breaking up, nuclear families are beset with adjustment issues.
You know Jake, one would never have any parent In India express their feeling about their children as bluntly as you did. It would be considered blasphemous and immoral (I chuckled, and so did he!!), but it is the true maturity of Western democracy that you can take a impartial view of your closest ties and talk about with such frankness. This is the triumph of Jungian Philosophy - allowing the present to take off from the past , not cling to it... I think your son will move on, and your daughter will keep doing well. Meanwhile Jake, you will have a ball of a future.
He laughed : " Yaps, I am sure of that, I will not allow anything to come in between Me and my plans. Cheers Bala!!
God bless...

"Hiroshima" by John Hershey -

My best read of the week - "Hiroshima" by John Hershey.
On August 6th 1945, Hiroshima felt the impact of what is largely considered as the most brutal, inhuman and completely unnecessary act of innocent annihilation ever undertaken in the annals of Human history. Let us for a moment relive the lives of those ordinary men and women, who woke up that fateful day, going about the daily chores, lost in their world of mundane Human predicament, caring for their young and loved ones, living the monotony of life, unmindful of the aerial bombings by allied forces that had become a mechanical part of their lives – and more importantly - blissfully unaware of the tremendous catastrophe that was about to be unleashed on them on that bright morning. It was just an ordinary day for the citizens of Hiroshima, caught in the polarities of a world war that they could little understand, and much less appreciate. They believed that Americans were predatory and it was a matter of time before their supreme discipline would overcome the economic might of superpowers. The Japanese are also a stoic race, built on generations of courtesy and values that is distinctly theirs. Even in the direst of circumstances, they would rarely display emotions that betray their inner feelings. But on that fateful day, little did they realize that their well-honed character, conviction and courage would be tested to the hilt; their sense of values and capacity for forbearance will be pushed to a superhuman limit – for, a calamity so devastating was to fall upon their lot - leaving them morally, spiritually and intellectually devastated forever as a nation. The scars of those few hours still singe with pain in the psyche of its people.
Nearly Seventy five thousand of them died, many more seriously injured within a span of twenty four hours from the time atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima. For Nearly a year after the attack, the wave of heat, dust and radiation spread its demonic wings slowly, stealthily across the circumference of the city; and its unfortunate citizens could neither flee from its clutches nor fathom what had hit them so forcefully. All kinds of childish explanations, rumors and platitudes were floating around the city. Some felt that Magnesium vapors were being spread, other surmised that gasoline was strewn and lighted from fighter planes - but none could however, even in the wildest of imagination conceive that they were the victims of the first ever nuclear bombing in recorded human history. That they were standing at the brink of a new political equilibrium that was to unequivocally tilt towards a new world order based on pure, unprecedented and immense power. With bodies dropping to the ground like dead ducks, lacerated skins oozing pus and gangrene, children dying of poisoned water, men and women trapped under intolerable debris; debilitating heat and an enormous sense of destruction so singular - people were walking around like zombies – lost and bereft of any anchor, trying to help and find meaning in this desolation. Documentaries and books over the years have consecrated a typical image of the holocaust in our memory. The picture of a balloon of smoke and dust cloud erupting from the fission, slowly spreading and enveloping many square miles of city. These pictures have remained etched in our historical chronology and books, and that is the only image that we carry with us. But the ground reality on that day, in that hour- for those who happened to escape the death doom of the blast, and survived the initial impact by some miraculous stroke of fate or by sheer coincidence, it was a nightmarish reality, where their known world : its significance, meaning and boundaries stood altered.
Early, this month, I found a copy of John Hershey’s moving journalistic account of the first year after the bombing. The book is called “Hiroshima”. It was originally published in the Newyorker Magazine in 1946, based on six eye witness accounts who survived those first horrific moments of bombing. Hershey tells the story of Hiroshima through the eyes of these characters. Among them is doctor, a priest, a housewife, a philanthropist - all of them numbed by the immensity of what had befallen them? In a matter of fact style, devoid of any emotions, Hershey recreates the poignant moment’s pain, anguish, sympathy, compassion, willpower and the resolute resilience of the survivors. From complete disbelief to the slow awakening of realization that they have been subjected to the banal act of nuclear war is sensitively, with great precision recounted in the short book of one hundred and fifty pages. I rarely get emotional when I read, but when I closed this slim volume, there was a small, dense tear dangling from the corner of my eyes. It is not so much the brutality and vehemence of the act that bothered me, it is the sheer dread of the kind of civilization that we have spawned in this scientific age. How could we embark upon something so horrendous, so utterly disdainful of life? There may be a thousand reasons that Military historians and social scientists may provide for such an act; but reading Hershey’s account, one sinks deep into those individual lives that were profoundly affected and changed by this carnage. The tear was more for those six men and women and thousands of others, who rose above circumstances, unmindful of the devastation around them; reaching into their inner well springs of energy, sympathy and action that saved thousands of lives, assuaged the pain of many more - without an iota of thought about themselves or their well-being.
Hershey’s sketch of those heroic souls is as down to earth as it can get. As one reads his narrative, one cannot but feel a deep sense of pride and dignity in being Human; and that no matter how hard we try as a race to annihilate ourselves, there will always be beacons of light in the wilderness, who reinstate nature’s faith in its own proud species. Not once in this entire account, does Hershey discuss the motives for such a dastardly act. To him, it was all about the individual and his reaction to this attack.
Hershey has written many books. My favorites include “A bell for Adano” (it was awarded the Pulitzer) - a story of an Italian officer who honors the town of Adano by rebuilding a bell that was melted during the fascist regime to make guns; “The wall” - a story placed in Nazi death camps, and “Antoneitta” - the fictional account of the famous Stradivarius violin: its romantic, adventurous and passionate history…
But this week was spent with “Hiroshima”. According to me, it is a book to be read by every educated man. Not so much for its style, but for its message and meaning. In an age, when we diligently prepare ourselves for nuclear warfare that is manifold times more potent than the ones dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, this book will act as a barometer of moral conscience, before we embark upon its usage. The sheer stupidity of annihilating ourselves and putting this beautiful balance of this planet to risk will strike with direct force in the pages of Hershey’s account.
This is a book you may want to buy, read and pass it on to your children as a legacy… It is worth your time…
God bless…

Saturday, November 8, 2014

An encounter to remember...

t was a brand new Boeing 737-900 flight. It smacked and smelled of newness. The flight attendant told me as I seated myself in the first-class cabin, that this is the second time this beauty is going to be airborne. Large TV screen, clean pale blue seats with spotless covers, enough leg room and sufficient space between adjacent seats for privacy. I was bone tired after a grueling week at work with hardly enough sleep,; so the moment I settled down in my seat, plugged my earphones, opened the biography of Nietzsche ; and after having read a few pages drifted into a blissful sleep. It was 8 A.M in the morning.
It was an hour later that I woke up. The plane was by then, I guess, flying at an altitude of well over 31,000 feet; an utterly still cruise through the air, hardly any turbulence. All my co-passengers had finished their breakfast, and flight attendants were clearing the plates. Coming out a deep sleep, it took me a while to get a look at my neighbor. At first glance, I could see that she was a white blonde lady, wearing a loose blue T-shirt and a hugging jeans. she had well chiseled face and large blue eyes. Her curly hair dappled her shoulders with a bouncy crispness, and she was holding off a few strands from her face to concentrate on her reading. She looked in good shape even in those casual clothes. A reading glass was perched rather studiously on her nose; she was holding Kafka's "Metamorphosis" in her left hand in a leisurely poise of a seasoned reader. It was a thin book, looked like a second hand edition. The pages had yellowed with age, but people who read Kafka wouldn’t really mind that. It was at that moment that there was a faint stirring of my memory cells; a kind of vague recognition of this woman's face flitted across my minds eyes. I couldn't place her. The facial profile looked very familiar, yet, where it was and under what circumstances seemed to be eluding me. She turned around and said "Good morning" and after reciprocating the greeting, I let the matter drop and focused my attention on Nietzsche vision of Zarathustra. It was Walter Kaufman's masterly biography of the maniacal philosopher.
And half hour when my attention was broken by my neighbors voice. She said”
"It is interesting that you are reading about a Mad German philosopher and I am dipping into a Mad German author… "
"I smiled and replied "yes"... She continued
"But you know, these visionary Germans of the 18th century really had a grip on problems of existence. That Breed of artists: Beethoven Wagner, Goethe, Kafka. Nietzsche - what an explosion of intellect and talent. Perhaps unsurpassed in the last two centuries…"
I closed my book ,and thus started a conversation that lasted for nearly forty five minutes. We discussed existentialism - the works of Sartre and Kafka in particular, then drifted on to Richard Wagner - his grand opera Tristan and Isolde; then the novels of Henry James - we were immersed in an intellectual web of thoughts and opinions. Both of us shared our interest in Robert Harrison's popular podcast titled "Entitled opinions", which he broadcasts from Stanford University campus every spring. Time flew by…
Before long, the captain announced the descent into the city. It was then that we broke our thread of intense conversation; and it dawned upon me that I had not still been able to place her in my memory. Now that we had become acquainted, I boldly asked her:
"Your face looks very familiar to me; I don't know, but I am not able to exactly place it...
She slowly took off her reading glasses and laughed silently, and with a hint of mischief asked me..."
"Do you watch movies?”
"Yes, of course. I am a movie buff" - I answered…
She laughed again, and said “Do you get to watch a Genre called "Adult entertainment"...
Now, my attention was gripping itself around something concrete. The vague floating memories began to coalesce together… I heard her voice drifting through:
"My name is ............." (Not appropriate to give out the name).
A wave of recognition now flooded through me. The name, the shape, the act - all came together in one single instant. She was one of the leading stars in the Adult business for the best part of eighties and nineties. I will not be a hypocrite and declare that I have not seen her movies, or ogled over her pics on leading Adult magazines during my school and college days. It was an age when it had its own fascination on a growing adolescent.
But now, decades later, when all that excitement is merely a collage of vague memories; and the fact that , decades after, both of us sitting in an airplane can have a discussion on intellectual abstractions is a sign that we have grown beyond those needs. She had stopped acting sometime in mid nineties, and in that murky world of shadows where physicality matters, one is forgotten all too easily. It is obvious that she has reinvented herself, found newer centers of delight; and she wouldn’t want to tarry too long in her past… she now works for an NGO.
All that I could do was say to her “Oh my God, It was a great pleasure watching your movies as a college kid, and now it was even more pleasurable talking to you as a mature adult. Believe me, in many ways, you were part of my early education….”
The flight had touched down. It was time to leave. She put her reading glasses back inside her purse and took out her sunglasses. She turned around and looked at me and said: “Thanks for your lovely insights into Kafka. I will remember you….”….. I replied:” The pleasure was mine, I can never forget you anyways…”..
God bless…

Monday, November 3, 2014

"Liberal arts" - a film review..

Yesterday afternoon, I happened to see a beautiful film on Netflix. It is one those unsung, low profile movies that didn't quite make it to the galleries, but for those who believe that art is all about sensitivity, intellectual stimulation and an exploration of human relationships and meaning of life - then "Liberal arts" is most definitely a film to be watched.
A quiet Newyorker, educated in English literature, tries to find his idealism in the world outside. An avid reader and thinker, he experiences deep boredom in living a monotonous and purposeless life. Out of the blue, he is invited by his favorite professor to his retirement night dinner in campus. So Jesse goes to the party where he meets a young sophomore girl, who kindles his interest in life again. Some of the best parts of the film is when Jesse and Zebbie (sophomore, played by Elizabeth Olson) discover the therapeutic value of Music and its depth. The movie then goes on to explore the gap between dreams that begins in college and the stark, meaningless reality of adulthood. While Jessie struggles to outgrow his adolescent idealism, Zebbie wishes to make a premature quantum leap to maturity. The subtle emotional and intellectual undertones of their conversation is a connoisseur’s delight and the real cornerstone of this lovely story.
Allison Jenny plays a short cameo role of a Professor in Romantic English literature. People who teach Romanticism need not necessarily believe in or be romantics themselves is bought out quite brilliantly in her customary acerbic wit. I love her performances.
All in all, this is a very decent film that talks about ordinary aspirations in life. It has a genuine warmth to it which touches a chord within. Josh Radnor, who has directed and starred in this film knows his ground well. He manages to resurrect the pleasure of being a normal, average person in an abnormal world..
God bless..

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Time as a psychological measurement. - A musing

In the year 1751, The English parliament passed a bill to bring its Calendar in tune with the Gregorian cycle that was used all over Europe. It was called the Calendar (New Style) act 1750 or Chesterfields act, named after the Earl who introduced the bill. The effect of this change was to begin the New Year on first of January rather than the traditional twenty fifth day of March ( Lady Day - the feast of annunciation ).
The first consequence of this bill was to make the year 1751, the shortest in the Christian era - only 282 days; and the second, more profound impact was to be felt when the subsequent year 1752 was to advanced by 11 days (11th September was followed by 14th) to adjust for equinoctial fluctuations. . This had deep psychological repercussions in society. It meant that people lost eleven days in their lives.!!!!!!!!!! There were huge protests in England against this move. The measurement of time - so ingrained in the human psyche led to the belief that by advancing dates, the government had taken away a slice of their lives. The fact that division of time into days, months and years or even Hours, minutes and seconds is only an act of pure convention, and has no basis in reality - is something that eluded the populace and educated public. It is like mistaking the measurements of latitude and longitude as actual lines zig-zagging the globe., and any attempt to tie the earth with them is as foolish as believing that one has lost 11 days due to change in numbering. Ironically, It needed the Church's intervention to convince its fold that they would be compensated in an after life (heaven or hell, as the case may be) for these days; and that they should now get back to work..
The reason for penning this post is that I have been bombarded with new flashes, mails and radio reminders that Day light savings end tonight at 2.A.M, and , how I could snatch one more hour of "extra" sleep on a beautiful, cold, cozy Sunday in Atlanta. What Earthly difference does it make to me by an increase or decrease of a few hours in a day. As long as my time zone does not change to the extent that my biological days and nights getting reversed, I really would not be bothered. Yes, My work schedule would get affected a bit, but that is not a deep psychological issue that I need to deal with. And for God's sake !! how do I teach my body to sleep for an hour more because some bloke has decided to turn a human made clock by one hour. Over the last two days, At least, twenty people has voiced their concern to me about this "radical" change, with a look of unhappiness or perplexity on their faces. I refuse to even acknowledge the remark..
To me, all this points to a deep existential problem. We are so caught in measurements of all kinds and shapes, that we forget to realize that life cannot be captured in a net. It is wriggly by nature. obviously, We have imposed some conventions upon it to regulate our interactions in society; beyond that - it has no use whatsoever. To be existentially troubled by it is the least dignified stand we could allow ourselves to take.
A curious thought strikes me at this point. If I were meet Einstein sometime. somewhere, here is a question I would want to ask him..
"Sir, how did you react to Day light savings and Time zone differences.."
I am sure his grave , studious and mellow grey eyes may break into a twinkle and might reply
" Are you talking of planetary time zones or Universal time zones or cosmic times zones, Pls clarify?
Well, I cannot even guess at what he is talking about. It is so relative. Why bother at all???
God bless..